The Monarch Theater was the kingdom's finest cultural institution. It stood tall--a cathedral of extravagant masonry and neon lights, beige brick walls adorned with magical illusions and real glowing signs. Reporters and tabloid journalists alike lined either side of a red carpet, standing behind velvet rope. Many held curious gadgets in their hands--cameras. In many ways, the realm's technology had grown to surpass its magic.
But there were some things only magic could do.
A blue spark descended from the red skies above; the blue blur hit to the ground, landing with a heavy thud that shook the ground. A cloud of dust and icy mist fell over the waiting crowd. Two powerful wings of shimmering ice rose from the fog, their tips casting a cool glow over the crowd. With the power of a dragon, the wings flapped with a crisp woosh, dispersing the obscuring mist in an unmistakable display of draconic power. The massive half-lion floated an inch above the ground, wings of ice resplendent behind his beautifully groomed mane. (Whether this was good comb work or convincing illusion magic was hard to discern.) Behind the dragon's wings, a tabby cat lifted his paw to the air to greet the crowd.
It had been their first time in the public spotlight since their return from the Shadowfell many months ago. One thing was for certain--Rand and Luther made one hell of a first impression.
Luther hopped off his mount to walk alongside the double-wide feline. His burgundy tuxedo gleamed in the flashing of countless cameras. The intricate silver embellishments lining the edges of his jacket were enchanted to sparkle at the slightest illumination. His iridescent, patterned bow-tie demanded attention, distracting from any potential inconsistencies in his magical handiwork. It was hard to imagine such clothes were adequate for battle, but his magical body soaked up worse punishment than any armor he could competently wear, anyway.
Rand, however, wore something better suited to his previous role. The draconic sorcerer was dressed in silken, baggy pants under a warm winter coat that fell past his knees. It was wrapped tightly around his gut with a thick, brown leather belt adorned with a load-bearing, snowflake-shaped belt buckle.
The two held hands as they made their way to the entrance of the crowded theater. People shouted questions, eager to get a good sound bite or two from the heroic duo. They were the last two of the crew sent into the Feywild who had yet to move onto new adventures. Needless to say, that wouldn't be happening.
"What will you two do next?" asked one pretty, curvy, freckled wolf. "What happened in the Shadowfell?" asked an otter with a funny-looking goatee.
Now that the war on the Shadowfell was over, nearly anyone could get their hands on a camera. Gradually, the kingdom's vast military industrial complex fell out of use, the armament factory lines pivoting to civilian goods and products of convenience. Rand could count in one hand the number of times he'd been photographed before today. These days, well....
“Were you born to be used by the military?” Flash!
“What kind of Experiments did they conduct down there!” Pop!
"Is it true that the military tried extracting a dragon's soul?" Bang!
Rand closed his eyes, trying to imagine a more peaceful time:
He was back in his childhood room. He remembered the funny lava lamp that sat on the ground next to his bed. His bed, a simple, stiff mattress, also sat on the ground besides the molten light. He'd stare at that red-and-orange lava lamp for hours when he couldn't sleep. Globular blobs of goop floating up and falling down in a thick, amber liquid. It was a simple existence, but he didn't mind.
His plain white bedroom walls were faintly illuminated by the lamp's warm glow. Sometimes he wished he could look out of a window, but he understood his flight and budding destructive powers made that a no-no. He rolled onto his back, sighing as he looked around. He could go sit on his desk, maybe even try writing again. He had one of those crappy green lamps with the wide stands, the kind where the glass shade wouldn't stay upright, so he had to adjust it every time he went to pull on the cord to flick it on or off.
He decided to stay put in bed for now. His eyes were heavy, and he was nearly back to sleep....
Snap!
A flash of light awoke him from his brief slumber: The fluorescent overhead light was the closest thing he had to sunlight down there. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, the somewhat pudgy dragon turning onto his knees, stretching and yawning loudly. He leaned against his nearby desk for support as he stood up. His stubby horns scratched against the wall as he got up; the scratch was just a little higher than it'd been last time.
Rand didn't read as well as most students, but he knew numbers, at least, so he could recognize the measuring tape his mother had helpfully had the wall lined with. Five feet, three inches, he'd thought.
"Ran...ll S...nis," the intercom in the corner of the room chimed up. A bit of static made it hard to tell who was speaking. The speaker must have frosted over again. “Randal Somnis?” the words chimed through once more, a woman's voice.
"Ma?” His eyes lit up.
"...I'm sorry, dear," the woman's voice replied, a little more clear this time. "No such luck. Madam General Somnis is very, very busy with the war effort."
The lion deflated a little, but he tried to keep a bit of enthusiasm in his tone. The war was taking a toll on everyone, not just him. "Morning, miss Margie."
"You're always a sweetheart, Randall," she praised. "Breakfast is ready at the mess hall. They want you in the infusion chamber at 9:00am, so you'd best hurry."
The idea of going back into the water made him feel a little queasy. Still, he nodded before quickly realizing she couldn't see him. "Yes ma'am."
Rand walked meekly down a rather bare concrete hallway on his way to breakfast. He wore plain gray pajamas and a cozy, almost orthopedic, pair of slippers; his hands were neatly tucked into his pockets. He didn't want people looking at the awkward scaly patches on his fingers. The numbers '07' were stamped on his back. He was the runt of his litter.
As he walked down the seemingly endless hallway, the fluorescent overhead lights seemed to flash on and off, faster and faster. He squinted, trying to block out the light. Just as he began to feel overwhelmed, though....
A wave of pink and purple light flooded the corridor, and the beating of his heart instantly steadied. Rand's building panic had been smothered by a surge of familiar fey magic. The lights dimmed, and he blinked a couple of times. As he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in front of an opulent set of dark wooden doors. They were so wide that he could comfortably fit through just one of the doors; a feat in itself. Rand was surrounded by glimmering golden walls, their smooth finish adorned with gilded patterns and set with gemstones. The ceiling must have been twenty, maybe thirty feet tall, though he was always bad at eyeballing sizes. He turned his head, finding himself surrounded by exquisite suits and extravagant dresses. He wasn't all that worried about status, but in this magically calm state, he could appreciate feeling so... important. Some draconic sense of pride was roused by the countless impressed onlookers. He was a hero. He was a gods-damned dragon.
"You okay?" Luther asked with a knowing smirk.
Rand nodded eagerly, causing his chins and cheeks to wobble in the process. "Sure am, lil Lu." He squeezed the cat's paw a little tighter in silent thanks.
As the doors opened, the two were pointed to their seats. At the top of a long-ass staircase.
Luther gave Rand another look. "I'm not making that walk," the tubby cat warned, frowning disapprovingly at the concept of prolonged staircases.
Rand just grinned. "Alright, come here, little feller," he said, wrapping the cat in his massive arms. His icy wings flapped once, sending a wave of cold wind sweeping across the lobby as the two ascended through the dark theater hall.
The room was unbelievably grand, likely magical in its scale. The ceiling must have been a dozen stories high, at least. Along the floor, arranged in the shape of an 'U', dozens of rows of seats were all staggered on an incline so that no one would have their line of sight blocked.
At the center of it all was an impossibly large stage which was, in fact, the product of an illusion. While the physical stage was staggering in scale, being large enough to dwarf most homes, the visual magic at play expanded its footprint ten-fold. The space behind the curtains seemed like a window into the outside world.
They floated at the entrance of the grand theatre, taking in the room, and basked together in a moment of silent bliss. Luther buried his snout into the lion's chest, taking in his comforting scent. As a kitten, he'd always dreamed of becoming a well-renowned scholar, his heart yearned for the praise of many. Now, as he floated over a massive room filled with people he had fought to protect, people who saw him and his companion as their champions, he felt the sense of accomplishment he once feared would be forever out of reach. His goal accomplished, Luther just clung to his dragon, the cat's body glowing a little as he was overcome by glee.
"H-hey, lil Lu?" Rand whined. The lion's stomach growled as it slowly grew outward, filled with something warm and very, very heavy. "You're doing it again."
Luther pulled his face away, letting out a quiet "Shit!" as he tried to stop the surge of fey magic. Rand's gut felt somewhat taut against his frame, but it hadn't been nearly as much as the previous butter incident.
"Lu, control yourself!" Rand protests, blushing a little. "That feels mighty nice, though," Rand admitted, allowing himself a little smile as the warmth spread through his naturally cold frame.
The cat gently kneaded at the lion's now-gurgling tummy and purred a little. "Looks mighty nice, too."
The lion produced an exaggerated sigh as he descended upon their private viewing box to some fanfare from nearby onlookers. Thankfully, their illusory outfits concealed the lion's notably larger stomach. "I sure hope you didn't fill me up with anything bad."
Luther couldn't bring himself to confess he'd willed 10 pounds of cheesy ten bean chili into the dragon's gut. By accident, obviously.
The show began shortly after the pair took their seats. A group of bards walked on stage, each holding a different instrument. As they began to play, the illusory theater quickly shifted into gear. It all started with a magical plane and its portly panda pilot....
• • •
Rand's stomach managed to behave itself for the first hour of the show, its protests ramping up gradually. He was sweating profusely, his mane matted and his fur sticky with the stuff. His stomach produced a soft bubbling as it worked through his heavy, unintended meal. The chili's spicy, cheesy nature wasn't helped by just how stuffy the room was. Rand was so used to chilling any room he was in that he'd grown accustomed to being comfortable indoors. The heat wasn't as important outside, as he could let loose much more easily out in the open.
His stomach rumbled ominously. The feeling of his guts swelling made it hard to focus. It also made him hard. He couldn't help but grunt as his innards shifted.
"You okay, big fella?” Luther asked, his voice feeling distant, somehow. "Rand?”
"Rand?”
He was in a sterile white room. His eyes scanned the blank walls, eager for something to entertain themselves with.
"Rand, wake up," someone whispered. A doctor?
His eyes lit up. "I'm up, I'm up," he whispered back, sitting up on his austere hospital bed, yet met some resistance. His burgeoning belly pushed back against his knees, forcing him to lie back again. "Am I good now, doc?"
The disembodied voice had left him alone in the exam room.
Left to his own devices, Rand stood up with some difficulty. His weight was always a bit of a concern, but it was really skyrocketing the more his dragon features began to come through. Sharp, angular teeth; curved horns; a more serpentine tongue; his thickening tail; countless new, scaly patches.... The fledgling dragon stretched, tiny wings spreading uselessly as he did so. He scratched at the small scales along one of the folds on his left flank, between his love handle and his side moob. They were extra itchy when they were first coming in.
Rand looked around curiously, peeking at a stack of papers on a nearby wooden desk. "Howdy there," he said, wiggling his pudgy digits. He grabbed a binder stuffed with scientific-looking notes and excessively-annotated sketches. At first glance, they were sketches of him, though he was initially oblivious to that fact. He leaned in really close, taking in every line with the utmost care with bright, eager eyes.
"Rand, snap out of it!"
"Not now, discom... dis... disco-bopulated voice," he protested, waving a hand dismissively in the air. "I'm admirating litter-arture!" He locked in, his brain working overtime to understand the dense text before him.
'Randall Somnis, Unit 7, age 19, male.' He could make out some of the words, though intelligence had never been his strongest suit. Curious, however, he tried to read on. 'Acceptable health, 342... labs? Huh. Oh, 71 inches!' He smirked. 'Yeah, ma says I'm pretty tall for my age. Oh, uh... absorption status...? Unsuccessful. That can't be good,' he thought, a little sad. He wasn't too sure what the diagrams and numbers at the bottom of the page meant, but he at least knew he was doing something wrong. Bummed out by the increasingly convoluted text, he gave up on the page and flipped it over.
The first page was dated some time in the past. A few years, at least, though his notion of time left something to be desired. He was significantly smaller, roughly 4 feet and noticeably scrawny. The drawings inside his body all seemed to check out with his limited understanding of normal person anatomy--all his bits looked like the cut-open mannequins he'd find in his medicine class. He tilted his head as he read through the notes, feeling somewhat... judged. 'Suboptimal subject. Head research recommended against his use, but the General insisted he receive the Frozen Soul.' Another note, poorly concealed by half-hearted eraser marks, read: 'Nepo baby?'
Rand scoffed. "I'd be offended if I knew what that word was." He skipped over a few pages, dismissing their concerns. He knew his mom knew what was best for the kingdom.
Rand's eyes widened a little as they scrolled through the contents of the second set of drawings. He was disturbed as he skimmed through diagrams that grew progressively weirder with each passing appointment. He'd manage to figure out that they gave him physicals in between those awful soaking sessions. The water was having an effect on his form, and it was spelled out explicitly for him. Unfamiliar growths had begun competing for space with his original components, and some of his normal bits had grown larger than they should have been. His heart, for one, looked worryingly enlarged. His lungs looked like marshmallows bulging against his ribs. There was a strange sack wedged under his awkwardly large stomach; it seemed to grow larger by the appointment.
He gulped a little, worried about what he'd find next as he skimmed forward, skipping to the last page. He was a little shaken as he looked through the results of his latest appointment. A painstakingly elaborate cross-section of his internal anatomy filled the entirety of the page, this one far more detailed than the rest. To his right, there was what seemed to be a regular lion for reference. The differences were stark. Extremely convincing black-and-white sketches of organs were crammed inside the outline of his pudgy body.
While he was dumb, Rand wasn't completely oblivious: He quickly managed to piece together that something was seriously off with his insides. Whoever examined him wrote a lot, too much, about every little piece of him. His heart was a lot larger than that of a normal lion his size. His lungs were constricted by his ribcage, even more so than before; it was as if they could have grown larger were it not for his limiting skeleton. Perhaps most surprisingly, his stomach wasn't even twice as large as that of a regular lion; it seemed normal enough save for the extensive pattern of stretch marks. (He couldn't help his cravings.) It at least seemed normal until his eyes drifted to the 'Cont.' at the bottom of the page. He flipped it over gingerly.
The next set of diagrams didn't leave enough to the imagination. There was an odd, bulbous mass that dwarfed all of the squiggly bits inside the normal lion on the right half of the page, hastily labeled as an 'abnormal draconic growth.' He realized that it was the same small growth from the last page he examined at length. Smaller text underneath revealed it to be a second stomach, and a frightening one at that. The organs around it were similarly deformed, warped to sizes incongruent with his comparatively small frame. The diagram, which showed only organs and the muscle around them, depicted Rand as significantly more rotund than his normal neighbor. A significant amount of the stuffing under his pelt wasn't just pudge, but oversized dragon bits and pieces. As it turned out, he wasn't just big boned--he was big-gutted. He found a certain sense of satisfaction in that.
Somewhat disturbed but oddly satisfied, he read through the rest of the page. Massive, frigid intestines took up a troubling amount of room. That, at least, explained why chili nights always made him feel so swollen. Not just that, but there seemed to be some sort of specialized liquid reservoir lodged between all the squigly tubes, filled to the brim with a sub-zero liquid. The pressure within was immense, but it was so buried under other junk that it'd be hard to notice from the outside. A "liquid methane bladder," according to a spectro... something-or-other analysis of the organ's contents. At that point, Rand felt a lot better about how naturally hungry he was; he wasn't undisciplined, he just had the appetite of a dragon. Literally!
His face frowned as he flipped to the last page.
Line after line of dense jargon tore into Rand for every little defect, from his parentage to his upbringing and even his very being. He was, in no uncertain terms, described as too soft and too weak to become a dragon warrior. His proficiency with magic was far outshined by both the arcane and physical might shown by his predecessors. "In conclusion," he read aloud, albeit with great difficulty. "The subject is found to be of no value to the Royal Military." His heart dropped a little. "Probable cause: Defective specimen, defective host."
"I'm... defective?" Rand muttered. Speaking the word felt like trying to solve a puzzle with his tongue.
"Rand, please," the same voice pleaded.
"Not now, Mind Lu," he countered sadly. Then, his eyes widened as the white lab walls were suddenly replaced with the rich, gilded red curtains of the theater. "Lu?"
"Oh, thank the moon! You're back," Luther said, clearly worried. "You dozed off and started muttering something about rude drawings. I could tell you were having a bad dream."
"It wasn't all that bad till the end," the lion explained. "Just... plenty of bad memories in here." He poked the side of his head for emphasis.
"Military stuff?" Luther squeezed Rand's fat, scaly hand in his paw.
"Mhm." Rand yawned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The rumbling of his stomach had grown louder since he'd last noticed it, too, but he tried not to pay it too much mind. "We almost done here, lil Lu?"
"We're at the intermission, actually," Luther said.
The rumbling lion smiled in response, wiping a bucket of sweat off his brow. "Oh neat, I love those!" His face went flat for a moment as he thought more about what he professed his love for just then. "Lu, what's an intermission?"
The tubby tabby sighed, allowing himself to smile a little at his stupid companion's frequent displays of unintelligence. "The bards are on break," he explained.
Rand's eyes lit up with relief. "Thank goodness! I just need to show myself to the men's room. To, um... let out some steam," he explained coyly, discreetly rubbing over his noisy gut.
As he struggled to rise from his seat, the bards began to walk on stage.
"Dang it!"
• • •
The scaly blimp struggled to hold everything in. He tried timing brief, controlled belches so that they'd be drowned out by the show or the crowd's applause. He held his legs together with even more dedication, trying his best to contain the enormous pressure knocking at his double seated rear. The heat of the room warmed him up so thoroughly that it would have almost been pleasant, were it not for the effect it was having on his exoticdraconic innards. The pool of supercooled gas deep within his guts felt uncomfortably light and painfully distended all at once, and his intestines were faring no better. A boulder of half-digested food in his dragon stomach and countless gallons of backed-up greenhouse gases in his colon. He had been trained to enjoy indulgence so thoroughly, now, that the thought of gorging himself into a grumbling, sweaty blimp made his massive draconic cock leak against his pillowy overhang.
Luther, despite his proximity to the lion, couldn't tell the kind of distress Rand was in. Their magical disguise was too convincing, even to its original caster. All Luther heard were the occasional rumble or muffled burp. While that alone was enough to get him blushing, he was oblivious to the urgency of the situation.
Rand tried to calm his mind as he wrestled with endless waves of cramps. His innards were contorting in a fight for the dwindling space left under his overstretched pelt. He could swear he felt his stretch marks widening. The sensation of being so damn large was making his dick leak like a faucet, dripping onto the floor through his illusionary clothing, still somehow hiding the fact that he was swollen much larger than before. He fought against the urge to whine, feeling like a ticking time bomb in every sense of the word.
As the minutes passed, he began to feel lightheaded. The combination of excessive sweating and nonstop stimulation from his quivering tank made him struggle to keep it together, mentally. At that point, it was impossible to keep the massive methane storm churning inside him fully contained. Gusts of cold squeezed through his massive rump involuntarily, every tiny release making him wince a little from relief.
Ultimately, by the end of the show, Rand had absorbed all of five minutes of the opening before falling asleep. He couldn't pay attention to a minute of it after waking up, being as bloated as he was from Luther's forced chili dinner. But at last, their adventuring party's long-ass story had come to an end and the two could sneak their way out. Rand was especially keen on hauling tail.
"Lu, we need to go. Now." That was probably the most assertive he'd ever been when talking to the smaller cat.
"What's the matter, big fella?" Luther asked, calmly collecting his belongings as he got up, doing a little cat stretch, breathing in a long yawn, and stretching again, this time causing a joint to pop. "Oh man, I needed that."
"Please, Lu. I ain't feeling so hot..." he complained. He was, in fact, overheating. He tried and failed to stand, his balance thrown off by the massive size of his loudly churning stomach. "I might need a paw."
Luther blushed. "You're really out of shape, huh?" He stood in front of the lion and went to approach, but his knee pressed against something simultaneously soft and hard. He lost his balance somewhat and tipped forward, slumping over an invisible mass. His eyes widened with realization as Rand's face contorted. His erection was preordained the instant he felt that unseen mass rumble.
FFPPPRTTTHRRHHRTTHHTTTSSS!
Rand growled, mind blanking as his dick erupted, buckets of seed painting sticky zig-zags on his sweaty underbelly. The trembling of his stomach made his fat pad jiggle, wobbling his erect member as it throbbed with unrestrained desire. The loud, guttural outpour was forceful and uninterrupted. The odd, supercooled gas boiling up in his guts spread through the private theater booth so rapidly that the moisture in the air began to condense, then freeze around the two of them.
Luther's heart pounded like crazy as he felt all of that commotion roil through and out the lion, that lengthy internal struggle coming to a head as Rand's gut vibrated right against Luther's core. His claws extended reflexively into Rand's hide, the smaller cat clutching that blubbery balloon far too tightly as the stimulation finally broke his composure.
With one particularly deep rumble of the lion's deflating insides, Luther grunted, back arched, as he humped into Rand's grotesque gasbag of a middle, splashing cum against the bigger feline's quivering, stretch-marked surface. His claws gripped so tightly into the half-dragon that they drew blood, but neither of them were in the right mind to notice it.
A few dozen noisy seconds later, the intense rumbling within Rand's core began to quell. He took countless desperate, shallow breaths after seemingly holding his breath for the entire duration of the nearly minute-long fart.
Luther, too, allowed himself to breathe again, claws retracting as he slowly slid down onto his knees. His middle and chest rubbed against the splatter of cum he'd painted on the lion's gut. His knees found themselves soaked in a much bigger pool of said lion's making. Luther was too stupefied to care, though. He simply leaned against the pleasantly bloated stomach--his favorite mattress--and purred contentedly for a while.
"S-s-sorry, l-lil Lu," he whined out deliriously. He tried to lean forward, somewhat smooshing his little handler in the process, but his knees buckled under the lingering pleasure. Shudders rolled through his spine as the pressure in the dragon's churning cauldron dwindled. The remaining gas within shifted around noisily, filling the gaps his outburst had left behind, but the pressure was at least low enough to hold in till he got home. "T-that was a-a-awfully--" he paused to wheeze long and hard, "--uncouth of me."
He wanted to both scream from embarrassment and make out with his slobby companion, but he settled for a sensible middle ground. "This... this is bad," the fuzzy fey whispered to himself, tail low to the ground. 'What are they going to say?' he thought, eyes glancing over to the crowds sitting just two or three levels below their elevated, private perch. Their heads and seats were gradually coated with a light dusting of fresh, white, odorless snow that drifted from their upper veranda. It was... 'kinda pretty?' the cat thought.
Little shimmering snowflakes had formed over the startled crowd. Their gasps and murmurs of confusion had been drowned out by the proverbial dragon's 'roar.' Now, as the noise subsided, the crowds held their breath.
Maybe it was that Rand ripped ass for nearly a straight minute and people didn't know how to feel.
Then, after a minute of stunned silence, someone in the far side of the crowd produced a lone, tentative clap.
Someone on the other side of the colossal room chimed in, their distant input somewhat muffled by the falling snow.
The people near the pair looked confused, as far as Luther could tell. But as more people joined in on the clapping, they seemed to doubt their first impressions.
Someone near the front stage, portly, well-dressed crow, stood on their seat and cheered. "Hell yeah! The dragon guy made it snow with his ice roar!"
Luther raised an eyebrow. He'd considered using his specialty enchantment magic, but with an audience so dumb, magical gaslighting was almost overkill.
"Snowball fight!" someone else hollered.
"I knew I should have brought my winter coat," lamented someone particularly close to Rand's fat, sweaty ass. They had taken the brunt of the localized blizzard, having chosen a seat just beneath the two 'glorious heroes.'
"So, hey, Rand," Luther started. "You're one lucky bastard."
"Is that because I don't have a dad?" the lion asked incredulously, tilting his head.
The cat's face scrunched up in a flash of anger.
"I'm kidding, lil buddy!" he said, managing to lift himself from his heavily dented seat. "I gotcha real good there, didn't I?"
"You're one really lucky bastard, Somnis," Luther scolded, eyes narrowed. "Let's get out of here before the illusion drops and everyone gets wise to what just actually happened." He rubbed his shoulder, doing some mental math. "These illusory fits will be vanishing any minute now, and, uh...." He tilted his head and stuck out his tongue. "I'm all out of spell slots." The cat grinned sheepishly as Rand gurgled.