this is a very incomplete rough draft but i had to get it out
Shane was so full, the stretch of his distended belly was making him unbearably hard. He had rolled his shirt up to rest beneath his chest, pushed his roomiest sweatpants low enough to expose the red groove the waistband had pressed into his hips. The softness above it looked even fuller without the elastic cutting through it, a thick roll he could gather in both hands. He rubbed over the expanse of his round belly, adjusting his stance in the mirror, watching the way his thick thighs jiggled. His stomach was so full, but he still felt empty. He ached to be fuller, to have Ilya pressed behind him, breath hot against his neck as he pounded into him. Shane’s cock twitched, already painfully hard without having touched it, smearing precum across the underside of his stomach.
Shane curled his fingers into the softness of his side, squeezing until his flesh bulged between them. He had eaten until every breath felt tight, until his waistband dug into the underside of his swollen belly, and then he had massaged his fingers into the top of his aching stomach until he burped, making more room for one more square of lasagna. But it wasn’t enough, none of it was enough without Ilya there to see him like this, to want him like this, to touch him like this.
Shane’s phone sat on the counter beside him. He stared at the dark screen through the mirror, breathing harder as he imagined taking a picture — his shirt stretched tight across his chest, hard nipples pressing visibly against the material, his stomach round and heavy as it hung over his thick cock, flushed and aching to be touched, every twitch painting another gush of precum across the soft underside of his belly.
Shane moved his hands higher, slipping them under his shirt to squeeze the ample flesh of his chest, his hips rolling against nothing as his cock jerked beneath his belly, another drop slipping from the tip and smearing across his skin. He wanted to come, he wanted Ilya to make him come over and over again — in his mouth, in his fist, in the sink as Ilya bent him over and milked his prostate until he came only from that.
“Fuck,” Shane whined, kneading himself harder. When his nipples were sensitive enough that he wanted to go back into the bedroom, get one of their dildos, and fuck himself on it, his hands returned to his stomach instead. He squeezed the soft underside of his belly and shook it gently, shuddering at the increased pressure as the weight of it moved. One hand closed around the thick roll above his hips and the other around his heavy, neglected cock. As he stroked himself, he imagined larger, greedier hands replacing his own.
“Ilya,” he whispered to the mirror, his round cheeks flushed with desire, his eyes half lidded, his lips parted and wet. His gaze drifted back to his phone — would Ilya like seeing him like this? Deep down Shane already knew the answer. Ilya would go quiet in the way he always did when all the blood in his body rushed to fill his dick at once. His pulse would jump in his neck. He would pull his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared at the photo, working out what to text back. He might even have to adjust himself in his pants. And, if Shane was really lucky, Ilya would be somewhere he could reply with an audio message, his voice low and rough and possessive as he spoke filthy promises into the phone.
The thought made Shane’s hips jerk again, and he moaned as he kept thrusting into his fist. He worked his thumb over the head of his cock as he tightened his grip on the shaft. He should have put a plug in first. He should have put a plug in before he had eaten three quarters of a lasagna. He had been half hard as he ate, but the last piece had pushed him over the edge, made him squirm in his seat as he felt the bite of his tightening waistband, the pressure of his overfull stomach quickly filling his cock all the way as he thought of more, more, more.
He could put a plug in now, but he knew that would not be enough. He needed to be full of Ilya, to feel his hips driving into him as each thrust made his heavy stomach sway beneath him, made his chest and thighs shake. His toes curled into the carpet as he felt his balls tightening the closer he got to his orgasm.
With a shaky breath, he let go of his cock and dragged both hands over his belly, lifting its weight before letting it fall again. The soft impact sent a shudder through him and his cock throbbed, ached in a way that stroking himself would never be able to satisfy. He could make himself come that way, but he wouldn’t be sated, not until he was stuffed with Ilya, not until Ilya’s fingers were in his mouth and Ilya’s cock was deep inside him.
