#fat!john

"This lemon cake is refreshing, certainly, but champagne icing? Surely we're serving champagne with the cake anyway?" 

John leaned back in his chair, trying to suck in his belly as his Sherlock--still strange to think of him as his husband to be, his fiance-- prattled on about the ninth piece of cake they'd sampled. 

"No, no, I don't think any of these will do." Sherlock heaved himself forward, moaning a bit as the contents of his belly shifted with the pressure. He got to his feet, and John blushed to see him this way, plump middle pushing against his clothes, flesh peaking out from between the buttons. "Come along, John.""Sherlock, we've tried all their cakes, we have to at least--"

"Pay for unsatisfactory cake? I think not." Sherlock drew himself up to his full height and stormed away, his exit only somewhat diminished by the swaying of his protruding belly and plump buttocks as he waddled away. 

"You could have been killed!" John roared, setting the bags down on the table with a THUD. 

"So? I've almost been killed loads of times." Sherlock settled on the couch, lifting out the first carton of food and popping it open. 

"Well this time, I--"

"This time you couldn't get to me in time to help?" Sherlock put a steaming hot dumpling in his mouth, chewing gingerly. 

John stared at him, furious, the round swell of his new belly quivering with the tension that sparked through him. "Yes, I suppose, I tried to do a bit more--"

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works