Snug Shane

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.

“…Maybe not really.”

“…No?”

“No.”

“…Okay. I love you.”

Ilya would feel secure in himself, not necessarily concerned with others’ view of him aside from Shane. The added weight is not impacting his performance on the ice, if anything, he’s harder to push around and remains just as efficient. But Shane has always loved the fact that Ilya is comparable to him - an equal competitor who performs and looks on par with Shane. All Ilya can think is that he’s not Shane’s equal physically anymore. What will that do to his husband’s attraction to him?

Ilya would never assume that Shane would be so shallow to lose love for him over his weight, but their physical and sexual chemistry could truly take a hit if Shane feels uncomfortable touching Ilya now. So, when Shane isn’t initiating intimacy as much and starts hesitating to reach out for him, Ilya can’t help but worry. He can’t stop taking the medication that is finally working for him because it’s working for him.

When Shane finally admits what he’s feeling and it’s shame for loving Ilya’s body, for being more attracted to him, it’s like a weight lifts from Ilya’s chest. And looking back, Ilya knows he should have asked. He knows Shane well enough to understand that it was his husband’s anxiety at play more than any disinterest in him ever happening.

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.

“…Maybe not really.”

“…No?”

“No.”

“…Okay. I love you.”

You’re so right. And I personally think Shane would be into that because hell yeah another way for Ilya to use his body for pleasure, AND hell yeah Shane likes when Ilya plays with his chest in any capacity, so this wouldn’t be any different. I’m imagining Ilya also tries to motorboat him, which Shane finds incredibly ridiculous but also endearing.

anyway, at all stars a bunch of the players are out at a restaurant, loud and raucous on a long table, and shane and ilya aren't sat that close together, and ilya surreptitiously texts shane with what he should order, and he does, and he eats it all even though it feels like a lot, and he's pleasantly full and flushed by the end (also thanks to the fact ilya told him to have two beers across the course of the meal). but when the server's coming to take all the empty plates, shane's phone buzzes.

same again

and he feels SO hot and flustered, like it's one thing to be eating when everyone else is but this is going to be SO humiliating to have to order a whole extra main when everyone else is finished, and he's so sure he's not going to do it, except ilya is giving him this really intense stare, and when the waiter comes to take his plate Shane finds himself saying, "um, could i get another burger and fries with a side of wings and mac and cheese, please?"

and he hoped he was being subtle about it but it feels like the whole table has gone dead quiet and then carter vaughn wolf whistles and says "damn, hollander, seems like someone's hungry," and shane's going SO red but luckily someone else chirps about how he'll need the energy so their team can annihilate the other team tomorrow, and everyone gets chattering again, and shane's just sitting quiet and squirming a little as ilya keeps shooting him pointed looks.

and think about how when the food arrives there's literally nowhere to hide, like everyone is pretty much just watching shane eat, and he's trying to get it over with as quickly as he can but it's hard when about halfway through the plate he has to slow down because he's so, so full, and wyatt hayes is like "hey, bud, you don't have to eat all that you know," because shane is looking like he's really struggling, and shane hiccups and says "no, no, i want to, i really am still hungry" which is such an obvious lie when his belly is starting to strain against his shirt, round and obviously full to bursting, but he's got this determined look on his face that most of the guys recognise from when he beat ilya in the speed skating skills competition earlier in the day, so they sort of leave him to it, but they can't stop casting little surprised sideways glances as he manages to swallow the final bites and collapses back in his chair, barely stifling a little groan, and one hand goes to cradle his swollen tummy but then quickly drops back to his lap like he's embarrassed, and at this point ilya is staring at him so hard people are at risk of noticing something but he just can't tear his eyes away from how completely stuffed shane looks and the fact he did all that just for ilya even though it meant enduring the gentle teasing of all the others commenting on shane's big appetite and how he surely can't have dessert because he looks like he'll explode if he has one more bite.

Ilya leaving barely there touches and kisses along Shane's belly. The added pressure makes him whine and whimper even louder but also has his dick pulsing. Ilya knows Shane's body and knows he doesn't want him to stop.

"So full, pumponchik..." he hums into Shane's skin, leaving a trail of kisses along Shane's abused belly.

when somebody gets into stuffing or begins a cycle of overeating and their slim waistline slowly starts to fill out

their tshirts begin to ride up a little and outline the roundness of their new pudge, their underbelly getting nice and soft as they plumpen up. they notice that their tummy is bigger than usual but they put it down to being full of snacks and extra helpings rather than weight gain

i figured we could do with some chubby ilya for his birthday today. it's what he deserves.

Anon I wrote this on the clock today, I hope you're happy lmao

Ilya tries to fuck Shane. He really does. He uses his weight to throw him around, pin him facedown on the mattress, but he’s slow, grunting with the effort of moving, already breathing post-workout hard even though all he’s done all day is eat and get his dick sucked. 

It’s Ilya’s 42nd birthday and Shane had been servicing his every whim from the moment he woke up until about fifteen minutes ago, when Ilya had finally conceded defeat after eating a little over half of his own birthday cake. He’d insisted that he could still fuck Shane even after all that, and Shane had been very happy to let him try. 

It’s hot like this, with Ilya unable to get a good thrust in without whining in pleasure-pain, burping not-quite-muffled into his fist. The soft weight of his belly is resting on the small of Shane’s back. 

When Ilya all but collapses on him, Shane’s breath shoots from his lungs. He’s so fucking heavy. So big. Ilya’s breath is hot and strained between Shane’s shoulder blades. Shane reaches back and grabs a fistful of his hair, scratches at his scalp. “Do you want to lie down?”

A little whiny, thrusting shallowly, Ilya insists, “Mm, no, I can—fuck you—I can.”

“I know. But you don’t have to. I can make you feel good. Lie down, okay?”

“Fuck. Fine.”

Ilya flops onto the bed beside him. He’s pouting when Shane turns to look at his face. Shane hides his laugh in Ilya’s shoulder and then pushes himself up to straddle his wide hips. The leverage is off, his legs spread too wide. “God, Ilya. You’re so big,” Shane says. “Getting hard to do this.”

But the view is gorgeous. Ilya’s belly arches over him, cradled between Shane’s thighs, his massive breasts spread to the side to rest against thick, strong biceps. Shane reaches behind himself to position Ilya’s cock and slide down over it nice and slow. He doesn’t want to jostle Ilya around too much, in his state. The stretch of it filling him up is heaven. It’s at times like this that Shane can almost understand what makes Ilya do this, to eat and eat until he can hardly move, incapacitated, nearly unable to perform. He’s so full. 

Shane moans, feverish. He would never tell Ilya this, but he looks a little pathetic underneath him, brow creased in the discomfort caused by his own voracious appetite, one hand clutching his full belly while the other grabs uselessly at Shane’s thigh, unable to move him. He knocks Ilya’s hand out of the way so he can replace it with his own. Shane wants to press in, to shake it, to feel it jiggle where it’s pressed against his cock, but he doesn’t. He’s gentle with him, soothing the ache. Ilya is so full, Shane can feel the exact shape of his tight, round stomach even under all that fat. 

Mouth open and panting, Ilya’s eyes are hooked on Shane’s face, wide and rapturous. His own face is red all over. From the exertion or from embarrassment, Shane isn’t sure. Just in case, he whispers, “It’s so hot that you’re too full to fuck me.” 

Ilya moans raggedly. “And when I am too fat to fuck you, what then?”

“Oh, god, unh.” Shane’s breath shudders out of him, he leaks precome all over Ilya’s belly and Shane thrusts against it as he rocks back on Ilya’s cock, helpless to do anything else. 

“Don’t worry. I will find a way, always,” Ilya gasps. “I know you need this.”

“Yeah, fuck, Ilya. I need it, I need—“

Ilya moans and then belches, low and rumbling, from deep in his gut. “Fuck.”

Shane curls over him, needing to get closer, to kiss him, wet and filthy. The pressure on Ilya’s stomach makes him burp again, right against Shane’s mouth. Shane moans into it. The tiny movements of his hips, it shouldn’t be enough to get him off so quickly, but he’s getting close. Closer when he catches sight of something in the corner of his eye and looks over to it—the baby pink, shiny cake box on the nightstand. 

When Shane looks back down, Ilya’s eyes are blown and glassy with pleasure, barely ringed by blue. He growls, “You want to feed me more, Shane?”

Shane is shaking. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to." Ilya pants, crazed, pawing at Shane’s hips and his back and his ass. “Mmm, you would feed me that whole fucking cake if you could. When I am already so stuffed. And you call me a sadist.”

“I don’t—I’m not—“

“Ah, but you do. Is okay. I want it, too.”

“You—oh my god, fuck.”

Slapping his own gut, sending ripples across the whole surface of it, Ilya says, “Do it. I am ready for more.” 

Shane can hardly keep his eyes open, can hardly think. “Jes—Jesus—“ He grabs Ilya’s belly, harder than he means to. “You sure you can fit anything else in here, Rozanov?”

Yeah. Yeah. Maybe the context isn’t even sexual, at least not intentionally. Maybe Ilya’s even called him fat in bed before and it hit then too, but his black-and-white rigid brain had categorized it as fantasy, enjoyed it and then put it away for some other time. Maybe it comes up ‘for real’ when they’re buying seasonal clothes, or Ilya calls a movie theater ahead of time to ask what kind of seats they have, knowing his husband is probably too big to fit comfortably in narrow seats with non adjustable arms, or he asks Shane how his doctor’s appointment went…

And Shane knows that he’s fat. Of course he knows, he’s the one getting chub rub on the treadmill, buttoning his pants under his belly, babyface returning with a vengeance, but maybe he’s been thinking subconsciously that he’s still his old trim self underneath the extra weight, that that's how people see him, and so being a ‘fat person’, long term and formal, is an identity he hasn’t yet taken on. The casual context makes it real. Fat, capital-F Fat. People who meet him for the first time and don't keep up on sports headlines think of him that way. His husband is married to a fat person. Him.