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increasing rate of change

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It was the first night in eleven weeks that Alec had slept without his shirt on, and Magnus took full notice of it.

He didn’t particularly care about what his husband wore to bed, though he would not denying that the sight of Alec’s toned body in nothing but form-fitting boxers was always an enjoyable last sight of the day, but it had become some what of a routine, and Alec wasn’t usually one for change.

Magnus hadn’t meant to keep track of the weeks, or anything along those lines, but when a few nights in a row with Alec dressed a worn t-shirt and untied drawstring pants became a new routine, he was a tad suspicious.

Earlier that night, when Alec returned home from what must have been a painstaking dinner with the Council (one that he had spent the whole last week fretting about), the pieces started to come together more clearly for Magnus. Alec didn’t greet him with a kiss on the cheek, another part of their developed routine, and instead kept his eyes glued to the floor, taking long strides to the bedroom. Despite his speed, Magnus got a good enough glimpse of him when he walked by.

He wore a baby blue button down, something that he hadn’t worn in far too long, and Magnus would have been pleased to take in the sight for longer if Alec hadn’t been so quick to evade him. Yet, while the shirt was one that fit his form perfectly back in New York, it was far too snug that evening, outlining the new, round bulge of his belly.

That was Alicante’s gift to him.

From meetings with political leaders and trials almost daily, the time that Alec had usually dedicated to working out was minimized to none.

Hours in the training room turned into hours in a chair, nights on patrol turned into nights lounging at home, and less than ten percent body fat turned into a number a little bit higher.

That, and what would have been simple Skype calls in New York transformed into dinner parties with full plates, and maybe Alec didn’t have the willpower he once thought.

Magnus had given him space after he had slammed the bedroom door, just a few minutes to clear his head, and had finally entered the bedroom to see Alec’s clothes tossed into a wrinkled pile, more than likely peeled off in a frustrated rage, and Alec himself laying on his side atop of the silk sheets.

He was silent, and so was Magnus, as he himself laid down on top of the sheets.

Alec's eyes were closed, not able to see Magnus watching the way that his pale skin shined in the bright light from the full moon, admiration clear as day. With every inhale and exhale Alec’s stomach puffed out and fell back, just a little, its curve was prominant.

A few weeks earlier, Alec had joked that the reason none of the Clave’s budget went to enforcing their newer laws throughout Idris was because it was entirely dedicated to catering for elaborate politcal dinners. Magnus had fondly rolled his eyes, but watching his husband then, seemingly bloated from the evening, he figured the statement had to be quite true.

Yet, with a longer gaze of Alec’s body as a whole, it was safe to say that his new figure was not something temporary, due to one evening of overeating.

Magnus’s sight moved down from Alec’s middle to his waist, where Alicante’s affect on him was clear. He wore nothing the same boxers that we wore to bed seven weeks ago, when his abdomen was all sharp lines and flat surfaces from an active duty diet and excercise routine, and wearing only that to bed was nothing out of the usual.

That night, though, the waistband of the boxers were struggling. The elastic band stretched as much as it could to fit his growing gut, but it was a pointless battle to fight, for the band must have been stretched to the point of no return, and from the top, flesh spilled out and over.

The sight reaffirmed Magnus’s original thought, that it wasn’t just dinner bloat, but chub. He was looking at a muffin top.

Magnus’s gaze continued to move down from there, where he saw the bottoms of the boxers were tight around Alec’s thighs, which were also thicker than usual. Not toned, in the way that they used to be, but more like the way his body had become over the past few weeks.

The shirt situation began to make sense, Magnus decided, because although Alec hadn’t mentioned anything about his weight, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wasn’t embarrassed. He once had the body of a Greek god, a combination of hard muscle and sharp edges, and all of that was gone.

Although his embarassment was understandable, Magnus truly didn’t mind the change, if only Alec could understand that.

Watching Alec’s stomach rise with his breaths, Magnus moved his hand with delicately over Alec’s new lovehandles, his palm rising and falling in the peaks and valleys of his curves, before patting his hand against Alec’s belly.

Months, or even a few weeks ago, the action would have had little effect. Yet, now, as his hand came down onto Alec’s belly, the flesh jiggled in response.

Magnus smiled, only to himself, before flattening his palm once more, and with light pressure, began to rub circles around his husband’s middle. It was like kneading dough, he thought, as his hand continued to sink, and he pushed the soft flesh into small circles.

From beside him, Alec emitted a soft, pleasured sound, almost a moan. His eyelids opened slowly, and he exhaled with relief and complete satisfaction, unable to stop himself from breathing out, “Oh.”

Magnus’s hand froze midmotion, hoping to have not embarassed Alec in his clear struggle with his weight, and admitted, “I thought you were asleep.”

“Nope,” Alec responded, though the words were not harsh, and he didn’t seem at all upset. His gaze flickered from Magnus’s face to Magnus’s hand, still pressed against his belly, and his worries seemed to fade as he put his own hand on top of Magnus’s, adding, “You don’t need to stop.”

“What? Oh,” Magnus finally tore his gaze away from Alec’s middle and looks up at his face, where Alec smiled. It was a tired smile, not fully stretching across his face, but wide enough to show off how round his cheeks had become. His once sharp jawline had blurred, and in that moment, with his chubby cheeks and his round tummy, he just looked so utterly soft. The admiration in Magnus’s eyes was hard to hide, and Alec’s shame disappated at the sight of it.

He turned onto his stomach, his belly jiggling once more as he settled himself into his new position, and he closed his eyes and exhaled, seeming to relieve himself of all the shame that weighed upon his shoulders.

“Gnight,” he whispered, and Magnus leaning in an inch to press a kiss against his cheek, whispering back, “Good night, love.”