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Awash With Sweetness
🕑 Added 2022-04-24 05:24:08 +0000 UTCA patreon-exclusive story involving Sylvester and Harold, the adventurer husbands!
Sylvester is a wizard with a fascination for rare flora and antiques. Harold is a former mercenary bodyguard that keeps his husband out of trouble while exploring ruins. When an injury leads to the couple taking less intense adventure, the bulky badger begins putting on weight hanging around at home as the fox dotes on him constantly. Sylvester and Harold discover a new facet to their relationship and a new form of mutual growth.
Contains: Teasing, lovey-dovey nicknames, feedism/weight gain, body appreciation, domestic fantasy fluff
This story is early access and will also go live on FurAffinity later and will have an accompanying link.
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Sylvester was surprised he hadn’t noticed it sooner.
The fox had been doing the laundry, sewing and patching up the clothes marred by his and his husband’s latest excursion; the latest adventure involved several razor-traps to the inner sanctum of a ruined temple with rare flora. Sylvester had noted the gorgeous architecture and the vibrant flowers whose petals blended into a delightful jam.
Harold had noted that the “red jam” coming from his wounds would not be as sweet as the flowers. A bit of patching and magic mending had the badger right as rain, though he did perk up significantly more when he had the jam on some toast later. Alas, the jam stains Harold had managed to get into his undershirts and armour while they were out were resistant to Sylvester’s brand of cleaning magic.
Oh well, thought Sylvester, there was hardly anything wrong with working stains out the old-fashioned way. He found the process meditative, allowing him to think about things he wouldn’t have time for otherwise...
And then Harold walked into the living room.
Seeing his bulky badger of a husband appear in the living room whilst Sylvester was present wouldn’t have been of much note on any other occasion - if not for the fact that he wasn’t wearing anything save for some briefs that were visibly straining against thick thighs with fluffy fur and a round belly that had begun to sag slightly over his waist. Sylvester almost had to ask Harold to repeat himself, but managed to keep a straight face.
“Hun? You know when those clothes are gonna be ready?” the badger asked anxiously.
“I...should have them dried for you in twenty minutes,” the fox replied. He paused the washing and tilted his head quizzically, “Do you not have other clothes you could wear in the meantime?”
Harold’s face scrunched up at the mouth in a hard line, his round ears back and his warm brown eyes looking away. A large clawed hand scratched at the bushy sideburns on his muzzle, conveniently hiding his lips as they moved in a mutter.
“...nothing else fits...”
Sylvester had to perk an ear up for that. He had to keep an eye from wandering to see why that would have been the case. He shouldn’t necessarily have been surprised, but recalling the past few adventures and subsequent celebrations the two had together...it became more abundantly clear what was in common; sharing his extra rations with the badger, the extra rounds at the mead hall, the testing of new recipes from rare ingredients...all provided or enabled by Sylvester for Harold’s growing waistline.
And yet...
The fox subconsciously placed a paw to the tiniest hint of padding on his middle where he sat. He was by no means as big as the naturally strong and bulky Harold, but he hadn’t been immune to the couple’s indulgences.
Lost in thought and almost forgetting to answer Harold, the fox snapped out of his daze and simply said, “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, would you be a dear and wash the dishes, darling?”
The badger seemed hesitant, even a bit vulnerable, to have all of his fluffiness on display. Harold eventually nodded and turned for the kitchen, the thump of his heavy footfalls causing the nearby china cabinet to rattle ever-so-slightly. Sylvester made sure to pay careful attention as Harold went, eyeing the small fluffy tail that poked out atop the badger’s briefs. He couldn’t help but wonder how much the floor would shake and creak a year from now as his husband wandered the halls?
Sylvester nearly scratched himself on the washboard at the thought.
Waiting a few minutes to hear the water running and the clatter of dishes and cutlery, Sylvester scrubbed at the washing basin for a few more minutes before rising and casting a few quick gestures. An unseen figure began to pick up where the fox had left off, repeatedly wiping at the staining within a half-plate cuirass.
I’ll have to have that let-out, Sylvester pondered as he snuck to the archway between the kitchen and the living room.
Leaning against the solid oak frame, the fox watched as Harold washed. Powerful muscular arms carried the fragile plates so gently between claws and paws, and yet there was the slightest softness that hung around such muscles and swayed with repeated scrubbing. They were arms that carried Sylvester on their wedding day; arms that shielded Sylvester from harm amid ruins and wreckage; arms that held Sylvester through everything and anything.
He couldn’t help himself any longer. With a few quick quiet steps across the tile floor, Sylvester was behind the badger and slipped his comparatively slender arms around to the front. Harold noticeably stiffened, the plate he was currently washing gently clacked down to dry in the rack with the rest. Those beloved arms hovered, uncertain but not unwilling, as Sylvester slipped closer with his head resting on Harold’s shoulder, his chest melding into the arch of the taller man’s spine. Even slightly tip-toed, the fox could feel the staggered breath in and out of the badger’s back.
Quietly, Harold began, “Hun? You uh...you need something?”
The question was punctuated abruptly with a gasp as Sylvester reached further from the badger’s hips to sink into the fluffy fur at the front. Slender fingers rubbed at fur between them, combing and rubbing a soft and tender belly. Harold couldn’t hide a low hum of approval, nor the twitch of his tail that ticked Sylvester’s stomach.
The fox kept to his slow ministrations as he spoke in a low tone directly to Harold’s ear; "I need you to be honest with me...it looks like my Bubs is becoming a tubby-hubby spending all this time at home...”
A hand travelled up to Harold’s broad chest, fluffy fur filling in the cresting valley between two plush pectorals. Foxy fingers twirled and traced through chest fur and caused the hills and valley to shudder, “And it seems to me that my tubby-hubby likes it...”
Harold’s mind was running nowhere fast, his body completely frozen and yet very liquid in the hands of his husband. Sylvester hadn’t brought up the ripped seats of pants, nor the bigger portions at dinner...of course he would’ve noticed...but he noticed how Harold didn’t mind?
No, he was dead on; he noticed how Harold enjoyed it. And the next words that came from Sylvester into Harold’s ear made him fall in love all over again:
“So why don’t we get some more snacks in you, my love?"
A deep grumble came from the badger’s belly, still savouring the toast and jam from before they’d arrived home. Sylvester’s hands began tracing in round circles around the grumbles, lifting and squeezing it with the most gentle and playful touches.
“…C-can we have caramels with it too?” Harold asked, trying not to sound too eager.
The chuckle that Harold could not only hear but feel as it echoed into his back sent a shiver up and down his spine. This was a new path for them - and the two of them both welcomed it unspoken and with open hearts and stomachs. "We can have extra caramels and the vanilla cinnamon with it, just because you asked so nicely. After all...”
Sylvester hummed with the pace and sweetness of molasses, “You deserve all these lovely treats, don't you? My hero in shining armor.”
A gentle nibble at the badger’s ear got him to finally arch his back as some leftover dishes tossed around in the sink. Turning around, not caring about his hands dripping with dishwater, Harold scooped up Sylvester by the rump and held him straddled around his own belly. The fox let out a yelp of delight as he gripped the badger’s shoulders to keep steady.
“I’d love nothing more than you, Sylvie,” said Harold, his warm brown eyes beaming.
And so they had quite a bit of dessert before a big dinner that night.
