Re: your tags on the feedees on cruises, Ilya and shane on a feeder cruise and Shane walking around in skimpy little swim trunks with his belly out. Ilya is bringing him plate after plate after plate. The skimpy little swim trunks don’t fit by the end of the cruise, matter of fact nothing fits by the end of the cruise but the organizers thought of this and have souvenir tshirts that say something along the lines of “I went on a feedee cruise and now all that fits is this stupid tshirt”
The tshirt idea is gold oh my god. This also makes a lot of sense for the au I want to write something for where Hollanov meet just in a feedism context where it’s something they’re both into and want to engage in together. I’m imagining this happening further towards the beginning of their relationship when Shane has still only recently entered the “chubby” stage (which is fun because I imagine him getting teased for having so much work to do/far to go by some other guests on the cruise, anyways that’s something to explore later)
Anyways it's been a minute since I wrote a whole thing to answer an ask so here we go:
“Ugh, Ilya. This is your fault.”
Ilya looks up to where Shane is standing in front of the full length mirror mounted to the wall of their room, struggling to get his shirt fit properly. It’s the shirt he’d packed for their travel-home day just over two weeks ago when they’d been preparing for the cruise. Nothing remarkable, just a soft slimfit cotton t-shirt in a warm summery shade of butter yellow.
The remarkable part is that Shane has grown enough over the last two weeks that he can’t get the t-shirt to stay put over the bottom of his stomach. He keeps tugging it down, pulling on the fabric, trying to get it to stretch, but to no avail. As soon as he lets it go, it slides right back up again, leaving two or so inches of soft, tanned skin exposed between the bottom of the shirt and the top of his now too tight gym shorts.
As Ilya watches, Shane gives up, huffing. He throws his hands up in exasperation. “See?”
Ilya smirks at him. The late afternoon sun is streaming in through the window, making Shane’s skin glow more golden than usual. Ilya is struck for a moment by how beautiful he is. He fingers the crucifix hanging around his neck, thanking anyone that may or may not be listening that he had the fortune of meeting this man.
“And this is my fault?” He asks.
“Yeah, it’s your fault! I don’t think you’ve let me stop eating since the day we got here.” Shane pouts, looking down at himself.
Ilya makes an exaggerated face, like Shane has deeply offended him. “Shane. This is not true! There are at least 8 hours every night where you were sleeping and not eating!”
Shane looks at him pointedly and raises an eyebrow.
“Okey, fine, except for one night,” he concedes. Ilya had indeed woken Shane up in the middle of the night just once towards the end of their first week on the cruise to feed him a plate of spanakopita. It had been fun and hot to feed Shane while he was sleepy and pliant and still full from his massive dinner, and it had been very hot when Shane woke up the next morning still full from the midnight snack, just in time for his hearty breakfast. Sleeping was also fun, though, and they’d both decided they preferred to be asleep through the night.
“Come here.” Ilya beckons Shane over to where he’s seated on the bed. Shane obeys, coming to stand a couple feet away from Ilya’s spread thighs. Ilya gives the situation a proper assessment.
The shirt does not fit. If Shane were to raise his arms above his head and put them back down, the shirt would likely ride up above his navel and stay there. The yellow cotton is stretched over the curve of the gut he’s steadily growing, and is riding up to display the soft love handles that have sprouted over the course of their relationship. Ilya doubts he’d be able to get the shirt to fit properly even if his stomach was empty. And Shane’s stomach is certainly not empty, Ilya knows this. His Shane is full and he looks it, tummy still heavy and swollen with the food Ilya had loaded into him earlier in order to make the most of their last day.
Ilya smiles to himself, bringing both hands up to cup Shane’s belly, pushing his shirt up over its crest and smoothing his palms over the warm skin. He’s so plump now, every mouthful of food that Ilya made sure was packed into him during their two-week vacation evident in the way he can sink his fingers even further into the soft, sweet curve of Shane’s underbelly, the way his bellybutton seems even deeper.
Ilya runs the tips of his fingers gently over the couple of new, ruddy stretch marks that had popped up along the bottom of Shane’s belly where the majority of the new weight had decided to settle. He’d done the math. If they wanted to maximize the opportunity the cruise provided, Shane could in theory gain a pound for each day he ate approximately 3,500 calories beyond what his body normally required. It seemed like a lot, but Ilya had looked up the nutritional information for some of the dishes served at restaurants on the ship, and they had realized it wouldn’t be difficult at all if they dedicated themselves. There were myriad items that boasted 1000 or more calories, and that was without sides or desserts. That wasn’t even taking into account the calories in drinks and desserts and all the rich food available en masse at the various buffets.
They’d tried to vaguely keep track at first, but once it seemed clear that Shane could successfully hit 6,000 calories a day they’d stopped bothering. Shane had weighed himself before breakfast today, and while they hadn’t hit a full 14 pounds in 14 days, Shane was 12 pounds heavier than he had been when he first set foot on the cruise ship. He’d worked very hard on this vacation, dutifully putting away all the food Ilya handed him, and keeping himself topped off throughout the day with various blended cocktails and tropical juices and plenty of snacks. Ilya is very proud of him. Best feedee on the ship, he’s decided.
He leans in and presses a kiss to the roundest part of Shane’s gut, sliding his hands around to squeeze his love handles, and slipping them down to cup his rounder ass. He feels Shane shiver and hears a strangled noise above him. Ilya looks up to see Shane biting his lip hard, cheeks flushed pink, staring down at where Ilya’s mouth is hovering over his stomach.
“What is it, malysh?” Ilya grins at him, palming the overfed tummy in front of him and giving it a shake. Shane moans, his softer pecs rising and falling as his breathing quickens.
“Feels good, Ilya, fuck.”
“Hmm, I bet it does. But that will have to wait. We have to go or we will miss our return flight.”
“Ugh, fuck off.” Shane steps back, rolling his eyes. He looks at his watch. “Fuck, you’re right.”
He turns and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror again. “Shit, Ilya, the shirt, that was the whole point of what I was saying. This shirt doesn’t fit, I can’t go to the airport like this!” He looks plaintively at Ilya, tugging uselessly on the hem again.
“Put on a different shirt?” Ilya suggests, knowing full well none of his other shirts would fare any better.
“They’re all too small.” Shane admits, flushing an even deeper shade.
“Hmm. You did get a little fat, I am not surprised.”
Cutting off Shane’s indignant protest, Ilya stands and rifles through his tote bag. “Is good thing I prepared. Catch.” He tosses a wadded up bundle of fabric at Shane.
“What’s this?” Brows furrowed, Shane shakes out the fabric, which turns out to be a roomy white t-shirt. He reads the words printed on the front and then flops his head back with a groan. “Ohhh my godddddddd, Ilya, I can’t stand you.”
“That should fit, I think.” Ilya smiles, pleased with himself. “I got it a couple sizes too big just in case.”
Shane looks at him, completely unamused. He turns the t-shirt around, showing Ilya the bright red block lettering. It reads, ‘I went on a feedee cruise, and now all that fits is this t-shirt.’
Ilya cackles, even though he already knew what it would say. Shane glares.
“Come on, moya lyubov, we must go. We do not have all day. Put it on.”
Still glaring, Shane struggles out of the yellow shirt, throwing it at Ilya, and slips the souvenir shirt over his head. It fits. If anything, it’s oversized; the bottom covers half of his shorts.
“It’s too big.” Shane says, with more than a hint of snark.
Ilya shrugs, and winks at him. “Room to grow.”
dededos
kianamaiart
yousharknotpass
prguitarman
izzy806
ellievsbear
