(hey ummmm can you tell that chubby exhibitionist shane and good natured wg teasing has bewitched me mind body and soul, anon from yesterday i owe you my life….)
On the drive over to Bood and Cassie’s, Shane keeps tugging at his seatbelt, unused to the way it cuts into the new plumpness around his middle. Two months in Italy to celebrate last season’s Stanley Cup win, and Shane… overindulged. Ilya overindulged him. And now here he is with a fair few extra pounds to show for it, nervous to see his teammates for the first time before preseason begins in earnest. He wanted to dress a little smart for the barbecue in a linen shirt and white shorts, but now he’s starting to regret the choice. The shirt, which used to be loose, now clings to his belly, putting unfamiliar pressure on the buttons, and the waistband of his shorts is tight enough to serve as a constant reminder - You ate too much on vacation and you got fat as a result.
Shane can feel Ilya’s eyes sliding over from the road every time he squirms in his seat, can guess at the smirk on Ilya’s face even if he doesn’t want to look.
When they fucked last night, Ilya grabbing and squeezing handfuls of the belly he bears a fair share of the responsibility for, with all the second and third helpings he pushed on Shane, all the gelato places he said they had to try, all the pizza he ordered and then pretended he couldn’t finish and loaded onto Shane’s plate, Ilya said, “They’re all going to notice tomorrow. How greedy you’ve been.” And even though it was barely a minute since Ilya had pushed inside him, Shane came right then and there.
Bood greets them at the door with his typical exuberance. Ilya first, slapping his back, and then Shane, and Shane is so, painfully aware of how his soft stomach presses against Bood as they hug.
Then Bood pulls back and - in a move that almost makes Shane’s legs give out - he puts a hand on Shane’s belly and grins at Ilya.
“Damn, Rozanov, what have you been feeding him.”
As Shane feels a blush spread hot across his face, Ilya laughs, loud and bright.
“We were in Italy,” Ilya says. “Shane ate very well.”
“I can see that,” Boos says with a final, teasing pat before he lets Shane go. “Everyone else is in the back. I’d better go make sure I’ve got enough on the grill to keep Hollander from going hungry.”
And he fucking winks at Shane.
Ilya steers Shane into Bood’s garden with a hand on his lower back.
“Try not to get too turned on,” he murmurs in Shane’s ear. “As everyone tells you how chubby you are.”
And Shane doesn’t even have a retort, he feels too dizzy as he sees the other Centaurs all whooping and standing to greet them.
After that, it’s relentless. Evan Dykstra’s wife is pregnant again, and Dykstra prods Shane’s belly, finger sinking into its new layer of fat, and says, “Looks like Rozanov knocked you up too, Hollander.” LaPointe, one of the younger guys, tells Shane no one’s going to be able to knock him off his skates this season, that’s for sure. And Troy appears with two beers, hands one to Ilya, then turns to Shane with a sly smile. “Got you one, too Hollzy,” he says. “You look like you maybe like drinking beer now.” With his gaze flicking down to Shane’s thicker middle. And Shane can hardly speak, doesn’t even want to know how red he is, as he takes all the teasing and the pokes and pats and pinches to his much rounder tummy and tries desperately not to actually get hard in front of all his team.
Before too long, Bood appears with the first plate from the grill - jerk chicken drumsticks, hot dogs in Cassie’s home made buns, piles of fries and green beans. He makes an obvious show of handing it to Shane.
“Here, Hollander, you look like you could eat.”
And it’s like Shane’s brain and body kick into gear, the same way they did in Italy every time Ilya said more with that intense look on his face. He sits on a lawn chair and digs in. It’s all so good, and he really did discover, in Italy, a newfound voracious appetite so he finishes the first plate without trouble. But then Wyatt appears with a second, no less loaded than the first.
“Little more, buddy?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Shane says helplessly. “Um. Ok.”
And it doesn’t stop. Whenever he’s nearly done, someone else will appear with a fresh beer or more food, a finger poking his belly or a hand patting the growing swell of it, comments about his appetite or how surely he can’t be done yet or how they need to fill him up. Shane feels fuzzy and slow the way he only really associates with sex, obediently chewing and swallowing well past the point of fullness.
Ilya is sat beside him, occasionally brushing his thigh, the praise - good boy - implied and making Shane feel light-headed.
When his teammates finally relent - more because there’s literally no food left than because they actually take pity on him - Shane is stuffed to the brim. He can’t sit up straight in his chair, so full he can hardly breathe, and he’s pretty sure the button on his shorts is clinging on for dear life.
“Fuck, Hollander,” Bood says. “You can really pack it away, huh? I’d ask where you put it all, but…” He mimes a generous curve with his hand in front of his own abs, a nod to where Shane’s gut is spilling onto his lap and resting on his thighs.
“Yes,” Ilya says, a little smug. “Such a good eater these days.” He tries and fails to get a finger into the waistband of Shane’s shorts. “Eaten his way right out of these pants.”
And, in full view of all their team, Ilya undoes the button, letting Shane’s bulging belly push past the open flaps, and he keeps rubbing slow, soothing circles over Shane’s overfull tummy as Shane hiccups and largely zones out of the chatter around him, until Wyatt’s wife, Lisa, opens a tin of brownies and asks who wants one.
“You sure about that?” Troy says, sceptically, eyeing Shane’s belly, swollen with impossible amounts of food. “He looks about ready to pop.”
“Oh, he always finds room for dessert.”
The way they’re talking, like he’s not even there, it almost makes Shane whine.
“If I didn’t know better, Roz,” Bood says, watching as Ilya takes one of the brownies and starts to feed it to Shane by hand, “I’d say you were trying to fatten him up.”
“Oh, Shane can fatten himself up just fine. But I am very happy to help.”
