Fic: Capacity for Comfort
Title: Capacity for Comfort
Fandom: DOLLS
Characters: Kenshin Kashiwabara
Genre: gen
Word count: ~2500
Summary: Continuous stress at work takes a toll on Kashiwabara’s ability to enjoy his meals. But days off are his own time. A blessed time for repose and repast, when a mundane act of eating can regain its hedonic dimension.
Additional Tags:[+++]character study, disordered eating, neurodiversity, unhealthy coping mechanisms, stuffing, belly kink, belly rubs, body image, strangely sensual, vaguely erotic, pretty self-indulgent
Disclaimer: DOLLS and its characters belong to naked ape.
Author's Note: The original creator had once summed up Kashiwabara’s character as “a fast food junkie”, and I was like, ‘Oh my, doesn't it sound kind of shallow for a defining trait?’ :3
In this fic I attempted to dip into the depths that might lurk behind such a ludicrous label.
Please heed the tags and proceed with due caution.
Every day, every minute, Kashiwabara has a lot of worries on his mind. Arrays of information to operate, heaps of paperwork to process, investigative legwork to carry on in preparation to navigate a squad of executioners through their missions, and always plenty of reports to submit. He has little time and, let’s be honest, regards himself as not entitled enough to take a break, to put work aside and go out to have a nice square meal.
Much easier and more convenient is to grab a quick bite whenever he detects the irritating urge of hunger. His focus stays on the task at hand, not on what he puts into his mouth. Food intakes serve the only purpose: to keep his energy up and fuel his busy brain with much-needed calories. And what better choice to cater to such utilitarian needs than fast food?
In his earliest days in the department, rookie agent Kashiwabara had often been scolded for his tendency to graze on snacks mindlessly throughout a workday. Now being in charge, he has the latitude to behave his way, as the few people who hold the authority to give him an earful for talking with his mouth full are generally not hanging around.
This oddly peculiar personal benefit apart, career advancement in the Tokkei Intelligence has its bleak moments.
The vast majority of missions assigned to Unit I deal with deeds so appalling that even a skim-read through a case brief would make an unprepared person sick. Strain, agitation, dread of witnessing the worst… Ensuring the success of an execution itself, no matter how smoothly planned out, is an invariably nerve-racking experience.
Don’t get the wrong idea, Kashiwabara is always happy to do his part in delivering justice upon heinous felons of all stripes! His line of work is engaging and challenging; an essential contribution to their right cause. It is fulfilling emotionally and pays well, too.
Yet every so often, the nasty details and the brutality involved shake him deeper than he is able to process.
Although he manages to stay alert and energized, the very tiring nature of his job effectively robs the stressed-out agent of any “happy meal” feelings.
But then, that’s what days off are for, right? Time for a well-deserved rest. Time to detach himself from the demanding, all-absorbing call of duty, take off the burden of responsibility…
Once in a while, there comes the special time when a mundane act of eating can regain its hedonic dimension, becoming once again a source of pleasure rather than just a quick productivity boost.
- - - - -
In the safe privacy of his home, Kashiwabara arranges a selection of snacks and takeout containers on a low dining table.
These are all his habitual foods, reliable and gratifying in their tasty merits. When he consumes them with a mindful perception, their appetizing flavors intensify greatly. He’s set to savor every yummy morsel crunching on his teeth, melting on his tongue, slipping down his throat and filling his stomach bite by bite, promising comfort and peace of mind.
Taking a swig of soda, Kashiwabara tears the first wrapper open. The spicy aroma spreads over the air, mouthwatering, tempting. Kashiwabara inhales it expectantly.
He can finish this meal at his own volition, not because some emergency pressures him to hurry up and gobble stuff down on autopilot or just to drop it and rush off to deal with some or another kind of an urgent (or even maybe not so urgent) task. There are no distractions, no external limitations around. He’s free to treat himself to his heart’s content, for as long as he wishes.
He does enjoy his junk food. And takes his time.
Gradually, a comfortable fullness settles in. Putting a half-eaten slice of pizza aside, Kashiwabara licks his greasy fingers one by one and straightens up for a stretch, hands clutched above his head. Amidst the feel-good stimulation of muscles, contracting and relaxing as he leans sideways and arches like a cat, he discerns yet another sensation. It’s slightly odd but no less pleasurable. Something akin to a gentle nudge, a reassuring hug from within.
He brushes a hand across his middle and palpates it with a hesitant curiosity. The little swelling beneath his ribs jolts under his fingertips, and a soft burp escapes his parted lips, leaving a lingering aftertaste of sweet carbonation. He gives his stomach a light pat and shivers at a mixture of weirdly thrilling sentiments suddenly arousing at once: the acute awareness of the volume of food he’s already put away - and the eager anticipation of much more that he still intends to ingest.
The deliberate effort to keep eating evokes a certain mood, stirring Kashiwabara’s imagination most pleasantly.
The sensual physicality of eating despite being full delights and enthralls him. His system responds accordingly. His heartbeat quickens, breathing becomes shallow. Kashiwabara notes how his stomach rounds out as it gladly receives and holds its lavish contents. It feels nice.
Every next mouthful washed down with a fizzy drink adds to the cozy filling sensation. The feeling of pressure grows by increments, and so does his elation and excitement… and craving for more.
And why stop when he is enjoying it so much?
Huffing and sweating, the flustered man continues to chew and swallow and refill his glass with a single-minded, almost compulsive intent. Taste and texture don’t make a difference any longer; not when his mind’s eye regales him with mental imagery so exuberant, so vivid. All that high-calorie food and gassy liquid galore piling up inside him, mixing and expanding, forcing his tireless stomach to strain and stretch to accommodate the overflowing abundance…
It feels amazing. Breathtaking, in every sense of the word.
At this point, the amount of food still left in front of him, waiting to be consumed, becomes his only measure of time.
Eventually, through the all-permeating haze of indulgence worms its way a muffled background concern: whether the imminent ache, this unambiguous indicator of excess, is about to emerge soon. Kashiwabara squirms in his seat, attempting to alleviate some stiffness and adjust his posture into a more agreeable one. Absently, he trails a hand over his middle.
Something is off… Oh.
A divergence between the mental image of himself and his actual bodily state snaps Kashiwabara out of his munching trance. A perfect time to take another pause and have a good look at himself.
His midriff does appear quite different, all right. A distinct roundness of a stomach fed past its fill, it sticks out visibly, pulling at his sweatshirt, rising and falling as he breathes. Out and in, out, in…
The ripples of the fabric are mesmerizing. The temptation, unbearable to resist.
Kashiwabara sits back and rests a hand atop his belly tentatively. The pulsing of heat pours through his clothing. The moveless presence of his palm both soothes and titillates Kashiwabara in a strange and wonderful way. He hardens his muscles trying to suck the bulge in, then leans forwards and pushes it out as much as possible, loving its curve, enjoying the elicited sensations. Mmmph.
In a slow broad movement, he strokes across the warm, enticing thickness of his flesh and smiles dreamily.
If these were someone else’s hands petting him like this, sensations would have differed. Another person’s touch would be perceived differently - more thrilling, more intense than when he is doing it to himself on his own. Trusting someone else to caress you in such a state, allowing yourself to be vulnerable, embracing the uncertainty that comes with giving up control… It can as well bring additional gratification in this sort of matters.
For all that, though… So far, the best connoisseur of his own sensory predilections is still Kashiwabara himself.
He probes around his abdomen cautiously, soft thumps of his knuckles, light pinches of his fingers, wincing and panting slightly, and marvels at how solid, substantial his stomach feels beneath a thin padding of softness. Quivering, he presses harder into the spots that feel tightest. A wave of rumbling suddenly surges up, and he can’t hold back a hearty belch; nor suppress a subsequent slip of breathy groan dripping with helplessness and gusto.
The budding discomfort is not such a big deal. It’s easy to ignore. If anything, it feels good. Exhilarating!
The stretch, the ache, the delectation of his stomach stuffed so swollen and taut… Can he make it swell up even bigger?
The thought sends tingles down his spine and incites his appetite anew. The greedy tremble of desire miraculously converts the corporeal bulk into figurative butterflies, and his craving persists. The throb of pleasure flows through his entire body and blooms in its subtlest parts, eliminating nascent hesitation and overriding the last sparkle of reason.
The primal joy of unrestrained gluttony gets Kashiwabara high as no drug could possibly do.
Pushing his limits just adds an extra thrill to the fun. Stopping halfway would be such a waste of a precious opportunity to unwind, to enjoy himself without concern! Just a little more. A little bit further. A bite and a gulp, and then another one… mmhmm… and then one more…
Oh, he can do it. He knows he can. He wants to carry on and stuff his face all the way till the victorious end, and there’s nothing reprehensible about it.
It’s not like he drinks himself senseless, or pops some shady pills, or partakes in something outright illegal. It’s only food!
Until there is no more.
The last piece of his feast disappears with the final labored swallow, and Kashiwabara sinks back into his seat with a sigh of relief. Oof… Huff… All done! Sliding lower in his legless chair, he sprawls out starfish style and allows himself to relax - head tilted back, numb legs stretched out, half-lidded eyes clouded with fatigue. His lips curl up into a dopey smile.
He is too heavy, too dazed to rise up. Ahh… For some time, he just lounges at rest, interspersing heavy sighs with occasional lazy burps, exhausted yet triumphant and absolutely pleased with himself.
It feels incredible to be this full.
The snugness of the kotatsu is deceptive, though. Relocating himself out of the midst of scattered wrapping paper and empty cartons is an act of compulsory self-care learned the hard way. His futon is already spread out nearby, beckoning with the comfort of stable horizontality. There’s no need to stand up on his feet…
All the same, it takes him a moment to catch his breath after moving around.
Flat on his back, Kashiwabara slides along the expanded sides of his belly with care and attention, appreciating inch by inch the palpable outcome of his overindulgence.
The transformation is spectacular. This swollen shape makes such a startling difference from his everyday exterior. It’s truly fascinating to behold. So big, so handsomely rounded. So smooth and appealingly taut. This novelty is both intriguing and exciting. It does impress him, every single time.
He rolls onto his side and admires the way his clothes hug him when his loaded stomach complies with the law of gravity. He rubs over the sweetly sore distension in soothing, affectionate circles, and can’t stop gazing. How amusingly this glutted gut sticks out on his lean frame. How intimately it fills out the strained fabric of his sweatshirt… And pulls down the elastic band of his pants… and… nngh...
Just what a wacky, utterly debauched frame of mind he seems to adopt when lying here pinned down by the weight of his own packed stomach, overcome by inexplicable emotions and desires!
The looks do matter in his book. Right now, this very moment, he revels in fascination and fondness for this morphed body of his - so cumbersome, grown out of proportions… and ahh! so tender, so delightfully sensitive to touch.
All things external are irrelevant, forgotten. Kashiwabara yields to the long-suppressed yearning and can’t keep his hands off himself anymore.
Holding his belly, perceiving his girth. Palming the hot, stretched skin, kneading gently into the heaving tightness. Rubbing and squeezing and touching himself all around - lovingly, shamelessly… Gasping from every firm push, melting under every soft touch…
Basking in sensual bliss.
Still mindful of the paper-thin walls in the apartment, he tries his best to muffle his moans of pleasure.
So round, so full. So satisfied.
So purely and genuinely happy.
The joy experienced with fullness and fulfillment is unparalleled, but it appears that gorging himself past repletion provides one more side effect. A wholesome nonchalance. A welcome unconcern. When all his bodily vigor is put to the enormous task of digesting a grand meal, all thoughts and worries and complications of life just drift away. His mind takes a merciful pause, and the unease in his heart releases its tenacious grip.
Stuff himself silly, stop the thoughts spinning…
The repeating motions of self-caressing are nice and relaxing. Kashiwabara can hear the low murmur of his diligent stomach, feel its tiny churning movements, the gurgling vibrations against his palm. Somehow it makes him feel less alone.
Before long, the contented lethargy overtakes him. His hands stop moving. Grounded in the lulling warm comfort of a self-embrace, he drifts off into a sound sleep.
- - - - -
The next day in the office is a test of character and poise, for after the feast comes the reckoning. There are obvious consequences to endure with a head held high.
Despite his morning efforts to primp up, Kashiwabara finds himself unable to shake off the suspicion gnawing at him from the tiny corner of his mind that even the relaxed-fitting type of garments would fit him just a little too snug, tarnishing his smart looks with a certain hint of untidiness.
The dress code ought to be observed all the same. Vaguely annoyed, he smooths and tucks his shirt into his pants, considers if he’d better use a different notch on his belt, and keeps tugging on the hem of his vest in a persistent attempt to straighten it. All in vain. The straining buttons and treacherous creases are still there, impartial in highlighting his puffed-up gut which has yet to fade away.
Until his focus of attention shifts to a new task assigned, Kashiwabara remains keenly self-conscious about his clinging clothes giving away the unsightly aftereffects of his surfeit.
Stop overthinking it, he urges himself while diving into the usual workplace routine, loud and chipper, exhibiting no sign of insecurity. No one cares.
The members of his squad are discreet enough to utter a word; as well as the operative unit guys who have no reason to show up in the department so early anyway. Chief Igarashi is not the kind of person who would embarrass his subordinates with unsolicited opinions on matters irrelevant to the job, unless said matters take a toll on missions’ success (which definitely is not his case). Even if an emergency staff meeting happens to be called, other fellow agents would be too preoccupied with matters at hand to scrutinize his-
Oh, come on, man! Enough is enough.
No, seriously. Why would anyone in his right mind waste his time staring at another guy, like this?!
But then, there is Suzuki of the second intel squad. That quirky woman with her keen eye and sober wit. And, er, her deft, roaming hands…
She is a different matter entirely.
But that’s another story to be told another day.
Fandom: DOLLS
Characters: Kenshin Kashiwabara
Genre: gen
Word count: ~2500
Summary: Continuous stress at work takes a toll on Kashiwabara’s ability to enjoy his meals. But days off are his own time. A blessed time for repose and repast, when a mundane act of eating can regain its hedonic dimension.
Additional Tags:[+++]character study, disordered eating, neurodiversity, unhealthy coping mechanisms, stuffing, belly kink, belly rubs, body image, strangely sensual, vaguely erotic, pretty self-indulgent
Disclaimer: DOLLS and its characters belong to naked ape.
Author's Note: The original creator had once summed up Kashiwabara’s character as “a fast food junkie”, and I was like, ‘Oh my, doesn't it sound kind of shallow for a defining trait?’ :3
In this fic I attempted to dip into the depths that might lurk behind such a ludicrous label.
Please heed the tags and proceed with due caution.
Every day, every minute, Kashiwabara has a lot of worries on his mind. Arrays of information to operate, heaps of paperwork to process, investigative legwork to carry on in preparation to navigate a squad of executioners through their missions, and always plenty of reports to submit. He has little time and, let’s be honest, regards himself as not entitled enough to take a break, to put work aside and go out to have a nice square meal.
Much easier and more convenient is to grab a quick bite whenever he detects the irritating urge of hunger. His focus stays on the task at hand, not on what he puts into his mouth. Food intakes serve the only purpose: to keep his energy up and fuel his busy brain with much-needed calories. And what better choice to cater to such utilitarian needs than fast food?
In his earliest days in the department, rookie agent Kashiwabara had often been scolded for his tendency to graze on snacks mindlessly throughout a workday. Now being in charge, he has the latitude to behave his way, as the few people who hold the authority to give him an earful for talking with his mouth full are generally not hanging around.
This oddly peculiar personal benefit apart, career advancement in the Tokkei Intelligence has its bleak moments.
The vast majority of missions assigned to Unit I deal with deeds so appalling that even a skim-read through a case brief would make an unprepared person sick. Strain, agitation, dread of witnessing the worst… Ensuring the success of an execution itself, no matter how smoothly planned out, is an invariably nerve-racking experience.
Don’t get the wrong idea, Kashiwabara is always happy to do his part in delivering justice upon heinous felons of all stripes! His line of work is engaging and challenging; an essential contribution to their right cause. It is fulfilling emotionally and pays well, too.
Yet every so often, the nasty details and the brutality involved shake him deeper than he is able to process.
Although he manages to stay alert and energized, the very tiring nature of his job effectively robs the stressed-out agent of any “happy meal” feelings.
But then, that’s what days off are for, right? Time for a well-deserved rest. Time to detach himself from the demanding, all-absorbing call of duty, take off the burden of responsibility…
Once in a while, there comes the special time when a mundane act of eating can regain its hedonic dimension, becoming once again a source of pleasure rather than just a quick productivity boost.
- - - - -
In the safe privacy of his home, Kashiwabara arranges a selection of snacks and takeout containers on a low dining table.
These are all his habitual foods, reliable and gratifying in their tasty merits. When he consumes them with a mindful perception, their appetizing flavors intensify greatly. He’s set to savor every yummy morsel crunching on his teeth, melting on his tongue, slipping down his throat and filling his stomach bite by bite, promising comfort and peace of mind.
Taking a swig of soda, Kashiwabara tears the first wrapper open. The spicy aroma spreads over the air, mouthwatering, tempting. Kashiwabara inhales it expectantly.
He can finish this meal at his own volition, not because some emergency pressures him to hurry up and gobble stuff down on autopilot or just to drop it and rush off to deal with some or another kind of an urgent (or even maybe not so urgent) task. There are no distractions, no external limitations around. He’s free to treat himself to his heart’s content, for as long as he wishes.
He does enjoy his junk food. And takes his time.
Gradually, a comfortable fullness settles in. Putting a half-eaten slice of pizza aside, Kashiwabara licks his greasy fingers one by one and straightens up for a stretch, hands clutched above his head. Amidst the feel-good stimulation of muscles, contracting and relaxing as he leans sideways and arches like a cat, he discerns yet another sensation. It’s slightly odd but no less pleasurable. Something akin to a gentle nudge, a reassuring hug from within.
He brushes a hand across his middle and palpates it with a hesitant curiosity. The little swelling beneath his ribs jolts under his fingertips, and a soft burp escapes his parted lips, leaving a lingering aftertaste of sweet carbonation. He gives his stomach a light pat and shivers at a mixture of weirdly thrilling sentiments suddenly arousing at once: the acute awareness of the volume of food he’s already put away - and the eager anticipation of much more that he still intends to ingest.
The deliberate effort to keep eating evokes a certain mood, stirring Kashiwabara’s imagination most pleasantly.
The sensual physicality of eating despite being full delights and enthralls him. His system responds accordingly. His heartbeat quickens, breathing becomes shallow. Kashiwabara notes how his stomach rounds out as it gladly receives and holds its lavish contents. It feels nice.
Every next mouthful washed down with a fizzy drink adds to the cozy filling sensation. The feeling of pressure grows by increments, and so does his elation and excitement… and craving for more.
And why stop when he is enjoying it so much?
Huffing and sweating, the flustered man continues to chew and swallow and refill his glass with a single-minded, almost compulsive intent. Taste and texture don’t make a difference any longer; not when his mind’s eye regales him with mental imagery so exuberant, so vivid. All that high-calorie food and gassy liquid galore piling up inside him, mixing and expanding, forcing his tireless stomach to strain and stretch to accommodate the overflowing abundance…
It feels amazing. Breathtaking, in every sense of the word.
At this point, the amount of food still left in front of him, waiting to be consumed, becomes his only measure of time.
Eventually, through the all-permeating haze of indulgence worms its way a muffled background concern: whether the imminent ache, this unambiguous indicator of excess, is about to emerge soon. Kashiwabara squirms in his seat, attempting to alleviate some stiffness and adjust his posture into a more agreeable one. Absently, he trails a hand over his middle.
Something is off… Oh.
A divergence between the mental image of himself and his actual bodily state snaps Kashiwabara out of his munching trance. A perfect time to take another pause and have a good look at himself.
His midriff does appear quite different, all right. A distinct roundness of a stomach fed past its fill, it sticks out visibly, pulling at his sweatshirt, rising and falling as he breathes. Out and in, out, in…
The ripples of the fabric are mesmerizing. The temptation, unbearable to resist.
Kashiwabara sits back and rests a hand atop his belly tentatively. The pulsing of heat pours through his clothing. The moveless presence of his palm both soothes and titillates Kashiwabara in a strange and wonderful way. He hardens his muscles trying to suck the bulge in, then leans forwards and pushes it out as much as possible, loving its curve, enjoying the elicited sensations. Mmmph.
In a slow broad movement, he strokes across the warm, enticing thickness of his flesh and smiles dreamily.
If these were someone else’s hands petting him like this, sensations would have differed. Another person’s touch would be perceived differently - more thrilling, more intense than when he is doing it to himself on his own. Trusting someone else to caress you in such a state, allowing yourself to be vulnerable, embracing the uncertainty that comes with giving up control… It can as well bring additional gratification in this sort of matters.
For all that, though… So far, the best connoisseur of his own sensory predilections is still Kashiwabara himself.
He probes around his abdomen cautiously, soft thumps of his knuckles, light pinches of his fingers, wincing and panting slightly, and marvels at how solid, substantial his stomach feels beneath a thin padding of softness. Quivering, he presses harder into the spots that feel tightest. A wave of rumbling suddenly surges up, and he can’t hold back a hearty belch; nor suppress a subsequent slip of breathy groan dripping with helplessness and gusto.
The budding discomfort is not such a big deal. It’s easy to ignore. If anything, it feels good. Exhilarating!
The stretch, the ache, the delectation of his stomach stuffed so swollen and taut… Can he make it swell up even bigger?
The thought sends tingles down his spine and incites his appetite anew. The greedy tremble of desire miraculously converts the corporeal bulk into figurative butterflies, and his craving persists. The throb of pleasure flows through his entire body and blooms in its subtlest parts, eliminating nascent hesitation and overriding the last sparkle of reason.
The primal joy of unrestrained gluttony gets Kashiwabara high as no drug could possibly do.
Pushing his limits just adds an extra thrill to the fun. Stopping halfway would be such a waste of a precious opportunity to unwind, to enjoy himself without concern! Just a little more. A little bit further. A bite and a gulp, and then another one… mmhmm… and then one more…
Oh, he can do it. He knows he can. He wants to carry on and stuff his face all the way till the victorious end, and there’s nothing reprehensible about it.
It’s not like he drinks himself senseless, or pops some shady pills, or partakes in something outright illegal. It’s only food!
Until there is no more.
The last piece of his feast disappears with the final labored swallow, and Kashiwabara sinks back into his seat with a sigh of relief. Oof… Huff… All done! Sliding lower in his legless chair, he sprawls out starfish style and allows himself to relax - head tilted back, numb legs stretched out, half-lidded eyes clouded with fatigue. His lips curl up into a dopey smile.
He is too heavy, too dazed to rise up. Ahh… For some time, he just lounges at rest, interspersing heavy sighs with occasional lazy burps, exhausted yet triumphant and absolutely pleased with himself.
It feels incredible to be this full.
The snugness of the kotatsu is deceptive, though. Relocating himself out of the midst of scattered wrapping paper and empty cartons is an act of compulsory self-care learned the hard way. His futon is already spread out nearby, beckoning with the comfort of stable horizontality. There’s no need to stand up on his feet…
All the same, it takes him a moment to catch his breath after moving around.
Flat on his back, Kashiwabara slides along the expanded sides of his belly with care and attention, appreciating inch by inch the palpable outcome of his overindulgence.
The transformation is spectacular. This swollen shape makes such a startling difference from his everyday exterior. It’s truly fascinating to behold. So big, so handsomely rounded. So smooth and appealingly taut. This novelty is both intriguing and exciting. It does impress him, every single time.
He rolls onto his side and admires the way his clothes hug him when his loaded stomach complies with the law of gravity. He rubs over the sweetly sore distension in soothing, affectionate circles, and can’t stop gazing. How amusingly this glutted gut sticks out on his lean frame. How intimately it fills out the strained fabric of his sweatshirt… And pulls down the elastic band of his pants… and… nngh...
Just what a wacky, utterly debauched frame of mind he seems to adopt when lying here pinned down by the weight of his own packed stomach, overcome by inexplicable emotions and desires!
The looks do matter in his book. Right now, this very moment, he revels in fascination and fondness for this morphed body of his - so cumbersome, grown out of proportions… and ahh! so tender, so delightfully sensitive to touch.
All things external are irrelevant, forgotten. Kashiwabara yields to the long-suppressed yearning and can’t keep his hands off himself anymore.
Holding his belly, perceiving his girth. Palming the hot, stretched skin, kneading gently into the heaving tightness. Rubbing and squeezing and touching himself all around - lovingly, shamelessly… Gasping from every firm push, melting under every soft touch…
Basking in sensual bliss.
Still mindful of the paper-thin walls in the apartment, he tries his best to muffle his moans of pleasure.
So round, so full. So satisfied.
So purely and genuinely happy.
The joy experienced with fullness and fulfillment is unparalleled, but it appears that gorging himself past repletion provides one more side effect. A wholesome nonchalance. A welcome unconcern. When all his bodily vigor is put to the enormous task of digesting a grand meal, all thoughts and worries and complications of life just drift away. His mind takes a merciful pause, and the unease in his heart releases its tenacious grip.
Stuff himself silly, stop the thoughts spinning…
The repeating motions of self-caressing are nice and relaxing. Kashiwabara can hear the low murmur of his diligent stomach, feel its tiny churning movements, the gurgling vibrations against his palm. Somehow it makes him feel less alone.
Before long, the contented lethargy overtakes him. His hands stop moving. Grounded in the lulling warm comfort of a self-embrace, he drifts off into a sound sleep.
- - - - -
The next day in the office is a test of character and poise, for after the feast comes the reckoning. There are obvious consequences to endure with a head held high.
Despite his morning efforts to primp up, Kashiwabara finds himself unable to shake off the suspicion gnawing at him from the tiny corner of his mind that even the relaxed-fitting type of garments would fit him just a little too snug, tarnishing his smart looks with a certain hint of untidiness.
The dress code ought to be observed all the same. Vaguely annoyed, he smooths and tucks his shirt into his pants, considers if he’d better use a different notch on his belt, and keeps tugging on the hem of his vest in a persistent attempt to straighten it. All in vain. The straining buttons and treacherous creases are still there, impartial in highlighting his puffed-up gut which has yet to fade away.
Until his focus of attention shifts to a new task assigned, Kashiwabara remains keenly self-conscious about his clinging clothes giving away the unsightly aftereffects of his surfeit.
Stop overthinking it, he urges himself while diving into the usual workplace routine, loud and chipper, exhibiting no sign of insecurity. No one cares.
The members of his squad are discreet enough to utter a word; as well as the operative unit guys who have no reason to show up in the department so early anyway. Chief Igarashi is not the kind of person who would embarrass his subordinates with unsolicited opinions on matters irrelevant to the job, unless said matters take a toll on missions’ success (which definitely is not his case). Even if an emergency staff meeting happens to be called, other fellow agents would be too preoccupied with matters at hand to scrutinize his-
Oh, come on, man! Enough is enough.
No, seriously. Why would anyone in his right mind waste his time staring at another guy, like this?!
But then, there is Suzuki of the second intel squad. That quirky woman with her keen eye and sober wit. And, er, her deft, roaming hands…
She is a different matter entirely.
But that’s another story to be told another day.