𝜗𝜚 tummy noises of all kinds <3
𝜗𝜚 stuffing and hunger
𝜗𝜚 burps
𝜗𝜚 a liiiiiitle bit of ovi
𝜗𝜚 a splash of wg & soft feederism
𝜗𝜚 vore & objectvore
𝘵𝘢𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡
𐙚 fics will be under #divvinations . and posted to my ao3
𐙚art will be under #stardvst
𐙚favs will be under #tinkys.angelz
╰┈➤ other tags: #tinky.talk = tinky yapping || #txt from the stars = reblogs || #rocket.fuel = normie things
WARNING TAGS: STUFFING, VORE. Remember to block if you don't like! this is as KINK blog!
I came back from the dead with this big commission from the always very lovely @askbloatedbellyblog! and our first v̶i̶c̶t̶i̶m̶ character was Idia!
I've both mentioned rubbing a preds tummy to break down their food and grinding against someone's full stomach before but. hear me out on this one. Grinding against a pred's very full of prey tummy. pressing and massaging their stomach to help their food melt down faster.
Pred who got really hungry and their eyes were bigger than their stomach so they went for a pretty big prey. Prey now filling them up overwhelmingly, squirming inside them and heaving them down, the pred lays down helplessly, whimpering and groaning as their tummy is working so hard to digest their huge meal.
And then their partner or observer gets there. Is instantly, debilitatingly turned on by the sight. They rush to get to the pred side and are soon getting all touchy with them, running their hands all over their overfilled tummy, unbuttoning their pants for them, gushing about how they really overdid it, how full they are, how their poor tummy is so overworked and really must need some help to break down all that food. And soon only caressing them with their hands it's not enough.
They're all feverish and driven up by lust as they start to grind against their pred's engorged tummy. It's so taut and warm and they can feel every squirm, all that gurgling and bubbling under them. The observer pushes down a little harder, rubbing against and pressing a particulary taut and sensitive spot on their partners tummy. The pred whines and moans and gets strained burps forced out of them as their partner is pressing their exact sweet spots. It's all so overwhelming, but it's helping their stomach indeed as they can hear it's steady gurgling, two pressing forces that are breaking down their meal at once.
post-canon established relationship, tw for light bоndage + light ñsfw. riddlе Has The Кink + chеnya ambiguously does too
~🥤~
"I promise," Chenya drawled, "strictly purr-ivate."
His fingers were already fiddling with the ruby-red ribbon; the takeout bag sat bone-white on the rolling desk beside him. Chenya's entire plot was moving far, far too quickly for Riddle's liking.
"How can I be sure?" Riddle said, hearing his own words come out as a fiery snap. "How do I know you won't blab about this to everyone you come across?"
Chenya leaned back in his chair. The ribbon shimmered in the lamplight as he continued to work it playfully around his long, nimble hands. He was smirking. "Yeah, Riddle," he snorted, "you're right to doubt me. I'm rrreal infamous for telling folks everything they wanna know."
"Touché," Riddle said.
He was wearing black corduroy pants, and he was determined not to let them get dirty this evening.
"I trust you!" Riddle yapped, as if trying to swat the ironic glint that lingered in Chenya's eye. "I believe that you won't tell anyone. Let's begin, before I change my mind."
"Awesome!" Chenya said, and opened the plastic takeout bag. "Before we begin to bubble you up, you need your calories." He placed a quizzical finger on his chin. "Cat-lories?"
"That sounds like I'm eating cats," Riddle grumbled.
Chenya grinned. "Yuck! Good thing we're starting with some nice, savory pasta instead." He lifted a small plastic box from the bag, and set it down on the desk.
Pasta. Something thick and white lurked inside the box. "What's the sauce?" Riddle said as a shiver jolted his body.
"Alfredo."
"I do not consent to eat that with my hands tied," he said, eyes flicking down to his corduroy lap, then to the box, then to the grinning Chenya, then back to his lap. "It looks messy."
"It is," Chenya chimed, and passed him the plastic-wrapped cutlery pack. "Fork's all yours."
The packet contained nothing but a fork and knife, much to Riddle's frustration. "This restaurant must need to provide spoons separately for those who order soup, and—and everyone requires a napkin," he babbled, trying to keep his thoughts of chemicals in plastic cutlery at bay. "I might only eat half of this; is that alright?" The pasta twirled wetly around his fork.
"Yup," Chenya said. "Do eat a decent ameownt, though, mmkay? We want your stomach to have a nice base of food inside, so the soda has something to play with."
"What?"
Chenya poked Riddle's belly, and giggled softly. "I hope you like it..."
Riddle ate. He was hungrier than he had thought, and the noodles sank satisfyingly down into his belly, one sauce-slick mouthful after another.
"It's quite good," he remembered to tell Chenya between surreptitious licks of his lips. Even when snacking alone in his room, Riddle always used a napkin. He felt so unclean, could not bear the thought of foreign substances upon his lips. "I demand a straw for the sodas, by the way!"
"Already got one, Your Majesty!" Chenya was staring at him serenely. "How ya feelin'?"
Riddle was about halfway done with the pasta. "I've room for a few more bites," he said, twirling his fork through once again.
Chenya snickered. "I'd tell you to save room for dessert, but I know my Riddle has a second stomach for sweets." He gave Riddle's belly a pat, then folded both his hands behind his head, and leaned back in his own rolling chair.
"I trust you ate already yourself?" Riddle said after swallowing down a bite.
"Mm-hm," Chenya said. "I had some leftovers, and I'll go back for midnight snacks eventually. Fur the time being, I'm plenty full."
"Good," Riddle said, and heard the shift in his own voice before he felt it in his body. He was about to burp. He had eaten so fast, it was difficult to stifle; it came up as a petite gurgle in the bottom of his throat; he counted it a success.
"Fillin' up?"
"Dammit," Riddle hissed under his breath.
Chenya grinned, tail curling. "Oooh, Her Majesty's mad that a sharp-eared cat in a superbly silent room overheard that little burp, huh?"
"Don't call me that," Riddle snapped.
"Sorry, just having some fun." Chenya gave a theatrical sigh. "You're not a queen, and I'm not a cat. Purr-haps a queen'd have better manners than to get pasta sauce on her face?" He sprung forward, and wiped the corner of Riddle's mouth; Riddle felt the oil smear beneath his thumb, saw the smidgeon of white before Chenya popped his thumb into his mouth, and licked it off.
Riddle wanted to burst out in anger, but the shame of having not noticed the sauce in the first place stunned him into silence; watching Chenya lick his lips and snicker, Riddle felt his eyebrows furrow.
There was nothing to do but stab his fork back into the food.
"I don't need to tell you this," Chenya said as Riddle ate, "but you're here just because I said you could show some bad manners, and indulge just a teensy bit too much, and that I'd keep it a secret. Soooo..."
The food was growing less appetizing by the bite. "Is that why you ever-so-conveniently forgot napkins?" Riddle said. "Just so you could watch me dirty myself, then clean me off with your bare hands?"
As if joining in the mockery of Riddle, his stomach sent up another small burp, which he tried to muffle with a cough behind his hand.
"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," mewed Chenya.
"I'm done," Riddle groaned.
"Wonderful!" Chenya said. "And don't worry about your face." He propped his head on one hand atop the desk, letting the rest of his body vanish behind it. "Did you know there's another way for me to clean your lips off?"
Chenya was not smiling in this instant; his own lips looked almost pouted, soft and smooth.
"If you mean kissing me, then I decline," Riddle said, stamping out the other thoughts in his head. "We're in the middle of a meal right now, a strange one though it may be."
"Strange is right," Chenya mused, his frown deepening. "Pretty please, my darling?" He reappeared fully, tail swishing and curling. "Just one little kiss?" Taking Riddle's bowl from him, he stood, set it aside, then sunk into Riddle's lap. "There isn't a rule that says you can't, is there?"
"Of course not," Riddle said. "Fine. Take your kiss, Chenya."
Chenya's weight vanished from Riddle's lap with the ever-shocking speed of his signature spell, and his head dragged a big, roving suction kiss across Riddle's lips from corner to corner.
He broke away with a smack, and mewled in eager delight as he licked his lips. "Yum!" he cried.
"I'll kiss you properly if I survive this night with my ego intact," Riddle muttered.
"Lots of compliments, got it," Chenya said.
"I didn't mean—"
"You don't want 'em?"
Riddle froze. Of course he wanted compliments from Chenya; he drank them up from any source, gladliest of all from his boyfriend. "Proceed as you would naturally," he commanded.
Chenya nodded his assent. "It'd be natural for anyone to comment on how cute you looked eating that pasta. And the fact that you're all fueled up now makes me—" He gave a little squeal, and leaned in to kiss Riddle again. Riddle had already burped, twice, and Chenya still wanted his lips on his.
He was hungry for Riddle's uncleanliness.
Riddle's own Chenya, a pervert, sank back into his lap, holding his body steady and kissing his lips.
"I love you," whispered Chenya.
"And I you," Riddle returned solemnly.
Chenya placed a hand on Riddle's belly. "How's your tummy feel?" he asked. "Not too stuffed, yet, I hope."
"No," Riddle replied. "If anything, I'm quite thirsty. I'm ready for the soda."
"Purr-fect!" Chenya's tail curled, brushing Riddle's legs. "One important step first, though..." He cut the tender moment short, and vanished. The red ribbon rose from the desk into the air.
A few seconds later, Riddle felt Chenya working, his hands gently taken by a disembodied pair, then joined together at his back, before the smooth ribbon wrapped around them, again and again and again.
"You tied it with a bow, right?" Riddle said. If there were a fire alarm or other emergency, he would need to be free immediately.
"Of course," Chenya drawled. "A bow as cute as you!"
He allowed himself to roll his eyes. "I'll try and take that as a compliment," he said. "And, um, thank you, of course. For doing the bow."
"Heheh, you are thirsty!" Chenya chirped. "I can tell by the sound your mouth makes when you talk. Give me just one moment, now, love..."
Riddle tried to relax. Chenya was invisible, so it appeared to Riddle's eyes as if a box of soda cans rose magically off the floor and onto Chenya's desk, and ripped itself open. Chenya withdrew one, pulled a straw from the takeout bag, and popped it in after cracking the can open.
The straw bobbed up to a sharp angle as the soda hissed loudly inside. Riddle stamped down a feeling of panic; drinking soda hurt so much; why had he agreed to this?
"We're starting with diet," Chenya said, "so you don't sugar crash too quickly. Sound good?"
Riddle shuddered. Diet sodas were filled with harmful chemicals; he would be scolded endlessly back at home for even suggesting he wanted to try one, but he was here now, and his hands were quite literally tied. He could pretend he had no choice. He shuddered again.
"Would you prefer," Chenya purred, "to pretend I'm not here?"
Riddle considered his question for one careful moment. "On the contrary," he answered, "would you take the first sip?" The thought of sharing a straw made Riddle shudder, even though their lips had been touching mere minutes ago, but he yet felt comfortable enough to ask Chenya for this icebreaker, this handicap.
Chenya reappeared in his lap, slinging one arm around his shoulders. "Sure thing, my dear," he said, before taking a long and lusty pull of the drink.
The weight of Chenya's body had a soothing effect on Riddle. Nonetheless, arousal prickled through him at the sound of Chenya's gulp.
He gave a long, audible "Ah~", then burped.
It was just what Riddle had hoped for, but still stunned him. He had heard Chenya belch countless times before. The air was charged.
Chenya gave Riddle's shoulders a squeeze. "Your turn, my lovely."
It was his turn to do what Chenya had just done.
Every instinct told Riddle to flinch, hard, knock the soda can away, knock Chenya off him, stand, fumble for his magestone where he had left it on his desk and spend what breath he had left on reprimands.
The soothing balm of Chenya's presence could only heal so much of his rancor. He had to tamp down his last embers himself.
He fitted his lips around the straw, and drank.
"Good boy," Chenya said, weaving his fingers through Riddle's hair. "Take a nice, long suck."
Riddle tried to obey. The stab of carbonation in his mouth and down his throat was so painful. One slightly-larger-than-average sip later, his stomach hurt, too.
"I am reminded why I don't drink soda, even while outside of my mother's jurisdiction," he grumbled.
Chenya raised an eyebrow. "Not 'cause of the sugar? Or, uh, whatever's in diet soda?"
Riddle's innards gave a frightening gurgle. "Well, that too," he said.
A tug on Riddle's scalp told him that Chenya had begun playing with a lock of his hair. "Dare I ask what now?" Chenya said.
"I won't quit," Riddle said resolutely, and took another forceful pull of the soda.
He gulped, taking a thin breath in through his nose. "Or... perhaps I might need to..."
He felt the fizzing inside his belly. He assumed it would be more painful were his stomach empty, but each pinprick still gave him the acute sensation of overindulgence.
The first soda can was not even empty. He felt so ashamed.
Chenya's finger twirled in his peripheral vision. Chenya looked entirely unbothered. "Purr-omise me-ow," he said slowly, "that when you do burp, you'll do it out loud?"
"I won't burp," he snapped automatically.
Chenya snorted. "The promise should be easier to make then, right? Remember, it's just you and me."
"Very well," Riddle forced himself to say.
"Very well what?" Chenya said, snickering. "C'mon, Riddle, my love."
"You are so..." Lately, Riddle had been fond of grabbing Chenya's collar whenever he teased him too hard, and kissing his lips to quiet him. He was powerless now, felt his head jerking towards Chenya in a futile attempt to carry out the act, but Chenya backed away in turn, grinning widely.
"Very well," he repeated at last. "If I do... eruct, I will endeavour to open my mouth for it." He shivered as he spoke the sentence. The certainty that it would come to pass was at once excruciating and exhilirating.
"Good boy," Chenya purred, and nuzzled into him. "Yes, you're such a good boy. You're my—"
Riddle snapped for the straw as he babbled, caught it between his lips, and sucked down hard.
The can ran dry before his mouth was full, and he gulped it all down. "This is such bad table manners," he said.
"A desk is not a table," Chenya said, "and neither is your lap." He dove forward to kiss Riddle's forehead, then leaned back to smile at him. "And I am your only pro-fur-bial tablemate at both."
Riddle groaned. It was hard to focus on anything but the pain in his belly.
"Hey, my love," Chenya said, reaching for another can. "When was the last time you had soda?"
"I don't remember," Riddle confessed. "I've had it before, sure, but..." A croaking sound came up his throat. He supposed he should interrupt himself with a pardon me, but Chenya was watching him like he wanted him to keep talking.
He had not really burped. "At home," he continued, "soda is forbidden. In my childhood I was allowed seltzer and sparkling juice on holidays."
"I can picture you taking dainty sips," Chenya said, smiling as he cracked open the second can. "You did want to do something different this time, no?"
"This has already been quite different!" Riddle snapped. "You wanted it."
"You said yes," Chenya hummed.
"On the condition that it's kept private!" Riddle said.
"Yes, yes," Chenya said mildly. "Locked doors and locked lips, I'll promise my Riddle as many times as he asks." He slipped the straw into the can, and kissed Riddle's sweet-stained lips.
Riddle looked at the can. He could not fathom fitting its contents into his body. "I... I'm sorry," he forced himself to say, "but I cannot drink that."
Chenya's whole body went invisible save for his head, and a hand that poked Riddle's belly.
"Wh—Stop that!" Riddle shrieked. "Chenya! Why would you do that?" The spot where Chenya's fingers touched tingled.
"C'mon, Riddle." Another hand of Chenya's appeared, and Riddle felt the terrifying sensation of his chair being rocked back on two legs. "Don't tell me you don't know it'll make you feel better."
Riddle was baffled. He had prodded him in a pain-stricken place. "No!" he blurted.
Chenya's hand took to rubbing his belly, eliciting a deep and creamy churning sound.
Chenya blinked, eyes going wide and ears going flat. "I don't mean gettin' squeezed," he said. "I mean burping. It'll help."
Chenya spoke so casually. Riddle loved it. He felt himself blushing fiercely.
"How could it?" he spat.
"C'mon," Chenya replied. "You're smart. Just think about the physics of it."
Chenya stopped there, letting Riddle do exactly that.
"No matter," Riddle said after a moment. "It's rude. The fact that there is no rule against... against that does not mean it's proper table manners."
"Aw, Riddle, we just went over this," he purred. "Not a proper table." He traced a long-nailed finger under Riddle's chin. "I could counter that having your hands tied isn't pro-purr table manners either."
Instinctively, Riddle jerked, trying to free himself, but was stopped by Chenya's entire body weight sinking back down into his lap. "Shh, shh, shh—"
"Don't dare shush me!"
Chenya smiled infuriatingly.
Riddle jerked again, which pained his stomach, and, without any sensation of warning, belched.
It came full-bodied up his throat and exited through gritted teeth, short and deep and alien.
Stricken with shock, Riddle felt the glowing heat drain from his face, then prickle back up his cheeks as a new sensation overcame him—Chenya had kissed his neck, and his ear brushed against Riddle's, and his hair tickled his skin.
"Excuse me," Riddle remembered to say a long few seconds later.
"Excuses, excuses," Chenya said.
Riddle was speechless. Chenya's hand was on his belly, thumbing his sensitive stomach, and he was still weighing him down, and a second later, he began to purr into Riddle's throat.
Riddle had felt his lover purr before; both men tacitly knew how well it soothed him. Here, however, he still felt uncomfortable. He was trapped in place, unable to absolve his own shame.
"One more, please," Chenya said demurely.
"Be serious," Riddle said. There was strain in his voice, undeniable pressure from below. His stomach still ached from the carbonation.
"Darling," Chenya whined, "you may as well ask me to flip inside out."
Riddle humphed, and fought back panic. A second belch was rising; the question was no longer whether to release it, but how.
He squeezed his throat as hard as he could, Chenya's lips slipping over the shifting skin. A watery gurgle rose up his esophagus, high and effervescent. He cleared his throat a moment later, free of that particular bubble.
"I heard that," Chenya whispered. "What about our promise?"
"I apologize," Riddle grumbled.
"C'mon," he said, "apologize to your tummy instead. It must be pretty darn miserable, having to fight so hard just to let up a single burp."
"I'll make your life twice as miserable," he threatened weakly, and exhaled through his nose.
"I'll find a way to have fun," Chenya replied at once. "Just like I'm having fun right now, with my boyfriend tied to a chair and full of yummy things."
Riddle sighed. Chenya was right; genuine anger had no place here. He had allowed himself to end up like this, wanted it. "I'd like some more soda now."
Chenya lifted his head to blink at Riddle.
Riddle returned his gaze, and pursed his lips.
"My pleasure," Chenya replied. He grabbed the can from the desk, and fitted the straw into Riddle's lips.
Riddle drank slowly, swilling each sip methodically through his mouth, trying to minimize the spiny feeling of carbonation. Within a few seconds of steady drinking, his stomach panged, and he paused, holding the straw in his mouth, before he heard a telltale gurgle, and quickly started sipping again.
Chenya was watching him with a patient smile, the lamplight illuminating his golden eyes.
Riddle's breathing had gone shallow by the time he heard the dry whistling of his straw at the bottom of the empty can.
"Time to burp," Chenya said softly.
His stomach was fizzing. Gurgles reverberated through his chest. Tied up like this, he felt like an animal, no opposable thumbs, only his mouth to grab and pluck and hold, and now, even his mouth was indisposed. Riddle Rоsehearts was merely a tube for depositing this chemical-filled effervescent juice, the audible sound of gas a mere echo of his contents.
Chenya poked his belly.
A deep burp burst up into his closed mouth. He knew as it rumbled that he could cut it off, but he let it roll out a long few seconds, guilty pleasure intertwining with the relief upon his guts.
"Nice," Chenya said. "The next one out loud, please."
Riddle wanted to argue that there would be no next one, but several more cans lurked nearby, and he had resolved to drink them.
"Why should I?" Riddle offered feebly.
"Ohoho, so many reasons! First of all, you did promise. Secondly, it's fun. For you, that is. Thirdly, I wanna hear it. Fourthly, it'd feel good. Fifthly—" He poked his belly again. "I think you wanna hear it too."
Riddle would not lie. He could not tell Chenya his belch from a few minutes ago was not still knocking around his eardrums, could not say he hated how sonorous his burps sounded, could not deny how much he wanted more relief.
Chenya began rubbing his belly before he could respond. The gentle, swirling motions of his open palm made for a pleasant massage, but gas pressure still sat within him like a bomb.
"Nice 'n easy," Chenya said. "Just let it out slow." He winked. "Don't forget to breathe, my dear."
It was harder to burp with his mouth open.
He had tried to teach himself to burp on command once as a teenager, all alone, a blanket stuffed under the frame of his locked door, and found the closest thing to success when his lips were closed just as tight, regretted even those little sounds.
Here, though, Chenya's hand seemed to loosen his stomach, easing the gas up and out into the warm air. It was like he was conversing with Riddle's insides; all Riddle had to do was permit their communion, and a loud, weighty belch slipped out of him.
"Mm!" Chenya chirped. "G—May I call you good boy again?"
"I don't mind at all," Riddle confessed, before a longer burp, soft and low, rolled through him.
"Good boy," Chenya said.
Riddle's face was again flushed hot. Chenya was still rubbing his belly, squishing deeper now. Riddle's belly responded with a proportionately deep belch.
"Ooh, that one sounded like it felt good."
Riddle could not deny it. "More soda," he demanded.
"Coming right up!" Chenya vanished to fetch the next can, its contents hissing as it seemingly cracked open midair. Riddle felt exposed without him on his lap, and was grateful when he returned in the same spot after plopping the straw into the new can.
One of Chenya's hands rested on his upper belly, the very spot on his body most painfully sensitive right now, and stayed there, feather light, as he began to suck down his third can.
He had to stop after a mere few swallows. The second he drew in a breath, a belch flowed out of him, an absolutely necessary release.
"Good boy," Chenya chirped. "That was a splendiferous burp. I can tell you really needed it."
"I suppose you're right," Riddle mumbled. "Excuse me."
Chenya chewed on his lip, still holding the can for Riddle. "Yknow," he said, "I promise I'll keep the secret, but it is a shame I can't brag about how big n' long n' pressurized your burps were tonight."
Riddle's eyes went wide, and an airy glurk of a belch popped up his throat.
"Yeah," Chenya cheered, bursting out in a mess of snickers. "Because I knew if you heard me, you'd make a face just like that!"
Riddle gulped, averting his eyes. Normally, he would argue, but if he tried, he knew what would come out of his mouth instead.
"Not that this isn't good, too," Chenya said, tucking a lock of Riddle's hair behind his ear. "Can't complain about a cozy night sharing some fizzy drinks with my sweetie." He closed his lips around the straw, and took a long, indulgent suck. A moment later, something sparkled in his eyes.
"Hey. Hey, Riddle. Wanna try to burp at the exact same time?"
"No!"
"Nyalrighty," Chenya said, and shrugged. "I'll just watch out for when you're about to burp, and match mine to yours. You can judge how well I do!"
Riddle could not even respond with, 'Then I simply won't burp.' That would be impossible at this point. He stared at Chenya, face straining with a harsh frown.
"Too bad you're tied up, or you could try to stop me," Chenya teased.
"No matter," Riddle grunted in defeat. If what Chenya described were really about to happen, he knew it would violently disgust him in the moment, but he would be unable to get the memory out of his head for months thereafter. It was like Chenya was forcing forbidden fruit into his mouth.
"Have another sip, baby," Chenya said, and began to softly purr again.
Riddle obeyed. Once more, he drank deeply, swallowing the prickling liquid down until he sucked air through his straw, and his stomach felt taut, beyond pain, degraded into some deeper state of abuse.
Chenya nuzzled into him, one hand resting on his belly.
He heaved a shallow breath, and Chenya's purring ceased as his throat bobbed.
The belch that came out of Riddle was powerful, involuntary, and soda-perfumed, and less than a second later, a louder burp was coming out of Chenya, rich and bubbly and much deeper than his speaking voice. It stretched on as Riddle burped again, carbonation fleeing his body, as if his stomach would have him duet with Chenya now.
"You are very talented," Riddle said, and burped again, something low and gurgly.
"Thanks," Chenya replied, and kissed his cheek. "And you're my rising star."
The feeling of plain praise was too much. Riddle could not force himself not to want this, to relish this.
He belched again. His stomach still felt strained.
"Good boy," Chenya said, caressing that very stomach. "Can I squeeze?"
Squeeze. "You may do whatever you please. I'm tied up."
"I'll take that as an 'Ooh, yes please, Chenya dearest, that sounds like so much fun.'" He winked. "Thank you."
His tail brushing around Riddle's calf, he gently pressed his upper belly.
Both it and Riddle groaned.
"Hmm," Chenya said, and set the can down to squeeze inwards on both sides.
A small, wet belch came out of Riddle, then another.
"Hm, good boy." It was as if Chenya were talking more to himself than to Riddle. He prodded down into his guts, massaging small circles that drew a few belches out of Riddle.
"Nice ones, all a' those," he said, a contemplative smile on his face.
His hands came to Riddle's lower belly, which Riddle realized right then was deeply sensitive, but in a different way to his swollen stomach; it was pleasurable to be fondled here.
Before he realized it, Chenya's hands were pressing up, and Riddle was letting out a stupefyingly large belch.
It was so melodiously deep, and reverberated through his whole body. When it had erupted fully out of him, his belly was left diffuse with a glow of delicious, delirious satisfaction.
His table manners were as ash in the wind.
Passion took him, and he flung his helpless body at Chenya, hands knocking against the back of the chair, lips stumbling over Chenya's skin until he found his lips, and kissed him hard.
Blessedly, Chenya seemed very amenable to this. He kept one hand on Riddle's stomach, and wove the other into Riddle's hair, holding him close as he continued to rub and squeeze his belly.
Chenya was always so quick to use tongue, and this kiss was no exception; no sooner had a burp rumbled up into Riddle's closed mouth did he feel something warm, wet, and rough teasing his lips open.
"What are you doing to me?" Riddle tried to moan, but his voice came out muffled.
Like the slob that he was for this evening, he burped with his mouth open.
"Good boy," Chenya broke away to say, then dove back in. His hands pressed up again, squeezing a small, high burp out of Riddle, and he broke away, grinning. "I'm so happy I got you seriously burpy."
"What did you think would happen?" Riddle huffed defensively.
Chenya only kept smiling, and kept massaging Riddle's gut. It felt so good, Riddle could melt.
"I love you," Riddle said softly. He wanted to thank Chenya for this meal and treatment outright, but could not bring himself to, not yet.
"Love you too, my dear."
"I... think I've had enough soda for the night," he said meekly.
"Meow-kay," Chenya replied, and kissed his temple. "Ready for me to untie you?"
"No," Riddle said at once. "I..." It was embarrassing even to think that some gas still bubbled inside him, and it would stay clamped inside if he felt he had the slightest sliver of power. For his own digestive health, he needed to be helpless here, forced to guzzle soda and belch out its carbonation, a defenseless pawn to Chenya's whims that were actually also his own.
Riddle was so, so grateful that Chenya did not stop rubbing his belly.
"I need to stay here for a while longer," Riddle said.
"As long as you please," Chenya replied, and curled up into Riddle's neck once again.
