Chapter 1: Introduction
The lights in the bar flickered to life, a stark contrast to the dim, moody atmosphere that Tim preferred. He fidgeted with the hem of his too-tight suit, pulling it down to cover his belly that seemed to have a mind of its own—a puffed-out, double-layered bubble of softness that wasn't always easy to ignore. His suit pants rode up a little too high, exposing a hint of his bubble butt, a trait he'd inherited from his mother's side of the family and one he wished he could trade in for something a little more flat and athletic.
"Come on, Tim, you need to relax.
It's just a drink," his friend Sarah had said, giving him a playful shove through the door. Tim took a deep breath, the scent of expensive alcohol and the faint undertone of sweat from the writhing bodies on the dance floor filling his nostrils. He spotted a small group of stools at the end of the bar, vacant except for a lone drink sitting untouched. It was a reprieve from the sea of bodies, and he grabbed the opportunity.
As he made his way over, he noticed two men, both in their thirties, leaning against the bar. They were the kind of handsome that made Tim feel like a potato in comparison.
The first, with short brown hair and green eyes, was talking animatedly, his lean, muscular frame barely contained by his neatly tailored shirt. The second had short blonde hair and blue eyes, his toned, athletic body accentuated by his slim-fit jeans. Tim couldn't help but notice how their clothes fit them perfectly, unlike his own that seemed to be on a mission to suffocate him.
He ordered a drink from the bartender, a confident woman with a pierced nose and a tattoo of a phoenix on her exposed shoulder.
She smiled at him, a small, kind smile that didn't reach her eyes. He ordered a whiskey sour, trying to look like he belonged.
"You know, they say if you squeeze a fat guy, whiskey comes out," a voice said, too close to his ear. Tim turned to see the man with brown hair, the one who had looked like he was about to burst with laughter just moments ago. He gestured to his friend, the blonde one, who nodded, grinning.
"Yeah, and if you squeeze Tim here, you'll get a whole keg," the blonde added, chuckling.
Tim's cheeks flushed, and he felt his face grow hot. He looked down at his drink, the ice cubes clinking softly as he swirled the liquid around the glass. "You know, not everyone has to be a size zero to enjoy a drink," he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady.
The man with brown hair, Jeb, leaned in closer, his green eyes scanning Tim up and down. "Oh, we know that, buddy. We're just saying, you should probably invest in a bigger suit. Or maybe a muumuu. Something more...
comfortable," Jeb finished, his lips curling up in a smirk. Ethan, the blonde, snickered, his blue eyes dancing with amusement.
Tim felt his heart sink, the weight of their words pressing down on him like a lead blanket. He took a deep breath, trying to push back the sting of their words. "You know, not everyone can be a gym rat like you two," he shot back, his voice a little sharper than he intended. But he was tired of being the punchline to everyone's jokes.
Jeb raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Whoa, touchy much?
We're just joking around," Ethan said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "No need to get so worked up, big guy."
Tim felt the heat rise in his cheeks again. He was always the one to laugh at his own expense, to make light of his weight to avoid the stinging remarks of others. But tonight, he just didn't have it in him.
He took a sip of his drink, the sour taste of the whiskey doing little to mask the bitter taste of humiliation in his mouth. He could feel their eyes on him, could practically see the smirk still plastered on their faces.
Tim took another sip of his drink, the whiskey burning its way down his throat. He wasn't used to this. He wasn't used to standing up for himself, to not laughing along with the joke. But tonight, he just couldn't. He felt a weight in his chest, a tightness that told him he needed to get out of there.
As he started to slide off the stool, he heard a soft, "Hey, I'm sorry about that."
Tim looked up to see the third man from the group, the one who hadn't joined in on the mocking.
He was tall and lean, with short brown hair and green eyes that seemed to hold a genuine apology.
"Tom, right?" Tim asked, remembering the name Jeb had used earlier.
Tom nodded, extending a hand towards Tim. "I'm Tom. And you are?"
Tim hesitated before shaking Tom's hand, "Tim. But you don't have to pretend you're not friends with those two." He gestured towards Jeb and Ethan, who were now engaged in a heated debate about something on the other side of the bar.
Tom lowered his hand, a genuine look of discomfort on his face. "I'm not.
They're assholes sometimes," Tom said bluntly, his eyes never leaving Tim's. "I thought you handled it pretty well, though. Most people just clam up or start crying."
Tim raised an eyebrow, taken aback by Tom's honesty. "Well, I've been on the receiving end of their 'jokes' before. Guess I'm getting used to it." He took another sip of his drink, the ice clinking against the glass.
Tom leaned against the bar, his gaze still intent on Tim. "You shouldn't have to. People like that, they're just...
insecure themselves. They lash out because they think it makes them look better." Tom paused, his eyes flickering towards Jeb and Ethan before returning to Tim. "Anyway, I'm sorry they did that. You didn't deserve it."
Tim felt a small flutter in his chest at Tom's words. It was the first time someone had apologized to him for Jeb and Ethan's behavior, the first time someone had acknowledged that he didn't deserve the ridicule.
He offered Tom a small smile. "Thanks. I appreciate it."
Tom's gaze lingered on Tim's face, his expression softening slightly.
"You look like you could use another drink." He gestured to Tim's nearly empty glass. "Let me get that for you."
Before Tim could protest, Tom was signaling the bartender, who quickly refilled Tim's glass. Tom turned back to him, holding up his own drink, a neat whiskey. "Cheers," he said, clinking glasses with Tim.
Tim took a sip, the cool liquid soothing the burn in his throat. He felt a sense of ease in Tom's presence, something he hadn't expected given the evening's events.
Tom leaned in, his voice low. "So, what brings you here tonight?
Besides the obvious," Tom added, gesturing to the packed bar with a smirk.
Tim chuckled, appreciating Tom's attempt at lightheartedness. "Just trying to have a good time, you know? Blow off some steam. But it looks like I'm not the only one who needed a drink." He nodded towards Tom's glass, which was already half empty.
Tom raised an eyebrow, a playful gleam in his eye. "Oh, I always need a drink.
Especially after a day like today," Tom said, taking a swig from his glass. "But enough about me. You know, it's not often I see someone stand up for themselves like you did. It takes guts."
Tim felt a warmth spread through him at Tom's compliment. "I try.
Sometimes it's harder than others, though." He glanced down at his belly, self-consciousness resurfacing.
Tom followed his gaze and sighed. "Look, I know those guys were out of line. But you shouldn't let them get to you. You're better than that."
Tim looked up, meeting Tom's green eyes.
There was something sincere in his gaze, something that made Tim feel seen in a way he hadn't in a long time. "Thank you," he said softly. "That means a lot."
Tom smiled, a genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "It's the truth. You're here, you're trying, and that's more than a lot of people can say."
Tim felt his cheeks flush again, but this time it was with a different kind of heat. He took another sip of his drink, trying to hide his discomfort. "So, what's your story, Tom?
What brings you to this fine establishment on a night like this?" Tim asked, eager to shift the focus away from himself. He couldn't remember the last time someone had made him feel so... seen.
Tom smirked, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. "Nothing too exciting, I'm afraid. Just your average guy, trying to make it in the big city. I work in marketing, so nights like these are pretty common. Either I'm out schmoozing clients or drowning my sorrows after a long day at the office."
Tim nodded, understanding the struggle all too well. "I'm in finance.
Long hours, stressful deadlines, the usual," Tim said, swirling the remnants of his drink. He felt a sense of comfort opening up to Tom, like he had known him for years instead of mere minutes.
Tom nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd before landing on Tim again. "Well, at least we have one thing in common – we both like to unwind with a good drink." He raised his glass slightly, a subtle invitation for Tim to do the same.
Tim clinked his glass against Tom's, the ice cubes tinkling softly.
"Here's to unwinding," he said, taking a sip of his drink.
Tom smiled, his gaze never leaving Tim. "So, Tim, what do you do when you're not crunching numbers and schmoozing clients?" he asked, his voice casual yet interested.
Tim chuckled, appreciating Tom's attempt to keep the conversation light. "Not much, really. I go to the gym sometimes, try to stay in shape. Although, as you can probably tell, I'm not the most successful at it," he joked, gesturing to his belly.
Tom grinned, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, at least you're trying. That's more than I can say for some people." He took a sip of his drink, his gaze lingering on Tim's face. "So, what about hobbies? Any secret talents you're hiding?"
Tim laughed, shaking his head. "Not really. I used to play the guitar when I was younger, but I haven't picked it up in years. I'm sure I'd be terrible now."
Tom nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know, I've always wanted to learn how to play.
My parents made me take piano lessons growing up, but it was never really my thing," Tom admitted, his gaze still focused on Tim.
"Piano's not so bad. It's probably easier to pick up than guitar, since you already know how to read music," Tim suggested, taking another sip of his drink. He felt a strange sense of comfort, talking to Tom about something other than work or his own insecurities.
Tom raised an eyebrow. "You know how to play the guitar, but you say you're terrible? I don't believe it. You should play something for me sometime," he said, his voice laced with genuine curiosity.
"Prove me wrong."
Tim chuckled, a soft, surprised sound. "I don't know if that's such a good idea. I haven't played in years. I probably sound like a cat being strangled."
Tom grinned, his eyes lighting up with a challenge. "I think you're just trying to set the bar low. Besides, even if you're right, I'm sure you'd still sound better than me trying to play."
Tim felt a warmth spread through him at Tom's words, a mix of flattery and amusement. "Well, maybe one of these days.
When I'm not feeling so... self-conscious," Tim said, his voice softening as he glanced down at his suit.
Tom followed Tim's gaze, his expression turning serious. "You know what? Fuck self-consciousness. You're here, you're alive, and you're fucking beautiful, Tim. Don't let anyone, especially not those idiots over there, make you feel otherwise."
Tim looked up, taken aback by Tom's intensity. "Beautiful?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
Tom nodded, his green eyes burning into Tim's. "Yeah, beautiful.
Not just your looks, though that's obvious," Tom said, his gaze sweeping over Tim's body, lingering on his round belly and bubble butt. "But your spirit. The way you stand up for yourself, the way you laugh... it's fucking hot."
Tim's breath hitched at Tom's words, his chest tightening with a mix of desire and disbelief. He'd never had someone look at him like that before, never had someone make him feel so... wanted.
Tom leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, husky whisper that sent a shiver down Tim's spine.
"You know, I've been watching you since you first came in. You're like a fucking magnet, drawing me in. I can't stop thinking about what it would feel like to run my hands over every inch of you."
Tim's breath hitched, his body responding to Tom's words in a way that was both exciting and terrifying. He felt a heat spread through him, a warmth that pooled in his lower belly and sent a throbbing pulse between his legs.
"Fuck, you're making me hard just thinking about it," Tom murmured, his hand reaching out to grip Tim's thigh.
Tim gasped at the contact, his body tensing as Tom's fingers dug into his flesh. He could feel the heat radiating from Tom's touch, could feel the weight of his gaze as it traveled from Tim's eyes down to his exposed belly and beyond.
"I-I can feel it," Tim stuttered, his cheeks flushing with a combination of arousal and embarrassment. He knew he should pull away, should put some distance between them before things went too far. But he couldn't. Not with Tom's hand on his leg, not with the desire pooling in his belly like molten lava.
But as Tim's thoughts swirled in a haze of arousal and disbelief, suddenly, Tom's grip tightened, and he reached up, his fingers curling around the bulge of Tim's lower belly, beneath the waistband of his too-tight suit.
"Jesus, you're a fatso," Tom muttered, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and lust.
Tim's heart leaped into his throat, his cheeks burning with a rush of humiliation and arousal. He tried to pull away, his hands flailing at Tom's wrist in a feeble attempt to dislodge his grip. "Stop, Tom, that's—that's not—I'm not—" he stammered, his words tangling in his mouth as he struggled to form a coherent thought.
But Tom didn't let go.
Instead, his grip tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Tim's belly. "When you walked in here, I thought, 'What a fat fuck.' You look like a fucking balloon, Tim. A big, round, beautiful balloon," Tom whispered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down Tim's spine.
Tim's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "W-What did you say?" he stammered, his cheeks flaming with humiliation. He tried to push Tom's hand away, but Tom held him firmly in place, his grip unyielding. "That's not—that's not okay, Tom. You can't say that to me."
Tom smirked, his eyes gleaming with a dark, intense desire. "Why not? It's the truth. You're fat, Tim. You're fucking huge.
Look at this ass," Tom growled, his hand moving from Tim's belly to grip his massive bubble butt, squeezing it roughly. Tim's eyes widened in shock, his breath hitched in his throat as he tried to process what was happening. "You fill my fucking palm, Tim. You're a fucking marvel," Tom muttered, his voice thick with need.
Tim's muscles tensed, his body instinctively pulling away from Tom's touch. "Tom, stop. Don't... Don't talk to me like that," Tim stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He could feel the heat of Tom's hand through his suit pants, could feel the weight of his gaze as it traveled over his body. He tried to push Tom away, but Tom's grip was firm, his fingers digging into Tim's soft flesh. "This isn't funny anymore.
Let go of me, Tom," Tim demanded, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear. His eyes widened as he attempted to push Tom's hand away, but Tom's grip remained firm, his fingers biting into Tim's soft flesh. The dimly lit bar and pulsating dance floor seemed a world away, as Tim's focus narrowed to the intense, unsettling situation unfolding between them.
Tom's smirk faded, replaced by a look of cold determination. "Come on, Tim. We both know you want this. You've been giving me the eye all night," he growled, his voice low and insistent. "I can see the way you look at me, the way your body responds. You want me to treat you like the fat little slut you are."
Tim's heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
He tried to squirm away, to free himself from Tom's grasp, but Tom's hand remained anchored to Tim's massive bubble butt, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.
"Let me go, Tom! You're hurting me," Tim pleaded, his voice a desperate whisper. He could feel the heat of Tom's hand through his suit pants, could feel the imprint of his fingers on his skin. But Tom's grip was unyielding, his touch both painful and arousing, a confusing mix of sensations that left Tim's mind reeling.
Tom's green eyes darkened, a storm of desire and dominance brewing within their depths. "I'm not hurting you, Tim. I'm just giving you what you want," he growled, his voice low and insistent. He squeezed Tim's butt, his fingers massaging the soft, rounded flesh.
Tim's breath hitched, his body tensing as he tried to process the overwhelming sensations. Just as Tom's other hand began to roam, Tim felt a sudden rush of panic. He knew he couldn't stay here, couldn't let this happen. He had to get away, had to find some place where he could be alone, where he could think.
In a sudden burst of movement, he pushed Tom's hands away and scrambled off the stool, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't look back, didn't wait to see Tom's reaction. He just ran, weaving his way through the crowded bar, his eyes scanning for an escape. He spied a door marked "Private" and darted towards it, his heart in his throat.