I ran out of time to finish this one, so... enjoy it as is...
“Tris,” she said, placing her lips next to his ear to be heard over the music. “They’re at last call. Can I get you one more?”
Tristan turned his head in surprise, like he’d just now realized how long ago midnight was. “What? Shit, shit, no way!” He lurched forward in his seat and looked around him, taking in the rapidly-emptying patio. “When did Dan leave?”
Nora rolled her eyes and stood straight. Tristan had been mainlining pints since dinnertime, and while he was a pretty lucid drunk, she knew he was further gone than he’d let on. He hadn’t even bothered to try to stand for the last hour, and his normally-padded belly was plainly bloated into a conspicuously tight beer gut. “Half an hour ago,” she reminded him. “It’s just us and the Lowans now.” She gestured at the other couple, leaning on the bar waiting for their last drinks. Chris and Meg could go pretty hard, but Tristan had still been outpacing them 2 to 1 all night.
“Shit,” Tristan muttered again, then shook his head and slouched back in his chair. “If you’re going up–two more for me?” He gave her glassy puppydog eyes.
Nora almost regretted offering. “Two? You sure? Tris, I cannot carry you home.”
Tristan turned in his chair to shoot her a sharper grin and steady eyes. “I’m good, babe. Just–” He placed a hand on his belly and belched, not bothering to stifle it. “--just letting loose a little.”
Nora raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Nothing on you is loose anymore,” she said. “Putting aside the alcohol, two more pints of anything and you’re going to pop.”
“Phshhht,” Tristan slumped back in his chair again, giving his gut a solid pat. “I can hardly feel it. Lots of room in this tank.” As if to make his point, he heaved himself forward to claim a half-eaten plate of someone’s fries, swiping a mitt-full of them through ketchup on his way to his mouth. “Mmhm,” he grunted, licking his fingers. “And if the kitchen is open-”
“It isn’t,” Nora said flatly.
Tristan looked annoyed. “Just the beers, then.”
Nora sighed. What did she know anyway? Tristan was a bottomless pit. He surprised her continuously with his capacity to eat, drink, and laugh it off. She stalked off to the bar, affecting the long-suffering girlfriend, but she not-so-secretly loved it. Tristan never failed to impress everyone.
She ordered three more pints: two for Tris, as requested, and one for her. “We close in half an hour,” the bartender told her with a pointed look. Nora smiled politely. That was more than enough time for Tristan.
As if trying to prove his point, Tristan claimed the first pint and gulped it down in record time. He met Nora’s eyes with a cocky grin, burped, and carefully set the empty glass down in front of him. He slapped his belly with the other hand, going for a shake, but the thing truly had no give. Nora smiled skeptically.
“I got this,” Tristan insisted.
“Of course you do,” Nora replied, not sure if she was reassuring him or baiting him. She looked at the second pint. “Twenty minutes,” she reminded him.
“More like twenty seconds,” Tristan muttered. Nora pretended she didn’t notice the subtle adjustments he made to his posture as he took up the other pint. Leaning back a little extra, widening his legs. His button-up hung loose at his sides, but his t-shirt looked painted onto his belly, the top of which bowed out at so steep an angle, he could have balanced a stein on it. Nora knew he was making room, giving his stomach space to expand in whatever direction it could. For all his bravado, he was feeling it. He knew he was so physically bloated that the alcohol almost didn’t matter anymore.
But he was gonna finish that beer anyway. He always did. Nora fixed him with a slow smile of challenge. “Go ahead,” she said, looking pointedly at his belly. “Twenty seconds, I’ll time you.”
Without further ado, Tristan upended the glass into his mouth, swallowing again and again with focused intent. Nora’s gaze slipped down to his gut again, watching as he seemed to swell with every bob of his throat. Or maybe he was just leaning back, exaggerating the thrust of his belly? It could be either. Tristan had decided he had something to prove.
He held out the empty glass to her with a burp and a smile. “Done,” he said with satisfaction. Nora tried not to let her pride show on her face, smirking instead.
“Am I the busboy now?” she said, looking at the cup in his hand. “Put it on the table yourself.”
Tristan hesitated a moment, his smile slipping for just a second. The table was out of reach. He would have to sit up, to lean forward. Nora’s skin tingled. She wanted to see him try that.
She sipped her own pint slowly, and waited. Tristan widened his knees further, put a hand on the seat, and pushed himself forward. Nora couldn’t keep her eyes off his belly as he did: it had no give, and rolled between his legs as he plunked the cup on the table, then fell back again with another burp. He placed both hands on the sides of his belly and took as deep a breath as he could, then slowly released it. His head nodded back a moment, then he pulled it straight again, blinking.
“Fuck,” he said, though Nora had no idea if that was surprise, regret, or bluster. He let his eyes close a moment, running his hands around the bulge of his stomach, pressing out another belch. “Fuck,” he repeated, but that time it was definitely pride. He opened his eyes and grinned at her. “What a night,” he said.
As if he was finished. Nora put her pint down on the table. “Very impressive,” she said, unable to keep her genuine admiration out of her voice. She looked at her own almost-full glass with exaggerated regret. “I can’t even finish mine. What a waste.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have ordered it.” She looked at Tristan again. “Unless you….” She led his eyes back to the cup.
If he had any doubts as to the wisdom of taking up her abandoned drink, they were brief and fleeting. Nora knew he wouldn’t give in now. Not when he’d just won her approval. She didn’t even doubt he could do it. She just wanted to see it done.
“Ten minutes?" Tristan asked, and winked. “Plenty of time.” He lurched forward again, hands on the arms of his chair, and pushed himself to an unsteady stand. On his feet, he looked comically fat. His belly was always pronounced, but now it jutted out like he had a soccer ball stuffed under his shirt, bulging out the sides as well as forward. He arched a little and let out a tight breath, running both hands up and down his torso subtly pressing as if to test for space. His tshirt tented outward, pulled by the weight of his gut. Then he scooped up her pint, and chugged it.
Nora could see why he’d chosen to stand. He leaned back as he swallowed, stretching his torso as long as he could. His whole midsection seemed to expand with each moment that passed, blowing up. By the time his arm dropped and he clumsily put the glass down, his belly seemed to be a structure of its own, a heavy sphere grown unweildy. Tristan finally groaned, eyelids dropping, cupping both hands under his belly as if he were holding it up.
“Fuck,” he swore again, this time in amazement. “Babe. I… I–” He hiccuped and belched. “--I am really fucking full.”
Nora was on her feet and at his side already, one hand under his gut out of habit, as his arm reached heavily over her shoulders. Even the sides of his belly bulged into her, solid. She rubbed his belly in a wide circle once, gently, just feeling the width of him, ending in a tidy pat where it stuck out the furthest.
“You think so, Tris? You’ve eaten and drunk so much that your stomach has its own gravity. You sure that counts as full?”
“You are teasing me,” he said thickly, gasping for breath with every other word.
“Why would I tease you, my love; you are exactly where you want to be,” Nora replied, unable to keep from pressing tighter against him, still patting his belly. “You never know when to quit.”
Tristan hiccuped and moaned, buckling a little into her. “Can we go home? I…I need to lie down.”
Nora presses so close she could kiss his throat and bite his earlobe now. “Oh course we can,” she husked. “There’s nothing left here for us.”
Tristan missed her meaning, but she knew he would. With a bed promised, Tristan found the energy to stagger slowly to the gate, and out to the street, supporting himself on Nora. Every step made his shirt ride up, until she couldn’t resist and just slipped her hand beneath, onto his hot, bare skin. He moaned again, this time sounding more than a little euphoric.
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