Dear Chubby Shane Hollander Inc staff and shareholders,
Please see below for the results of my Chubby Luca Haas pilot study. As you can see the possibilities for competitive feeding are promising, and could be an asset to our organisation as we strive to deliver on our most important KPI (fattening up Shane Hollander).
***
This has become Ilya’s favourite game.
He half-rises from his chair, just enough to peer over the rim of the enormous pan in the centre of the table. Bolognese tonight, and Ilya made enough that they’ve barely made a dent.
“There is more,” he says. “If anyone wants.”
He fixes his eyes on Luca.
Ilya had wondered, Luca’s first months on the Centaurs, if there would ever come a time when having Ilya’s attention didn’t seem to fluster the kid. Well, here they are, over a year later, and it doesn’t seem to have happened.
“Um,” Luca says. “Yes, please. I mean, if you don’t -”
Ilya heaps a generous second portion onto Luca’s plate. Luca watches him, swallows; Ilya can see the working of his throat.
“Oh,” he says. “Thank you.”
Ilya smiles, and then turns his smile on Shane, adding teeth.
“Shane,” he says. “You want more?”
Shane looks back at him with what could almost be described as a glare.
Ilya settles back in his chair with a tutting noise.
“No appreciation for my cooking from my husband,” he says. “Luckily Luca is very polite boy. Always having seconds.”
Luca nearly drops his fork. His eyes dart to Shane, as if checking for his disapproval. But Shane’s face is blank, his gaze still on Ilya. At least until Luca starts eating, when it slides over to watch.
Dinners like this have become… Something. Routine. Ilya called them foreplay once after Luca had gone home and Shane hit his arm so hard it left a bruise. But that didn’t stop Shane writhing and whining later as Ilya fucked him and whispered in his ear how much he knew Shane wanted Luca to see him like this.
“The kid wants me to fuck him so bad,” Ilya had said. “You’d better show him how well you take it, yes? Show him why I don’t want anyone else.”
Whatever you want to call it, the fact is that Luca came for dinner the first time, so nervous and eager to please, complimenting everything from the house to the plates to the food Ilya had made, making sure to ask for seconds just to show his gratitude. And then he had come again, and again, and again, until it was almost every night that the team wasn’t on the road.
Often, at each invitation, Luca will stammer and say he doesn’t want to bother them, they don’t have to have him around all the time. And Ilya will say, “We do have to. Because you are baby who probably does not know how to feed himself at home. We are just making sure you get enough to eat.”
Ilya and Shane watch now as Luca diligently sees away the pasta Ilya has given him. He can’t possibly be hungry given the size of the first helping Ilya gave him. But something Ilya has noted, over these past months. However much he puts on Luca’s plate, he’ll always eat it - his fear of offending trumping the discomfort of overfullness.
When Luca finally puts down his fork, Shane’s nostrils flare. It wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone but Ilya, who considers himself the world expert in noticing things about Shane Hollander.
Like how he notices the flick of Shane’s eyes down to Luca’s middle.
Something else Ilya has started doing is in the mornings, if they have practice, he will stop off at a drive through and get three donuts. The first time he made the diversion, Shane said, “What the fuck are you doing?” And then glared at him the whole rest of the way to the rink.
They arrive early. So early that usually it’s only eager Luca Haas there already.
And Ilya will say, “Bought you a donut, kid.”
And Luca will look flustered and say thank you. And Ilya will turn to Shane and say, “Here, Hollander.”
And Shane will say, “I’m not eating that.”
And Ilya will shrug, turn to Luca - and here is the part where it matters they’re alone, no Bood or Hayes or Dykstra to offer the extra one to - and say, “Want his too?”
And Luca will blush furiously and say, “Sure.”
All of this to say that between the dinners and the donuts and some occasions on road trips where Ilya will order food to Luca’s room on the flimsiest pretexts, or make sure to sit next to him at restaurants and give him leftovers from Ilya’s own plate while Shane looks on with an intensity usually reserved for the third period of a close game… The effects on Luca’s waistline have not been negligible. Even when he’s not as full as he is now, it’s noticeable, the way his new belly curves out over the waistband of his jeans and presses against the fabric of his t shirts. Now, stuffed with spaghetti, it’s more noticeable than ever, the extra weight born from overindulgence.
Luca leans back in his chair with a quiet huff of breath. As he does, it makes it obvious to Ilya, on the other side of the table, that Luca’s pants are getting far too tight, especially for the extra inch or so his belly has rounded out over dinner. And if it’s obvious to Ilya, he knows it will be obvious to Shane, too.
“That was amazing,” Luca says. One of his hands drifts towards his bulging stomach, like he wants to rub it but doesn’t quite have the nerve. “Thank you so much.” He makes an attempt to stand, clearly angling to clear the plates, but weighed down by everything he’s eaten, Ilya is quicker.
“No, sit,” he says. “I will tidy. Then there is dessert.” Ilya smirks at Shane. “My husband will not have any. But I know you will, right, Haasy?”
Luca stares at him, eyes owlish behind his glasses. His hovering hand finally comes to rest on his belly, as if testing its fullness.
“Yes,” he says, with the sort of look a lamb might give a wolf it sees pacing the fence of its field. “Of course.”
“There’s a good boy,” Ilya says, turning and heading for the kitchen, finding it sweeter, sometimes, to imagine, rather than see, the effects his words have on Luca - and on Shane.
Later, when Luca has finally gone, belly rounder still thanks to a thick slice of pie on top of the bolognese, Shane says, with faux casualness, “He’s getting fat.”
They’re in the kitchen, clearing away the last of the dinner things. Shane stands at the dish rack with a tea towel, very deliberately not looking at Ilya.
“Yes,” Ilya says. “Skating better, though.”
And it’s true. Last year, Luca showed flashes of brillance, but he could be nervous, skittish. Now, on the ice, it’s like the extra weight has settled him, given him the confidence he lacked.
Shane says nothing. Ilya steps close behind him, puts his arms either side to box Shane in.
“Are you jealous?” Ilya murmurs in Shane’s ear.
Shane manages, with a bit of force, to wriggle around to face Ilya, looking grumpy and cute - Ilya’s favourite expression.
“Why the fuck would I be jealous? He wants your dick in his mouth, who cares? He’s not going to get it.”
Ilya leans close to ghost his breath over Shane’s neck, the one spot always guaranteed to make him squirm.
“That’s not the only thing he wants in his mouth,” Ilya says. “He’s very good at eating what I give him. Have you noticed?”
Shane scoffs, but the sound is softer and covers something needier, as he pushes his body against Ilya’s, an almost automatic response.
“Of course I’ve fucking noticed.”
“Mm,” Ilya says. He kisses Shane’s throat, grazes his teeth over the flutter of Shane’s pulse. Then draws back so he can look Shane straight in the eye.
“That is something you are not so good at.”
Shane absorbs this, mouth falling slightly open.
“And that is why you are jealous, no?”
Ilya brings his hands to Shane’s waist, to the flat, firm muscles of his abs and sides. “You wish you could get a little fat, too, I think.”
Shane tried to wriggle away. Ilya holds him firm.
“No,” he says, with telltale breathlessness. “No, I don’t, of course I don’t, what the fuck -”
“There is still pie,” Ilya says. “You want some?”
Shane shakes his head. His pupils are wide and dark. Ilya leans in, as if to kiss him, but withholds it at the last moment.
“I think you’re lying,” he says.
Ilya grabs Shane’s jaw. It’s a little underhand of him - like kissing Shane’s neck, it’s something designed to make Shane pliable, to make him melt in Ilya’s hands, ready for instruction.
“You are going to have pie,” Ilya says. “Same sized piece as Luca.”
Shane doesn’t say anything. He just looks at Ilya, mouth slack. You’d call the expression on his face hunger.
Ilya runs his thumb over Shane’s lower lip.
“The kid got a good head start,” he says, thoughtful. His free hand returns to Shane’s stomach, brushing over it and imagining it softer, plumper, filling out as Shane finally gives in to his true desires. “But I think you can catch up with him before too long. Right, sweetheart?”
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