#sirl

"You're avoiding showing yourself," Ted says bluntly.

Schlatt scoffs, picking up his phone from where he'd left the call facing his ceiling as he put laundry away.

"I am not," he denies. "I don't do much content where you see more than my facecam anyways."

"Lately you don't," Ted corrects him. "You totally used to do more content where you could see your whole body. And you're not doing Ludwig's thing next month--"

"I just don't want to!" Schlatt protests.

"And you turn your camera off on stream whenever you stand up," Ted pushes on. "Come on, it's a pattern. I'm not crazy."

"Why does it bother you?" Schlatt grumbles, putting his phone back down on his dresser. "You can see me whenever you want to."

He knows it's true. He usually lets Schlatt initiate anything kinky, but he knows if he sent Schlatt a text asking for a picture of him, he'd get it in a heartbeat.

"I know that."

"So what? You need everyone else to know?" Schlatt demands. "You get off on everyone else seeing me gain weight? Is that it?"

"No, I--" Ted pauses, in the name of open communication. "Well, maybe a little."

A snort. The sound of Schlatt folding denim.

"Don't you?" Ted pushes.

"I get off on you noticing," Schlatt says.

"Sure," Ted says. "I don't care if you get off on it or not. That's totally fine to not care about that. But I don't-- I don't like the idea that you feel like you need to hide yourself."

It's quiet for a moment. He presses on.

"And again, I don't care if you don't want to-- I don't know, flaunt it," Ted says. "If you're not into the idea of people noticing, that's fine. I get it. The public eye is scary. But... it is just your body, y'know? That's what it is. That's what it looks like. And if you want to gain weight-- but you only want me to notice, that's-- I mean, that's not gonna happen. People are going to notice."

It's maybe the realest conversation they've had to have around this whole situation. Ted sits in silence for a moment, toying with the stress ball on his desk as he stares at Schlatt's ceiling fan through the phone.

"I don't not want people to notice," Schlatt sighs.

There's some shuffling as he picks his phone back up and sits on his bed.

"It's just-- I know I've gotten to the point where I know it's a thing," he says. "I already gained a bunch of fuckin' weight publically. Whatever. And then I feel like I sat at one level for awhile, and now..."

Ted knows what he means. He's gone from teenage boy skinny to broadshouldered and slightly soft before, sure, but he's made the jump to chubby and edging on fat very recently and very quickly.

"And before everything about my appearance changed," Schlatt continues, gesturing vaguely in that Brooklyn-raised way he does. "Now it's just-- I don't know how to feel about a bunch of people on Twitter calling me fat. Talking about how I let myself go. I dunno. Whatever."

"First of all," Ted says. "That's totally fair. Everyone hates people on Twitter talking about them. That's never a good thing."

"I have nightmares about being trending," Schlatt says dryly, and Ted can't quite tell if he's joking or not.

"And to them, I say fuck 'em," Ted says. "But to be clear, Schlatt-- I've never seen someone say you're not attractive anymore besides for you. I've only seen people talk about how hot you got."

"C'mon," Schlatt scoffs. "Sure, but they love the twinks. They loved me when I face-revealed."

"Schlatt," Ted says. "Do you really care if losers on the internet find you attractive?"

Schlatt takes a breath in, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No," he says. "I don't. I don't think I'm phrasing this right."

He takes a moment, running a hand over his face, and Ted waits patiently.

"I'm afraid they'll notice I like it," he admits finally, his hand over his eyes.

"Oh," Ted says, fighting back the urge to smile.

"I've gotten sloppy," Schlatt says, dragging his hand the rest of the way down his face. "I thought that if I was really self depricating and open about gaining weight, then it'd, y'know, throw them off my trail, but. I think at this point if I'm fatter than ever, and still joking about it, people are going to join in, and--"

"And it'll turn you on," Ted finishes.

"Partially that," Schlatt groans. "I have a brand, Ted, I have a career, an image, I don't-- I don't want to be outted as some guy with a fetish. I can't be the next Pyro."

Ted laughs loudly at that, shaking his head.

"Pyro is doing fine," he says. "Also, furry inflation, kind of a little different, I think."

"Same wheelhouse," Schlatt says, rolling his eyes. "It feels... I don't know. Dangerous. That's overdramatic. Vulnerable, I guess. But... you're right. It's reality, and. I'm not gonna lose weight. And I'm probably not going to stop gaining weight, either. Not sure if I could, really."

Ted ignores the way that runs through him, trying to keep the conversation serious.

"But at this point, I've waited long enough that it's going to be a thing," Schlatt says. "I am visibly fatter than the last time I showed anything more than my face."

"And, to be clear, buddy," Ted puts in, before he can stop himself. "Your face is visibly fatter too."

He takes pride in the slight flush he sees rise to Schlatt's-- indeed chubbier-- cheeks.

"Thank you, Ted," Schlatt says in a short, clipped tone that tells Ted he's trying to ignore any of his dick's signals to his brain.

"And it's not like you stop eating while you have your facecam off--"

"Alright," Schlatt snaps, fighting back a grin. "I can't hide that I'm a fat fucking bastard, whatever, man."

"How are you feeling about Chuckle Week?" Ted says. "I mean, it's two weeks away, I just wanted to check, y'know, how you were feeling."

"I feel..." Schlatt takes a moment, and Ted desperately tries to read the look in his eyes through the mildly pixelated facetime call. "I mean, the idea of. Not showing myself at all before then, and then the episodes start coming out, and everyone can see that I'm fatter than I was last Chuckle Week..."

"Yes?" Ted prompts.

schlatt 1 Attachment

schlatt ive had this doordash driver three times this week i'm killing myself tonight

Ted snorts out loud unintentionally, and Tucker looks over at him, raising his eyebrows.

"Want to share with the class, Ted?" he asks goodnaturedly.

"It's nothing," Ted says, which is the most suspicious answer he could've given.

He could've said it was Schlatt, easily, since Tucker obviously knows the two are good friends and text regularly. But then he might ask what the text was, and while the text itself is nothing incriminating, Ted doesn't trust himself to act normal about it.

"What, you got a secret girlfriend?" Tucker jokes.

"Yes," Ted says sarcastically. "Yeah, that's it. And she's smokin' hot too."

It's a little closer to the truth than he'd like to admit.

It's been like this, every since that last night in LA when the dam broke and all the sudden they were doing this, whatever this is. There's no label that they've put to it, not that Ted thinks there is an appropriate label for it-- what do you call it when you're a straight man who routinely recieves messages from your friend about his eating habits, which you jerk off to, and you encourage him, and he jerks off to that, and then do film a video reacting to AITA posts the next day? Friends with benefits? What are the benefits? Pretending he isn't secretly wondering what Schlatt is eating at the same time while out with a group of his friends?

It's not that they do it every day. Schlatt is somewhat elusive as always, and sometimes he'll go a week without mentioning anything about their whole arrangement, until all the sudden he recieves a video at 2am of him moaning and grabbing at his bloated belly with no preface or warning. He's sure Schlatt knows the power he has over him, how he can completely distract him from anything else going on with a simple, innocuous picture of a meal of his. He's not sure whether Schlatt's irregular updates are due to his feelings on the situation changing day by day, or just that Schlatt simply isn't indulging on that level regularly and only updates him when he is, or that he's intentionally baiting him into this game of cat and mouse. Perhaps a mixture of all three is the closest to the truth.

He goes to the bathroom towards the end of dinner and actually opens the message, the attachment itself being just a screenshot of a doordash driver on the way, the estimated delivery time now about ten minutes ago.

ted he knows what a fatass you are

schlatt shut the fuck up

ted you know he's like aint no way it's this guy again

schlatt for all he knows i have a beautiful family to feed

ted he probably assumes you do with your portion sizes

ted what did you get

schlatt wouldnt u like to know

Ted would. He really would. That's the humiliating part. Schlatt isn't that cruel, though, and it's only a minute before he gets a picture sent to him. It's Schlatt's desk, which he's now intimately familiar with-- he eats a lot of his meals there-- with a half eaten large takeout container of thick, cheesy pasta, with a paper bag he can see is filled with garlic bread on the side, as well as an unidentified soda and ice in a glass. Whatever it is, Ted knows it isn't diet.

ted i respect the carboloading

ted gotta get back to dinner keep eating

schlatt hope your stupid boner isnt visible

Ted, thankfully, does not have a boner, but he can't think too hard about the texts or he will.

It's embarassing, really, how relieved he is to say goodbye to his friends and get in his car to go home twenty minutes later. He checks his texts, and sure enough, Schlatt has sent a picture. The empty takeout container and paper bag is visible, but the camera is angled down enough that he can also see that Schlatt's pants are unbuttoned, but given his baggy hoodie and the angle, he can't see much more.

schlatt ugh i cant wear these fucking pants anymore i keep forgetting

ted i wonder why that is

The picture is a tease, and Schlatt knows it. He's tastefully covering himself, like he's in some kind of softcore boudoir shoot.

ted full?

schlatt yeah

schlatt fucking carbs