Thinking about depressed Ilya. I could see a scenario where he ends up putting on a lot of weight from his anti-depressants. Shane is very much into it but feels kind of guilty about it at first due to the nature of it being from the meds and not knowing how Ilya feels about it. Eventually the dam would break though and Shane would admit and show to Ilya that he maybe probably definitely is into his body even more. now than he ever has been.
Thank you for thinking about depressed Ilya. So am I, and this is indeed such a perfect way for it to go down.
Ilya gets on a medication that works— he has energy for the first time in months, he doesn’t feel like bursting into tears whenever he isn’t distracting himself— but he goes from 190 to 230 in a single season. It’s mostly because he has an appetite again, no more force-feeding himself, all genuine desire to eat, but it’s still a side effect, and it’s still very sudden. He starts snoring at night, has to get a whole new wardrobe because he can’t fit into his cold weather clothes. If he gets heavier, and it seems like he might, his joints will start to feel it. When Shane looks at him, Shane feels like a starving dog.
The desire is so specific, the imagery in his mind of Ilya’s thickening thighs pinning him down, his hairy belly under t-shirts, that he finds himself google searching ‘husband gained weight and I like it normal’ ‘is it bad i like partner fat’ and ‘sexual attraction weight gain’, finds out both that this is very much a thing, and that certain people have very negative reactionary opinions about it. Ilya must be in the latter camp, he thinks. Ilya is normal, and he’s a freak. Earlier that day, Ilya had made a joke about the increasing size of his ass, and Shane is pretty sure he’d meant it to be self-deprecating. If Shane was into the thing Ilya is ashamed of—and he is into that thing, had had to swallow a twinge of arousal after the joke and tell Ilya vaguely that a lot of people would kill to have his ass— it would be gross. There’s no way he can do anything about this, and it just gets worse and worse.
All he wants is to feel Ilya’s body when they fuck, grab his freckled love handles, be crushed, to watch in a double mirror as Ilya fucks him upright just to see how big he looks, lick the dimples in his broad back… but he withholds himself. Keeps his hands off in a way he hopes is respectful, anything not to let on that he likes this thing that Ilya is unhappy with, so he doesn’t mess up Ilya’s new decent mood or make things weird. They keep having sex, of course they do— maybe there was a brief dry period before the antidepressant started working, so they have to make up for lost time tenfold— but he’s more and more in his head, he starts having to imagine guilty fantasies to climax, and Ilya can tell something is wrong.
“Are you ever going to tell me what you’re thinking?” Ilya asks him. They’re feet away from each other on the bed. Shane has his arms crossed, hands to himself.
“…Probably, I’ll have to eventually,” he says. Licks his lips. Now’s that time. Here comes the beginning of the end. He sighs, looking down at his own flat belly, his flaccid dick. “…I…” he starts, “I… just have a weird thing happening and I’m going to get over it, but right now I’m. Well. I’m getting turned on by your… stomach.”
Ilya raises his eyebrows, looks over at Shane. “My stomach?” He repeats.
“Your… weight,” Shane clarifies. Feels like he’s about to be thrown in jail.
Ilya opens his mouth, closes it again. “And this is bad thing.”
“I know. I know it’s weird, it’s not normal, and I promise you I’m going to do something about it. Just right now, I—“
“Shane.” Ilya turns onto his side to face him, moving closer in the process, big hand resting on the bed between them, a crease forming on his side between his ribs and his hip, and Shane is mortified. “Why is it not normal. This is my body. Is that not normal?”
“It’s not normal the way I’m thinking about it.”
“What, you are thinking you like my real body, and this is a bad thing?”
“It’s not just your body, it’s the fact that you gained weight.”
“Oh, so terrible that you’re horny for me.” Ilya pokes him. “All this time I was thinking the opposite, you know that, that you were missing how I used to be?”
“Oh, no. No.” He feels terrible. “I was trying to be neutral,” he says, “I wanted to avoid making you uncomfortable, but I guess I overcompensated. I should have talked to you, but I was scared.” He turns to face Ilya. “I’m sorry.”
Ilya nods. “I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me.”
“…How do you… feel about it?”
“My weight? Mm. I don’t mind, but maybe better if you were enjoying it. You like this?” He grabs his own hip, jiggling it, digging his fingers in. “You want to do it?”
He sits up, and scoots over to lay against Ilya, putting an arm around hm, trying to let himself really feel the shape of him for the first time in a while. “Right now I just wanna lay here.”
Ilya takes Shane’s free hand and hugs it to his chest. “…I will never not like you for telling me the truth, Okay?” he says, “Or think you are weird. I am weird. We are both weird.”
“…Different kinds of weirdness.” Shane mumbles into his shoulder.
Ilya kisses his nose. “I love you too.”
