Archive of Our Own

Felix has always been a steadfast person, loyal to a fault.

He made it through private school in one piece, vastly unchanged by the tides of growing up. He zipped through college, developed a workout routine he maintains.

He hits the gym every morning. Sometimes, he goes twice a day. However, he pauses his motions at five o’clock in the goddamn morning to answer his phone.

It’s Dimitri, heir and sole inheritor of the Blaiddyd Corporation. Fairly intelligent, monstrously powerful, occasionally annoying.

He’s the last one today for sure. “Hello?” Felix mutters into the receiver, tilting his head to the side, bracing his phone against one shoulder so he can pull up his briefs.

“I wasn’t sure you would pick up.”

Felix bites back his bitchy, knee-jerk response: I always pick up when you call. “What’s wrong?” When Dimitri doesn’t answer him, Felix grows restless. “Dimitri,” he tries again, gentler this time.

“This is going to sound stupid.”

“Everything you say sounds stupid.” Felix is vaguely aware that the way he’s talking is abrasive towards someone who called him in a delicate state of mind, but it would raise more red flags if he weren’t mean.

Case in point, Dimitri laughs. “Stupider than usual, then.”

He decides to wait Dimitri out, glancing at the time. There’s no way he’ll make it to spin class now, so he gives up the ghost, flopping back on the bed. He listens to Dimitri breathe, exhalations heavy as he screws up the nerve to say whatever it is he wants to say.

“I’ve been lonely,” Dimitri admits at long last. Felix isn’t surprised. His career path had been outlined for him before he was born. Entering the world rich came with its own set of problems that were incomprehensible to the rest of society.

Even Felix, whose father owned a subsidiary company within the Blaiddyd Corporation conglomerate, cannot pretend to fathom what Dimitri deals with on a daily basis.

“There are apps for that,” Felix drawls, flicking on a light. He feels like he should do something productive since he’s up, but he doesn’t feel like it. He writes his laziness off as being attentive. He’s being a good friend.

“For hook-ups, yes. However, what I want from my partners—it’s too much, too demanding. I don’t think it would be safe for me divulge my interests.”

“It’s fine,” Felix says, combing fingers through his wavy locks. “You’re far from the kinkiest person in the universe. How bad could it be?”

He can practically hear Dimitri blush. Gone are the days of the blonde boy from his youth, innocent, long-haired, and chubby-cheeked. Felix is lithe and lean where Dimitri is toned and muscular, built like a Greek warrior of legend.

“I want to watch someone eat,” Dimitri says the words like he’s at a confessional, hands clasped over his chest as he prays for forgiveness for his sins.

Felix can’t help it—he laughs. “Seriously?” Dimitri mutters something incomprehensible in response. “C’mon, you have to admit it’s funny. That’s so normal.”

Dimitri makes an incredulous noise, unsure if Felix is messing with him or not. He grew up sheltered in a house that favored repression over successful communication. His father, Lambert, is a good, caring man, but he had a loaded schedule that allowed very little time for socializing with his son.

Felix and Sylvain stopped giving a fuck about what their piece of shit fathers had to say to them at age thirteen or so. They went out and learned about the world, obtained the street smarts needed to survive.

“How was I supposed to know? The act of feeding someone feels vulgar.”

Felix’s snickering trails off and dies. “Okay, wait. Do you want to go on a dinner date, or do you literally want someone to eat out of your hand?” Traitorously, Felix’s heart skips a beat. He did not sign up to be Dimitri’s impromptu kink therapist.

“…Yes, I think, is the answer to that.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m afraid I’m too ashamed to say.”

“I can’t help if I don’t know, dumbass.”

After a beat, Dimitri speaks in a tone so timid that Felix has to turn his phone volume up to catch what he says. “I stumbled across a series of social media accounts recently, upon which were pictures.”

Obviously, Felix thinks, nobly holding his tongue.

“Abdominal regions were being flaunted. There were dozens of posts where users were lauded for being extremely gluttonous, pregnant, or both.”

Sometimes, decoding Dimitri’s bullshit was like speaking a second language. It takes Felix a moment to realize his childhood friend wandered into a corner of the web devoted to fetishism. “You blew your load over them, I assume.”

The responding silence is louder than any answer Dimitri could have given.

Felix scrubs a hand through his hair, exasperated. “There have to be sites for that too, right? People who want partners.”

“I suppose so,” Dimitri mumbles.

He quirks an eyebrow at Dimitri’s hesitance. “But?”

“In what way would that be a viable option? PR would have my head.”

Which is, well, a fair point.

Dimitri sleeping around wouldn’t make the evening news. Dimitri initiating a relationship with somebody who wanted to gorge themselves until they were heavy and overfull, or, god forbid, laden with child, bowing to Dimitri’s whims for a stab at his fortune—taboo didn’t begin to cover it.

“Felix?” Dimitri says his name weakly, like they’re sleepy boys holding hands in his old bedroom again.

“Shut up, I’m thinking,” Felix replies, nose screwed up in concentration. He flips through a list of contacts in his mind, considering members of their circle who might be amenable.

Sylvain was the sluttiest of all of them, but he was exceedingly vain; Felix doubted he’d be willing to do anything to warp his figure. It felt predatory to ask Mercedes, Annette, or Ingrid, and besides, none of them were the type to overindulge.

Ashe was a possibility, but Felix severely doubted he would be able to relax in Dimitri’s presence. He had always been more of a fan more than a friend, so deferential it was detrimental.

Similarly, Dedue, Dimitri’s aide, would part the Red fucking Sea if Dimitri asked him to, but that had repercussions for Dimitri’s work-life balance.

Eventually, he happens upon a solution. He rolls his eyes, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. “What about me?”

“Excuse me?”

“Me, moron,” Felix reiterates, ignoring the way blood rushes into his face, pulse thunderous between his ears. “You know, the guy you called before the sun came up to talk about this.”

“Are you truly offering? You, Felix?”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“That I haven’t known you to deviate from your regimen a day in your life,” Dimitri replies, distressed.

“First time for everything,” Felix retorts, snorting. “As a matter of fact, you called when I was getting ready to go to the gym.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not.”

Dimitri stubbornly huffs. “I am. I want this to be fully consensual, not something you agree to in the heat of the moment.”

“Fine. I’ll do some research. We can talk after work.”

“I’ll tell the concierge to let you in.”

That settled, Felix hangs up and rolls over on his side. He has a good forty minutes to kill before he has to get ready for work. No time like the present, he figures, grabbing his laptop.

Felix requests entry to Dimitri’s penthouse with a furrowed brow, feeling less equipped to handle this conversation than he had been that morning, when he’d been blissfully ignorant.

The guard on duty tips his hat to Felix. They’re practically friends at this point, given the regularity with which Felix turned up to drag Dimitri’s sorry ass outside.

The terms swim in his head. Stuffing and gaining. The feeder-feedee relationship is clearly what Dimitri has an interest in, though how far he wants to take this, Felix has no idea.

His skin itches, thinking about the fact that he still hasn’t gone to the gym. It feels wrong, hopelessly indulgent, but he’s focused on the mission.

Dimitri, hulking beast of a man, looked smaller, somehow, crouched in his own doorway, practically squirming. It helps Felix to see him so nervous, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “Would you relax.”

“I’m trying,” Dimitri insists, making a beeline for the kitchen.

There are snacks lined up on the island, which wasn’t anything unusual. They aren’t unhealthy, either. Once again, Felix wonders how this concept became something Dimitri’s twisted little brain latched onto.

Felix isn’t hungry, though, so he bypasses the hors d’oeuvres. If Dimitri is disappointed, he makes no show of it, following Felix over to the couch like an overgrown puppy. “So,” Felix starts, cutting to the chase as he kicks his boots up on the table, “you want someone to fatten up.”

“Felix,” Dimitri hisses, horridly embarrassed.

“What? I’m not gonna pussyfoot around this. We have to discuss boundaries. Safe words. Use your pitiful vocabulary to tell me exactly what you want.”

“What about what you want?” Dimitri asks.

“We’ll get to that later. I’m an adult and I’m not stupid. I know what I’m getting into, eyes wide open.”

Dimitri twiddles his thumbs. “I would. Like to see you gain weight, I mean.”

Valiantly, Felix does not say, I figured. “How much?”

“I don’t know. A few pounds, for starters.”

For starters. Felix wouldn’t consider himself as excited about the prospect, per se, but he’s certainly affected by the declaration, impressed with Dimitri’s transparency. “Got it. Should we put a schedule together?”

“A schedule?”

Sometimes, Felix would like nothing more than to strangle Dimitri. Often. “You know, fancy thing with dates and times, places where you can leave notes.”

Dimitri glares at him. “I know what it is, I’m asking what it’s for.”

“It’s not like we’ll be together all the time. I have to make a new nutrition plan, hit up the store. I assume you’ll want to feed me as many times as we can manage to be in the same place at the same time, which isn’t many.”

Dimitri visibly deflates at this harsh reality. “I was hoping we could have meals together several nights a week.”

“It’d be a pain in the ass to drive over here all the time.”

“You could stay,” Dimitri offers, words blurted out in a rush. Felix stares at him, at his rosy cheeks. “For a few weeks, at least. I have a spare room.”

He stares at Dimitri for a while, contemplating. Finally, he cracks a wicked grin. “You gonna cook for me too?”

“If you’ll let me, yes,” Dimitri says.

Bewildered, Felix stares again. “Well, if you insist.”

It’s Thursday. If they’re going to do this right, they have to start on a Saturday, Dimitri says. Felix finds the situation increasingly hilarious, watching Dimitri’s blue eyes light up like it’s Christmas.

They settle on a frugal warning system: green, yellow, and red. Felix explains that it would be irritating to memorize nonsense. This will be a lifestyle change for both of them, one that could very well altar their friendship.

When Felix gets up to leave, Dimitri grips his wrist in a vice. Felix glares at him—fucking brute never remembered to control his own strength—but he lets up when he sees Dimitri’s manic expression.

“You never told me,” Dimitri whispers, voice gravelly with desperation, “what it was you wanted out of this.”

Felix swallows thickly, turning away, refusing to divulge something he buried beneath the surface a long time ago. “I’ll tell you when it’s time.”

He can tell that Dimitri wants to say something, but he holds his tongue. Felix shakes Dimitri off and flees into the night.

Felix arrives at Dimitri’s place with a backpack full of electronics and a suitcase laden with clothes.

Dimitri’s apartment smells heavenly. Felix is impressed that Dimitri knows how to cook. Surely, he’d had a nanny tend to him in his formative years. Maybe even a live-in chef.

Sensing Felix’s gaze, Dimitri looks up. “I took up classes in college. Free electives,” he explains.

It’s funny, Felix thinks, how you can know someone for so long and not know everything about them.

He used to. He used to know everything Dimitri did at every minute of every day. They drifted apart at some point, drudging through a strange phase, but they’ve since made peace.

Felix considers this as good an opportunity as any to get to know Dimitri again, tamping down the forlorn melancholy lodged in his throat.

“Looks good,” he says, refraining from touching anything Dimitri has laid out on the table. “Should I wear anything special for the occasion?”

“Something comfortable,” Dimitri answers, flipping something in a skillet. “If you’re asking for my personal preference, I would very much like to see you in high-waisted trousers.”

Felix chuckles. “That part of your whole thing?”

“Yes,” Dimitri replies plainly, plating an omelet.

It wasn’t a style he gravitated to, but Ingrid talked him into buying a pair once, assuring him they were in vogue. He supposes, since he agreed to play Dimitri’s game, he can stand to order a couple more online.

When he comes back, he eyes the spread laid out in front of him. There’s far more laid out than Felix would usually eat—too many carbs, not enough protein. He dismisses the voice in his head which scorns the calorie count.

The point today is to push his limits. That much, he can do.

Dimitri sits next to him, dragging his chair over until it’s nearly flush with Felix’s. It’s been a long time since they’ve been this close together. Years. Over a decade, maybe.

“Did you wash your hands?”

Dimitri huffs, blonde bangs fanning out at the motion. “Of course.”

Felix does his level best not to squirm. He waits for Dimitri to drizzle honey over a biscuit, glistening as he parts his lips. It’s sweet, but not overly so, dry on his palette. Dimitri intersperses bites with hot, black coffee, letting Felix sip at his own pace so he doesn’t burn his tongue.

With the biscuit down, Dimitri moves onto strips of thickly-cut bacon, then the eggs. He doesn’t bother using a fork, heathen, lavishing the sensation of Felix sucking his fingers clean.

He feels full quickly, but Dimitri asks for a color and Felix says green, so they continue.

The salad is a nice change of pace, an appealing contrast to meat, eggs, and bread. “Would you like a glass of water?” Dimitri asks once Felix has cleared the bowl.

Felix groans. “Won’t be able to eat anything else if I do that. Too much liquid taking up space.”

“That’s okay,” Dimitri assures him. “I like that too. The bloating.”

Felix studies Dimitri, taking in the vicious look in his eyes. He’s enthralled by this, with having Felix do as he pleases, distending his stomach for him. Arousal licks up Felix’s spine for the briefest of moments; he quashes it.

There are tarts he doesn’t touch, along with fruit and fresh-squeezed juice. He hopes Dimitri isn’t planning to throw anything out just because Felix couldn’t finish.

“Alright,” Felix concedes. He watches as Dimitri shuffles into the kitchen, comforted by the fact that there’s a tent in Dimitri’s sweatpants.

He returns with a tall glass of water, easily twenty ounces. Felix stares at it, daunted by the density of breakfast crammed inside his stomach, but he’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

Dimitri’s eyes are glued to him, watching Felix’s adam’s apple bob. The first few sips are cooling, satisfying. He wants to stop halfway through, but he pushes through the pain, hazily wiping his mouth when the glass is empty.

He feels dizzy, beyond glutted. The waistband of his trousers isn’t cutting into his skin, but it’s a near thing, the fabric far clingier than it had been at the start of the meal.

“You look good,” Dimitri murmurs, tone dark. Felix nearly shivers, annoyed by his renewed attraction to his childhood friend. “I want to see.”

“You’re already looking,” Felix retorts, no real venom in his words.

Dimitri reaches out, thumb a hair’s breadth away from the hem of Felix’s shirt. “May I?”

Felix grumbles something best summarized as a yes, biting his bottom lip as Dimitri exposes bare skin. Dimitri moans as he releases Felix from his pants, infatuated with his noticeable mark of overeating, the slightest rounding of Felix’s midsection.

“If you want to jerk off, go ahead and do it,” Felix says, eying Dimitri’s groin.

Dimitri glances downwards before he looks back up at Felix, disappointed by the fact that he won’t be able to look Felix while he does.

What a rush, Felix thinks, goosebumps rising on his forearms.

“Bring your lube in here,” he says. “I’ll watch.”

Dimitri blinks at him, stunned, tripping over himself to follow Felix’s instructions. Felix laughs, then winces, the force of the motion reinforcing how overly full he is.

Dimitri wastes no time in whipping himself out the moment he reenters the kitchen, already wet at the tip. Felix grins at him, flashing sharp teeth in mockery. Dimitri pays no heed, lost in his own thoughts, gripping himself fiercely.

No pomp and circumstance. No fucking class, Felix thinks, rolling his eyes as Dimitri comes.

When he’s finished, Felix watches him clean up, ambling over to the couch to relax.

Until lunchtime, that is, when they do it all over again.

Living with Dimitri isn’t the unholy nightmare Felix suspected it would be when he initially offered.

Felix goes into the office three times a week. Dimitri rarely left unless he had some bigwig meeting to attend, giving them ample time to settle into their new routine.

Felix can afford to buy himself new clothes, and does, but Dimitri’s additions to his wardrobe creep in silently. He hasn’t worn a single thing Dimitri has bought for him yet, but the idea of doing so, the claim Dimitri wants to stake on him—it’s admittedly intoxicating.

For the better part of the month, it’s a learning experience. Dimitri creates a list of things he wants to see Felix try. They put checks next to things that work, cross out things that don’t. Change happens gradually.

Felix has every intention of going home at the end of week four, but something stops him. Hunger pangs.

The thing is, he’s been eating a lot. He’s always had fast metabolism, bolstered by the fact that he’d been an exercise nut. However, sugar was an addictive drug.

Felix wouldn’t have considered himself a dessert person before all this, or much of a food person in general, really, but it’s difficult to deny the Pavlovian response he’s developed to the approach of mealtime.

And fuck, if Dimitri wasn’t a damned good cook.

So far, weight has taken its sweet time clinging to him. His bloats have grown larger, though, more pleasing to Dimitri’s aesthetics. Felix hasn’t failed at anything in his life and he has no intent of failing now. He’ll extend his stay, at least for a couple more weeks.

Dimitri is surprisingly fastidious about keeping the menu interesting. There are a few repeats, a few things he enjoys making. The sloppier and saucier the better, apparently. Felix is beginning to suspect the mess feeds his ego, if the wild look in Dimitri’s eyes was anything to go by.

He has one other reason for dragging things out.

Dimitri hasn’t told him everything. Felix is determined to drag the truth out of him this weekend, come hell or high water.

Felix contents himself by grazing lightly until Dimitri gets home, picking through takeout containers in the fridge when he runs out of chips. Dimitri’s been doing meal prep on Sundays, but he got dragged into all manner of nonsense after his meetings, kept odd hours.

Just in case, Dimitri said one morning, drowsy and fond, horridly domestic.

He returns late, waking Felix from a light doze. “Sorry,” Dimitri apologizes, tiptoeing inside like it matters now that Felix is awake.

“S’fine,” Felix says, stifling a yawn. “You want something to eat?”

Dimitri quirked an eyebrow. “You cooked?” Felix snorts. Dimitri laughs. “You ordered in again, then.”

“Mm.”

The food’s gone cold, but there are bags with stacked containers all over the coffee table, splayed out in front of the couch. Felix has a form-fitting tank top on over a pair of workout shorts, complete with a band built-in for waist support. He’s 99% confident they were designed for women, but they’re comfortable.

Dimitri goes to pull out dishes and silverware, preoccupied. “This is a lot of food.” When Felix says nothing, his eyes keep roving. “Soda, too?”

Felix opens his eyes, wine red boring into Dimitri’s icy blues. “Don’t bullshit me, Dima.” The childhood nickname makes Dimitri stand up ramrod straight, striking him like a lightning rod. “You’ve been way too nice about this whole thing, and I get it. It’s an unusual kink. You said you don’t want to force me or whatever, but I’m not a coward.”

He accentuates his point by grabbing Dimitri’s chin, noting the way the blonde’s nostrils rebelliously flare out. Good, he thinks. He went into this knowing who Dimitri was, familiar with his character flaws.

“Tell me the truth,” Felix demands, pushing a knee into Dimitri’s groin.

“No,” Dimitri snarls, though he doesn’t buck Felix off. Felix exerts more pressure, trapping Dimitri against the countertop.

“Why not?”

“Because you won’t tell me the truth either,” he snaps, glaring at Felix with force. He flips their positions all too easily, laying Felix out like a paperweight.

“What,” Felix deadpans, confused.

“Why you’re doing this,” Dimitri continues, grip tight on Felix’s wrists. He looms overhead like a beast, like he wants to mount Felix. Fuck, Felix thinks, praying to god he doesn’t get hard at the idea alone.

“I was the easiest solution to your problem,” Felix answers, skirting around the truth.

Infuriated, Dimitri barks, “That’s all?”

Now or never. Felix might regret this for the rest of his life, but he can’t afford to hedge anymore. “I wanted to, okay? I clearly don’t mind. I’ve basically moved in at this point. The hell else is there to say?”

Dimitri blinks. Slowly, a feral grin creeps across his face. Bolstered by Felix’s admission, he leans forward, breath hot on Felix’s lips. “I appreciate your honesty, Felix. Thank you.”

“You’re not welcome, you mongrel.”

Dimitri kisses Felix fiercely, using entirely too many teeth. Felix is confident he breaks skin, theory confirmed when Dimitri licks blood off of his lips. “You really want to know?”

“Christ. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” Felix mutters, though he knows he’ll probably be overwhelmed by Dimitri’s fantasies.

Dimitri sucks on his skin, spreading a possessive hand over Felix’s midsection. “I want to feed you until you feel sick every day. I want you gluttonous, irrevocably mine.”

Felix moans, hips bucking as Dimitri’s hand dips lower. “Yours how,” he grunts, hissing when Dimitri spits into his hand before crudely grabbing Felix’s shaft.

“In all the ways that matter. Full of me. Full of my spend, my food. Wearing my clothes. Carrying my child.”

“Fuck,” Felix whines, squirming as Dimitri thumbs his slit. He comes like that, laid out like a slut on Dimitri’s kitchen counter, tacky in his stretchy shorts. Dimitri pulls his hand free with nary a trace of the timid, sweet man who’d been watching Felix languidly these past few weeks.

“So,” Felix rasps, “dinner?”

The two of them fix their plates. It was rare that Dimitri wanted Felix to eat by himself, but they crossed some sort of threshold today.

Dimitri finishes quickly, committed to maintaining his figure. Felix catches him staring ravenously, like Dimitri would give anything to swallow him whole. He nearly drops his spoon, skin tingling.

“Ask,” Felix barks, shoveling a spoonful of fried rice into his mouth.

“I would like for you to sit in my lap,” Dimitri says.

“And?”

“I want to touch you while you eat. You have a lot of work left to do.”

Holy shit, Felix thinks, wondering what sort of monstrosity he’s unleashed.

He makes his way through noodles, vegetables, and soup before he starts to feel genuinely queasy, mouth working in slow motion to chew. Dimitri notices, passing Felix the soda.

Drinking something carbonated sounds awful, but Dimitri’s touch is pleasant. He settles himself in Dimitri’s lap, legs spread wide on either side of Dimitri’s thighs, taking a swig.

The early gulps are divine. Everything in his stomach is balanced by the bubbles. A third of the way through the bottle, Felix puts a hand over his mouth, convinced he’s going to throw up; he doesn’t.

Dimitri squeezes him, hands wrapped around the small pooch of Felix’s belly. Thinking about Dimitri’s dirty talk, about being so much bigger than this, startles a belch out of Felix’s gullet.

Dimitri hums. “That felt good, didn’t it? Go ahead and finish the rest.”

I can’t, is on the tip of Felix’s tongue, but he’s too stubborn to say it. He keeps going, guzzling so he doesn’t have time to linger on his nausea. Stuffed doesn’t even begin to cover how he feels right now, burping between every few sips.

Finally, finally, he’s finished. He hiccups.

“You’re beautiful,” Dimitri murmurs, rubbing Felix’s sore, distended belly.

The word thanks is trapped behind his teeth, stifled by years of poor family communication, eyes glossy with emotion.

“You’re moving,” Sylvain says, incredulous.

Felix refuses to dignify this with a response.

“You’re moving in with Dimitri,” Sylvain expounds, disbelief raising his voice an octave.

“My lease is up next month,” Felix grumbles, saying something just to shut his best friend up.

“Don’t give me that shit. You can afford to live wherever you damn-well please.” Between his personal funds, his inheritance money, and Glenn attempting to spoil Felix rotten at every turn, this much is true. “You’re moving in with Dimitri on purpose. I assume you’re sleeping with him. How dare you withhold such juicy gossip?”

“It just sort of happened.”

They’d fallen into their arrangement four and a half months ago. It had been rebranded as a proper relationship at some point. Given that Felix and Dimitri are both private creatures, nobody knows about them.

Now, all of their friends would know. Sylvain was a chatterbox who loved the sound of his own voice. He would keep it within their circle, at least. He knew better than to let their relationship become a scandal.

Not that it would be. Felix was confident his father went on such frequent business trips with Dimitri’s father for increased opportunities to suck his dick. The compulsion runs in the blood, Felix figures.

The only reason Sylvain is here is because Felix, despite being born into wealth, hated taking the easy way out. He’s able-bodied. There’s no reason he can’t pack up his apartment himself, even if he’s hiring a moving company to haul the boxes and furniture out.

He could ask Dimitri to help, but he’s been run ragged at work with the potential of a new merger on the table. Sylvain spent his weekends barhopping and in the beds of strangers. Felix had no qualms against putting him to work.

“Well, I’m glad,” Sylvain says, humming as he tapes up another box. “You two deserve each other.”

“What does that mean.”

“That you’re assholes who’ve been lusting over each since middle school,” Sylvain teases, a cocky grin on his face. “It’s not a crush, Sylvain, don’t tease me,” he continues, putting on a falsetto, presumably imitating Felix.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Did that a long time ago, baby. Not sure your new beau would appreciate us having another go.”

Felix grimaces. Dimitri would commit murder in his jealous rage. The prospect wasn’t worth joking about.

“Going to pretend you didn’t say that and pray to god you never tell him,” Felix mutters.

Sylvain whistles. “Wow. You whipped or what?”

Felix rolls his eyes. Even if he was, he would sooner die than admit it.

They exchange more companionable chatter as they work, Sylvain asking about what things go where. It’s nice, catching up, conversation flowing easily. It’s been a while since they’ve talked. Felix makes a mental note to reach out more often.

It’s late when they finish up. Thoughtlessly, Felix lifts his shirt to wipe his brow. He’s been sweating profusely all day; he’d grown accustomed to being inactive. Sylvain watched him eat four times without saying anything, but it appears his capacity for holding his tongue caps the fifth time.

“Not for nothin’, but, uh. You’ve picked up some weight, huh?” Felix turns to him, chewing on a pastry. Sylvain holds his hands up in surrender. “And it’s fine, honestly. You look good. They say relationships help you chill and all that.”

Felix is startled by the trill of surprise that zips through him. He suppresses a full-body shiver. It’s the first time anybody’s actually said anything about it. The first time they’ve pointed it out. He feels vaguely ashamed, hot all over. “I know. The brute likes it.”

“Sorry, who?”

“Dimitri,” Felix says, in a tone that implies obviously.

Sylvain laughs. “You call him that? Like, to his face?”

“I call him worse to his face.”

He goes on to assuage Sylvain’s worries, assuring him that this whole thing is consensual. The commitment to gaining weight is a lot like the commitment to going to the gym every day, challenging his limits, increasing his capacity.

“As long as you’re happy, I guess,” Sylvain says, then shrugs.

Funnily enough, Felix is happy. He catches a cab to Dimitri’s place, pleased to see he’s not home.

He strips his clothes off, inspecting himself in the mirror. It’s a shame we don’t own a scale, Felix thinks, reminding himself to buy one.

He’s far from fat. He wouldn’t even consider himself chubby yet, but he looked…different. It was a contrast to what he was used to, his once blocky, firm limbs cushy to the touch, rear obtaining the slightest bit of volume.

His stomach broadcasts the most noticeable difference. All the bloating and overeating has laid waste to the planes of his abdomen, pushed his belly out a bit. It’s the slightest bit of paunch, he doesn’t even have love handles, but the sense of accomplishment he feels is exhilarating.

Felix kind of maybe feels like jerking off about it.

“Fuck,” he whispers to no one, pinching his skin. Before he can go rifling for the lube, he hears the door open. He has half a mind to throw a towel on, or a robe, or something before he realizes Dimitri is his boyfriend. His boyfriend who wanted this to happen, who would be thrilled to know that Felix is turned on by his own gains.

“I’m home,” Dimitri says, eyes darting over to Felix when he spies dark hair pulled up in a messy bun. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Felix replies, pushing his gut out. “Glad you’re here. Come make yourself useful.”

His taunts usually earned him one of two reactions – either Dimitri growled fiercely, fucking Felix hard enough to burn a hole through the mattress, or Felix earned warm smiles for his efforts.

Today, it’s option B. Dimitri’s too exhausted to do anything other than dote.

“I brought you a snack,” Dimitri says, holding up a takeout bag. It does not at all constitute a proportion of a snack, but Felix isn’t complaining. After a couple months, eating in excess ceased to be a challenge. Now, he wants to do it all the time.

“Give it to me, you fat-loving freak.”

Dimitri laughs. “You can’t exactly consider yourself a neutral party, can you?”

No, he can’t, but that doesn’t matter. Dimitri’s taking too fucking long.

Felix drags Dimitri into the bedroom by his tie. Dimitri sheds his clothes carelessly, not even bothering to step out of his underwear. His appetite was as ferocious as Felix’s, but he wasn’t hungry for food.

Dimitri ruts against him for a bit before he pulls away, digging through drawers for a plastic coverall. They purchased it a couple months ago to cut back on the laundry and it’s been a godsend. He spreads it out before he deadlifts Felix, tossing him around like a caveman.

Felix remarks on his poor behavior, but Dimitri ignores him, opening up a family sized container of loaded nachos.

“You were busy today,” Dimitri asks, squeezing Felix’s hips. Felix’s eyes roll back in his head; gaining weight has made him so sensitive. “Did you eat?”

“Not as much as usual.”

“Shame,” Dimitri says, sucking on Felix’s skin.

Felix moans, lowering his head as Dimitri rocks against him. He wasn’t particularly fond of getting his face messy like this, but the nachos taste amazing. He’s unwilling to move to keep cheese off of his chin.

He can’t decide what’s more mesmerizing, the variety of flavors bursting on his tongue as he chews or Dimitri thrusting slick fingers between his thighs.

Felix makes a wet sound as Dimitri circles his hole. They haven’t done that yet, despite the number of ways they’ve had each other. They always use condoms and birth control; no such thing as being too careful.

Face damp, Felix looks over his shoulder. “Tell me again,” he says, eager to get lost in the fantasy.

“Tell you what, love?” Dimitri whispers, nibbling on the shell of Felix’s ear. At last, he pulls his boxer-briefs down, stupidly-huge cock bobbing against Felix’s own.

“Anything. Everything.” Felix licks his lips, shoveling a handful of sticky chips into his mouth.

Dimitri fucks forward, jostling them on the bed with the intensity of his thrust. “How I want you fat and pregnant?”

Felix whines, managing a weak nod. He’s halfway through his meal and thirsty as all get-out, but he needs this. Hydration can wait.

Dimitri rambles, cut off in places because he’s too busy grunting, fucking Felix’s thighs. He talks about the fact that he imagines it constantly, at every spare moment. At his desk at work, in the bathroom. Felix’s thick hips, pelvis shifted in preparation to give birth. Voluminous, hefty breasts full of milk, ripe.

“You’d already be used to eating so much. You’d be used to being heavy, ready for more. I’d watch you swell. I’d worship you, adoring how round you’d get for me. Drives me mad.”

Felix spurts unexpectedly, thrust over the edge by Dimitri’s dirty talk. He comes all over the bed. Dimitri follows suit shortly afterward, their chests heaving with exertion.

When Felix regains some semblance of sanity, he realizes there’s a sliver of food left. He finishes it, heading to the bathroom to wash his face and hands. “Can you get me something to drink?” Felix rasps, parched.

“Soda or water?” Dimitri asks, pulling his hair loose from its clip.

“Both,” he says, suggestively placing a hand on his belly, knowing the wicked things it does to Dimitri’s brain.

Felix has his first wardrobe malfunction a year after he and Dimitri initiate their activities.

At this point, he’s grown fond of people politely (and, in some cases, not-so-politely) poking fun at his figure.

Months 1-6, he averaged half a pound per week. Months 7-12, the average was 1.1 for a total of 41.6 pounds gained.

It’s a lot. He’s aware that he should be concerned about being this plump, but he feels good.

Felix went shopping for larger clothes in the fall, anticipating the need for room to grow, but it’s springtime. The extra bulk caused him to overheat easily.

His clean pair of khakis zip at his hips rather than at his waist, but they’ll do for today. He buckles on a belt to ensure everything stays in place.

He buttons up a shirt that fits, if only just.

When he tucks it in, he notices the strain across his midsection. He’s filled out, but the majority of his gain belongs to his abdomen, a layer of pudge that carries quite high. Dimitri told him it would sag eventually, but he enjoys how firm and taut Felix is currently.

No time for horny shit, Felix thinks, dashing out the door.

It’s a busy day. He keeps his mouth occupied to keep from going insane, absently eating an entire box of protein bars.

When he gets around to lunch, he realizes that his undershirt is exposed. Vaguely, he feels embarrassed. He appreciates the fact that he’s outgrown his clothes, but he looked unprofessional.

Because he’s a degenerate, he decides, fuck it, who cares. The worst thing that could happen would be that he got fired and they couldn’t afford to fire him. Felix was the best financial analyst on staff.

Lunch is decadent, as usual. Dimitri’s lobster-stuffed ravioli coated in homemade vodka sauce heats up well, tastes heavenly. He washes the excessive meal down with a couple of sparkling, flavored waters from the vending machine, sated.

When he stands up, he puts a hand on his midsection, steadying himself. It gives him a rush when he thinks about the increased difficulty of doing so. His ass could very well grow too wide for the chairs in the break room one day.

He doesn’t belch because that would be impolite, disruptive to other people, but when he gets back to his desk, he decides to eat pretzels. Best to balance sugar with salt.

When he leans over to pull a bag out of his drawer filled with snacks, one of his shirt buttons flies free.

Humiliation washes over him in waves. First, he thinks, Jesus, Felix, this is ridiculous. You’ve really let yourself go. Next, he thinks, fuck, that’s hot. Lastly, he thinks, god, wish I’d gotten that on camera for Dimitri.

He looks around to make sure nobody’s paying attention to him before he whips out his phone. He snaps a furtive photo, sending it off before he can think better of it.

He presses thighs together at odd intervals, willing himself not to get hard at the office. He’s got a list of projects to attend to, numbers that need to be crunched.

When his phone buzzes, he nearly jumps out of his seat. Sweaty fingers unlock it, eager to read his lover’s response. What I wouldn’t give to touch you right now. You're very lucky I wasn’t in a meeting.

It takes everything in Felix not to whine, furiously thinking unsexy thoughts.

Felix folds his arms over his chest, scowling. “No.”

His partner is far from surprised by this reaction. Dimitri is amused by the sight of Felix’s puffy chest being impacted by the movement, though, of the way his arms rest on his midsection. “Felix, please. It’s Christmas.”

Felix’s responding glare is vitriolic. “Unless my father is literally on his deathbed, I have no reason to see him.”

Dimitri puts a placating hand on Felix’s shoulder. It’s shrugged off immediately, Felix bristling with agitation. “He’s far from the only person who will be there. It’s a party.”

“That’s oh-so-conveniently going to be held at the Blaiddyd estate—yes, I know.”

He sighs, running a hand through Felix’s hair. It was tough when he got like this. Felix was always the dependable one, the consistent one. Dimitri was known for his emotionality, his flare-ups, his downright nasty attitude when he got in pissy moods.

It’s a lot more difficult than it used to be to lift Felix, to plop the brunette in his lap, but Dimitri manages. Felix hisses, not because it hurts but because he knows exactly what Dimitri’s up to.

“What’s this really about, hm? If you truly don’t wish to go, we don’t have to, but I thought you were rather fond of Annette.”

Annette, the one who planned the party, had always been a friend of a friend. She knew Mercedes well and was rumored to be dating someone outside of their circle, but Dimitri would never claim to know enough about her to know if the rumor held truth.

Felix, on the other hand, often showed Dimitri photos she sent, of flowers and herbal remedies.

Dimitri rucks up Felix’s shirt with one hand. He hasn’t eaten in a while, so he’s empty, doughy. He hit a plateau a while ago, but Dimitri has the utmost faith in him.

It’ll pass, he promised, reassurances useless in the wake of Felix’s multi-faceted frustration. Dimitri’s motions are slow, rhythmic, far from deliberately erotic. It was a difficult edge for them to walk, given the way Felix has developed a dick-to-stomach connection, aroused by a great number of things they do together.

Dimitri aimlessly plunges his finger into Felix’s belly button, admiring the depth of it. His eyes fly open when he realizes the vibration in his chest isn’t his own moan but Felix’s, inhaling sharply. “Color?”

“Green, even if I want to call yellow because you’re being a bitch.” Dimitri laughs. Comfortable silence lulls between them before Felix speaks again. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen everybody.”

Dimitri hums in agreement, jiggling Felix’s belly. “You’re worried about how they’ll take this.” After a beat, he asks, “Would you like to stop?”

Felix huffs. “No.” Accentuating his point, he slaps himself, a pleased noise rumbling from his throat when his gut bounces. “I was thinking, y’know, I’m so close to two-ten. Once I hit it, maybe I’ll reevaluate.”

Maybe snags in Dimitri’s brain, but he refuses to let his kink get in the way of their relationship, of Felix’s own body image and perception. Whenever Felix is done gaining weight, he’ll quit, renew his gym membership and start eating healthy again.

“Let me ask you something,” Felix says, voice low, secretive. He squirms on Dimitri’s legs, the whole of him jostling. “Is there a reason you never stick it in?”

Dimitri’s heart skips a beat. A peal of nervous laughter falls from his lips. “You won’t like it.”

Felix snorts. “I’m sure.”

Dimitri tucks his chin into the crook of Felix’s neck. His chin is beginning to soften, another point of captivating intrigue. “I’m not playacting, you know, when I say those things I say in bed.”

“Amazingly enough, I figured that out by myself.”

Dimitri playfully nips him, ripping a reedy, needy noise from Felix. “Don’t play dumb with me. I’m not referring to the part where I enjoy watching you become full-figured, Felix.”

Felix swallows. He knows good and damn well what Dimitri’s referring to. “Yeah, I assumed so,” he mumbles.

“Oh.” Dimitri breathes, thrown off-balance. “Well, I. That is to say, um.”

“You didn’t wanna knock me up on accident. I get it,” Felix says. “I suck you off all the time.”

“Condoms are statistically more likely to break during penetrative intercourse than during oral,” Dimitri replies, clinical.

“I take birth control.”

“Accidents happen, Felix.” Dimitri sighs. “I know I’m being overly cautious. We could have discussed this at any point, but I suppose I was nervous.”

“Nervous about what.”

“Feeding you is one thing. Bringing a child into this world is another. There’s so much we’d have to do. There would have to be a ceremony and a board meeting, press conferences to organize—”

“Dimitri.”

“I’m rambling, I know. I’m sorry.”

“I get it, you’re very rich and important and there’s a shitload of red tape. I’m asking you if you want to fuck a baby into me.”

Dimitri sputters.

“Before you ask, you talk about it all the time. I’ve thought about it.”

The sputtering continues. Felix laughs.

When Dimitri regains some semblance of coherence, he burrows into Felix’s warmth. “I do. I’d really like that, Felix. More than anything.”

“See, how hard was that? I’m coordinating with the wedding planner, by the way. Your taste is shit.”

Dimitri chuckles, planting a wet kiss on Felix’s cheek. “Does this mean you’ll come to the party, if only so we can tell your father about our engagement?”

“Ugh. I was hoping you’d forget.”

“Very funny. Tell you what. I’ll make you whatever you want to eat as a consolation.”

“If you make dinner and dessert, we have a deal.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“For the record, I would like it be known,” Felix drawls, tipsy off of two glasses of champagne and the shot of whiskey he downed before they drove over, “that I hate this.”

Sylvain snickers, ahead of him in terms of drunkenness. “I know, you’ve said that three times since you walked in the door. I’ve been tellin’ everybody you give the best hugs. Gotta live up to the hype.”

Felix is a giggly drunk, easy to keep in good spirits despite his sharp tongue. “S’cause I’m fat.”

“You’re not fat, baby, just a l’il chunky.”

“Whatever,” Felix mutters, finishing his glass before he turns to whoever’s poking his shoulder.

It’s Mercedes, whose perfume smells lovely. She squeezes his back at the point that’s been threatening to turn into a roll for ages, but it won’t give in, no matter how much Felix crams into his stomach.

Catching up with her fun. She good-naturedly pinches him as she walks away. His cheeks heat, embarrassed by how much he appreciates the unintentional public humiliation.

Next comes Ingrid, who does nothing more than raise an eyebrow at his size. He’s under the distinct impression that Sylvain warned her ahead of time, which is the only way he avoids a long-winded lecture.

“Oh my god, Felix,” Annette squeals, throwing herself into his arms. He doesn’t budge in the slightest, absorbing her impact like a squishy pillow. “Look at you.”

“I know, I know,” he says. He’d been prepared for someone to make a comment about his weight. It might as well be Annette. He can take it from her. He’s always appreciated her no-nonsense attitude.

“I mean that in the best way possible,” Annette promises, placing a hand on the crest of his belly. She glances around the room, ensuring that Dimitri’s busy listening to Lambert and Rodrigue talk his ears off. “You’ve always been such a hardass, all work and no play. You look like you’ve spent some serious time learning how to take a break, honey. I’m so happy for you.”

Felix’s blush, heightened by the alcohol and the unexpected acceptance from his friends, grows deep and rosy. “He’s…yeah. We’re good.”

They’ve been together a year and a half now, and in a few minutes, they’re going to announce their engagement to their friends and family. They probably won’t be able to get married for another year, but the promise of it being on the horizon makes Felix feel light-headed, or maybe it’s the alcohol.

Dedue and Ashe are easy enough to deal with. They’re pragmatic, wishing him a happy holiday, chatting about the weather and current events.

It’s only once Dimitri walks over with his father and Felix’s father in tow that Felix feels like running for the fucking hills.

Lambert was genial to a fault, gifted with a boisterous laugh and a dimpled smile his son did not inherit. Old age has taken away none of his energy or charisma. He is, however, not the problem.

If Rodrigue is disgusted by Felix’s growth, he doesn’t show it, which is a relief. Still. Felix can tell his father wants to say something, wants to read Felix the riot act.

“Felix, my boy,” Lambert says, slapping Felix on the back heartily enough to knock the breath out of him. Wincing, Felix tips his head in deference. “Dimitri tells me you two have good news.”

Rodrigue looks horrified that he hadn’t been warned about this ahead of time. Felix feels appropriately smug about his reaction, leaning into Dimitri’s hold when Dimitri wraps an arm around him. He makes a point of digging his fingers in, too, showcasing Felix’s girth.

Valiantly, Felix does not moan.

“Yes,” Dimitri says, sliding down until he’s on one knee.

Bastard. Felix is going to kill him.

He bought a fucking ring.

“I hereby announce my formal engagement to Felix Fraldarius,” Dimitri says, bypassing the part where he’s supposed to propose. It wasn’t like Felix would say no, but part of the whole pomp and circumstance thing was the goddamn pomp.

Rodrigue gapes. Lambert claps.

Felix squats down as best he can, grunting at his own bulk. He grabs Dimitri by the collar. “You’re lucky I tolerate you.”

Dimitri flashes him a toothy smile. “Yes, I am.”

He helps Felix get up so he doesn’t fall on his ass, hoisting him up by his cushy armpits.

The air is abuzz with congratulations. Felix suffers through it before deciding that the only way the attention can be endured is with alcohol.

His father gets him alone ages later. It’s late. The only people left are the people that live here.

As always, Rodrigue is clueless about Felix’s life and interests. Felix laments the fact that Glenn was too busy to make it, though in fairness, Dimitri made Felix promise to visit the house for New Year’s. He’ll see him a few days.

The awkward silence drags out for such a lengthy period of time that Felix takes pity. “Can we get this over with?” Neither of them want to be here having this conversation, especially not without a buffer.

Rodrigue’s face scrunches up like he swallowed a lemon. Felix has no idea what that expression is meant to convey. Hurt? Disappointment? Nothing positive, surely. Positive emotions were reserved for Glenn and Dimitri.

“How long have you been seeing him?”

“Long enough,” Felix replies, leaning against a wall. This whole situation is making him feel young again. Vulnerable.

“What does that mean?”

He glares at his old man. “Dad, we’re twenty-seven. We’ve known each other our whole lives. We don’t need your permission to get married. What’s your problem?”

Rodrigue stands up. Felix has a sudden, irrational fear that his father is going to hit him. “It’s bad business,” Rodrigue says, somber and forlorn. “You know how much stake the Blaiddyds have in our company.”

Felix seethes. He knew he was going to be handed this shit on a silver platter. Fucking knew. “And what about what I want? Would it kill you to ask why I’m getting married? I’ll spare you. It’s because, wildly enough, I like Dimitri. It’s not some political scheme.”

The air between them is rife with tension. Intelligently, Rodrigue drops that subject. “If you’ve got that much spunk in you, you must be okay.”

Literally what the fuck, Felix thinks, brow furrowing. “Was that ever in question?”

Rodrigue sighs. “Felix, I haven’t seen you in three years. I worry. You have to admit, this is a lot to take in.”

Somehow, Felix knows this isn’t about his engagement. “What I do with my body is my business.”

“I know, son.”

“Do you?” Felix retorts, tone challenging.

Unwilling to fight any longer, Rodrigue mumbles a half-hearted apology before slipping into the shadows. Felix prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that Dimitri sees his hastily-typed text so he can swoop in to drive them home.

The months pass in a blur. Felix has been going out of his fucking mind fielding calls, making appointments. He’s so desperate for stimulation that he latches onto an idea Dorothea, the wedding planner Sylvain recommended, doesn’t mean to give him.

Sylvain’s recommendation is code for previous hookup, but her website and reviews speak for themselves. The first time they meet in person, he asks her how the hell that happened.

She smirks. “Wanted someone who’d let me peg them, call them a little bitch boy, and enjoy it.”

Felix’s respect for her is sold right then and there.

Today, she’s talking about their ideal time of year for the wedding (autumn), the locale (as long as it’s not a church, Felix doesn’t care), and the guest list.

As they talk about refreshments, she recounts a story about a boy who caused a scene at a recent event. “According to his parents, he ate something super sweet, followed it up with Sprite. Recipe for disaster.”

“Mm,” Felix replies nonchalantly, like he’s not furiously jotting that down in his journal.

Unfortunately, once their session is over, he has to deal with Glenn. New Year’s had been fine, but talking around their father was always brutal. He has to postpone his furtive glances at blogs and videos about bloating to get dressed.

His closet has morphed from the Dimitri-purchased side and Felix-purchased side to the socially-acceptable and unacceptable sides. It’s always a struggle to decide which he’s going to pick from; he can’t bring himself to care about the opinions of unimportant strangers.

He looks sexy in crop-tops, once-mosquito bite tits growing. His belly remains the star of the show, front and center for all to see, rounded out with food, straining against the high-waisted band of his jeans more often than not.

Dimitri has a reputation to maintain. Felix doesn’t particularly feel like being interviewed, taken to task over dressing like a slut before they’re married.

Regardless, there was nothing saying he couldn’t toe the line of propriety. He opts for a top that hangs off the shoulders, loose enough that it doesn’t cling to his skin. Following that are a pair of plaited woolen pants and his favorite loafers and he’s ready, strolling to the elevator.

It’s a strange time of the day. He’s not hungry, he’s not full. He texts Dimitri that he misses him, that he wants to do something together when he gets home, popping a piece of candy into his mouth.

When he gets in the car, he’s amused to realize that the frame sinks when he sits down. It’s been happening for a while, but it’s still a rush. His seatbelt clings to his chest and he struggles to adjust for a bit before he realizes the problem.

He’s been gaining for a while; he recognizes his own patterns. Sometimes he peaks, sometimes he plateaus. This month was a peak, apparently, if the way the steering wheel brushes against his abdomen is any sign.

Dimitri texts him back before he throws the car into reverse. Hello, handsome. I miss you too. Wish I were holding you in my arms right now. I look forward to whatever it is you have planned.

Felix focuses on the road so he doesn’t daydream about riding Dimitri’s fat cock for the nth time. Their wedding can’t come soon enough.

When he pulls into the restaurant parking lot, his stomach grumbles. Conditioned response. “Calm down, you,” he says, petting himself.

He frees himself from the confines of his vehicle, looking for Glenn. He finds him quickly, his older brother holding the door open for him. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“Who the hell is they,” Glenn quips back easily, pulling Felix in for a hug.

They exchange idle banter as they wait for a table. It takes thirty minutes for them to be seated. In that time, Felix has grown ravenous. He contents himself with a cup of water, grabbing a roll out of the basket their server places on the table the minute she puts it down, rattling off an order for appetizers.

There are the requisite topics to cover—trading, points of interest. Glenn doesn’t linger on them because he’s a decent conversationalist and a thoughtful person.

“So,” Glenn starts, voice set at a sing-song cadence. “Are we still not talking about this?”

Felix lifts an eyebrow, shoving a second roll into his mouth. “Gonna have to be more specific.”

“The eating thing,” Glenn says, teasingly kicking Felix in the shin.

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not a secret.”

“Dad was pissed after the Christmas party. Kinda wish I coulda been there. Should’ve seen him falling all over himself to kiss Mr. Blaiddyd’s ass.”

Felix laughs. He’s switched to soda now that they’re at a table and it’s not filling at all, but it’s something, which is better than nothing. “Same shit as usual. He acts like I don’t exist, but when I do the same to him, he gets offended. I eat a lot now, I like it. End of story.”

“Dimitri likes it,” Glenn infers, too damn smart for his own good.

Felix flushes. It’s as good as a confirmation.

Glenn grins, pleased as punch. “Oh, he really likes it. The quiet ones are always the nastiest.”

“The boar is not quiet,” Felix retorts, bewildered when people in their inner circle make this type of comment.

“He’s not quiet with you,” Glenn counters. Felix falters. What sort of evidence could he possibly offer to the contrary? “If you’re happy, I’m ecstatic. It’s gonna take a while for Dad to come around, but I’ll deal with him.”

Felix smiles at his brother fondly. “You don’t have to.”

“No, but I will. Somebody’s gotta drag him off his high horse. This is supposed to be a happy time for y’all. Felix, you’re getting married.”

Felix’s expression becomes gooey, sickly sweet. Glenn feels warm just looking at him. His baby brother’s in love. “Yeah. Guess I am. Go figure.”

Their server arrives immediately afterward, delivering several steaming dishes. Felix dives into his entrees, uncaring of the fact that he ordered enough for three people. Glenn whistles, impressed.

They talk aimlessly throughout the rest of the meal, enjoying the food. Felix inhales pasta and chicken and fish. Glenn merely watches, fascinated by the way Felix eats and eats, nothing like the fussy boy who pushed peas around on his plate because he wanted to leave the table.

“Save any room for dessert?”

“Dessert’s waiting for me at home.” He rests a hand on his swollen gut with his head tilted back. The fabric of his shirt is stretched thin by his girth. He breathes heavily, like the act of eating tuckered him out.

“Kinky.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Felix says without any heat, unable to refute Glenn’s claim.

Felix waddles more than walks back to the penthouse, expelling a wicked belch as he punches in the code. He feels heavy when he sits down, dropping grocery bags on the floor, trousers too tight.

“Hello, my love,” Dimitri greets him, planting a kiss on Felix’s forehead.

“Mm,” Felix replies. His lashes flutter closed as Dimitri kneels over him, thickly corded muscle dense against Felix’s squishy thighs. “Help me take off my clothes.”

Dimitri obliges, pulling his shirt off first. Next, Dimitri unbuttons his pants, humming as his fingers skim over angry red marks. “Poor thing. Did they stick you in a booth again?”

“No, thank god.” Felix was by no means enormous, but dining booths had not been designed for paunchy people.

Dimitri, predictable asshole, takes his sweet time caressing Felix’s bloated, distended belly. He kisses it, sucks hickeys into it, listening to food digest like Felix’s stomach is the choir of the gods. Felix would bet money on Dimitri’s cock being at half-mast just from feeling him up.

What feels like hours later, Dimitri helps Felix skid down on the couch, pulling off his bottoms, underwear and all. He can’t talk shit about Dimitri at all—he’s half-hard himself. Felix isn’t quite fat enough not to see his dick, but the day looms closer and closer every time he pushes himself.

“So gorgeous,” Dimitri muses, squeezing one of Felix’s tits. “So big and beautiful for me. Hang on, I need to take a photo.”

He’s been into that since Felix crossed the two-hundred threshold. Felix feels like his passion accelerated after two-thirty came and went. With two-fifty around the corner, he anticipates Dimitri drooling over him at every waking moment.

Felix doesn’t mind. He’s too full to pull off complicated poses, lying languidly on his back, then pulling himself up on his haunches, allowing his belly to droop.

It doesn’t matter. All of it makes Dimitri horny. He pounces on Felix like he’s pinning a prey animal, blue eyes wild. Felix drags him down, his whine mirroring Dimitri’s moan, jostled by the motion. “I’m not going anywhere, you brat. Calm down.”

“I can’t help it,” Dimitri snarls, plunging his tongue into Felix’s belly button, pinching one of Felix’s nipples. Felix lets out a sharp cry, dick twitching. “Want you like this all the time. Wish I’d been the one to feed you. You’re mine.”

Felix chuckles, running a hand through Dimitri’s hair. “Yeah? Tell me how it would’ve gone if you’d been there.”

“People would ask if you were pregnant already,” Dimitri growls, pulling a bottle of lube off the side table. “They’d ask how many months along, and I would tell them it’s all greasy, filthy fat.”

“Fuck,” Felix curses, precome beading at the tip, Dimitri’s washboard abs rocking against his blubber.

“I’d introduce you. I’d say, this is my fiancé, Felix. He can’t help himself, you see, and I’d never deny him anything. I’d say, look at his generous, wide hips. Look at his juicy ass, and I’d squeeze it,” Dimitri continues, punctuating the last part by acting out his narration, clutching one cheek firmly.

Felix bucks his hips as best he can, trapped beneath his own weight and Dimitri’s. “Yes,” Felix groans, rock hard and desperate for more. “Shit, I’d let you. You could pull my shirt up in the lobby, grope my gut right in front of everyone waiting for a table. Slap it, watch it jiggle, warn the kitchen how much it takes to keep me satisfied.”

“Felix,” Dimitri roars, sliding their cocks together with abandon. Felix comes first, breath stolen away by the fantasy. Dimitri is close behind, grinding his dick against the convex curve his belly.

“Okay,” Felix pants, tacky with both of their bodily fluids. “I need to sit up. God, your fucking brain.”

“Careful, Felix. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

Felix lets Dimitri have that one. He’s not in the mood to argue, blissed out post-orgasm. A large part of him wants to curl up and go to bed, but a larger part of him wants to make good on his promise.

He places a bunch of bananas on the table alongside a 2-liter of lemon-lime soda. “I don’t know how well this is going to work, but if it does, we can film it next time.”

Dimitri’s brow furrows, concern written all over his face. “What did you have for dinner?”

“Couple entrees, couple appetizers. I saved room, don’t worry.”

Dimitri looks like he doesn’t quite believe Felix, but he’s willing to play along for now. “Color?”

“Yellow-ish.”

“Alright. What would you like me to do?”

Felix averts his gaze. Dimitri’s only grown more open, more unhinged with time. It’s only fair that he tells the truth. “What you usually do. Talk shit while you touch me. Say I’m yours. Call me fat.”

Dimitri chortles. “Easy enough.”

He begins slowly. The first banana tastes good; not too ripe, a bit tart. When he briefly researched, he didn’t figure out the optimal ratio of bananas-to-Sprite, but he figures two bananas and as much Sprite as he can stand is a good start.

Felix uncaps the soda. Dimitri rests on the floor, thumbing at the underside of Felix’s belly, basking in his warmth, body working on overdrive to digest everything trapped inside.

He takes deep swallows, polishing off a quarter of the bottle in no time. He’s startled when Dimitri grabs him, slopping his stomach contents around. “The fuck are you doing?” Felix snaps.

“It has to mix,” Dimitri explains. “Chemical reaction.”

Which, while it makes sense, is aggravating as hell. Felix chugs until he has half the bottle down, tiny burps tumbling from his lips. Light sodas never make him as gassy as dark ones, but he has a sneaking suspicion the addition of starchy fruit will change this.

Dimitri gives him a few more shakes before he allows Felix’s body to do the rest of the work. He’s tight, extremely close to max capacity. “Look at this. Packed like a drum. Lewd and greedy, that’s what you are.”

Felix moans, not only because the rhythm Dimitri sets is soothing, rubbing circles into his belly methodically, but because he can feel the reaction starting to occur.

It’s only been a few minutes. Somehow, he imagined it would take longer.

“My darling, devourer of the world. One of these days, you’re going to eat yourself sick. Your body won’t be able to handle how fat you are. You’ll be obscenely lazy, unable to do anything other than indulge yourself for hours upon end, beached like a whale.”

“Christ,” Felix curses, taken aback by a belch that leaps out of his throat. When he looks down, tipped off by the cramp that hits him, he’s visibly larger.

Dimitri, who hasn’t stopped touching him for a moment, is ardent, obsessed.

“Getting rounder before my very eyes. All for me, so full for me, so full you can’t stand it.”

“Red, Dimitri,” Felix gasps, clutching himself as his stomach roils. He’s not going to throw up—he never does—but the threat is imminent, and he’s seriously so fucking massive right now. He squeezes his eyes shut, listening as Dimitri hushes him, pattering about the house for medicine.

“I’m sorry,” Felix apologizes, feeling like a failure. It hurts so much. Holy shit.

“Don’t be,” Dimitri coos, pulling Felix into his arms as best as he can manage. He continues expanding for ten, maybe twelve minutes, sobbing and whining all the while. It’s pathetic. He feels weak.

Dimitri assures him that Felix is the strongest person he’s ever known. Felix allows himself believe that, biting his bottom lip, holding back tears.

After he pops extra-strength antacids and takes a nap, Felix feels half-human. When he stirs, Dimitri wakes up, hands laced together on top of Felix’s tender tummy.

“I want to try again,” Felix mumbles stubbornly, half-asleep.

“Of course you do,” Dimitri chuckles, kissing the top of Felix’s head.

“I despise this shit,” Felix mutters, pouting his way through his fitting appointment.

“Oh, be quiet, you big baby,” Ingrid replies, apologizing to the tailor on her friend’s behalf. “By the way, I haven’t forgiven you for letting me find out about your relationship from Sylvain.”

“My relationship?” he asks, unsure if Ingrid is beating around the bush or being genuine.

“And the other thing,” she confesses, rarely one to shy away from the truth.

Hilariously enough, when they were little, Ingrid had a massive crush on Glenn. Her crush transferred to Felix long enough for her to realize she was a bisexual and that the Fraldarius men were too stoic for her, moving on to brighter, greener, gayer pastures.

“I’ve slowed down a bit,” Felix explains. “No way in hell I’m doing this twice.”

The wedding is only a few months away, set for a weekend early in October. Felix is getting measured for his suit, and as much as he would love to eat away his stress, the point of owning a fitted suit was fitting into the suit.

Ingrid eyes the tailor before turning to Felix, unsure how much she’s allowed to divulge. “Say whatever you want. I can take it.”

“Felix, you’re twice as big as you used to be.”

“I haven’t doubled in size,” Felix corrects her, as if the nuance matters. Not yet, he thinks, ignoring a voice that sounds suspiciously similar to Dimitri’s in the back of his head.

Though, by now, Dimitri’s ideas about his body and his own have begun to blur. No point trying to play it off.

“I know what you’re trying to say,” Felix continues, conceding.

Before he started getting ready for the ceremony, he teetered back and forth between 245 and 248. Breaking 250 proved to be a difficult task.

He’s been holding steady at 240 lately. It’s the most he can cut back while still having fun, unwilling to sacrifice his lifestyle to look nice for one day. That said, he’d been 155 before he started on this journey, comprised of sheer, lean muscle.

The fact that he’d gained eighty-five pounds in two-and-a-half years was probably startling to someone who hadn’t seen it creeping up on the scale one pound at a time.

“I dunno, Grid,” Felix says after a beat, staring at the ceiling to collect his thoughts. “I had a goal in mind. I hit it, then I kept going. Felt a lot like going to the gym, always something new to strive for. Turns out I enjoy eating when there’s someone to eat with.”

And isn’t that a depressing revelation. Ingrid, tender-hearted thing that she is, is moved by his words, eyes glossy.

“Hey, stop that. Don’t be weird, I just got fat. Nothing else about me has changed.”

Ingrid sniffles, dabbing at her eyes so she doesn’t ruin her makeup. “Yeah, I know. Sorry for making a big deal out of it.”

“Couldn’t help it. I’m a big guy.”

“Smartass,” Ingrid drawls, reaching out to pinch Felix’s cheek.

When Felix is finished being tortured with needles and crammed into stage fabric like a fucking sausage, in his words, the two of them go out for ice cream. Ingrid offers to pay for whatever he wants. It’s an olive branch, a peace offering.

She might not get his whole thing with food, but she respects him as a person, which is really the best Felix can ask for. She’s a good friend.

“Careful what you wish for,” Felix says, smacking his gut for emphasis.

Because his inner circle consisted of a bunch of trust-fund babies, Ingrid hardly bats an eyelash at the cost. It was stupid to spend forty bucks at an ice cream parlor when Felix would be perfectly content making his own ludicrous concoction at home, complete with sprinkles and syrup and a sparkler, but this is about the company and the experience.

Ingrid finishes her delicate, single-scoop of sorbet before Felix hits the wafer layer of his ice cream parfait. It’s decadent, a fine mixture of chocolate, caramel, and vanilla, cool on his tongue and delicious. She watches as he demolishes his dessert, silver spoon scraping against the glass container, licking his sticky fingers clean.

With the paparazzi finally off his ass, Felix is free to dress as he pleases. He billows over his shorts like a muffin top when he’s finished, excusing a series wet burps. His top is spotless because he covered himself with napkins, but it’s marginally tighter, the peekaboo panels for the collar and midsection stretched wide, showing more skin.

Afterwards, Ingrid smiles to herself. Felix waits her out, holding the passenger door open for her so he can drive her home. “You know, I think kind of get it.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so pleased with yourself. It seemed very…”

Felix smiles, bracing his belly with one hand as he takes a seat. “Hedonistic, I think, is the word you’re looking for.”

Ingrid giggles. “Yes.”

“Believe me when I say I’m going to do my damnedest to eat my way out of that stupid suit on my wedding day. I deserve it.”

“I wouldn’t bet against you, Felix.”

Felix wakes up a cold sweat, jolting out of bed.

He shakes with nerves, convinced he’s that he’s going to fuck up his wedding somehow. He pictures Dimitri getting sick of him, ditching him at the altar. His father standing up when they ask if anybody has objections, Rodrigue rattling off a list of reasons.

That somehow, despite numerous reminders on his calendar and a website with a countdown clock, he misses their venue appointment.

That one hurts the most. It’s the least believable. Felix has always been punctual, militantly so.

He tries to read a book, but he can’t focus on it—he’s too restless. He busies himself by throwing altogether too many scoops of protein into the blender pitcher, following the mountain of powder up with two scoops of ice cream, marshmallows, milk, ice, and honey.

He made a lot. Too much. But it tastes good and it calms him down, so he doesn’t care. Dimitri finds him sipping it on the couch several minutes later, likely woken by the sound.

Dimitri looks at him for a while, at the reading glasses perched on the bridge of Felix’s nose. At his sleep shorts, the hems of which cup his ass. Whilst drinking his caloric nightmare, Felix holds himself. It’s a habit at this point, a measure initially taken to ensure that his belly didn’t get too far ahead of the rest of his body.

It doubled as a self-soothing gesture, a balm for his racing thoughts. “Felix,” Dimitri says, watching as wine-colored eyes rove up from his book. “Everything alright?”

Felix opens his mouth, likely to spit out a pithy reply. When nothing comes, Dimitri inches closer, taking a seat beside his fiancé on the chaise.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m a fucking wreck,” Felix admits. “We’re getting married. Tomorrow.”

Quietly, Dimitri asks, “Is it too soon?”

“What? No, god no. I love you.”

Heartened by the swiftness of Felix’s reply, Dimitri cuddles against him, resting his head on Felix’s belly. He feels it when Felix takes another swallow, placing a hand over Felix’s so they can rub it together.

“It’s just, shit. My mom died when I was two. The fuck did I know about relationships? I never expected to find somebody I wanted to be with for the rest of my life, or for that person to be you. Didn’t expect to like this, what we have, so much. It’s a lot. Y’know?”

Dimitri nods, choked up with emotion. He feels much the same way that Felix does, anxious and world-weary, yet excited.

“I understand better than most,” Dimitri murmurs. Felix hums in agreement. Dimitri had come from not only a broken home but a splintered one, complete with a death in the family, remarriage, a divorce, and an estranged sibling.

He’d been molested as a child, various experiences turning him into a foul-tempered youth, far from the easiest boy to remain friends with. But Sylvain and Felix managed, picking up the rest of their crew along the way.

Felix polishes off his half-gallon abomination, playing with Dimitri’s hair. “There is one good thing about us finally tying the knot.”

“What’s that, my love?”

“I finally get to have your dick up my ass.”

Dimitri shudders, willing himself not to get aroused. It’s late, and they have a long day ahead of them. “Yes. There is that.”

The whole event is a glorious affair, as Dorothea promised it would be. Dorothea herself is in attendance, of course, clad in an absolutely stunning, scoop-necked evening dress.

Neither of them wanted traditional. Dedue is Dimitri’s best man and Sylvain is Felix’s and that’s it; nobody else stands at the altar with them. Their fathers don’t give them away because the process is archaic and outdated. Felix would rather die than have anyone think his father held any sort of power over him.

With a theme of blue, both royal and light, everything is crisp and clean. There are gold and silver accents at every turn, perfect decorations on every table. Felix would kiss Dorothea if it wouldn’t piss Dimitri off beyond belief.

The ceremony itself goes off without a hitch. If there’s one complaint, it’s that Felix’s shirt doesn’t quite fit as expected. Felix’s girth has succumbed to gravity, weight hanging on his hips rather than being ballooned up high, as he’s used to.

They say their vows. They kiss. Speeches are given. The dance floor opens.

The minute it’s socially acceptable for Felix to get a drink and something to eat, he does, piling his plate high with food. He worked hard to get here. This is his day and he’s hungry as fuck. He’d been too skittish to eat breakfast in the morning, but standing through the officiator’s droning worked up an appetite.

Dimitri handles the wining and dining, politicking his way through the reception. Their friends, meanwhile, flit around, partly to act as a buffer for Felix and because watching him eat was free entertainment. “You sure you’re gonna have room for dessert after all that?” Ashe asks.

Felix snorts. “Please. I can take three more helpings before I’m close to being full.”

Ashe covers his mouth, politely trying not to laugh in Felix’s face. “Very well. Carry on, then.”

They have waves of vapid congratulatory bullshit to deal with. Felix tunes it out, eating until it becomes mechanical. Sip champagne. Chew food. Swallow. Repeat.

When he’s good and tipsy, Dimitri asks him to dance. Felix obliges. What the hell, he figures, ignoring the way food and liquor swirl in his stomach. Dimitri looks lovely and Felix tells him so, hooking his arms around Dimitri’s neck, pressing his fat gut into his husband’s abdomen.

“Gotta tell you a secret,” Felix slurs, narrowly refraining from groping Dimitri’s pecs.

“Anything.”

“I told the tailor to make everything a couple sizes smaller. Subtract a few inches. And I’ve eaten a lot today.”

Dimitri swallows. Felix is flayed alive by the heat of Dimitri’s gaze. “Oh?” His gaze drifts south. Felix’s buttons aren’t straining—his tailor had been far too skilled for such a mishap to occur—but the fabric has certainly been stretched thin. “Your trousers, too?”

“Mmm,” Felix hums, laughing as Dimitri dips them. “They’re tight.”

Dimitri bites back a groan. Felix could be such a tease when he wanted to be. “Would you like to leave?”

Felix sternly shakes his head, kissing Dimitri as the song ends. “We’re far from done. We haven’t even cut the cake.”

Dimitri curses the misfortune of being the hosts of this event, the fact that manners dictate he and Felix should be the last to leave.

He does get the satisfaction of watching his groom inhale two hefty slices of thick, bakery-made red velvet cake before duty calls, leaving Felix alone with kitchen leftovers and bottomless booze.

It’s late when they get back to their hotel room. Dimitri doesn’t particularly feel like doing anything. He’s delighted that he has no immediate obligations.

They’ll be on their honeymoon for the next two weeks, two unadulterated weeks to do whatever they want.

Dimitri can’t wait to see Felix eat and eat and eat. He’s dizzy just thinking about it.

Thankfully, Felix is as fried as Dimitri feels. He’s drunk and he has a bellyache from hell. He’d eaten more than he had in quite some time, continually grazing, washing his food down with bubbly.

“Dima,” Felix whines, clutching his belly tightly. He looked sore, even with his clothes on, midsection straining for freedom.

Dimitri peels Felix out of his suit, mesmerized as Felix’s gut springs free. It’s hard to the touch, massively overclocked.

“I’m here,” Dimitri assures him, voice low and sweet.

“Feel like I swallowed a fucking horse,” Felix mumbles. He starts to laugh, but it hurts, wincing a moment later. “Think I had…a l’il too much, maybe.”

Dimitri props Felix’s head up on a pillow so he can see himself. “A bit, perhaps, but you look ravishing.”

“I want you to use normal people words. Like sexy. I’m so sexy right now, and you should say it.”

Dimitri plants a kiss on the firmest part of Felix’s bloat, drinking in Felix’s reedy, responding whine. “You are the sexiest creature I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes upon, Felix. You did so well. This may be the biggest you’ve ever been.”

Felix offers Dimitri a toothy smile. “That’s good, because I did it for you. I like eating, but I like you more.”

Dimitri’s skin flushes at the nonchalant comment. Before he can continue the conversation, however, Felix falls asleep, stomach growling as his body processes yet another decadent meal.

Dimitri wakes up from a dream about Felix sucking his dick to Felix sucking his dick in reality, precome pearling at the tip. “Felix,” Dimitri mumbles, fumbling for Felix’s shoulders blindly.

“Shh,” Felix hushes him, scooting forward until Dimitri’s cock rests against his plush, bouncy rear.

When Dimitri’s vision comes into focus, the fog of sleep lifting in bits and pieces, he realizes Felix is taking him in raw. Presumably, he prepped himself. He rocks up, heavily falling back on Dimitri’s cock, chasing his own pleasure.

“No wonder you were so scared to fuck me. Christ, that thing is a weapon.”

Dimitri groans, the breath blown out of him when Felix drops himself again. “Felix,” Dimitri rasps, louder this time, squeezing Felix’s love handles.

Felix is tight. It takes no time at all for both of them to come, and Felix basks, cherishing their first time.

Even better is their second, when Dimitri is awake and aware. He pushes Felix onto his side, using his own come, still sloppy inside of Felix’s hole, as lube.

His pace is brutal. Felix jiggles as Dimitri slams into him, muttering oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. An orgasm is ripped out of Felix before he has time to catch his breath, hole twitching when Dimitri pulls out.

It’s only because they have to catch a plane that they can’t stay in bed fucking and eating all day, but that’s the game plan as soon as they touch down.

Their flight is quick, a mere two hours away from home, but they’ll be staying at a regal beach house with private access, far enough away that nobody they know will bother them.

They manage to drag themselves out for more than food and groceries on day three, but they only get around to going to the beach on day four.

Felix is bloated as fuck.

He bought a skimpy swimsuit on purpose, but Dimitri has been especially merciless this week, on a mission to stuff Felix in one way or the other every hour of the day.

It’s a struggle to get out of his pajamas, top damp with sleep-sweat, bottoms tacky with pancake syrup.

He grunts, peeling the offending articles of clothing off. He catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror, enraptured by what he sees.

He’d been hefty before the ceremony, but he’d been so focused on maintaining his weight and getting married. It’s been a while since he’s taken stock of the damage.

If the tailor’s measurements were to be believed, his ass and arms had seen the most improvement. His everything feels big right now, from his wide, cushy hips to his burgeoning breasts. His back is finally beginning to form rolls.

Felix is soft. Beyond chubby, not huge—not yet—but getting there.

He sits down to pull his swimsuit on, grunting as food clings to his ribs. The strings are hell on fucking earth to drag up his thick thighs, but he manages, the deep-v cut of the fabric luridly outlining his shaft.

He pulls the straps over his shoulders, admiring his own work. The panels leave nothing to the imagination, cupping his chest and his gut as well as they can. He bought a size up from his usual, anticipating this, but he’s still exposed, his nipples too wide to remain completely covered.

Felix looks downright delectable, if he must say so himself.

“Hey, brute. Come put some sunscreen on me.”

“Just a second.”

Dimitri took the slowest showers on planet earth, scrubbing his body down meticulously. He’s been blow-drying his hair too, which Felix finds pointless, but whatever.

He emerges from the foggy bathroom in his swim shorts, hair tied up in a high bun. Felix’s hair is still loose, tossed enticingly over one shoulder.

Dimitri freezes in place at the sight of him, as Felix knew he would. Felix uses both hands to shake his belly. Dimitri practically drools.

“You look, uh. You look good. Really good.” Dimitri cracks the damn doorframe, holding onto it for dear life.

“Thanks,” Felix deadpans, holding out the lotion bottle. “C’mere.”

Dimitri trips over himself like a fucking schoolgirl, nearly face-planting in Felix’s middle. He looks about ready to cream the minute he touches Felix, hand slipping between the strings. He licks his lips. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay inside today?”

“Breakfast, then the beach. You promised,” Felix reminds him.

Dimitri groans.

“It’s not like I’m not gonna eat. C’mon.”

Dimitri circles a thumb around Felix’s navel. Felix hums, cock twitching. Dimitri notices, sneaking a hand beneath Felix’s belly. When Felix swats him, Dimitri growls. Filthy animal, Felix thinks affectionately.

He knows he’s testing Dimitri when he asks Dimitri to lie down on the floor, sitting on top of him. The pressure of 240-plus pounds on his back causes Dimitri to wheeze, but the sound is less pained and more pleasured. He loves this.

Felix spreads sunscreen on Dimitri with his whole body, smearing it all over his gut as he leans forward. Legs slippery, he asks Dimitri to flip over, grinding against him.

“Felix,” Dimitri snaps, eyes wild, pulling his husband down for a kiss.

“Later,” Felix pants, rutting his bloated middle against Dimitri’s washboard abs. They’re both hard when he’s done. Patches of Dimitri’s skin will probably burn; he did a shit job, too busy trying to work Dimitri up.

Dimitri looks annoyed and fucked-out as he rolls the cooler outside, blonde hair unkempt. It takes a while for his erection to flag and he walks awkwardly because of it, which amuses Felix.

They lay out towels. Dimitri sticks an umbrella that came along with the house into the sand, turning on something suitably inoffensive, like smooth jazz.

Felix puts his shades on, kicking his feet up. He’ll get in the water when he gets too hot, but for now, there’s wine to drink and fresh fruit to nibble on.

Dimitri falls asleep at some point. Felix snaps a picture. It was rare to catch him relaxing, rarer still for his eye bags to be less prominent. His sleep schedule was garbage on a good day. He makes a mental note to ask Dimitri to go on vacation more often.

He burps, polishing off bottle number one within minutes, poking himself. He doesn’t know how much longer they’ll remain a two-person family.

He takes a break before opening a second, dozing off. They splash in the ocean for all of ten minutes before Felix gets lazy, opting to float on the waves. He opens one eye when he hears Dimitri snickering.

“You look like something a lifeguard would toss to someone adrift at sea,” Dimitri muses, reverently caressing Felix.

Felix looks down at himself. It’s far from the only time he’s noted his belly’s dome-like quality, but he’s pleased by it all the same, smacking it to hear the noise. “I can see the headlines now. Man Shaped Like a Beach Ball Saves Stupid Tourist.”

Dimitri laughs. Felix laughs too. They hold hands, floating until Felix gets bored, his gait wobbly as they walk back to their spot.

♡illustration by @sonftboiz ♡

It’s a cold evening in December when Felix receives a call from his father. Three of them in a row, in fact.

“Shit,” he curses to himself when it rings again, scurrying to climb out of bed. It’s a chore these days.

Weighing in after they got back from their honeymoon had been as terrifying as it had been arousing. He’d gained eight pounds on their trip, cracking two fifty shortly after they got home.

“Hello?”

“Hello, son,” says Rodrigue, speech slurred. Felix glances at the clock. It’s two in the fucking morning. If his father called to pester him in the middle of the night because he was drunk, Felix is going to kill him.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Glenn has been very insistent about the two of us having a talk.” Rodrigue says the last word like it physically pains him.

Felix pinches the bridge of his nose, willing himself not to hang up. “Talk about what.”

“About you. Your relationship. The overeating.”

“If you woke me up to bitch at me about my weight, I swear to god—”

“I am not bitching,” Rodrigue stresses, the curse word so startling that Felix reels, padding into the kitchen. If he’s going to have an actual conversation with his father, he’s going to need something to make it through this.

A stack of grilled cheese sandwiches sounds greasy enough to do the trick.

“I’m trying to understand,” Rodrigue mumbles, tongue loosened by alcohol.

Felix exhales slowly. “Where should we start?”

They wind up meandering. Felix tiptoes into the bedroom as quietly as he can, pulling his headphones off of the nightstand. He butters bread, slices cheese, pouring more butter into a pan as they talk.

They wind up covering a lot of ground, talking about shit they normally wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. Felix wouldn’t consider this reparation, but it’s a start. It’s more than he’d gotten from his father in years. Possibly his whole life.

They get to ‘the food thing’ as Felix sits down to eat, the chair creaking under his weight. It feels sacrilegious to have such a somber conversation whilst stuffing his face, but he’s been at peace with his own indulgence for a while.

Once he’s finished talking, having taken the time to answer his father’s questions and drink several glasses of water, there’s a brief beat of silence.

“You seem happy, son.”

Felix drops his last sandwich back on the plate. “I am,” he says, so shocked he can’t think of anything else to say.

“That’s good,” says Rodrigue. “Okay.”

Then, the line goes dead. Felix is left with more questions than answers, but his stomach’s full, at least. He crawls back into bed and Dimitri snuggles into his warmth like Felix never left, patting Felix’s belly even in his sleep.

Felix is struggling to put on an outfit for work, pissed that he let Dimitri talk him out of going shopping a couple weeks back, knowing how absurdly tight most of his clothes are right now.

“Love the view,” Dimitri says, tying his own tie in the mirror, pleased as a fucking peach.

“Go fuck yourself,” Felix snarls, willing the button of his slacks to stay put. The lower half of his belly fills his trousers, but the top bulges over it, barely contained.

He wouldn’t be surprised if he ate his way out of this pair of pants during lunch. He’d done it before, and that had been an embarrassing day, but his coworkers had been incredibly gracious all things considered.

When putting on an undershirt is a challenge, Felix knows he’s in trouble. He swears fiercely as he shrugs on a shirt. The top buttons provide no resistance. The third and fourth are dodgy, but it’s only once he gets to the fifth, the one that rests on the crest of his belly, that the shirt practically cries.

The sixth is worse, stuck handling Felix’s furthest point of girth. He literally sweats, trying to suck in and force the button into the eye hole, panting when he finally does. The shirt rips in an instant.

The urge to cry sneaks up on him, startling himself and Dimitri both. Felix has never been a crier, obstinate to a fault. Besides, outgrowing his clothes was hardly a new phenomenon.

It’s only once Felix leans over to hurl that they think oh, calling off of work to rush to the doctor’s office.

They’re nervous. Felix is grateful that he hasn’t been drinking much since New Year’s. Studies showed that it took a few months for intersex men to wean off of birth control safely, and he’d taken that literally, determined to carry safely.

They started taking the pregnancy thing seriously a couple months back. Dimitri railed him within an inch of his life that night. Felix wouldn’t be surprised to find out that date was the night of conception.

He shakes that thought loose in his head. He could be sick. Fuck, given the way he ate, he could have food poisoning.

Still. Dimitri holds his hand to keep Felix from vibrating out of his skin.

When the nurse calls them back, Felix jumps up. She asks for his height as he steps on the scale.

He’s dressed awfully lightly for a Spring afternoon, but these days, he runs hot as a furnace. 257 stares at him in great big digital numbers. Felix nearly gasps.

When he steps off, he throws Dimitri a look. Shit, he thinks, trepidation and exhilaration warring for dominance in his brain. I gained a hundred pounds. Jesus fucking Christ.

Dimitri pulls Felix back down to earth, pinching his arm. The two of them are ushered into an exam room, where a nurse takes his vitals and requests his history.

The doctor comes in to talk to them, discussing their options. She orders an ultrasound.

They stick a needle in his arm for bloodwork. A technician rolls an ultrasound machine in on a cart. Felix peels his stretchy waistband down so they can put the instrument against him.

“Congratulations,” the nurse says, eyes crinkling up with good humor as she wipes the instrument clean. “The doctor will have to confirm, but you look like you’re about seven weeks along.”

Felix feels like crying again except Dimitri beats him to it, and they can’t both cry.

Dimitri pins him against the wall the minute they get home because he can’t wait another single second to put his grubby mitts on Felix. “Mine,” he growls, sucking a bruise into Felix’s neck, rubbing at Felix’s cleft.

“Be careful, shithead, I’m pregnant,” Felix snaps, bucking against Dimitri equally fervently, eager for it.

Dimitri pulls Felix’s shirt up, panting against a nipple before he sucks it into his mouth, nibbling ever so slightly. He falls to his knees, licking at Felix’s middle, groping it like it’s an erogenous zone. “Yes,” Dimitri says, aching in his jeans. “Fat and with child, just the way I wanted you.”

Felix shivers, feeling feverish. He’s going to come untouched, he can tell.

He drips in the doorway with Dimitri clawing at him like an animal. Dimitri uses his monstrous strength to haul Felix, all 257 pounds of him, into the bedroom.

Dimitri ruts against Felix’s thighs, against his gut. He gets lube and spit everywhere, marking his territory like a fucking dog. Felix mewls, sensitive and raw with need.

Felix comes and comes and comes. The minutes fall away, a careless blur of kisses and unfiltered garbage flowing from Dimitri’s mouth. It’s good, it’s the best it’s ever been.

When they’re finished, Felix pants. “I’m hungry,” he says and Dimitri laughs, kissing his husband’s sweaty forehead before going to get him something to eat.

If Felix thought he was big before, that was nothing compared to the added baby weight.

He’s four-and-half months along. He drowned himself in articles the day they found out, reading about what to expect when expecting, about progression and measurements, signs of a safe delivery.

His hormones have him all kinds of fucked up. “Dimitri, do you think I’ll ever pop?”

Dimitri raises an eyebrow, looking up from his cup of coffee. “…Yes?”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

Dimitri rolls his eyes, unfazed by Felix’s mood swings. “Felix, darling, it’s going to take a while for your bump to appear noticeable with your body type. Give it time.”

“I don’t want time,” Felix snaps, “I want people to ask who knocked me up.” With a huff, he plops down in a chair, shoveling eggs and toast into his mouth. “I’ve been eating like a fucking pig—moreso than usual, which is saying something—but everybody thinks I’m training for some sort of contest.”

Dimitri can’t help it; he laughs. “I would bet on you, if you entered.”

Begrudgingly, Felix smiles. He grumbles like he’s offended, but he’s nowhere near as frustrated as he had been mere seconds ago.

He leans back when he’s finished grazing, the very picture of debauchery. Felix has become voluptuous, small breasts peeking out of his u-necked croptop. He rubs himself, murmuring to the little one hidden beneath layers of cushion, his middle packed and firm.

Dimitri has grown particularly fond of Felix’s supple rear and spongy hips, spreading wider what feels like every day, body adjusting for what comes next.

When Felix’s stomach growls, Dimitri stares at him. Felix groans. “Would you like me to fix you something else?”

“Yeah,” Felix concedes, a bit humiliated. He’ll be horny about it after work, when they have time to play.

Felix is one bad day away from quitting his job.

The thing is, he could. He was already planning to take paternity leave in a few months, but he could quit now. Dimitri wouldn’t give a shit.

There are a lot of stressors contributing to his decision, not the least of which being that he felt and looked as big as a house and he kept getting stuck in his chair every time he moved to get up.

Everything sets him off these days. His keyboard table digging into his round, fetus-filled gut. His new boss being an asshole to his colleagues. He gets exhausted easily, his baby keeps kicking her feet into his lungs, and he’s hungry all the fucking time.

Case in point, Gwendal strolls in like the grade-A douchebag he is. Felix is busy talking to Randall, a fairly new hire, whilst slurping on a giant smoothie, ordered along with plantain chips and a bag of caramels from his favorite shop around the corner. Gwendal sneers at Felix, clearly disgusted.

Randall lurches forward to say something. Felix holds him back. “It’s fine,” he mutters. People make snide comments about his weight behind his back all the time.

“The way he treats you isn’t right. You’re pregnant,” Randall hiss-whispers.

Felix shrugs. Getting pissed off would be a waste of time.

Gwendal, still within earshot, snorts. Both of them turn at the sound. “I’m sure you’ll teach your child to be a glutton, too.”

Sincerely, go fuck yourself, Felix thinks. “Don’t think my parenting style is any of your business.”

Randall, however, can’t stand the injustice. He lurches forward to punch Gwendal and Felix doesn’t stop him. Gwendal issues Randall’s termination. Felix’s resignation follows immediately on its heels.

Gwendal attempts to convince Felix that he knows what’s best for him, trying to convince him to stay. Felix actively could not give less of a shit about Gwendal’s pandering.

He storms out of the office, tapping on Randall’s shoulder as he packs up everything in his desk. “Hey. Come with me. I have a place where you can go.”

Randall flashes him a watery smile. “Even with a stain on my record?”

Felix laughs, cradling himself as his baby girl tumbles around. “Believe me, he won’t care. Given that you got it protecting me, he’ll probably offer you a promotion.”

An hour later, Dimitri says, “You’re hired,” hardly sparing a glance at Randall’s resume after Felix tells him the story.

Randall’s jaw drops, which is a fair reaction. Dimitri was a difficult man to hold an audience with, and the hiring guidelines for his office were stringent. Randall’s set to make a lot more money and report to a much nicer person. Felix considers his good deed for the day done.

They go over expectations and paperwork, Dimitri sending the teary-eyed, grateful Randall off to HR.

The minute they’re alone, Dimitri’s business persona drops. He’s livid. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Felix assures him, petting Dimitri’s hair. It does little to soothe the rage, but Dimitri knows now isn’t the time to let it out.

Dimitri wraps his arms around Felix’s waist, burrowing into Felix’s abdomen. His stomach is noisy with the sounds of life, warm to the touch.

“I would like nothing more than to bend you over this desk and confirm your wellness myself,” Dimitri mutters.

Felix laughs, flicking his husband in the forehead. “Jesus, Dimitri.”

“I know, I know. But I want to.”

What the hell, Felix thinks. “Your door have a lock?”

Blue eyes fly open, wide with shock. Shakily, Dimitri nods.

“I’ll let you touch me, but you can’t fuck me. Too uncomfortable. Close the blinds.”

They work together to clear his desk of obstructions, locking the door and shielding the windows. They’re up on a floor so high it was unlikely anyone would be able to see them, but it paid to be prepared.

Felix crawls onto the desk, flopping onto his side with a grunt. He’s so heavy these days. His midsection is as alluring a centerpiece as ever, bulbous and billowing, both wide and rotund.

Dimitri pulls Felix’s paternity pants off, marveling at the fabric’s imprint on his swollen belly. He rucks up Felix’s shirt next, great smock of a thing, then he unfastens Felix’s bra.

Dimitri follows the letter of Felix’s law, if not the spirit, groping and squeezing like he wants to plow Felix, touch gentling at the womb, not wanting to scare the baby. He’s devotional, motions slow and steady.

“Shh,” Felix hums, looping his arms around Dimitri’s neck when he gets close enough, dragging him down for a kiss. “See? We’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

Dimitri kisses him for a long time. When he pulls away, he simply rests on Felix, listening to Felix breathe. He helps Felix get redressed with unsteady hands, scared shitless.

The rest of the afternoon is quiet. Felix goes home, but it’s too quiet without Dimitri. He climbs into Dimitri’s lap the first chance he gets, the two of them holding onto each other for dear life.

The growl Felix lets out is unholy. “Who made our schedule for next weekend? I’m going to kill them.”

“You did, my love,” Dimitri replies, browsing through clothing catalogues on his phone.

There weren’t many places that would take a paternity rush order and Felix wasn’t of an average size. They would have to go to a specialty store to find anything decent and the clock is ticking.

Felix flops back on the bed with a scowl. The last time they went for a check-up at the doctor’s office, Felix clocked in at a whopping 273 pounds, which hadn’t surprised Dimitri one bit. He’s nearly seven months along and his appetite had been nothing to sneeze at before he had to support an extra life.

Dimitri, however, was not subjected to his body’s hormonal whims, whipping from hot to cold at a moment’s notice. “I don’t want to go to the gala, I’m too fat.”

With a sigh, Dimitri puts his phone away. Comforting his husband takes priority. “You like being fat.”

“Not when everybody’s going to do that petty thing where they stare at me and talk shit behind their hands,” Felix snarls. “I have to suck up to your business partners and play nice now that we’re married and I’m huge. My back hurts. My tits hurt.”

“I would be happy to give you a give you a massage.”

Felix snorts. “Yeah, I bet you would, horndog.”

Dimitri can do nothing to refute the claim, but he knows mockery is not Felix’s goal. “Most people will have questions about your pregnancy, Felix.”

Regardless of the fact that Felix doesn’t react, Dimitri knows the prospect entices him. “I don’t have anything to wear,” he mumbles.

“We can go shopping,” Dimitri offers, expecting this turn of events.

“What about the shower?” Felix asks, sitting up slowly.

With the gala on Saturday and the baby shower on Sunday, it’s set to be a draining weekend.

“We can buy more than one outfit. The registry’s already in place. Annette agreed to play host.”

Felix looks like he wants to fight, but can’t conjure up a successful argument. He deflates, giving in. “Alright.”

They take time getting ready, opting to eat before they leave. It’s been a while since they’ve done this, despite Felix’s newfound freedom in his schedule, but they fall back into the routine easily.

Dimitri cooks, pulling out a number of simple yet filling dishes, casseroles and pasta and vegetables, beans and rice, the whole nine yards.

Felix was far too big for Dimitri to sit in his lap or for Dimitri to feed Felix whilst curled behind him, so they sit side by side on the couch.

Amusingly, Felix has begun to spread his legs to make room for his belly. Dimitri watches as he does so, getting comfortable. When Felix asks him what he’s laughing about, Dimitri says nothing, grabbing a plate from the cabinet along with several serving spoons.

He starts off with Felix’s favorite, spicy fish stew. Felix hums around each bite, licking the spoon until it’s sparkling clean.

From there, he moves to mashed potatoes and fried pheasant covered in gravy. Picking it up makes Dimitri’s fingers messy, but Felix doesn’t mind. His tongue flicks at the webbing between Dimitri’s digits, savoring every morsel.

His chewing is careful around the bones, sucking at the marrow.

Felix eats like he was built to do it. Like every meal could be his last. His lashes flutter and his jaw slows as he gets full, but he hasn’t hit his max capacity. Not yet.

“One more bite,” Dimitri urges, intoxicated by Felix’s responding whine.

“I want something to drink.”

“I’ll get it for you.”

He returns with a tall glass of chocolate milk, Felix’s latest craving. Dimitri holds it for him, tipping it back gradually to let Felix gulp. He moans when he gets halfway, grasping his belly as the baby kicks.

Dimitri rubs Felix, singing a song for their girl while Felix releases a series of wet, wretched burps. “One more bite,” Felix mumbles, eyes glossy.

One more bite becomes five more bites, becomes ten. “No more,” Felix rasps, staring at his poor, swollen gut. It’s taut and red. At some point, his stretchy shorts ripped, exposing his protruding underbelly between strips of fabric.

It takes him half an hour of groaning, moaning, and cradling to feel up to moving, and then they go, Dimitri thrumming with pride as Felix unsteadily leads the way.

As Felix suspected, all eyes are on him the minute they enter the venue. Somebody announces their arrival, for fuck’s sake, which was so supremely unnecessary he feels like writing the organizer a scathing letter.

He feels better about it today than he did last week; he’s in a good place. He grew up schmoozing and it comes back to him naturally, easy as pie.

The whole event is a vicious reminder of how much he hates high society. Propriety dictates that he has to stick close to Dimitri. Wouldn’t want anybody to get ideas, what with his form-fitting black jumpsuit, complete with peekaboo panels so people could admire his pillowy breasts and stretch marks.

However, Dimitri’s theory holds water. Felix is fawned over like a mythical creature. Most of the guests asking how far along he is, if it’s okay to touch.

It seems vulgar; taboo, even. People usually steered clear of him—he had a mean resting bitch face, after all. Unless he brushed against people by accident, the only people who rubbed his belly like it was good luck to do so were himself and Dimitri.

Their reasons for doing so were so radically contrasted it wasn’t fair to compare.

Still, their gentle gestures are enough to light a fire under his skin. Eating made him horny. Teasing, fleeting touches from strangers also apparently made him horny.

Being pregnant makes him the horniest of all.

It’s downright criminal they have to be here for two more hours, sitting through droning announcements for thirty minutes of that time. Though, there would be a buffet, and that was always exciting.

They endure a handful of painful conversations before the lights on the stage go down. Felix looks up from his plate of hummus and carrots when Dimitri squeezes his shoulder.

When Dimitri turns, Felix follows him. Thankfully, he doesn’t walk very fast; Felix is far too top-heavy to keep up with his strides.

He’s led into a private bathroom tucked away in a shadowy corner. He wouldn’t say they’re crammed together in here, but it’s a tight fit. Felix takes up the vast majority of the standing space.

Felix looks at him. Through him. “Don’t you have to give some sort of shitty speech?”

“Yes,” Dimitri mutters, blue eyes narrowed. “In a few minutes.”

Felix laughs. “Seriously?”

“I won’t make a mess.”

“Fuck, Dimitri.” Felix grins. If pregnancy has set his nerves alight, Dimitri is blazingly aroused by him being pregnant, set off as easily as a match.

Felix steps out of his jumpsuit, pulling his underwear down to make things easier. Dimitri procures a packet of lube from one of his pockets, unbuckling his belt.

He groans when Dimitri grabs his wrists. “Not so rough. Somebody could walk by and hear us.”

“This room is soundproofed,” Dimitri whispers, biting Felix’s neck.

“And how do you know that?”

“The Blaiddyd Corporation funded this hall’s restoration.”

Of course.

Dimitri laves at Felix noisily, paying particular attention to Felix’s nipples and his belly-button, millimeters away from popping out. Any day now, Felix thinks, waiting and wishing, toying with it often. One good kick from their girl would do the trick.

He doesn’t stick his dick in Felix despite how much Felix wants him to. They don’t have time. He fingers Felix until he’s soaking wet, cock dripping all over the tile. Dimitri ruts against Felix’s gut, chasing his pleasure, spilling hot across the wide expanse of it, satisfied.

They clean themselves thoroughly, checking their hair in the en suite mirror once they’re redressed, faces pink. It isn’t terribly obvious what they’d been up to, but Felix is amused nonetheless. “Couldn’t wait?”

“Couldn’t stand all those hands on you,” Dimitri mutters.

Felix chuckles. Figures. “Go deal with your adoring public. Make it snappy, will you? I’m starving.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Dimitri promises, slipping away to duck behind a stage curtain.

For all of Dimitri’s flaws, he’s a fantastic public speaker. He’s charismatic and handsome, gifted with a voice that carries. People clap for him even when they’re not supposed to, unable to help themselves.

When it’s finally, finally time for food, an obnoxious intestinal noise sounds in one corner of the room. Several turn around to find the source of it. Felix holds up a hand, issuing a quite-frankly unrepentant apology. He offers it only because he knows he’s supposed to.

Today is all about minding his manners.

People laugh, writing it off as a hilarious idiosyncrasy, a privilege unique to those expecting.

Dimitri grips his champagne flute tightly enough to break it. Felix miraculously refrains from laughing his ass off.

Felix doesn’t eat nearly as much as usual. He doesn’t trust these gossipy harpies as far as he could throw them. He refuses to give them any reason to start shit.

He’s itching to go by the time Dimitri excuses them, waiting for the valet to pull his car up.

Dimitri rests a hand on Felix’s belly once they’re miles away from the venue. “Would you like me to stop and get something on the way home?”

Felix sighs with relief, squirming in his seat as the baby gets settled. “A milkshake.”

“And?”

“Chicken nuggets.”

“…And?”

He huffs. Dimitri knows him too well. Felix loves him. “Fuck, get one of everything on the menu.”

Dimitri laughs, putting both hands back on the steering wheel.

They pull into a drive-thru, sidling up to the window after the apathetic clerk reads their obnoxious order back to them. The food comes in plastic bags, containers stacked on top of other containers neatly.

Felix dives for the nuggets and the milkshake immediately, dipping them for the sweet-and-salty contrast. When he’s finished with those, he moves onto a burger and fries, humming with contentment.

By the time they get home, Felix has polished off three meals, licking his greasy fingers. He starts on a fourth as soon as he sits on the couch, losing steam partway through the sixth.

“Would you like me to fuck you while you eat?” Dimitri asks, innocent as you please.

Felix’s eyes flick over to him, then back to his sandwich, considering. “Can’t eat if you fuck me like you usually do.”

“On your knees, then,” Dimitri offers.

Felix shivers, dark lashes fluttering.

“Yeah,” Felix agrees. “Okay.”

He spends several minutes trying to decide what to bring with him. The chicken sandwich he’d been eating is enticing, but a salad was equally compelling. The thought of having ranch on his face and Dimitri’s come in his ass is enough to tip the scales.

Dimitri puts the plastic liner down. The bedsprings creak under Felix’s weight as he crawls forward. He shakes the container to coat everything evenly, breathing slowly as gets on all fours.

Immediately, Dimitri cradles him, lingering on Felix’s middle, chest, and thighs. “You become more beautiful by the day, I swear.”

Felix snorts. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” he says, though of course he’s thrilled by the praise. “Hurry up and whip your cock out.”

He lowers his head for a mouthful, jolted when Dimitri rocks his clothed hips against Felix’s own. They’re both insatiable, really, drowning in lust despite having touched each other like furtive teenagers in a bathroom mere hours ago.

Chewing and swallowing is difficult when all he wants to do is moan. Dimitri is always brutal in bed, slamming and gripping, biting and bruising.

“You’re so full. Filled with our child and with food. You’ll start leaking soon, breasts taut with milk.”

Felix nearly chokes on a tomato, dick stiff against his gut. Dimitri would be into that. “Gonna suck my tits dry?” Felix asks, licking his lips.

Dimitri cups him firmly, shaft resting against Felix’s hole. “If you like.”

God, Dimitri’s so fucking foul. Felix can’t stand it. “Inside, now.”

Dimitri obeys the command, doing the bare minimum to stretch Felix. He hardly needs to—Felix’s pelvic floor has transformed wildly in preparation for childbirth, widening like the rest of him.

When Dimitri slides in, hot and perfect, Felix keens. He’s messy from polishing off three-quarters of his salad, belly brushing against the sheets. And shit, if that doesn’t get him going.

Dimitri’s mutterings are as fierce and depraved as ever, rambling on and on about how Felix consumes him. He’s obsessive, always has been, but it’s almost cute when he gets like this, like he needs Felix to know he can hardly work, plagued with thoughts of his husband.

“What do you think about when you’re alone in our bed, waiting for me to get home?” Dimitri murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “Do you remember the last time I fed you? Or, perhaps, the night that I bred you?”

“Christ, Dima,” Felix groans, eyes rolling back in his head, so close he can taste it.

It only takes a few thrusts for Felix to topple over the edge, as sensitive as he’s become. Dimitri barely waits to go a second time, petting Felix’s middle to soothe his sore stomach. He moves the salad bowl out of the way, wipes Felix’s face, then slides home. He doesn’t have to stroke his cock back to full hardness; he’d never gone soft.

He fucks Felix three times before Felix snaps enough, tired of being jostled around, bounced like Dimitri’s toy. Dimitri has the decency to look sheepish about getting carried away, languidly cleaning up their muck.

It’s been a while since Felix stepped on a scale, but he’s confident he’s closer to three hundred pounds than not, especially whilst stuffed. Regardless, Dimitri sweeps Felix into his arms, setting him into an armchair he billows over.

Felix falls into a doze with both hands on his belly, sleepy and sated. Dimitri scoops him up and tucks him in, cuddling with Felix, basking in his warmth.

“Hey baby, lookin’ fine,” Sylvain says, shameless as ever.

Felix rolls his eyes, bending over to pull something out of the oven. “Har, har, very funny.”

“What, I’m not kidding. Your ass looks amazing.”

Ingrid shows up out of nowhere to pinch Sylvain’s ear, twisting it until he begs for mercy. “Sorry about him.”

Felix snorts. “I’m used to it.”

Annette fusses when she finds him working, shooing Felix and everyone else out of her kitchen. “You’re the guest of honor! Sit, sit.”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that all he does is sit these days. He’s never been at peace being idle, and without a formal office job, Felix has taken to short-term projects and consultation work. He can do them on his own time.

The flexibility in his schedule also allows him to pester Dimitri whenever he works from home, as an added bonus.

He wilts under the force of Annette’s gaze, drifting out of the kitchen, heading towards Dedue and Ashe. The two of them have taken charge of wrangling all of the gifts, organizing them by department.

Belatedly, Felix realizes they’re going to have to move soon. They’ve been converting Dimitri’s spare room at odd intervals, adding one baby-friendly item at a time, but the penthouse wasn’t big enough for a child to run around. And god forbid, if they decided to have another, it certainly wasn’t big enough for two.

Left with nothing to do, Felix pouts, falling into a chair in the middle of Annette’s cobblestoned veranda. Dimitri drifts over to him with a smile. “She caught you as well, then.”

Felix grunts in agreement.“I’m pregnant, not infirm.”

“I’m neither, yet here we are. I do believe our friends wish to spoil us.”

“They want to see us suffer, you mean.”

“You are awfully lovely when you’re frustrated.”

“Your opinion doesn’t count.”

Thankfully, the proceedings get underway quickly. Annette hadn’t had much left to do when Dimitri and Felix arrived. They chat over a meal, wherein Felix feels no shame about gorging himself. Everyone teases him lovingly, taking turns cooing over his bulging belly.

He opens his gifts graciously, blown over by a wave of sudden emotion. The booties, bibs, and pajamas are all expected—Felix put the registry together himself—but it means something that these people care. They they want his child to come into the world safely as much as he does.

A tear leaks from one eye. Mercedes coos, passing him a handkerchief. “Let it out, Felix. We’re here for you.”

The part of Felix that prefers to play his cards close to the chest rebels against the notion, but the rest of him gives in, wiping his eyes whilst grumbling. Dimitri rubs Felix’s back until he gets it out of his system, barking at everyone to quit staring at him.

All in all, it’s a pleasant afternoon. Remarkably, it remains pleasant when Annette goes to the door, permitting her two surprise guests entry.

Lambert sent them an exorbitant amount of money and a series of toys safe for infants to chew on, so his attendance is off the table. Rodrigue and Glenn don’t spend all their time flying around the world attending to a mega-corporation, but it’s still a shock to see them.

Glenn whistles as he takes in the sight of his younger brother. “Sure you’ve only got one in there?”

It’s a struggle to wiggle out of the chair with his love handles drooping over the sides, but Felix manages, cradling himself as he stands up. “All the scans say so. Bit late for them to catch a secret twin.”

Glenn laughs, pulling his brother in for a hug. It’s awkward and sideways, as all of Felix’s hugs are these days.

His father fidgets in place for a moment, unsure what he’s supposed to do. Taking pity on him, Felix opens his arms. Rodrigue steps forward, breathing Felix in. “Hello, son,” he says quietly. “You look good.”

The childish, petty part of Felix thinks, that’s because I am good, but his father is trying. Felix will be fair. “Thanks.”

They don’t stick around long, handing Felix their gifts and chatting for twenty, thirty minutes before they leave. It is quite possibly the most painless interaction Felix has had with Rodrigue in years.

Dimitri sidles up behind him, planting a kiss on Felix’s chubby cheek. “That went well.”

He hums, hand resting on his middle. “The truth is stranger than fiction.”

The weather has gotten significantly cooler over the past few weeks. It’s threatening to snow early this year, but Felix is sweaty and miserable, rolling around whining in bed.

At his last exam, the doctor told Felix he could give birth any day now. Their daughter is healthy, Felix is healthy, and he’s running out of room.

He wants to get up and eat, but he can’t bring himself to move. He strokes his abdomen furiously, thumbs catching on his belly-button every few passes, popped out and proud.

He wakes up with wet nipples more often than not. Dimitri’s fucking hellion daughter, Felix thinks, calling her this when she acts especially unruly, needs to settle down or get out.

They’ve considered lots of names. Ava is a top contender along with Sonya, but Felix hasn’t committed to one or the other beyond shooting down the rest of Dimitri’s shitty suggestions.

He reaches for his phone, turning on classical music. Mercedes swore by it as a nurse, said patients saw positive results within minutes. It’s a low risk solution Felix is more than willing to try. His baby won’t stop pushing against his walls, won’t stop kicking him.

When Dimitri walks in the door, she’s relaxed marginally. Felix breathes a sigh of relief. “Please tell me you brought food.”

Dimitri lifts an eyebrow. He’d taken the week off in preparation for the big day, but he still has a few calls to take, a few emails to answer. “I left you a meal in the fridge.”

“Avanya had a fit,” Felix explains.

Dimitri laughs. “You still haven’t decided?”

“I’ll decide when I look at her.”

Heart warm, Dimitri fixes Felix a plate, stacking it high with thickly cut garlic bread, bacon, and grilled fish.

Before he’s finished with the first, Dimitri makes him a second. Additionally, he throws a smoothie together, pulling the blender blade out so Felix can sip straight from the pitcher.

When he’s finished, he adjusts the pillows behind his back, belching lazily with his eyes half-closed. “Do you feel better?”

Felix hums. He watches Dimitri walk to the kitchen to clean up, appreciating the view of his ass in jeans. It was nowhere near as his own, as blocky and hard as the rest of him, but he enjoyed holding onto it whenever Dimitri felt like rutting against him.

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up again. The apartment is bathed in a soft orange glow. Dimitri is dozing too, hands folded in his lap, book propped open on his thigh.

Something not unlike a kick bowls him over, knocking the breath out of him. Felix hadn’t eaten enough to cramp like this, violently and suddenly. “Dimitri,” he wheezes, frantic tone startling his husband out of his slumber. “We need to go to the hospital.”

Dimitri stares at him for a moment before he processes what Felix said. “Is it time?”

Felix bends himself in half as best he can, in terrible pain. “I sure as fuck hope so.”

Dimitri has to help him get dressed, tucked into the roomiest, most comfortable shorts Felix owns and a soft cotton top. He’d been wearing a bra since month six, but he forgoes it. He’s going to give birth, for Christ’s sake.

The walk to the elevator is laborious. Felix stops to breathe every few steps, tingling with pain. Dimitri is scared, but Felix fights through it, gritting his teeth and carrying on.

The car ride is dead silent. Dimitri keeps both hands on the wheel, knuckles gripping so tightly they turn white. He drives the speed limit, obeying every traffic law known to man.

The logical part of Felix appreciates his caution. The part that has a baby desperate to break free is in agony, biting back a hot wave of tears.

Thankfully, Felix is rushed into a room quickly after Dimitri fills out the triage paperwork. His vitals are checked and he receives something for the cramps, swallowing the pills eagerly.

What feels like eons later, the process begins in earnest. Dimitri holds his hand as often as he can. Felix screams his name, sobbing. It hurts, Dima, it hurts, Felix says.

Dimitri eyes grow damp, helpless to do anything other than support his partner. Felix had cried in front of him once when they were very little boys, and he’d felt the same way back then, watching his strong friend fall to pieces.

Push becomes the mantra of the hour, recited over and over again until the baby’s head pokes free.

Dimitri knew that Felix was bringing a new life into the world. Their marvelous wonder, a blend of their genes. They’d planned to have her, prepared everything they needed to welcome her home over the past year, but it’s an entirely different thing to see their daughter screaming and red, separate from Felix’s womb.

They cut the umbilical cord, clean and swaddle her, immediately letting her latch onto Felix’s breast. If Dimitri had been crying before, he’s blubbering now, face a mess with tears and snot. “I love you,” he says, saying it to both of them, wiping his face with a tissue one of the nurses hands him.

Felix is sweaty, but blindingly gorgeous as always, exhausted. “I love you too.”

Neither of them move for a while. When it’s time to fill out documents, Felix writes Ava Sonya Blaiddyd on the name line. Dimitri laughs.

They take turns passing her back and forth, admiring her tiny toes and fingers. She’s rosy-cheeked and dark-haired, which means nothing. Dimitri’s hair hadn’t turned blonde until he was two or three.

She’s a hefty newborn, clocking in at a ten pounds. She’s beautiful.

The minute Ava is lowered into a bayonet, exposing her gums as she yawns, Dimitri sits on the bed, petting his husband’s deflated belly. “Congratulations.”

Felix hums.

When he says nothing more, Dimitri lowers his head, whispering to him privately. “Would you like something to eat?”

Felix groans like Dimitri has offered him the holy grail. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Dimitri scurries off to procure something suitably filling and indulgent, ordering what he hopes will be enough food.

Tending to an infant is no small task. For weeks—months, really—their lives are in constant disarray. They become drained by the transition, taking turns burping Ava and changing diapers.

Felix feeds Ava straight from the source. He pumps enough for emergencies, but it’s not his personal preference.

He blames Dimitri for his appreciation of being sucked on, letting comforting music play while Ava clings to his tits.

It’s nearly summer by the time they settle into some sort of normalcy. Ava is 27 weeks old, growing like a weed.

Tonight, they’re having family dinner.

The Fraldariuses and the Blaiddyds have been intertwined for generations. Spending time at the Blaiddyd estate had been a matter of course for Glenn and Felix, running through the courtyards with Dimitri and Edelgard before the divorce, whereupon the latter moved out of the country with her mother.

Felix fully expects his father to be embarrassing. He doesn’t expect Lambert to be just as bad. The two of them are disgustingly soppy, cooing like it’s Christmas morning.

“My darling granddaughter. Photos simply do not do you justice,” Lambert murmurs, blowing raspberries on Ava’s cheeks. She giggles; his facial hair probably tickles.

Lambert passes her to Rodrigue, who cradles her gingerly. “She looks so much like you,” he muses, smiling at Felix.

Felix scoffs, cocking a hand on one hip. “Yeah right. Her eyes are ice blue. Even if her hair stays the same color, she’s all Dimitri.”

“It’s the shape of her face,” Rodrigue insists. He holds her up next to Felix for everyone else to see. They all nod in agreement.

Oddly, Felix is flattered. “Well, I did do all the hard work. I’ll take it.”

They have a pleasant afternoon, all told. The most thrilling part of the day is that their fathers agree to watch over Ava. Felix and Dimitri get to sleep together. Literally sleep, for four whole hours. It’s heavenly.

When they get home, Felix tucks Ava in before crawling into Dimitri’s lap. Seven months was a long time to go without fucking properly, surviving off of furtive groping and handjobs, but they haven’t had the time or the energy.

“Hey,” Felix whispers, pushing Dimitri’s hair out of his face.

“Hey,” Dimitri replies, squeezing Felix’s fat rolls.

“I’ve lost some weight,” Felix admits, disappointed in himself.

Felix’s hormones had taken time to settle. Beyond that, they’ve been busy. His appetite had taken a nosedive.

Dimitri opts for a light-hearted response. “Ava was quite a large baby.”

Felix scowls, smacking Dimitri with a pillow.

Abashed, Dimitri tries a different angle, using both hands to squish Felix. “How much?”

“Fifteen pounds, give or take.” He’d been 285 before, which puts him around 270. It’s a significant drop.

Dimitri hums. “You do know that I love you no matter what size you are, yes?”

“Obviously.”

“As long as want it for yourself,” Dimitri purrs, pinching Felix’s sides. Felix grinds against him. The action says more than enough. “Do you have a goal in mind?”

“Three hundred,” Felix declares, smooth as butter. Dimitri shivers. “I was so close.”

“You’ll get there,” Dimitri promises. “I’ll help.”

“Damn right you will.”

Dimitri spends an exorbitant amount of time working Felix open. He’d been nervous to breach Felix for a while, tentative despite the doctor’s insistence that it was safe for Felix to resume sexual activity.

Their lovemaking is slow, a relearning of each other’s bodies. Dimitri hoists Felix up so he can put himself at a better angle for kissing. Felix is lumpier than he was before he got knocked up, stomach saggy and low instead of high on his waist, but he likes it.

Likes it so much he wants more. Dimitri grows hard quickly, not that it ever took much to push his buttons. His tits bounce as Dimitri fucks him like a virgin: face-to-face, lying back and thinking of England. He’s more feral than a fumbling, teenaged boy, though, rocking Felix’s heavy thighs back to make the angle better.

Felix comes, spurting all over himself. Dimitri pulls out before he comes even though he’s wearing a condom and Felix is on the pill. Felix grumbles under his breath about being deprived.

They go once more before they’re too tired to carry on, collapsing on the bedsheets.

Felix decides to wait until he’s weaned Ava off breastmilk before he restarts his journey in earnest. It wouldn’t do to make himself sick when she needed him.

They introduce soft foods, ramping up textures. Every hour of every day becomes every few hours, becomes morning and evening. When Ava is fourteen months old, Felix goes without having to pull his u-cut shirt down all day, wrangling a breast out of his nursing bra.

The trend continues. Within a month, he’s free. Hallelujah, Felix thinks, making plans.

Sylvain offers to babysit for a week. Felix narrows his eyes with suspicion, but ultimately decides to give his best friend the benefit of the doubt. Ava was well-behaved. Sylvain liked children. The best he could hope for was that Sylvain kept the baby monitor on if he decided to bring someone over.

He drops Ava off with a list of battle instructions so detailed it’s practically a manual. “I’ve got this, I promise,” Sylvain assures him, shoving Felix out of his house.

Thus, Felix and Dimitri are alone for the first time in ages. The moment is bittersweet despite their excitement to have the house to themselves. Ava was a constant source of both joy and frustration. She taught them more about themselves than they ever knew, and she was adorable to boot.

To temper his somber mood, Felix clears the shelves. He’s a man on a mission. They obtain two overflowing full carts of food.

Felix has no plans to leave the penthouse. The next seven days are devoted to be fat and lazy.

Regardless of the fact that they spent a small fortune at the grocery store, they order in. Dimitri had a lot of prepwork to do, after all, and Felix was not fucking around.

Two extra-large pizzas. Fettuccine alfredo. Garlic knots. A salad with two packets of honey mustard dressing. A soup-sized container filled with their signature tomato sauce. He paid a significant sum for them to give him an exorbitant amount of shredded parmesan, intending to dump it on everything.

Felix digs in, combining dishes. He feels slovenly, folding slices of meat lovers pizza like taco shells, scooping noodles into the center. Cream drips down his chin as he chews and swallows, going and going and going.

He demolishes the first pie no problem, polishing the pasta off next. He relishes the garlic knots, eating them slowly, telling Dimitri to bring him a glass of chocolate milk.

He slows down after the liquid hits his stomach, snapping at Dimitri to put his hands to good use.

Dimitri rolls his eyes. “Meal prepping for tomorrow isn’t good use?” He stalks over, sinking to his knees. “Would you like me to hold you in my lap?”

Felix quirks an eyebrow. “Thought I was too big.”

Sheepishly, Dimitri smiles. “A bit, yes. My legs will likely go numb, but this is worth it.”

Felix laughs his sharp, lovely laugh. “Not gonna stop you, freak. Probably got off on fantasies of being crushed by me at some point, didn’t you?”

“That’s neither here nor there.”

“You are the absolutely nastiest person I’ve ever met. You’ve officially dethroned Sylvain.”

“Today?”

Felix grins wickedly. “Nah. You stole the crown a while ago.”

The two of them snicker. Dimitri helps Felix get up before he himself sits down. Given his proportions, Felix has next to no control over the speed at which he falls down, knocking the wind out of Dimitri as he lands.

He gets settled quickly though, rubbing Felix’s belly rhythmically. Felix leans over to grab the sauce, dolloping cheese on top, sipping at it like a beverage. He eats at a snail’s pace, winded as he starts on the second pizza, aiming for a sweet-and-salty concoction with doused lettuce rolled up in the center.

“Color?” Dimitri asks when Felix begins to feel nauseous, head spinning.

“Pretty yellow,” Felix confesses.

“It’s only day one. Don’t push yourself.”

Felix puts his hands over Dimitri’s, cradling his gut. “Just need a few minutes.”

They recline together. Felix could fall asleep like this, bloated and stuffed to capacity, Dimitri nipping at his collarbone.

He scoops the rest of salad into his mouth with his fingers once he gets his second wind. The faster he eats, the less time his body has to signal his brain that it’s time to stop.

The remaining two-thirds of the pizza are difficult to swallow. Felix groans as he eats, torturing himself, grateful for Dimitri’s touch and encouragement.

Finally, he’s on the last piece. Spurred on by the fact that he’s done, he gobbles it down as quickly as he can manage, sauce and oil smeared all over his face.

“Fuuuck,” Felix hisses, obscenely full. He can’t move, pinned by his own weight, flopping against Dimitri bonelessly. He hiccups, then winces, the pressure against his diaphragm painful.

Felix moans, sore and achy and gassy. Dimitri shushes him, kisses him, fondles him. They remain glued together for the better part of an hour, until Felix doesn’t feel punch-drunk off the biggest meal of his life.

He waddles his way into the bedroom with Dimitri’s support, letting out a quiet oof as he sits on the edge of the tub. Dimitri helps Felix out of his shorts. The button was holding on by a thread, but the rest of the fabric had given up, ripping holes in the front and the back.

Dimitri wipes Felix down with a damp washcloth. When he’s gotten into a position that’s not comfortable, but it’s manageable, he thanks his husband.

“Of course,” says Dimitri, kissing the crest of Felix’s distended belly.

Not that it’s news or anything, but Felix loves him.

Sylvain snickers when they return to pick up their daughter. “Y’all working on giving Ava a sibling already?”

Dimitri’s face goes pink. It’s incredible, Felix thinks, how a man who fed him through a funnel him the day before could blush about suggestive jokes.

Finish your cake and ice cream, Felix, he said. Finish it, or I’ll throw it in the blender and pour it down your throat. I’ll fuck you in a harness like a farm animal, fuck you so full of my come you’ll taste it right along with your dessert.

The memory alone makes Felix horny.

“Dunno if we’re gonna have a second yet. Maybe in a few years,” Felix says. He holds Ava in his arms and kisses her, tickled by the fact that she fits on the shelf of his swollen gut.

The excuse is only half-bullshit. They’ve talked about it, of course, but they don’t want to overtax themselves. Ava will be a toddler soon. Already, she’s learned to pronounce simple syllables like De and Fee, short for Dimitri and Felix respectively.

Ava bangs on Felix’s tits like bongos, humoring herself. Better those than my stomach, he thinks, still sore.

They ask a series of requisite parental questions: Did Ava behave herself? Was everything alright? Did she sleep okay?

“As you can see, everything was fine,” Sylvain drawls, gesturing to Ava as Dimitri scoops her out of Felix’s arms. Sylvain tugs on his elbow, checking to make sure Dimitri is preoccupied before he waggles his eyebrows, whispering in Felix’s ear. “You lovebirds look like you had fun.”

Felix smacks him with a huff. Theatrically, Sylvain mimes being wounded. “Thanks. You did us a real solid.”

“Don’t mention it, baby. Anything for you.”

“My husband is literally standing a foot away from us.”

“I’ll flirt with him too. Say I won’t.”

Felix doesn’t because Sylvain would. His morals were skewed, which was to say, he had none. “I’m rescinding my compliment.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, you adore me.”

Unfortunately, Felix does. He lets Sylvain off the hook with a wave. Sylvain waves back, wishing them a pleasant afternoon.

“You’re finally moving,” Annette muses, watching as Felix plops a fourth doughnut into his mouth.

“Yeah. Long overdue, really. My baby girl’s gotten so big, Annie, I swear she’s gonna be taller than me.”

Ava’s second birthday is around the corner. It’s Mercedes’ turn to play host, so they have to make a bit of a haul, but the scenery on the way to her place was gorgeous. Felix makes a mental note to take lots of pictures.

His phone is clogged with them, but he doesn’t care. He bought extra storage space on the cloud to support the documentation of his daughter’s life.

They’re out shopping together. They set out with the objective to purchase gifts and order a cake, but Felix had gotten sidetracked at a pretzel store, then a sandwich shop, then a popup dessert kiosk.

Since Felix started aiming for 300 early on in the year, he’s been insatiable. It’s cold outside, but he works up a sweat while they walk, which, of course, makes him hungry, and thus the vicious cycle continues.

He doesn’t stuff himself every day, but it’s a near thing. He keeps teetering between 293 and 295, hitting a wall.

The days he gluts himself on soda and milk are the most satisfying. If there were a tournament for eating bananas and chugging Sprite, Felix would be the champion, emitting belches loud enough to bounce off the walls.

“Who’s packing the apartment up for you?” Annette asks, watching Felix lick glaze off his stubby fingers.

Felix frowns. “We are.”

“Felix, honey, you’re a big boy. Like, literally big. You have a trust fund. Your husband’s filthy rich. Let somebody else do the work.”

“That would be—” shamelessly self-indulgent gets caught in his throat as he looks at the spread of sweets he ordered for himself. He’s already eaten half the box. “Worth looking into,” he mutters, annoyed.

He hates it when Annette is right. She usually is.

“What am I supposed to do, sit around and watch?”

“You can still stage the place. Empty all the drawers, wrap your glassware, fold the clothes. Relax.”

He bristles. He wants to keep fighting, but Annette stands up, smacking his belly just hard enough to hear it bellow like a drum. The touch zips through him like lightning. His body’s response is automatic, nerves frenzied.

Wide-eyed, he stares at her. Annette winks. “Dimitri may have taught me a trick or two.”

Felix can’t believe he’s going to have to murder his husband three years after they got married. Bewildered and mortified, he closes the box of doughnuts and gathers his bags off the ground, determined to finish their errands so he can go home and rub one out.

It’s been a long time since Felix indulged in liquor, but the occasion is worth it.

“Ba,” says Ava, padding over on her teeny tiny legs, holding her arms out. “Up.”

He obliges with a hum, lifting her up with a belly full of booze. Mercedes wasn’t much of a cook, but her younger brother worked at a five-star restaurant. Emile had been instructed to cook for double the amount of guests, making a couple of small, easily-chewed dishes for the birthday girl.

Felix hums as he gives Ava a kiss. She pinches her nose when she smells his breath and he laughs, stomach contents sloshing as Ava clings to him. “Ba, wan play?”

“Not right now, sweetie,” Felix says, letting her down as gently as he can.

“Ing col’r,” Ava babbles, stunned by this revelation. “Col’r,” she reiterates, stressing the importance.

Right on time, Dimitri appears, sweeping Ava up onto his shoulders. “Ba wants to talk to our friends, okay? I’ll play with you.”

“Da, play!”

Ingrid giggles as she takes a seat. “She’s so cute.”

Felix, loosened up by a few glasses of red wine, grins like a loon. “I know, right?”

They’re three courses deep already, each better than the last. Ava is the guest of honor, but Felix is the one who’s served like a king, graced with ridiculous portions.

Grilled fish is plated with fancy garnishes and dipping sauces in ramekins. Lobsters soaked in butter are served atop macaroni and cheese on a half shell, immediately followed by fried brussels sprouts with a balsamic glaze. Felix is in food enthusiast heaven.

It’s a beautiful afternoon. Winter is set to be frigid, but it’s cozy in Mercedes’ house, warm with laughter. Ava plays with balloons and crayons, lavished with expensive presents.

Dimitri practically has to roll Felix into the car, he’s so wasted. Hilariously, he swerves wildly between grumbling about Dimitri working himself into an early grave, bitching about his horrendous lack of sleep, and spewing brainless—if bratty—devotion.

Ava giggles at Felix’s antics as Dimitri buckles her into her car seat, but her eyes are drooping; she’ll be asleep within moments. As inebriated as he is, Felix will be too.

Thus, Dimitri drives home in relative silence, playing classical music.

Rousing Felix is no easy feat. He’s unsteady as he stumbles out of the car but he makes it to the elevator in one piece, slumping against Dimitri’s shoulder.

Dimitri expects Felix to peel himself out of his outfit and toss on a skimpy pair of pajamas. Their everyday wardrobe choices have become limited in their preparation to leave, the majority of their clothes tucked away in boxes.

The moving company will be there to finish the job next weekend. Dimitri can honestly say he won’t miss this penthouse, remembering the years spent in it in depressive gloom, but he formed a lot of good memories here too. A strange, misplaced sense of nostalgia for a place he hasn’t yet left creeps into his heart.

He’s pulled from his reverie by a tight grip on his shoulder. He looks down at Felix, surprised to see he’s still awake. “Hm?”

“The scale,” Felix mumbles, cheeks flushed. “Did you already put it away?” Guiltily, Dimitri shakes his head. Felix smiles a slow, wicked smile. “Right, of course not. C’mon.”

Felix leads the way into the bathroom, turning sideways to enter comfortably. He waits for Dimitri to sit on the tub before he stands on it. He wouldn’t be able to see the numbers without leaning over, and he doesn’t trust himself to do so without falling right now.

Dimitri inhales sharply when the readout settles. “Was that a good gasp or a bad one?” Felix mutters.

“A good one, my love.” Dimitri fishes his phone out of his pants to snap a couple of photos before handing it to Felix.

307 stares back at him. Stunned, Felix blinks, eyes flicking back and forth between the numbers and his own body.

“I’m sure the majority of that is thanks to your meal. Nevertheless,” Dimitri says, squeezing him, “you’ve done it.”

Felix’s heart floats leaps into his throat. He glows with pride, tugging Dimitri into their bedroom so they can cherish the milestone together.

epilogue

Felix is sleeping in a hammock when a tiny hand slaps him. His eyes fly open immediately, parental senses set abuzz. “Ava?”

“Ba, Ba,” says his eldest, flashing a bright display in his face. “Dad was showing me some old pictures. He said this was you.”

Felix rubs muck out of his lashes before he squints at the screen, spoiling for his glasses. Eventually, he makes out a side-by-side comparison of his pregnancies. He’d been even bigger for the second than the first, nearly 360 pounds, but he’s lost a lot of weight over the past few years.

He hadn’t considered his weight loss journey any more difficult than his gaining journey, but it had been an adjustment. Still, when Felix committed to something, he committed wholeheartedly, no holds barred.

He had no interest in being as small as he had been in his twenties, though. 184 sits well on him, leaves him some wiggle room. He’s still plushy enough for Dimitri to squeeze and grope as he pleases.

Felix can hardly believe Ava’s eleven. It felt like they’d brought her home from the hospital yesterday. “Mm. Ba had to keep you and Johan safe in his tummy, so he grew.”

It’s not quite a lie. Ava doesn’t need to know about his fetish.

“You were so pretty,” Ava remarks, impressed.

Felix huffs, ruffling her hair. “What’s that supposed to mean? Has your Ba become ugly?”

“No!” Ava declares. When she pouts, she really does look like him, regardless of her bright blonde hair and blue eyes. “You look happy, s’all. S’nice.”

“Well, thank you,” Felix replies, watching as she runs off, presumably to return Dimitri’s phone.

He jumps off of the hammock spryly, grateful to have regained full mobility. That was the whole reason he stopped gaining weight, after all, frustrated by his lack of autonomy and ability to keep up with his children.

He approaches the patio with a languid yawn, scratching his chest. If he were to name one feature he missed the most after he got fit, it would be his breasts. They’re there in a minimal fashion, but nothing at all like they had been when Johan was born, overflowing in Dimitri’s palms.

Felix compensated by getting piercings, industrials through both nipples and a hooked barbell for his navel he frequently placed dangling accessories on. Dimitri appreciated all of them, tugging on them roughly enough to make Felix swear himself hoarse when they fuck.

He looks around for sounds of life, happening upon Johan’s impromptu hair salon. Johan strongly resembled Felix. Though Dimitri’s genes kept his eyes blue, his hair was dark and his jaw was soft rather than rectangular.

Currently, he’s busy twisting Dimitri’s hair into braids, cheeks puffed out in concentration. Ava drops Dimitri’s phone on his leg before she runs back out in the yard barefoot, hollering that she’s going to catch bugs.

“Ba,” Johan cries when he sees Felix enter the room, running over to cling to Felix’s legs.

“Hello, sweet boy.” Felix sweeps his son into his arms, planting a kiss on his soft hair. “You’ve done a wonderful job. We should do his nails next. Make your father put on a fashion show.”

Johan gasps, clapping with delight. “Ba, yer smart!”

When Dimitri throws him an exasperated glance, Felix smirks. “I am, aren’t I?”

Johan runs off looking for nail polish. Felix lowers himself to the floor, sliding a hand up Dimitri’s leg. “Hey.”

Dimitri leans over to kiss him, using entirely too much tongue. Horndog, Felix thinks, as if he’s any better. “Hello, my love. Did you have a nice nap?”

Felix hums. “Saw those old pictures you showed Ava. Currently lamenting the fact that dinner is gonna be bird food.”

“Why don’t you take a cheat day?” Dimitri offers, a system they’ve had in place since Felix started hitting the gym again, shedding mass like it was his job.

He licks his lips, considering. “Not a bad idea. Do you think my father would agree to watch the kids with such last-minute notice?”

Dimitri laughs. “He’d be more offended if you didn’t ask,” he says, which is true enough. Rodrigue doted on his grandchildren endlessly. When he retired two years ago, he practically begged Felix to let him watch them every other weekend, going stir crazy.

The two of them share a look, sharing a secret. Dimitri grills once his nails are dry. Felix sautées vegetables on the stove. Johan and Ava take turns pulling at his and Dimitri’s apron strings.

The meal is delicious, but the promise of what comes later sets Felix’s skin aflame.

Rodrigue picks Ava and John up around seven, giving them ample time to clean up. Felix gets changed, pulling out a flimsy, threadbare halter and a pair of tight, high-waisted shorts decorated with accent buttons.

They have a freezer in the basement, tucked away in a room with a key for occasions such as this. Dimitri defrosts something suitably cloying and extravagant, doling out a portion several times larger than Felix typically allowed himself.

“Open wide,” Dimitri says, fingers sticky as he shoves gooey slices of caramel cake into Felix’s mouth. At this size, Felix’s bloat is immediately noticeable, exacerbated by the half-gallon of chocolate milk Dimitri has him chug to rinse dessert down.

When they’re finished, Felix feels sick in the best way possible, grounded. “God, I’m full,” he groans, stifling a wet burp behind a fist.

“Yes, and lovely with it,” Dimitri muses, peeling Felix out of his trousers. His belly has only pushed his shirt up marginally, but the damage of his binge rests low. Felix’s hips never bounced back from getting knocked up twice, remaining well-rounded and voluptuous. Fat clings to them, accentuates the dome of his adorably swollen little gut.

They sit there for hours, Dimitri alternating between rubbing Felix’s belly whilst Felix rests in his lap and bedding him mercilessly. He whines as his stomach contents slosh, packed too tight for such aggressive movement.

It’s a wonderful evening all told, leaving both of them blissed out, wrung dry.

Felix wonders how on earth he got so lucky as he falls asleep, deciding it’s best not to question why.

Everything happens for a reason, he thinks, lifting Dimitri’s hand to his lips so he can plant a kiss on his ring, then he drifts off, headed for a land of heavy dreams.