They knew exactly what was happening, had seen it enough times before - how the stress and adrenaline of everyday existence took its toll on his his gut, setting off a storm he couldn't contain or control. And here, under all these watchful eyes, surrounded by potential clients and competitors, he would sooner tear himself apart from the inside than let anyone see his discomfort.
But he wasn't alone anymore. Hadn't been for the last eighteen months....
The next scheduled break in presentations finally came, announced by the chime over the speakers. He excused himself from his conversation with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, his hand briefly pressing against his lower abdomen when he thought no one was looking. But they were at his side before he could even catch his breath, slipping their fingers lightly around his wrist...the touch cool and grounding.
"Come with me, love," they said softly, no explanation needed, their voice barely audible over the swell of conversation around them. Eyes conveying everything else: I see you. I know what's happening.
They led him to a quiet hallway, he leaned back against the textured beige wall with a quiet grunt the moment they were alone, closing his eyes as his shoulders sagged slightly. His whole body was tight, braced against invisible pain. Guarded. One hand moved unconsciously to his middle, pressing through the fabric of his jacket as if trying to contain what couldn't be contained.
Stepping closer, reaching for his hands first, taking them, grounding him with the physical connection. Their thumbs traced gentle circles over his knuckles, noting the slight tremble there, the tension that ran all the way up his forearms.
Their voice stayed low, intimate, just for him, the words barely disturbing the hushed air between them.
He nodded, a small groan escaping him.
They reached for his suit jacket, carefully parting the single button that held it closed. They smoothed the expensive wool back over his hips and shoulders with practiced care, exposing the straining buttons of his white dress shirt underneath. The fabric pulled taut across his midsection, the spaces between buttons revealing glimpses of the white undershirt beneath.
Their heart clenched at the sight of him, at what he must have been enduring through hours of networking and presentations...
His poor stomach was swollen tight with trapped air and stress, fighting against the rigid fabric of his tailored shir - his lower belly bulging helplessly over his waistband where the bloating was most severe. A bead of sweat had formed at his temple despite the conference center's aggressive air conditioning.
Gently, methodically, they undid the bottom two buttons of his shirt, working slow and careful, their movements shielded from the corridor by their own body. They tugged the fabric free from his pants with deft fingers, letting it hang loose over his waistband to give him more room to breathe, to expand...
He shuddered with a sigh the moment the tightness eased even a fraction, the sound somewhere between relief and lingering distress. His eyes remained closed, head tipped back against the wall, throat working as he swallowed.
Then, with exquisite tenderness born of practice and deep care, they slipped their fingers to his waistband, finding the tab of his zipper beneath the shirt fabric, easing it down with deliberate slowness.
The sound of it, small and intimate in the quiet corridor, broke something open between them...a moment of complete vulnerability in this public yet private space.
They opened the fabric slightly, just enough to let his tummy surge outward against the barrier of his white cotton undershirt - round, heavy, desperate for relief after hours of confinement. The cotton stretched across the swell, revealing the outline of his navel beneath the fabric.
Very carefully, they separated the dress shirt further, lifted the bottom edge of his undershirt, and placed their warm palms against the bare, tight skin of his belly. They could feel the heat radiating from him, the subtle gurgles and shifts beneath the surface, and the low, quivering tension running through every muscle.
He flinched at their touch, a small involuntary movement...his abdomen contracting briefly before relaxing again.
"Shhh…" they soothed. They pressed their forehead lightly against his chest just below his loosened tie, anchoring him with her presence.
"Let it out, baby. You'll feel better. No one can see us here."
"I can't…" he whispered hoarsely, the words strained. "Not here… not now..."
His hands had come to rest lightly on their hips, neither pulling them closer nor pushing them away... just connecting.
"You can." They lifted their head, meeting his eyes which had finally opened, revealing pupils dilated with discomfort. "You're safe with me. I've got you. The presentation is over. You were brilliant. Now let me take care of you."
For a long moment, he just stood there - caught between fear and need, between professional composure and physical necessity. His breathing was shallow, controlled, each inhale carefully measured.
Then, on a trembling exhale that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his lungs, he surrendered.
The full swell of his belly pushed outward into their waiting palms, no longer contained, no longer clenched back by rigid control. Muscles that had been holding tight for hours finally released. His head tipped back against the wall with a ragged moan of pure relief, the sound quickly muffled against his own shoulder.
"Good boy…" They whispered, fingers moving in slow, sacred circles around the stretched outline of his navel, clearly visible now as his undershirt molded to the curve of his abdomen. "That's it. Just breathe."
The fabric of his undershirt was pulled so tight now and they could see every soft, yielding curve beneath it - the way his belly rose and fell in heavy, grateful breaths, the way his navel had spread wide and shallow at the center of him, trembling under their touch when her fingertips traced its circumference through the thin cotton.
He groaned again, softer this time, the sound full of exhaustion and gratitude and lingering discomfort.
Their hands never stopped moving - rubbing slow, spiraling patterns from his sternum downward, clockwise around his navel, then up the sides where tension often gathered. They kissed his sternum through his partially unbuttoned shirt, just once, grounding him even deeper into their care, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne mingled with clean sweat.
"You're doing so good," they murmured against his chest, feeling his heartbeat gradually steady beneath her lips.
"So brave. So beautiful. Just a few more minutes here, then we can make our excuses and go back to the hotel."
