Записи с темой: sherlock bbc (список заголовков)


Bottoms Up

Prompt: John wants to see if Sherlock can down an entire 2-litre of soda. Sherlock obliges... you can include even more feeding, if you want. Basically just anything with burping and inflation.

John brings his favorite detective home a treat one day. The results are quite rewarding.

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There was a rustle of shopping bags as John entered 221B. The ex-army doctor strolled past where his flatmate turned lover lay sprawled over the sofa. John smiled as he noted that for once, Sherlock was asleep. The consulting detective's mouth was open and he was snoring just a little, a crumb filled plate beside him signifying the new change in opinion on food the lanky man had developed recently. His position also highlighted the tiniest pinch of softness that was clinging to the area around Sherlock's navel, creating the softest of roundings under a still quite apparent ribcage. Though that seemed to be slipping under new flesh quite nicely as well.

John drew nearer and set his shopping bags down, then he slipped a hand onto that lovely pale middle, his fingers pressing lightly, exploring this new little addition to his lover.

Sherlock huffed and wriggled slightly, turning away from John's curious fingers.

"Hmmph... Hands are cold," he mumbled.

"Sorry, love," John replied with a chuckle. Sherlock was warm, seeming only to grow warmer as he gained a bit of weight. He looked beautiful. The picture of health. But still, as they had discussed, he could always do with a little more.

John slipped his finger into the man's navel, tugging lightly at the sides. Sherlock released a soft gasp, his back arching as he turned lazy warm eyes onto John.

"What did you bring me?" He purred, his tone low and rich.

John smiled and pulled out a large two-liter bottle of soda from the bag along with a pint of the fancy French vanilla bean ice cream Sherlock liked and some crispy wafers.

"Just a little snack," said John, pulling the lid off of the ice cream and using one of the wafers to scoop some of it up. It was perfectly soft and creamy. Sherlock's eyes lit up, then he smirked and pushed himself up to accept the treat. He clearly had guessed John's plan. Well, ice cream and soda. It was a fairly simple deduction.

The detective practically purred as he sucked the ice cream from the wafer, licking a few sweet tendrils from it before biting into the wafer with a crunch. John quickly prepared another, which Sherlock ate just as eagerly, one hand already drifting to his middle, rubbing slow tantalizing circles over it, motions he knew would drive John wild.

The doctor was already breathing a bit funny, those long fingers caressing the burgeoning softness only made it harder to resist. Finally, when the ice cream was gone and Sherlock's lips were sticky and sweet, and the man's eyes had become rather impressively sultry, John gave in, crushing his mouth to his lover's. He tasted powerfully of vanilla and his mouth was slightly chilled from his treat. John found that even better, his hand now free to examine Sherlock's belly, probing at the subtle rounding that told of a contented stomach. But they weren't going for contented just now.

John sat back to catch his breath, watching as Sherlock rucked up his shirt further and rubbed at his belly a bit more.

"Feeling good?" John asked, grinning.

"Mmm... Could be even better though," the detective replied, giving his stomach a sharp pat.

"Course, here. Drink up," John instructed, passing the soda bottle over.

Sherlock opened it with a snap and lifted it to his mouth with both hands. Then he began to drink... And drink.

John watched as Sherlock drank the soda down, his eyes tracking the bob of that pale throat working, the detective's eyes fluttering closed, the way his abdomen contracted minutely, only to swell bigger and bigger.

At last, Sherlock had to breathe again, he gasped as he lowered the bottle, several burps bubbling up his throat to escape. His belly rounded out further, gurgling as the soda made contact with the ice cream, fizzing up and making Sherlock feel well and heavily bloated. He burped again, panting slightly, as he slumped back against the sofa, his hand rubbing at his belly.

"Well done," said John, moving closer and rubbing at Sherlock's distended tummy carefully, probing it with his fingers and finding it delightfully springy. "More."

Sherlock's eyes went wide as he muffled another belch. He willingly accepted the still mostly full bottle however and raised it to his lips, throwing his head back and chugging down even more. John rubbed the man's belly as he drank, imagining that he could feel the skin stretching under his fingers. The bulge was growing rather hard now, Sherlock's belly swelling out beautifully, growing round and heavy. John slid his finger into the navel again, finding the walls stretched and much more shallow now that Sherlock was being filled.

"Just a bit more left," said John, reaching up to help Sherlock with the bottle as the man took a breather again. The detective immediately let out a monstrous wet belch, clutching his stomach and groaning. John gave the detective's belly a pat and then pushed the bottle to Sherlock's lips again.

"Go on. You can do it. I know you can," he murmured. Sherlock gave an odd hiccup that sounded more like a burp, his belly sloshing slightly, then he nodded, and accepted it, throwing his head back to gulp down the last of it.

John watched as Sherlock emptied he bottle, gulp by gulp, his belly rounding out further and rounder each time, the skin around his navel growing a bit splotchy.

Then every last drop was inside him, and Sherlock collapsed back with a moan that was quickly replaced by a litany of burps. He couldn't seem to stop, his cheeks flushing pink, one hand on his bloated middle.

"Oh-John I-hurp-ooh!" Sherlock groaned, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, his eyes closed.

John chuckled kindly and moved over to rub gently at his lover's hugely distended form. The curve of pale belly was now jutting up proudly under the man's ribs, the mass jostling slightly as Sherlock hiccuped or burped, the whole lot sloshing around.

"You okay?" John asked, still rubbing and pressing gently at Sherlock's middle. The detective nodded and removed his hand to speak but all that came out was yet another loud burp. Sherlock flushed. John only laughed and rubbed more purposefully.

"Go on, you can let them out," he encouraged.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but removed his hand, burping softly, oftentimes groaning, feeling marvelously fat and full.

"I don't know-hurp- why I let-urp- you do-hmmph-this to me," he murmured as his stomach sloshed and gurgled between his doctor's gentle hands.

"Don't you?" Teased John, grinning and lowering himself to kiss and mouth at Sherlock's round bloated middle.

the detective arched his back, keening softly, then burping once more. He smiled lazily down at John.

"Alright. I do," he admitted, surrendering himself to soft sighs and gasps and moans as John fully worshiped his over sensitive middle. It was difficult to determine which of them was getting the bigger treat tonight.

@темы: Sherlock BBC, Stuffing, Фанфикшн


When John's Away

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



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.

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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.


"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."


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-"


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.


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?"


"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.


"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


Belly Painting

Belly Painting

Author: Aris_Silverfin

Category: M/M

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

Additional Tags: tummy paintingbelly stuffingFluffmuch fluffFicletDomestic Bliss


John went back to his pallet, choosing a deep yellow to add to his masterpiece. Brush loaded with paint, he returned to his canvas with light strokes, trying to time them with it's soft shifts. It gave a particularly large jostle and a soft groan. John gave a put upon sigh of exasperation and went back over with the black again.

"Sherlock, hold still," he admonished, going in to fix the mistake.

"Easy for you to say," grumbled the detective. He was dressed in nothing but his pants and reclining against the headboard of the bed. They had thoughtfully covered everything in towels and an old sheet in case of spills. Sherlock plucked another strawberry from the bowl beside him, dunked it in chocolate sauce, and then sent it to join the mass of food already packed into his belly. He'd had a rather large serving of lasagna, with salad, and then a big bowl of chocolate ice cream. Now he was making his way through his second carton of strawberries while John painted on his pale bloated middle. Sherlock gave an indulgent hum, doing his best not to shift as that cool paint swept over his skin, the light touches causing every over-stimulated nerve to sing. He shoved more food down his throat.

"Beautiful," murmured John, and he wasn't looking at his own handiwork. Sherlock gave John a sly wink, then lifted the bowl of chocolate sauce to his lips, tilted it and then drank it down slowly. It was unbelievably rich, and sweet enough to make him feel a bit queasy on top of everything else, but it was also wonderful.

He finished, muffled a belch and looked down to admire the curve of his belly, to watch John paint slowly and carefully on him. The detective shivered and arched back, trying to keep his belly still at least even as that brush taunted, tickled, and teased him.


"Almost done, love," murmured John soothingly, going for some blue now and using it to create a bit of a back drop. And to goad Sherlock further, he imagined. It certainly worked. The man huffed and threw his head back against the headboard, head moving from side to side with each sweeping brush stroke to his belly.

"Ah... god... fuu-"

John was looking a little flustered too now. "Just a little... there." He sat back on his calves to take in his handiwork, then chuckled. "The bloke in the middle there got a bit fatter than when I first painted him, but it's finished." He smirked at Sherlock and patted the side of the man's bloated belly, leaving a few new spots of paint.

Sherlock gave a relieved sigh. "Can I see?" he asked, "Take a photograph. I don't especially want to move."

"Alright, you lazy git," John replied with a laugh. He fetched Sherlock's mobile from the night stand and snapped a photo, then a couple others for good measure. One of Sherlock looking flushed and dark eyed, his cheeks pinked along with chocolate stained lips. One at an angle that made his belly look practically mountainous, jutting up proudly where a valley had once been. Then he got a few shots of his painting and crawled up beside Sherlock to flick through them with him.

"Oh, I look grotesque in that one. Delete it."

"I think it's sweet."

"You're horribly biased. Delete it."


"Oh... found a good angle there, didn't you?" breathed Sherlock, his voice growing dark as his hand slipped down to pat the side of his belly.

"Mmhmm. Now here's the painting. Do you like it?"

Sherlock smiled, then chuckled. On his bulging gut were painted three busy bees, visiting various flowers. The detail was rather good actually. And yes, the bee in the middle had stretched quite a bit more as a result of his feasting. But

"Beautiful," he murmured, then leaned over to kiss John gently, "I'm glad we have the photo. It seems a shame to wash it off."

"You can keep it a little bit," said John, shrugging, "It's fine though. We'll just have to do this again sometime."

Sherlock hummed in agreement. "Most certainly. But, my doctor artist, I do believe there is still some blank canvas to be found." He gestured at his stomach. "It seems to have grown." He smirked.

John chuckled and kissed him again. "Yeah you're right, though this time... I think I fancy a bit of finger painting." Rather than reaching for the paints however, John grabbed the emptied chocolate bowl and swirled some of what remained stuck to the sides onto his fingers. Then he dabbed them lightly against Sherlock's skin, staining the pale with dark new patterns.

"Oh," sighed Sherlock, feeling his lover's warm fingers spreading the stickiness on his tight belly.

"Oh, John," he groaned when he felt John's hot, wet tongue join in.

@темы: Stuffing, Шерлок Холмс, Фанфикшн, Стаффинг, Джон Ватсон, Tummyache, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock BBC, John Watson, Fanfiction, Bellyache


Hands on the Table

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



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.


"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


Belly Full of Chips

Belly Full of Chips

Author: Aris_Silverfin

Categories: Gen, M/M

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John WatsonSherlock Holmes & John Watson

Additional Tags: belly stuffinghunger kinkBelly KinkOvereatingstarving SherlockChips - FreeformFeeding



Sherlock and John have just wrapped up their latest case. Both are wet and tired and John assumes hungry despite what Sherlock may claim to the contrary. On their way home, Sherlock smells something delicious and a post case binge ensues... Hunger kink, belly kink, mild stuffing, yum... Johnlock if you read it that way. Perhaps early days of a budding romance. A bit fluffy.


Inspired by this lovely thing: khorazir.tumblr.com/post/58818625033/might-i-te...

Work Text:

John was tired, and a bit hungry, and more than a bit cross. Currently he was standing beside his mad detective of a flatmate in the pouring rain as the man rattled off the last of a series of deductions. Detective Inspector Lestrade, was nodding, doing his best to keep up with Sherlock’s rapid explanations of what had lead them here.
“I had realized some time ago that it had to have been Mr. Boscomb all along. There were really very obvious clues starting with the make of his shoes and the pocket handkerchief,” said Sherlock, reaching out one foot to prod at the bundle currently curled up on the wet tarmac with his shoe. “And I knew from our previous conversation with his wife that he had a mistress, and really after that it was simple to get his location out of her once she was informed that she wasn’t the only woman in his life. Simple really, people are so quick to turn on one another. It’s remarkable anyone still believes in love.”
“Yeah, okay, Sherlock, but do you have any evidence it was actually him?” asked Lestrade with just a bite of impatience in his voice. John thought he deserved a medal. Really, the rain wasn’t showing any sign of slowing up. The bundle on the pavement groaned.
“Yes,” said Sherlock, bending down to reach into the coat pocket of the bundle that was now squirming against its bonds. “Here, a receipt for his recent bank deposit which you will notice matches perfectly with that of the money stolen from the late Ms. Leweski’s home at the time of her death. This man is undoubtedly her murderer. You can confirm by examining his gun.”
Lestrade nodded and called over his shoulder for another officer to help hoist the criminal to his feet and process him. “Well, thanks for helping us clear that up, Sherlock,” said Lestrade, looking a bit tired, but smiling all the same, “You too, John.” He nodded to the both of them and turned to go back to his car.
John looked up at Sherlock through the rain. “Well… that’s that then, yeah? Do you fancy a take away or-“
Sherlock snorted and whipped around, his hands stuffed far into his pockets and his head bowed against the rain. “Not hungry just now, John,” he said dismissively. John rolled his eyes and did his best to keep up with the detective’s longer strides.
“Sherlock, you haven’t eaten in almost three days!” sputtered John, “If you’re not feeling hungry, then it’s just because your stomach has started eating itself since you’ve refused to feed it.”
Sherlock gave a low hum that didn’t sound like he was really listening. His mind was still racing away on the case apparently, checking the knots at the ends to see if there were more in need of being tied up. John sighed. At least they weren’t too far from Baker Street. He might be able to coax some soup or a bit of toast into the man once he settled down.
They had just turned the corner and were walking past Speedy’s when Sherlock stopped dead, halting his mumbled case diatribe with a soft, “Oh.”
“What’s the matter?” asked John, skidding to a halt just before colliding with the detective and looking up at him curiously.
“Chips, John,” Sherlock repeated reverently, eyes actually fluttering closed as he turned his head to catch the smells drifting out from between the doors. John could have sworn he heard the detective’s stomach rumble.
“Yeah, I think they might be closing up, though,” said John, looking into the empty shop. The lights were still on of course but- Sherlock swept past him and wrenched the door open. John shook his head, and followed him inside resignedly. Really what they could both do with was a cuppa and a change of clothes.
Sherlock had marched up to the counter, John joining his side just as Sherlock made his order.
“Two baskets of chips,” he said firmly to the attendant, “Extra salt.”
“Sherlock, what?” began John, but stopped himself. Really though, if Sherlock wanted to eat he had no business complaining.
“Oh did you want some too? Make that three,” said Sherlock without glancing at the doctor. John had to give a small huff of laughter as the attendant rolled her eyes and disappeared back through the kitchen doors. Sherlock slapped a few notes onto the counter and then stood there, positively quivering with his nostrils flared. The detective swayed slightly as another low growl sounded from his stomach. John was worried Sherlock would pass out and he’d have to catch him.
“Alright there, Sherlock?” asked the doctor, looking him over, “You seem a bit…”
“Hungry,” was Sherlock’s only curt reply. His long fingers tapped against the countertop.
At last the doors to the kitchen swung open and the attendant returned with the chips. They smelled fresh and hot, and admittedly wonderful. John looked at Sherlock in surprise as something that was quite surely a soft keen drifted past those cupid’s bow lips. The detective snatched two of the baskets piled high with fresh chips and swept off to a table. John thanked the attendant and took his own to go join his flatmate. Sherlock was practically shaking as he looked down at the mound of chips before him. His lips were parted slightly, his breath coming somewhat heavily, eyes wide and dark.
“You don’t have to deduce them before you eat them, you know,” said John, sliding into his seat and chuckling lightly at Sherlock’s enraptured expression, “I doubt there’s much interest in learning about the life of the common potato.”
Sherlock looked up fiercely, his eyes slightly glazed, the pupils dilated, looking even more wild due to the sopping wet curls sticking to his forehead. He blinked as if he had just woken from a trance and looked about to say something. It was odd to see a confused expression twisting his features for once.
“Nothing, go on and eat your chips before they get cold,” said John with a chuckle picking up one of his own and popping it into his mouth. Sherlock’s eyes followed the path of the golden chip, plucked up from its fellows by careful fingers and then inserted between John’s lips. The detective definitely keened this time.
“Sherlock, are you-“ But John would never finish that sentence. He gaped openly as Sherlock plowed into his first basket of chips with such gusto it was almost publically indecent. Hell it was publically indecent. He dug in with both hands, long violinist’s fingers selecting hot, crisp chips from the basket before cramming them unceremoniously into his mouth.
“Hmmph,”said Sherlock, eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy as the flavor hit his tongue, the hot soft potatoey innards burst free and flooded his mouth. He chewed quickly then sent in the next chip. Both hands working to find the next bite and tossing them into his mouth before the previous had even been properly swallowed. John was staring now, his own chips long forgotten.
Sherlock, having finished the first basket now, dragged one finger along the waxed paper to collect leftover salt and grease before sucking on it and pulling his second basket towards himself. Sherlock wasn’t hungry. He was positively ravenous and ate with such abandon that John couldn’t tear his eyes away. Sherlock set to work on his second mound of chips with equal fervor, humming softly as he made each and every chip disappear between his lips and down into his stomach. He reached the bottom of the second basket with no sign of slowing. The detective glared at the empty, grease streaked paper as if enraged that it dared to signal the end of his meal.
“More,” he said gruffly, launching himself out of the booth and back to the register.
John blinked, hardly having realized that Sherlock had left. He was still staring at the two empty baskets and wondering where the hell Sherlock had put all that starch. The baskets hadn’t exactly been small.
Then Sherlock was back with a third equally generous portion of chips. He slid back onto the bench and began stuffing his face once again. John couldn’t honestly blame him, considering the man hadn’t eaten in far too long. He also couldn’t stop staring though. Sherlock was already nearly half way through his third batch, still picking up chip after chip with both hands to speed the process of getting every last one of them into his stomach. Wasn’t he full yet?
John licked his lips unconsciously, watching as the third basket was nearing its end.
“Can I tempt you to a fourth portion, Sherlock?” he asked, raising a chip in his own fingers to offer and nudging his own portion of hardly touched food towards his friend. Sherlock looked up, one cheek still bulging as he chewed, a speck of escaped potato at the corner of his mouth, both hands delicately holding more chips. His eyes flicked over John’s proffered basket then up to the chip in the doctor’s fingers, regarding it cautiously like a wild animal. John saw his throat bob as he swallowed the mass of potato in his mouth before his lips parted reverently.
“Mmph, yes,” was Sherlock’s only reply before leaning over to pluck the food from John’s fingers and then shoving the two chips in his hands into his mouth as well. As he chewed he pulled John’s basket towards him and dumped the lot on his own dwindling supply. The detective hummed in satisfaction at his veritable mountain of chips and continued to eat, slowing just a bit now. Apparently the little pause was enough for Sherlock to realize how full he was getting. The man didn’t stop eating though. John felt an odd swooping sensation in his stomach that he couldn’t explain. The chips were still disappearing, the detective’s jaw still working rhythmically, his throat still bobbing slowly. At long last, the basket was empty and Sherlock slouched back with a long sigh. He closed his eyes and slid a hand down to rest over the belly that was for once surprisingly round and visible beneath his shirt.
“Feeling better?” asked John with a small soft grin.
Sherlock raised his hand to muffle a belch into his wrist. He gave a low hum, eyes closed lazily, his hand rubbing at his stomach which was now gurgling for a very different reason. He looked completely peaceful and replete. John figured he’d probably move on to taking care of his sleep debt next and pass out in a carbohydrate induced coma.
“Ready to head home?” asked John, slipping on his still wet coat. His eyes seemed oddly drawn to Sherlock’s middle, the sweet little bulge poking out from all the chips that had been crammed into it.
“Mm, can’t move, John,” complained Sherlock, his hand still trailing absently over his belly.
John laughed and slid out of his side of the booth. He moved over to tug at Sherlock’s shoulder. “Come on now, it’s only next door. We can get you to bed to sleep off that year’s worth of chips you just inhaled. Come on.”
“Full,” protested Sherlock, with another soft burp and a sigh.
“Yeah I bet you are,” said John, his voice coming out oddly husky, “I’ll help you up. Come on.”
Sherlock grunted as if asking him to move in his current state of overfull bliss was the worst atrocity known to mankind. Then his eyes slid open once again, and he looked up at John for a moment. He took a long breath and lugged himself to the edge of the bench, then took one of John’s hands to pull himself to his feet with a low groan.
John lead the way back out of Speedy’s and then up the stairs to the flat. Either the mass of food in Sherlock’s belly was slowing his thought processes or his case exhaustion had finally caught up with him. In either case, he still hadn’t let go of John’s hand when the doctor let them inside and climbed the stairs up to their flat. John didn’t mind.

@темы: Шерлок Холмс, Стаффинг, Джон Ватсон, Tummyache, Stuffing, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock BBC, John Watson, Fanfiction, Bloated Tummy, Belly Kink


Results: Further Experimentation Required

Results: Further Experimentation Required

Author: Aris_Silverfin

Category: Gen

Fandom: Sherlock (TV)

Characters: Sherlock HolmesMummy (Sherlock)Sherlock - Character

Additional Tags: Kink Discoveryfeederismbelly stuffingMasturbationteen!lockTeenlockteen


Really, there was no reason for mother to be so bothered about it. He ate enough to keep himself functioning after all. It was tedious to have to deal with a tired, hungry, or thirsty transport. The sooner they could make everyone into an android all the better.

So thought Sherlock as he flopped back on his bed, the young man's curls grown long and unruly. He liked it that way, even if it gave his mother another thing to nag him about. He felt it made him look like all those clever old scientists in the text books he sometimes stole from Mycroft when his brother was home from university. The raven haired teenager was far beyond the level of his peers. He needed denser reading material.

He lifted his head lazily as his mother called out to him again, then sighed. Honestly, wasn't it enough that he had already eaten once today? His metabolism might be quickening as he goes through growth spurts, but he's not hungry really. Except when there are sweets. His ears pricked at the words 'banoffee pie'. He wetted his lips lightly with a curious tongue. Well, two meals today was perfectly alright. Maybe he could check if that allowed him to go for longer afterwards. He sat and slid off the bed, then wandered out to the kitchen for dinner.

It was a hearty affair filled with roasted potatoes, gravy, pork chops, and greens. Sherlock ate well, if only to stop his mother's fussing. She still managed to slip an extra couple of chops onto his plate. He rolled his eyes but ate them. Anything for pie and an evening or two where he wouldn't be hen-pecked. His father nodded approvingly and struck up a discussion about work.

Finally dessert came, Sherlock was feeling quite a bit fuller than he ever allowed himself to become, but if it would mean that he would be left to his own devices tomorrow, that was perfectly alright. His mother served him a generous portion of banoffee pie and Sherlock tucked in with honest enjoyment, his ankles crossing beneath his chair as he ate his way through the sweet sticky dessert.

Then he was allowed to be excused and returned to his room. His mother thanked him for eating and looked satisfied. Sherlock estimated he had a full twenty four hours before she would nag him too badly again. He could get to work on- but his stomach felt really quite full, tugging against the tight pair of black skinny jeans he'd chosen that morning. He slid a hand down his torso and looked down in horror at his belly which was poking out a bit for once. He quickly shut his door and scrutinized his reflection in the mirror that hung on the back of it. His eyes narrowed icily as he turned into profile to view the bulge. He prodded it with a finger. Oddly pleasing. Figure, more curved, bulge at middle from dinner draws the eye.

He turned back to face himself forwards and drew his hands down his sides, feeling the shape. Round. Again, oddly enjoyable. He pressed at it harder and grunted. Highly enjoyable. Sherlock pulled his t-shirt up, then gave that rounded belly a slap that seemed to resound. He heard a soft groan. His. Ah, interesting. He bit his lip, pushed his belly out further, watching it stick out over his waist band, pull the fabric taught.

"Huh," the boy breathed, wetting his lips and swallowing as something warm settled in his stomach. Was that from the pressure? Or...? He sat down on his bed and pulled out his mobile, flipping quickly through it, feeling increasingly distracted by how this position seemed only to add more pressure to his middle.

One hand drifted down to rub it absently. That felt... really very good. He looked down, admiring the rounded mound as his hand circled it. Very interesting. Yes, but why-ah. His eyes widened as they lit upon the correct search. So he wasn't alone. A kink? Maybe this called for an experiment.

Sherlock waited until his parents had gone to bed, then he slipped back out into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, lips pursed as he took in his options. His eyes fell on the remainder of the banoffee pie. Perhaps it's absence would be a bit obvious, but he thought he should choose something he would enjoy. He lifted the dish carefully out, then grabbed a large bottle of water and slunk back to his room. He returned for some crackers and another water bottle, then sat on the bed, looking at his choices. He ran a hand down to his middle, which had shrunk quite a bit since dinner. He wet his lips, then decided to start light. He drank down half of one water bottle then started in on the pie, fork in hand.

It was rather tough going after a while, but Sherlock couldn't seem to stop eating. He didn't want to. He continued shoveling the creamy sticky gooey mess into his mouth. The pressure and strain in his belly grew and grew as the pie disappeared. He alternated with swigs of water.

He winced finally, his stomach gurgling in protest. He swallowed a moan as he pressed into it, whimpering. God, it felt so round, so big, just, God! He undid his jeans with a gasp of relief. He slumped back against his headboard, panting and staring down at the white pale dome his belly had become. More.

Hands shaking, Sherlock reached for the crackers and began stuffing them down. He-he felt so big, so round so... fat. And for a reason he couldn't describe, that was the hottest thought he had ever conceived. He threw the crackers aside, and lay back, shoving his hand down his pants. He had to bite his fist to keep from moaning too loudly.

Then he was spent, and flopped back, breath heaving, belly gurgling and tight. He slid a hand over it, his mind foggy with pleasure and fullness. Definitely a kink then. Perhaps a dangerous one. Slowing for the mind... but he could afford to indulge now and again. Sherlock sighed, feeling dozy. Yeah, once in a while. His mum might have a lot less reason to worry about him now. Eating was fascinating.

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


Tight Squeeze

Tight Squeeze

Author: annabagnell

Category: M/M

Fandoms: Sherlock (TV)Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms

Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John WatsonSherlock Holmes & John Watson

Additional Tags: MpregBelly Rubsbelly stuffingStuffingBursting out of clothesishKinky shit folks.


The clothes Sherlock was wearing wouldn't fit tomorrow.

They hardly fit today, but he was deliberately wearing them one last time because he had a special plan for these trousers, this shirt.

He was planning to eat his way out of them.

Sherlock waddled out into the sitting room, rubbing his belly as the baby rolled inside him. "Ready to go whenever you are, John."

John closed the lid of his laptop, looked up, did a double-take, and tried to mask his instant arousal. Sherlock was aware how he looked, trousers so tight they made the skin above his hips bulge out - even with the belly band - shirt so small it would have left his skin visible if the navy elastic holding his trousers up hadn't been there to cover it.

"I said, ready to go, John," Sherlock repeated, and John shook his head and stood up.

"Right, let's go, then," he replied, and placed a protective hand on Sherlock's lower back as he guided them out the door of the flat.

Some hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant - not Angelo's, not for this particular meal - just off the Charing Cross tube station found Sherlock clearing his plate of risotto.

"Good?" John asked, and Sherlock hummed and patted his stomach.

"Very. Would you poke fun at me if I were to order seconds?" he asked, and John blinked.

"Erm…no, not particularly, if you're still hungry."

"Ravenous," Sherlock replied, and flagged down the waiter.

Midway through his second plate of pasta, Sherlock reached down and exaggeratedly slid down his belly band, letting his stomach sag forward just a smidgeon. "Oh, much better. That band is constricting," he murmured, and picked up his fork again.

John reached down to adjust something, too, and cursed under his breath as Sherlock let out a burp, and then another. "Running out of room," he excused himself, and rubbed his belly and swallowed another mouthful of pasta.

"You've got to be getting full," John said, somewhat impressed with the amount of food Sherlock was consuming, but Sherlock shook his head.

"I won't order thirds, but I do still have room," he replied, and John sighed inwardly.

Oh, fucking hell.

Sherlock was a little put out when John denied dessert for the both of them, but knew he'd be exacting his revenge soon.

'Soon' as in 'when he stood up.'

"Ough," Sherlock grunted as he rose, and groaned again as the food in his stomach shifted. He reached down to adjust his shirt and grinned when he realized he'd stretched it to its fullest limit, and there was now a gap between the hem and the fold of his elastic belly band.

John, however, wasn't paying attention, and instead was scrubbing a hand through his hair as he looked at the bill. "Was it really necessary to order a second entree, Sherlock? I know your bank account's in fine shape, but this bill is groceries for a week."

"I don't know, John," Sherlock murmured, rubbing his stomach. "Was it worth it?"

John's gaze rose and froze on the sliver of skin showing through Sherlock's clothing. "Damn you," he whispered, and slapped several bills on the table before dragging Sherlock out of the restaurant as quickly as the pregnant man could waddle.

John accosted him in the alley as soon as they were out the door. He pressed his own full stomach up against Sherlock's round belly, and groaned along with Sherlock. "I need to fuck you as soon as possible," he grunted, rubbing the protruding belly.

"I'm not full yet, John. Take me home and fill me up."

"Jesus christ." John cursed, pressed a hand on Sherlock's stomach until he grunted, and then ran out to flag down a cab.

Sherlock made a show of climbing the stairs into the flat, huffing every time he mounted a new stair. John followed him, trying to think of what food was in the cupboards that he could feed to Sherlock. He was distracted by the noises Sherlock was making, and wanted desperately for him to make more of them, louder.

"Sit on the couch. Make yourself comfortable. I'll be out soon," John told his mate, and ducked into the kitchen so Sherlock could have a seat.

He piled a tray with food and snacks and drinks, and barely managed to keep from dropping it when he reemerged into the sitting room. Rather than changing into looser clothes, Sherlock had stayed in the same outfit he'd worn to the restaurant. But this time, John could see just how tight the clothes were, the belly band's elastic showing as the fabric stretched, the shirt nearly transparent over the curve of his stomach. "God, how can you want to eat more?"

"Hungry, John, we're hungry. Feed us," Sherlock said breathily, and John's cock filled heavily in his trousers.

"Fucking eat, then," John growled, and shoved a forkful of reheated rice into Sherlock's mouth.

The pint of rice was gone almost instantly, and Sherlock demanded more.

Two peanut butter sandwiches. "More," Sherlock rasped, and grunted when John pushed his hips up on Sherlock's belly. He dismounted, and went to rummage around in the kitchen. "It doesn't have to be cuisine, John, just fill me."

"Bread," John murmured, and simply grabbed the bag and went back to the couch, where Sherlock was rubbing his tight stomach and moaning.

When John straddled his lap again, Sherlock grasped his wrists. "Stuff me," he whispered. "When I tell you to stop, keep going. I don't want to be able to move, so full."

John groaned and rocked his hips forward and down onto Sherlock's belly, harder and harder until the man gave a rewarding noise of arousal and pain.

John pulled a slice of bread from the bag, balled it up, and tore a piece off, feeding it into Sherlock's mouth faster than the man could chew. Sherlock swallowed the pieces half-chewed, his throat bulging as the mass moved down.

Six slices went into Sherlock's mouth easily, with no hesitation from the detective. The seventh went down with a bit of difficulty, and the eighth painfully. "Water," Sherlock rasped, and John nodded and dashed to the kitchen, returning with a litre bottle of chilled water.

"You're going to eat the whole loaf of bread and drink the whole litre of water," John murmured into Sherlock's ear, and the detective groaned and took several quick swallows from the bottle. John settled back into the man's lap and resumed feeding him the bread.

Bread, water, bread, water, bread, water, over and over until only half of the loaf remained and the water bottle was half empty. Sherlock was writhing on the couch as best his stuffed belly would let him, and small noises of pain slid past his lips with each bite.

"Stop, please," he whimpered, rubbing his swollen middle with both hands. John rocked his hips forward and Sherlock cried out in pain at the pressure, but John pulled off another chunk of bread and shoved it into Sherlock's mouth.

With each bite and noise of protest, Sherlock's belly pushed out further, his shirt riding up until it sat, still tight, on the top of his stomach. His belly band had long since given up the fight and had slid down, stretched just over his hips and the lowest part of his belly.

The mass steadily grew and pushed Sherlock's belly out and out and out, until it was reddened and distended and so, so painful. John rolled another slice of bread and pushed into Sherlock's mouth whole, and the detective grimaced and swallowed it without chewing. His throat bulged and he moaned as peristalsis forced the lump down into his already packed stomach.

As the detective rocked side to side, holding his sides in agony, John leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Can you do it, Sherlock? Can you finish the bread?"

Sherlock's breath came in shallow gasps, his stomach encroaching on his lungs and making it difficult - near impossible, really - to breathe deeply. He opened his eyes, forehead beaded with sweat, and winced when John prodded his belly sharply. "Yes," he breathed, and John grinned and wadded another piece of bread.

Three slices left, and less than a quarter bottle of water. Sherlock grunted in pain each time he bit off another chunk, and his hands rubbed weakly at his distended stomach. "No more, no more," he gasped, but John pressed the bottle to his mouth and Sherlock drank slowly, breathing harshly.

Finally, the last piece of bread slid down his throat and Sherlock chased it with the last of the water and then he was done.

His stomach was mounded in front of him, his shirt too tight even as it sat on the top of his belly and his trousers unbelievably painful as they cut into his abdomen. "Get me out of my clothes, John," he breathed, and John pressed two palms against his belly in response, making Sherlock writhe and moan.

John relented then, and pulled the man's shirt off before grasping his shoulders and gently maneuvered Sherlock to lie flat on the sofa. Sherlock cried out as his stomach stretched, and the muscles seized painfully in protest. John ignored the man's noises of pain and pulled the belly band down, over Sherlock's hips, and off, before focussing on the tight waistline of his trousers.

"Christ, Sherlock, how did you even manage to do these up before we left?" he asked, running his fingers over the rolled fabric, so tight it made Sherlock's belly pout over top of the fabric. He pressed against Sherlock's belly to gather enough fabric and undo the button and zip, and Sherlock sighed in relief when his stomach filled the newly vacated space.

John eased his trousers down over his hips, then, but left his pants where they were, elastic slung obscenely low under his curved, protruding belly. A red line ran the width of Sherlock's stomach, where the trousers had constricted his skin and the growing mass inside it.

Unclothed, Sherlock moaned when John ran his hand over his middle, applying light pressure on the solid expanse. Sherlock's belly had grown perfectly round, free of stretch marks, pale and unmarked.

John marveled at the fullness of it, at the solidity beneath the silky thin skin, at the warmth of the mass, growing warmer as John's hands stimulated it and Sherlock's stomach lethargically started to digest the mass of food he'd consumed.

"You are a wicked, wicked man," John murmured, thumbing over Sherlock's still-stubbornly-innie navel. The detective shuddered, and his pale pink lips opened and a soft moan slipped through them.

"I was so hoping that damned thing would give up and pop," Sherlock said quietly, and John dipped his pinky into the ring, drawing another moan from his mate.

"Want to give it a go?" John asked, and Sherlock's eyes met his slowly. He nodded.

"Milk. Easy to swallow. It will fill you up, get that stubborn belly button to pop." John returned from the kitchen with the mostly-full gallon. He set it on the coffee table and pulled Sherlock to a sitting position, and the pregnant man groaned as his stuffed stomach insisted against the movement.

"Ready?" John inquired, and Sherlock nodded.

John's hands rubbed at Sherlock's solid, swollen stomach as the man lifted the gallon to his own lips. He swallowed once, twice, three times, gasping after the third and holding back a cry. "Christ, John, so full. It hurts." John pressed his hands against Sherlock's middle, and after a few seconds relented.

Sherlock was breathing in shallowly, lungs constricted by his stomach as it swelled and swelled.

"Come on, Sherlock, pop that navel. You can do it." John massaged gently, rubbing thin skin over the solid distention beneath.

Sherlock swallowed again, over and over and over. His belly was so hot, so full, so tight, he didn't think he could drink any more. Pain radiated out from his stuffed middle, lethargic gurgles rumbling from the solid mass in his belly.

"Come on, Sherlock. You're not full yet. You've got more room," John encouraged, still rubbing, still prodding.

More milk. The gallon was half-empty now, and Sherlock's middle was so packed that he could hardly breathe. "Has it popped yet, John?" he asked breathily, whimpering.

"Not yet. It's close." John slid his pinky in the small hole again, and Sherlock cried out.

"Hurts, John! Oh, oh, oh," he moaned, his free hand rubbing his tight belly as he tried to rock back and forth.

"Just a little more, love. Just a little more and you'll be so full, so round, so perfect. You can do it. Come on." John pushed the plastic container, beaded with water, back towards Sherlock's mouth, and the man took as deep a breath he could and took another drink.

Each swallow felt more and more impossible. His stomach was massive, mounded, huge. So much food, so much milk. But his navel hadn't popped. "John, I…ohowowow," he moaned, taking shallow breaths and trying not to sob.

"Just a little more," John repeated.

"Little…more." Sherlock swallowed again. Milk dribbled from the corners of his mouth, and his stomach creaked and groaned as he continued to add to the mass inside. The fingers of his free hand clawed at his tight belly, scratching the thin reddened skin. He panted between drinks, certain he was about to pop. Just a little more…

"Aaaaaaah! Ohgodjohn, there it went, oh god hurts, John!" Sherlock cried out and let the empty container fall to the floor, both hands slapping against his tight, round, oh-so-painfully overfull stomach. John rubbed it as well, prodding maliciously at the mound of flesh and tweaking the now-popped navel. "Ohmygod, oh my god," Sherlock chanted in a low moan, rubbing the expanse of his stretched stomach.

"Beautiful," John murmured, pressing his hands against the firmness and drawing a cry from Sherlock. "Gorgeous. So round. So full. Beautiful."

"Done, John. Can't eat any…any more. Done." Tears of relief and pain slid down Sherlock's cheeks. He couldn't move, could hardly breathe. It was perfect.

"I know, love. You did so well. So, so well."

@темы: Фанфикшн, Стаффинг, Мпрег, Tummyache, Stuffing, Sherlock BBC, Mpreg, Fanfiction, Bloated Tummy, Bellyache, Belly Kink



- Ах!
- Давай же, ты, нелепое существо. Даже не смей дуться. Вставай.
- Нет.
Джон положил руки на свои бедра и хмуро посмотрел на животное, которое стонало на его кухонном полу.
- Что значит "нет"? Ты не можешь лежать так, мне нужно туда пройти!
Смотря через пальцы, Фавнлок снова застонал и неудобно вывернулся.
- Нет, - повторил он со всей торжественностью, учитывая, что сейчас он растянулся по полу кухни маленького коттеджа, заляпанном липкими пятнами и усеянном крошками.
- Ладно. Хорошо, - Джон перешагнул через лежащее тело в попытке добраться до кладовой, - Тогда я приготовлю что-нибудь поесть.
Фавнлок снова застонал и осторожно перевернулся на бок.
Взглянув через свое плечо, Джон снова осмотрел своего друга, но уже включив "режим доктора".
- Фавнлок, что-то не так?
В ответ на вопрос животное просто продолжало лежать. Он выглядел сонным, но как только Джон отвернулся, чтобы взять крекеры из кладовой, он услышал тихий всхлип.
- Что это было?
- Болит. Сильно.
Док незамедлительно рванул к своему другу и присел возле него.
- Где? Где болит? Покажи.
Фавнлок нагнулся, осторожно похлопал по животу и поморщился. Он застонал от боли, когда Джон положил свои руки на мягкую кожу, и снова вывернулся.
- Ты ел что-то, что не должен был, Фавнлок? - тихо спросил Джон.
Тот слегка надулся, но кивнул.
Опираясь о край скамейки, чтобы встать, Джон отошел и заглянул в холодильник, заметив, что шоколадный пудинг с карамелью, который дала ему миссис Хадсон, полностью исчез. Кто-то вылизал стеклянную чашку начисто.
- Ох, Фавнлок.
Джон даже усмехнулся над нелепостью ситуации, но вернулся на землю, когда нижняя губа Фавнлока дрогнула. Он выглядел так, будто ему очень, очень жаль.
- Иди-ка сюда, - Джон осторожно поднял оленя, отнес его в гостиную и уложил на диван. Он присел рядом с несчастным существом и начал осторожно гладить животик Фавнлока, бормоча успокаивающие глупости:
- Ты, глупенький. Ты ведь знаешь, что не должен съедать столько сладкого. Ты же не сделаешь это снова, не так ли?
Фавнлок тихо хныкал, но вскоре успокоился и просто лежал, позволяя Джону утешать его. Под нежными прикосновениями своего друга он понял, что засыпает.
Когда Фавнлок крепко уснул, тихо похрапывая, Джон встал и на цыпочках подошел к двери. Тот пудинг выглядел божественно, и он подумал, что миссис Хадсон с удовольствием сделает ему еще один. Теперь он знал, что в этот раз, когда пудинг снова пропадет, беспокоиться будет не о чем.

@темы: Sherlock BBC, Фанфикшн, Стаффинг, Киноковые отрывки из фанфиков, Живот, Боль в животе, Stuffing



Father Christmas Isn't Fit
Aris_Silverfin, FatlocknDomJohn

A bit of fun, fluffy, kinky, hot Christmas cheer for all you lovely folks. Happy holidays!

Sherlock hates Christmas and John sets out to find out why. The doctor goes to great lengths to get Sherlock into the Christmas spirit and past his childhood disappointment. There's just one small snag with John's plan: Father Christmas isn't fit.
But surely, that can be fixed with a little wintertime indulgence...


Sherlock played by FatlocknDomJohn

John by Aris_Silverfin

Explicit kinky sex to come in next chapter.

Chapter 1
Chapter Text


The entire flat reeked of ginger.

Sherlock hurried down the stairs of 221b, having been hiding away in his Mind Palace for the past several hours, finding everything to be...


The detective frowned, noting the pine tree strewn with lights in the small living room, bows and tinsel covering damn-near everything in sight, and that horrible smell of Christmas cookies wafting from the kitchen.

"John! What is the meaning of all this?! We've been dating two years, you know I despise anything related to this awful holiday!" The curly haired skeleton growled, stomping toward the kitchen.

"Yeah I know, I happen to love it though. Call this a compromise," John called back, just pulling a batch of freshly baked gingerbread from the oven and setting it out to cool. He slipped off his oven mitts and chuckled. "Just be thankful there isn't any Christmas music on too."

John did wonder why Sherlock was so infuriated when it came to Christmas. Hardly anyone seemed capable of detesting a holiday full of sweets, warm cozy lights, and gifts. Maybe he'd always deduced all his presents and ruined the surprise. He prodded one of the gingerbread men, testing the temperature and then picking it up to take a bite. Needed to taste test after all.

"Want one, Scrooge?" John teased. "Though I expect they'll be better when they're cooled and iced properly."

Sherlock simply pouted further, and continued,"It's a foolish holiday full of lies perpetrated by foolish parents and stupid elder siblings."

He frowned, crossing his arms, turning his head away from the treat.

"I'll be on the sofa, re-organizing my ash samples. If you need me - don't need me," he spat out, stomping over to the sofa and settling into a deep sulk.

"Full of lies? What are you on about?" asked John, raising his eyebrows. Then he had a suspicion. Was this to do with? No... not Sherlock. That would be-oh.

John grabbed his jacket and shoes, pulled on a hat. "I'm heading out to the shops for a bit. Be right back."

Sherlock simply grumbled, turning to face the back of the sofa.

John returned a half hour later, his purchase in a brown paper bag. He hesitated a moment, pondering. No, better not to give Sherlock even a chance to deduce what he was doing before he revealed the surprise. He ducked into Mrs. Hudson's and changed, pulling a pair of baggy red trousers up over his jeans and stepping into black boots. He slung on the roomy red and white coat and did it up. Maybe he should have gotten it a size down, but that hadn't seemed to fit his muscular shoulders properly. He pulled on a white fluffy beard and pulled the hat onto his head. He looked absolutely ridiculous, John thought, pulling on black gloves as well. Still, if it got a smile out of Sherlock...

He tramped up the stairs and pushed the door open. Well. Best to go all in. He let out a resounding jolly laugh.

"Ho, ho, hoooo!"

Sherlock bolted up, looking around desperately for the sound. He hurried to the back hall and- No. No it-

For a moment, for one brief, shining moment Sherlock beamed. His normally sharp, angry eyes went soft, smile wide and inviting, arms instantly opening for a hug, a small, happy laugh escaping his throat.

Then he froze, frowning, crossing his arms.

"Th-that wasn't funny, John" Sherlock said, frowning softly, looking away.

"I'm... I'm sorry, love. I wasn't trying to be funny. Come on, talk to me, what's the matter?" John asked, reaching out to grab Sherlock's forearm gently.

Sherlock tried to tug away, then simply latched onto his lover, resting his cheek atop the man's cap.

"I... Mummy and Mycroft never explained away Father Christmas. I thought I understood the logic behind it... and then one year," Sherlock sighed, "I made a big show of what he'd brought me in school. I don't remember what year, but I was much too old to be believing in him, I'm sure. They..." Sherlock cleared his throat, escaping John's arms.

"Children can be quite cruel," he concluded, slipping away into the living room, sitting on the sofa and hugging a pillow.

"They can be," John agreed, frowning and feeling sad for poor little Sherlock being mocked for still believing in Father Christmas when all the others had had that snatched away from them.

John moved over to the sofa again and sat down beside his lover, rubbing Sherlock's back gently. He pulled down the beard so he could speak properly.

"Harry told me when I was really young. I'd broken something of hers and she was feeling spiteful," explained John with a dry chuckle. He put his hat onto Sherlock's head.

"You should have seen your face though, you looked so happy, love," John murmured, grinning and leaning into his lover, "I didn't get it all the way wrong then..."

Sherlock gave a soft smile, accepting his John's warmth, laughing as the hat covered his curls.

"No it was...nice of you. Thoughtful. Father Christmas isn't fit though," Sherlock giggled, his fingers tickling at the doctor's six-pack abs beneath his red suit.

John chuckled as Sherlock's fingers tickled him, squirming away slightly.

"No, you're right about that," he admitted, kissing his lover's cheek, "His belly's supposed to be all round and jolly isn't it?" He settled into Sherlock, just relaxing and thinking. The thought formed without John even realizing where it had come from.

"Oh, bugger, almost forgot about the gingerbread. They'll need icing." He stood and stripped off the rest of his costume, then went to the kitchen. He stood before the large tray of undecorated gingerbread. He looked down at his middle, prodded the muscles, then ate each and every one of the cookies before him as he iced them, his stomach protesting and gurgling by the time the next batch had been baked.

It could work. He could afford a few pounds and then lose them again. And if it made Sherlock happy and enjoy Christmas again... well. John could most certainly throw himself into the role.

For the next two weeks, John stuffed himself to bursting on Christmas cookies, hot chocolate, thick hearty stews, and other heavy dishes. He took seconds at every opportunity, groaning as he left the table with his middle distended. He spent his days at the surgery snacking on a variety of things in between clients. His stomach felt almost constantly tight and full. Still, he didn't seem to be gaining very quickly. He took to drinking calorie rich shakes on the way home, taking cabs more often to save on the calories he burned.

Well, if there was anytime to get fat, it was the holidays. And Mrs. Hudson only seemed happy to help, loading John's arms with mountains of home made fudge, peppermint bark, sweets, and cookies as well. And John would plow through as many as he could before he felt too sick and stuffed to continue. His capacity was improving though as time went on. As was his appetite. His trousers definitely were not growing however as they began to bite his softened hips quite persistently, pinch the soft skin gathering under his navel. John switched to his roomier pairs but even those needed to be unbuttoned after dinner.

At least his jumpers did a rather good job of disguising just how much he was eating. Still, at the end of the day, there was a definite roundness as he looked down. It was oddly fascinating, especially in the shower where John was used to looking down and finding washboard abs. Now he just found a rather soft round butterball of belly with a deep navel dimpling the furthermost arc.

He worried sometimes that Sherlock would notice as they laid in bed together, but the detective didn't seem any less enthusiastic. John was careful however not to press up against him too closely, especially if he had eaten a lot during the day. He missed him though. But he told himself it would all be worth it. Even if he had to suck in his gut every time he walked past his lover.

Two weeks had indeed passed since the couple's "Father Christmas" talk, and Sherlock was concerned. There was still a bit until Christmas, but John seemed... distant.

He seemed nervous about touching the detective. Oh kisses and compliments occurred just as frequently as ever, but hugs seemed shorter, and whenever they made love Sherlock was too overwhelmed with just how amazing it was to be touching his John to notice the man's climbing weight, online cases keeping him too busy in any other regard.

Today, Sherlock would bring up... whatever had happened. The detective marched into the kitchen.

"John is everything al... right?" Sherlock's eyes went wide, mouth dry. He swallowed.

John swallowed too, then quickly straightened up and pulled his bathrobe around himself more closely, worried that Sherlock might have caught a glimpse of the growing belly that was peeking out between his pajamas. He had just eaten rather a lot of cookie dough. Again...

"Er, just in time, I wanted to try this pfeffernus recipe, want to taste one while they're hot?" asked John innocently. Not that they really needed more cookies. He muffled a burp and tried to suck in his stomach further, but it was far too full to compress very much.

Sherlock shook his head. That...that couldnt have been right. No. That...

Sherlock stored the image away, telling himself he'd go over it later.

"I...well," Sherlock accepted the sweet treat, he hadn't had Christmas cookies in... The flavor exploded in his mouth, and Sherlock gave a wide, happy smile, letting out a soft moan. The detective blushed, coughing lightly.

"They're... good," he noted.

"Good," said John, smiling and popping one into his own mouth, his slightly softened jawline shifting with his chewing motions. "There's plenty to go around. I was about to make tea. "

He reached over to put the kettle on and then stepped up on tiptoe to get the mugs and tea bags out of the cupboards, the knot on his robe riding up over his belly as it pressed out onto the counter. John quickly righted himself again and set about making tea.

"And Mrs. Hudson came by with treacle. I think I might have some of that, myself," he continued, fetching it and setting everything out on the table. He ought to have quite a lot of it actually, and whipped cream. Loads of it. Christmas was only getting closer. He brought the teas over and sat with a sigh, his belly rounding out under his robe and pooching onto his thighs ever so slightly. He served himself a hefty portion and doused the sticky dessert in whipped cream before tucking in.

"Any cases on?" he asked conversationally.

Sherlock tried to work out exactly what was happening with his trim, fit, muscled, partner. John couldn't have put on weight... no. No, his workouts were too frequent. He felt something inside him soften at all the treats, shrugging off any negative feelings toward the holiday and scooping extra sugar and cream into his tea, nabbing a small plate of cookies, setting the larger tray in between them and munching away.

"Just as many online cases as I can take, murder always seems to go down around this awful holiday, and I've barely heard from Lestrade. I do believe my brother has finally decided to court the man," he tried to grumble, but he hummed and smiled around a mouthful of cookie.

"Even criminals get in the holiday spirit, eh?" chuckled John, eating steadily and sighing as he set about filling his stomach again. He did a double take.

'What? The two of them are together?" he asked, chuckling, "Oh, that's rather sweet though..."

So was this treacle. God, how much toffee was in this sticky thing?

He cut himself another piece and flooded it with whipped cream again as casually as he could muster. He sipped his tea and then dove back in, his stomach feeling heavier already with the rich dessert. He swiped up a bit of whipped cream with one of the other cookies and ate it thoughtfully.

"Good your keeping busy though. Surgery's been rather slow lately." John wasn't exactly complaining. That meant he had more time to eat at his desk during the day. He muffled a burp and shifted back a little to take some pressure off his stomach which was now definitely pushing onto his thighs and out from under his shirt. Luckily the robe was still covering him completely. Though it was feeling bothersome and tight. He pushed the band down a bit, willing to risk it with a table between the two of them.

"Well that's good to hear, though I don't know why you hang on to that terrible job," Sherlock teased, rising to get a second cup of tea, "And yes! Greg has known Mycroft almost as long as he's known me, and my brother has held quite the crush on him since their very first meeting. Of course what with Greg's marriage and subsequent divorce, I assume my brother was just...just giving Greg a little...time"

Sherlock swallowed heavily after turning back toward the table.

From this angle it looked as if John had...

The trim, fit soldier looked positively fat. The detective felt color rise to his cheeks. Of course, it couldn't be true. Just the angle at which John was sitting, the amount of tea sloshing about in that... that gut. Sherlock coughed lightly, moving to settle back down at the table and crossing his legs. Why was the thought of such a heavier John so... arousing? He sipped at his tea, his color returning to normal.

"I took the liberty of inviting Greg over for Christmas, I assumed it was alright with you," Sherlock smiled, "I should've checked, though, did you want Harry coming? I know things are still a bit rough in her social life"

John had sucked in his breath a bit as Sherlock moved. Now he relaxed, trying to be as discrete about it as he could, his belly rounding up against his robe yet again.

"Oh, yeah. We can try. And Yeah... Greg could come," said John, feeling slightly concerned. Well... he could surprise Sherlock in the morning then. The others were bound to notice. Harry would have a field day if she came and saw her brother gone all soft like this.

He sipped more of his tea and reached for more cookies. He had to get himself properly stuffed. Then he could lay around until dinner and then eat all he could again. He cut a third smaller piece of treacle even as his belly gurgled.

"I was hoping so, I don't really see any of them having anywhere to spend the holiday, Mrs. Hudson insisted on cooking, so she's got a week to prepare just about every recipe she knows," Sherlock chuckled, then stood, crossing to his boyfriend and kissing the man's forehead.

"And they won't be over until the evening of the 25th, so the night of the 24th we can put out cookies and see if Father Christmas shows up," he joked, pouring John another cup of tea, then stuffing a few more cookies into his mouth.

Sherlock prodded his own stomach lightly as he walked toward the living room to answer a few more cases, finding just a touch of softness there, perhaps more than a touch. John's stews seemed to be having an effect. But wasn't holiday weight normal? Sherlock popped another cookie into his mouth as he settled down with his laptop. Perhaps Christmas wasnt so terrible after all.

"Sounds good," said John grinning, "Maybe the cookies you put out weren't his favorite so he was full by the time he came to your house."

He chuckled and carved out another piece of treacle after Sherlock left. His eyes fluttered closed as his stomach groaned. He forced it down however, rubbing idly at the side of the round ball of fat his abs had become. He let out the softest groan, then finished his tea.

"I'm going to go lay down a bit," John called, as he waddled to their bedroom and flopped down. He massaged his belly, marveling at how tight the skin felt, how much it arched up under his chest. He grabbed a handful, jiggled it a bit. His finger slipped into his navel and drew small circles. John's breathing grew rough and uneven, the weight on his midsection somehow... God...

He reached down and lazily began stroking his cock with one hand while the other circled his overfull stomach slowly.

Five more days.

And John would make full use of each one.

Christmas Eve's dinner was a rather elaborate fare, John trying to swallow down every calorie he could muster before the next morning. And eating a lot at Christmas was expected so John went completely to town. There was a huge honeyed ham, mashed potatoes mixed with cream and butter, gravy with more cream in it, vegetables doused in butter, beer, and of course a monstrous rice pudding for dessert.

John was hiccuping by the end of it, his stomach clearly outlined by even his loosest jumper, his trousers biting him even with the button undone. John groaned and pressed a hand to his middle, grimacing, his breath coming out rather shallowly.

He did his best to sit up normally.

"W-want to watch a movie? Or just get to bed?" he asked, tugging his jumper down over his massively bloated middle.

Sherlock sat on the couch, hiccuping and giggling around a full, positively plump looking belly full of much too much eggnog, the alcohol loosening up the detective's stomach enough for him to finish off not two but three plates of cookies after dinner.

"Jaawwwn!" He laughed, extending his arms out to his partner, willing him to leave his chair and snuggle with the detective.

"Is Chismas," he giggled.

"Hurp-yes it is, love," John said, grinning and pulling Sherlock in to kiss him. Christ... he didn't know if he could move...

"Oh, hang on, we should leave the cookies out for Father Christmas," said John, hauling himself up with the help of the table and his lover. He managed not to groan too badly as his stomach sagged down. At least Sherlock was drunk.

Sherlock toppled into laying on the sofa as John stumbled up, too drunk to pull back his lean.

"Mer kissmas," he giggled, yawning sleepily, then blinked, hurrying up and following John to the kitchen.

"Y-yes! Fath kismash haz to come, I wanted... what did I want?" Sherlock asked, slumping into his lover, rubbing his cheek against the doctor's sandy hair

"You smell gud, like cookies," he babbled, giggling.

John chuckled and reached behind him to pat him softly.

"You want to leave out Father Christmas's favorite cookies so he'll come visit and bring you a present," John reminded him, smiling at his lover. He fetched a plate and laid several cookies out neatly on the dish.

"How's that look?"

Then they should probably get to bed with Sherlock being in the state he was, John thought warmly. He gave the detective a quick side-armed hug and then waddled his way to the fireplace to set the cookies down.

Sherlock followed like an excited, drunken puppy, looking over the plate carefully. He drew a hand to his chin, stroking it over-dramatically. The detective swapped two cookies, the took John's hand gently, part of his brain noting just how... soft it felt.

"We gotta goto bed...Father Chris*hic*christmas iz coming," he smiled, tugging John towards their bedroom.

John smiled and followed after. He collapsed with a low groan and wriggled out of his clothing. He hoped Sherlock's drunkenness would also mean that the man would be liable to sleep in.

@темы: Sherlock BBC, Stuffing, Weight gain, Кино, Фанфикшн


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    @темы: Галереи художников, Вор, ВГ, Боль в животе, Блоутинг, Аниме, Weight gain, WG, Vore, Stuffing, Sherlock BBC, Naruto, Mpreg, Kuroshitsuji, Hellsing, Fempreg, Deviantart, Death Note, Bloating, Bleach, Живот, Картинки, Мпрег, Ориджмнал, Рассказ, Роллевые, Стаффинг, Темный Дворецкий, Фанфикшн, Фемпрег, Художники



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