gainsey

I think Shane gets kinda sleazy with it, alcohol loosning his mouth, hes digging his fingers into Ilyas hips and grinding his cock against his ass with his face buried in his husbands neck, whispering filth about how tight Ilya always is. I solemly believe the erection this would give Ilya would kill him off via rapid blood relocation but I digress.

Shane moaned into his mouth involuntarily. The words stung, mean but true. He pulled himself out of Ilyas grasp to look at him. A hurt expression settled on his face, and he tugged his sweatshirt down more.

"What, you think it's a secret? Your little girlfriend fattening you up?" Ilya said, amused, trying to sneak his hand under Shane's sweatshirt. Shane smacked his hand away.

"Oh come onnn, Hollander. I've been dying to see you myself. The paparazzi photos are driving me fucking crazy." Ilya crowds Shane closer to the wall.

"You don't know what you're talking about." Shane says meekly.

"Really?" Ilya goes to slip his hand under his sweatshirt again, teasing the hem of it. Shane looks away. Ilya slides his hand under and glides it across the soft fat sitting below his belly button, barely resting over his waistband. Shane whimpers at the touch, his knees buckling.

Ilya cut him off, his hand sliding under the hem to squeeze Shane's plump tummy. “Fuck Hollander. What is she feeding you?"

Shane groaned, his hips jolting forward instinctively at the touch. "Ilya, she's not—"

The words died on his tongue. She's not my girlfriend, and she isn't feeding me. He rubbed a hand over his face, desperately trying to regain his composure as Ilya took a step back to look him up and down.

Shane wanted to dissolve into mush right there on the floor. He could only imagine what Ilya was thinking. He knew exactly what he looked like: thicker thighs padded with fat, rounded hips testing the structural integrity of his denim seams, and a soft, heavy belly pushing against his sweatshirt. His cheeks were rounder, too. He’d read the headlines, and they weren't kind. He knew exactly what the world thought of him.

"She's not my girlfriend," Shane muttered, looking away. "We only went on two dates. We're just friends."

Ilya's face remained unreadable. Shane braced himself for the inevitable onslaught. Why did you let yourself go? What is wrong with you? And to be fair, something probably was wrong with him. He stuffed himself until his belly was swollen and aching at every opportunity because it was the only thing that filled the void.

But it was more than comfort—it turned him on. A lot. Watching his body expand, despite how taboo it was, kept him constantly worked up. Even the mean things the tabloids wrote about him only turned him on impossibly more. But there was no universe in which he could admit that to Ilya.

Ilya’s lips curled into a smirk. "So, you got this big all by yourself?"

Shane's hand flew down to cup his throbbing cock, trying to will the friction to stop. He scowled, but his breath was short and his head spun from how hard he was.

"Oh, are you going to come for me? I haven't even done anything yet." Ilya’s smirk faded into a heavy, dark stare. "At least take your sweatshirt off. I want to see what you've done to yourself."

With a low groan, Shane gripped the hem of his fleece. Ilya was being an absolute asshole, which only made Shane want him more. He pulled the fabric up slowly.

Ilya let out a low moan, stepping back into Shane's space. He pressed his thumb deliberately into a lone, pink stretch mark zinging up from Shane's lower belly.

"God, you're driving me crazy. You eat so much your poor body can't even keep up?" Ilya smoothed his palms down the sides of Shane's waist, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh. "Growing so fast your skin can't adjust. Fuck, I always knew you were greedy, Shane, but this?"

Shane desperately gripped Ilya's wrists, his head tilting back. "Please, please, I need—I'm going to—"

"Going to what? Come just from me touching your fat belly?"

They were headed to New Orleans, a summer road trip that Shane was regretting more and more with every second as he stood baking in the sun and the heat coming off the pockmarked surface of the interstate. Ilya had seen the sign for Chunky, MS several kilometers back and had nearly shrieked with delight. Before Shane realized what was happening, Ilya had skipped their exit and was driving on towards some random town in the middle of nowhere, apparently with the hopes of finding a sign just like this that he could make Shane pose in front of.

Another car sped by, and Shane was buffeted by a gust of hot, car exhaust-laden, asphalt-scented Mississippi air. The grass around his ankles waved frantically. He could feel the sweat starting to collect in the slight crease between his pecs and the top of his belly. A drop ran down his spine and he squirmed, immensely dissatisfied with that particular sensation.

“Are you done yet?” He asked impatiently, squinting at Ilya through his Ray-Bans.

“Almost, moya lyubov, almost!” Ilya adjusted the angle of his phone. “Put your arms down, hands in your pockets, please. I want to see the goods.”

Sighing in resignation, Shane capitulated. Anything to move this along. He glowered petulantly at Ilya and uncrossed his arms, stuffing his hands in his pockets so that there was nothing obstructing the soft swell of his belly, and glowered petulantly at Ilya.

“Happy?”

God this is so hot!!!! What him and Ilya are doing is the complete antithesis of what Yuna expects him to do and has spent so much time trying to impress upon him the importance of. The thought of Ilya making him bigger, softer, on purpose? When he’s always been told he needs to try to be smaller and firmer? The unbridled thrill of letting Ilya fill him to the brim with all the things he's "not supposed to eat" or even enjoy, to not work out afterwards or stress or feel guilty but instead to luxuriate in the overindulgence while Ilya gets him off and whispers absolutely filthy, illicit things that sent shivers down Shane's spine about how all those extra calories are going to go straight to his already thick thighs and ass, his round, heavy belly. And then to let him do it again in the morning, stuffing his gut with fluffy buttery carbs and creamy coffee and bacon and maybe some orange juice even though he's so so full Ilya, he can't even have another sip or he's gonna burst, please, Ilya. All the food from the night before is still digesting and his lower belly is still bloated with it, and now the top is packed too. He's not sure he's ever felt so big, and now he has to go meet his parents?? They both knew Shane had brunch that morning. It feels so wrong in the best way to overeat like this before he knows he has to face his mother in a situation where he's expected to have more food, knowing she wants him to hold back, eat less, be less (at least that's how it feels a lot of the time).

He sits down at the table in the restaurant and he's already so full he can barely suck in, his belly pushing into his lap and his shirt pulling across it despite his best efforts; he's positive his parents will take one look at him and know something is up. He feels like such a fucking mess, and it shouldn't be this hot, but it is. He's barely keeping it together as he takes abnormally small bites of an omelet that he normally would have demolished in under 5 minutes. When Yuna pats his belly, it sounds solid, and he has no idea how she doesn't realize he's stuffed to the gills. So overfull with the massive breakfast Ilya had fed him before coming to meet them to eat even more. They have no idea how fucking greedy their son is. The stomach pat is unexpected and he's so humiliated by how loudly he burps, and by the look Yuna and a passing server give him when he does, and he can feel himself flushing deep red all the way down his neck.

whenever the desire gets too strong, he downloads reddit.

a new burner account every time. photos taken in the dorm mirror while his roommate is away. he wears just his smallest pair of boxers, tight enough to emphasize the way his belly plumps over the waistband. a few pictures sitting down, where his rolls are more pronounced. a few pictures squeezing them, to show how soft they are. dizzy rush as he uploads them to r/AmIFatBrutallyHonest, always some variation of the deliberately ignorant caption. always been slender but gained a pound or two at school, worried im starting to look chubby?

the replies come in immediately, like they always do.

Yes, sorry but you are seriously chubby. You’ve got tits and way too much belly fat. Good news is you’ve got a nice build on your arms and shoulders, so lock in at the gym and cut the carbs and you’ll be golden.

Pound or two? bro i think you mean 10x that

Lardass

Dude you’ve got a gut with fat rolls what do you think

Definitely fat, but you carry it well

Chubby. Lose about 20 pounds before a woman will touch you

Obese

Jesus look at that blubber

Shane reads them all with the same unflinching expression, his cock getting harder with every notification until he’s rubbing himself as he scrolls. Chubby. Obese. Too much belly fat. Shame curdles deep in his gut as he palms his stomach, feeling the soft ooze of it between his fingers as he groans around the throbbing of his cock. It feels so good to be told off for what he is. The humiliation like a cleanse.

He comes in his fist before he swipes over to his DMs.

It’s only been 10 minutes, and there’s already 18 message requests. It always astounds him how fast they come in, as if there’s vast swathes of horny men out there waiting to pounce on any new wankbait like sharks scenting blood, and well, probably there are. he opens a few messages distractedly, all variations on the same theme. Hi cutie. you do look chubby, but it actually suits you really well. i don’t think you should lose any. ever thought about gaining more? And Shane will play dumb when he messages back, and he’ll engage in enough simultaneous banter with the 18 sharks out in the deep to get his dick wet enough to get off again, and then he’ll fall asleep with his phone in his hand and wake with a lurching feeling of horror and shame, opening the app and deleting his account immediately, swearing he’s never doing that again.

When Shane wakes up in the morning, he’s fully intending to follow that same routine. But the app opens to a DM he’d left off the previous night, and for some reason he stops to reread it.

Hello. You are very cute, u/LoonBear81 had written.

Shane had sent back his standard bait reply. Really? you don’t think my belly is too chubby?

No. Is perfect. Like soft pelmeni, I could eat you up.

Shane hadn’t been sure what a ‘pelmeni’ was, but it sounded vaguely eastern european. Shane’s roommate was Russian or Ukrainian or something, and though he hardly saw the guy — he was always crashing with some other Russian girl he knew off campus— it had crossed Shane’s mind that maybe he could ask him the next time he saw him. And then he’d immediately felt stupid, because obviously he could just google it—except he wasn’t going to even do that, he was just going to turn off his phone and get a few hours of sleep and delete his fucking account as soon as the sun rose.

But now the sun is streaming brightly through the thin dorm curtains and Shane’s stomach is dropping to his feet, because another few messages had come after Shane had fallen asleep.

Is funny, my campus has same type of dresser and mirror in our rooms.

Same carpet too.

Do you go to U of MLH?

Shane presses his fist to his forehead and mouths fuck.