More chubby Ronan? 👀 Like post epilogue of Vivere ut edas? How’s he doing pushing past his comfort level in eating? 👀 👀 👀
Ronan was gasping for air, his brows drawn together in mild discomfort. He was cradling his stomach absently, and letting out these unconscious, breathy sounds on every other exhale. He looked dazed, eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks pink, his head rolling around on his neck like he could hardly summon the strength to hold it upright.
It was interesting. Adam had felt that exact way, himself, dozens of times, but he’d never seen it. Adam was lit up with a powerful sense of ownership over Ronan’s gluttony, the way he’d kept him fed today, morning to night. Was this how Ronan had felt, all those months ago, watching Adam gorge himself on his cooking, on his dreamed creations and gifted fast food? It was intoxicating, Adam could admit. He’d liked watching Ronan get like this--become this sleepy, gorged, needy thing--under his watchful eye, with his encouragement.
Adam set the plates he’d been filling on the kitchen table and leaned down to rest a hand on the taut, firm belly Ronan was sporting after their day of nonstop marathon-eating. It had been exactly how Adam wanted to spend his first day of spring break, and he was swimming in the familiar, pleasant haze of wild overindulgence, full but not quite overfull.
Ronan, however, was looking a little worse for the wear.
He had insisted on trying to keep up with Adam, again, but hadn’t managed it. He almost never could. It was an unusual thing to take pride in, probably, being able to eat so much more than someone else, but it was undeniable that it did something to Adam. That it made him feel accomplished, successful. This was more than a little influenced by the fact that Ronan thought of it like a game, and he was so stupidly competitive about it, even though he routinely, spectacularly lost.
“Hm,” Ronan replied without opening his eyes.
It was difficult to tell, sometimes, if Ronan was well and truly past his limits or if he was just being dramatic. Especially when Adam had plowed through the food they’d eaten so far without breaking a sweat. He could easily take another plate or two, but then, Ronan wasn’t quite as good at this as he was. He needed more coaxing, and patience. So Adam massaged either side of Ronan’s belly and it drew out a belch and a pitiful, pleading whimper.
“I’m fuckin’ fantastic, Parrish, thanks for asking.” Ronan breathed.
Adam laughed and felt the heat that had consumed him all day kick up from a simmer into a sudden, rolling boil. “Great, then you should really eat up before this gets cold.”
He gave Ronan’s stomach a firm pat that earned him Ronan’s eyes snapping open just to deliver an icy glare. Adam dropped into the chair next to Ronan. He began to dig into his own plate of spaghetti and meatballs, and then let his eyes slide back over to look at Ronan, trying to gauge how he was really doing, to catalogue the way his tank top was becoming more fitted than loose, the way his thighs stretched the fabric of his sweatpants.
He looked good, Adam thought. Dangerously good. So good he didn’t want to stop looking.
Ronan’s metabolism had always been quick and ruthless, but something about the way he ate, now, had changed enough to matter. There were fewer gaps in his eating schedule, perhaps--fewer skipped meals, more snacks, even when he was by himself. When Adam was home, of course, Ronan stocked the house like they were planning on hosting a dinner party for 12 every night, but Adam knew it was all for him. All for them, now, and it seemed that since Ronan had implicit permission to overeat along with Adam, it was beginning to do some damage.
It was a little difficult to see, because it couldn’t have been much, not really, not in only three months, but it helped that he’d been so lean before that every additional pound was significant. His arms had lost their definition--they were just thick, now, and so was his waist. He only had a pot-belly when he was full, otherwise he was just soft and thick like that, all over. Enough for Adam to dig his fingertips into, to grasp with desperation. Not handfuls, like Adam, but one day, maybe, if he kept eating like this.
Ronan looked mournfully at his spaghetti, his eyes half open and said, “I don’t think I can.” He burped, again. “Jesus fuck.”
“‘S alright,” Adam smirked, and slid Ronan’s plate next to the one he was working on. “I’ll take care of it.”
Ronan groaned. “You're a bottomless pit, you know that? How the fuck do you eat so much? You make it look so damn easy.”
With his mouth full, Adam said, “Lots of practice.”
A year ago, he wouldn’t have been able to down two plates of pasta on top of an entire day of excess, and still go back for more without an ounce of hesitation. Jesus, he really had become a bottomless pit.
And it showed. Ronan was staring at his belly and Adam realized that he had one hand reaching under his shirt to scratch at the itchy, bright red stretch marks that streaked down the side of it. Proof that he wasn’t so bottomless, after all, just a boy who ate so much that his skin couldn’t quite keep up with how fat he was getting, how quickly.
“Don’t worry,” Adam said, condescending, “You’ll get there.”
“Just keep at it. You’ll do better next time.” He popped a whole meatball in his mouth.
Adam laughed. “You are such a sore loser.”
“And you’re a shitty, stuck-up, arrogant winner, but who’s fucking surprised?”
Adam smirked and shoveled in another mouthful.
When he finished both plates of pasta, and had finally rounded the corner into being truly stuffed, he stood up with a grunt, held out a hand to Ronan and said, “Couch.”
Ronan took his hand and let himself be led to the couch without complaint, a testament to how out-of-it he was.
Adam collapsed into the corner, and Ronan immediately pillowed his head on Adam’s belly and let the rest of his limbs fall haphazardly across the couch. The pressure of Ronan’s giant skull wasn’t the most comfortable, as full as Adam was, but there was something nice about it, anyway. It kept Ronan close enough that he could reach over and soothe his belly with easy, gentle strokes, and listen for the way his uncomfortable little moans slid gradually into pleased, sated ones.
He also liked the way it looked--how his belly was wide and substantial enough to function as Ronan’s pillow. Winter break had really done a number on him, he thought, his free hand roaming his own body. He was thrilled to see what they could do in the bare week Adam had until he had to drive back up to Cambridge. At the very least, he’d make sure Ronan ate well enough to tide him over until they saw each other again, get him used to eating like this so maybe, by summer, Ronan will have gotten a little bigger, too.
