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“Hey.” There was a moment of silence, and then the crackling, stackity noise of the baby monitor coming alive sounded again. “Hey.” There was another beat of silence. James sighed and didn't move, hoping against hope that Ryan would get bored and return to whatever he was doing before. “Hey!”
James slapped his arm on the nightstand and grabbed the baby monitor, fumbling for the microphone option by touch alone. “Yes, Ryan?” He gritted out. “Did you need something?”
“Of course I fucking need something. I wouldn't be,” he sucked in a deep, strained inhale, “talking to you right now otherwise.”
James pulled his face off his pillow and glanced at the alarm clock next to the monitor—4 a.m. “Ryan, I told you I wouldn't bring you snacks past 3 a.m.”
“I know,” Ryan snapped. “I'm not asking for snacks. Come here.”
James resisted the urge to scream. “Why?”
“Why?” Ryan sputtered incredulously. “You know what? Fuck - ah - you. I'll deal with it my -hah - self. Fucking stupid-” his muttering quieted to a level the baby monitor couldn’t pick up on.
James flopped his face back into the pillow and debated going back to sleep. Ryan was probably asking for more snacks. More than likely, he lost track of time, ate himself into further immobility, and got mad when he realized James wasn't horny enough to break the rules they had established weeks prior. He probably thought James would cave because their last weigh-in day had been abruptly canceled when Ryan's bed broke and James had to scramble to find a new one. Ryan probably thought James was gagging for it after that, and he wasn't wrong, but James had a chip on his shoulder the size of Ryan. What was there to enjoy about Ryan breaking his bed when Ryan wouldn't let James fuck him in the wreckage? If Ryan was going to be like that, James wouldn't break the rules for him. No, James would go back to sleep, and maybe the next time Ryan broke something, he wouldn’t be so stingy.
Except… something was off in Ryan's voice. He didn't sound like he usually did when asking for more snacks. When he wanted James to break the rules, he usually wheedled and whined, promising things he would never provide - days off, money, sex. He was breathy, sure - he was always breathy, considering he was either trying to gasp around a mouthful of food or wheeze through his heavy jowls - but this was abnormally breathy. The kind of breathy he got when he couldn't deny how good it felt to be fucked any longer, when he abandoned his natural state of being an asshole and started moaning pathetically as his body sloshed around him. Was he…? No, he couldn't be. Ryan made too much noise when he got desperate enough to try and fuck up into his fat pad; the baby monitor would have caught it. Besides, he hadn't done that in nearly six months, not since he got so heavy that even the meager motion of tensing his lower body or grabbing his stomach to try and shake it got too cumbersome. (The day Ryan admitted he was too fat to fuck himself was the day James had bought him that bedscale. How could he deny Ryan when he had so sweetly given James exactly what he wanted?) No, Ryan couldn't be jerking off, because when Ryan was riled up now, he asked for James. So far, the times he had asked had been few and far between, usually spurred on by pictures from his discord kitten in the early hours of …the…
James shot out of bed and stumbled out of his room. The hallway stretched forever as he scrambled to Ryan's room; they had finally moved, just like James had promised ages ago. Their new house was wide, sprawling, and damnably large when he was trying to get to Ryan before he decided he wouldn't let James touch him. He finally reached Ryan’s bedroom and swung the door open with a crash that made Ryan jump (as much as he could, anyway), and shout “Shit, James, what?!”
“Do you need help?” James panted.
Blush was already splashed across Ryan’s face and bleeding down towards his shoulders. Sweat dotted his brow and his hands were clenched into pudgy, ineffectual fists that kneaded uselessly at his stomach. James realized that he was trying to push his stomach down rather than fucking up into his fat. He stopped when he saw where James was looking and flushed a brighter red.
“No,” Ryan snapped. “Just go - hah - back to sleep.”
“Ryan, come on. You know I would have come if you told me you were…you know,” trying to fuck yourself went unsaid, less because James was embarrassed and more because Ryan’s fragile ego couldn’t take two hits in one night. “Let me help.”
“Fucking gooner,” Ryan grumbled. “You only care about me when you can get your dick wet. Well, too bad. You missed your chance.”
“I said I’m sorry,” James whined.
“So?” He scoffed. He went back to kneading his stomach when it rumbled unhappily. “I’m too hungry to do anything anyway.”
“Ryan, please, we agreed-”
“I’m too hungry,” Ryan repeated sharply. “Fuck off, I’m going to sleep.”
James didn’t believe him for a second - Ryan’s blush hadn’t faded and his eyes kept flicking back to his computer screen where James could see the vague outline of a pair of breasts - but he knew Ryan wouldn’t budge. Ryan always did this - found a way to force James’ hand when he wouldn’t have caved otherwise. To twist the situation so it was James stepping over the line to beg. He knew he should feel ashamed that he had been played so easily, but his determination from earlier tonight was already stamped out by his cock dripping in his shorts.
“I’ll get you something to eat,” James sighed. “Will you let me help then?”
“Depends on what you bring.” James nodded and headed back towards the kitchen.
James didn’t have the patience to cook, so he flitted around the kitchen, gathering Swiss Rolls, Rice Krispie Treats, and a couple of six-foot party subs he had bought on his last grocery run. He grabbed a two-liter of Mountain Dew Code Red to go with it (Ryan was still convinced it improved gaming performance) and hustled back to his room. He practically threw the food down on the nightstand so he could reach over and sink his fingers into Ryan’s soft, drooping stomach, but Ryan’s fat-knuckled fist batted him away before he could touch it.
“Food first!” He barked.
“Just let me fix your shirt,” James pleaded. “Then I can put the food on your chest like you like.”
“Fine,” Ryan sighed. He huffed loudly when James reached for Ryan’s shirt - ridden up so that the entire lower half of his stomach was exposed - and pulled it up even more until it only covered his hanging moobs. James picked up a moob, groaning as his fingers melted into the buttery softness, so sensitive that Ryan jolted a little when James moved them, and tucked the shirt under it. He picked up the other breast and repeated the process, pleased to see that Ryan’s shirt was already becoming damp in the hot, wet crevasse his chest created. He then ran his fingers over Ryan's chest, pretending to smooth out the shirt when he was really trying to cop a feel of those wide, puffy nipples, already peaked because of Ryan's ruined jerk-off attempt. His fingers ran over two bumps and he shoved a Swiss Roll into Ryan’s mouth before could complain about James ‘groping’ him, then set the sandwich and snacks on his chest, just above the keyboard. Finally, he adjusted the computer monitor so it obstructed Ryan’s view of James. On nights like these, it always went better when Ryan could pretend James wasn’t there at all. For Ryan, it meant he could preserve his dignity (and tenuous grasp on heterosexuality) by thinking of his discord kitten instead of James. When Ryan was focused on his girl of the month, he tended to take longer to orgasm as well, which meant James got more time to feel the results of his efforts, every new bend and fold in Ryan's body. It wasn't just the time James craved, though. It was also scorchingly hot to be ignored, borderline cucked while balls-deep in Ryan’s thick rolls. If he was lucky, Ryan might even moan the girl’s name.
“What'd she send you?” James asked, using both hands to lever up the lower roll of Ryan's stomach and reveal his fat thighs. The excess fat spilled through James’ fingers and obscured his view. From what he could see, Ryan’s thighs were melded together like a wall of flesh, dimpled with cellulite and pale, the vastness of them only broken up stretch marks that stood out like lightning scars.
“Nudes,” Ryan responded. His voice was thick, and it gave James a thrill to imagine Ryan chewing messily on a Swiss Rolls, not even considering stopping while he spoke. James wished he could tease him about it, push the boundaries like he did on weigh-in days, but the balance of nights like these was fragile.
You're such a glutton , James thought, but instead, he said “No video?”
Ryan's last girlfriend - Rose, Rebecca, something with an R - had liked to send videos. Ryan would watch them five or six times while he ate, and James would get to come once or twice himself before Ryan shoved him off. To James, it seemed like the mindless stimulation of eating had finally been mixed irrevocably with sex in Ryan’s mind, so that he couldn’t do one without the other, and the feeling of being full and being fucked was the same. James had a theory that if he gave Ryan enough food and enough porn, he could fuck him for hours, just twisting up lust and hunger until Ryan's bulging stomach was as sensitive as the tortured head of his penis. He hadn't quite managed to make it work yet, though, mostly because Ryan was (ridiculously) something of a romantic at heart, and only jerked off to nudes of women he had ‘gotten to know’ first. Because there was no wealth of porn featuring women Ryan knew online, the sex was always shorter with pictures - if the picture wasn't scandalous enough, or Ryan couldn't get another picture before he finished his food, James might not get to cum at all. He'd have to get rid of this girl quickly and hope the next one had fewer reservations. Or maybe he could get back Raven - the photo of Ryan's cum drenched stomach he sent while Ryan was sleeping wasn't that bad, right?
“Just shut up and fuck me,” Ryan snapped. Above him, James could hear Ryan shift slightly as he tried to lift the party sub without spilling it all over himself.
“Got it,” James responded.
“Clearly fucking,” Ryan paused, took a big bite, chewed through the second half of the phrase, “not. U're schill talking.” James rolled his eyes and didn't respond. He moved his hand to tug down his zipper and more of Ryan's expansive stomach spilled back down into the space. James loved watching Ryan's body move - like an avalanche or a mudslide, unstoppable, ever-changing. James had made that change. Ryan had started it, yes, and he was the one who did the eating, but it was James who cooked and shopped and cleaned him up, who did everything so he could grow larger and lazier until the only parts of him that had to move were his fingers, his lips, and the wobbling cascade of his blubber.
James groaned quietly and fished his dick out of his underwear, shoving them and his pants off and leaving him standing in a nightshirt and socks. It was a nice compliment to Ryan, who was wearing only his damp shirt, his headset, and the largest pair of compression stockings James could find. James could see Ryan licking the oil and vinegar off his fingers if he craned his neck, but when he did, Ryan demanded he adjust the screen, so instead he imagined Ryan's greasy, fat lips pulling his fingers into his mouth, searching for any morsel, any calorie left behind in his endless quest of gluttony. “Shit-” he moaned, and Ryan snapped at him to shut up again.
James huffed. Well, there were things he could do to Ryan outside of the realm of imagination, and those things usually got Ryan to stop caring if James was panting or moaning ‘too loudly’. He dropped the soft, endless spill of Ryan’s stomach - Ryan moaned when the motion jolted his fupa into movement - and bent down below the bed. He pulled two yoga blocks out from under it and maneuvered Ryan so the ends of his stomach were propped up by the foam blocks. His fat spilled over either edge of the bed this way, and his stomach resembled a collapsing bridge - elevated on both edges and drooping in the middle. Despite the nine-inch blocks holding up either side of Ryan's stomach, the center of his belly still flowed down toward the bed and obscured James’ view of Ryan’s fupa. Like this, however, it would only take one hand to lift Ryan's belly out of the way, and the other would be free to-
“Fuck!” Ryan yelped. James grinned and readjusted his hand so that it gripped Ryan's cock harder. Ryan always reacted with shock when James touched his cock, and there was good reason for that; when they had first met, half of James’ hand had sunk into Ryan's unkempt fupa before he managed to fumble at his dick's head, and his fat pad had only gotten larger and more unmanageable over the years. Now, James’ hand was buried up to his wrist inside the hot, wet, slightly scratchy cavern of Ryan's fupa. (James had tried to convince Ryan to let him shave it a million times, complaining about the beard-burn-like rash that had spread up his hand. Ryan had only rolled his eyes and said there were other ways to get him off if James was so sensitive.) A dirty shudder went through James when he imagined the day he would have to give up on jerking Ryan off forever, when no matter how deep he tried to reach, no matter how many yoga blocks he stacked up, it just wouldn't be practical to try. On that day, James thinks he'd force Ryan to shave. What better way to soothe the sting of losing his dick than to break in his brand-new pussy?
James jerked Ryan faster and they moaned in unison. The glide got easier and easier as time went on and Ryan got wetter, his precum smoothing out the friction his sparse pubic hair created. Beyond the monitor, James could hear Ryan chewing loudly, grunting in pleasure, and swallowing heavily.
“Want-” he wheezed, “-my drink.”
“Can't it wait?” James whined. His cock was practically drooling onto Ryan's thick, deliciously fuckable thighs, and he was trying to find a way to get between them while jerking Ryan off and maintaining his balance.
“No,” Ryan rasped. “Gonna - hah - choke.”
“Fine,” James sighed. He pulled his hand out of Ryan's fupa and watched as his belly sank back into place. Ryan moaned at the increased pressure surrounding his dick but stayed firm. James walked stiffly past the monitor, picked up the Code Red from the table, and unscrewed it. “Do you want me to hand you the bottle, or do you want the funnel?” He asked. Ryan gestured a pudgy, greasy hand towards the funnel.
Ryan's funnel was a kitchen funnel connected to a long, clear plastic hose. They usually used it for night-time feedings where Ryan was feeling especially lazy or lunches where he couldn't pull his hands away from his game for even a second. Ryan claimed he hated it, but he always caved easily when James suggested it, and James loved pouring dense shakes down the funnel, imagining the liquid dripping down the tube, into his throat, and settling onto Ryan's frame second by second. They had never done soda before, but James wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He placed the hose in Ryan's mouth and started slowly pouring the Code Red into the funnel. He watched Ryan's throat bob, his face growing redder and redder until he waved his arm again and James eased off.
“Better?” James asked.
“Bett-URP,” Ryan belched in agreement. He pressed a pudgy fist down into his stomach and burped again. “‘M good,” he sighed. His eyes were already off of James and back on the computer monitor - it seemed like he had convinced this new girl to send him a video after all. James reached across Ryan's moobs and pressed another Swiss Roll into his mouth. Ryan chewed mindlessly, still pawing at his stomach with one hand as he watched the girl on the screen slide her bra off. He swallowed, burped again, and said nothing as James pushed in another swiss roll. James inched closer, so slow that he wondered if he was even moving at all, so slow that he hoped Ryan didn't notice him moving at all until he could tuck his dick in between the two huge rolls of Ryan's side. Ryan swallowed again as the girl on screen moaned, and James moved the top half of his body lower and lower until his lips brushed Ryan's clothed nipples. Ryan jolted, but James held the Code Red back up to his lips before he could complain.
“ Uuh, Ryan, ” the girl on screen gasped. “Send me something back.” James managed to swallow his laugh, but he couldn't hold back his moan when Ryan lifted his arm to type a response and his arm fat settled on top of James’ head. It felt like heaven to be smothered between Ryan's hot, supple moobs and his cellulite-riddled upper arm fat. James took his chance and laved his tongue across Ryan's clothed nipple, soaking the fabric even more before he bit down.
“Stop that!” Ryan snapped. James mumbled something that was lost in the layers of adipose tissue. He bit down again and Ryan moaned weakly. “Don't be a - hah - asshole. Shove - hah - off.”
James mumbled an excuse he was certain Ryan wouldn't be able to understand. He was pushing his dick into Ryan's fat faster now that he was caught, a stuttering jack-rabbit rhythm he hoped would bring him to climax before Ryan kicked him out or he lost consciousness. It was hot and dark and wet in between Ryan's fat, and James panting was sucking up all the air, leaving behind nothing but CO2 and the smell of sweat. His vision might have been going spotty. Ryan did this, sometimes - keeping him under until he almost blacked out to “punish” James; James wasn't going to tell Ryan that it was his favorite of all Ryan's nonsensical, petty forms of revenge.
Finally, Ryan lifted his arm off of James's head and pushed a chubby hand into James’ face to shove him off. “You're like a - hah - fucking dog,” Ryan snarled. “You slobbered all over me. Go away.”
“No, please,” James begged. He was still fucking into the deep crevasse Ryan's side rolls made, sweat and precum mixing to make a frictionless slide that was almost mind-numbingly good. James held the soda up to Ryan's mouth, trying to distract him, but Ryan turned away. He pushed James’ hips away and James whined like the dog Ryan said he was. He took a last glance at the computer - Ryan had typed up some excuse about his camera being broken - and slunk back down behind the monitor. He was so hard his penis was almost purple, humiliation and denial and the fuzzy rush of restored oxygen fizzing inside him like Ryan's Code Red. James hefted Ryan's stomach again and settled his cock between Ryan's thighs. He had barely thrust a few times when he heard the sound of a crinkling wrapper from above and Ryan’s discord kitten whispered a familiar, lilting ‘I hope you liked it’ , that James just now realized was the end of the video.
James’ fragile hopes crashed and burned.
He should have paid more attention. If he had looked around rather than trying to smother himself to death in Ryan's moobs, he might have noticed him finishing the sandwich. If he hadn’t been so busy fucking into Ryan's side, he might have realized the video had ended and restarted multiple times before. If he hadn't been so desperate to finish, he might have noticed the creamy splash of cum that had seeped out of Ryan’s fupa and spilled across his thighs. Frantically, James shoved his face into Ryan's stomach and started thrusting madly into his thighs.
“Get off,” Ryan huffed. James licked into Ryan's belly button and moaned pitifully. “I -hah - said get off. I'm going to,” he stopped to pant, “bed.”
“Ryan-” he begged.
“ Off !”
James pulled his aching dick out from between Ryan's thighs and pulled his underwear back on. He shuffled towards the front of the bed and collected the debris from off of Ryan, shooting him mournful glances the entire time. Ryan's chest was heaving, moobs bouncing and chins tripling and quadrupling rapidly as his fat rose and fell.
“Must have been a good one,” James muttered. “What did it?”
Ryan ignored him entirely. “Need,” he gasped, “CPAP. Then - hah - fuck - hah - off.”
“Did she do something sexy? Or was it something else?” James asked, a little spitefully. Ryan never let him play with his moobs because he went off like a rocket every time. Ryan refused to admit it, though, and if James was going to be blue-balled at the last second, he thought he deserved to bring up a little of Ryan's dirty laundry.
“CPAP,” Ryan repeated. James pulled the machine out from Ryan's nightstand drawer and set it up next to him. He cleaned off Ryan’s sweaty, food-stained face and settled the mask in place. Ryan's breathing gradually settled back to normal, the rhythmic noise of the CPAP and his exhaustion lulling him into a quick sleep. His eyes fluttered closed and James imagined slipping his still-hard cock into Ryan’s fat and fucking him, slowly and gently so he didn't wake up, nibbling at the straps of the CPAP all the while. He imagined pulling it off so Ryan gasped awake right as James came, so his face turned cherry red with oxygen-deprivation and anger and he had no choice but to watch James paint him with stripes of cum. He did nothing but ghost his fingers over the CPAP mask, though, because he didn't really want to wake Ryan up. He loved when Ryan got like this - when Ryan treated him like a sex toy and denied him even the most basic pleasure because it was inconvenient to him. It was infinitely hotter to jerk off into his clammy fist than to mess with Ryan’s unconscious body because when he was alone and unsatisfied, the zing of Ryan’s ire still danced through him. Still - a guy could hope.
“Ryan? Do you need anything before I go?” James asked.
Ryan snorted awake and frowned at James. “Did you cum?” He asked back. James shook his head. Ryan sighed long-sufferingly and tugged up his shirt. “Go on, then,” Ryan huffed. “Sheila is always saying I should be nicer to my assistant.”
James grinned. Maybe this girl could stay after all.