: sherlock holmes ( )



If you need to stop, you can, Sherlock said quietly, rubbing the distended organ lightly. Youre huge.

John nodded and considered for a second, short of breath. He burped again and pressed a hand to his belly, which was hot beneath his palm. I cn finish, he said, and took the ice cream again.


What have I done.

Work Text:

Come on, Sherlock encouraged. Youve barely eaten more than a usual meal consists of. You can eat more than that. He held out another sandwich quarter.

Did it occur to you that I usually eat my fill and then quit? Theres a reason I stop at that point, berk. Its because Im full. John reached out and begrudgingly took the sandwich, tearing off a corner and chewing and swallowing.

While your reasoning is sound, Ive witnessed your full capacity before, and youre nowhere near that limit. Were playing, John. Have a bit of fun. Sherlock watched John chew and swallow the sandwich with rapt attention.

John had been an avid fan of what he learned was commonly called stuffing since he was a teenager. There was something about the reaching of a limit, the indulgence of overeating, that appealed to him. And, of course, feeling fuller than full and being visibly swollen with it - well, that played no small part.

John took another sandwich quarter and kept eating. He was still in buttoned trousers and his jumper, because Sherlock liked seeing John have to lose his garments to accommodate his stomach. The trousers were getting a little tight, but not uncomfortably so. Not yet.

Water. Sherlock held out a glass, and John took it. He was already on his second glass of the night, and would switch to a different beverage soon. Changing it up kept things interesting. Sherlock had fizzy soda and milk on standby. Good boy, the detective praised, taking the glass once John had drained it. He set it aside and pushed the plate of sandwiches closer.

John grinned as his face flushed. The praise wasnt part of the kink - not for him, at least, but he did appreciate it. He finished off the sandwich quarter and reached for another. Gonna be sick of egg salad by the time this is done, he sighed, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out.

No doubt. But its the easiest to eat quickly. Very little tedious chewing. John snorted. Of course chewing was boring. What next?

Applesauce. John pointed with one finger to the big bowl in the center of the table. There were a few sandwich quarters left, but he was getting tired of egg salad. Hed finish them later.

By the time John had taken the last swallow of the egg sandwich, Sherlock had the bowl poised and ready for John. John took the dish and the large spoon, resting the bowl on his chest and tucking in. The applesauce was even easier to eat - John could suck it down almost as easily as he could a beverage.

John jumped when he felt Sherlocks fingers tugging at his waistband, slipping between the denim fabric and his skin. Whatre you doing? he asked, stifling a burp and moving the bowl to peer down.

Just checking, Sherlock replied, tugging at the fabric again. Getting tighter.

Perv, John grinned. By the time Im done with the applesauce, ill be ready to unbutton them. Unless you want me to really push it?

Push it, Sherlock said, eyes pooled black. The grin he sported was wicked.

John pushed it. Gone was the applesauce, the rest of the sandwiches, and John was halfway through a bundle of grapes. His stomach was pushing over the waistband of his trousers, and Sherlock couldnt get his fingers in between the fabric and Johns stomach. The doctor groaned and swallowed another grape, then laid both hands on his stomach. Theyve gotta go.

Let me touch first? Sherlock asked, and John nodded. Sherlock pushed his shirt up to rest on the topmost curve of his stomach and then smoothed his hands over the bulge hed uncovered. John inhaled and Sherlock shivered - he could feel the way Johns stomach strained outward against his skin when his lungs filled with air. He could feel Johns grin, too, and he pressed down a little against Johns stomach, until John winced. Youre getting full.

I am full, John corrected, tapping the center of his stomach. But I can get fuller if you let me take off these trousers. The skin beneath his finger slid when he moved his finger around, but the bulge beneath didnt have much give. John felt a shiver run across his skin. Things were getting fun.

Sherlock put his fingers to work on Johns trousers, but stopped short of opening the button and zip. Suck it in, he said.

John met Sherlocks gaze and then looked down at his belly. He exhaled and then sucked his abdominal muscles in, groaning at how tight they were over his stomach. The bulge moved as one unit. John clapped a hand to his belly to help his muscles hold it in.

Sherlock took his time undoing the button and zip, and when he finally finished, John let go and sucked in a lungful of air. From his point of view, it looked like his stomach had doubled in size, and he groaned, rubbing his aching belly. Youre such a fucking tease.

Sherlock was rubbing Johns stomach through the open vee of his jeans. You like sucking it in, he countered, and John had to agree. Being so full he couldnt hold his stomach in flat was beyond arousing.

Soon, they moved from the kitchen to the sofa, John starting to develop a bit of a waddle as he walked. His stomach stuck out in front of him, leading the way into the room, and John gave it a few rough rubs before sinking down onto the couch. This was his favorite part - the bulk of the eating was over, and now Sherlock would feed him nibbles while they watched telly, just to see how much he could eat. When John was distracted and Sherlock fed him, he could eat far more than he could manage when he was focused on eating by himself.

They put season three of Criminal Minds on, and John settled in, laying on his back with his head pillowed in Sherlocks lap. He turned his attention to the show, and let Sherlock feed him.

In the lull between episode two and three, John turned and looked up at Sherlock, rubbing his stomach and feeling how much more it had swollen. Inventory? he asked.

Sherlock cleared his throat and started to list off what John had eaten so far. The sandwiches (there were four), a jar of applesauce, two glasses of water, the bag of grapes, a glass of milk, and were halfway through the pudding.

Cor. No wonder I feel heavy. John rubbed his stomach and stared down at the mass. From his point of view it arced upward like a bowl, and he could feel the stretch every time he drew in a breath. What else have we got left?

The rest of the pudding, and the soda, and ice cream, if you want it.

Were playing, Sherlock, John teased. If you think Im stopping now, youre duller than I thought.

They set the pudding aside, and Sherlock went to get the ice cream and soda. John set to work hauling himself upright, which was quite a task. He clapped a hand to his belly as he sat up, breathing out heavily. Ready for this? he asked his stomach, patting it lightly as he removed his shirt. It gurgled in response.

It had better be. Sherlock set the bottle of soda down on the coffee table, and handed John the whole container of ice cream and a spoon. Poor tummy, it has a half-gallon of ice cream to fit in yet.

Tummy can handle it. Cant you, tummy? John rubbed the solid mass, patting it fondly.

Ill take tummy-rubbing duties. You take eating duties, Sherlock said, putting his hands on Johns stomach and rubbing it lightly.

A fair trade, John reasoned, and started to eat.

They almost always finished off with a half-gallon of vanilla ice cream and root beer, simply because the combination of the two made a delightfully fizzy finish to a stuffing session. However, John was fairly certain hed never been this full when attempting the half-gallon of ice cream and liter of soda. Tummy confirmed this by starting to ache when John was only a few large spoonfuls into the ice cream. Tummy is not sure it can handle it anymore, John said, stifling a burp.

Oh, come now, tummy. I know you can do it. Sherlock kissed the tight skin of Johns stomach, continuing to rub it softly. John drew in a breath, feeling his skin stretch, and nodded.

Purely for effect, John hauled himself to his knees on the sofa, so his stomach was suspended in front of him. He appreciated the effect. Sherlock also appreciated the effect. Tummy did not appreciate the effect, as it no longer had any more support. John ignored tummys input.

He set the ice cream container aside for a moment, feeling very, very full. Need the soda, he said, burping again and holding out his hand for the bottle. Sherlock obliged, unscrewing the cap and giving it to John.

John inhaled and then started drinking the soda, grunting quietly as he sucked it down. He was now absolutely certain hed never been this full, because hed never gotten so out of breath simply by drinking a few swallows of soda. He wiped his mouth and burped, holding his stomach gingerly. Im gonna try, he said, looking down at Sherlock. But Im not sure.

I believe in you, Sherlock said, mock-seriously.

At least one of us does. John picked the container of ice cream back up - it was still nearly three-quarters full, as was the soda. He ate more slowly, letting the ice cream nearly melt in his mouth before swallowing. It seemed to make each bite ache a little less, but the change was fairly negligible at this point. He alternated soda with ice cream every few bites, just to change it up, but when both containers were half empty, John stopped and shook his head. God.

He stared down at his middle, which was cresting further away from his body than hed ever seen it before. Some of the food had started to settle, making his belly rounder at the bottom, but even the top was filling out again. He was aching all over, and was truly unsure if hed be able to eat another single bite.

Sherlock laid his hand on the top of Johns belly, in the middle, where the skin stretched the most. He pressed down lightly, making John grunt. Come on, he encouraged. You want to be so full, I know you do.

John did. He did want to be so full, but he was already so full. He ran his hands down his sides, breathing slowly and feeling his belly stretch beneath his hands. He felt huge and heavy. But he wanted to be huger and heavier. He nodded slowly and took the ice cream when Sherlock handed it to him again.

Up on his knees, without the support of his thighs, John could feel how every swallow of soda and ice cream made his belly heavier. He could even feel it inside of himself, how the ice cream and soda fizzed and expanded. His stomach seemed unrealistically big. He was nearly finished with the ice cream, and still had a little less than half a bottle of the soda left over, when he had to stop again. His stomach was starting to pang a little, and it was churning lethargically under his hands.

If you need to stop, you can, Sherlock said quietly, rubbing the distended organ lightly. Youre huge.

John nodded and considered for a second, short of breath. He burped again and pressed a hand to his belly, which was hot beneath his palm. I cn finish, he said, and took the ice cream again.

The last of the ice cream went down with a mixture of winces and burps. John couldnt bend over to pick up the soda, so Sherlock picked it up, waiting for John to catch his breath before handing it over. If you need to stop, he repeated, but John cut him off.

I cn do it. He took another shallow breath, holding his stomach like it could rupture, and started to drink the soda.

There wasnt room in his stomach for burps anymore. Johns swallows were minuscule, and he burped after every one, because there simply was not space to hold anything extra, even if it was just air. John had trouble swallowing the last few ounces of soda, and had to force it down into his packed, overfull stomach. When the last of it finally landed in his stomach, he groaned quietly, leaning forward a little and holding his stomach in both hands.

John, Sherlock said quietly. Youyou are massive.

I feel massive, John said thickly, cradling his belly carefully, like it might burst at any moment.

You have never eaten so much in your life, Sherlock said in awe. I know it must look huge to you, but even to meI did not know a person could conceivably get this big.

John nodded, soothing his lurching, gurgling belly with both hands. He felt pregnant - or, he supposed, as close to pregnant as he could approximate - so utterly full that he couldnt think of anything else but how full he was. He scraped his fingernails up his skin and moaned - as his skin shivered and contracted, it pulled on his stomach.

He held his hand out for Sherlock and gestured toward the bedroom. There was a mirror in the hallway, and John wanted to see himself. Very badly. From his perspective, all he could see was a truly vast expanse of skin, gone white with the strain, blue veins running along the surface of his distended belly. He was short of breath, he was so full. Sherlock helped him off the sofa and even that change, from standing on his knees to standing on his feet, made his lungs burn.

He straightened up and groaned, more loudly this time. Feel like I could burst, he said, holding his belly in both hands.

Sherlocks eyebrows lifted. You look like you could burst, he said honestly.

Thanks fr the vote of confidence, John said drily. He eyed the distance between his current location and the hallway mirror, trying to assess if he could make it. Then he caught sight of something hed forgotten

The half bowl of pudding.

Gimme the pudding, he said, eyes gleaming. Sherlocks own eyes went wide, and he stared at John incredulously.

Are you sure?

Gimme the pudding, John repeated, holding one hand out for the bowl while the other rested on his monstrous stomach. Gonna eat it on my - urp, on my way to th mirror.

John, Im not sure its a good idea, Sherlock said, picking up the bowl but keeping it out of Johns reach. Youre already too full, you might hurt yourself.

I know my limits, John said thickly, stifling another burp. He waved his hand for the bowl. Sherlock gave it to him, albeit reluctantly. Thanks, he said, when Sherlock finally handed it to him, and he rested the half-full dish on his stomach as he took a step forward.

He could feel his stomach creaking with the effort of containing everything theyd stuffed it with. The pudding was an additional challenge, but John was determined. For every step he took, he took a bite of pudding. One step, one bite. One step, one bite.

He was four steps away from the mirror. He felt ready to burst. There was still a quarter bowl of pudding left - more than four spoonfuls. Staring at the mirror, John made a decision.

He took a step toward the mirror, scraping the pudding from the sides of the bowl. He kept waddling, scraping the bowl until all the remaining pudding was in one area at the bottom of the dish. He stood in front of the mirror, squaring himself for a frontal view, but didnt look.

He lifted the bowl to his lips and heard Sherlocks shuddering intake of breath. John himself felt like shuddering, but he was too full to do so. His stomach protested violently, the distended organ cramping as John poised himself to finish the pudding.

Like this, with his head tipped back and legs spread to keep himself steady, Johns poor belly was hanging without any support at all. The weight was massive, tugging at his skin as though he was holding a boulder within himself. John drew in a shaky breath and started to spoon the pudding into his mouth.

He knew from where Sherlock stood, hed be able to see Johns belly growing even fuller with every swallow. As full as he was, every addition was visible, the mass of food traveling down his throat and into his stuffed, painful belly. He could hear Sherlocks breaths quicken as he swallowed. He could feel his own stomach expanding, full to the point of bursting, and John wasnt sure hed be able to finish what hed started. He paused to catch his breath, eyed the rest of the pudding in the bowl, and did the impossible.

He finished.

Swallowing hard, breathing shallowly, John didnt dare touch his belly. He handed the bowl to Sherlock, who took it with a shaking hand. Ever so carefully, John laid one hand on either side of his aching, bloated, bulging, swollen, engorged belly and opened his eyes.

What he saw was astonishing. The sandwiches, applesauce, water, milk, soda, ice cream, grapes, and pudding had made his stomach positively balloon, and he looked like he had swallowed a basketball which had then had a family of baby basketballs. His skin was so stretched it was white, blue veins crisscrossing the top. When John looked down, it came to a point.

Ever so carefully, he turned to the side, waddling to do so. He groaned when he saw how far out his stomach stuck, big enough that his skin was pulling tight on the sides to accommodate it. If his belly had led the way into the room before, it led the way into an adjoining building, now - his stomach stuck out obscenely, stuffed full and then stuffed some more until it was perfectly round.

John, nearly panting with short breaths, noticed a strange sensation in his stomach, and he held it carefully in both hands as he tried to suss out what exactly it was. There was a lot of sensation going on, given the situation, but after a moment he realized what this was.

Instinctually, and involuntarily, John Watson was sucking his belly in.

He moaned when he let his muscles loose, and his belly surged forward another few inches. The sudden expansion made his skin burn with the stretch, and he held his stomach with both hands, in utter agony. Sherlock made a choked noise behind him and rushed forward to help hold John up, grunting with the effort. The detective caught sight of his belly from the top view and gave an answering moan. John just held his stomach like it would burst, feeling slow and stuffed and utterly crammed with food. He stared down at his middle, his skin paper-thin and heaving with each shallow breath. He tipped his head up to look at Sherlock blearily.

I thinktummy may have reached its limit, he said thickly, wincing and groaning when Sherlocks laughter set his stomach to cramping again.

I think it may have, too. Lets get you to bed, my stuffed turkey.

Overstuffed turkey. Exploding turkey.

Shall I take photos, exploding turkey?

There came the sound of a burp. Yeah. Need something to compare to for next time.

@: Sherlock Holmes, Stuffing,



Dinner with the Holmeses

For a Prompt: Sherlock and John are having dinner at the Holmes' place. Sherlock's mother cooks a huge dinner, both boys end up eating more than just a bit too much, and try not to let it show/make it too obvious.

Work Text:

"John, the cab has been waiting for ten minutes, for God's sake what's keeping you?"

John huffed in frustration and called back, "Just give me minute!"

"I've given you precisely twenty so far," came Sherlock's stroppy grumble through the bathroom door.

"Great, you can spare another minute then," John retorted, turning back to the mirror as he heard Sherlock's shoes go back down the hall and a soft thump that meant the detective had flung himself onto the sofa. John had spent every second of those last 20 minutes fretting. He normally handled this sort of thing well. He was curious to meet the famed 'Mummy' that Sherlock and Mycroft always seemed to be squabbling about. And to meet Sherlock's father of course. John supposed he just wished that he had met them before he began a romantic relationship with their doubtlessly treasured youngest son. He imagined older, harsher, Sherlock's, each capable of x-raying his very soul, seeing through the army doctor to the broken adrenaline junkie. John sighed and straightened his tie. Then he stepped out.

"Ready to go?" he asked, moving past Sherlock, stepping into his shoes and doing them up.

"Yes. Obviously," said Sherlock, springing to his feet and striding up to John, hands immediately flying to his boyfriend's collar, straightening and smoothing it. John watched those dark brows furrow.

"What?" he asked, though his voice was fond this time.

"The tie," said Sherlock, plucking it as if it were a string on his violin. "We're having dinner with my parents, not the Queen."

John chuckled. "Says the man who went to Buckingham Palace in nothing but a bed sheet."

Sherlock's eyes flicked to John's, then crinkled in a smile. "Not my point but-"

"You're right. It's a bit much," John agreed, reaching up and untying it. "Right, come on. Maybe the cabbie hasn't given up yet." He tossed the tie over onto the chair and headed for the door, Sherlock following behind him. The cab was miraculously still there, though the driver strongly implied that perhaps he ought to charge per hour for this trip. Sherlock shut him up by tossing a extra 10 pound note through the divider as he gave the address.

The journey was rather quite. John's fingers tapped incessantly against his knee until Sherlock's long warm fingers settled on top of them.

"My brave soldier isn't frightened of a large free meal is he?" Sherlock rumbled.

John laughed. "No. Course not. It's just-"

"They'll adore you. Or I'll be forced to disown them."

"What? Your whole family?"

"Seems as good of an excuse as any," Sherlock replied blithely. "I've been trying to escape Mycroft for decades after all."

John chuckled and gave his lover's hand a squeeze. He knew that wasn't entirely true, but Sherlock's humor was heartening.

Sherlock's parents turned out to be quite incredibly... ordinary. Mrs. Holmes was cheery and kind and tended to ramble on and on about any matter of things as she set dishes out on the large wooden table in the dining room. Mr. Holmes too was genial, nodding or interjecting into his wife's speech here and there. He seemed a good and quiet man. John found himself warming to him immediately. Sherlock's smile was undoubtedly his, where his eyes were passed down from Mummy Holmes. He saw that as she scanned the table again, looking for anywhere with enough space for yet another pot of potatoes.

"We're so happy to finally meet you, John. Sherlock's told us so much about you," said Mrs. Holmes, finally settling down beside her husband.

"Yes. The man behind the blog," Mr. Holmes said, nodding and giving his son a wink. "Glad Sherlock has someone to look after him with everything he gets up to"

"Oh yes, frightening stuff for a mother to read. Sometimes I'm glad I don't find out about those cases until they're over," said Mrs. Holmes, doling out fried potatoes onto her husband's plate. "Tuck in, boys. You must be starving."

"Thank you, everything looks amazing," said John, nodding and scanning the table again. The smells had been driving him mad, making his stomach clench and growl in interest. But where to start?

"John, eat," came Sherlock's voice, low and warm as it gusted against John's ear, his lover leaning into him as Sherlock also served John potatoes. "You hardly ate anything all day."

It was true, his stomach had been working itself into a knot. He hadn't given it much thought.

"Neither did you," John retorted, smiling softly as Sherlock loaded the deliciously starchy golden things onto his own plate.

"I don't need-"

"Yeah, you do."

Sherlock shrugged and then loaded three thick slices of roast onto John's plate. To be fair, he took the same amount for himself. Then there were mince pies, buttery roasted vegetables, freshly baked rolls, and loads of thick savory gravy. John and Sherlock chatted and laughed with Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, shared cases that hadn't made it to the blog, and otherwise made merry as they ate and ate and ate. Mrs. Holmes cheerily pushed a new dish towards John whenever a clear space appeared. There was roast duck as well, mashed potatoes, fat strips of bacon, steak and ale pie... John utterly lost track of how much he was eating. He was full, then beyond full, then full to bursting with his trousers digging into his belly. But it was all delicious and too tempting to stop. Sherlock too seemed not to notice or mind as he loaded more food onto his lover's plate between bites.

At last, John couldn't eat another bite. He fell back in his chair, trying to take some of the pressure off his stomach. He tried to breath shallowly, doing his best to suck in his massively overfull middle. He tugged at his shirt, now wishing that he had gone with his usual jumper rather than the button up that was now pulling tightly around his belly.

"Oomph, that was terrific! Thank you for such a good meal, Mrs. Holmes," said John, still shifting as he tried to get comfortable. He glanced over at Sherlock and found the man looking utterly undone. The lanky detective was also slumped back in his seat, a hand resting on a bulge of belly John didn't know he had. Sherlock's shirts were always tight, but now the buttons appeared to be screaming, the fabric skin tight around the man's belly. John watched, entranced as Sherlock's breaths caused that endearingly round shape to expand, then contract. His lips looked plump and wet, his eyes were half lidded and dozy. Sherlock's other hand slid down discretely. The detective gave a soft sigh and his belly appeared to relax a bit further. He'd undone his trousers.

John wet his lips, but got a grip on himself. They were with Sherlock's parents, this was not the time to think about stripping those clothes from Sherlock's body with his teeth and having his way with him while the detective moaned and groaned, belly arching up into the air.

"You three relax, I'll get the table cleared," said Mrs. Holmes, standing and starting to collect plates.

"I can help, darling," said Mr. Holmes, also standing and helping out. He smiled warmly at Sherlock and John as he followed his wife to the kitchen.

"Your mum's a good cook," John murmured, smiling as he allowed himself to look over Sherlock again, "Don't think I've ever seen you eat like that before."

One of Sherlock's eyes slid open. "Mm... nor I you," he rumbled, reaching over to prod at John's belly with two fingers.

"Oof! Watch it," John warned, "Christ, I'm full..."

"There's still dessert," Sherlock purred, walking his fingers along John's belly.

"Oh God!" John groaned, then huffed a laugh. "We won't be able to move after." He grinned at Sherlock and reached over to rub the other man's belly. Sherlock sighed happily, slumping down further as it gurgled.

He let out a small burp and flushed, covering his mouth with a hand.

"Sorry," John chuckled, still rubbing. Sherlock only grumbled and muffled another burp.

Mrs. Holmes suddenly reemerged and John quickly jolted up, trying to suck in his belly, his abdominals aching after only a few seconds. Sherlock followed, a touch more slowly, wavering as he hauled himself up and closer to the table. John watched his lover's belly clench slightly. A hiccup? Sherlock was blushing now, his mouth still covered by one hand.

"Ah, p-pudding?" said John, swallowing a belch, his belly feeling only tighter for his trouble.

"Yes! Sherlock's favorite Banoffee pie!" said Mrs. Holmes, cheerfully, carrying it over. Mr. Holmes followed after her, bringing along a tray with coffee, cream, and sugar.

Sherlock let out a soft groan as he eyed the dessert, one hand still clutching his stomach.

"Sounds fantastic," said John cheerfully, even as his trousers dug even harder into his middle as he let his stomach round out behind the table. He reached down and undid the button as well. Oh that was loads better.

Mrs. Holmes served each of them a hefty slice of the sticky pie and poured them each a cup of coffee.

John elected for some coffee first, the warm liquid soothing the stretch of his far too full middle just a bit. He could do this. He lifted his fork and dipped it into the mess of whipped cream and banana. The first bite was heavenly, the second even better, the third the best yet. His stomach twinged at him, begging him to stop, but his taste buds insisted that one more bite couldn't hurt. John did his best to keep chatting politely with Sherlock's parents, attempting not to let on that he had eaten far too much and really needed to lie down and groan for mercy.

A glance at Sherlock showed him that the other man wasn't fairing much better. Every so often Sherlock's shoulders would hitch or jump as his stomach lurched with another hiccup. Sherlock compensated by gulping down coffee between more bites of the pie. This, naturally, did not help matters. John noticed that Sherlock was saying very little and often brought his fist to his mouth to muffle a burp or belch as the detective's now almost perfectly round stomach gurgled. It was pure torture, both to be unable to touch that perfect plump belly and to keep eating that delicious pie. John had never been more aroused in his life.

But he was a gentleman, and attempting to make a good impression and so John Watson did his utter best to swallow any burps that tried to escape him, even as he felt the pressure in his belly building. Then at last, dinner was over and they were to head back to London. John surprised himself by being able to stand afterall. He tugged his shirt down and thanked the Holmeses again and again for a wonderful evening. Then he took Sherlock by the hand and did his best not to waddle as they left. Once the door closed behind them, they walked to the cab they had called. Within two steps of it, Sherlock let out an almighty belch and moaned, almost falling into John, his face burning.

"God, I'm such a-"

"HUUUUURP!" John replied, sighing with utter relief and settling back against the cab. Sherlock stared at him a moment, then both men collapsed into a fit of giggles.

"Oh Christ, I thought I was going to explode," John chuckled, groaning as his belly jostled with the motions of his laughter.

"Fuck, I've- urp- never... never eaten like that," Sherlock groaned, now rubbing his belly, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Maybe you should try that more often," John teased, prodding the bit of pale skin he caught sight of between the man's buttons, "Put some meat on your bones."

Sherlock chuckled and bumped his middle into John's. "Don't tell me you enjoyed this too," he said, his tone joking. But John knew him well enough to pick up on the tiny notes of hope in the detective's voice.

"I did. A lot," John murmured, his hands sliding down Sherlock's sides and cupping that round bloated belly in his hands. Sherlock gasped softly and leaned into John, their too-full middles adding even more delicious pressure.

"I'm... glad," Sherlock murmured, ducking his head down to snog John properly against the side of the cab.

There was a faint thumping noise and the two broke away.

"Come on, haven't got all night," said the driver. Sherlock stuffed a twenty pound note through the crack of the window impatiently and then resumed kissing his overfed love.

@: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Stuffing, ,



Just Once a Year

For a prompt: Sherlock and John both eat and drink way too much for Christmas dinner.

Just some cute lovely fluff. Maybe a touch of understated pining if you read it that way.

Work Text:

"Happy Christmas from the Yard," said Lestrade cheerily, thrusting a large turkey and a covered mixing bowl into John's arms, "And here's the chestnut stuffing. Wife's old recipe. You'll love it."

"Oh, thanks, but you didn't have to-"

"I know, but you and Sherlock do so much for us, least we could do," continued Greg, "Look I'd best be off, have a nice holiday."

"Er, you too," said John, smiling and then stepping back inside with a sigh. A whole turkey? Just for the two of them? On top of everything else? He hauled the bird up to put it in the refrigerator along with the stuffing, having to cram it between a small glazed ham (a gift from a client), a gigantic bowl of bread gravy(from Mrs. H), several containers of sprouts, parsnips, and carrots(brought over by Molly with Sherlock's order of toes), and the huge pudding that had apparently been sent over by one of Mycroft's team. Apparently all of London was trying to feed them, thought John with a snort. He sincerely hoped Sherlock would be helping out. There was no way he could manage this lot on his own. Maybe they should donate it? But that seemed somehow ungrateful. And it was likely to spoil if it wasn't eaten tomorrow.

John sighed, and went to look up the best way to cook a turkey.

There was a lot of food. The kitchen table was creaking and John was worried about just how sturdy the old thing was and what Mrs. Hudson would say if they asked for a new one. Still, it certainly looked good. The turkey was perfectly golden, garnished with little sausages in bacon blankets. The other offerings had also been cooked, warmed and set out. John uncorked a bottle of merlot he had gotten from Sarah at work and poured two glasses, he stood sipping it thoughtfully, then nodded and returned to the living room. He had to smile as he caught sight of Sherlock, slumped on the sofa as always and frowning as his fingers flew over the keyboard.

"I thought even the great Sherlock Holmes would take a break from work on Christmas," said John, stepping over and holding out the other glass, "Come on. Just one night of not working."

Sherlock sniffed but then apparently smelled the wine and looked up from his laptop.

"I might as well... most of these are so inane that I could solve them without leaving the flat. No murders or mysterious disappearances," said Sherlock, pouting slightly.

"Maybe if you're good Father Christmas will bring you a triple homicide," John chuckled. Sherlock rolled his eyes but accepted the wine, taking a thoughtful sip as he stood and followed Sherlock back into the kitchen. The detective stopped, looking stunned at the feast before him.

"Did you... prepare all of this?" he asked, sounding impressed.

John almost said yes but then decided honesty was best. "No, no. We've had people shoving food at us for the past week. I just warmed it up. Though I did cook the turkey." John nodded at the bird with a note of pride in his voice.

Sherlock let out a low chuckle, then sat behind a plate. He seemed unsure of how to start.

John smiled, downed the last of his glass and then refilled it before scooping up a heaping mound of roasted potatoes, turkey, ham, veg, and bread sauce before tucking in.

"Merry Christmas," he said through a happy mouthful, raising his glass.

Sherlock smiled, rather shyly and touched his glass to John's. "And a happy new year."

Then he too loaded up his plate.

The food was excellent to say the least, and both men ate heartily, John pressed Sherlock to take seconds as he loaded up his own plate again.

"I'm not going to eat all this by myself," he laughed.

"John, even with both of us eating there will be food left over," Sherlock answered, though he too chuckled, his face growing flushed with drink. They had quickly finished the first bottle and were now making spirited progress on the second.

"Oi. Shut up and eat," was all John offered in reply.

Both men were shifting and sighing slightly at the end of their second plate. Then John suggested they take a third each to make sure they thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Sherlock complied, smiling and chuckling softly to himself as he caught sight of John's full belly rounding out underneath his jumper.

The detective accepted his plate of thirds with a hum. Halfway through he started squirming and had to unbutton his trousers to finish. He burped, flushing slightly, but John only giggled and clapped him on the back, which Sherlock rather liked.

Then their plates were once again empty and both men leaned back, muffling burps and clutching gurgling middles. Sherlock hiccuped.

"I don't think I've ever eaten this much," he said with wonderment, prodding at his middle. It was bloated and round, pushing out against his buttons and practically making them scream.

John chuckled and flopped his hand over dazedly, ending up patting Sherlock on the thigh. His stomach too was stuffed and starting to twinge but-"We still have dessert," he murmured. He hauled himself from his chair with a groan and then went to fetch it.

"Oh... I don't know if I-hurp- can..." Sherlock grunted, though his eyes lit up as they fell on the dish in John's hands. "Is that?"

"Christmas pudding, yeah," slurred John, smiling at the look on Sherlock's face. "Mycroft sent it over. Said it was your mum's recipe."

Sherlock wet his lips and held over his plate. "Gimme a big piece, then."

"Manners," grunted John, but he was chuckling. He cute Sherlock nearly a fourth of the pudding. The detective dove into it as if there were no tomorrow, groaning and humming with pleasure as he stuffed it down. John grinned, wavering slightly. He cut himself a slightly more reasonable piece and tucked in. Oh... that was nice.

John ate methodically, pointedly ignoring the tightness in his stomach and the pleading gurgles it emited as he shoved down bite after bite. Sherlock groaned, collapsing back, his eyes bleary with fullness and drinking. The detective's pale stomach was peeking between the buttons now, looking round and impossibly full. John cut him another slice and Sherlock stared at it with an odd whine.

"S'okay. S'Christmas," John reminded him. Sherlock nodded and picked up the plate, gasping as he cleared it again. He let out a monstrous belch and moaned, rubbing his middle. John echoed him, then slouched, the fork falling from his fingers. He looked over at Sherlock and giggled.

"Christ, look at us!"

Sherlock groaned. "I-hurp-can't believe I ate all... ooohh..."

"Did though," John pointed out with another chuckle, reaching over to prod at the man's belly. Sherlock smiled, but then gave John a steady look as he reached over to rub at John's bejumpered belly.

"Jus' because it's Christmas," he said softly, "Feels... nice."

"Course," agreed John, reaching over to rub Sherlock's in kind, "Just because it's Christmas."

The two sat in contented overstuffed quiet for a time, easing each other's discomfort with cautious fingers. Finally John felt himself nodding off... and able to move again. He stood. Sherlock looked up with a bit of a start and withdrew his hand. John smiled, then lumbered off to bed, hand on round swollen belly. They each lay back in their own beds, burping and hiccuping, feeling the weight on their middles grow warm and haul them swiftly off to sleep. If only it could be Christmas every day.

@: Sherlock Holmes, Stuffing,


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.

Work Text:

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

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

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

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


"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

@:  , , , , , , 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.

@: Stuffing, , , , , 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.

@: Belly Kink, Bellyache, Bloated Tummy, Bloating, Fanfiction, John Watson, Sherlock BBC, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Stuffing, Tummyache, , , , , , ,


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 Sherlocks 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 wasnt the only woman in his life. Simple really, people are so quick to turn on one another. Its 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 wasnt 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. Leweskis 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 thats 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 detectives longer strides.
Sherlock, you havent eaten in almost three days! sputtered John, If youre not feeling hungry, then its just because your stomach has started eating itself since youve refused to feed it.
Sherlock gave a low hum that didnt 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 werent 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 Speedys when Sherlock stopped dead, halting his mumbled case diatribe with a soft, Oh.
Whats 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 detectives 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 hed have to catch him.
Alright there, Sherlock? asked the doctor, looking him over, You seem a bit
Hungry, was Sherlocks 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 cupids 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 dont have to deduce them before you eat them, you know, said John, sliding into his seat and chuckling lightly at Sherlocks enraptured expression, I doubt theres 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. Sherlocks eyes followed the path of the golden chip, plucked up from its fellows by careful fingers and then inserted between Johns 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 violinists 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 wasnt hungry. He was positively ravenous and ate with such abandon that John couldnt 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 hadnt 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 couldnt honestly blame him, considering the man hadnt eaten in far too long. He also couldnt 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. Wasnt 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 Johns proffered basket then up to the chip in the doctors 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 Sherlocks only reply before leaning over to pluck the food from Johns fingers and then shoving the two chips in his hands into his mouth as well. As he chewed he pulled Johns 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 didnt stop eating though. John felt an odd swooping sensation in his stomach that he couldnt explain. The chips were still disappearing, the detectives 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 hed 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 Sherlocks middle, the sweet little bulge poking out from all the chips that had been crammed into it.
Mm, cant 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 Sherlocks shoulder. Come on now, its only next door. We can get you to bed to sleep off that years 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, Ill 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 Johns hands to pull himself to his feet with a low groan.
John lead the way back out of Speedys and then up the stairs to the flat. Either the mass of food in Sherlocks belly was slowing his thought processes or his case exhaustion had finally caught up with him. In either case, he still hadnt let go of Johns hand when the doctor let them inside and climbed the stairs up to their flat. John didnt mind.

@:  , , , 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.

@:  , , , , Tummyache, Stuffing, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock BBC, John Watson, Fanfiction, Bloated Tummy, Bellyache, Belly Kink