Vacation Time Vastness Part 2

This is fulfilling a couple of patron requests at once, hahaha!
A continuation of this post, Langley and Ceran's vacation really went and amped up an already debaucherous affair! You know how demons be, igniting and encouraging our most volatile psychological weaknesses. JUST 'LIL DEMON THINGS! I've had a lot of hopeful requests for me to draw Ceran at them buck wiLD SIZES, them TURBO proportions, and I'm like...fuck it, you know? That's the slogan of the year!

Because this was such a doozy of a piece, I reasoned it was worth the pairing of a little assigned scenework. Slap on some plot, drop a mini fic. The character of Langley does belong to my friend and I have been granted permission to use them as Ceran's fiendish feeder this go around! All the same, you folks get the multiple versions per your pleasure! 👌




----- Fic Below! ----- ♨️

It wasn’t uncommon for Ceran to find himself vexed before a vacation.

It wasn’t that he didn’t crave some time away, to unwind and unspool somewhere a little more luxurious, he merely had a habit of fretting about the neighborhood in his absence. Leaving it to be looked after by one street Lead? Paulie of all people? He was tentative to be certain, even as the big red demon man waved off his concerns while cigar smoke spilled garishly from his coughing lips. It was always plenty evident that he needed the watchdog of an elf to be OFF somewhere ELSE, so he can conduct his illicit affairs unimpeded. While Ceran was hardly convinced by his half-ass reassurances alone, it was the assist of another demonic associate that charmed him: Langley.

A demon, perhaps not of same breed of demon as Paulie and his ilk, but wicked horns and a whip-like tail was more than enough to add to that air of motivated mischief one ought to be cautious of. And yet? Ceran is an easy enough fox to fool if one placates him in all the correct ways; compliments, affectionate teasing, lingering hands.

Langley knew what buttons to press.
What logic to lean into. What type of convincing would summon the elf out of his chair and away from the neighborhood for a few weeks, and not even merely just for Ceran’s benefit, or even Paulie’s. Langley was an exquisite opportunist when it came to handsome things he likes.

A resort down south, away from the coast but perched on some idyllic islands all out of the way, was suggested as the ideal location for some much needed recreation and respite! The brochure he seemed to conjure from nothingness appeared to be on the level, and not without its appeal of well-manicured private beaches, buffets of the finest culinary experiences one can savor, and massages and masks to regale one’s skin with such sensuous comfort they may even see one or two of those pesky crow’s feet flutter away.

And with that the elf relented, and being so well beguiled by the pardoning promises, he shook the demon’s hand in eager affirmation.

Ah, so unwise.


Spells and enchantments are such curious things. Their power varies on the intent, the subject, the source. When one wants to influence another being to their whims, it helps when the being has already closeted bias in regards to such predilections. They just need a little coaxing in the right direction.

Ceran wasn’t necessarily easy, but he wasn’t hard either. He was an older gentleman so bondaged up by societal restraint that truly all he needed sometimes? Was permission!

The first loosened stones of the proverbial avalanche were always such exquisite ones.
Sure, there was indeed at first there were those obligatory concerns of spoiling one’s image while letting a little too loose on holiday; standard practice. Lots of phrases along the lines of “had enough for the evenin’, don’t wanna overdo it” or “haha probably shouldn’t, if I want these abs to still be here when I get back.” Little jokes, little excuses, and yet his vacation companion would insist. Lovingly, affectionately, reassuringly. Why travel all this way, know the comforts of these scenic beaches and luxury service, only to experience them at half measures? It was a difficult argument to best, not that Ceran was trying very hard to, as his pearly white fangs sunk into the succulent flaky meat of a flawlessly roasted bass. Room service was remarkably timely, astoundingly so, often seeming to preemptively send things he didn’t order but couldn’t bring himself to deny. Before he could give the hesitant voice of better judgment within him a moment to speak? There in swanned Langley, as if on cue, fawning on him with affection and honeyed words of how fine and well fed his stud was looking, already deciding on their plans for the evening of treading through the shallows before attending the beach BBQ event. Occasionally, self-awareness would claw to the surface just long enough for him to be cognizant of the way his stomach groaned and lamented, noising muffled watery-protests in its swollen over-stretched state of being so unendingly bloated.

“Hey babe I should maybe take it easy, I’ll never hear the end of it if I show back up lookin’ like a retired football player,” Ceran had chuckled, and while it was done so with all that deep-throated daddish timbre of good humored indifference? The nervousness hanging on those chuckled words betrayed him. His large clawed mitts pulled on the cord of his bathrobe to its fullest, but were met with no further give than previous. A small rough grunt escaped him as he let it drop from his grip— and along with it, the tremendous heft of his rounding belly that now dumped free with a ludicrous bounce and sway it had not wielded previous. The man scratched at his stubble, disquieted, but fixated.

“Well, that’s not gonna hide behind a filter…” Ceran’s thoughts would ruminate as he inspected the damage reflected back at him in the bathroom mirror. The upscale countertop of refined marble was refreshingly cool to the touch as he let his belly dump free atop its surface. The tan soft flab, a far cry from the brick-laid abs that he’d so proudly peacock on socials, seemed to spill out across the sink like rapidly expanding bread dough, only ceasing when his navel dented upon the faucet. The visual summoned a complex cultivation of emotions he was at odds with. On one hand, could he even shave this off at the gym as effortlessly as he’d initially hoped? It certainly wouldn’t go unchecked by his smarmy cohorts who’d clock that extra poundage from a mile away. On the other hand?

Throb.

While Ceran thought he’d surpassed a threshold of no return, it was apparent he and Langley had varying definitions of that. What was a main course to one was just the appetizer to another. Any time Ceran dared to broach a sobering thought regarding the repercussions of his rapturous weight gain, Langley’s salacious slender hand would snake it’s way along the rugged angle of his chin. Caressing him, fawning over him, feeling the way the elf’s square jawed visage softened its way to a second chin. Like pottery, it may as well have been, to the captivated demon so satisfied with the development of his plaything.

Each day was another squelch-TICK upwards on the scale; this auditory indicator being the only way Ceran knew it was counting up, as he’d long since lost the ability to see it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew returning home would sure be a scene. Was this this Mr. Lynch? Or some long lost obese brother who looks like he eats both competitively and in his downtime?! Even a task as mundane and previously low effort as navigating the resort had acquired itself new hurdles. A little too often he found himself having to huff-grunt-SHOVE his wobbling width, be it hips, ass, or recently glutted gut THROUGH an average doorway. His heaving chest actively ricocheted buttons off his island print shirts if he so much as breathed too deeply. No belt ever survived past lunch, and soon? No polyester past breakfast.

In time, with the right mixture of potion-laced cocktails and surf & turf buffets, he’d guide this man into the den of debauchery he’d always yearned for him. A personal Isklen, at a perfect ponderous size for all his fiendish needs, flourishing as an absolute wellspring of ecstasy that any folk of fae or spirit would be positively drunk off of! So he fueled and fed into this hedonism, and the deeper the elf descended the more the intoxicating nature of the affair muffled his inhibitions. What motive did he have to leave, to escape, with his every need so abundantly sated? Not that he could if he desired to, at this point. Doorway limitations, and all that.

Ceran’s mind was a feverish daze of unceasing arousal and the dreamy ache of being so obscenely encumberingly full. Langley dare not let him know a moment without a calorie in his mouth. His cock felt perpetually edged into such cruel unyielding pleasure; the once impressive girth now always smothered by warm undulating softness that left him a constant pump of thick dripping pre. Langley would tend to him most certainly, eventually, but after dinner, yes?

It was hard to gauge whether Langley’s pride or his lust reigned supreme as he preened over his “well fed hunk.” That was a fun way to say “man mattress,” what with the way the man’s enormity could be easily compared to that of a waterbed. The slow and low watery gurglings and glorpings of the burly-blimp-elf’s belly and it’s digesting feast were such strange kinky music to the demon as he pressed an exploratory hand into the vastness of it. “My, my, is our big beautiful man here throwing in the towel already? Certainly no, feels like there is still yet room in this tank, yes?” The demon lovingly purred as his teasing and kneading urged a boisterous belch to rudely rumble up from the elf. He took that as a yes! Beneath him the hotel bed whined and sagged to the floor, with the frame itself held together by magics surely of the other-worldly sort.