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Too Much Candy

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Most of the time, Victor Creed loves the advantages his “weird cat biology” gives him, as his partner in crime so delicately puts it. He doesn’t mind the shedding or the sandpaper tongue, and the heightened senses make it more than worth it. But it does have one downfall that he could do without. Especially during Halloween. His tongue isn’t made for sweets. It’s not even made for tasting much at all, his teeth are meant for ripping more than chewing, and his tongue is just there as a formality to get everything down. Halloween is the one time of year he really regrets not being able to taste sweet things very well.


Jamming a handful of chocolates (probably) into his mouth, wrappers and all – because who honestly has the time to unwrap all the stupid things? – he can just faintly taste the flavor, something creamy and smooth and heavy on his tongue. It takes much more than a single piece of candy for him to be able to taste it, so he has to swell his cheeks out with the little treats to taste them at all.


“Those ones, get those ones next,” Victor gulps thickly at the mess of sticky wrappers and candy to get it down and clear his mouth. He points at a group of preteens schooling together with bulging bags of candy slung over their shoulders.


He never really celebrated Halloween until he met Mystique and they discovered their mutual love for scaring the snot out of children. She transforms into a terrifying monster, the likes of which those kids have never even seen in their nightmares, and lunges. Vic collects the spoils of dropped candy sacks with glee, she relishes in going through them and taking all her favorites, and he gets the rest. Wash, rinse, repeat.


Victor has been taking heaping handfuls from every bag all night, refilling his pillow sack from the candy bags they find every time it starts to run low. They turn in when the number of kids starts to dwindle, carrying armfuls of candy back to their hotel room.


“I’m going to take a shower,” Mystique announces, shaking the ponytail out of her hair with one hand and picking open the buttons of her blouse with the other. “I already took all the candy I want, you touch the bag on my bed and I will gut you to get it back.”


Victor flops down on his bed gracelessly and tugs his candy bags closer, flipping to an old Halloween movie on TV to watch idly. He stuffs handful after handful in his mouth, fruit candies and chocolates combining into an almost-flavor on his tongue. The textures are fascinating at least and he continues to paw candy into his mouth well longer than he probably should. He’d already eaten enough to kill a small child to begin with, but he’s in no mood to slow down.


When Mystique opens the door almost an hour later, steam wafting out after her towel-wrapped form, her golden eyes widen at the sight of her companion.


“Vic, honestly?” she scolds, putting her hands on her hips.


“You shut up,” the giant cat mumbles, pawing at his belly. He only just noticed a couple minutes ago how tight he feels. The movie, asinine as it was, kept him distractedly snacking and the ghosts of flavors on his tongue kept him interested in eating. But when his stomach started to dig smartly into his belt, he figured out all at once he’d taken his nibbling way too far.


“Did you eat all of it?” Mystique climbs up onto the bed and looks for any trace of a single wrapper. But going by the state and sound of Victor’s round stomach, he continued in his pattern of chewing the candies wrapper and all. The sacks around him lie deflated and sad-looking, with only a few lumps left inside. Victor’s belly creaks and gurgles, rumbling low and tight.


Victor tosses his blonde head with a pained sigh when a loud, achy gurgle tickles queasily through his belly and down into his intestines. He moans and massages the mass, gritting his teeth. He’s not used to this level of discomfort, he’s eaten way more than this before, probably at least twice this much, maybe three times in one sitting. His stomach gives another heavy rumble and he can feel it travel from his ribcage all the way to below his navel in a creaky, painful arch.


“How much did you even eat?” Mystique tries to gauge from what’s left in the bottom of the few sacks that aren’t completely empty, but she wasn’t carrying them to begin with. If she had to guess, the stupid man consumed at least ten pounds of candy over the course of the night, six of which probably came from these bags alone. His fuzzy belly is tight as a drum, round and heavy on his hips, shaking with his rapid shallow breaths. His hands, large as they are, can’t seem to reach every cramp when it hits him, leaving him with more pain than comfort as he tries to massage away the pain.


Mystique puts her hands on the globe with interest, smiling broadly when he gives a low growling whine and tries to shimmy backwards away from her prying fingertips. She shakes his belly from side to side, her smile widening when it sets a shockwave of gurgles and grumbles through the tight, packed organ. She can feel the air churning around under her palms, tight and rumbly like tiny rolls of thunder.


She laughs to herself and wedges Victor’s cell phone out of his jeans pocket while the man tugs his belt open and unzips the tight waistband to give his belly room to sag. He throws his head back with a whine when another tight groan ripples through his lower belly, leaving him panting and sweating a little. His eyes are glued shut with discomfort and a tight queasy feeling grips his throat. When he opens his eyes, he sees the back of his own phone staring at him.


“What are you doing – uurp – with my phone?” Victor huffs, pawing at his belly with one hand and scrubbing his face with the other.


“Instagram,” Mystique answers with a smile. “You’re a cautionary tale for all the idiots who think it’s not worth it to take the damn wrappers off their candy. Smile!”


Victor groans and drops his head back into the pillow.