Rainbow Comet Chapter 22

“And look at you, trapped in those clothes. So stuck. I need to help you. You know I can’t resist playing the hero.”

Flynn

Damn that Moonbow.

“Swears,” Boreas says weakly, as I lay him back onto the bed. The buttons on his doublet are straining, so hard they look ready to come off.

“That’s what bothers you? When you can barely even move?”

“I can move,” he says with a groan. He lays back as I help him onto the center of the bed. Then he puts a hand on his stomach weakly, then takes it off. “I just don’t want to at the moment.”

“Oh?” I ask, eyeing him and walking back and forth at the foot of the bed.

“Flynn, this is the part where you help get my clothes off.”

“Oh? Why don’t you have Moonbow do it?”

Brett glares at that, making a hilarious attempt to sit up that utterly fails. “Maybe I should.”

I glare at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Well, if you don’t want to—“

“So you would let him utterly replace me?”

Brett looks lost for a moment, laying back down, eyeing me over his ponderous stomach, which isn’t easy. “But I don’t know if I can even have you, Flynn. And he does seem to care for me.”

I scoff. “He practically turned you into a moonbow. A full moon at that.”

Boreas flushes. “It was just a few grapes, Flynn.” He brightens, trying to smile despite the tightness of his clothing. “I’m not even full!”

“Oh, so you saved room for me to feed you, as usual?” I reach for the customary plate of desserts we have on the side table. “That’s good, because I feel like feeding you.”

He eyes me with something like alarm, then puts a hand on his stomach protectively. “Now, Flynn…don’t be unreasonable?”

I come around the side of the bed, picking up the first little tart and holding it up to his mouth. He makes a little struggle to get away, but I can tell he’s too tired to do anything but shut his mouth. I reach over and hold his nose, making him open his mouth to let air in.

I shove the tart in, then put my hand over his mouth so he can’t spit it out.

He moans, looking like he can’t help himself at the taste of it.

His arms flail slightly at his sides, but look like too much effort to lift much.

He settles back down, chewing, but he seems reluctant to swallow.

If my shirt and vest looked like his did, I’d be reluctant too.

But this is his fault. For taking so many of Moonbow’s grapes.

“How is this being unreasonable?” I ask, taunting him. “You said you weren’t full.”

He finally swallows, making an agonized face that I’m sure is overdramatic. I’ve fed him this much before.

But as the food settles in his stomach, I hear an alarmingly loud gurgle from within.

“Flynn,” he moans, when he’s finished.

But I take the moment to shove a tiny donut in, trapping it in his mouth again.

Again, a tiny struggle, but even smaller this time.

His buttons seem to groan.

“I’m just making sure you can shift,” I say. “I’m just being a protective lover. You love it when I’m being protective, after all.”

He rolls his eyes at me, but stays still otherwise. Like he’s afraid moving too much will burst his clothing.

But it won’t.

I’m going to burst his clothing, instead.

Do something Moonbow never could, I think jealously.

I hope Brett noticed I was trying to make a small stand for him. Not just because of Moonbow, though sort of because of him. But because I do love Brett.

I don’t want to think I’m ashamed of him.

I do want to disown anyone who would hurt us.

I just need a little more time.

But I could never give this up, these moments. We’re too perfectly suited together for me to ever countenance leaving his side for good.

So I guess I just have to get used to the idea of leaving my family, leaving my people, if I want to stay by his side.

Take that, Moonbow, I think.

“Flynn,” Brett groans, as his stomach heaves and the buttons seem at their limits. I lost count of how many desserts I’ve given him, while I’ve been thinking. “You’re merciless.”

“Then you shouldn’t have had the kitchen design these endless dessert plates for me,” I say, smirking.

He groans weakly. “Oof.” He reaches up to gingerly rub his tummy. “You did that yourself. You begged them for days. You hung out in the kitchen.”

“Oh,” I say, pleased with myself as I put a particularly large pastry in his mouth, puffing his cheeks out.

I don’t have to put my hand over his mouth, because he’s basically being obedient now.

Probably because any struggle is now too much.

“My shirt hurts, my pants hurt. Please, Flynn. Show mercy.”

Never, I think. “I’m going to pop them off.”

“That’s impossible,” he says. “Flynn, be reasonable.” His shirt creaks. I look down at his pants and wince as I see them digging in at least a half dozen inches into his fat.

He he. The wicked fae in me is rising. Perhaps fairies were always meant to feed dragons.

Something feels so right about this every time.

And ever since I saw his dragon, saw how he fought for us, saw how dangerous it was and what it took from him, I’ve been even more obsessed about his form.

About accentuating and adding to it.

The button creaks as he struggles to break free. He grabs at himself then gives up. He can’t reach the button.

He looks adorable like this, I think. His hair is mussed and splayed out, shining with rainbow iridescence. His beautiful face is flushed. His lips are pursed, pouting, when he isn’t panting.

Gods, I want to take him like this right now.

Then again, I’ve probably already given that up by making him too full for it.

He’ll just want a tummy rub after this, probably, even if he forgives me tonight for going so far.

But I made my choice. And I’m not even done yet.

I feed him a few more pastries, and even though his clothing is even more strained, I see no progress toward breaking.

“Flynn, the royal clothing is too strong for what you’re thinking. It won’t break like this.” His voice is soft, breathless, but I can tell he’s enjoying this too. Maybe. If he really wanted to fight me, he would.

“Actually, I can’t,” he whines. “Flynn, I’m utterly helpless.”

“You’ve said that before, and you were fine.”

He lets out another high pitched whine. “I can’t mooove. I was lying those times. I’m not now. Gods, I’m going to explode, Flynn.” He pouts at me with pretty eyes. Even his face looks bloated. “Show mercy, Flynn. You want to kill me?”

“The king of kings can’t be killed by such a thing,” I say, confident. I press down on his stomach, seeing no give there. Well, maybe a little.

Maybe it is too hard to pop the clothing buttons off.

But I’m a stubborn fire fae, and we don’t give up easily.

I shed my jacket and get to work rolling my sleeves up.

He eyes me with panic. “Flynn, what are you doing?”

“I need to go get something from the kitchen. I’ll be back.”

I walk down the hallway, ignoring his angry yelling. “Be careful with your stomach, Boreas. I’m not done with it!”

I find the kitchen, then grab the things I was looking for.

This should accomplish my aim.

I’m being a very wicked, horny fae right now. I don’t think anyone could stop me.

I should stop. He looks truly done, as I come back into the room.

But for me, we are only beginning.

As soon as I get those clothes off, we’re going to have fun.

Of course, I’ll give him a tummy rub first. Make sure he knows no one else could do it as good.

“Remind me not to make you jealous again,” he groans as I enter the room.

He looks like a round adonis, just laying there at my mercy.

Gods, I’ve never wanted him so much.

Both hands are on his stomach, trying to hopelessly rub it.

“I can’t, with my clothes,” he says. “It’s not like when you do it.”

I smirk. “Of course not. I have magic hands.”

I set my supplies down on the side table and he looks over, then his eyes bug.

“Flynn, there’s no way. What on earth are you going to do with tha—“

But I shove the funnel between his lips with one hand while my other hand grabs the milk. “You seemed thirsty, Brett. I hear grapes make you thirsty.”

He shakes his head, muffled sounds of distress doing nothing to stop me at all.

“And look at you, trapped in those clothes. So stuck. I need to help you. You know I can’t resist playing the hero.”

He mutters something around the funnel about me being an actual villain, but I just laugh.

Every night, he lets me feed him. He should have known we would get here at some point.

I start pouring the milk in and watch his progress. Watching the buttons start to rise.

He struggles, and makes a gurgling noise, and after a disappointingly short amount of time, every button on his shirt explodes right off of him, as the thing tears apart, revealing his soft, pale rolls.

His chest is heaving, and his pants go next, the button flying off and into me.

I pour a little more milk in, then pull the funnel out, and he sputters up at me, then lets out a pitiful moan, holding his sides like it’s too much to hold.

His head arches back. “Flynn, I hate you.”

“And I love you,” I say softly, leaning in to hold him close.

Gods, I love that he lets me do this to him.

“You’re lucky you’re so hot,” he says. “And that I love you too.”

It feels good to have it said between us finally.

I’ve been waiting for the right time, and I guess this was it.

We’ll never be like anyone else, and I like it that way.

He’ll always be mine, right here, like this.

I smooth a hand over his stomach, soothing it, and he arches back with a different kind of moan, apparently already forgiving everything.

I guess I do get to have him tonight after all.

I think I’ll suck him off, to reward him for being such a good boy.