thinking about shane having buried desires about letting himself get bigger that he’s too afraid to give in to, so first he takes them out on ilya as a proxy, and ilya is all too happy to let his husband fatten him up, and shane is driven to extreme levels of horniness by watching ilya get softer and chunkier and more comfortable, enjoying the food shane gives him with his whole being. and seeing the weight accumulate on ilya first — and how unbelievably sexy it is, how nothing bad has happened save for ilya’s tummy popping a few buttons—it gives shane permission to imagine himself letting go like that. and so when ilya starts gently suggesting shane share some of ilya’s rich meals, shane agrees, and ilya guides him into accepting his desires until shane is just as beautifully soft and chubby as his husband 💙 thank you for the big hollanov agenda
GOD. THANK YOU YES. This is doing things to me
I'm imagining like, Shane and Ilya are watching something on TV and Ilya gets up to grab a bag of chips to snack on. When he comes back, Shane pulls Ilya into his lap. Ilya laughs, delighted, but also asks Shane whether he's squashing him. And yeah, he is, but Shane likes it so he says no, obviously. They're both facing the TV, and he's got his arms wrapped around Ilya, the perfect position to play with his belly. Shane squeezes, kneading like dough, admiring the way his tits fill his hands and rest on top of his stomach, still so full from dinner. And then a stray thought hits him hard.
In that position, Ilya's belly could be his own. It sticks out so far and spills into his lap, and Shane tests the weight and heft of it, and for the first time he lets himself think about it, that thing that's always been shoved into the darkest corner of his mind in a lockbox under the floorboards. And he finally lets himself wonder what it might be like to be that big, how it might feel--so heavy, so completely surrounded, cushioned by fat. He pulls Ilya back into him, pressed as tight and close as possible. Shane can't breathe, he's so hard he feels like he might pass out. Probably Ilya just thinks it's the usual making him so horny, and it is, but it's also--
Shane says, "Can I have a chip?"
Ilya pauses for long enough that a surge of irrational fear claws its way up Shane's throat. Of course he can't have this, of course he can't.
But then Ilya takes a chip from the bag and holds it over his own shoulder, shifting a little so he can watch Shane open his mouth and take it from his hand. Shane's eyes slam shut, the chip crunches so pleasantly in his mouth. He licks salt from his lips.
When he opens his eyes, Ilya's are fixed on his mouth. He says, "Another?"
Shane nods, too eager. Ilya's grin is predatory, lethal. It makes his chubby cheeks puff out and his double chin crease, and he's so fucking beautiful and Shane would do anything, anything to make him look that happy.
He lets Ilya feed him another chip, and then another, more and more, maybe half the fucking bag, and all the while he has Ilya's belly in his hands and he imagines--fuck--he imagines...
Ilya says, "If you are this hungry, we have some leftovers from dinner."
He means the dinner that he'd eaten, pot roast and garlic parmesan mashed potatoes and glazed carrots. Shane had eaten one of his pre-prepped servings of salmon and brown rice, even though the pot roast had their kitchen smelling like heaven all fucking day.
His mouth waters, he grinds his dick against Ilya's fat ass, and he says, "Okay."
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