Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jan 31, 2008 18:08:30 GMT -5
Title: What I Like About You
Ships: Esmé and Jerome Squalor
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own Esmé and Jerome Squalor, or any of the places mentioned herein. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler.
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Story-Type: One-Shot
Status: Complete
Summery: Jerome’s cold (as well as some other things) awaken in Esmé an unusual obsession for a certain part of him. Non-sexual, but very strange. Read at your own risk.
“Jerome, I think your stomach is absolutely smashing,” Esmé said as she gave her husband’s pronounced belly another squeeze. “And having a belly is very in. So you see, there’s really nothing for you to be getting so upset about.”
Jerome sniffled, burrowing himself deeper beneath the blankets in an attempt to get away from both Esmé and her sharp-nailed hands. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone?
“Leave me alone, Esmé,” Jerome said miserably. “I’m sick, and I’m too fat to go anywhere, and I… I…” As he trailed off and sneezed— a loud, painful-sounding honk —into the blankets, Esmé could feel his stomach curve inward slightly. She chirped happily, nuzzling his shoulder.
“I think it’s the sweetest thing, darling. Please don’t be so down about it.” Esmé kissed the back of Jerome’s neck just as he sneezed again, squeezing his stomach.
“Really?” he asked, suddenly finding himself very interested. “What exactly is it that you like about it?”
“Well,” Esmé said, slipping her head under her husband’s arm so that she could see him better. “I like how round and soft it is, and how when you sneeze I can feel it beneath my hands. I like how it curves over your belt in the cutest, sweetest, most perfect way imaginable. And I absolutely adore how when you undress, you’re so shy about it that you actually blush like a schoolgirl at their first prom.”
“Do I?” Jerome asked, covering his wife’s hands where they were still resting on his stomach with his.
“Yes, Jerome, you do. And I love it.”
Jerome didn’t know what to say. He felt so silly getting upset over something like this, especially when Esmé couldn’t seem to keep her hands off him for even a second. He rolled over on his side to face her, and laughed a little when she reached down to press her palm against the softness of his stomach.
“Don’t get upset, darling,” she said. “But when did your stomach get so round and so soft?”
Jerome felt himself blush at the statement. “I don’t know,” he replied quietly. “I guess it was while you were pregnant with Emma. You were eating for two then, and I saw no reason why you should have to go it alone. So I started eating more, too, I guess.”
Esmé smiled. “That was very sweet of you. And I must say having a belly suits you to perfection.”
“Does it?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Esmé said. To prove it, she lowered herself down into the bed and kissed Jerome just below his belly button.
“Do you really prefer me this way, darling?” he asked, stroking her dark hair with his fingers.
“I do.” Esmé scooted upwards once more until she was resting her head on the pillow and looking into her husband’s gorgeous green eyes. “If you ever lost your belly, I think I would cry.”
Jerome could have cried himself at her words, and he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her soft hair. “I love you, Esmé,” he said. “And since you’re being so honest with me, I think it’s only fair for me to be honest with you.”
To show her what he meant, he slowly trailed his hand across his wife’s long, slender neck, down between her two perfect breasts, and over her ribcage until he finally came to rest it on her small, soft belly. Her skin was cool compared to his, and he pressed his hand more firmly against her stomach, smiling down at her as he marveled at how curved and beautiful it felt under his hand.
“I’ve noticed,” Jerome began, “that—”His nose was beginning to tickle again, and so he massaged it with his free hand. “That after Emma was born you… you…” The tickle kept growing, and his patience for it was wearing, but still he rubbed harder at his nose, trying his best to delay the reaction as long as possible. “Your stomach had gotten a… a…” A moment later, the tickle triumphed, and he honked loudly into his shoulder.
As he did, he felt Esmé hold tightly to the hand still resting on her stomach, and when he turned back to look at her, he was glad to see that she was smiling. The fact that she looked as sweet and lovely as she did when he had seen her sitting up in her hospital bed with Emma cradled in her arms gave him the reassurance he needed to continue. He had to phrase what he said next as carefully as he could or else he was afraid he would offend her.
“Your stomach now has the loveliest curve I’ve ever seen,” Jerome explained, being sure to watch Esmé’s face closely for the first sign of dissatisfaction. “I don’t mean to sound rude, darling, but having Emma really has done wonders for your figure, as well as for your temperament. You’re more beautiful than ever… I just want you to know that.”
Esmé said nothing as she tugged the blankets up over them, nestling herself closer against her husband. With some reluctance, his hand slipped from its warm spot out from beneath her nightgown, but still he sighed in utter happiness at the feeling of her bare stomach pressing against his. He loved her the way she had been, the way she was now, despite how cross she could still be with him sometimes. He supposed she would always have that temper, just as he would always hold onto his strong dislike of arguing.
Jerome was pulled abruptly out of these thoughts by a series of desperate, high-pitched gasps. He looked down just in time to see Esmé’s head snap forward right before she sneezed— a desperate squeak that was as high-pitched and sweet-sounding as those beforehand gasps she had made—into his chest. The poor darling had caught his cold! Feeling only slightly guilty (for the sounds she made and the way she sneezed were something he could listen to all day), he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly as she squeaked not once, not twice, but three times before finally settling down and throwing her own arms around him in return.
“Thank you,” Esmé said with a sniffle.
“My pleasure, darling,” Jerome replied, and leaned down to kiss her on the mouth. There was no use in playing it safe any longer now that they both had colds. “Did you really mean what you said before?”
“About what?”
“You know what I mean.” The very thought of saying aloud what he meant made him blush, and so he pressed his hand against his wife’s stomach instead.
“Yes, Jerome,” Esmé admitted, softly, and she could feel herself blushing a little bit herself now. “Your stomach is the innest thing about you. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”
“Yes, Esmé,” Jerome said, and sighed dreamily. He had everything he could ever need or want, right here with him in his seventy-one bedroom penthouse apartment.
For the first time in his life, Jerome Squalor was truly and utterly content.
Ships: Esmé and Jerome Squalor
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own Esmé and Jerome Squalor, or any of the places mentioned herein. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler.
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Story-Type: One-Shot
Status: Complete
Summery: Jerome’s cold (as well as some other things) awaken in Esmé an unusual obsession for a certain part of him. Non-sexual, but very strange. Read at your own risk.
*************************************************************************************************************
“Jerome, I think your stomach is absolutely smashing,” Esmé said as she gave her husband’s pronounced belly another squeeze. “And having a belly is very in. So you see, there’s really nothing for you to be getting so upset about.”
Jerome sniffled, burrowing himself deeper beneath the blankets in an attempt to get away from both Esmé and her sharp-nailed hands. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone?
“Leave me alone, Esmé,” Jerome said miserably. “I’m sick, and I’m too fat to go anywhere, and I… I…” As he trailed off and sneezed— a loud, painful-sounding honk —into the blankets, Esmé could feel his stomach curve inward slightly. She chirped happily, nuzzling his shoulder.
“I think it’s the sweetest thing, darling. Please don’t be so down about it.” Esmé kissed the back of Jerome’s neck just as he sneezed again, squeezing his stomach.
“Really?” he asked, suddenly finding himself very interested. “What exactly is it that you like about it?”
“Well,” Esmé said, slipping her head under her husband’s arm so that she could see him better. “I like how round and soft it is, and how when you sneeze I can feel it beneath my hands. I like how it curves over your belt in the cutest, sweetest, most perfect way imaginable. And I absolutely adore how when you undress, you’re so shy about it that you actually blush like a schoolgirl at their first prom.”
“Do I?” Jerome asked, covering his wife’s hands where they were still resting on his stomach with his.
“Yes, Jerome, you do. And I love it.”
Jerome didn’t know what to say. He felt so silly getting upset over something like this, especially when Esmé couldn’t seem to keep her hands off him for even a second. He rolled over on his side to face her, and laughed a little when she reached down to press her palm against the softness of his stomach.
“Don’t get upset, darling,” she said. “But when did your stomach get so round and so soft?”
Jerome felt himself blush at the statement. “I don’t know,” he replied quietly. “I guess it was while you were pregnant with Emma. You were eating for two then, and I saw no reason why you should have to go it alone. So I started eating more, too, I guess.”
Esmé smiled. “That was very sweet of you. And I must say having a belly suits you to perfection.”
“Does it?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Esmé said. To prove it, she lowered herself down into the bed and kissed Jerome just below his belly button.
“Do you really prefer me this way, darling?” he asked, stroking her dark hair with his fingers.
“I do.” Esmé scooted upwards once more until she was resting her head on the pillow and looking into her husband’s gorgeous green eyes. “If you ever lost your belly, I think I would cry.”
Jerome could have cried himself at her words, and he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her soft hair. “I love you, Esmé,” he said. “And since you’re being so honest with me, I think it’s only fair for me to be honest with you.”
To show her what he meant, he slowly trailed his hand across his wife’s long, slender neck, down between her two perfect breasts, and over her ribcage until he finally came to rest it on her small, soft belly. Her skin was cool compared to his, and he pressed his hand more firmly against her stomach, smiling down at her as he marveled at how curved and beautiful it felt under his hand.
“I’ve noticed,” Jerome began, “that—”His nose was beginning to tickle again, and so he massaged it with his free hand. “That after Emma was born you… you…” The tickle kept growing, and his patience for it was wearing, but still he rubbed harder at his nose, trying his best to delay the reaction as long as possible. “Your stomach had gotten a… a…” A moment later, the tickle triumphed, and he honked loudly into his shoulder.
As he did, he felt Esmé hold tightly to the hand still resting on her stomach, and when he turned back to look at her, he was glad to see that she was smiling. The fact that she looked as sweet and lovely as she did when he had seen her sitting up in her hospital bed with Emma cradled in her arms gave him the reassurance he needed to continue. He had to phrase what he said next as carefully as he could or else he was afraid he would offend her.
“Your stomach now has the loveliest curve I’ve ever seen,” Jerome explained, being sure to watch Esmé’s face closely for the first sign of dissatisfaction. “I don’t mean to sound rude, darling, but having Emma really has done wonders for your figure, as well as for your temperament. You’re more beautiful than ever… I just want you to know that.”
Esmé said nothing as she tugged the blankets up over them, nestling herself closer against her husband. With some reluctance, his hand slipped from its warm spot out from beneath her nightgown, but still he sighed in utter happiness at the feeling of her bare stomach pressing against his. He loved her the way she had been, the way she was now, despite how cross she could still be with him sometimes. He supposed she would always have that temper, just as he would always hold onto his strong dislike of arguing.
Jerome was pulled abruptly out of these thoughts by a series of desperate, high-pitched gasps. He looked down just in time to see Esmé’s head snap forward right before she sneezed— a desperate squeak that was as high-pitched and sweet-sounding as those beforehand gasps she had made—into his chest. The poor darling had caught his cold! Feeling only slightly guilty (for the sounds she made and the way she sneezed were something he could listen to all day), he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly as she squeaked not once, not twice, but three times before finally settling down and throwing her own arms around him in return.
“Thank you,” Esmé said with a sniffle.
“My pleasure, darling,” Jerome replied, and leaned down to kiss her on the mouth. There was no use in playing it safe any longer now that they both had colds. “Did you really mean what you said before?”
“About what?”
“You know what I mean.” The very thought of saying aloud what he meant made him blush, and so he pressed his hand against his wife’s stomach instead.
“Yes, Jerome,” Esmé admitted, softly, and she could feel herself blushing a little bit herself now. “Your stomach is the innest thing about you. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”
“Yes, Esmé,” Jerome said, and sighed dreamily. He had everything he could ever need or want, right here with him in his seventy-one bedroom penthouse apartment.
For the first time in his life, Jerome Squalor was truly and utterly content.
The End