Work Text:
Feng Xin sometimes wanted the stupidest things in bed.
“You want to what,” Mu Qing hissed, jerking his hand away from where it had been wandering across Feng Xin’s chest. Feng Xin already looked like he regretted asking, a mixture of embarrassment and earnest want in the shaky half-smile he gave. “You know full well I can’t get pregnant, I’m a man, why—”
“Not permanently,” Feng Xin said, reaching out to recapture Mu Qing’s wrist. Mu Qing let him, their arms stretching out into the empty space between them. “Just — to try, during sex.”
“Why,” Mu Qing said, baffled. “Why on earth—”
Feng Xin’s hand dropped; he folded it back into his lap. “Well, I— I never got to see Jian Lan pregnant,” he said quietly, looking down at the rug instead of Mu Qing, where he should be looking. “It’s supposed to be something, isn’t it?”
Mu Qing’s jaw dropped open, furious. Blinding rage crawled up his throat. It was always about his fucking wife, with him. “Go find her then!”
“I want it to be with you.”
No fucking way. “You are already a terrible father,” Mu Qing sneered, and watched the shadow crawl over Feng Xin’s face.
“I know that,” Feng Xin said, subdued. He flicked his gaze up again, capturing Mu Qing’s. Sometimes, Mu Qing hated that earnest, focused look in his eyes, the one that said I’ll get what I want. The one that Mu Qing folded under, let him have what he wanted. “I just want to try it during sex. Not permanently.”
“You just want to try it out,” Mu Qing said doubtfully, crossing his arms. Unbidden, his eyes traveled to the mirror at the side of the bed where he did his hair every morning. He tried to imagine himself soft, rounded under the loose sleeping robe he was wearing. He had worked so hard to become strong— “No. You aren’t getting me pregnant even for a night of sex.”
“Okay, I’ll be pregnant,” Feng Xin said easily.
Mu Qing stopped pacing. Dropped his gaze back to where Feng Xin was sitting on the bed, upright, alert but not stiff. “What?”
“I’ll be pregnant.”
“You want to be pregnant.”
Feng Xin rolled his eyes. “I said that.” His hands came to rest over his flat stomach. Mu Qing imagined it expanded. Swallowed hard at the thought. “I just want to see what it’s like, Mu Qing. It’s supposed to be—” he swallowed too, mirroring Mu Qing’s actions. “Really intimate, you know?”
“Intimate,” Mu Qing said, biting around the word.
“If we don’t like it, we can stop.” Feng Xin shook his head. He had already taken his hair out; it fell loose around his face. Intimate, he’d said. Wasn’t this already intimate? How much more intimate could they be—
“Fine,” Mu Qing said, not even sure where it was coming from. He couldn’t stop looking at Feng Xin’s hands, folded against the bare stretch of skin. “Sit down.”
Feng Xin sat down on the very edge of the bed; his feet flat against the floor. His sleeping robe was already open, showing off his chest, his flat stomach. As if worried he would be too big to wear them, soon, and well — he would be, wouldn’t he? One errant shoulder slid down his arm, a slip of green cloth against his tan skin. “Okay,” he said, curling his feet in the rug. He looked slightly nervous. “Okay, do it.”
“How do I—”
“Pray to me,” Feng Xin said quietly. “I’ll answer them.”
Mu Qing had, technically, done this before, just to be a bitch. Praying to General Ju Yang, even though Feng Xin plays at mock outrage, has always been a heady rush. He liked Feng Xin’s cock to grow heavy in his hand. Sometimes, Mu Qing would pray while he was riding Feng Xin, will throw his head back and pray and feel it get bigger inside him, until he’s so full he can barely move.
He’d obviously never done this.
He closed his eyes and sent a quick prayer.
He heard Feng Xin gasp, a punched-out oof that, admittedly, had Mu Qing growing a little hard. When he opened his eyes, Feng Xin’s typically flat stomach had filled out. There was a little round of firmness just over his abs.
As if he were just a few months pregnant. Somewhere unexpected, inside of him, Mu Qing wanted.
“It worked,” Feng Xin said, splaying his hand over the belly. “It really worked.” He stared down at himself, eyes wide. Mu Qing for a second thought he was going to change his mind, shape-shift back into his perfect physique, then Feng Xin’s head shot up, mouth slack. “You really only got me a little pregnant?”
“You want to be huge?” Mu Qing snapped, stepping over to the bed. He settled on his knees, his hands on Feng Xin’s hips. Carefully — Feng Xin shuddered anyways — Mu Qing traced his thumb over the belly. It was firm, taut like a drum.
“Kinda, yeah, isn’t that the point?” Feng Xin arched his stomach against Mu Qing’s hand. The belly pushed down the fabric of his trousers just a little bit. “Fuck, I am so horny, is this — you just gifted me immediate horniness, are pregnant people always this horny?”
Mu Qing lifted his head. He could practically set his chin on Feng Xin’s stomach. “Usually,” he said, working his way down. He pushed Feng Xin’s shoulder back so that the curve of his belly was clear. Feng Xin groaned, his weight on his hands as he leaned back, his hips jutting up a little. Mu Qing settling down on his knees, sliding his hand up Feng Xin’s thigh. “Let me suck you off.”
“Yes, yes, fucking — please—”
Mu Qing pressed a kiss to the inside of Feng Xin’s thigh. Like this, he could see the round stomach, and Feng Xin’s flushed face. It wasn’t too big, really, maybe the size of a good heavy meal or two. It could still be hidden under robes.
Mu Qing didn’t want him to be able to hide it.
“How about a little more,” Mu Qing suggested, closing his eyes for prayer. The memory of Feng Xin’s eager face at the thought filling it, carrying it along.
Feng Xin made that punched-out noise again, arching against the bed, and his stomach stretched more as he did, filling out. He shifted his weight on his hands, pulling himself further up. At the end of the mattress like this, he was too heavy, practically sliding off.
He wouldn’t be able to hide this, not at all. He was clearly pregnant; the waistband of his trousers dug into his hip, pulling against the curve of his stomach. Mu Qing smirked, pleased. “What do you think?”
“Feels tight,” Feng Xin panted, fingers clenching in the bedcovers. “Weird.” His cock was hard, straining against his pants.
Mu Qing pulled at the tie. Feng Xin groaned at the relief, sinking back a little further as the trousers burst open. “I think this is four or so months,” Mu Qing said clinically, carefully lifting Feng Xin’s hips to slid the trousers off. They’d left little red marks against Feng Xin’s tan skin and Mu Qing paused a moment to press a kiss to one. “You wouldn’t be able to hide this under robes, would you.”
“Wouldn’t want to,” Feng Xin shot back and Mu Qing felt himself grow harder, heat simmering in his cock. He squeezed his thighs shut to try and alleviate himself of the tension, to focus on Feng Xin. “Would want — ah — everyone to know—” His cock, unrestrained, curved up against his stomach. It was quite a difference, Feng Xin was looking languid, half-lidded and mouth open as he took it in. Pregnant bellies often popped like this, Mu Qing knew, but — he stifled a hysterical laugh — not usually in the span of a few minutes. It must look huge from Feng Xin’s perspective.
Mu Qing worked his way up the belly, up to Feng Xin’s chest. “You wouldn’t be able to fit into your armor like this,” he said, tonguing at a nipple. Feng Xin gasped, hands flying up to Mu Qing’s back. Mu Qing grinned as his nails dug in; as Feng Xin pulled his hair. “You’d just have to sit around and have me take care of you while you grow huge.”
“Fuck—”
“You like that,” Mu Qing decided, dragging Feng Xin into a kiss. It was awkward, craned around Feng Xin’s stomach like this but Feng Xin strained forwards anyways. He moaned into Mu Qing’s mouth, wild and desperate and near-deranged.
Mu Qing broke away long enough to say, “Like everyone knowing I knocked you up? That you’re mine forever?”
Feng Xin reached his hand out, dragging Mu Qing’s head down. Legs spread wide, begging for it. “Put your mouth on my cock—” and well, how can Mu Qing not oblige, when Feng Xin is that desperate? When he moved against his own weight like that, when his cock bumped against his baby weight?
Mu Qing took him in his mouth, slow. He would never admit this but he loved the feeling of Feng Xin in his mouth, loved mouthing at the head of his cock, loved sliding him back on his tongue. He pulled off for a moment with a wet pop and then dove back down, opening his throat.
His nose brushed against the stomach as he moved, he possessively reached a hand up and lay it right atop the rounded stomach. Mu Qing got lost on the rhythm of it, of the curve under his hand and Feng Xin’s hand pulled at his hair, dragged him back down, over and over and over.
Feng Xin moaned, loud, sending a spark of heat down Mu Qing’s spine. “More, more, more, I swear, put your mouth on me right now,” he said, as if he wasn’t fucking Mu Qing’s mouth at that moment. The motions were stilted, he couldn’t get a lot of traction with the heft, and was confined to writhing around on the bed, belly swaying. One of his legs jerked up, caught up in riding the edge that Mu Qing had him on. “Make me bigger, fuck—” and Mu Qing prayed, still with Feng Xin’s cock in his mouth.
Against his own cheek, the belly swelled to six months. Mu Qing had to slid back down Feng Xin’s dick to make room for it, couldn’t swallow the whole thing anymore. He had to make do with dragging his tongue around the head of Feng Xin’s cock. It had always been big, but his stomach was huge. It took it over.
Above him, Feng Xin was gasping and shuddering like he was going to come to pieces. “Fuck, fuck,” he said, voice high. He kept sinking back on the bed, his still-hard dick rising up as he sank back and Mu Qing with it, intent on making him come. Soon it would be too much to hold himself up. Mu Qing was half-standing now, bent over Feng Xin’s cock like his life depended on it.
“I can’t even see my own dick,” he said, something like desperate glee in his voice. The sound went right to Mu Qing’s cock; he pressed his own hand down on it, grinding up for some friction. He swallowed Feng Xin down, hot, and Feng Xin jerked against his throat, a stuttering moan working its way into the air. “I can barely see you.”
Mu Qing abandoned his cock and replaced it with his hand. He licked a thick stripe up the center of Feng Xin’s belly, as if to remind him.
Feng Xin tensed so hard it looked like it hurt and then came immediately, spurting all over Mu Qing’s hand. His legs clenched together around Mu Qing’s waist, trembling. Mu Qing breathed in, deep, at the pressure, at the smell of sex, at Feng Xin.
“Wow,” Mu Qing said, undeniably hard. He wished Feng Xin could have come down his throat. “That was fast.”
“Shut up,” Feng Xin moaned, bright red spreading across his cheeks. He was panting and blushing and writhing on the bed, as if he couldn’t contain himself, as if little aftershocks still worked their way through his body.
His hips kept stuttering even as Mu Qing pushed his thighs back out, admiring the spread. They seemed — different, more sensual somehow. Like his hips had accommodated, even if this wasn’t a real baby. The difference was slight, but Mu Qing ran his clean hand up the inside of Feng Xin’s thigh, he thought the sprawl of his hips against the bed was obscener, just barely so. Wider. It became even more pronounced when Feng Xin sat up, panting with the effort. “You knew this would happen!”
Mu Qing had thought about it, yes. He sat back on his haunches so that he and Feng Xin were closer to the same height — Feng Xin awkwardly folded over his stomach and flushed everywhere, rosy pink even on his thighs and his stomach.
Mu Qing considered his hand, covered in white, and experimentally licked it. Feng Xin tasted different pregnant. Mu Qing didn’t hate it, not at all. “You taste different.”
Feng Xin gave him a curious look. “I do?”
“Saltier.” The stomach kept them from getting too close but Mu Qing put his hand over it again, fascinated by the curve of it under his fingers. He leaned up to kiss Feng Xin, giving his taste back. If the way Feng Xin enthusiastically kissed back meant anything, his tongue slipping into Mu Qing’s mouth, he liked the way he tasted too, salty and rich.
Different. Undeniably different.
Feng Xin broke away. “I’m hard again,” he mumbled, turning his head so that Mu Qing could only press kisses to the underside of his jaw.
“You just came,” Mu Qing said, showing off his sticky fingers. Mu Qing was, frankly, hard as a rock; one hand against his own trousers wasn’t enough. His arousal simmered just below the surface, waiting to leap up. But this had been all about Feng Xin, this time. He was pregnant, he was unbelievably horny, he was hard again right now, his cock already pressing insistently against Mu Qing’s stomach.
“I didn’t know — ngh,” Feng Xin said as Mu Qing dug his fingers into his hip. “I didn’t know I’d be this horny, okay.” He was fully hard again.
“Can you go again?”
Feng Xin threw his head back, exposing the long, bruised lined of his throat. “Fuck, of course I can.” Like this, his belly pressed out again, undeniable as his cock bumped up against it.
Mu Qing swallowed. Feng Xin’s cock was always nice, firm. The dark curls between his legs were thick, a small trail of hair led up to his belly button. The hair on his stomach was darker. Even his belly button had expanded, thrust out. There was not a single bit of Feng Xin’s stomach that looked like a martial god, nothing remained of the hard planes of his abs or the comfortable bulk of his chest. He was all just stomach. “You really can’t see your cock like this, can you,” Mu Qing said, sinking back down and trying to control his own erection. He peered up at Feng Xin around the stomach.
“No.”
“I could make you bigger,” Mu Qing murmured, pressing a kiss to the underside of Feng Xin’s stomach. Feng Xin had one hand cradled there, as if holding the weight of his belly up. His legs sprawled open, as if accommodating for the stomach settling low on his hips, like he couldn’t even sit properly. “Would you like that? Not just your stomach, but everywhere—”
Feng Xin’s eyes darkened. “Yeah,” he said, licking his lips. There was a trace of white on his upper lip. “Yeah, come on, make me bigger, fill me up, fuck me, Mu Qing, fuck me—”
Mu Qing reached for the oil, carefully adjusting Feng Xin that he lay flat in the center of the bed. He’d devolved into wordless pants, little moans, pressing the palm of his hand against his dick and grinding up. He was completely naked, only wearing the belly, and Mu Qing was entirely dressed still.
He took a moment to slid off his sleeping robes and trousers. He was so hard he almost couldn’t bear it.
Feng Xin noticed immediately. “Ha,” he said, lifting his chin up. He was still laid utterly flat by the stomach. “You love me like this. Fat with your child.”
Mu Qing drizzled oil on his fingers, settled at the foot of the bed with one hand on Feng Xin’s knee. He could keep praying, keep pushing Feng Xin through the entire damn thing. He didn’t need to stop at six months.
So Mu Qing prayed again, and watched this time. Watched the way Feng Xin writhed, arching his back off the bed as he answered the prayer, the way the baby weight slammed him back down. He was bigger everywhere after this prayer, not just the stomach — he splayed across the bed, the beginnings of baby weight collected in his hips and his thighs, soft and spreading. It hadn’t showed up anywhere else yet, not really, it was just the beginnings of softening. As if Feng Xin blurred at the edges.
And his dick, as per Mu Qing’s prayer, was huge, as befitting Ju Yang, straining up and so red it looked painful. It really was impressive how pregnancy could remove Feng Xin’s refractory period.
“Can you see your dick now,” Mu Qing asked, helping Feng Xin adjust himself on the bed. Everywhere, every place Mu Qing touched, he was just a little bit softer. Even the small of his back.
“You know I still can’t,” Feng Xin grumbled, craning his head up off the pillow Mu Qing had settled under it. “You made me bigger everywhere, not just my fucking dick, I can just—” Mu Qing bit at his shoulder, fascinated by the slightly soft edges of Feng Xin’s archery form. “Ah! Just see the tip.”
“Good,” Mu Qing said, nuzzling up to his neck, his jaw. He wanted to see more, wanted to see Feng Xin entirely in baby weight. Feng Xin tried to chase his lips as he pulled away, back towards the end of the bed and Feng Xin’s very interested cock. Mu Qing pushed him back down, thumb pressing against the bruise he’d created on Feng Xin’s shoulder. “I like you like this.”
“Fuck me, then!” Feng Xin tried to draw his legs up but he was having a little trouble, unused to the wide cant of his hips. Mu Qing grabbed an ankle, drawing Feng Xin’s legs up on the bed, since he wasn’t going to manage to get them over his shoulders. He was sure this time as Feng Xin’s knees wavered outwards; his hips had changed to support the weight bearing down on them. If he walked, his hips, his ass, they'd probably sway. The whole damn belly would sway a little bit, sensual.
“Calm down,” he said, tracing around Feng Xin’s hole. Feng Xin moaned, low and cut off as he bit down his bottom lip. Blood bloomed immediately. “I’ll take my time.”
“I can take it,” Feng Xin said, panting heavily. Mu Qing slipped in one finger and Feng Xin gasped immediately, so sensitive at just one touch. “I can take it, you know I can take it—”
“You’re in a delicate condition right now,” Mu Qing said smugly, carefully adding in a second finger. He slowly worked his fingers in and out.
“That — ah, fuck, it feels so tight—” Feng Xin clenched around Mu Qing’s fingers and then forcibly made himself relax. “Fuck, I’m close.” His hands clenched in the bedlinens; Mu Qing had never seen him this desperate. His belly pointed directly up.
“I’m not even in you,” Mu Qing said, amused, withdrawing his hand.
Feng Xin moaned. “Mu Qing, I fucking swear, get back here right now, I’m—” He struggled to lift himself up onto his elbows, the belly shifting. He had probably meant to glare, but he got distracted by his own body; his eyes were wide as he stared down at himself, at the firm jut of his stomach. He was just on the edge of too heavy, a little unmanageable. He’d probably totter a little, if he stood immediately. Mu Qing liked that. Liked that he could do whatever he wanted.
Unrepentant, Mu Qing added another prayer. Feng Xin collapsed back against the bed under the weight of seven months, his belly protruding so much that from this angle, Mu Qing couldn’t see his face.
“Asshole,” Feng Xin panted, writhing around on the bed. Mu Qing tightened his hold on Feng Xin’s tights, pinning him to the bed. Feng Xin’s hips stuttered but under the weight, he couldn’t even jerk up. He usually would fight Mu Qing on this, a battle even in bed, and Mu Qing loved that, too. But right now, Mu Qing loved that he was too heavy to do so, loved that the stomach made it impossible. He could pin Feng Xin down. “Asshole, you fucking — gonna add more and not even touch me!”
Mu Qing couldn’t stop thinking about this; that Feng Xin had wanted this. That Feng Xin had answered his prayers, to become like this, heavy on the bed, so big with Mu Qing’s child that he couldn’t move, so soft he didn’t have a hope of fighting Mu Qing off. “You like it.”
Feng Xin screwed his eyes shut. “Fuck me right now, I swear—”
“Fuck your fist, if you’re so horny,” Mu Qing said, cruel, and oh, Feng Xin tried. The stomach was in the way; he couldn’t even reach. He was heavy all over now, not just his stomach and his hips. His thighs were plump against the bedcovers; Mu Qing’s hand couldn’t spread across them, like usual. His fingers dug into the fat, finding Feng Xin’s muscle underneath.
“Mu Qing,” Feng Xin said, and he was red-faced and open-mouth and on the verge of tears as he tried to rut against his own hand and couldn’t reach. He kept making high-pitched keening noises in the back of throat that Mu Qing had never heard before. “Mu Qing, please, please, I know you want to, I’m begging you—”
Mu Qing traced his way up Feng Xin’s thigh, up to his soft hip and the stretched skin at his waist, turning into stretch marks. Mu Qing bruised kisses against them, tasting the way Feng Xin was swollen with his child.
Feng Xin’s waist had never been small; too muscled and broad, but it was strange how it was both more and less, now. There was really nothing left of the small waist, only the straining of his belly, but the curve of his hips was heavily pronounced under Mu Qing’s palm. He clenched his hand around the new weight, the way it shifted against his hand. Child-bearing hips. “Let me touch you.”
“I’m going to come, I swear—” Feng Xin traced his hand across his belly. Mu Qing’s hand joined him and he shivered, his entirely new shape squirming. Mu Qing couldn’t stop himself from running his hands up Feng Xin’s sides, palm skating the belly and the abrupt jut of his hips where they’d expanded. “Ah, ah—”
“Close just from this?” Mu Qing was breathless, also far too close. He thought he was only hanging on because Feng Xin had abandoned all control under his hands.
“Pregnant people are horny,” Feng Xin said, twisting up against Mu Qing’s hands. “Seriously, Mu Qing!”
Mu Qing traced his hand back down, across the dark hair curled around Feng Xin’s cock — he whined — and added his index finger back in, stretching Feng Xin wide. “Happy now?”
“No!”
Mu Qing slowly worked him open. “You can’t even move,” he said wondrously, leaning up a little bit. It was awkward like this, him carefully adding another finger, working Feng Xin wide, and still half-looming and — he had himself propped up one hand and Feng Xin was flat against the bed, but his stomach bumped against Mu Qing’s chest. Mu Qing ran his gaze over the silvery stretch marks, entranced. Feng Xin was different everywhere. “You’re so big.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“Yours,” Mu Qing said immediately, taking in Feng Xin’s flushed face. He had wanted this, with the last prayer, but Feng Xin’s weight had collected in his hips and his thighs and his stomach. And his dick. But now Mu Qing could see the full effects in his face. Gone was the sharp jawline, instead it was hidden by round cheeks. Even his hair seemed softer, sweat-soaked and falling in soft waves around his soft, pink face.
Mu Qing palmed one bicep, marveled the way the muscle was gone and it was all just malleable fat, and Feng Xin let out a noise akin to a kitten. What was it like, to be so strong, to be the best image of a martial god, and to see it all fade away as the body prepared for a baby? His form was so forgiving now, his jaw and his puffed-up cheeks, and — ah. “Touch yourself.”
Feng Xin glared at him. “I can’t.”
“Your chest,” Mu Qing said, and Feng Xin did immediately, so obedient, his hands curving around his pecs. They were round and swollen instead of the hard muscle Mu Qing knew, swaying a little with the motion as Feng Xin fondled them. They hadn’t grown that much but the nipples — his nipples were dark and huge. How had he not noticed this earlier? He could barely keep his eyes off them now, the way they were hard from the cool air.
Mu Qing wanted to lick them. To tease them, to spread his hands against them.
“Oh,” Feng Xin said, amazed, cupping his hand against one. It was small, hidden, under his hand. The nipple against his thumb. “Oh, I’m — I’m big, do you like that, do you like my tits—” Mu Qing captured Feng Xin’s mouth instead, biting down on his lip as he worked in third finger. He was desperate at the sight of Feng Xin’s wide palm against his chest. and Feng Xin groaned against Mu Qing’s lips, a long, drawn-out noise that went straight to Mu Qing’s dick. “Fuck, fuck, Mu Qing, put your cock in me right now—”
“Turn over.”
Feng Xin shot him a betrayed look. “How the fuck do you expect—”
“On your side, asshole,” Mu Qing said, and he had to help Feng Xin do it, carefully supporting his back as he rolled onto his side, one hand cradled around his belly. “Can’t hurt the baby.”
Feng Xin grumbled, adjusting himself — it took a while, getting situated with seven or eight months of pregnancy weight. He had to shove a pillow under his stomach, his legs awkwardly splayed and his dick leaking against the bed covers.
Mu Qing pressed himself close, his cock against Feng Xin’s ass. He prayed and under his hands, the belly flexed.
Nine months look beautiful on Feng Xin, like he was glowing. He had become a little bigger everywhere, his cheeks and his arms and those fucking child-bearing hips of his. Even his chest swelled up a little bit, the nipples growing huge and hard. They weren’t more than little mounds of fat atop his pecs, but Feng Xin groped at one immediately. He groaned, long and unbearably erotic, as he teased his nipple.
Mu Qing rocked against him instinctually, running his hands over his spine and his ass. Feng Xin had always had a nice ass, tight and round, but now it was soft under Mu Qing’s hands, the baby weight reaching him everywhere. Mu Qing kneaded at one cheek experimentally, astonished at how Feng Xin had grown so beautifully.
“You’re even big here,” Mu Qing teased, unable to stop himself from pressing his teeth against the fat there. He’d honestly never before felt the desire to bit Feng Xin’s ass but he was so — soft. Mu Qing left a soft imprint of teeth and Feng Xin let out a hoarse scream in the back of his throat.
“Seriously, you are a fucking tease.” Feng Xin’s cock was so hard and red against his stomach, leaking, it looked painful. “You treat me like this? I’m having your kid, asshole, you aren’t even gonna fuck me better—”
Mu Qing snorted. “What, you want me to fuck the pregnancy out of you?” He leaned down, mouth at the shell of Feng Xin’s ear. “It doesn’t work that way.”
Feng Xin shivered against him. “Just — please, I’ll do anything, I will—"
Mu Qing lined himself up, gentler than he had in ages. Usually it was so much more rough, fast and chaotic as they slammed together over and over, kissing blood into each other’s mouths. But with Feng Xin curled up on the bed like this, one arm protectively over his stomach and embarrassed gaze on the far wall, it couldn’t be. Mu Qing sank into him slowly, setting an easy pace while Feng Xin did his best to rock back inside him. “Better?”
“Yeah,” Feng Xin said breathlessly, craning his head over his shoulder to kiss Mu Qing; it was too sweet by half. “Yeah, yeah, oh god, you’re slow—”
“You’re fragile,” Mu Qing said, just to be an ass, and Feng Xin’s hips hitched at the thought, driving them back together. “You love this, you love being helpless, you fucking love it—”
“Obviously!” Feng Xin shouted. “Obviously, I like it, I like it, you treat me — ah!”
Mu Qing’s hand had found one of Feng Xin’s tits, cupping the entire thing tight and hard. Feng Xin gave a whole-body shiver, a scream that faded into a stuttered moan as he writhed. Mu Qing paused. That’d never happened before. “Sensitive?”
“So tender,” Feng Xin whispered hoarsely, even as he pushed out his chest, begging for more. “Fuck, fuck, so sensitive, just — careful.”
So Mu Qing was. They rocked together, best they could, Mu Qing setting a gentle rhythm back and forth, back and forth, and Feng Xin stopped talking, just letting Mu Qing’s cock force these obscene little pants out his mouth. He thought he understood, now, what Feng Xin had said by intimate. Mu Qing had to take care of him, had to help him adjust his girth, had to prepare him thoroughly.
“Come on,” Mu Qing coaxed, and Feng Xin whimpered, burying his face in the pillow. “Look at me, baby, look at me.”
“I can’t, I can’t—” but Feng Xin was already turning his head again to stare at Mu Qing. His expression was edging frantic, and somewhere in there, unbearably fond.
“That’s good,” Mu Qing said, peppering Feng Xin’s shoulder with kisses. Feng Xin bit at his lip when Mu Qing hit him perfectly, uncontrolled. “That’s good, that’s good.” Mu Qing liked Feng Xin uncontrolled, completely taken over by his body’s hormones. “Don’t you like this? You like me taking care of you, don’t you? My pregnant husband?”
Feng Xin jolted against him, the orgasm spilling against the comforter and his body contorting like it was being wrung out of him. He
Mu Qing picked up the pace, taunting, “Coming just from that, huh? You do like me taking care of you! You want me to fill you up? Want me to keep you in bed forever, just so you can rut against me—”
“Mu Qing, I swear,” Feng Xin said, but it was a blissful sigh, the post-orgasm heady rush. “You feel so good, Mu Qing, you do, of course I came for you, you got me pregnant, I love you, this is your baby,” and he devolved into a long string of chants as Mu Qing picked up the pace.
“Have a name for our child?”
“Mu Ying,” Feng Xin said immediately, and Mu Qing’s hips slammed down as his orgasm roared through him, spilling into Feng Xin, as if they really could get him pregnant. He felt like it lasted forever, pleasure rolling through him and dizzy when he finished. He slumped against Feng Xin’s back, throwing his arm over that still-pregnant belly. Feng Xin wiggled back against him, his ass firmly against Mu Qing’s crotch. “Coming just from that, Mu Qing?”
His voice was entirely too pleased.
“Shut up,” Mu Qing grumbled against the nape of his neck. He pressed a kiss there. “It was hot. That’s my—” he trailed off. It wasn’t really his son, but sometimes he was a little sad that his mother had never gotten to have grandchildren. That his family name, his mother’s name, wouldn’t even carry on.
“I have good ideas sometimes,” Feng Xin said, tangling their fingers together over his stomach.
“An idiot the rest of the time,” Mu Qing said, content to lie there. They didn’t often lie together, sex with them was fast and heady and hurried but — but Feng Xin was still pregnant, still soft and glowing, his shape unknown. Mu Qing couldn’t let him leave, couldn’t leave him, not when the air between them was still so sweet and warm, like the really did love each other enough to bring a child into this world. To be husbands.
Feng Xin was half-asleep by the time Mu Qing separated them, wincing as their skin stuck together. He always fell asleep after sex if Mu Qing didn’t kick him out but he was heavy-lidded and unresponsive as Mu Qing cleaned them up. He wondered if it was the baby.
“Maybe I’ll keep your pregnant forever,” Mu Qing said ponderously, running the damp cloth over Feng Xin’s stomach. There was no baby in there, of course, but it still felt a little perverse that there was come all over it. Under his hand, Feng Xin’s dick twitched. “Again?”
“Shut up.”
“You’d like that,” Mu Qing said, throwing the cloth away. He pulled the covers away to get into bed — his mouth a little dry at Feng Xin’s still pregnant body, at the wanton curve of his ass and his hips— “You would, wouldn’t you, being full and horny all the time, and everyone would know—”
“Stop,” Feng Xin pleaded, rolling over. It took him a minute, he had to work his way around inch by inch with the belly. He was flushed when he made it, though Mu Qing thought it was from the words he’d said — you’d like that, wouldn’t you, all round and swollen with my child all the time — rather than the exertion. “You’re so mean to your pregnant husband.”
Mu Qing snorted. “You aren’t really pregnant.” We aren’t married.
“You liked it, though,” Feng Xin said. He ran his fingers down the dark line that ran through the center of his stomach. He stared up at the ceiling. “Didn’t you.”
Mu Qing raised an eyebrow. Of course he had. He’d been enthusiastically there the whole way, loving the way Feng Xin’s belly expanded at his command. “I’d have told you if I didn’t,” he said, his hand joining Feng Xin’s. It was a little odd to look at, now that the sex was out of the way, the blanket peaked up oddly while Feng Xin got settled. Like this was real life. Permanent. “You know that.”
Feng Xin looked at him. “I know,” he said, letting out a watery little laugh. “I know! I just wanted reassurance.” Maybe it was the baby weight then, still weighing him down.
“I liked it,” Mu Qing replied, earnest for once. He didn’t know if Feng Xin was just feeling emotional from his fake pregnancy, but Mu Qing wasn’t going to be a dick right now in case he was. He’d liked it. He’d more than liked it.
Mu Qing scooted a little closer, manipulating them into a better sleeping position. Feng Xin on his side, Mu Qing’s hand curled just under his stomach.
---
When Mu Qing woke up in the morning, the belly was gone. Feng Xin looked just as usual, stomach flat, his pregnancy breasts back to being only the tight muscle of his chest. Mu Qing had fallen asleep with his hand against Feng Xin’s stomach, tucked just under the curve and now it lay flat.
Mu Qing considered. They had meetings today. But maybe…
He prayed.
The stomach expanded just a little under his touch.
“Fuck you,” Feng Xin groaned, rolling over. It was a lot easier this time, because his belly was only just barely there, back to a baby bump. Barely showing, like a brand-new pregnancy. He’d be able to hide it under his robes. “You want to go again?” The corner of his mouth curled up. “You really into knocking me up?”
“I want you to go all day like this,” Mu Qing said, curving his hand over it. “You can hide it under your robes, can’t you?” If he wore them loose. If he was careful. It was just a little bit of a belly. Just a little bit of a baby.
Feng Xin scowled, his face falling into a familiar pattern. Nothing like the open, honest pregnancy glow of last night. “You liked it that much?”
Mu Qing paused. Feng Xin had answered the prayer; it wouldn’t have worked if he hadn’t been awake and hadn’t wanted it. They’d done other things like that before — Mu Qing distinctly recalled an extremely hot exchange through the array during the Mid-Autumn festival once, while Mu Qing had been talking to someone, but this was different.
“We only have to do this if you want,” he said, because if Feng Xin didn’t want this outside the bedroom, that was fine. It would be a lot harder to hide.
Feng Xin considered, running his hand absently over his stomach. His belly button hadn’t popped yet. “Yeah, okay,” he said after a moment. Mu Qing grinned, victorious. “Help me get dressed?”
Mu Qing rarely did this but he knew how, still. The tunics went on easily, tied neatly over the bump, and there was barely any difference. His trousers slid down a tiny bit in the front, but that would be hidden by the tunic. Mu Qing took up each piece of Feng Xin’s armor, settling it onto his body with solemnity. The breast plate went on easily. The stomach plate went on slightly less easily.
“It’s tight,” Feng Xin grumbled, drawing himself up.
“You’re pregnant,” Mu Qing drawled, looking up. He was knelt at Feng Xin’s feet, carefully buckling the straps that kept the front and back plates together. Feng Xin wasn’t quite big enough that he couldn’t buckle on its standard setting. But soon.
Feng Xin’s face softened. “I guess,” he said, glancing at himself in the mirror. He had pulled his hair up into his customary bun, his jaw was sharp as it always was. His cheekbones were high. “Not that you can really tell.”
The leather armor was formed and still lay flat. No one would be able to tell at all, even Mu Qing, except when he looked at the slightly taut buckles. Just the barest whisper. A promise.
The thought carried him through the entire day, any time he saw Feng Xin in his periphery. No one could tell. The armor lay flat. Feng Xin moved around a little uncomfortably where the armor jut into his stomach when he sat, but no one could tell. And every time Mu Qing caught his eye, Feng Xin gave him a peculiar little half smile, as if to say see? I’m still yours. If he was uncomfortable sitting, he could shape shift back.
But Mu Qing knew he wouldn’t.
The meeting was long, no one was paying attention. Across the room, Feng Xin shifted himself again, slightly adjust himself in his pants under the table. It wouldn’t have meant anything normally, but Mu Qing’s mouth watered.
Mu Qing caught Feng Xin’s eye and prayed. Feng Xin’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open a little. Mu Qing raised an eyebrow.
No one was making Feng Xin do anything. He could wait to answer the prayer until later, even. But Mu Qing didn’t think he would wait. He thought that Feng Xin would answer it right here. And as he watched, Feng Xin settled back in his chair, his motions slightly stilted, and drew in a breath.
Mu Qing watched him, eagle-eyed. Under the armor, under the table, he couldn’t tell the change. Only the slightly heavy way Feng Xin slumped back in his chair made any difference. His armor hid everything. He adjusted himself in his pants again, palming himself subtly before drawing his hand back up, the perfect image of a general. Mu Qing did the same, half-hard at the thought of a pregnant Feng Xin trying to hide the news. No one else knew, but Mu Qing knew.
Feng Xin wasn’t subtle enough, though; after the meeting ending and everyone was milling around, talking, he kept his hand placed on his stomach. It didn’t jut out yet — oh, but the buckles on the armor were straining now — but it was like he knew what was supposed to be there.
Mu Qing prayed again.
Feng Xin’s head whipped around to him. Mu Qing, he said in their private array. His voice was already desperate, it was a wonder he wasn’t completely hard through his trousers. What are you doing?
Don’t you want to see your baby?
Fuck, Feng Xin said, strained even through the array. Mu Qing eyed his pants, but Feng Xin was too good at controlling himself, sometimes. He showed nothing. I won’t be able to hide that, Mu Qing.
Mu Qing shrugged one shoulder. Well, I’m going back to my palace, he said, and watched Feng Xin bid an immediate good-bye to the group. Mu Qing kept ahead of him the entire way there. Feng Xin only lasted until the front gate, and then, just like that, the strap on his armor snapped clean in two as his belly expanded, the prayer answered.
“Eager,” Mu Qing said, stepping forward. Feng Xin doubled over, as if trying to hide it. His face was red and — yes, there it was, his cheeks were already round, even though this was probably only five months, based on last night. Mu Qing cupped his jaw, already hidden. Wondered if this was because it was, in some ways, a second pregnancy. “Come on.”
He led Feng Xin to his private quarters, reveling in how Feng Xin had let himself do this, let himself go and be visible out of sorts. It maybe wasn’t obvious that it was pregnancy, but nothing could hide the way Feng Xin’s armor sat too tight against his chest, his stomach. Every step of his was slow.
Mu Qing pressed a kiss to Feng Xin’s round cheeks when he shut the door behind him. Wiped away a droplet of sweat from the fragile, curling hair at Feng Xin’s hairline. Feng Xin groaned, turning his face into Mu Qing’s touch. “Help me out of this,” he panted, gesturing towards his chest. “I don’t fit.”
Mu Qing lifted his armor over his head, amazed at the way Feng Xin’s chest spilled out of it immediately. His pecs were already a little swollen through his shirt; even from here Mu Qing could see the nipples tenting the fabric.
And then the stomach plate. Feng Xin’s stomach popped forward as if summoned — well, it had been — and he let out a long moan, as if he might come untouched just from the releasing pressure.
“The rest, the rest,” he said breathlessly. The thin tunic he was wearing under his armor was strained over the stomach; Mu Qing could see a sliver of tan belly at the bottom where it rode up. Experimentally, Mu Qing pushed the tunic up, just a little. Just to show the line of dark hair leaned up to Feng Xin’s belly button. “Keep that on,” Mu Qing decided, tugging it back down. When he removed his hand, the tunic stayed, slowly but persistently riding up Feng Xin’s stomach.
Feng Xin slammed his weight back against the door. The tunic crept up another inch. “Fuck, it’s tight.”
Mu Qing helped Feng Xin out of his trousers, his newly-thick thighs straining the fabric so that Mu Qing had to roll them down, slowly and carefully, inch by inch, while all the way, Feng Xin made these compelling little whines and clenched his fingers around his swollen pecs through his shirt.
Mu Qing’s guess was right. It was hard for Feng Xin to stand up straight properly, and even like this, feet braced with his back against the door, his hips canted wide to account for the extra baby weight. “Your hips are wide,” Mu Qing told him, digging his fingers into them. He kissed at the underside of the belly, that popped-out belly button, the dark line running through the center. “Gonna give me a baby?”
“Fuck,” Feng Xin said, dazed, hand already creeping around to his dick. “Fuck, Mu Qing,” he said, taking himself in hand. Mu Qing almost wanted to bat it away, to see that cock bounce up against his round belly. Still strained under the fucking tunic. “I’ve been hard the entire meeting.”
So has Mu Qing. He inserted his thigh between Feng Xin’s, vindicated as Feng Xin began to rut at it immediately, like bare friction was enough.
“No one said you had to answer my prayers,” Mu Qing said smugly, cupping his hands around Feng Xin’s waist. Under Feng Xin’s frantic squirming, the tunic was riding further and further up, unable to contain his stomach. He wondered if he could find anything else tight to have Feng Xin in, to watch the way Feng Xin’s body grow as Mu Qing wanted it to.
“Oh yes I did,” Feng Xin said, legs trembling. His stomach hung low, his hand hitting it with every jerk. He spat in his hand and then returned to his fevered pace, legs trembling. Mu Qing had to hold him place so that he wouldn’t slide down the fucking wall. “Fuck! You won’t even touch me!”
Mu Qing tilted his head. “Maybe if you were a little bigger.” And Feng Xin became huge, the tunic riding up his stomach so fast that it wasn’t a surprise when the force of it was too much. It ripped at seams, revealing tan skin and red marks high on his ribs, where the armor buckles had dug into his side. Mu Qing pressed his thumb to them.
“You look good pregnant,” Mu Qing said into his ear. Feng Xin’s hips stuttered against him, his weight grinding down. Mu Qing had to support him, his hand digging in under Feng Xin’s wide thighs. “Do you think anyone could tell?” He traced his finger around Feng Xin’s jaw, then down to Feng Xin’s chest, a little swollen. Were his tits going to be bigger today? They were already spilling out of his torn shirt; the nipples dark pink, half as long as his thumb, and incredibly hard.
“They — they didn’t,” Feng Xin mumbled, his voice hoarse. “They didn’t know.”
“Maybe they could tell something was different,” Mu Qing said. He plastered himself against Feng Xin, driving his thigh up. Feng Xin wrapped a trembling leg around Mu Qing’s waist, which was impressive considering his girth. “That you were glowing? That you were becoming soft and round for me?” He sucked a bruise against Feng Xin’s neck, one thumb playing with his nipple.
“Maybe they did,” Feng Xin said boldly, jerking his hand around his fist so fast it looked painful. “Maybe they could tell that I was yours, that you—” His hips bucked forward, hard, slamming into Mu Qing’s hard cock and they groaned in unison, grinding together. “— Made me like this, that I’m yours.” He slammed his head back against the door. “Maybe I want them to know something about me is different.”
“Oh,” Mu Qing said, delighted. He palmed himself through his trousers, sure that he was going to come untouched, come just from Feng Xin fucking his thigh. “That’s perverse, you wanted them to know?”
“Just that I was yours,” Feng Xin said, lifting his chin. He slammed their mouths together, and Mu Qing prayed for a bigger belly to push against his. It did and Feng Xin screamed himself hoarse while Mu Qing ground against him, dizzy and demanding. “I’m yours, I’m yours, this baby is yours—”
“Come for me,” Mu Qing demanded. “Come right now—”
And Feng Xin did, pouring all over Mu Qing’s, stomach large and full.
---
“I want to try,” Mu Qing said, nearly five weeks later. He sat in Feng Xin’s lap, Feng Xin sprawled lazily against the back of the chair. They were both half-hard, but sometimes they waited, making out messy and slow like this while their cocks brushed against each other through the fabric of their clothes. Feng Xin had been pregnant once more now, just as insatiable as the last time they'd done this, but he didn’t seem inclined today. He didn’t always. He usually asked, if he wanted. They’d busied themselves other ways since then. And Mu Qing wasn’t inclined either, he wanted Feng Xin’s sharp strength today.
“Try what,” Feng Xin asked, chasing his lips. His hands cupped around Mu Qing’s thighs, pulling them closer.
“Try — what you tried,” Mu Qing said, a little embarrassed to say it. He pressed his hand against Feng Xin’s stomach.
Feng Xin raised an eyebrow at him. “You want to be pregnant?” He let his gaze travel down Mu Qing’s bare torso, settling on his flat stomach. “Really?”
“You liked it.”
“I didn’t think you would,” Feng Xin responded, and his hand left Mu Qing’s hip, coming around to poke at Mu Qing’s belly. “Really?”
“Do you not want to?”
“Oh, I want to,” Feng Xin said, licking his lips. “Can I?”
Mu Qing nodded. He was a little unsure about all this, the way it might feel to answer those prayers, but he wanted to see if he enjoyed it the way Feng Xin had — had enjoyed it almost more than anything they’d done in bed, so far.
Feng Xin barely gave him time to wait. He sent one prayer immediately, and Mu Qing envisioned the little bump of Feng Xin’s stomach, just barely showing, and felt the pressure of his own as it expanded. Feng Xin grinned, a little feral, straining up into a kiss. He wasted no time, sent another prayer as he slipped his tongue into Mu Qing’s mouth, Mu Qing’s belly expanding just like that, hard against Feng Xin’s chest where they were plastered together. Four or five months, just like that. Seconds.
“Fuck, that feels weird,” Mu Qing said, curling his hands around Feng Xin’s neck. He kept tilting forward, unused to the weight. He was a little smaller than Feng Xin, who was all broad muscle. Mu Qing was muscle too, had to be to wield a saber, but he wasn’t as broad. He was lither and the pregnant belly sitting atop his thinner frame looked weird.
“Could be weirder,” Feng Xin replied, his mouth busy sucking a bruise at the just of Mu Qing’s shoulder. He sent another prayer and Mu Qing arched against him immediately, growing, the protruding stomach big enough that it separated them. Mu Qing wiggled around, adjusting to it. He felt taut. And not just his stomach, but everywhere, his dick was so hard was so hard he couldn’t stop his hips from hitching up mindlessly. Fuck, he was horny. Arousal built in him immediately, he felt hot all over. Feng Xin really hadn’t been kidding about the horniness of pregnancy, he was leaking just from this, from the feeling of being full, heavy, stretched thin. Feng Xin hadn’t even touched him yet and Mu Qing trailed his fingers along the outline of his own cock through his trousers, impatient.
Feng Xin dragged him closer. Mu Qing squirmed at the drag of Feng Xin’s cock against his ass. “Fuck,” Mu Qing panted, wiggling around as if he could alleviate the pressure. His stomach didn’t go away. “I am so horny.
“Told you.” Feng Xin closed his eyes, like he might pray again and Mu Qing jammed his hand into his mouth as if that would stop a prayer.
“Stop, stop, I’m going to ride you before I get too big.”
Feng Xin laughed, loud. “You’re already big,” he teased, his wide palm spanning across Mu Qing’s stomach. His belly button has popped; Feng Xin gave him absolutely no time to think about it. He felt unmanageable already; he felt like if Feng Xin stopped touching him, he’d die. Mu Qing rose up on his knees, working his way out of his trousers, hissing as his cock sprang free. Feng Xin pulled himself out of his pants, half-hard already, and stroked himself lazily while Mu Qing situated himself. One hand braced on Feng Xin’s shoulder. Feng Xin’s eyes never leaving his. They’ve done this before, in this chair — Mu Qing loved this chair — but never has Mu Qing been so unbalanced.
“Come on, baby,” Feng Xin whispered, capturing a kiss. Mu Qing glared at him for the nickname. “Come here, let me open you up.” He tugged Mu Qing forward, the baby weight between them. Not so big, yet, as too be awkward. Mu Qing closed his eyes, cradled against Feng Xin’s wide chest, and let Feng Xin work him open, stretching him slow and comfortable, oil dribbling down his ass onto Feng Xin’s cock. Mu Qing could feel it sliding against his cheeks. “Did you fall asleep?”
“No,” Mu Qing snapped immediately, sitting up fast. The baby weight threw him off kilter, Feng Xin steadied him and just his grip around Mu Qing’s back had his softening erection harden again. “I’m fine.”
“Pregnant you is so sleepy,” Feng Xin said, delighted. He traced his thumb against Mu Qing’s cheek, smoothing away the hair stuck to his sweaty temple. Mu Qing wondered if his cheeks already carried baby roundness too, the way Feng Xin’s had. “You’re so slow, babe, you really are — hey!”
Mu Qing had slammed their mouths together, hasty — belly in the way, of course, he had to arch around it, but the pain of making it work sent shivers down his spine, the way Feng Xin bit at him burned hot. “I’m ready,” he decided, sitting back up. Feng Xin’s mouth was dark red, a little bloody.
Feng Xin helped him lift his hips — Mu Qing burned with shame, he’d never needed help before, but he couldn’t control his center of gravity with the sudden baby weight — and brought him down, too gently. Mu Qing wrested his way out of Feng Xin’s hold and sank himself down, urgently. It was tight. “Ah!”
“Hey,” Feng Xin said worriedly as Mu Qing wiggled, adjusting to being full.
“I’m fine.” He was still so tight around Feng Xin, tense, but he barely let himself get used to it, raising up and grinding back down so hard. His hand one hand braced against Feng Xin’s shoulder and the other working his own cock around the edge of his stomach, desperate for relief. When would he be too big to do this, like Feng Xin had been?
“Let me,” Feng Xin said, his hips rocking up to match the fast rhythm. He knocked Mu Qing’s hands aside, wrapping his hand around both his cock and Mu Qing’s, stroking them fast together. Mu Qing groaned, slumping forward against Feng Xin’s shoulder as they rocked together. His breaths felt heavy as he drove himself down, Feng Xin’s hand a brand on his hip guiding him.
Mu Qing could barely think as he fucked himself on Feng Xin’s dick, so hurried and reckless that Feng Xin could barely match his pace. He got caught in the rhythm, the way Feng Xin’s hand brushed against his swollen stomach as he stroked their cocks. Mu Qing rode the edge of the pleasure, toes curling, making embarrassing little whines and begging like he had never begged before. And Feng Xin kept whispering to him, things like I got you baby, let me, let me take care of you, his fingers hot where they encircled Mu Qing’s dick.
“Feng Xin, I’m close, I’m really close.” He was sure he was flushed. There was sweat making its way down the back of his neck. He kept rocking back and forth unwillingly, his back arching as was natural and then careening forward as the baby weight pushed him off center. Feng Xin loved it, his hand coming up between Mu Qing’s shoulder blades to bring him back forward, his stomach brushing against Mu Qing’s baby weight with every move.
“You love this,” Feng Xin said, eyes dark. He jerked his hips up, Mu Qing rode up with them, his thighs trembling. He teetered on the edge, adrenaline racing through him. “Tell me how much you love it.”
Mu Qing drove himself down, wild. “Fuck you,” he said, panting, groaning. Even though Feng Xin worked him open, even though he’d been fucking for what felt like ages now and still no relief, he still felt tight all over, his hips still working like he was possessed, his belly pushed out round, and — oh, that asshole, as Mu Qing got fucked, Feng Xin prayed again.
Mu Qing let out a moan at the way his body changed, the way he expanded out, stretched him and full. He felt the whine build up in the back of the throat, felt the building orgasm pressure him everywhere, every nerve ending.
Come on,” Feng Xin said, hips still rocking up to meet Mu Qing’s. “Come on, come for me, you deserve it, you look so beautiful like this—”
He spurted hot across Feng Xin’s stomach in one of the most intense orgasms of his life, only managing to stay atop Feng Xin because Feng Xin is holding him there. His thighs strained under the effort of keeping his new weight up, and he didn’t have total control anymore, couldn’t know his own weight, he slammed down.
Feng Xin groaned in the back of his throat. There was barely room for his hips to buck up, with Mu Qing’s new weight, but he tried, driving himself deeper into Mu Qing. “Ah,” he said, shuddering, and Mu Qing felt him come inside him, hot, filling him up, and then he went limp against the back of the chair, his hands pulling Mu Qing forward.
“Asshole,” Mu Qing accused, slumped against him. He felt limp all over, spent. The difference was noticeable from just the last time he’d been cradled here. He had to slump over, the only thing that touched Feng Xin was his stomach. They were both sweat-soaked, Feng Xin was soft inside him. “Making me bigger while I was riding you?”
Feng Xin stared at him; mouth half-open. “Greatest decision of my life,” he said, brushing Mu Qing’s hair out of his eyes. His hands settled on Mu Qing’s waist again, thumbs skating the belly. “How do you feel?”
“Big as a house,” Mu Qing grumbled. Every breath he took, he could feel his stomach swell against Feng Xin’s. He was tired, as if the horniness had been replaced by sleepiness almost instantly. Mu Qing thought that was unfair, that the baby slowed him down. And that Feng Xin had called him on it. Feng Xin hadn’t been slowed down!
But for now he was content to squirm around, brace his forehead against Feng Xin’s shoulder. Feng Xin’s hand combed through his hair. It felt quiet, as Mu Qing placed a hand over the swell of his stomach. Still there. Him and Feng Xin, too, still there.
“We should clean up,” Feng Xin said, after several long minutes. Mu Qing groaned, preparing to lift himself off Feng Xin. Feng Xin helped him again too because Mu Qing was too limp, too jittery, and frankly, too damn big to do it. He didn’t even want to stand, he settled back into Feng Xin’s lap like he belonged there, exhausted.
“I got you,” Feng Xin murmured, and he stood, his hand under Mu Qing’s thighs. Even though Mu Qing was pregnant, was carrying the baby weight, Feng Xin lifted him easily. Mu Qing wrapped his legs around Feng Xin’s waist, off-put at the way he couldn’t pull himself closer, the way Feng Xin had to lean back to accommodate the stomach. “Baby, you’re already hard again,” Feng Xin said, delighted.
“I know that,” Mu Qing snapped. He could feel it, his cock curved against his stomach, caught between him and Feng Xin. “Do something about it.”
Feng Xin set him down gently in the center of the bed, arranging him carefully. Mu Qing groaned, already exhausted and still simmering arousal was collecting — this was so unfair — and Feng Xin’s eyes went warm where he was braced above Mu Qing. He dipped his head down, pulling Mu Qing into a gentle kiss. He kissed his way down, against Mu Qing’s chest, the curve of his belly, right atop of his belly button. His hands holding Mu Qing in place, like they were lovers. He carried on to Mu Qing’s hips, his thighs, until Mu Qing could barely see him around the belly.
He thought he was maybe six or seven months along, enough that if he pulled a robe on right now, it wouldn’t close. Enough that he could only see the crown of Feng Xin’s head where he was kissing sweetly along his thighs. Enough that he wouldn’t be able to hide it. Enough that everyone would know— “Stop.”
Feng Xin stopped immediately, his head popping up. “Qing’er,” he said worriedly, crawling over. Usually he would settle in between Mu Qing’s legs, but his stomach was in the way. “Is it too much? You want to stop? I can stop praying, let’s—”
“No!” Mu Qing reached up, cupping Feng Xin’s jaw. He didn’t know how to explain it. “No, it’s not, I just — I want to see.”
Feng Xin cast his gaze down Mu Qing’s body, his stomach. “You want to see,” he said after a moment. “Okay, here, come on—” and then he carefully lifted Mu Qing up, a hand supporting his back. They hadn’t done this when Feng Xin was pregnant, he’d been flat on the bed immediately, and loved it. He’d barely noticed, outside of the hormonal haze. But Mu Qing wanted to see.
Being pregnant really fucked with your hormones.
His knees buckled as he stood, Feng Xin immediately supporting his back. “I’m weak,” Mu Qing said, wobbly. He shivered and Feng Xin placed his sleep robe around his shoulders immediately. “What—”
“You were cold,” Feng Xin said gently. His long fingers wrapped around Mu Qing’s wrist. “Come on, baby steps.”
“I’ll show you baby steps,” Mu Qing said, taking one and oh, it was weird. He ran his hand over his giant stomach and felt like a peach in summer, swollen. He felt the difference in every step. He could feel the way his hips changed, the way he walked differently. He could tell there was a sway to them now. Do his hips jut forward more? Did they can’t differently?
He could tell, from the way Feng Xin licked his lips, that he liked the differences. Mu Qing looked down at himself, at the sway of hips, and wondered if he’d walk like this forever, just a slight bit more sensual even when the belly was gone. Like his body would remember.
“You looked good,” Feng Xin told him quietly. Gently.
“I don’t need your assurances,” Mu Qing snapped, looking at himself in the mirror. He caught his own gaze first, and then—
—his stomach was huge. It looked far bigger than six months. It protruded out so big Mu Qing wasn’t sure how he’d even had room for it; it stretched thin. He cupped his hands under the weight and when he looked down, he couldn’t even see them. “Fuck,” Mu Qing said, looking back up at the mirror. “I didn’t — huh.”
“It’s weird,” Feng Xin agreed happily, resting his chin on Mu Qing’s shoulder. His hands covered Mu Qing’s over the stomach and Mu Qing turned them a little the side, so he could see. “I think you’re carrying higher than me.”
Mu Qing’s gigantic stomach seemed to agree. It seemed all the weight had gone there; he'd gone straight forward instead of out like Feng Xin had. Besides the stomach, he didn’t feel there was that much difference. There was no noticeable weight in his cheeks or on his jaw, he could barely tell the difference when he leaned in close. But— “What did you do to my hair?”
“No idea, baby,” Feng Xin said, his hand coming up to stroke through the curly mess. Mu Qing’s hair used long and ink-black, silky where it fanned out. Today, under the guise of pregnancy, it sprang up curly all around his face. “Mine did that too, remember?”
He did, kind of. He’d thought it was just sweat, but looking at his own black curls, he couldn’t deny he looked entirely like a different person. Softer, maybe, with the soft curls that fell down his back. Pregnant and soft all over. “I look really different.”
Feng Xin’s hands could still settle around his hips they way they used to; though Mu Qing spotted the marked difference of his hips. He was still more slender than Feng Xin had been but the difference that had been there when he walked was clear; his hips curving out subtly. There was a little dip of his waist where they had widened. From the front, he was a pronounced hourglass shape, his stomach firmly in front of him. He was just all stomach, and —
Mu Qing’s hand came up to his chest, covering what had used to be his pecs.
“You look beautiful,” Feng Xin said earnestly, noting his discomfort. Feng Xin had liked his own tits, liked when Mu Qing touched them, but they’d been much smaller, a little puffy. Mu Qing’s pecs had swollen up far heavier, so that he couldn’t even properly cover them with his hand. They spilled out over the top of his palm. “Really good.”
“Of course you think that,” Mu Qing said, putting his hands on his hips. He felt his tits fall down, the nipples dark pink and hard.
“Of course I do,” Feng Xin said, leaning around to kiss him. “You’re pregnant with my child.”
“My child,” Mu Qing said. He turned the other way, his belly still stubbornly pointing up. He hadn’t gained any weight on his face and his arms were still all muscle, as were his thighs. He was still slender all over, making the stomach unwieldy.
Feng Xin's hands traveled down and groped his ass, and — fine, yes, it did seem have grown a little bit. Not a lot; it was now pert and round and Mu Qing liked the slight sway it added to his stance. Feng Xin squeezed his hands over that perfect ass, then Mu Qing's stomach, then over the lumps on his chest. Mu Qing hissed. They were sensitive. They were more prominent in silhouette. “Fuck. I’m not even all the way there, am I?”
“I think this is six months,” Feng Xin agreed, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “I’ll get you bigger, if you want.”
Mu Qing did want. Wanted to see if he’d gain more weight, to see how big he could get. To be flattened entirely under the weight, Feng Xin a comforting presence over him. “How will I be able to move?”
Feng Xin’s hands came back around him immediately, hot against his stomach. His fingers sank into the curls at the base of Mu Qing’s cock, which was already interested again. Mu Qing stared at himself, at his hardening cock. He wondered if he tasted different.
“I’ll take care of you,” Feng Xin said, far too honest. He met Mu Qing’s gaze in the mirror and Mu Qing shivered, elbowing him back.
“Don’t,” he said, feeling far too naked. He didn’t want Feng Xin to care about him like he was really his husband, really carrying his child. Feng Xin looked lost, eyes wide. “Don’t take care of me.”
He wasn’t really Feng Xin’s husband. There was no child in there. Beyond this night, Mu Qing wouldn’t need taking care of at all; his stomach would shrink and so would his tits until he was flat and tight again, like a martial god. He didn’t need someone caring for him. The quiet warmth of the room broke.
“I had someone bring us food,” Feng Xin said after a minute. “Do you still want it?”
“What?”
“I want to take care of you, Mu Qing,” Feng Xin said, and he slipped a pair of trousers on, heading for the door. “So I had someone bring you food.”
Mu Qing hurriedly pulled on a pair of trousers and — oh, they didn’t fit. The drawstring was too short, the pants sloped tight over the curve of his ass and then stretched under the curve of his belly. Even his robe where he drew it tighter didn’t fit; the sash sank down under his stomach so that the front of his robe was fully open, his tits exposed. The front of his robe was noticeably shorter in the front, where it strained over his stomach. He turned his back to the door and hoped against hope that any disciples who delivered their food wouldn’t notice anything array.
He wondered if they might look in and see his back and the black waves that fell over his shoulders and wonder who else General Nan Yang was romancing in their bed.
“You’re really carrying everything on your stomach,” Feng Xin noted easily, the tray tucked under one hand. He really had had food brought to them, tea and fruits. “I can’t even tell you’re pregnant from back here. I definitely wasn’t like that.”
Mu Qing remembered the way Feng Xin had seemingly expanded on the bed, baby weight everywhere, his broadness expanding into comfortable softness. Maybe Mu Qing’s thighs and ass were a little bigger, but when he’d looked in the mirror, craned his head around, his back was as strong and lithe as anything. No. No, for Mu Qing, everything has happened in the front.
He clutched his robe tighter over his chest. Fuck, his nipples were sensitive. Feng Xin noticed immediately, his eyes dropping to what Mu Qing couldn’t deny were small breasts, nipples showing through the thin fabric. Mu Qing scowled, collapsing back onto the bed. He felt all off-kilter. “I hate you.”
Feng Xin dropped the tray on the side table, coming to sit next to his lover. He smoothed his hand over Mu Qing’s shoulder. Mu Qing swallowed back tears, hysterically thinking that he really was just like a pregnant woman, insecure about her beauty and her body. “We can stop at any time,” he reminded Mu Qing. He carefully wrapped a hand around Mu Qing’s expansive waist. Pressed a kiss to the nape of Mu Qing’s back. “I’m happy to be the only one pregnant, Qing-er, I really am. It can be me.”
“That’s not it,” Mu Qing said hoarsely. “I don’t — fuck. I don’t know. I like it.”
Feng Xin’s eyes were warm. “You like being taken care of,” he said quietly. He rubbed his thumb over Mu Qing’s stomach, tracing along the center. Mu Qing shivered. “Let me take care of you, alright? Here, eat something.”
“I didn’t feed you when you were pregnant,” Mu Qing pointed out. He crossed his arms and had to adjust for the stomach, for the breasts. He was huge. He was barely six months along and he was fucking huge. His stomach, surely, was going to be much, much bigger than Feng Xin’s had been, and Feng Xin’s stomach had been very impressive.
“That was different,” Feng Xin said, helping Mu Qing settle back against the pillows. “We wanted different things. You want to eat?”
Mu Qing considered. Eyed Feng Xin, who was still only wearing loose trousers and a sleeping robe, and was half-hard just at the thought of taking care of Mu Qing. “Fine,” he said, and let Feng Xin feed him the fruit. It was different than usual; it was like the very end of their first attempt at this, when Feng Xin was pliant and warm and spouting nonsense about their children’s names. Intimate, Feng Xin had said all those nights ago, and Mu Qing wanted, a little bit, that forever.
He could get used to this, the way he opened his mouth obediently as Feng Xin fed him plums, his fingers tracing Mu Qing’s mouth. The motion became automatic, like he’d done it a thousand times before.
“A little more, baby,” Feng Xin said, dropping another plum into Mu Qing’s mouth. He palmed over Mu Qing’s stomach, toying with the sash there. “Ready for another prayer?”
“Yeah,” Mu Qing said. Like this, he could see himself in the mirror next to the bedframe, the way the dark robe protruded up over his stomach. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Feng Xin lay his head against Mu Qing’s stomach, closed his eyes. Mu Qing moaned, long, toes curling as his belly popped even more, persistent even with Feng Xin’s weight. His erection had subsided but it sprang back up against immediately, arousal pooling.
Feng Xin grinned, pulling apart the belt, and the robes slipped off his stomach immediately.
“Fuck,” Mu Qing said, fascinated by the seventh month. His belly was so round, like he’d stuffed a melon in there. On Feng Xin, he’d evened out, baby weight all over; on Mu Qing, the belly popped out. “Fuck, I want to see again, help me up.”
Feng Xin did, pressing kisses to him all over. He propped Mu Qing up on the edge of the bed, in front of the mirror, and settled himself behind. Mu Qing stared at himself, at the way he held himself. His back was pressed to Feng Xin’s front, because he couldn’t lean forward with the round belly. He could still see the curve of his waist, even, twisting to the side a little to see how his waist dipped in over his hips and then the pregnancy spilled against it. “Fuck,” Mu Qing said. He had stretch marks now. “Fuck, I’m big.”
Feng Xin wasn’t bothered — didn’t even seem to care about the mirror. His hands traveled down, curving under Mu Qing’s belly, thumbs dipping under the waistband Mu Qing’s too-tight trousers. Feng Xin slipped them off, Mu Qing arching his hips just enough to allow them to just fall, and settling back heavy against the bed, against Feng Xin, as Feng Xin took him in hand.
He was still slender but he could tell his hips had grown even wider. Set further open, even when he was just sitting, the splay of them obscene. He could tell the way he bucked up weakly against Feng Xin’s hand was different. Open, maybe, like he was just begging to be fucked, and he was.
Feng Xin’s hard cock pressed against him, sliding against his ass and making Mu Qing shiver, but Feng Xin was apparently unconcerned. He thumbed over the slit of Mu Qing’s cock, already leaking, and reached one hand up to Mu Qing’s breasts, which were — bigger than expected, honestly, weighing down.
“You did this to me,” Mu Qing said as he shuddered, Feng Xin’s hand cupped over his left tit. They were big enough now that Feng Xin’s hand couldn’t contain them, big enough that they were heavy, the right one swaying a little bit as he moved. “You fucking — you prayed for me to have giant tits, I know — fuck!” He watched his own face in the mirror twist in ecstasy, pain and pleasure rippling through his body as Feng Xin pinched his hard nipple.
“You pray for me to have a big cock,” Feng Xin said, unbothered, opening just one eye to stare at Mu Qing in the mirror. Feng Xin looked entirely in controlled, gaze heavy and lidded, and Mu Qing looked destroyed. Feng Xin bit down at that same bruise on Mu Qing’s shoulder, prayed, and Mu Qing’s belly swelled so much he almost tilted forward off the bed.
“I got you,” Feng Xin said, and what he meant by that, apparently, was cupping one of Mu Qing’s breasts. The belly had pushed right up against the other, perfectly round and jade white, with dark pink nipples.
“Asshole,” Mu Qing said, and Feng Xin scooted back, taking Mu Qing with him. Mu Qing leaned back, heavy — fuck, his back hurt, he’d probably have to walk around with his arm supporting him like an old man — his hips stuttered. He was weighed down everywhere. If he tried to look in the mirror from this angle, craning his head up, all he saw as the barest glimmer of his face, wild black curls, his gigantic stomach, and his red, hard cock. The way he bucked against Feng Xin’s hand.
“Now your tits are huge,” Feng Xin said, delighted, and Mu Qing squirmed, lit up all over, fucking up into Feng Xin’s fist. Lying back like this, his tits were not longer pushed up by the belly, instead they splayed wide too, stretched down on either side of his chest. Still not as big as any woman’s would be, but on Mu Qing’s frame, they look huge. Feng Xin teased one nipple immediately and Mu Qing shuddered.
“I’m going to come,” he warned, rutting again Feng Xin’s hand. “I’m really going to.”
“I will when you will,” Feng Xin whispered in his ear, so gentle, and that sent Mu Qing over the edge quietly, an orgasm that was sweet and rocked him all the way down to his toes. He collapsed against Feng Xin immediately, sending the both of them back against the mattress.
“Fuck,” Mu Qing said. His back hurt. “Ugh, my stomach is so tight. Did your back hurt this much?”
Feng Xin finished himself off with a pop, spilling into his own hand. “Nope,” he said smugly. He picked himself up, carefully working Mu Qing further back onto the bed and under the covers. “You look exhausted.”
“I am exhausted, I’m pregnant,” Mu Qing said. He shifted his weight. The belly was still huge. He was still huge. Maybe he had twins. Fake twins. “I’m way bigger than you were.”
Feng Xin paused for a second before he dunked a cloth in the water, preparing for cleanup. “Yeah,” he said, running the rag over Mu Qing’s stomach. Mu Qing couldn’t even see him press a kiss to his belly. “You are.”
-
In the morning, the stomach was gone. The tits were gone, the ass was gone, even the curly hair was gone. Feng Xin was still there, quietly asleep.
Mu Qing lay flat on his back, comfortably sore, and stared at the space where his stomach used to be. He palmed his flat chest, only muscle there. He didn’t quite miss the breasts, really — next time he was going to make Feng Xin have them, seriously; he’d enjoy them more. But Mu Qing was fully unpregnant: his nipples were small; his hips were gone and he could reach his dick with no issues.
He kind of missed it. He didn’t think he’d want this all the time, but right now — well, he still felt a little fragile, honestly.
Next to him, Feng Xin pressed a sleepy kiss to his shoulder. “Hey,” he mumbled. “How are you feeling?”
“Weird,” Mu Qing said as Feng Xin slung an arm around his waist. “Do you think I’ll walk a little funny?” He gestured. “My hips were—” So wide it was obscene.
“I did for a day,” Feng Xin admitted. “It was like I’d gotten used to it.”
Mu Qing’s jaw dropped a little bit. He hadn’t noticed. He’d been looking but he hadn’t noticed.
Feng Xin laughed. “They say the body never recovers after pregnancy,” he teased. “I bet you can’t get rid of the sway of your hips now.” He ran his hand over Mu Qing’s hipbone, pronounced again. “You’re all open for me.”
“I’m tired,” Mu Qing said, though his dick was interested again. “Not again right now, it really—” He groaned. “God, I loved it, but being pregnant was tiring. I need a rest period.” But he did want to see about his hips. Maybe now that he and Feng Xin had both been pregnant, they’d both walk a little differently, hips swaying the same. Their secret.
Feng Xin took him in, propped up on elbow. He ran his hand over his own stomach. “I’m not tired right now.”
Mu Qing grinned, feeling out of control. He closed his eyes and prayed.