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Записи с темой: боль в животе (список заголовков)
03:21 

EvilStufferSebastian
Сегодня у нас явно тема мультиков перед сном :vo:

Любимый кинковый момент в любимом мультике детства )

Мульт: "Динозаврики-малыши"
Серия: "Тебя найдут по крошкам"

zserials.tv/multserialy/dino-babies.php



@темы: Bloated Tummy, Bellyache, Belly Kink, Stuffing, Tummyache, Боль в животе, Видео, Динозаврики, Кино, Стаффинг, мульт

01:09 

EvilStufferSebastian
14:22 

lock Доступ к записи ограничен

OneWildNight
Закрытая запись, не предназначенная для публичного просмотра

01:00 

EvilStufferSebastian
16:01 

EvilStufferSebastian
Аниме: "Ди Грей Мен"

Персонаж: Аллен Волкер


















@темы: Живот, Ди Грей Мен, Боль в животе, Аниме, Аллен Волкер, screencaps, Tummyache, D.Gray-Man, Belly Kink, Anime, Allen Walker, Картинки

12:40 

EvilStufferSebastian
Аниме: "Киба"
Серия: 29
Персонаж: Робэс



















@темы: Картинки, Живот, Боль в животе, Стаффинг, Аниме, screencaps, Tummyache, Kiba, Bloating, Bloated Tummy, Bellyache, Belly Kink, Anime

12:02 

EvilStufferSebastian
ficbook.net/readfic/5045318


Виктор, как обычно, без спроса открыл комнату. Юрио лежал на кровати, не подавая признаков жизни. Блондин лежал под одеялом с головой.
- Юрио, ты проспал тренировку! – громко заметил Виктор с привычным весельем в голосе. В ответ издался полустон-полувздох, Юрио повернулся к нему лицом, с силой разлепив глаза. Вид у него был измученный, как будто он вообще не спал, подросток лежал, скукожившись, а руки он держал на животе.
- Юрио, ты заболел? – обеспокоенно спросил Виктор, присаживаясь на край кровати и трогай лоб блондина. – Горячий!
- Я встану на тренировку, - решительно сказал Юрио, закрывая глаза, всё его лицо пылало от жара. - Мне нужно немного времени.
- У тебя болит живот? – Виктор наклонился над Юрио и потянулся к органу, который мог болеть. – Я поглажу тебе его!
- Если ты прикоснешься ко мне…. – Юрио замер на полуфразе, когда руки Виктора обхватили его живот, - я тебя урою, - закончил он.
Но, не в силах брыкаться, Юрио только повернул голову на бок, задыхаясь от жара.
- Потом урою, когда выздоровею.
- Не бойся, котёночек, я ничего тебе не сделаю, - Виктор приподнял одеяло и залез к Юрио в постель, обнимая его за живот и прижимая к себе. Юрио бил озноб.
- Тебе очень холодно, da?
Но Юрио не ответил.

***

Пытаясь найти всех, Кацуки открыл дверь спальни Юрио. Он уже проверил комнату Виктора: никого. Тёмноволосый спортсмен очень удивился, когда увидел Виктора и Юрио спящих вместе. Приглядевшись к лицу Юрио, он понял, что у того температура, и почему Виктор залез к нему в постель, зная Виктора и его странные способы реагирования на ситуации...
- Виктор! – Юри тормошил его за плечи. – Ты знаешь, какая температура у Юрио?
- М? – разлепил глаза Виктор. – Net, - сказал он спросонья на русском и стал тереть глаза, приподнявшись. Юрио рядом тяжело дышал, его лицо было красным от жара.
- Сейчас, - Юри убежал из комнату и принёс термометр. Чёрная полоска была «приклеена» ко лбу Юрио, и короткий «бип-бип» сообщил, что у Плисецкого 38,5.
Катсуки сказал эту цифру Виктору, который бросил взгляд на заболевшего подростка. Юрио провалился в сон.
- Nuzhno sbit' temperaturu. Ya seichas, - сказал Виктор на родном ещё в полудрёме, - нет, Юри, я сам, - он вылез из постели и пошёл на кухню за аптечкой.

Пока Виктора не было, Юри наклонился над спящим Юрио и прикоснулся к его лбу.
«Такой горячий, - подумал Юри. – Как же он будет завтра выступать?!»
Кацуки действительно волновался за друга. Пропустить соревнование только из-за болезни это ужасно, Юрио всегда так старался. Он очень усиленно тренировался и всегда пинал Юри за то, что тот отлынивает.
«В каком-то смысле, наверное, я ему благодарен», - подумал Кацуки. Виктор вернулся с жаропонижающими таблетками и стаканом воды, открыл пачку, взял таблетку в ладонь, а стакан тёплой воды поставил на тумбочку, присел на кровать и стал будить Юрио.
-Yurio, kotionochek, nado skushat' tabletku, - Виктор говорил на русском, он приподнял Юрио на кровати.
Юрио издал тяжёлый выдох и разлепил уставшие глаза.
-Menia ot etogo vyrvet, idiot, - прогремел он в ответ на родном языке, сполз обратно, отвернулся от Виктора на бок и закрылся с головой одеялом.
- Кажется, он не хочет, чтобы мы его трогали, - заключил Юри, понимая всё по реакции Юрио.
- Похоже на то, - перешёл Виктор, наконец, на японский, - но мы его вылечим, у него завтра соревнование, - с этими словами, тепло улыбнувшись, Виктор положи таблетку на тумбочку, обнял Юрио сзади за живот и прижал к себе.
- Юри, он весь дрожит, - сказал он, - ложись тоже.
- Я-а-а-а?! – Юри опешил, смутившись.
- Ложись-ложись, ему нужно, чтобы кто-то его согрел и отдал своё тепло.
Кацуки, ничего не говоря и всё ещё пребывая в ступоре от такой непосредственности Виктора, лёг с другой стороны, искренне надеясь, что Юрио его не загрызёт, как проснётся.

***
Юрио катался на льду. Когда он проснулся среди двоих, он опешил и хотел прибить обоих, но потом понял, что лучше будет потратить эти силы на тренировку.
«Немного тяжело, - думал он, чувствуя жар и выполняя флип. – Трудно сосредоточиться»
- Юрио, что ты тут делаешь? – Плисецкий услышал знакомый голос, и повернул голову, увидев злобного Виктора. – Я же тебе сказал оставаться в постели.
- Я этого не помню! – запротестовал Юрио. – Мне нужно тренироваться!
- Юрио, ты же болеешь, - сказал Виктор, подходя ближе. – Тебе нужен постельный режим!
- Мне нужна золотая медаль! – огрызнулся неуправляемый подросток, оступился и чуть не упал. – Свали с катка, ты меня отвлекаешь! – выпалил Юрио, и где-то внутри в нём кольнуло страхом, что он это сказал собственному тренеру, ради которого приехал в Японию и которого сам же просил научить его.
Виктор вздохнул.
- Ладно, - сказал он по-доброму, - три круга – и ты идёшь в постель, котёночек! – сказал он достаточно настойчиво для того, чтобы Юрио согласился.
- Не называй меня так! Хорошо.

***

Юрио снимал коньки, Виктор прикоснулся к его лбу, застав Юрио врасплох, иначе бы точно получил коньком в глаз.
- Жар начал спадать, - заметил Виктор. – А теперь в постель! У тебя есть 3 часа сна перед следующей тренировкой!
- Угу, - буркнул Юрио, и они вместе вернулись домой.

@темы: Юрий Плисецкий, Юрий Кацуки, Юри на льду, Фанфикшн, Живот, Виктор Никифоров, Боль в животе, Аниме, Yuuri Katsuki, Yuri on Ice, Yuri Plisetsky, Viktor Nikiforov, Bloated Tummy, Belly Kink, Anime

03:31 

Локи требует полного внимания!

EvilStufferSebastian
archiveofourown.org/works/6286792?view_adult=tr...

Название: Локи требует полного внимания!
Автор: auntieomega
Переводчик: EvilStufferSebastian
Summary:
Когда Локи понял, что Брюс его игнорирует, он решил наказать своего любовника и сьесть все, что Брюс приготовил для вечеринки на работе. Но месть сладка, особенно в виде бдсм и тортика.



Живот Локи пробурчал, в то время как сам Локи мрачно надулся, перекрестив руки на груди; остановившись за рабочим креслом Брюса.
- Я голодный. Когда ты собираешься сделать что-то поесть? - Локи оставил все попытки быть лапушкой час назад. Его любовник просто бессердеченый -и он больше не может этого терпеть!
Брюс даже не выглянул, погрузившись в свой ноут.
- Локи, извини. Серьезно. Но в миллиардный раз, я должен закончить это. Это важно.
- Это что, важнее меня? - хотя, Локи знал, что он не должен ревновать к каким-то там документам, но он ревновал. Брюс души в нем не чаял, и Локи к этому привык. Он как будто расцветал, когда получал внимание, и нуждался в нем, как розы нуждаются в дожде. Брюс игнорировал его уже не менее трёх часов. Как можно было ожидать от Локи, что он вынесёт ещё, если никто не заботится о каждой его потребности и не говорит ему, насколько он непривзойденный и чудесный? Как раз этот момент Брюс вздохнул и развернулся, чтобы посмотреть на него.
- Конечно же, нет. Ничто не может быть важнее тебя.
- Хорошо. В таком случае выключи эту гадость и обрати внимание на меня, - он повадился стукнуть по ноуту, но, к сожалению, Брюс блокировал удар.
- Сломать мой планшет тебе недостаточно? Тебе нужно сломать все мои вещи?
Локи бросил в него гневный взгляд:
- Это привлечет твоё внимание?
- Локи, - Брюс вымолвил его имя очень нежно, - я люблю тебя, но эти документы важны для меня. Если ты любишь меня, для тебя это тоже должно быть важно.
Локи оценивающе посмотрел на своего ученого.
- Я голоден.
Брюс на секунду опустил голову и покачал ей, потом вернулся к своему печатанию.
- На верхней полке холодильника осталась еда. Подогрей что-то себе.
Локи не спешил, мысленно вонзая кинжалы в холодную, нелюбящую голову Брюса, а точнее - в ее затылок. Впрочем, его урчащий живот напомнил ему, что он и в самом деле был голоден, поэтому он вылетел из кабинета, прошагал на кухню, и с размаху открыл холодильник. Остатки. Бэ. Боги не едят остатков.
А потом он увидел на второй полке большой противень с яично-овощными рулетами, которые Брюс сделал раньше в этот же день. Их было две дюжины, а приготовление заняло у Брюса почти все утро. Локи знал, что они предназначены для праздника, где каждый приносит угощение с собой - и все это для работы Брюса, но Локи не понимал, как две дюжины спасут празднование
Он вытащил противень, поставил его на стол, и открыл крышку. Локи начал есть. Он не позаботился о том, чтобы нагреть рулеты, они и холодными были хороши. Хрустящие и солёные: Локи мог практически попробовать всю ту нежность, которую Брюс вложил в них, готовя. Он ел, словно поглощал любовь Брюса. К тому времени, когда Локи сьел четыре рулета, его аппетит был удовлетворен. Но его потребность - нет. Локи начал есть пятый рулет, чувствую себя тем, кто мстит и наносит возмездие. Брюс заслужил прочувствовать на себе гнев бога зла. Полный решимости, Локи собрался съесть их все!
Первая дюжина пошла довольно легко. Он чувствовал, как живот растянулся, но яичные рулеты были очень вкусны. Особенно Локи нравилась капуста, приятная и хрустящая. Со второй дюжиной так просто было не управиться. Локи торжественно освободил одну из бутылок бельгийского эля из холодильника и налил себе стакан. Он был замечательный, с густой кремовой пенкой. Бутыль вмещала всего два стакана, так что ему надо было открывать вторую.

Он уничтожил следующую дюжину яичных рулетов в приятном забытие эля. Несмотря на то, что он ужасно наелся, он чувствовал себя прекрасно.
Локи подумывал над тем, что еще он может такого сьесть, чтобы помучить Брюса. Его живот начал булькать, когда он оставил стул, чтобы осуществить набег на буфет. Живот издал громкий, рычащий звук. Локи успокаивал свой выпучившийся живот настойчивым поглаживанием.
Это миссия. Здесь нет места нытью. Не время страху. Только сладкая, сладкая победа... и бруни! Шоколадно-тыквенные бруни! И глупый Брюс, который любил дурацкие документы больше, чем Локи - да, он выразился по-другому, но его действия говорят сами за себя - попытался их укрыть в миске. Локи даже не стал садиться, чтобы сьесть их. Он унес жизни половины из них, стоя и возвышаясь над миской, и оставил выживших на столе, чтобы они поведали об этом.
Локи не мог сидеть на стуле, потому что штаны слишком давили. В конце концов, он решил, что они черезчур давили даже в стоячем положении, поэтому он их снял и оставил на полу в кухне.
Локи усмехнулся сам себе: Брюс ненавидел, когда он расбрасывал свою одежду. Его усмешка изменилась на сморщенное выражение лица, когда живот начало болезненно крутить. Он закрыл глаза и погладил живот, который болел. Он мог наложить исцеляющее заклинание, но решил так не делать. Боль была сильной и настоящей, ему это нравилось.
Локи неохотно доедал бруни, пока ждал Брюса из его кабинета. Он ждал и ждал. Ничего от бруни не осталось, а Брюс до сих пор не пришел.
Живот Локи вёл его к кабинету Брюса. У Локи немного кружилась голова и ему было в целом неочень хорошо, но мысль о том, чтобы позлить Брюса подталкивала его к победе!
- Я заканчиваю, - проговорил Брюс, не отрываясь от своей работы. Локи приблизился к нему и помахал своим животом перед лицом Брюса. Брюс начал отпихивать его, и, вместо этого, нашупал огромный круглый живот Локи. Не отрывая глаза от Локи, одной рукой он закрыл ноут. Локи схватил другую руку и положил на свой переполненный живот.
- Мне нужна та, вторая, тоже, - он сказал. Локи облегченно вздохнул, ощущая блаженство от того, что Брюс машинально начал поглаживать божественный живот двумя руками.
-Я и не представлял, что у нас осталось столько еды, - проговорил Брюс с широко открытыми глазами.
Локи фыркнул:
- Я не ел остатки.
- Локи, что ты натворил? - хотя, по голосу Брюс терял самообладание, он не прекращал гладить. Локи рассказал ему все. Он наслаждался вспышками страха и негодования, которые играли на лице Брюса. И всё же Брюс не прекращал гладить живот Локи.
- Ты в порядке? - наконец, спросил Брюс.
- Я прекрасно, - и действительно, благодаря поглаживаниям он чувствовал себя намного лучше.
-Ты прекрасно. Конечно, ты всегда прекрасен, - Брюс улыбнулся, и Локи одобрил это прозрение. - Весь день ты жаждал моего внимания, - заговорил Брюс. - Теперь оно твое. Давай сыграем.
Локи вожделенно заёрзал, он начал возбуждаться, когда его любовник прикоснулся к нему. Брюс обвёл рукой вокруг тела Локи и шлёпнул по заднице.
- Ты был очень непослушным богом. Я должен наказать тебя.
- Люди не наказывают богов.
- Они наказывают - в этой квартире, - Брюс прошелся пальцем по резинке трусов Локи. - Сними то, что на тебе одето.
- Почему ты не снимешь их с меня?
- Потому что тебе это понравится, а ты наказан, помнишь? - Брюс оставил стол вместе с Локи, чтобы подвесить черный слинг из кожи и металла. Когда он поднял глаза на Локи, он сказал:
- Черт, ты выглядишь восхитительно.
Локи засиял. Брюс начал осматривать слинг.
- Наложи противорвотное заклинание.
- Зачем? - Локи спросил осторожно.
- Потому что тебе это понадобится.
Как только Локи наложил заклинание, Брюс помог ему влезть в подвесную конструкцию из жгутов и ремней. В конструкции имелись толстые ремни, которые поддерживали грудь и бедра, но оставляли дыру для его голого живота; в ней так же была дыра для гениталий и приспособления для того, чтобы закрепить его руки за спиной. После проделанной работы, Локи свисал где-то на треть метра от пола, так, как, если бы летел; его раздутое пузо касалось ковра.
А потом Брюс исчез. Если это было частью наказания, Локи совсем это не радовало. Все же, Брюс вернулся и сел, скрестив ноги, перед головой Локи. У него с собой была вилка и огромный шоколадный торт.
- Откуда у нас шоколадный торт?
- Я спрятал кое-что от тебя, сладкоежка. Это от Дианы за то, что мы присмотрели за Бастером , пока она была в Белизе. А сейчас тебе придется сьесть этот торт. Весь. Потому что ты плохой, плохой Локи, - он протянул вилку к губам Локи. Локи ел с удовольствием. Он поглощал кусок за куском, и с тортом было практически покончено.
Брюс убрал волосы Локи с лица и лизнул крем с его губ. Локи отвернул голову, чтобы тот не успел его поцеловать.
- Ты ООС, - он шикнул. - Ты должен меня наказывать.
Довольный, Брюс отпрял от него и сказал:
- Заткнись и ешь свой торт, Локи.
Когда торта не стало, Локи почувствовал тяжесть в животе. Его живот провисал еще ниже, чем перед этим, выделяясь по сравнению со стройной фигурой, спина прогибалась под ним.
После того, как торт был сьеден, Брюс притащил попкорн и скормил ему с рук. За этим последовал большой стакан водки с тоником. Локи чувствовал, что его существенно раздуло. Хотя, он был довольно пьян, но боль в брюхе стала сильно ощущаться. Вместо игривой боли, теперь была сплошная, сдавливающая боль. Должно быть, это отразилось на его лице, потому что Брюс одарил его поцелуем, потом передвинулся в сторону и начал гладить раздувшийся живот Локи и поглаживать его член. Локи нежно постанывал, довольный. Немного погодя ему стало лучше, но Брюс ушел, чтобы принести еще еды, это расстраивало. Живот Локи был мучительно набит и нуждался в том, чтобы его еще погладили. Локи ожидал, что наказание сегодняшнего вечера подходит к концу.
В этот раз Брюс вернулся с огромнейшим пирогом, украшенным клубникой.
- Как это называется? - спросил Локи, воодушевленный и напуганный водночасье.

- Клубничный чизкейк. Это от Карлы за то, что мы поливали цветы, пока она была в Чикаго. И сейчас каждый его кусочек спуститься по твоему чудесному горлу, - он протолкнул вилку с куском торта в рот Локи.
Локи содрогнулся. Торт был вкусен, но намного жирнее, чем всё, что готовил Брюс.
- Это не тофу...
- Это сливочный сыр, который должен внушать тебе страх. Я думаю, тебе понравится.
- Я не думаю, что он нравится мне сейчас, - большой кусок чизкейка. - Брюс, я... - ещё больший кусок чизкейка. - Я должен оста... - ещё чизкейка.
Локи начал протестовать опять, а Брюс схватил его за волосы и отдернул назад так, что Локи прогнулся в спине, а затем взял кусок торта в руку и накормил Локи.
- Плохой, плохой Локи ест плохой, плохой чизкейк.
Локи взвыл. В такой позиции он чувствовал ужасное давление за своим пупком. Он был уверен, что лопнет в любой момент. Он хотел обхватить и погладить больной живот, но его руки были завязаны за спиной. Он не мог ничего сделать, кроме как висеть, поглощая кусок за куском этого жирного сливочного чизкейка.
- У меня живот болит, - решился сказать Локи. - Он ужасно болит. Я больше не могу...
Брюс взглянул на Локи, сосредоточенный на его губах.
- Ты прорвешься.
Локи чувствовал, что сейчас он прорвется... его внутренности прорвутся. Им еще нужно было вместить в себя половину чизкейка. Локи запаниковал.
- Адено... - чизкейк. - Аденози... - чизйкейк. - Чертов придурок, ты знаешь, что я соби... еще долбанный чизкейк. - Аденози Три... - чизкейк. В этот раз с клубникой на ногу: - АТП, ты, придурок!

Брюс бросил взгляд на Локи, держа кусочек чизкейка в руке:
"Сокращения недоступимы. Ты согласился на это. Ты знаешь правила" - он размазал чизкейк по губам Локи, раздвигая их и помогая себе пальцами протолкнуть торт внутрь.

Это последнее предательство разрушило Локи. Он висел в тихой, бесшумной агонии, принимая в себя кусок за куском жуткого торта. Он был покорным и послушным, но выступившие слёзы в глазах что-то говорили...

Брюс нагнулся, поймал слезинку своим языком и прошептал на ухо Локи: "Аденозин Трифосфат. Локи, я не могу тебя наказывать, когда ты плачешь"

"Какой смысл иметь безопасное слово, если ты игнорируешь меня, когда я пытаюсь его сказать?"

Брюс отсел и начал слизывать крем с пальцев.
"Ты прав. Я заигрался. И думал, что ты тоже играешь со мной"
Его чистая рука поглаживала лицо Локи.
"Ох, Локки, мне очень жаль..."

"Ты прощён, - сказал нехотя Локи. - Я полагаю, я понимаю, почему ты так заигрался. Тебе так нравится меня кормить. И я очень сексуален"
Брюс широко ухмыльнулся.

"Да, ты очень сексуален"

"Конкретно сейчас я так же очень "больной". А ты ничего не делаешь с этим. Ты просто сидишь там и обсасываешь свои долбаные пальцы, когда ты должен был позаботиться обо мне"

Брюс ничего не сказал, но подвинуося в сторону Локи.
"Ты превосходен с этого угла. Не могу поверить, насколько ты большой"
Его пальцы царапали раздувшийся живот Локи. Вдруг его язык был в Локином пупке.
"Ммм, - вымолвил Брюс. - Я могу просидеть здесь всю ночь, обсасывая твой пупок, пока он не станет чувствительным и набухшим.
"Это не звучит так же эротично, как ты думаешь"

"Бедный Локи. Давай вытащим тебя из этих ремней"
Как только Локи был свободен и мог увидеть себя сам, он понял, почему Брюс пришёл в такое восхищение. Его, обычно плоский, живот выперся в массивный бугор, который начинался как раз под слингом и заканчивался над его пахом. Он не только не мог видеть своих ступней, он еле видел свой член.
Он нуждался в Брюсе, который бы ему помог добраться до спальни. Брюс подпёр его тело подушками, затем умостился на кровать рядом. Он гладил живот Локи концентрическими кругами, ненадолго останавливаясь, чтобы поцеловать.
"Любимый Локи, - он прошептал. - Хороший Локи"

Локи нравилось, когда ему поглаживали живот даже, когда он чувствовал себя хорошо; он обожал, когда ему гладят живот, когда он болит. Он издавал вздохи, стоны и корчился под прикосновениями Брюса. Когда прикосновения стали жёстче, Локи издал звук, похожий на урчание, а его член стал напряжённым.

Брюс начал вдавливать костяшки пальцев и постукивать ими о грудь Локи.

"Это почти больно, - отреагировал Локи, резко простонав, как только Брюс задействовал больше давления на верх живота.

"Что ты делаешь?"

"Пытаюсь открыть твою третью чакру"

"Почему мы не оставим её закрытой?.. - он начал задыхаться. - Подожди... - странное ощущение наполнило всё его тело. Он как будто почувствовал оргазм у себя в животе.

"Ох, ох, Брюс, чёрт..."
Он не представлял, что его трясёт, пока он не остановился.

"Тут расположена нейронная сеть", - Брюс сказал в духе обьяснения, он убрал свою руку и начал покрывать поцелуями верх живота Локи.

После чего его голова практически исчезла, и Локи, до сих пор наслаждавшийся ощущением, издал довольный стон, как только горячий влажный рот накрыл его пульсирующий член
Брюс сосал член Локи, одновременно массажирая Локин вздувшийся живот, останавливаясь, чтобы поласкать бедра под ним. Локи больше не чувствовал боли. Каждый выпирающий дюйм его тела купался в роскоши наслаждения.

В момент, когда Локи был близок, Брюс остановился, Локи издал недовольный рык. Он затих, когда почувствовал, как язык Брюса кружит вокруг его дырочки.
"Д-да", - сказал он шёпотом, когда язык вошёл в него. Ему перехватило дыхание, когда пальцы заменили язык. В то время как пальцы Брюса расстягивали дырочку Локи, губы Брюса вернулись, чтобы поклоняться его члену. Когда Брюс перестал сосать, Локи вытянулся, чтобы достать лубрикант с прикроватной тумбочки и бросил им в голову Брюсу.
"Смазка"

"Спасибо, Локи", - раздражённо ответил Брюс. Он погрузил несколько смоченных лубрикантом пальцев в Локи, скользя внутри него.

"Ты не ведёшь себя как плохой мальчик, не так ли?"
Локи одарил его злобным взглядом в ответ.
"Потому что я собирался трахнуть тебя очень нежно и деликатно, чтобы не тормошить твой большой красивый животик, но если ты плохой, плохой, непослушый Локи, я вынужден буду трахать тебя жёстко и грязно и заставлю тебя скакать по всей кровати".

Локи оглянулся в поисках того, чем бы ещё в него запустить. Ничего не найдя в ближайшей досягаемости, он взглядом наткнулся на голову Брюса возле своей ступни, и хихикнул. Брюс навис над ним и стал неистово щекотать.
Локи проревел: "Стоп. Остановись. Не надо, - Локи вымолвил, не дыша. - Я так полон еды"
"Я знаю. И будешь даже наполненнее через секунду"

Локи кратко рассмеялся, его дыхание прервалось, когда Брюс всунул член глубоко в него. Живот Локи сильно бурлил. Он начал пересматривать своё решение быть плохим Локи. Он придерживал своё пузо, когда ещё один резкий толчек врывался в его набухшие внуренности. Рука Брюса присоединилась к его собственной и нежно поглаживала. Не взирая на угрозы Брюса перед этим, он замедлил темп и стал массажировать огромный живот Локи, пока они занимались любовью.

Обычно Локи был очень активным во время секса. В его нынешнем положении, однако, он не мог ничего больше сделать, как лежать и принимать. В каком-то смысле это было так же, как быть связанным ремнями. Он был зависим и уязвим. И всё же Брюс, который доминировал, кажется, хотел только любить и ублажать Локи.

Брюс скользил по члену Локи, лаская его головку. Они с Локи кончили одновременно.
Брюс упал рядом с Локи. Локи погладил его по лицу и вздохнул.
"Извини, что я съел все твои рулеты" - он сказал немного погодя.
"Мне жаль, что ты не понимаешь, как я люблю тебя"

Эмоция в голосе Брюса удивили Локи. Он подвинулся ближе к своему любовнику.
"Я знаю, что ты любишь меня"

"Ты не знаешь, если ты думаешь, что провести дневном время без тебя значит, что мне всё равно"
Он заправил волосы Локи за ухо.
"Иногда жизнь заставляет меня делать вещи, которые не Локицентричны. Но я никогда не прекращал любить тебя. И никогда не перестану".

Глаза Локи наполнились слезами.
"Я не привык к тому, что люди меня любят и имеют в виду именно это"
Брюс приволок его к себе ближе и поцеловал в лоб.
"Привыкай".
"Я попробую", - голос Локи смягчился. Он выпустил довольный выдох, когда Брюс погладил ему животик. Через какое-то время Брюс вышел, чтобы убраться и взять воды, обещая, что они посмотрел любимый фильм Локи "Robot Chicken", когда он вернётся. Пока Брюса не было, Локи отколдовал своё пузо, оставаясь со своим плоским животиком, который был немного растянут и побаливал.

Брюс вернулся со стаканом воды для Локи. Он взобрался на кровать и прошёлся ладонью по гибкому торсу Локи. Не дожидаясь просьбы, он начал поглаживать живот Локи, который болел.

"Уже избавился от него, да?"
"Ага, я отправил его к Тору"
"Снова? И как ты полагаешь, что он думает, с ним происходит?"
Локи отпил воды и поёжился.
"Я сомневаюсь, что он даже заметит".
Брюс поднял брови.
"Там же было невозможное количество капусты. Если он не заметит в этот раз, я уверен, люди вокруг него заметят"
Локи настолько широко ухмыльнулся, что мышцы его лица заболели:
"Он бог грома"

@темы: Стаффинг, Перевод, Кино, Живот, Боль в животе, Tummyache, The Avengers (Marvel), Stuffing, Loki, Fanfiction, Bloated Tummy, Bellyache, Belly Kink

14:17 

EvilStufferSebastian
02:32 

EvilStufferSebastian
thfrustration.tumblr.com/post/61816036782/bad-r...

Название: Плохой роман
Номер главы/ваншота: Глава 10 - Локи, пряная курица, соль и перец!
Автор: Loki’s Anon
Какой Том/Герой: Локи перед "Тором"
Жанр: Комедия, Роман, Эротика
Саммари фика: Марли мидгардианка, которая попала в Асгард ещё ребёнком после событий, которые произошли на Земле, втюрена в Локи сколько себя помнит
Рейтинг: Для взрослых, в некоторых главах

Переводчик: EvilStufferSebastian

Важно: Перевод пока не причёсан!

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@темы: Стаффинг, Перевод, ОЖП, Живот, Боль в животе, Аниме, sick!fic, Tummyache, The Avengers (Marvel), Stuffing, Loki, Fanfiction, Bloated Tummy, Bellyache, Belly Kink, Anime

15:12 

EvilStufferSebastian
www.fanfiction.net/s/4343296/3/Shortcakes

Title: Shortcakes
Pairing: LxRaito
Rating: K+
Summary: Fluffy oneshot series. 3rd Oneshot: Sickness. "Why are Ryuuzaki and Raito taking so long in the bathroom?" LxRaitoxL.

Ahaha, the cliché of the clichés!This is much longer, and a bit more friendshippy then the past two. Either way, there are some fluffy RaitoxL elements in this.Yeah, I needed one of these thrown in here, because it is the fluffiest of the fluff. This doesn't slot in with the past two, but I did say that not all of them will be chronologically joined, or directly related with each other, so…here we are! Sick!L and pseudo-nurse!Raito!Please note this was written at night when I was running on nothing but the caffeine that is my blood…and my whole horde of sugary foods and chocolate dip ¬.¬;Enjoy!



L knew that there was something wrong when just looking at his cake made him feel queasy.

He had been feeling somewhat off that day. That morning, his usual half hour power nap had been increased to two hours, and even with the extra sleep, the insomniac had felt incredibly lethargic. Raito had even commented on it, the suspect squinting at him suspiciously when he waved away the light concern. It was probably fatigue from the case catching up, though it rarely happened to him. So, L was not at all worried. Just irritated.

His irritation only grew as the Task Force trickled into the investigation room, when a pounding headache began chiselling at the insides of his temples with blunt pick axes and caused the tiny black print on his laptop to blur at the most inconvenient times. Once again, probably fatigue and not entirely uncommon. He was probably getting the early symptoms of a cold and made a mental note to tell Watari to get some over the counter medication.

Then, just before his early morning cake was wheeled in, his stomach gave a very violent lurch.

As he was wedged into his usual seat, face hidden behind the monitor of his screen, and the other occupants were more focused on their own work, no one noticed the detective' pale face gain a slight green tint, lips pursing as he forced down the reflexive urge to gag. He regained his composure relatively quickly, pressing his thumb against his lips in agitation as he re-evaluated his health.

So perhaps it wasn't just fatigue or a cold.Then Watari entered, placing his cake beside his laptop with his usual silent manner. It was a lovely cake too, a strawberry and cream cheesecake with an actual sugar glazed strawberry on top with a gracious amount of whipped cream slathered on top. Usually, L would attack his cake with vigour, savouring every bite while he thought up of new ways to trick Raito into admitting he was Kira, or calculating percentages.Instead, all he could think about was that the sickly sweet aroma of his cake was making his stomach do Olympic style gymnastics.

"Hey…Ryuuzaki…" Raito whispered from behind his document, the concern shimmering in his sepia eyes. "Are you sure you're okay? You haven't touched your cake." The younger male shuffled down the couch until he was pressed against the arm, leaning over slightly and somehow managing to look inconspicuous to the other detectives in the room. "Are you sick?"

L turned wide, dull eyes to his suspect, blinking slowly as his headache's intensity increased. "Raito-kun has no need to be concerned. I am fine." And the he turned back to his laptop, curling his legs closer to his body as his stomach lurched once more, the detective actually tasting bile on his tongue. He steeled himself, gritting his teeth as he forced down the wave of nausea. He couldn't be sick.

L was Justice. And Justice did not have sick days.

Though, L winced when he almost gagged again, maybe Justice could have a quick break.

Raito could obviously read the danger signs (a green tinged detective looking ready to eject the contents of his stomach all over the floor was a particularly big danger sign) and, knowing that L's stubbornness would not allow him to do anything about it, decided to take matters into his own hands. "Ryuuzaki." He said politely, drawing the dull eyed insomniac's attention to him once more. "I need to go to the toilet."

L would usually make a snide remark, and add on an extra per cent to his already unknown percentage (Raito seriously did not know what his percentage was now, it fluctuated so rapidly that he doubted even L knew what it was), but instead the detective simply nodded, sliding from his seat and shuffling stiffly towards the bathroom, one arm curled unnoticeably round his torso.

Raito kept a close eye on the older man he was shackled too, noting how he seemed to shuffle slower then usual and the dark bags under his eyes seemed to have achieved the impossible and darken even more – that, or his pale skin had turned a sickly grey making it seem worse the usual. It was obvious that L was ill, hell, Raito was amazed no one else had noticed, but the insomniac's stupid stubbornness was stopping him from announcing this fact.

It was probably all that sugar he consumed mixed with lack of sleep that was the cause of his lapse of judgement.

They had reached the toilet without incident, Raito pushing the door open while still keeping an eye on the queasy looking detective, watching the muscles in the older man's neck flex as L fought against the natural reaction to retch. The two entered the bathroom, the younger male not moving to use the urinal or the toilet and simply stared at the insomniac.

L glared, feeling his nerves beginning to fray from the constant torture of nausea and pain mixing in a lovely cocktail of crappiness. He was not in the mood to play the customary mind games with his suspect and simply wanted to curl up in a corner and die (but, of course, he couldn't do that because he was L and L was Justice, so he had to grit his teeth and bear it). "Well? Is Raito-kun going to use the bathroom's facilities or not?"

"Actually, I'm waiting for you to use them first, Ryuuzaki." Raito instantly retaliated, crossing his arms and returning the glare sternly.

"I do not need-" Here, L had to give a small pause as his stomach flailed violently once more. "-n-need to empty my bladder."

"No." Raito agreed, tugging on the chain between them. "You need to empty your stomach contents into the toilet before you throw up in the middle of the investigation room and embarrass yourself." Seeing that the detective's stubborn glare wasn't relenting, the younger male decided to force him. "I mean, it would be pretty disgusting. You vomiting up half digested substances mixed with sickly yellow bile…"

L's stomach gurgled warningly at the imagery from Raito's words, his hand flying involuntarily to his mouth. "Raito-kun…" He groaned.

"But fine, if you want to go back in there and make yourself barf by eating your heavily frosted cake saturated in sugar, thick and extremely sweet…"

Now hunger was making his stomach clench as well as flip, L unable to hold back the gag. "R-Raito…" He couldn't throw up in front of his main suspect! No matter what sense of friendship (affection) he was starting to feel for the boy, blatantly displaying his weakness was a bad move. "St-stop…"

"And the smell of it too! No matter how much cleaning products you use, the bitter sour smell is always strong enough that you can practically taste it. But whatever, you can go and throw up all over the wo-"

L couldn't hold it in any longer.

He fiercely shoved the younger male out of the way and dove for the toilet (almost tripping over the chain between them in the process), not caring at all if he looked weak or pathetic or whatever. All he cared about was getting rid of the rebellious stomach acids from his gut and possibly passing out for a while as his headache reached epic proportions. All dignity as L, the world's greatest detective, was heartily thrown out of the window.

So it was with wounded pride that L gripped the edge of the porcelain bowl and retched.

Distantly, the detective felt slim fingers scrape his ebony hair back as he emptied his stomach's admittedly small contents (he was only able to consume a brownie, three slices of strawberry cake and a batch of cookies during the night – which is a small snack for him) into the toilet, shoulders shaking from the exertion and his throat burning from the acids travelling up his trachea. He moaned involuntarily, feeling dizzily light headed from the monster headache threatening to evolve into a migraine. "Ugh…"

Those slim fingers were massaging his scalp soothingly now as L's heaving died down, the detective coughing to clear his airways of any leftover bile and groping blindly for the flush on the toilet. Already L felt better, his stomach settling somewhat as he pulled down the flusher and stayed half sprawled over the porcelain bowl. His logical part of his mind did another re-evaluation of his health, noting that this brief respite was only going to last for a few blissful minutes before his stomach rebelled once more. The childish part of his mind told the logical side to shove it. "Raito-kun…" He groaned hoarsely. "I think I am ill."

"No shit, Sherlock." Came the dry response, a wad of toilet paper being offered to him. "Clean up, you're having the day off."

"Gnn…" Not even L knew what his grunt was supposed to convey, accepting the wad of toilet paper and mopped up the 'yuck' from around his mouth. He dumped it in the toilet, wrinkling his nose as the bitter taste invading his mouth and nose. It almost made him want to vomit again. His stomach gurgled. "But Kira-" He protested.

"Can wait." Raito interrupted firmly, entering what L affectionately called 'Mother Mode' (attempting to make L eat healthier, make L sleep more, etc, all insinuated that Raito had maternal instincts buried somewhere inside of him). "You won't be much help clinging to the toilet seat and throwing up all over the place, and…" Raito's fingers moved from wild ebony tresses to the disgruntled insomniac's forehead. "You're running a temperature. You may have the stomach flu."

"Oh joy." L grumbled, resting his forehead against the rim of the porcelain bowl he was hugging. The fingers returned to massaging his scalp and it actually helped with his headache somewhat. "Raito-kun should get comfortable because I do not think I will be moving from this spot anytime soon."

"Ryuuzaki…" Raito sighed. "You'll only make yourself worse if you sit on the cold bathroom floor all day. You need to go to bed and rest." The younger male wrapped an arm round the detective's thin waist, hauling up the lighter body with relative ease. "Man, you're light."

L groaned again, the pressure against his stomach not helping and sagged in Raito's unrelenting clutches. This was degrading, the world's three greatest detective being reduced to needing help from his prime suspect just to stand. L made a mental note to wipe this event from his mind and pretend that it never happened once his health was back in the green zone.

Ah, denial was a wonderful thing sometimes.

"I suppose that Raito-kun is l-looking…" L's hand flew to his mouth again and Raito grimaced at the implication. "Is looking for a reward of some kind for this?"

"What are you talking about? This is what friends do, help their friends." Raito sighed, exasperated, and slowly guided the grumbling L from the bathroom out into the hallway. "No strings attached."

"Hm…" L seemed to relax slightly in the younger male's grasp, a subtle sign of defeat – for the moment. "I'll trust Raito-kun with that." He muttered, recognizing the route they were taking. "I will need to contact Watari to bring in my laptop so I co-"

"No." Raito snapped firmly, tightening his grip round the other's waist and eliciting a hiss from the wild haired insomniac. "No working. You'll just make yourself even worse and slow down your recovery. I will tie you down to the bed to make you rest if I have to."

L would blame the comment that came out of his mouth on his illness later on. "I never knew you were that kinky, Raito-kun."

"…" Raito ignored the comment with grace. "I don't want to hear any complaints, Ryuuzaki." The younger male warned sternly, still in Mother Mode, as they finally arrived at their shared bedroom. "And if you're going to throw up, just say, because I don't want vomit all over the bed sheets and floor, okay?"

L's stomach did a flip flop and the detective coughed lightly. "Alright, Raito-kun." He paused. "I am going to throw up."

Raito sighed, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath and practically dragged the insomniac towards the bathroom joined to their shared bedroom, kicking the door open (and ignored the almost slurred declaration of "ten per cent, Raito-kun"), leading his sick companion to the toilet.

As expected, L practically hugged it as his stomach lurched, heaving over the porcelain bowl.

Raito grimaced as he scraped back the wild ebony strands from the detective's face, pressing the tips of his fingers into the scalp in an effort to soothe him. With his other hand he tore off some toilet paper and pressed it against the white knuckles of the insomniac, L taking it clumsily and wiping his mouth.

Raito knew that L was not only feeling miserable and ill, but uncomfortable as well for other reasons aside from his impromptu sickness. He knew L liked to be in control, and when that control is wrenched from his hands he immediately becomes anxious and uncomfortable. Throwing up in the bathroom, with your prime suspect stroking your hair and looking after you, did not scream 'control'.

So he decided to hold off the teasing until later.

"Finished?" Raito asked lightly when L rested his forehead against the rim of the toilet for at least a minute.

L turned his head to pin his suspect with a hazed glare, looking completely and utterly miserable. "I hope so." He grumbled, turning his face so he was pressing his uncomfortably hot forehead against the cool porcelain. Damn bacteria, damn virus, damn Kira, damn whatever gave him this sickness! It was probably the other detectives walking in from outside, carrying all sorts of microorganisms on their bodies!

L knew he was being silly, irrational even, but at that moment he would've blamed the fucking plunger next to the toilet for his misery if only to make him feel better.

"Come on." Raito murmured soothingly, carefully hauling the sickly detective from the floor and half carried him to the bedroom. He knew that Watari was probably observing the whole situation via security cameras and was on his way with something to ease the insomniac's grief. Hopefully.

God knows an unhappy L is a very cranky L, and a cranky L spells unhappiness for everyone around him.

L practically collapsed on the bed, pressing his face against the softness of his pillow with a sigh. He felt the mattress dip beside him, and the handcuff's chain sprawl over his clothed thigh, as a hand ruffled his ebony tresses. As usual, whenever the younger male touched him, his stomach flipped crazily and his breath caught (something that always put L on edge because he wasn't quite sure what to make of it), but the near affectionate touch filled him with a nice sort of warmth that soothed his agonizing headache and his rebellious stomach.

Raito has magic hands. He thought dreamily, forgetting his initial discomfort and misery for the moment as those slim fingers continued to massage and pet him gently. Curled up in fetal position, thumb pressed against his lips, L began to drift off in a state of relaxation, not quite sleep, but not quite awake. He, for once, forgot about the ominous Kira Investigation that always occupied his thoughts and the calculated percentages of Raito being Kira (twenty per cent? Fifty per cent? Hell, he didn't know anymore).

It was…nice.

Unknowingly, a small smile tugged at his lips as he began to slip into lala land, a wonderful dream world where everything was made out of chocolate and gingerbread and there was a never ending supply of strawberries. He snuggled into his pillow with a contented sigh; smile growing as Raito was added into his dream.

With bemusement, Raito could only wonder what L was possibly dreaming about to make the normally stoic genius smile like that.

X.x.X

Back in the Investigation room, Matsuda noticed something off when he looked up from the documents he was reviewing. "Hey guys…"

Aizawa grunted. "What?""Why are Ryuuzaki and Raito taking so long in the bathroom?"

There was silence and everyone turned to Soichirou, who was valiantly ignoring the innuendo hidden in that innocent question.

"We…probably don't want to know, Matsuda."

4th Oneshot: Misunderstanding

Raito didn't know whether to be shocked, annoyed, amused or just plain mortified.

When the stubborn detective had drifted off to sleep with a small smile curled round his lips (probably dreaming about candy or catching Kira knowing him), Raito had decided to relax a little as well. So he stayed sitting beside L on the bed, one hand occasionally brushing ebony tresses in a soothing motion like he did when his sister was ill, and the other occupied with a thriller book that he had salvaged from Matsuda a while back and stored it under the bed until a time when he needed it.

But during this moment, L had wriggled about in his sleep and rolled over (tangling himself a little in those annoying handcuffs in the process). Raito, who was unaware of this change, simply turned over a page in his book.

Then L muttered something and suddenly threw his arms around Raito's waist, nuzzling the younger male's hip.

Raito had jumped slightly, blinking rapidly as he tried to figure out what to do about his, er, predicament.

So, he stared down at the sleeping detective, twisting to the side a little and allowing the older male to rest his cheek on his thigh instead of it being pressed semi-uncomfortably against his hip. Setting down the book after marking his page, Raito rested a hand atop of the insomniac's head, threading slim fingers through sleek strands. "Ryuuzaki?" He whispered, just in case L was awake.

L mumbled something incoherent, arms tightening round Raito's waist.

Raito sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward. The detective continued to annoy him even when asleep. Amazing. Absently ruffling L's hair, he allowed the older male to use his thigh as a pillow (as long as he didn't drool on him) and picked up the book again, continuing from where he left off.

Raito flicked a page.

"…awberries…" L randomly muttered, curling his body round Raito and pressing his face into the juncture between Raito's thigh and hip – i.e. dangerously close to his crotch.

Raito cleared his throat uncomfortably; resolutely ignoring the warm pliable body pressed against his lower back and lowered his book again. "Ryuuzaki." He said a little louder, tapping the insomniac's hot forehead.

"Mmph…?" Came the garbled answer.

Raito sighed, again, and shook the older male's shoulder awkwardly. "Ryuuzaki…can you, well, let go?"

Sluggishly, L raised his head slightly, hazed obsidian eyes blinking fuzzily at the uncomfortable looking Raito. "Let go of what?" He yawned, obsidian eyes drooping again as he nuzzled a rather, ah, intimate region of Raito's anatomy.

"Gck…!" Raito's face flooded with warmth, his blush rivalling that on his bedmate, and shook the older male's shoulder harder. "Let go of me." He stressed tightly, eyebrow twitching erratically. Who would've thought that L, the ruler of social retardom, was so damn clingy when ill?

"But I am cold, Raito-kun." L murmured, not realizing where he was nuzzling. "And you are warm."

Feeling that his face was on fire, Raito coughed lightly. "That's just your fever talking, Ryuuzaki. You're not really cold." He carefully raised L's face from his crotch, pressing the back of his hand against the detective's sweaty forehead. "You're actually pretty hot."

"I am cold." L disagreed petulantly, arms tightening round Raito's waist.

Raito heaved a sigh. "Alright…" He glanced to the side, frowning, before easily prising L's grip from around his waist and hefting him up lightly.

"What?" L yelped, involuntarily, as he was suddenly deposited into Raito's lap, one of his suspect's hands stroking his hair and the other holding him in place on his lower back. "Raito-kun?"

"There." Raito grunted, shuffling back on the bed a little, legs crossed awkwardly under the light build of his bedmate. He firmly told himself that this position was much better than the one with L touching some places that shouldn't be touched by another male. "You should be warmer now."

L blinked, his almost invisible shivers dying down from the heavenly warmth of his suspect's body. His obsidian eyes drooped, a low purr emitting from his throat when Raito's 'magic hand' combed his wild tresses gently, fingertips massaging his scalp, and his other rubbed the small of his back. He felt ready to fall asleep again (twice in one day? L decided that being ill was more effective than sleeping pills) and so snuggled against his only source of warmth and prepared to drift off.

Unaware of the series of events that were about to unfold.

X.x.X

Soichirou couldn't take it anymore. "I am going to look for Ryuuzaki and my son."

Matsuda looked up, the other investigators shifting awkwardly in their seats. "Uh…Yagami-san…? Maybe we shouldn't do that…" He trailed off, fidgeting with the corner of his documents as he refused to look at the older man.

Aizawa nodded, eyes firmly glued to his own documents. "Yeah, it's probably best not to go looking for them. 'Out of sight, out of mind', as they say."

Twitching, Soichirou stood. "I need to check on them." He almost growled, adamantly ignoring the innuendos hidden in his co-workers voices. "To see if they're…alright."

Matsuda finally peeked at his twitching superior, wondering if he should burst the man's bubble of his son's straightness or not. "Urhm…well…they've been in the bathroom for over two hours…" He mumbled, not liking the aura Soichirou was emitting. "So…I think we should…leave them alone…?"

Mogi nodded in agreement to the young officer's statement turned question.

Soichirou's calm cracked. "They're not doing anything!" He growled, standing up. "And I will prove it!" Then the older man stormed off towards where he knew the other's bedroom was.

The other investigators stared after the irate man.

Aizawa's afro jiggled. "Oh boy…"

X.x.X

Raito plucked at the white sweater clinging wetly to the feverish detective, damp from sweat, and frowned in distaste. This wouldn't help L get better at all. "Ryuuzaki." He murmured softly, hearing the half asleep insomniac give a grunt in reply. "I need to take your sweater off. It's not helping you get better."

"But it is keeping me warm, Raito-kun." L argued, twitching when he felt his stomach (which had been behaving thus far) give a rebellious gurgle.

"It is damp, it'll make you worse." Raito shot back, carefully lying L back against the bed and tugged the baggy sweater up. "You need to take the handcuffs off, Ryuuzaki." The younger male stated, realizing a slight snag in his plan

L huffed, turning his head away and crossing his arms. "Raito-kun's percentage has risen by five per cent."

Raito's eyes narrowed, a dangerous smirk curling round his lips. "Alright then, I guess we're going to do this the hard way then."

Five minutes later, Soichirou walked in.

X.x.X

Soichirou was in shock.

He had opened the door to L's and Raito's shared bedroom as he faintly heard some voices from there. And what did he see?

L sprawled on the bed, shirtless, face flushed and sweaty, obsidian eyes half lidded and lips parted – looking 'sexed up'. And his son, his innocent son, straddling the detective's waist, equally as flushed, unlocked handcuffs in one hand and tossing L's sweater aside with the other, a smirk coiled round his lips.

"You should've just taken it off when I told you to, Ryuuzaki." His son declared smugly.

L groaned, draping an arm over his forehead. "Raito-kun was too rough. I am worn out…" He bemoaned, resting his hand on his suspect's thigh. "And my stomach is-"

Soichirou snapped out of his daze. "What is going on here?!" He shouted, eyes darting between the two males on the bed.

Raito jerked in surprise, sepia eyes blinking rapidly at his father, dropping the handcuffs on the bed. "D-Dad…?" Raito's eyes then widened, obviously comprehending the situation. "No! No, Dad!" He barked, lifting himself up to press all of his weight on the detective's hips, waving his hands in front of him wildly. "It's not what it looks like!"

L sat up as well, leaning back on his hands and unaware of the compromising pose he was in with his suspect. "Yagami-san…?" He asked curiously, looking vaguely confused. "Why are y-"

"Ryuuzaki!" Raito hissed, smacking a hand over the insomniac's mouth in case the feverish man said something that would make the whole thing worse in his careless, blunt manner. Turning to his father, whose face was eerily calm, Raito smiled nervously. "Dad, Ryuuzaki is sick, and his sweater was overheating him but he was being stubborn so I had to force it…off of…him…" He trailed off when he realized how flimsy that sounded.

L pulled Raito's hand from his mouth. "It is true." He agreed, mind finally catching up. "I am very ill and Raito-kun was simply helping me."

Soichirou looked between them, before shaking his head. "Son…" He sighed. "If you are truly…" He paused. "Son," He tried again. "I will accept you no matter what you…prefer…" He forced out. "Even…Ryuuzaki…"

Raito's face was the very epitome of horror. "No! Dad, you misunderstand! I'm not gay! Ryuuzaki really is sick so I-"

"Raito." Soichirou cut in. "I understand. There is no need to defend yourself. I will not be prejudice towards you or Ryuuzaki." Then the bear like man turned and walked out of the room stiffly, looking like he wanted to do nothing more than to hit the nearest bar and never leave until his inebriated mind believed once more that his son was straight.

Ah, denial…

The two male stared at the open door, one looking horrified beyond belief and the other with bored confusion.

Raito groaned suddenly, smacking a hand over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh damn it all to hell…" He grumbled. "Why does this shit happen to me?"

"Raito-kun." L tugged on his suspect's wrist, wide obsidian eyes meeting resigned sepia. "I need to go to the bathroom. I think I am going to throw up again."

Raito twitched.

What did he do to deserve this!?



@темы: Fanfiction, Death Note, Bloated Tummy, Bellyache, Belly Kink, L, Light, Raito, Stuffing, Tummyache, Vomiting, sick!fic, Аниме, Боль в животе, Живот, Стаффинг, Фанфикшн

22:05 

EvilStufferSebastian
askbloatedbellyblog.tumblr.com/post/15379112430...


Things started innocently when Yuri had suggested that he and Victor go back to Detroit to practice over Thanksgiving. Given Victor’s current penchant for food and his own winning streak (meaning he was allowed to have a cheat meal), he thought it would be a fun way to mix both food and their relationship. Though when Yuri Plisetsky heard that their little getaway involved mass quantities of food as well as time to practice on a new routine and a chance to annoy the two love birds, Yurio was all in.

Yuri Katsuki didn’t think it would be that big of deal when the pair of Russians went with him for a Thanksgiving meal. During his time training and attending school, he had experienced the strange American holiday many times, complete with the eating of mass quantities with his friends and colleagues that he knew. What he hadn’t counted on was two hungry Russians experiences the holiday of gorging for the first time.


At the local restaurant that was hosting the Thanksgiving for the foreigners (one that he had attended a couple of times during his days training there), Yuri rubbed his distended belly from overeating under the now messy table, enjoying being so full once again. He brought his hand to his mouth and burped gently into his fist, trying to have at least some semblance of manners. Yuri felt a tinge of drafty air around the hem of his shirt, a familiar feeling from when he had gained weight before he met Victor. The lower bit of his expanded abdomen was exposed to the air when it wasn’t completely fitting. “Thank goodness this is only for one day this time. I should be fine by morning,” he said to himself.


However, he wasn’t sure if the same could be said about his two companions. Next to him was Victor Nikiforov, who somewhere along the lines had lost his shirt and opened his pants. After enjoying himself far too much on the bounty of food in front of him, he had added to it spiked egg nog, spritzers, wine, and other alcoholic drinks. This had only served to add to his appetite as if he was dull to the pain and any other inhibitions that he might have previously had. At least that’s what Yuri said to himself thinking about Victor’s surprise gluttonous appetite throughout the evening.

Yuri had blushed deeply in embarrassment and fact of being in close proximity to his boyfriend and idol when he took off his shirt. Victor had laid it beside him, unbuttoned his pants, and just continued to eat. By now the evidence was clear that Victor was both truly stuffed and completely sloshed. He vacillated between having his head on the table or being tipsy and discovering that everything was fascinating or incredibly silly. For a moment, Victor poked and tickled his distended belly that now sat in his lap. Yuri tried not to focus on the impressive size of Victor’s exposed belly, though it was hard to miss when the silver haired Russian now sported an impressive food baby that made him look like he was 6 months due or worse underneath his stretched skin.

“Yuuuuriiiii…come feel this… it’s so firm! Look at how much I ate….*hic*” Victor mused as he half cuddled/half flopped onto Yuri due to his drunken state. When Victor hiccupped, it forced his whole body to move, from his well defined pecs to jump slightly to his tight stuffed belly that was pressing into him as he got closer to Yuri. Victor, not taking no for an answer, grabbed Yuri’s hand and placed directly onto his gut and made him glide it over the surface as he moaned. “Yuri…It’s my food baby!” he said proudly into Yuri’s ear as a seductive half whisper. Victor tried to right himself again a bit and only had the effect of dislodging a small belch from the famous skater. Yuri was mortified and prayed that no one had their cameras with them to post it on the internet. Though he made a mental note to take some pictures of his own or at the very least scour the internet afterwards for pictures for his own private collection.

That is until his attention was dragged away from his very drunk boyfriend by the sound of a crass belch the echoed through the restaurant. Yuri tried to locate the sound and realized he couldn’t see Yurio for a moment. He looked around to see if the younger Russian skater had left or gone somewhere else in the restaurant until he took a closer look to where Yurio had been sitting. In it’s place there was a curved mound that rose and fell and looked like a flesh covered crescent from across the table. “That couldn’t be…” Yuri thought to himself. He rose from his seat at the bench and saw that indeed the flesh crescent grew more into an ab covered moon attached to his younger rival.


“Yurio!” was all that Yuri could say as he looked at the teen’s state. If Victor was big, Yurio was easily twice the size. Each deep breath he tried to take made him wince and Yurio moaned slightly as he tried to rub his massively swollen belly. His pants were completely forced open and his lion shirt had been forced all the way up to make room for his gorge. And gorge he had. During the feast, taking the meal as a serious competition between the three skaters, Yurio had tied back his hair and dived in and devoured all that he could, even requesting seconds of the massively overstocked plates that had adorned the table. His desperation had made him lose much of his manners and as was the case when Yurio first came to Yuri’s family hot spring, he had eaten messily. Now it definitely showed with crumbs and various food stains on the side of his lips as he laid in a moaning daze.

Yurio burped again loudly, this time in a much wetter style that relayed just how stuffed and sick he now was. He groaned something in Russian and from his reaction, Yuri guessed it was about being too full. Yurio’s abs tensed over the food packed solid inside of him and he hiccuped as well. “Yurio…you’re a globe!” Yuri said half to Yuri Plisetsky and half rhetorically. “S-shut up! I at least *hic* ….Oh god I want to die….Ate more than you *belch* LOOOSSEEER!” Yurio retorted. Though on that last “loser” putting too much effort into it made Yurio tense up and he instantly regretted it.

Yuri frowned, then smirked when he saw something that would give him just the revenge that he wanted. Still on the table next to Yurio before he completely fell over onto his back was a half finished gallon of vanilla ice cream along with three-quarters uneaten pumpkin pie. “Oh Yurio. It looks like you’re not done yet. You have to finish up before you really beat me. Try to keep it all down okay?” he said giving an innocent smile though underneath he was full of spite. Yurio tried to protest and even tried to get away from Yuri as brought over the first bite of food, but once he got close to his mouth, Yurio just stared at the forkful of pumpkin pie and lashed out a bit to eat it. “Apparently he found the room,” Yuri thought to himself. “That’s it, eat up,” he said as he delivered bite after bite of the pie and ice cream to Yurio. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he could actually see Yurio’s belly swell out even more, taking up more space on the bench seat and making the bloated belly jut out even more from his usually trim torso.

Yurio didn’t make much of a sound other than muttering cursed under his breath as the teen ate more of the food that was given to him, though Yuri was taking a liking to feeding him. In the back of his mind, he thought about taking the opportunity to do the same to Victor one evening in a little bit more intimate setting. He was lost in this thought when he realized that the pie and ice cream that he was feeding Yurio was finally gone. With one more smirk, Yuri grabbed a half empty carafe of milk. “Now sit up and let’s wash that all down,” he said trying to prop up his younger rival.

After a few protests, Yurio sat up slightly and Yuri was able to bring the carafe to his lips and he tilted it up and forced him to drink it all. Yurio sputtered a bit at the sudden drink but then dutifully drank the rest of the milk down, leaving the table completely devoid of any remaining food. Yurio let out a huge belch, even bigger than the one that had reminded Yuri of his presence. Yurio moaned loudly as it turned into more of a growl. His belly cramped and his hands flew to his mouth, suddenly sick. Turning a little green, Yurio swallowed down anything that came up in defiance, determined to make sure that he was truly the winner in this feast. Though that was true even before Yuri had fed him, Yuri wasn’t about to do something that might cause him to lose his determination on keeping all that food down.

In a moment of strength, Yurio grunted heavily and forced his belly to the side. He half rolled, half bent over and grabbed on to the table and bench in an extremely awkward fashion until he finally was able to get into a sitting position and force his gut mostly underneath the table though he was now big enough that his gut pressed slightly against the table. Yuri ducked under the table to get in between the two stuffed Russians and extended his hands out to either belly to rub their distensions to try to make them feel better. He never thought he would be enjoying the act and forgetting his mortified state from earlier but he continued on until he saw a waitress. He smiled apologetically. “Um can we get the check please?” asking humbly as if to beg for forgiveness for the behavior of both of them.

When the check soon arrived and the bill paid, Yuri slipped back under the table to help the still very drunk Victor get to his feet and try to give him the extra support that he needed so that they could get back to their hotel room. There was a cry from the booth. “Hey! A little help!?” Yuri and Victor turned with Victor’s arm still around Yuri’s neck for support. “I am having a little trouble…” Yurio said blushing a little and suddenly looking timid. Yuri just smirked again. “Oh yeah? Who’s the loser now, piggy? Or should I say tubby kitty? We’ll see you back up in our room.” Without another word, Yuri and Victor staggered back to their room, leaving the protesting words of the overly stuffed Yurio behind. “Maybe this wasn’t a bad Thanksgiving after all,” Yuri thought.

@темы: Фанфикшн, Стаффинг, Живот, Боль в животе, Аниме, Yuri On Ice, Stuffing

02:14 

EvilStufferSebastian
archiveofourown.org/works/1653959?view_adult=tr...

Title: The Challenge
Author: charlottesometimes
Summary:

Takes place after "Comfort, Food."

Bruce challenges Loki to eat more than he has ever eaten before in the service of their kinky stuffing fun. The prize, if Loki succeeds? Sex! Hooray!

Notes:

This is belly stuffing porn. Read if you're into it. Drop me a comment if you like it. :D It's not beta'd.

Work Text:

Loki squinted at Bruce, who stood by the bed with his arms crossed, looking down at Loki.

"So you're saying," Loki said, "that if I don't eat everything on that table without throwing up, you won't fuck me?"

Bruce leaned against the folding card table he had set up and loaded with food, which stood a few feet from the bed. The flimsy table strained beneath the weight of enough homemade lasagna, pasta, lemon chicken, cheesecake, and pie to feed a party of a dozen or more hungry guests. "Right," Bruce said, nodding. "And there are other rules of the game, too. You'll be tied up. I'll feed you. I won't stop no matter how much you beg." Then he bobbed his head, as if conceding a point. "Unless you say 'Constantinople,' obviously."

"And what, pray, do I get out of this besides your cock?" Loki asked, raising one eyebrow fondly. "Because you give that to me freely on a fairly regular basis. If I am going to eat all that for you, I should get something else as well."

"Trust me, by the time it gets hard for you to keep eating, my cock will seem like incentive enough," Bruce said. "That's a promise." He stepped forward, keeping eye contact with Loki and licking his lips. "I am going to make you shake you'll want me so bad."

Loki swallowed and tried to keep his expression blank as his cock stirred to Bruce's words. "Ah," he said. "That doesn't sound ... terrible. But I think, also, that I get to avoid going on those Avengers bonding excursions you insist on dragging me to for a week, if I eat it all. Conceded that, mortal, and we have a deal."

Bruce laughed. "Deal then," he said. "Take you shirt off and lay down."

Loki did. And, a few minutes later, he was looking up at Bruce as the mortal pulled Loki's arms above his head, tied his wrists together with a satin ribbon, and then secured Loki's bound hands to both bedposts with a length of rope, rendering Loki unable to move his arms. Shirtless and helpless, stretched out on the bed, his slight belly exposed to Bruce's hungry gaze, Loki felt like he was dinner. He rather liked the feeling.

"Feed me, then, mortal," Loki said.

Bruce did not need further urging.

They started with lasagna. Loki was hungry, and it was well made--Bruce could cook, and almost everything he cooked for Loki was rich, delicious and filling--so it didn't take long for Loki to make his way through a pan of the savory, saucy pasta that could have comfortably fed six or seven people. He was, after all, a demi-god.

Bruce brought the fork up to Loki's mouth with the last bite of the pan of lasagna, smiling slightly. Loki opened up eagerly, chewing and swallowing the bite before licking tangy tomato sauce from his lips a bit more slowly and sensually than was strictly necessary. He was on his way to the stage of fullness where one would stop if one were merely eating to eat, rather than to get stuffed, his stomach a slight warm weight.

"Too easy," Loki said. "What's next?"

"Lemon chicken and pasta with mushroom Alfredo sauce," Bruce said, piling a plate high with both foods.

Loki opened his mouth obediently when Bruce brought the fork to his lips again a moment later. The sauce was creamy as it slid over his tongue, with a hint of mushroom. The chicken was perfectly cooked, melting in his mouth. "You have outdone yourself," Loki said between bites.

"Well if I'm going to make you eat so much you almost burst--and that is what's going to happen here--I owe it to you that it be good, right?" Bruce asked.

Loki made a noise of agreement, chewing dutifully. He swallowed, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the pleasant weight of the food in his stomach. He opened his mouth again without opening his eyes, trusting that Bruce would fill it.

They made their way through the plate of pasta, and then a second and a third plate. By that time, Loki was full. Not uncomfortable, but full, and he already rather wished he could reach down to rub the gentle swell of his belly, which Bruce was neglecting.

Loki frowned. "Why am I tied up?" he asked. "I do not think I like it."

"Because I said so," Bruce said. He stood at the table again, surveying the uneaten food. "What next?"

"Rub my stomach, mortal," Loki said. "I want it. I will not go on without it."

Bruce just picked up a cheesecake and came to sit by Loki once more. He put one hand a few inches above Loki's abdomen. "Does it hurt already?" he asked.

"No, but I like it when you touch me there. Touch me."

Bruce's hand hovered. Then he drew it away. "Later," he said. "Right now, cheesecake."

Loki scowled, but when Bruce pressed the first forkful of smooth cheesecake onto his closed lips, Loki immediately gave in, opening his mouth for the sweet desert. His eyes closed in pleasure and he heard himself let out a little moan.

"Christ, Loki," Bruce said. He had begin to breath a little harder. "Make that sound again." He put another bite of cheesecake against Loki's lips, and Loki parted them, taking the desert on his tongue. He moaned again, and though it started out as intentional and contrived, he found it ended up genuine as the flavor of the cake burst through him.

"We should do this one night with nothing but different favors of cheesecake," Bruce suggested. "With how much you love the stuff think of how big I could get you."

Loki just licked his lips again and then opened his mouth.

Bruce filled it.

Three cheesecakes disappeared in a haze of sugar, and before Loki quite knew it Bruce was feeding him lasagna again, large forkful by large forkful. A pressure had started up in Loki's stomach by this time, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. In fact, the feeling of Bruce's food sliding down his throat, pushing into his stomach, filling him up more--it had him properly hard, his cock obvious in his jeans.

It was during this second pan of lasagna, when it was about two thirds gone, that Loki stomach began to protest slightly. A small ache set up beneath his sternum as he finished the pan.

When Bruce got up to get more food, Loki glanced down at his stomach. It was decidedly round at this point, heavy and dome-like, but it stuck out only perhaps three or four inches. He had done much worse.

Still, he wanted very much to touch it.

"Now you will rub my stomach," Loki said in his best tone of command, eyeing Bruce as the other man served up another dish of pasta and chicken.

Bruce raised his eyebrows. "Will I?" he asked.

"You will," Loki said.

Bruce returned to the bed. He loaded a fork with food and brought to Loki's mouth. "I will if you finish all the Alfredo pasta and chicken," he said. "I promise."

Loki looked back at the table. There had been two huge bowls of pasta and four pans of chicken, and Loki had eaten through one of the bowls and two of the pans. He swallowed, feeling the heaviness that had already settled in his stomach. And even after the pasta, there were still one more pan of lasagna, three pies, and a cheesecake.

For the first time since the game began, Loki wondered whether he might not end up saying "Constantinople."

The most he'd ever eaten in one session had probably been with Bruce, a few weeks earlier. Fifteen deep-dish pizzas loaded with toppings and dripping with extra cheese. Loki hadn't ever had pizza that good, and they'd done it in public, and the stares of some of the patrons only made it that much better as Loki ate pizza after pizza as if in a trance. He hadn't even meant to set a new record for his fullness, but by the time he came back to himself he had already eaten ten of the pizzas, his stomach was already fit to be used as a shelf, and with Bruce rubbing and encouraging Loki through even more after that, Loki figured why not push beyond what he thought was his limit. He had ended it aching, bloated and miserable, his stomach a solid ball of pain and cramps. Bruce and he stayed at the restaurant until it closed, Bruce rubbing Loki in a back corner booth, and even then it had been difficult to get outside to hail a cab.

And this was more food than that.

But Loki had accepted the challenge. He wouldn't back down, and he certainly wouldn't beg for a belly rub. Grimly, he opened his mouth.

Of course, the deliciousness of the food did make it easy to forget about the growing pain in his swelling stomach while Bruce was pushing bite after bite into Loki's mouth. Loki didn't even stop to assess his situation again until Bruce stood to refill the plate.

Loki took a cautious deep breath--he was well aware that this might be painful--and was in fact greeted by a stabbing pain through one side of his bloated stomach. He winced and his arm jerked automatically in an attempt to rub the aching organ. But of course, his arm stayed tied securely above his head.

The bed dipped as Bruce sat back down, and Loki glared at him. "This is cruel," he said. "Being tied up and stuffing at the same time. I'm never doing this again."

Bruce frowned and considered the Trickster for a moment.

Then he set the plate of food on the bedside table, and opened the drawer below where they kept lubricant and other necessaries.

He drew out a blindfold and, without further ado, lifted Loki's head and looped the soft black fabric around it.

"What are you doing?" Loki asked, jerking his head side to side in an attempt to shake off the blind fold. "I will not be bound and blind"--

"Yep, you will," Bruce said, holding Loki's head still with one hand while he clumsily tied the blindfold one-handed with the other.

"I thought you loved me," Loki whined.

"Shut up Loki, I love you more than my own life, and you also know that if you want me to stop there's just one word you've got to say." Bruce's hands left Loki's head and the Trickster was left in darkness.

He could say Constantine--

Just then, a stab of pleasure jolted Loki as something warm, wet and gentle flicked across his nipple, and he drew a sharp breath.

"You like that?" Bruce asked.

"Christ," was all Loki managed.

The pleasure returned as what was clearly Bruce's tongue flicked at Loki's nipple again, back and forth lightly, then up and down, exploring the whole if the nub, capturing every nerve ending. Loki began to breath harder, and he found himself luxuriating in the sense of being laid out and open, just for Bruce. The ache in his stomach felt right, felt comforting. He squirmed as his cock grew even harder in his jeans.

Loki heard himself whimper, and Bruce's tongue disappeared. Bruce made a low, pleased sound in his throat. "You are so god damned hot right now," he said.

Loki tried to catch his breath without breathing in too deeply. "I ... Know," he said finally.

Bruce laughed and, a moment later, there was a warm, wet mouth on Loki's jaw, sending tingling spikes of pleasure to his cock, then on his neck, making Loki tip his head to the side, exposing more of his skin to Bruce's lips and teeth.

Then Bruce was gone again, and the next thing Loki felt was the press of more food against his lips.

Made pliant by pleasure, Loki opened up obediently and took in more food. Without the ability to see how far he'd gotten through the new plate, or to see his swelling stomach, Loki's world was reduced to the seemingly steady and unending stream of food passing between his lips, the now very real ache in his stomach, and a budding sensation of nausea.

Chewing became a chore, his jaw tired and his body uninterested in even more to digest. The ache and nausea grew, and Loki's abused stomach practically screamed for someone to touch it.

Yet, somehow, the whole experience was wonderful. Every dogged bite, as he swallowed, pushed down to add to Loki's pain and his sense of utter helplessness, and the sensation somehow ended in his cock, as if the ache and the sense of subjugation were pleasures in themselves.

"You're doing so good," Bruce cooed as Loki felt the bed shift, perhaps because Bruce had stood up. "You're getting huge. You're really fucking god damned sexy."

Loki made a neutral noise, his mind too hazed with pleasure, pain, fullness and the need to focus on not throwing up to form a coherent response.

By the end of the next plate of pasta and chicken, though, the pain and discomfort had reached a point where Loki was no longer sure he liked the feeling, even perversely. His stomach churned, the contents seeming to press up his throat.

"It hurts, Bruce, and I think I might be sick," he said. He swallowed, and hesitated only slightly before adding, "please. Please rub it. I just said please."

"Just one more plate," Bruce said. "All the pasta and chicken. That was the deal."

Loki whimpered as another bite pressed to his swollen lips, but he opened his mouth anyway.

His stomach was so full, at this point, that it felt a bit as if a stack of encyclopedias were resting on his abdomen, pressing him down with its weight. But that, of course, wouldn't hurt this badly. This felt more like the encyclopedias had somehow ended up inside him.

And the sensation was only growing. "Bruce," Loki said between bites. "I don't think I can do this."

Another bite did not come promptly. "You know what to say," Bruce replied after a moment.

Loki licked his lips, the taste if rich Alfredo sauce on them sending a wave of nausea through him. Did he have to stop? Could he--could he push a little further?

He opened his mouth.

But no food entered it. Instead, a gentle finger pushed his mouth closed, and Bruce's lips were on Loki's, kissing him softly. Hands tangled in Loki's hair. Loki sighed into the kiss, but then gasped as a stab of pain went through his stomach.

Then Bruce's mouth was gone and, a second later, it was on Loki's other nipple, flicking and licking, and Loki gasped again. Bruce alternated direction and pressure, working the nipple over slow and then fast and then slow again, and Loki once more forgot his pain and nausea, once more became very aware of his cock as it strained against his fly, felt his whole body and his bloated, tight stomach yielding to Bruce.

"You're shaking, Loki," Bruce said, a laugh in his voice.

"You always ... Did ... Deliver," Loki replied, panting.

Then there was more food being pushed into Loki's mouth, and he accepted it. Bite upon bite of the now-nauseating pasta and chicken passed down Loki's throat into his protesting middle. His stomach churned even as Loki's tight flesh tingled from being so stretched over the huge amount of food inside it.

By the time Bruce stopped brining bites to Loki's mouth, Loki could hardly focus on anything but the pain and the fight not to throw up.

Then, without warning, blessedly warm, soft fingers and palms connected with the flesh of Loki's weakly gurgling stomach.

Loki let out a gust of air, the closest thing to a sigh he could manage, and the hands began to rub--oh so gently, barely touching--along the sides of Loki's distended stomach.

Loki concentrated on the sensation of Bruce's touch, feeling the relieving pressure of hands on his tingling skin. Bruce rubbed softly, moving from the sides to the aching bottom, then the overstuffed top, and finally to the crest, his finger dipping briefly into Loki's belly button, making his cock twitch. Then Bruce increased the pressure and, though it hurt at first, Loki found his nausea and his pain ebbing slightly.

"Thank you," he breathed as the pain eased to merely catastrophic levels. "You asshole."

Bruce's didn't respond, and a moment later lips touched Loki's belly, and he began to trial a line of wet kisses from crest to waistband. Then, mercifully, Bruce popped open Loki's jeans--which had been pushed down as Loki's stomach grew anyway--and slid them off Loki. A pressure Loki hadn't even noticed amidst the much more drastic internal pressure left Loki's painful stomach, and he made a low sound of relief.

"Better?" Bruce asked.

"A little," Loki sniffed.

"Ready to go on?"

Loki moaned, long and pitiful. "Do I have to?" he asked. "Can't we just fuck already? I am huge, Bruce. You have got to be salivating over me by now."

"I am," Bruce answered. "But we already made the rules. There's no going back now."

Loki frowned. "Look at it," he ordered, doing his best to wag his ponderous stomach from side to side. "Look at it. I promise you, I will come all over my own stomach when you fuck me. I will slosh and moan and gurgle for you. Come on."

By way of answer, Bruce pressed a bite of what felt like some kind of pie--warm wet filling, dry crust--to Loki's lips.

Resigned, Loki opened his mouth and let in the miserable, nauseating-but honestly, objectively delicious--apple pie.

"You want me to go get you some ice cream with this?" Bruce teased.

"You are a tyrant," Loki grumbled.

The pie was deposited inside Loki methodically, and though Loki ached very badly, the pain was not as intense as it had been before Bruce's rubbing, and the nausea had receded to a level that was uncomfortable but did not necessitate an exercise of willpower to avoid vomiting.

When the pie was gone, Bruce retrieved another, and the process continued. But this time, while Loki chewed mechanically, Bruce rubbed firm, comforting circles on Loki's upper stomach, easing the pressure even as it built still further.

Loki could feel, from the touch of Bruce's hand, just how huge his stomach was. He longed to see it, and to touch it himself. But there wasn't much room left for longing or thinking of any kind in Loki's head, preoccupied as he was by the sensations in his stomach.

By the time the third pie came around--cherry--Loki was fighting tears from the pain of it. Not that Bruce could see that.

But when the second bite of cherry pie pressed up against Loki's lips, Bruce's hand suddenly left Loki's stomach, and reappeared on Loki's balls, cupping them lightly. Loki, temporarily distracted from his pain, let his mouth fall open. And the cherry pie went inside. Bruce repeated the process through much of the pie, surprising Loki with touches and carcasses Loki could not see coming, and shoving a forkful into the Trickster while he was distracted.

When he stood again, Loki realized all at once that he was in very serious pain, and the tears that were still threatening spilled from his eyes. He blinked against the blindfold, ashamed. There was nothing he could do to make the pain better. He couldn't move. He couldn't stop. He couldn't throw up. He was defeated.

"Bruce," he said. A fresh stab of pain shook him, and he winced before he went on. "I don't think I can keep going. Not normally. If I'm going to finish you're going to have to take an even more active role."

"How do you mean?" Bruce said.

"Just keep forcing it on me. Force my mouth closed and open if you have to. Don't let me protest."

Bruce was silent for a moment, but then Loki realized his breathing was getting faster and harder.

"Oh god damn, Loki," Bruce said then, and all at once his lips and hands were everywhere, all over Loki, kissing and sucking and licking and possessing. Loki's stomach gurgled and churned as Bruce touched it, licked it, and Loki lay there and let the pain and pleasure take him.

"All you have left is one pan of lasagna, and a cheesecake," Bruce said. "Christ, I think you're really gonna do it. You are too damned hot, I could just, I could--"

The clinking sound of a belt. Something fleshy touched Loki's stomach, and he realized with a stirring of interest in his cock that it was Bruce's cock, pressing into his belly. Bruce rubbed the head on the stretched skin, then the shaft, rocking his hips. Loki felt his own breath speed up, and he distantly wished that Bruce would touch his cock.

And then, as if by magic, Bruce did. Suddenly his mouth was around Loki's shaft, working up and down, and Loki jumped in surprise and pleasure, his stomach sloshing in a mighty protest. Then Bruce's pinky finger was in Loki's hole, and Loki felt that feeling of being open and all for Bruce returning, his huge, massively painful stomach feeling like a tribute.

Bruce kept working on Loki, and Loki's need grew as Bruce put more fingers inside him; he wished he could rock his hips, but each time he tried, it was like an earthquake went off among the contents of his tender belly, so he stayed carefully still and passive.

But then the feeling of need began to swell, and Loki felt a fire burning in his groin. He moaned and tipped his head back. "Do this forever, Bruce," he said breathily. "Do exactly this forever."

Perhaps predictably, Bruce's hands and mouth disappeared in response. "Well, now that you're all flushed and horny," Bruce said cheerfully, "it's time for lasagna."

Loki had no fight left in him. He laid there and waited.

Then two fingers pulled his mouth open, food was laid on his tongue, and the fingers closed his mouth. Loki didn't move, unwilling to chew the hateful substance. Apparently catching on to just how little Loki was willing to do at this stage, Bruce began to pump his mouth up and down in a semblance of chewing.

Feeling a bit ridiculous, Loki tried to help, weakly. After a moment he swallowed, and the process repeated itself.

A few bites in, Loki realized he was in real trouble.

"Bruce," he said, and it came out a pitiful, breathy whine. "I am going to be sick. I am. Help"--

The contents of Loki's belly lurched up his throat as his stomach muscles heaved, and Loki shut his mouth fast to prevent that heave from being the one that lost him the game. Then he just lay there for a second, mouth firmly shut against the nausea and stomach roiling.

Bruce's soothing hands were back on Loki's noisy stomach then, rubbing light circles, pressing into the places Bruce knew from experience wouldn't be hurting as badly, gently probing over the places he knew would hurt the worst. Slowly, over what felt like hours but probably was minutes, the nausea again began to ebb.

Then Bruce's fingers were at the blindfold on Loki's head, and a moment later Loki was looking up at a smiling Bruce.

"Better?" he asked.

"A little," Loki said weakly.

Bruce leaned down and captured Loki's lips for a soft kiss. Then he pulled away and regarded Loki seriously.

"Do you still want to have sex?" he asked.

Loki nodded. "But I haven't finished," he said.

"It's okay," Bruce said. "Let's do it."

Gratitude and relief welled up in Loki's chest. "Thank you," he said.

Bruce just nodded and retrieved the lubricant. A moment later he was on top of Loki, sliding inside the Trickster in a position that would have been like missionary were it not for the way Bruce had to curl around and over Loki's huge gut.

His cock, slick with precum and lube, penetrated Loki's hole easily, and Bruce began to thrust gently. "Good?" he asked.

"Good," Loki said, nodding. And it did feel good. The feeling of being open and all for Bruce began to steal back over him, and Loki relaxed into the pleasure. He wanted to move his hips, but he knew that if he did, he would upset his stomach, so he did not move.

But as the pleasure built within him, as the heat in his groin began to burn, Loki wanted more and he wanted to express it.

"Faster," he said.

Bruce frowned. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes. Faster."

Bruce sped up the pace slightly, and Loki arched into Bruce's cock. His stomach lurched just as Bruce lodged more deeply inside Loki than before, leaving Loki caught between pleasure and pain. Recklessly, he jerked his hips up again, and the process recreated itself, his stomach sloshing.

"Harder," Loki said. "Now."

With a shake of the head, Bruce began to thrust harder. Loki's stomach lurched with every thrust, but he didn't care. He was here, and he was all for Bruce, and he felt wonderful.

But that didn't really stop his stomach from pitifully wanting Loki to empty it, and he had to occasionally bite back heaves as he lay there accepting Bruce's cock.

"Rub," Loki demanded, glancing down at his stomach. "Make it better."

Bruce reached out and began to rub in slow, form circles, his touch harder than before. Loki moaned and squirmed beneath his touch.

"One hand on my cock," he demanded.

Again, Bruce complied, and Loki gasped. He rucked up into Bruce's thrusts, his belly like a weight to be lifted. His arms twitched with the need to reach out and grab his own stomach, but each time the restraints thwarted him he just felt a stab of something like pleasure at the thought that it was Bruce who had restrained him, and it was Bruce who was fucking him now.

"God damn it, Loki," Bruce said then. "You are so hot right now."

"Am I?" Loki heard himself ask. "Tell me what I look like."

"You look-- Christ--you look like a beached whale, like you can't move, and your stomach is shaking as I pound you. But you look so flushed and blissed-out, it's like you don't give a fuck you can't move. You look ... Subjugated. And debauched. It's wonderful. And that is my hand on your huge gut. It's fantastic."

"I'm gonna come," Loki said. "Oh god, I'm--"

He came in a great spurt, cum landing in a trial up his belly and Loki arched up into Bruce with a mighty effort, his huge stomach as taunt as his spine as the pleasure washed over him.

Cursing and panting, Bruce sped up even more as Loki came down from his orgasm, and as Loki watched, Bruce bent forward and licked the cum from Loki's belly. A few moments later Bruce froze over Loki, eyes rolling back in his head as he shot his cum into Loki's ass.

Then he collapsed to one side of the Trickster, and both men lay panting for a second.

Loki was realizing that, now that the sex was over and his body no longer thrummed with need, his stomach was still a tight, lancing pain in his middle.

"Are you going to untie me now?" he asked haughtily. "I am still in considerable pain."

Bruce pushed himself up immediately and began to rub Loki once more. He smirked. "I don't know," he said. "I kinda like you like this."

Loki glared at Bruce. "You cannot be serious," he said.

Bruce smiled, reached up, and untied Loki's bonds. "Spoil sport," he said.

Loki brought his arms down immediately and tested his wrists for any pain. They were fine. "I think next time," he said, "I'll tie you up. And eat in front of you. But you can't touch."

Bruce blinked. "That sounds incredibly hot," he said.

"Of course it does," Loki said. "It involves me." Then he looked down at his gurgling stomach. "But let's not do it for ... Several months. That's how long it's going to take me to digest all this."

Bruce just grinned and kept on rubbing.

@темы: Belly Kink, Loki, Tummyache, Боль в животе, Стаффинг

02:12 

EvilStufferSebastian
Title: Comfort, Food
Autor: charlottesometimes


archiveofourown.org/works/1326562

Category: M/M
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Relationship:Bruce Banner/Loki
Additional Tags: StuffingFeeding KinkJarvis is a match maker apparentlyBelly RubsBelly worshipBelly Kinkemotional overeating

Series:
Part 1 of the Stuffing Loki series »


Comfort, Food
charlottesometimes
Summary:

Loki never had anyone to comfort him growing up on Asgard, so he turned to overeating as a way to sooth himself in times of stress. Now that Loki is working as an Avenger, living in the Avengers tower, Bruce has noticed how Loki disappears to his room whenever he's stressed out. Jarvis knows Loki overeats; he also knows Bruce watches stuffing porn. The AI might take advantage of this information, for Loki's and Bruce's own good.

Notes:

This story is stuffing kink porn. If you're not into it, skip it.

Note: If you commented on this story previously, your comment is not gone because I deleted it. It is gone because I accidentally deleted this story and thus all the comments were deleted. I just wanted to put that out there in case people thought I was removing their comments selectively.

Work Text:

When Loki crept past the open door to the TV room where the Avengers were watching “Who's Line is it Anyway?” like he hoped to go unnoticed, his head down and his arms cradling a large number of plastic and paper shopping bags, it wasn't the first time that had happened.

In fact, Bruce realized, this was what Loki had done after just about every fight the Avengers had gotten into during the four months Loki had been a tentative and still distrusted member of the team: Disappeared just after the debriefing, opting out of the post-game team-bonding activities Steve insisted upon, and then reappeared some hours later to carry a large number of shopping parcels furtively to his bedroom.

Not that the secretive or antisocial nature of his post-fight routine was unusual, for him. He was living in the Avengers mansion, Tony said, but Bruce hardly saw him except for missions. He didn't come to communal meals, didn't show up for movie nights, and generally did not come out of his room unless Thor dragged him out.

And yet, Bruce liked Loki. In the time they had managed to have to interact, Loki had struck him as a smart, wry, sensitive guy, someone Bruce might be able to relate to—whereas all the other Avengers were bull-headed jocks, full of confidence and bravado even if those traits made up for deficiencies in self-esteem. Tony was Bruce's closest friend on the team, but even he was a bit macho for Bruce's tastes.

As Bruce turned away from the door, a worried look on his face in spite of himself, he caught Thor looking at him from the other side of the couch they both occupied.

“My brother has always been a loner,” Thor said quietly, seeing Bruce's expression. “I do not think it is good for him, but my attempts to engage him have not gone well in recent years.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking me to check on Loki?” he asked. He wasn't completely averse to the idea. He had, in fact, been wishing he had an excuse to go see what the Trickster was up to.

“I am only saying it would do him no harm for someone on this team other than myself to show an interest in him,” Thor said. “And you seem to have noticed his lonely habits. Your effort would not be misplaced, should you choose to make one.”

After that, Thor returned to laughing and joking with the other Avengers about the silly TV show, and Bruce found himself once again alone with his thoughts of Loki.

It took about five minutes for him to decide and, as he stood, Thor caught his eye again. Bruce nodded, once, and Thor gave him a quiet smile.

He made his way down the corridor until he was well out of hearing distance of the TV room, and asked Jarvis where Loki's room was. However the robot had been programmed, it didn't seem to believe in preserving the privacy of secretive and isolated Gods of Lies, and it told him without much trouble.

A few minutes later, Bruce was knocking on a nondescript door in a hallway several floors above the one where most of the Avengers rooms were; evidently, Loki was serious about remaining isolated0.

Bruce knocked.

***

Loki sighed contentedly and set the empty container of chicken korma to the side. He had mixed the jasmine rice with the savory sauce and plump chicken right in the container, shamelessly mopping the rich concoction up with nan bread as he ate, letting the fatty sauce slide across his tongue with each bite. Now the container, meant for two, was empty, and Loki's stomach was feeling warm and pleasant. He looked down and, as he suspected, saw that nothing was showing, yet. Out of habit he rubbed the flat expanse beneath his T-shirt, but he was by no means in any pain. He wasn't even full yet.

That was dinner number one. He had nineteen more in store, and then plenty of junk food and dessert on top of that. Leaning back against the wall, he surveyed the take-out feast he had procured for himself, and smiled.

This was how Loki had always found comfort when he was under stress, since he was a child. No one had ever been willing to talk to him, to hold him, when he needed it, mostly because it seemed no one else on Asgard ever needed such a thing. Even his mother, when he was young, would laugh at his fears or his anxiety, pat him on the head, and send him on his way. He had quickly learned that, if he wanted to feel better, he would have to find a way that didn't require anyone's assistance. (In this way, Loki had acquired a massive ability to put food away, which had been lifesaving on Nornheim that time fire challenged the company to an eating contest, and Loki bested it. Thor, Sif and the Warriors Three had been impressed at the ability of Loki's stomach to stretch and stretch, and he had had to pretend it was a native, unexpected ability, and not won developed through years of comfort overeating.)

When he was younger, his lonely overeating sessions had even been one of the few things that could help Loki sleep; exhausting himself with fullness and digestion would help him shut down like few other things would. It no longer had that benefit, now that he was grown and had done and seen terrible things—nothing had that benefit, now; nothing put him to sleep—but the benefit of temporary comfort remained.

Loki decided to go for the baked ziti next—several pounds of creamy, tangy pasta which was one of his favorite Midgarian dishes. Actually, he had a lot of favorite Midgardian dishes, by now. In his four months as a provisional Avenger, he had found himself under stress quite a few times, and had already become known to several foodstuffs proprietors in the greater New York City area. He particularly liked “Indian,” “Greek” and “Italian” foodstuffs.

He shoveled the pasta down like a starving man, focused on the taste and the creamy texture, moaning shamelessly in his empty room. This was probably one of his favorite stages: When he was full but not so full that he could really feel it yet, when that fullness to come was still something to be anticipated. As he brought the fork to his mouth again and again with one hand, the other trailed absently up and down his stomach, sending little shivers through his spine. He was, as usual during these sessions, half hard inside his pants (which he would, soon enough, remove to give his gut room to breath).

Before Loki knew it, he was mopping up the last dregs of cheese and tomato sauce from the ziti tin with the last hunk of garlic bread. He sighed happily and leaned back again, glimpsing himself in the mirror he had lowered to the floor so he could see the progress of his stomach from another angle. His stomach, when he lifted his shirt, was just barely—every so slightly—beginning to bow outward. He rubbed at it, letting his eyelids flutter a little in pleasure.

He downed a couple of Dr. Peppers before he went on. He liked how the heavier fullness of food and the fiz combined; “soda pop” was a definite advantage to being stuck on Midgard atoning for his crimes.

Next came the felafel-stuffed pitas, dripping with tangy tziki sauce. Loki pushed each bite down inside himself sigh a sigh of pleasure.

When they were gone, he sat back once more, adding the Styrofoam container to the growing pile of empty wrappers beside him.

His hands played absently over his no longer quite flat stomach. This was what most people would call “stuffed.” It was where the general population got to maybe a few times a year, at Yule and maybe a King's feast or two. This is where Loki would stop if he were at one of those public gatherings. His stomach was in the very earliest stages of stretching, creating a nice full feeling that made him settle even more lazily against the wall. He took a deep breath, reveling in how his stomach pushed out as he did so.

He chose a sausage pizza next, then hot dogs with everything bought from a street vendor, then a steak with mashed potatoes and carrots, then a gourmet hamburger—the stuff Midgardians called “American food” all seemed to be rather red-meat-based, more like Asgardian fare, and Loki found it comfortingly nostalgic—washing everything down with more Dr. Pepper.

By the time that was all inside him, Loki was beginning to really feel stretched, even though he wasn't half done yet. He knew the feeling of being uncomfortably full would long precede the point where he actually needed to stop, though, so this was not alarming.

He looked down at his stomach to see that it was definitely straining against his shirt now. His stomach didn't really feel tight yet, but it was round and visible, both from above and in the mirror. He took a few moments to simply stretch backward and rub himself—was that the beginning of pain he felt as he took a deep breath? It seemed to be. He winced and massaged the side of his little mound.

And then, just as he let out a small moan of satiation and pleasure, there was a knock at his bedroom door.

***

Bruce waited a moment as the small sounds of movement inside the room ceased, as if Loki had frozen at the sound of Bruce's knocking.

Finally, a voice came from behind the door, irritated but polite.

“Who is it and what can I do for you?”

Bruce licked his lips. “Uh,” he said. “It's Bruce.” What on earth was he going to say, exactly? “I just wanted to see if you … wanted to come and watch TV with us. Or … something.”

There was a pause. “No, thank you,” Loki replied eventually. “I am well as I am. Please do not worry, and do not hesitate to be on your way.”

Bruce winced. Maybe he should have come in with a plan of attack. “No, I mean, I'm worried about you,” he blurted out. Oh, god. “I just mean … You always lock yourself up in here, and I just don't think that's … I mean, if it were me, I'd be in danger of Hulking out, if I locked myself up alone all the time. It's not good for a person.” Bruce wanted very much to kick himself.

He might have heard Loki scoff, but he wasn't sure. “I am quite alright, I promise you,” the Trickster replied. “You need not worry another moment about me. Please do feel free to return to the televised program you and the others were enjoying.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn't exactly enjoying it,” Bruce said, leaning up against the wall beside the door and crossing his arms. “Maybe I decided to come see you because I wanted a bit more intelligent conversation.”

Loki paused again before answering, “Well, I'm very tired, and in no state for intelligent conversation. Perhaps tomorrow. I'm very sorry.”

Bruce opened his mouth to reply—though he wasn't quite sure what he was going to say—but another voice interrupted him.

“Mr. Banner,” it came from above, so quiet it would have been a whisper had it been intoned by a human being and not an artificial intelligence, “would you be so kind as to remove down the hallway a few dozen yards or so? I have an important piece of information I would like to share with you.”

Bruce shut his mouth like a confused fish, then opened it again. “Uh, ok, Loki, hold on a minute, I'll be right back.”

He was fairly sure he heard Loki say something like “No need” as he took off down the hallway.

“Thank you, sir,” Jarvis said when Bruce had moved himself a sufficient distance away from Loki's door. “Now, would you mind terribly if I asked you a rather personal question? If my line of inquiry make you uncomfortable rather than excited, I can delete all data that led me to pose these questions, sir.”

Bruce found himself once again at a loss for words--“rather than excited”?--but after a moment he recovered. “Sure, Jarvis,” he said. “Ask away.”

“Sir, are you a homosexual?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, blinking. “It turns out that I am.”

“And, do you sometimes use your personal computer to seek out and consume pornographic materials related to a kink called 'stuffing'?”

Bruce felt himself flush and, without really meaning to, scanned up and down the hallway to be sure it was empty.

“There is no one anywhere near here, sir, or I would not have brought it up,” Jarvis said. “Also, do not worry that I know it. I am not capable of judgmental thoughts on these sorts of things.”

“Well, I really wish you would get to the point, one way or another,” Bruce muttered.

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis continued. “The point is that Loki is currently stuffing himself quite silly and seems to be deriving what one might call 'sexual gratification' form the act. I thought perhaps you two would enjoy yourselves more if you indulged together, rather than separately.”

Two thoughts occurred to Bruce simultaneously.

One was, quite clearly and loudly inside Bruce's mind, “Oh god yes.”

The other was, not quite as loudly—though this is what he said out loud, to Jarvis—“Jarvis, that's an invasion of his privacy, to tell me that.”

“Well, sir, judging by the spike in your heart rate when I said it, and the change in the pattern of blood flow in your body, you don't really mind my telling you.”

“You can't just--”

“I'm springing the lock on Loki's door, sir. You should be able to let yourself in any time.”

Bruce laughed dryly. “You really can't do this,” he said.

Jarvis did not respond.

“Jarvis?”

The AI remained silent.

“For the record, Jarvis,” Bruce went on, starting back down the hallway to Loki's door, “I think I hate you.”

He paused when he reached the door again, breathing quietly, and listened for any sound of Loki inside the room.

He was immediately rewarded with a low, breathy moan, followed by a soft hiccup.

Bruce's cock jumped at the sound, and the sudden fog in his head confirmed that Jarvis' words about Bruce's changing blood flow were probably accurate.

He didn't have to go in, necessarily. He could easily flee back to his own room, look up some favorite videos on YouTube, maybe see if that one guy from Xtube was available for Skyping. Or … he could stand out here and listen …

Loki sighed heavily on the other side of the door, and Bruce could here how labored it was. Bruce's pants were feeling fairly tight in the groin region, now, and his breath was speeding up. Was Loki really inside this room, just on the other side of this unlocked, flimsy door, stuffing himself until he couldn't breath right?

Suddenly, Bruce was absolutely overcome with the need to know whether that was true.

He opened the door.

Loki froze in the act of bringing a fork to his mouth, one hand holding a container of Chinese take-out—or, rather, balancing a container of Chinese take-out on his lush, rounded belly.

He was lying back against a stack of pillows near one wall, a pile of food wrappers lying to one side and a collection of unopened take-out, desserts and junk food to the other side. What was more, two twelve-packs of Dr. Pepper sat near to Loki's hand, with seven of them already emptied and sitting in a line beside the pile of empty food containers.

All this Bruce saw at a glance. What his eyes were drawn to—what they lingered on—was the Trickster god himself.

Loki's stomach was a heavy hemisphere in his lap as he reclined against the pillows, one hand massaging one of its creamy sides. The Trickster's T-shirt had been pushed up to reveal most of the expanse of belly, whether on purpose or because it had ridden up naturally Bruce couldn't be sure. The flesh Bruce could see was pink and smooth. Loki's pants bit into the underside in a way that made Bruce wince even as his mouth watered at the larger tableau.

Loki's expression, however, was not part of what made the scene inviting. He looked—to Bruce's horror—betrayed, eyes wide.

Then he got angry.

“Norns, Bruce Banner, I told you no, I told you I was not interested in your televised programs or your bonding activities”--He tried to stand up, but was impeded by his belly, and had to sort of roll sideways in order to sit up enough to push himself to a standing position. Sadly, as he did so, he pulled his shirt down to hide the beautiful gut. “Now get out of here, get out, get out!”

It was not one of Loki's more eloquent moments, Bruce thought distantly, but he had been caught in something of an odd position.

But then, as Loki drew closer, he stopped. Bruce stared at him, trying to parse out the Trickster's expression: It was suddenly thoughtful, curious, uncertain, no longer a mask of rage.

“Where are you coming from?” Loki asked tentatively. Bruce noticed with another jolt to his cock that Loki's face was flushed, though from embarrassment or from the effort of consuming so much food he could not be sure. His imagination told him it was the latter.

“Uh, down the hall,” Bruce replied unhelpfully. He was breathing harder now.

“Are you alright?” Loki asked warily.

Oh, Bruce realized: Loki had seen Bruce's arousal. Possibly also noticed his short breath, and his own flush.

Well, Bruce thought. He had opened the door, hadn't he? This could either go really, really well, or create a really, really awkward situation that neither of them could get out of.

“Jarvis told me you were stuffing yourself,” Bruce said. “I ...” He trailed off.

“Wanted to save me from myself?” Loki replied wryly.

Bruce shook his head. “No,” he said. There was no way Loki could miss the roughness in his voice. He swallowed. “I wanted to help you.”

Loki's eyes went wide, then narrowed. “What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously. “Help me how?”

“I could … feed you. If you're too stuffed to go on yourself. And I could ...” Bruce stepped forward, desire absolutely obliterating common sense. He put a hand on Loki's bulging stomach, trapped as it was inside his T-shirt and jeans. He rubbed lightly across the fabric surface, swallowing hard. “I like this kind of thing,” he said quietly as he rubbed, carefully not looking at Loki's face, eyes fixed on his hand as it made its way in slow, soft circles around Loki's midsection. The curve of it was as intoxicating as Bruce had known it would be, but he longed to put his fingers on the hot flesh beneath the fabric.

Loki's own breath began to speed, and Bruce finally looked up into the other man's face.

And what he saw there brought him partway back to himself. Loki's expression was open, vulnerable, and thoughtful; it was unlike anything Bruce had ever seen on Loki's face.

“Do you … really?” Loki asked in a quiet voice. Bruce nodded. “You like it … how?” Loki went on.

“I like it … uh ...”--

“Do you want to touch me?” Loki asked, his voice even quieter now.

Bruce nodded vigorously.

“And for me to touch you, too?”

Bruce grinned. “If you want,” he said. “If you're up to it, I mean. I'd prefer to stuff you until you can't really move too well, honestly.”

Loki's breath caught. “And then?” he asked.

“And then I'll put my mouth on you,” Bruce said, slipping one hand up and under the shirt—at last, feeling that hot, smooth roundness, marred only by the cruel constraint of Loki's jeans. Loki shivered beneath his touch and tipped his head back. “I'll start with your mouth, but I'll work my way down. And when I'm through lapping the cum from your cock, I'll turn you on your side. I'll be very careful of your huge, beautiful belly. I'll be sure to keep rubbing it even while I get your ass ready and, when your begging and so turned on you don't even know where you are anymore, I'll stuff you one more time—I'll stuff my cock in your ass.”

Loki seemed to have been floored by this performance, his cock now just as inconvenienced by his jeans as his gut was. His knees were trembling and his eyes were most of the way closed as they looked at Bruce. His pupils were, now, so large his eyes looked black.

Deciding that Loki's state was probably consent, Bruce guided the Trickster from where he shakily stood, taking him back down to lie against the pillows where Bruce had found him. Bruce quickly stood up again to close and lock the door, then knelt beside the panting god.

“Do you want me to feed you, or can you do it yourself?” Bruce asked, resuming the belly massage.

Loki shifted on the pillows to make himself more comfortable, and looked up at Bruce. His pupils were still blown wide, but he looked a bit more calculating once more.

“Come here,” he said, crooking a finger at Bruce. Bruce leaned in.

No sooner had he moved forward than Loki seized his shirt front and pulled him into a kiss, letting his fingers drift out to slip inside the waistband of Bruce's dress pants, sliding the shirt untucked before gliding up Bruce's torso, to his nipple, brushing the sensitive nub. Bruce moaned into Loki's mouth, his own hands still moving on Loki's protruding belly.

Loki finally pulled away and sat back again, looking pleased with himself. “I would like you to feed me,” he said, voice much cooler than he looked.

Bruce grinned. “Perfect,” he said.

He looked over the remaining food items—noticing that, to his glee, there were more things Loki hadn't eaten yet than things he had. “Are you really going to finish all this?” Bruce asked in awe.

“I certainly intend to,” Loki replied, his own hand on his gut again, moving absently.

They started by finishing the carton of Chinese food Loki had been munching through when Bruce interrupted him—sesame chicken—and then moved on to a few other Chinese dishes—pork fried rice, two egg rolls, wanton soup, chicken and mushroom.

Loki was a good feedee. He opened his mouth wide and obedient every time Bruce brought the fork to his lush, wet mouth, chewing and swallowing swiftly before opening up for more. As they got through the Chinese, Bruce watched as Loki's gut swelled ever so slightly more as the new food slipped down in among the mounds Loki had already consumed.

When the Chinese food was done, the cartons tossed to the side with the rest of the empties, Loki sighed happily and stretched—only only wince in pain and discomfort as he did so, curling on himself swiftly and bringing his arms to his belly.

“Oh, Loki,” Bruce heard himself say, moving quickly from where he had been looking over the remaining food once more to Loki's side. He pushed the Trickster's own hands away from his stomach, taking the creamy done in both of his own hands with gusto, massaging with a bit more force now. Loki continued to wince, but his pain seemed not to get worse; he took shallow breaths and allowed Bruce to sooth him.

“Let's make you more comfortable,” Bruce said after a few minutes, when Loki's shoulders had relaxed some and he was reclining once more.

Loki did not protest as Bruce sat him up and pulled his now-tight T-shirt over his head, exposing his hot belly to the cool room. A small sigh escaped from Loki.

Bruce sat him back again. Then, pushing Loki's expanding gut up and away from the waistband of his jeans, he nimbly popped open the button there.

The relief was immediate, if not complete, as Loki's gut poked outward even more, no longer constrained. Bruce didn't stop there, though, pulling Loki's jeans over his hips and down his legs to leave the god in nothing but his boxer briefs, his cock so hard it was, now that it was freed, tapping the underside of his round stomach.

Bruce began to massage with renewed vigor, stroking every inch of Loki's engorged stomach. It was, by now, packed full of nine full, heavy meals and seven Dr. Peppers. The food and drink was a solid weight inside Loki, making him feel sedate and calm even through the little twinges of pain and the difficulty breathing. He closed his eyes and lounged back, enjoying the firm hands on his distended stomach, each warm stroke from Bruce's hands both soothing and arousing.

Suddenly a small sound escaped Loki—the hiccups were back. They'd gone away when Bruce scared him by barging in, but they were back now.

“Oh god yeah,” he heard Bruce sigh as another hiccup overcame him, and Loki cracked an eye open.

“You like that, too?” Loki asked—though the last word was cut off by another hiccup.

“I do,” Bruce said, voice rougher now even than it had been before.

“Well, I don't,” Loki pouted. He waited to hiccup once more before going on, to avoid being cut off. “Give me Dr. Pepper. I want to make them--”

Hic!

– “go away”--

Hic!

Bruce smiled and handed Loki a Dr. pepper.

“More soda than that,” Loki said.

Bruce pushed the half-full 12-pack toward the Trickster, his face intrigued.

Loki screwed one of the bottles open and, despite the twinges of pain in his gut, chugged it all off at once. He imagined he could feel his gut swelling as he did so.

Then he popped another bottle open—Hic!--and did the same thing again. He brought the empty bottle down from his wet lips with a shallow sigh, breathing hard. He waited.

Hic!

“God damn it,” Loki muttered, pulling out another soda. He chugged it down.

Bruce was rubbing more firmly now, fingers kneading in what almost seemed like a deliberate fashion as the bubbles inside Loki churned. Loki waited for a minute while Bruce's knuckles worked on him, making him groan again in pleasure.

The groan was not interrupted by a hiccup. In fact, he lay back and let Bruce massage him in this new way for several minutes, floating on his fullness and Bruce's touch, and the hiccups did not reappear.

“Mmm,” Loki said finally. “I think we can go on now.”

The next half an hour was probably one of the most mystifying of Bruce's life—and that's saying something. Loki and he went through—with Loki lying uncomplaining beneath Bruce's touch and forkful after forkful, even as his stomach expanded visibly—a container of Pad-Thai noodles, a huge, heavy burrito wrapped in tin foil, a pizza—evidently, judging by the empty pizza box to Loki's left, the second of the evening—and a take-out box full of white rice, black beans and ropa vieja.

But as Loki swallowed the last of the rich Cuban meat, red sauce running down the corner of his mouth, it was evident he was in pain. His swallows had been slowing for several meals now.

And no wonder, Bruce thought in awe. Loki's stomach was a tight little mountain perched on his otherwise thin torso, resting heavily on his thighs. It wasn't just sticking out in the front; it bowed out to each side, too, making it look like Loki had swallowed an oversized beach ball. As Bruce continued to massage it, alternating between a light touch and more pressure, he could feel just how stuffed tight it really was.

Loki's eyes were half-lidded, his head swaying as if he were having trouble keeping it up. He blinked slowly, heavily, and let it fall backward, looking at Bruce through his eye lashes as he breathed shallowly. The pain he was feeling was evident only in his slower pace and a thin line between his eyebrows.

“Let's take a break,” Bruce said quietly, positioning himself between Loki's legs to better rub the huge gut. Loki nodded dully.

Bruce glided his fingers on each side of the expanse of Loki's distended flesh, then moved one hand to the underside of the hemisphere of belly and the other hand to the crest. He worked his way up with both hands, finally reaching just below Loki's solar plexus, and kneading more firmly than he had yet.

After a moment of kneading and searching for the right angle, it worked: Loki opened his mouth, face still contorted in pain, and let out a mighty belch that lasted a good three seconds.

As soon as it was over, the sated, horny Trickster god clapped a hand to his mouth and smothered a giggle. “Oh my,” Loki said. “That wasn't good manners, was it.”

“I don't think anything about this situation is good manners, exactly,” Bruce said warmly.

Loki shook his head, smiling now. The line between his eyes was less pronounced, but still there. “No,” he said. “It isn't.”

“Do you think you can go on?” Bruce asked.

“I don't know,” Loki said, a wicked gleam appearing in his eye. “I think it's time you started to persuade me.”

Bruce wasn't sure what Loki meant, but Loki made this irrelevant as he pulled Bruce in by his shirt front once more, locking their mouths together and sliding one hand into Bruce's shirt again—the other hand couldn't reach across Loki's belly—before dipping his hand lower to unfasten Bruce's trousers. Taking the hint, Bruce slipped out of his own clothes, leaving him as nearly naked as Loki was.

But it quickly became evident that, while Loki did want Bruce stripped, it was Loki's body that Loki wanted worshiped. He pulled Bruce's head down to the crook of his neck and tipped his head to expose the flesh there. Bruce obediently began to suck and nip at Loki's skin, earning him small sighs as Loki's own hands went absently to his own bloated belly.

Loki pulled Bruce's hands and mouth to a variety of spots that seemed to please Loki, and Bruce gave each one loving attention. By this time, Loki's erection was weeping, smearing precum through his boxer briefs and onto the underside of his engorged gut.

Bruce lifted his head from Loki's nipple and brought one hand to continue his ministrations there as he picked up a cake box with the other, and located a fork.

“You want me to keep touching you?” Bruce asked.

Loki nodded, his eyes closed and head tipped back.

“Then you're going to have to open up,” Bruce said. He brought a forkful of cake to Loki's moist lips, and drew his hand away from Loki's hard nipple.

Loki let out a whine from the back of his throat. “But I'm so full,” he said.

“You're not even half done,” Bruce chided. “Look at all this food you have left to eat.”

“Too much,” Loki said. “I got a lot more than I usually do. Thought I could do it. I was wrong.”

“Well, maybe you just need something to settle your stomach,” Bruce said. He put the forkful of cake down and pulled out a Dr. Pepper.

This Loki accepted without much comment, opening his mouth for Bruce to tip the dark liquid into it. He finished three more sodas without complaint.

The world was now, for Loki, a sort of blur of painful-pleasurable overfullness and longing in his flesh. He was hardly aware of anything going on around him but for the warm weight of Bruce beside him, and he strained toward that weight.

Loki realized, distantly, that he had rarely—if ever?—allowed himself to be this vulnerable in his life.

“Open up, now,” Bruce said. Loki did. The cake was moist and wonderful, and for a moment Loki almost forgot how painfully jam-packed he already was.

When he swallowed, of course, he remembered, and let out a moan. But then Bruce's warm hands were on his painful stomach, and—ah!--Bruce's mouth was on his thigh, moving up, hot and wet and—gone.

“Open up,” came Bruce's voice again.

Bruce fed Loki the whole cake like that, alternating bites with distractions, teasing the Trickster with nibbles to his most sensitive areas, flicking his tongue lightly along the shaft of Loki's cock, fondling his tightening balls. Loki's moans were low and frequent, and it was hard to say which were in pleasure and which were in pain. Both Loki's and Bruce's hands spent a great deal of time rubbing at the god's still-expanding waistline.

Bruce, for his part, was panting and nearly desperate by now. And yet he didn't want it to end, unsure as he was if he would ever get a chance for a repeat performance.

For Loki, the cake was torture—but Bruce's hand and mouth on him made it worth it.

Mostly. By the time he swallowed the last bite, Loki could hardly even take shallow breaths, and he realized there were tears in his eyes. He tried shifting his weight to make himself more comfortable, but nothing improved the tight pressure he felt through the engorged, abused organ in his abdomen.

Bruce tossed the cake box onto the pile of empty containers and sat back down beside Loki.

That's when he really went to work. He knew from experience that Loki's pain could only be taken away in one way, at this point: Pleasure had to obliterate it.

Stroking around what he now knew to be one of Loki's most sensitive areas—his belly button—he put his mouth, finally, on Loki's throbbing cock.

It took about ten seconds for Loki to let out a moan that was undoubtedly one of pleasure. He tried to press up into Bruce's mouth, but the weight of his engorged belly kept it from doing very much. Bruce brought his own mouth down more fully in response, taking the cock into his throat, feeling it fill him. His eyes fluttered closed at the sensation—it had been too long since Bruce felt it.

Loki's form grew slick with sweat beneath Bruce's roving hands as he continued to slide his mouth up and down Loki's cock. The god was trying to move from the pleasure of it, but mostly managed to shake, moan and breath hard—his breathing seemed to be coming easier now that the pleasure had made him forget the pain.

When Bruce sensed that Loki was close, he took his mouth from Loki's cock just long enough to wet three fingers. He put his mouth back down, going a big more slowly, and began to massage Loki's ass, slowly and shallowly at first. It relaxed a little, inviting him in, and he pushed inside.

By the time Loki came—his cock exploding as he tipped his head back, whole body shaking, gut quivering with the force of it—his hole was large enough for four fingers.

Bruce came up from his position between Loki's legs and looked the Trickster over.

Loki was utterly wrecked. His eyes were hooded with pleasure and satiation, his huge stomach mounding a truly heroic distance into the air and hanging over the sides of his torso. He was absently stroking at one side of the creamy blimp he had once called a stomach, shivering slightly at his own touch and smiling in a blissed-out way through his labored breaths. His cock was spent, but if the flush creeping up his neck was any indication, he was looking forward to the last thing Bruce had promised him as much as Bruce was.

“Come on, Bruce,” he said throatily “You did this. You made me like this. Now fuck me. Fuck me properly.”

That was it, for Bruce. Moving as quickly as he could possibly move without sacrificing gentleness—he had promised the gentleness, too, after all—he got his arms under Loki's bloated torso and, holding the belly with one hand to keep it from sloshing too much, rolled the Trickster onto his side.

Loki's hand massaged the exposed side of his huge stomach. “Mmm,” he said. “That feels nice.”

Bruce felt himself grinning as he ran a hand up and down the length of Loki's body—and realize that he was, unexpectedly, admiring the whole of the Trickster, not just the gut. He imagined it wouldn't be difficult to be completely horny with a naked Loki who hadn't overeaten at all.

Bruce pushed four fingers into the sighing god's ass to make sure it was still loose—it was—and then located the lubricated condom he kept against tall odds inside his wallet. Then he laid down beside Loki, bracing himself with one arm on the ground and the other on the firm, solid expanse of Loki's middle, grasping it to anchor himself (it held up well for this usage), and slipped himself inside Loki's warm hole.

Loki gasped a little at Bruce's first thrust. Bruce was gone by then, though. It was all he could do to keep his movements gentle as he thrust himself again and again into the Trickster, the hand on Loki's gut serving the duel purpose of keeping Bruce in place behind him and driving Bruce absolutely wild with its huge roundness.

Loki was a little better able to move with Bruce now that he wasn't literally trapped beneath his own massive stomach, and he eagerly thrust back into Bruce as Bruce moved. The eagerness nearly sent Bruce over the edge, but he managed to hang on a while longer; miraculously, he could see Loki's own cock hard again, bouncing and leaking as Bruce fucked Loki's willing ass.

In a desperate attempt to send Loki over the edge once more, Bruce began pressing firmly into Loki's overextended gut, drawing moans from the Trickster.

After a few minutes, it worked—Loki's cock shot cum all over the rug, Loki's thighs, and Loki's belly.

Bruce came second after that, finally releasing himself with a groan, his body going stiff as his cock spent itself, black spots crawling into the edges of his vision with the force of it.

When Bruce knew what was going on around him again, he was lying on the floor behind Loki, one hand on the god's hip. He pushed himself up and moved around the beached Trickster to sit in front of him.

Loki's face was serene, a heavy-lidded smile replacing his usual considering frown.

Now, with the haze of desire dispelled (mostly), Bruce suddenly felt rather awkward—and not least because he feared that Loki would now feel exposed and silly with his huge stomach.

“So … how was that?” Bruce asked, hoping those were the right words. (The right words for what? He wondered.)

“That was fantastic, Bruce Banner,” Loki replied quietly. “And even if you decide you regret this, if you decide never to look at me in the eye again because of this, I will still remember it fondly.”

Bruce frowned. “Why would I regret it?” he asked.

Loki looked away. “It is a bit … odd,” he said.

Bruce snorted. “I've dreamed of scenes like this since I was a teenager,” he said. “I'm not about to regret anything.”

“Me neither,” Loki mumbled. “I, too, have often wished someone else were here when I did this.”

Bruce was seized with the sudden desire to lie down on his side, facing Loki, and did so. He almost sat right back up, feeling that the pose was a bit intimate, but something in the Trickster's expression made him stay where he was. “Good,” he said quietly. “Then no one regrets anything.”

Loki stared at him, apparently at a loss for words. Considering he was currently neither in any apparent pain nor floored with pleasure, that might've been a first.

“What, then, are you still doing here, exactly?” he asked after a few moments of staring. “We are finished, I believe.”

But something about the last few hour's intimacy allowed Bruce to see through that. He smiled, realizing that a strange warmth in his chest was blooming, and that it had something to do with his sudden desire to make Loki smile. “I'm not about to leave you in this state,” he said. “What if your stomach gets painful again? Who will rub it?”

Loki sniffed. “I suppose it is your duty to tend to me, since you did insist upon that whole cake there at the end,” he said.

Bruce smiled, and began to rub Loki's belly once more. “I suppose it is,” he said.

Loki relaxed again, closing his eyes. His expression went soft. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“It's my pleasure,” Bruce replied, just as quietly. He hesitated, then went on. He was really going out on a limb, but something told him it was what he wanted to say. “Maybe we could also try spending some time together that doesn't involve stuffing or sex, some time.”

Loki's eyes snapped open, but he didn't glare, or speak harshly. He stared. “Do you mean that?” he asked in a small voice.

Bruce nodded. “I'd always wanted to get to know you better, but I didn't know how to ask,” Bruce said. Then he laughed. “I guess this was as good a way as any.”

“And you still want to?” Loki asked, eyes wide.

Bruce nodded.

If Bruce was being honest with himself, he would say Loki looked a little misty-eyed, at that.

“Hey, what do you say we get you into bed, and see if we can't get some sleep?” Bruce asked. “You'll feel better after if you've slept.”

Loki smiled and nodded.

Bruce had to help Loki into bed, it being all Loki could really do to hold his gut up to keep it from sloshing too painfully as he tottered across the room. He collapsed backward, shifting his weight to the most comfortable position he could find.

Bruce turned the light off and laid beside him, once again rubbing that huge, wonderful gut. Loki sighed happily once more, and settled back into the pillows.

“Good night, Loki,” Bruce said quietly after a while.

But Loki was already asleep, breath even and deep.

@темы: Belly Kink, Bellyache, Fanfiction, Loki, The Avengers (Marvel), Tummyache, Боль в животе, Живот, Стаффинг, Фанфикшн

12:19 

EvilStufferSebastian
archiveofourown.org/works/2532251/chapters/5628...


30 Days of Stuffing With Tomki
orphan_account
Summary:

Adapted for the Marvel fandom from 30 Days of Fatlock, a series of prompts proposed by fatlock & bumbumshaky on Tumblr. Tags will be updated as I go.
I swapped this idea from Aris_Silverfin. I loved their 30 Days of Fatlock series, and I'm not even in that fandom.

Over the course of 30 prompts, Tom & Loki meet, fall in love, fight, get pregnant, get married, and have sexy times all while weight gain and stuffing kinks abound.

Notes:

Prompt list below:
Day 1: What's your fave Marvel pairing to fatten up?
Day 2: Who likes to fatten whom up?
Day 3: Mutual gaining?
Day 4: Measurement and weigh in.
Day 5: Tummy kisses.
Day 6: A fight (made up with sexy times and/or food)
Day 7: What about babies?
Day 8: How did the weight gain happen? (Suggested by one partner, by accident, pregnancy, etc.?)
Day 9: New set of clothes.
Day 10: A day of stuffing.
Day 11: Favourite food/s to stuff with?
Day 12: Trying on old clothes.
Day 13: Going out for the day.
Day 14: (Cute) nicknames for the gainer?
Day 15: FREE
Day 16: Keeping a picture diary.
Day 17: Meeting old friends/family.
Day 18: Popping a button.
Day 19: Unintentional gain?
Day 20: Highest amount of weight gain for a pairing?
Day 21: Waddle-comments.
Day 22: Christmas dinner.
Day 23: Honeymoon.
Day 24: Love goes through the stomach.
Day 25: AU!
Day 26: Birthday present.
Day 27: All-you-can-eat.
Day 28: Holidays.
Day 29: Tummy rubs.
Day 30: Sexy times.

Chapter 1: What is Your Favorite Marvel Pairing to Fatten Up?
Summary:

Tom and Loki meet. When the god returns, things have changed.

Notes:

Just a bit of fluff with a touch of romance.

Chapter Text

Not entirely surprised to find the trickster god in his bedroom that evening, Tom regards Loki coolly. "You've been watching me, haven't you?" he asked, voice casual and smooth as silk.

Loki sauntered around the mortal's bedroom and made sure to make his feelings on several things known before speaking. He stroked an elegant finger along the dresser inspecting it for dust. He tugged the corner of the bedspread to smooth out an indiscernible wrinkle. He flicked his wrist and, to Tom's horror, his prized The Mighty Thor T-shirt was in Loki's hand, holes being blazed into The God of Thunder's eyes. The God of Mischief tossed the shirt into the trash can with a soft chuckle.

"Are you done?" Tom asked, an edge of annoyance to his voice.

"Quite," Loki replied, hoisting himself up on to the dresser and gazing at Tom curiously with crystal clear blue eyes.

"Are you going to answer my first question?" he asked, almost demanding. It wasn't something Loki was used to.

"Since I learned of your casting as me in those ridiculous moving picture filmy thingies,"

Now it was Tom's turn to chuckle. "Movies," he corrected gently.

"Movies," Loki grumbled.

"Yes. So tell me...how can I improve my performance? Make myself more convincing as you?"

"Well, first off, stop apologizing. Gods apologize for nothing..." he began.

They stayed up talking well into the early morning hours, both enjoying the company of the other much more than they'd have imagined. And so it became that Tom and Loki had grown very close in the years that had followed their initial meeting.

***

"My god, Lo! What happened to you?" Tom asked as Loki appeared in his living room. "I don't hear from you for months, and you just show up looking like shit? Not cool,"

The god looked himself up and down, hands ghosting over his skeletal frame, eyes sunken, hair matted. "I escaped Asgard. Afraid I'm in a bit of a mess. Can I stay here, Thomas? At least until things blow over," he added hastily.

The Midgardian crossed to Loki and pulled him into a hug. "Of course,"

"Thank you," the god cooed, brushing his lips softly, tentatively, over the human's. Tom kissed back and, surer of himself, Loki deepened the kiss.

@темы: Фанфикшн, Стаффинг, Живот, Боль в животе, Блоутинг, Tummyache, Tom Hiddleston/Loki, Tom Hiddleston, The Avengers (Marvel), Stuffing, Loki, Fanfiction, Bloating, Bloated Tummy, Bellyache, Belly Kink

12:11 

EvilStufferSebastian
Practice Thanksgiving

Autor: orphan_account

Category: M/M

Fandoms: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)Tom Hiddleston - FandomThor (Movies)

Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Loki

Characters: Tom HiddlestonLoki (Marvel)Stuffed!Loki - Character

Additional Tags: Belly KinkBelly RubsStuffingHiccupsBurps

archiveofourown.org/works/2489105?view_adult=tr...

"So what exactly is this ridiculous Midgardian tradition again? 'Tanksgiving'?" Loki asked from his perch on the kitchen counter, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"'Thanksgiving'," Tom corrected as he basted the turkey.
"So what is it?" the god questioned again, swinging his feet like a child.
"Didn't you watch that Peanuts special I gave you?" asked Tom, slightly annoyed.
"Ahhh, yes. 'It's Thanksgiving, Charlie Brown.' Ridiculous," Loki muttered, reluctantly sliding off the counter and off to the living room to watch the cartoon, grumbling the entire way.

He must've fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, he awoke to the most wonderful smells filling the house. He decided to go investigate. "You're just in time," Tom said brightly.
"Time? Time for what?" replied Loki, sniffing.
"Dinner," Tom answered, gesturing to the kitchen table, laden with all the traditional fare: stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, corn, sweet potatoes with mini marshmallows, green bean casserole, rolls, cranberry sauce, apple, pecan, and pumpkin pies and, of course, the turkey. "I hope you're hungry,"
"Ravenous," Loki grinned eagerly, taking a seat while Tom just smiled, content to watch his mischievous partner.
Loki ate with gusto, tearing off great chunks of the turkey and eating it with his bare hands. "Loki, you're not meant to eat the entire feast, I don't want you to get sick," Tom said, concerned. Loki dismissed Tom's warning with a wave of his hand and finished the whole of the 12 pound bird, leaned back a bit in his chair and burped.
"Are you alright?" Tom chuckled.
"Why wouldn't I be?" came Loki's irritated response.
Tom crossed to the table and kneeled in front of him, placing a large hand on Loki's already swollen belly. "You just ate a turkey meant for at least six people in less than thirty minutes,"
"So-" *hic* "what?" Loki retorted, sticking his tongue out.
"So...if you need your big belly rubbed, let me know, you greedy thing," he replied, pressing his lips to Loki's. His concern was met with another burp from Loki into Tom's mouth. He just rolled his eyes and took a seat across the table from his lover.
"Thomas, I am perfectly capable of eating all of this...feast...and will do so if I see fit. After all, I am a god, you-"
"So help me, Loki, if you call me a dull creature, I'll punch you in your stuffed gut,"
"I was going to call you a dear creature," Loki replied cooly. "Besides," he continued through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, "I do NOT have a big belly," he pouted.
Tom simply raised an eyebrow to indicate the distended organ, stretched and poking out of Loki's t-shirt already. Loki tugged at the shirt, trying in vain to pull it down over the swell of his protruding abdomen, continuing to eat, making his way through both the sweet and mashed potatoes, stuffing, rolls, gravy, corn, green bean casserole, and cranberry sauce before laying his fork down and squirming uncomfortably, desperately rubbing his bloated belly in search of relief. "*burp* Ooof, Tom. *hic* Help!" he whined.
"What can I do?" Tom cooed soothingly, brushing Loki's sweat-dampened hair from his eyes. He looked at the god's distended gut, clearly visible now that his shirt had ridden up over the swell, and stroked it gently. He quickly undid the button of Loki's jeans and the engorged organ strained the zipper down on its own, Loki whimpering with relief. "Better?"
Loki opened up his mouth to answer and a huge belch escaped his lips. "Unf," he grunted weakly, eyes closed. "*hic* Rub my belly. Make it better *burp*," he pleaded, voice hazy with pain, breathing shallow and labored.
"Do you want to stop? I can take you to bed," Tom offered.
"Can't," came Loki's stubborn response. "Need to have des-*hic*sert first,"
"Loki," Tom began, feeling Loki's belly. It was solid, not a bit of give left to it, and the skin covering it was pink in comparison to the creamy flesh surrounding it. Curious, he put both hands under it to test its weight and let it fall heavily to Loki's thighs. The god hiccuped and burped again, squealing as his gorge sloshed around inside him, wrapping his arms protectively around his swollen middle.
"You're supposed to be making me feel better," he weakly accused.
"I know, I'm sorry. C'mon, Lo...please. Let me help you,"
Loki shook his head as he continued to cradle his aching belly, refusing to let Tom see the tears in his eyes. He felt betrayed at the abuse his human inflected on his tender gut, the act hurting almost as much as his swollen abdomen. Tom sighed and rubbed Loki's back, trying to soothe him. Loki hiccuped again and groaned painfully, rubbing at the side of his stomach. Tom took Loki's hand off his side and firmly dug the heel of his own hand into the spot where the god had been rubbing. Loki's eyes snapped open at the sudden pressure and he inhaled sharply. "Ow!" he yelped loudly before letting out another long burp.
"There's my boy. Better?" Tom asked affectionately.
"Yes," Loki reluctantly admitted. He surveyed what was left on the table with as heavy a sigh as he could manage: three measly pies. Damn his insatiable sweet tooth. "Feed me?"
"Loki, you've had enough," Tom protested.
"Please?" Loki begged.
Tom grumbled something about Loki being as big as a Thanksgiving turkey himself, but reluctantly agreed. He slowly fed his gluttonous god every last forkful of the three pies, stopping every few mouthfuls to rub Loki's still swelling belly. Once he finished the last bite, Loki collapsed in the chair, panting and sweating, struggling to breathe.
Tom kneeled before him again and began to rub Loki's tummy in earnest. It was hot and stretched to the point that it hurt Tom to look at. The carbs and tryptophan took over and Loki slipped into a food coma, softly hiccuping and burping in his sleep occasionally as Tom kneaded his greedy boyfriend's heavy belly, dipping his head to give a kiss to the crest of the swell. He quietly got another chair to put Loki's feet up so he wouldn't be quite so uncomfortable but Loki stirred and opened his eyes. "I'm sorry, love, I didn't mean to wake you but since you're up, you wanna go to bed?" Tom asked.
"Can't. Too full," came Loki's sleepy reply.
"At least move to the couch," he insisted.
Loki glared at Tom and heaved himself forward, using his packed belly to hurtle himself forward. Once fully standing, he stretched, pushing his belly out even further. His boxer briefs left an angry red line under his engorged stomach and Tom helped him step out of them. As much as he'd love to fuck Loki right then, he knew it wasn't the time; he was in far too much pain, his belly jiggling with each painful hiccup. He'd just have to settle for spooning him on the sleeper sofa and cradling his distended gut. He could live with that. Loki moved his hands to the small of his back like a heavily pregnant woman in her ninth month and waddled into the living room, keeping his balance remarkably considering his center of gravity had been so skewed by the huge meal he'd just had. He stood there patiently hugging his stuffed belly while Tom put fresh linens on the pullout, then allowed himself to be gently lowered to the bed. He rolled to his side, his stomach feeling fuller than ever, and Tom snuggled in behind him, cradling Loki's churning middle, gently rubbing slow circles around his belly button, once an innie, now an outie with the feast that was now digesting inside him. "So," Tom whispered.
"Was it good? Can I serve it?"
Loki burped in reply as Tom's rubbing hands continued to soothe his throbbing belly, and promptly drifted off to sleep.

@темы: Кино, Живот, Боль в животе, Tummyache, Tony Stark, Tom Hiddleston/Loki, Tom Hiddleston, The Avengers (Marvel), Stuffing, Loki, Fanfiction, Bloating, Bloated Tummy, Bellyache, Belly Kink, Стаффинг, Фанфикшн

11:41 

When John's Away

EvilStufferSebastian
When John's Away

Author: Aris_Silverfin

Category: M/M

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Additional Tags: belly stuffingBelly KinkOvereatingfeederismround tummystuffed!sherlockLight Dom/sub

archiveofourown.org/works/2067537

Summary:

For a Prompt: Sherlock and John skyping and Sherlock stuffing himself on cam (under John's orders) until he can't heave himself out of the chair to get more food.

John's away at a conference and Sherlock claims he's too bored to eat. John decides he needs a bit of discipline from his captain, even if he is rather far away.

Work Text:

Sherlock sighed moodily, curling up and facing the back of the sofa in his usual sulking pose. The trouble was that having a good sulk wasn't nearly as interesting when there was no one around to be sulked at. He wished John would come home from that idiotic medical conference already. But he wasn't due back until next Tuesday. Sherlock sighed and uncurled, now staring up at the ceiling again. His stomach burbled cautiously, insisting on reminding him that sustenance was a daily requirement. Boring. Dull. Why did Sarah have to send John? His John.

His mobile buzzed angrily against the coffee table, rattling a half-drunk cup of tea from yesterday. The detective gave a very put upon sigh and flopped his hand over to retrieve it. His face lit up however once he saw who it was that was contacting him.

Hey, love. I'm done with my first day so I'm at the hotel. Want to do a video call? - John

Sherlock eagerly sent of a reply in the affirmative and then turned to grab his laptop. He plopped it onto his slim stomach and then shifted so that he could prop his head against the sofa's armrest as he turned it on and selected the icon. Within a few minutes, a window popped up to tell him that John was calling.

"John."

"Hey, Sherlock, how was your day?" John asked, still in dress trousers and a button up, his hair swept back neatly from his day at the conference. Sherlock's eyes swept hungrily over him. The corner of his mouth twitched as John undid his top two buttons and loosened his tie.

"Exceedingly dull," complained Sherlock, a small pout finding its way onto his lips, "I've nothing on at the moment. The last experiment was a failure."

John smiled slightly. "So you've just been laying around on the sofa all day in a strop?"

"... yes," Sherlock admitted, and it was worth it to see John's face light up in laughter.

"Have you eaten?"

Sherlock hesitated, thinking a moment, then shook his head slightly. "No. I haven't."

The doctor sighed and Sherlock looked away.

"Come on, love, we've talked about this," John said fairly, "You promised you'd try to do a bit better. Keep yourself healthy."

"Yes, yes, I know," replied Sherlock, still not looking at the screen. He sighed, then said in a small voice, "It's just no fun when you're not here."

There was a pause, then "I'm here now. Sort of."

Sherlock looked back at the screen if only to allow John to see when he rolled his eyes. "Hardly here, John."

"Sherlock."

And there it was. That slight shortness of the syllables, that clipping them into perfect line, giving them a finality and brusqueness in a tone that warned against any disobedience, that it would take no prisoners. Sherlock immediately felt his mouth go quite dry as he met John's eyes on his monitor. That voice meant only one thing. His captain had arrived. It sent a pleasant chill down his spine, caused his heart rate to rise. This was all completely ridiculous, but that thought was quickly silenced. John was just silent and watching him, a stern expression on his face.

Sherlock took a deep breath then answered, "Yes, Captain?" and agreed to their game.

"Am I right in believing that you haven't followed your orders? The ones I expressly gave you before I left?" John asked and his voice is stern, commanding. Sherlock quails, forgetting for a moment that those 'orders' had basically been 'take care of yourself,' 'get some rest,' and 'please remember to eat something, yeah?' but he was quite distracted by his lover's change in posture and tone.

He swallowed again. "Er, yes, sir. I am... sorry."

"Shut it," John snapped and Sherlock's jaw clamped shut, "What do you think we should do about that?"

"I... I don't know, Captain."

John gave him a long considering look. Sherlock shivered with anticipation. His stomach growled hopefully. John smirked, apparently able to hear it even through his speakers.

"Sherlock. I want you to ring up our favorite Chinese."

"Yes, sir."

"Order two mains and a side."

"O-okay, but sir-"

"Now."

Sherlock picked up his mobile and did so, ordering a shrimp and broccoli and sweet and sour pork along with rice. He hung up and then looked to John who nodded with approval.

"Very good," he said, "But I think you'll need something to tide you over until it gets here. Go to the kitchen and fetch the rest of that nutella and cut up an apple to dip it in. Has to be a little healthy, can't have you too fat and lazy to get through your training."

There was a slight purr in John's voice now and that in combination with the Captain's last sentence had color rising to swiftly stain Sherlock's cheeks.

"Yes, sir. You're right, sir," Sherlock replied before moving the laptop to the coffee table and going to fetch his appetizer. He brought the food out and began eating it, loading each slice with an exorbitant amount of the chocolatey spread.

"Feeling better?" asked John, and it was in his John voice again as the doctor smiled at him.

"Hmm," said Sherlock happily, sucking the nutella from a slice before dipping it back in for more.

"Oi, I sometimes eat that too you know," John complained with a laugh.

"Oh, shut up. We exchange bodily fluids often enough," Sherlock answered with a wink.

"You're so romantic."

"I try."

They chatted about John's conference as Sherlock continued to eat. Soon the doorbell rang from below. Sherlock tensed with excitement as he watched a change come over his kind cuddly doctor again.

"Was that the doorbell?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Go and fetch it then. Grab yourself a soda as well."

Sherlock dashed off downstairs, accepted the heavy bag of takeaway, paid, and then hurried back up. He deposited the bag next to his laptop. then dug out a large bowl, silverware, and the soda John had ordered him to. He returned to the sofa, settling down and setting his things out.

"Am I to eat it all, Captain?" he asked, feeling his stomach flutter slightly. Either it was excited or dreading what he was about to put it through.

"Every last bite, Sherlock. I'll be watching," John directed, tilting his chin up and giving Sherlock a considering gaze. "Go on then. Stuff yourself silly like I know you want to."

"Mm, yessir," said Sherlock, grinning and breaking character just a little with his excitement. He unpacked his food, poured the big container of rice into his bowl and then dumped his serving of shrimp and broccoli over it before tucking in. Oh God, was that good. He positively groaned as the first hot salty bite entered his mouth, the savory sauce coating his tongue and giving flavor to the fluffy rice.

John hummed in approval. "Good. You enjoy that. All of it."

Sherlock was happy to comply. He tore into his meal, his body responding immediately, telling him yes, this is what it had been trying to tell him for the past fifteen hours. He was hungry. He needed to eat. Fill his belly. Make it warm and heavy with food. Sherlock groaned softly again in between mouthfuls of rice, tender fat shrimp, perfectly cooked broccoli, crisp water chestnuts and sweet carrots. He spread the thick sauce over more of the rice and shoveled that down as well. It all tasted so good, he hardly realised half of his bowl was gone. All the while John was softly encouraging him, watching him, making sure not a grain went to waste.

"That's it. You're doing very well. I think you deserve a reward. Have some of that soda now," John said, giving Sherlock a small smile as the detective finally looked up from his meal, almost panting as he muffled a couple of belches. His stomach was feeling pleasantly full now, warm, curving out gently under his ribcage. But it could hold more. There was still food left.

"Thank you, Captain," Sherlock replied before taking up the soda bottle, opening it, and then swallowing it down in grateful gulps. He finished half, then burped again, humming and running a hand down to his stomach.

"Manners, Piggy, am I going to have to teach you all over again?"

Sherlock jumped and blushed, then gave John a sly sort of grin. "Maybe, you've been gone rather a long time, Captain."

John gave him a steely look. "The next container now, Sherlock."

The detective did as asked, pulling out the unopened carton and emptying it over his remaining rice. He dug into that as well, the sauce tangy and dancing on his tongue with just a hint of spicyness, the meat hot underneath the crispy fried dough, the vegetables crisp and fresh, peppers biting, onion sweet, pinneapple complementing the sauce perfectly. Sherlock was getting to be quite a bit fuller now, the carbonation in his drink working to fill him up faster. He burped again, finding the pressure in his belly lessened slightly and resumed eating with gusto.

"Sherlock, this is your final warning," John snapped.

Sherlock looked up indignantly, his lips orange with the sauce. He licked them, "But, John, how could I possibly-"

"Faster. Then you'll be chugging down the rest of that soda. And if I hear any more disgusting hoggish noises from you..."

"What?" asked Sherlock, trying to sound rebellious, but only succeeding in sounding really rather excited and breathless.

"Let's just hope you won't have to find out shall we?" said John, leaning back impressively and watching him still. "Eat."

And so Sherlock ate, and ate, and bite and chewed and swallowed everything down, wiping his fingers around the bowl to catch every last grain of rice and speck of sauce. He hummed indulgently as he sucked at his fingers, feeling replete, content, and a bit overfull. His stomach was round now, pushing out against his t-shirt and pajama bottoms.

"Enjoying yourself, glutton?" John asked and Sherlock's eyes slide lazily open to look at him.

"Yes. Cap-"

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Sherlock blinked. Oh, the soda. He hastily reached for it, grunting as his belly was squashed a bit against his leg. He slumped back with a sigh, then lifted it to his lips and began drinking it down, one hand perched atop his belly. The flesh was beginning to feel rather tight and decidedly rounder. He couldn't resist giving it a little rub as he filled it just a bit more.

"Feeling nice and fat now?" John asked, and Sherlock nodded, setting the empty bottle aside. He belched, then froze. Oh, he wasn't supposed to do that.

There's a dark chuckle from his laptop. "Well now, Piggy. Ate so much you couldn't hold it in, hm? I want you to go find another and bring it here. Grab that pack of chocolate biscuits as well. Double time."

Sherlock groaned, not really wanting to get up right now. Even if it was for some delicious light little biscuits.

"Sherlock."

The detective looked at his monitor. John was giving him a very dangerous smile.

"I believe I told you to do something. Get that arse in gear or I might well have to feed you ice cream until you pop when I get home."

Sherlock shivered, suddenly assaulted with the mental image of John spoon feeding him, emptied cartons all around, his own belly huge and pale and distended onto his thighs. He gave a low groan at that, rubbing at his belly, wishing it were bigger. Bigger yes. He heaved himself up and wandered off to the kitchen. He found another soda, then pulled out the box of the biscuits that John had mentioned.

He sat down with a sigh again.

"How many biscuits am I having, sir?"

"All of them. Eat up."

Sherlock regarded the package. Well, surely he could manage that. He opened them and popped one of the little delights into his mouth. It very nearly melted on his tongue, leaving a strong rich taste behind that was too quickly fading. He had another and another. This would be no punishment at all. They were so light!

But it turned out they were significantly less light when you'd had close to twenty of them. And soda on top of that. And two mains of Chinese with a side.

Sherlock groaned, rubbing his belly as it gurgled at him, now beginning to peek out of his pajamas.

"Oh, mm, John... these are mmph so good. But I'm full... I'm so full."

"Is the box empty?"

"No..."

"Keep eating, then."

Sherlock looked over at John, smiling as he noted the way the other man wet his lips as he leaned in closer to the monitor, a slight flush visible as it crept into his face. Aroused. Wonderful.

The detective sighed and crammed more of the biscuits into his mouth, huffing as his stomach began to protest. He rubbed at it to soothe it.

"Wish you were here," he mumbled.

John sighed, "Yeah, me too. Come on. Nearly there, love."

Sherlock tilted his head back, shacking the box to pour the last of the crumbly sweets into his mouth. Then he tossed the box aside and swallowed down the rest of his drink. He pressed into his belly experimentally, hissing as it objected. He rucked up his shirt a bit and gave it a few prods. So tight, and round, and he felt really wonderfully fat as well.

"Hmmph, are you pleased, Captain?" he asked, framing his belly with his hands. He smirked as John wet his lips again.

"Very nearly. But I think there's something with your name on it at the back of the second shelf of the refrigerator," said John with a smirk of his own. Sherlock moaned, looking down at his belly, hefting it lightly in his hands.

"F-for urp me?" he asked, muffling a burp almost too late.

"Yeah. Just for you. Go fetch it," said John encouragingly, still gazing hungrily at Sherlock through the screen. Sherlock huffed and grunted as he bent and then pushed himself to his feet. Then he waddled into the kitchen, huffed as he bent again and rummaged around for his treat. He pulled out a small container with his name on it and popped the lid open. His tongue wet his lips despite the way his stomach was gurgling angrily around his full meal.

Surely he had room for this: a perfect slice of the creamiest looking raspberry cheescake he had ever seen, drizzled with dark chocolate on top and a matching dark chocolate cookie crust at the bottom. Sherlock carried it back and sat down.

"Ah, good you found it," purred John, smiling, "Like it?"

"It looks very good. Thank you," Sherlock replied, staring down at the big slice of decadent dessert. Oh, he was going to feel full after this. He already was of course, but this would really take the cake.

"What are you waiting for then? Eat."

Sherlock swallowed, then lifted his fork and collected his first bite. It was absolutely heavenly. But fuck it was rich. He managed the first three bites without too much of a problem, eating much more slowly now.

"Go on," John goaded, "It's for you. Enjoy."

"Too full..."

"Nah, you've had this much before . Or close to it at least," John murmured, his voice growing rather husky, "You're getting so big, Sherlock. Just look at you. Fat and round. Feels good yeah?"

"Y-yes," Sherlock panted, throwing his head back a minute and trying to take some pressure off his belly. "So good, John."

"You look it too," his doctor murmured, "Come on, more. It's just a few more bites."

Sherlock dug his fork back into the cheese cake and muscled through it until he was a little more than half way. The ne paused, groaning and rubbing at his aching stomach.

"Just a bit more, come on. You can do it. Your belly's just going to have to get a bit bigger, stretch around it all."

Sherlock nodded, then stuffed more into his mouth. Then more again. He tugged his pajama trousers down and his shirt up, exposing his round bulging belly shamelessly, reveling in how tight and heavy it felt, how much he had eaten how incredibly fat he felt after all his indulgences.

"J-John..."

"Yeah, you're amazing, love. Just one more bite."

"I can't-"

"Just one little bite, Sherlock. Eat it. For me."

And he did. Then he positively moaned, clutching his stomach, arching back at the intensity of the sensations. He panted and slid his hands along the bloated sides of it, explored the stretched navel and shuddered as he teased himself.

"Oh, fuck , I wish you were home," he growled, hands kneading, roaming and rubbing at his overstuffed belly.

"Jesus, so do I, Sherlock," John murmured, sounding thoroughly frustrated. Sherlock glanced over with food-coma glazed eyes. He couldn't help but see the hand of a certain doctor pressing and moving slightly in the vicinity of his lap.

The detective grinned and moaned even more unabashedly, sliding down against the sofa, his belly poking up as he continued rubbing and worshipping it.

"John, oh, I think I ate- brr-ah, too much. God, just look at me."

John gave a little gasp and a groan of his own.

"Y-yeah, yeah, I'm looking, you're so gorgeous, love. Christ, can you even get up around that belly?"

Sherlock smiled, huffing and panting. He grunted as he tried to reach around his great dome of belly. He could hardly move at all." No. I'm... I'm stuck. T-together you think?"

"Definitely," agreed John, and he began pumping his arm faster, leaning back in his chair. Sherlock gazed at the screen hungrily. The knowledge that he did this to Captain John Hamish Watson, well that was intoxicating enough by itself, with or without the belly.

And so, not long after, both were spent and lounging in their respective chairs or sofas, Sherlock hiccuping now and again. The detective was about to doze off when John's voice came from his laptop again.

"I love you so much."

Sherlock giggled. It was something that only seemed to happen post-coitus.

"I love you too," he replied.

"Hm, hate to bring our night to an end, but I have to get up pretty early tomorrow," John said with a yawn.

"It's fine," said Sherlock, waving his hand vaguely. He turned carefully onto his side, wincing as his stomach complained at the shift. He looked at his lover, looking rather soft and relaxed now. Kind cuddly John. He smiled. "I suppose this is goodnight then. Thanks for dinner."

John chuckled, well, giggled as well. That made Sherlock smile a bit more. "Thanks for the show," the doctor replied, he stretched lightly, his bad shoulder catching a bit. "But yeah, I ought to get some sleep. Think you can eat something tomorrow."

"Maybe," allowed Sherlock, with a smirk.

"You gluttonous git," said John fondly, smiling back, "But come one, at least promise me some toast in the morning. This feast and famine thing isn't healthy."

"Fine," said Sherlock lazily, "It's very fun though."

"Yeah, okay it is," admitted John with another laugh. There was a pause and then. "Goodnight, love. I'll see you Tuesday."

"See you Tuesday," Sherlock replied sleepily, "Sleep well, John."

The detective fell into a doze soon after, before John could bring himself to sign off. He just watched him for a short time, then went and got into bed, letting his laptop run out of power on its own. His lover slept peacefully on the screen, a hand resting on the side of his rounded belly

@темы: Шерлок Холмс, Фанфикшн, Стаффинг, Живот, Джон Ватсон, Боль в животе, Tummyache, Stuffing, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock BBC, John Watson, Bloated Tummy, Bellyache, Belly Kink

11:30 

Hands on the Table

EvilStufferSebastian
Hands on the Table

Author: Aris_Silverfin

Category: M/M

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Characters: John WatsonSherlock Holmes

Additional Tags: Established Relationshipbelly stuffingBelly KinkdaresBetsOvereatingmoany groany Sherlock

archiveofourown.org/works/1830436


Summary:

For a prompt: A dare for a stuffing session. Nobody touches the belly. How long can they resist?

Sherlock and John decide to spice up their usual stuffing sessions with an added challenge. The first to touch their own or the other's belly loses. Sherlock thinks he has this in the bag, but John has a surprise move in mind.

Work Text:

Sherlock lazily slid another forkful of mashed potato into his mouth, his lips closing to slip over the utensil, leaving it shining and clean as his lips puckered and shifted as he worked the hot smooth mass with his tongue before swallowing it down. He hummed softly, his other hand moving down to test his stomach, trailing his fingers along the subtle curve that was rising below his rib cage. He was shirtless, and the light touches sent chills through him. He checked the time on his mobile. Excellent right on schedule.

He leaned forward again, feeling his stomach rounding against the elastic of his pajama bottoms, and scooped himself up a liberal portion of mashed potato once again, then doused it in a greasy bacon sauce. He paired it with some perfectly buttered greens and selected another pork chop. He was already feeling full, but there was plenty of food left. And John would be home soon. The detective grinned and picked up his utensils again to resume eating.

Sure enough, just as Sherlock was polishing of his most recent plate, there was the sound of the door from downstairs, then a familiar tread upon the stairs.

"Sherlock! I'm home! Blimey, it smells good, did you make din-"

Sherlock allowed himself a catlike smirk as he drew his arms behind his head, stretching and arching so that his full, rounded stomach was in the doctor's view.

"I did in fact. I hope you don't mind that I started without you. I've been feeling rather insatiable of late," the detective rumbled, letting his hands slip down to rub lightly at his belly instead now.

"Have you?" said John, his own tone deepening as he took in the spread on the table. He tossed his jacket aside and slid into his chair beside Sherlock. He prodded Sherlock's middle lightly and the detective huffed softly in response, shifting languidly. "Nice welcome home though, thanks love." John grinned and kissed Sherlock's cheek, his hand roaming over to rub along with Sherlock's hands. The detective positively purred.

John chuckled. "You know, sometimes I can't tell which of us enjoys rubbing your tum more," he said, fingers with their slight warm roughness positively electrifying every nerve where they touched Sherlock's skin.

Sherlock snorted in response, eyes closed contentedly, his own fingers tracing and probing his belly. "You, John. You've only just entered the room. It took you less than a minute to begin touching me."

"You think you're that irresistible, hm?" countered John, teasing and challenge entering his voice in equal measure. Sherlock felt a sudden rush of excitement, his eyes opening once more to look down at his lover.

"As a matter of fact," the detective said silkily, "I do. And I think my self control is markedly better than a certain ex-army doctor."

"Oh do you? Even if I was, as you say, in the army. That takes discipline," said John, his hand slipping from Sherlock's middle as he crossed his arms, posture straightening, a dangerous sort of glint in his usually kind eyes.

Sherlock watched him hungrily, then smirked and pushed further. "Certainly. But orders, discipline, from someone else. Not-"

"I was a bloody captain, Sherlock," said John, his voice not raised, just a tad more clipped, that fascinating humor underneath. Sherlock practically felt his own nostrils flare with his next deeper breath, but he kept his features schooled, still in that cool, calculating, smirk.

"Hardly different," said Sherlock, sitting back again, his hand still idly circling his middle. He was feeling quite hungry again all of a sudden.

"Isn't it?" said John, arms still crossed, "Well, we'll just have to see about that then. Do an experiment yeah? I don't see you resisting touching that rotound little tum of yours."

Sherlock quickly removed his hand, steepling it with the other and placing his elbows on the table instead. Perfect, intriguing, a game perhaps. Sherlock looked over at John.

"What sort of experiment might that be then?" he asked.

John pursed his lips, then nudged his chair closer to the table, clearly considering his options. He looked back up at Sherlock then explained, "A stuffing, as usual. But this time, the first one of us who touches your belly loses."

Sherlock hummed, a gleeful smile on his lips, as he replied, "Hm, yes. I think that ought to work. Though let's make things a bit more challenging, shall we? No contact between the two of us at all of any kind that does not involve utensils. Any contact with a stomach results in immediate loss of the bet."

"Bet?" prompted John, smiling as well as he loaded up his own plate of the calorific food Sherlock had prepared. "What do I get when I win?"

Sherlock drew himself up haughtily and said, quite casually, "Winner gets to come. Loser has to clean the dishes first."

The detective glanced over, feeling self-satisfied as John visibly swallowed. Oh, this would be so very interesting. Just what he needed after a dull couple of days home on his own.

"S-sounds good. Yeah," agreed John, looking up at Sherlock over his plate. "Well, may the most disciplined man win." He raised his fork to his lover, and Sherlock returned the salute in kind. Then they both began to eat.

For a while, there was no sound in the kitchen but for the scrape and clink of cutlery against plates, a shift of a chair leg against the floor as one of them shifted to get more food. Sherlock was feeling really quite overfull now, his stomach tight and starting to twinge now and again when he swallowed. He slowed his pace, wanting to observe John, perhaps goad him into slipping up. Sherlock really wanted a warm hand on his middle right now.

But John was just resolutely staying focused on his plate, eating his one plateful to Sherlock's three, sipping from his water glass now and again. Well, Sherlock couldn't have that. He wasn't stuffing himself silly to be ignored.

The detective groaned and leaned back, slouching and blowing out his tummy. "Oooh... hmmph. Think I'm getting full, John," he murmured.

John's eyes flicked over to him momentarily before going back to his plate. "Good," said the doctor, "I'm nearly finished here. Then I assume there's dessert yeah?"

"Yes," said Sherlock, sulking slightly before adding with renewed inspiration, "But God, John... I don't think I could eat another bite! My belly's so round... so- urp... so full..." He moaned expertly, shifting in his chair. His own hands clenched the armrests to remind himself not to give in. It was surprisingly hard, he wanted, no needed, someone's hand on his belly, longed to trace the shape of it, map it with his fingertips. He grunted pitifully.

"That's not going to work, Sherlock," said John shortly, though there was a flush creeping up his ears. Sherlock smirked, then sighed dramatically, his stomach expanding once again. This time, John's eyes clearly lingered. Ah, good. He'd finished eating.

"Aren't you going to finish?" John added, nodding curtly at Sherlock's remaining food.

Sherlock chewed his lip, then let his mouth open. "Feed me?" he asked, playing to John's caretaking nature as best he could, "I'm so full. Look at my belly, John... I'm too full."

"Sherlock, shut up," snapped the doctor, even as he moved his chair closer and took up more mashed potato on his fork.

"We never said I wasn't permitted to speak," said Sherlock, lightly, taking the bite of potato as John fed it to him and then giving a low indulgent hum as he swallowed.

"Fine, carry on moaning and huffing like a fat fucking hippopotamus, see what that get's you, Podgy."

Sherlock smirked and accepted the next bite of food silently. He groaned around the next mouthful and chuckled as John shot him a murderous glare, his free hand clenched into a fist on the table.

"Honestly John," drawled the detective, "I can't help it. My belly's so full, stuffed, actually. It- hmmmnng..." He stretched back again, undulating against the seat. "Feels so heavy..."

"Dessert," said John, standing and going to the fridge.

"Mmm, yes please," murmured Sherlock. Once John's back was turned he clenched the arms of his chair hard, his whole body twisting and shifting. He felt so full, so fat, and just hot all over. Every pore was screaming for some sort of touch, anything to help that feeling grow. Heat was building in every cell of him, he was certain, God he needed to touch, needed to press and squeeze and soothe- no!

Sherlock thrust he feet on the floor again angrily with a loud clomp. John returned with the dessert dish, eyebrows raised. "Alright?" he asked.

"Perfectly," retorted Sherlock. He mastered himself once more, then picked up a spoon and tore into the large bowl of chocolate mousse and whipped cream he had prepared. The taste was sweet and wonderfully distracting, though no less rich than the previous meal. Sherlock let out a soft moan yet again as he shoveled the stuff down.

John had daintily taken a more reasonable portion for himself and was now eating it slowly.

"Hmm, this is really good, love," he praised, completely ignoring Sherlock's indecent behavior. Or well, trying to. Sherlock was being a bit too loud to be easily ignored.

"John, please, I'm-urp- I'm so-so full, n-need you to-ah!"

"Sherlock, we made a bet. I'm not going to be fooled that easily," said John, looking over at Sherlock, "What kind of a fool do you-"

Sherlock gleefully noted that he now had the other man's full attention. The detective whimpered, falling back in his chair. His belly was huge and round, distended and sagging ever so slightly into his lap, dragging his pajama bottoms down with it's weight. Sherlock flung his head back, hiccuped, his lips, and chin still flecked with the pudding.

"Huh... John... I-I think I ate... too much. So-ff-brr-full."

"God, Sherlock..."

Sherlock lolled his head over, eyes sliding open and cautiously flitting over his lover. Yes, good. He was moments from giving in... that display had worked. Oh thank God, because he didn't think he could stand it a moment longer. Sherlock's overfull belly gurgled angrily and the man winced.

John's lips were parted, his breathing clearly elevated. his free hand had relaxed and shifted towards him. Good... yes... John... But.

No. No! It had only grabbed the remaining mousse and pulled it towards the doctor. Sherlock barely managed to swallow his growl of frustration.

"John, what are you?"

"Eating," said the doctor, pointedly raising his spoon and tucking into the bowl. Sherlock blinked, his mind hazy, then blinked again. John was now shovelling down the thick creamy dessert at a pace that rivaled Sherlock's previous one. Gone was the reasonable serving. Now he was... devouring everything. Sherlock swallowed, somehow finding the sight utterly mesmerizing. John continued to eat, and eat, and then carried on eating as he scraped up every last bit of the pudding he could find. Sherlock found his own breath catching. No, this wasn't helping his heat problem, nor his touch problem because God...

John's belly was looking round now, pudgy even. Soft round the navel and still growing as John ate. What must that feel like? Soft, then hard underneath? To bite?

John shifted on his chair, grunting in discomfort. Sherlock was now chewing his lip so hard it hurt, his own belly forgotten for a moment because John... John.

His belt had been pushed down, his rounded mousse-filled belly pushing out over top, jumper rucked up. Oh God, he looked so soft, so nibble-able, so squeezable as he grew, expanded, bloated. And oooh... the thought of how much heavy cream had gone into that mousse and the topping. Sherlock keened and threw himself onto the floor, jostled himself between John's legs, his own overfull belly burbling and rolling in protest at the movement, but Sherlock couldn't care. Not when-yes!

John cried out as Sherlock pushed his face into the doctor's soft round belly, his lips parted, jaw mouthing at every bit of exposed belly. His fingers roamed John's sides, stroking and kneading flesh between his fingers. The detective moaned, then bit a soft fold of skin, sucking it to make it bruise.

"Sh-Sherlo-AH!"

"John, fff-oh, John... Joooohn..."

The belly against Sherlock's cheek and fingers jostled slightly. Sherlock blinked, momentarily brought out of his reverie. John was... laughing? The detective looked up, affronted.

"I suppose that means I win then," said John, between hiccups and giggles, slumping back in his chair, "Oh Christ." He winced and put a hand to his belly as it twinged at him.

Sherlock sat back on his calves, his own stomach protesting the movement now that he remembered it. Then he pouted magnificently.

"That's not fair. You cheated."

"How did I cheat?" asked John, still breathless, his hand exploring the mound his belly had become, "'First to touch a belly loses' was what we said, yeah?"

"You know me too well. I'm a highly tactile individual," replied Sherlock, "How could I be expected to resist, this?" he gestured at John's tummy, then moved in to rub and squeeze at it again, making John squirm. "I wasn't prepared. I'd never seen you... like this."

"Me neither. I managed though," said John with another chuckle.

Sherlock sniffed. Then wet his lips, eyes still tracing over the round curve of John's belly where it bulged out from under his jumper against his trousers. Well, it could be worse. He slid long fingered hands along John's thighs.

"Well, to the victor the spoils then," he said with a smirk, "Though I maintain that this contest wasn't conducted on even ground. My tactile needs are far-"

"Yeah, yeah, alright," said John, grinning in return and shuddering slightly as Sherlock's breath puffed against his lower belly, "Sore loser. But tell you what. You can pick the next game then."

"Hm, I look forward to it," replied Sherlock, then leaned in to kiss John's belly again. Well, to be honest. This was probably going to be rather rewarding for the both of them. His fingers fussed with John's belt, then his trouser button. Then John groaned as that wonderful, wonderful belly was finally free and in Sherlock's highly attentive care.

@темы: Belly Kink, Bellyache, Bloated Tummy, Bloating, Fanfiction, John Watson, Sherlock BBC, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Stuffing, Tummyache, Блоутинг, Боль в животе, Джон Ватсон, Живот, Стаффинг, Фанфикшн, Шерлок Холмс

04:16 

EvilStufferSebastian
ficbook0-0net.nj7.ru/readfic/1047749/3404088#pa...

С опять околокинком - клизмой.

[...]
- Хорошо, что Вы предпочитаете? - повторил мужчина.
- Пиццу с колбасой и сыром, салат с морепродуктами и шоколадный торт со сливками.
- А Вы не лопните?
- Исполняй, - с насмешкой сказал Сиэль.
- Да, мой господин,- с той же насмешкой ответил Себастьян и преданно поклонился.
Двадцать минут они сидели возле телевизора и ждали заказ. Когда еду доставили, Сиэль жадно набросился вначале на пиццу, затем на салат, и напоследок скушал почти весь торт.
- А животик болеть не будет?
- Во-первых, не говори со мной как с маленьким, а во-вторых, нет, не будет.
- Хорошо, дело Ваше.
[...]
Наступило утро. Себастьян стоял возле входной двери и настойчиво пытался дозвониться хозяину дома. Никто не открывал. Тогда мужчина применил крайние меры. Достал ключи, которые ему оставили родители Сиэля, и, бросив на пол портфель и аптечку, побежал наверх, в комнату мальчика.
Слава яйцам! Он там. Лежит на кровати в позе эмбриона и стонет.
Репетитор подбежал к лежащему.
- Что такое? Что случилось?- нервно спросил Себастьян.
- Болит. - прокряхтел Сиэль.
- Что болит?
- Ж-живот.
- Ну я же Вас предупреждал, - с жалостью произнес брюнет.
Себастьян вышел из комнаты, вернулся через пять минут с белым металлическим чемоданчиком в руках. Положил его на кровать, у ног Сиэля.
- Привстаньте немного, я сяду, а Вы ляжете мне на колени,- Сиэль не издал на слова, выполнил просьбу молча, а мужчина, в свою очередь, сел на кровать мальчика. - Я уже вижу, что у Вас вздувшийся живот. Как давно Вы ходили в туалет «по большому»?
- Вчера утром, - на удивление спокойным голосом ответил мальчик.
- Тогда все понятно. Позвольте мне проверить Вашу попу? - слегка покраснев, спросил Себа.
- Угу.
- Спасибо. - Брюнет достал из аптечки резиновые перчатки.
Приспустил шортики с трусиками Сиэлю, репетитор надел перчатки и достал баночку с вазелином. Обмакнув палец в кремоподобную массу, Себастьян раздвинул ягодицы больному мальчику.
- Что это ты делаешь? - забеспокоился Сиэль, заливаясь краской.
- Я должен проверить, может, у Вас запор? - сказал Микаэлис, положив левую руку на спину парню, питаясь уложить его на место.
- А другого способа нет?
- Сожалею… Но Вы не волнуйтесь, я постараюсь делать это не больно.
Сиэль лег на место. Палец вошел в мальчика.
- Не зажимайтесь, пожалуйста, иначе больно будет,- с нежностью произнес мужчина.
Спустя минуту он вынул палец и сказал:
- У меня для Вас не утешительная новость.
- Я буду жить? - с натянутой улыбкой спросил Сиэль.
- Конечно будете. Но мне придется сделать Вам клизму.
- Что сделать?
- Клизму, - повторил Себастьян. - Вам что, никогда не делали клизму?
- Нет.
- Я постараюсь, что бы было не больно.
- Да уж, постарайся, - съязвил парнишка.
Себастьян взял уже наполненную грушу в правую руку. Смазал ее наконечник вазелином, вздохнул, и поднес ее к заднице Сиэля. В тот же момент пятая точка мальчика почувствовала опасность и сжалась.
- Пожалуйста, расслабьтесь. - Попросил мужчина.
- Не могу, - угрюмым голосом произнес парнишка.
- Почему? Я не…
- Мне страшно, - перебил он Себастьяна.
- Не стоит бояться, я же рядом, - эти слова вогнали в краску двоих. Себа приподнял футболку мальчика и стал поглаживать его спину. Сиэль на мгновение расслабился. Себастьян воспользовался этим моментом, и вонзил клизму в больного.
- Ай… Ты что творишь? Больно ведь. - Сиэль подскочил, но сильная ладонь удержала мальчика на месте.
- Прошу прощение, это больше не повторится, а теперь всё - таки постарайтесь расслабиться.
Жидкость потекла вовнутрь парнишки. «Какое странное чувство. Я его никогда не испытывал. Блин, кажется, у меня встает.» - думал про себя Сиэль.
У Себастьяна в этот момент возникла только одна мысль: «Бля, у него встал».
Завершив неприятную для обоих процедуру, Сиэль помчался в уборную. Когда он вернулся в свою комнату, то увидел такую картину: Себастьян сидел на прежнем месте и смотрел в одну точку, все орудия пыток, в том числе и резиновые перчатки, были спрятаны в чемоданчик с красным крестом на крышке.
- А, Вы уже закончили? - очнулся Себа.
- Да.
- Ну как животик, уже не болит?
- Не болит,- с мрачным лицом ответил Сиэль.
- Точно? Может, еще одну сделать? - ехидно улыбаясь, спросил Себастьян.
- Нет! - парень закричал от испуга.
- Хорошо, тогда пойдемте смотреть телевизор.
- А заниматься? - в недоумении спросил тот.
- Я думаю, сегодня Вам лучше отдохнуть. Но не надейтесь, что это прокатит и завтра, юноша!
- Ладно, - хитро улыбнулся Сиэль.
До вечера они сидели и смотрели телевизор. На диване сидел Себастьян с раздвинутыми ногами. Сиэль сидел между его ног. Старший, для удобства, положил подбородок на голову ученика, а руки на его гениталии. Мальчик, в свою очередь, облокотился репетитору на грудь, и положил свои руки на его ноги.
«Педофил! Но, черт, как же это приятно» снова крутилось у Сиэля в голове.
«И это он еще не знает, что его ждет впереди» приятно улыбнулся про себя Себастьян.

@темы: Kuroshitsuji, Stuffing, Боль в животе, Стаффинг, Фанфикшн

04:14 

EvilStufferSebastian
ficbook0-0net.nj7.ru/readfic/871906

- Хочу сладкого.
Себастьян вздохнул и оторвался от ручки двери, которую старательно полировал.
- Господин, но ведь на ночь сладкое есть вредно.
- А я хочу.
Вредный, наглый и капризный ребёнок. Демон вздохнул. Когда он подписывал с ним контракт, то даже и не подозревал, что будет так сложно сотрудничать. И ладно бы если просил чего-то сверхъестественного, вроде вечной жизни или власти над миром!
Если честно, цели Сиэля были не совсем понятны Себастьяну. Отомстить за родителей – это понятно, но вот только кому мстить? Кажется, этого не знал сам Сиэль.
- Себастьян!
«Я демон, а не нянька!» - мысленно возопил дворецкий, мило улыбаясь господину.
- У вас могут заболеть зубы. Или живот.
Сиэль фыркнул и снял повязку с глаза, сверкнув печатью. Беспроигрышный вариант.
Себастьян вздохнул и поплёлся на кухню.

- Себастьян, у меня болит живот!
Дворецкий покосился на господина, поправляя занавески на окне.
- Я ведь предупреждал вас. Нельзя есть столько пирогов.
- Заткнись и помоги мне.
Себастьян вздохнул и направился за касторкой. Понюхав ложку с лекарством, Сиэль сморщился.
- Не буду я пить эту гадость.
Себастьян еле подавил в себе желание придушить мальчишку.

@темы: Kuroshitsuji, Живот, Киноковые отрывки из фанфиков, Stuffing, Стаффинг, Боль в животе, Фанфикшн, Темный Дворецкий

Stuffing

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