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Leona wrapped his mouth round the plastic straw, a quick puff of air as he shot the paper wrapper into the back seat. He stabbed the plastic straw into his soda, a quick shuffle of cups as he moved the older drinks round to make space for the sugary soda.
An empty coffee cup tossed into the back of the car, disappearing into the hoard of trash that filled the back seat. He rooted around in the smaller of his two takeout bags first, grabbing a burger. Leona tore into the first burger with a kind of desperation he should have stopped and reflected on. He’d been medicating with food for months now. No point in thinking about addressing it now, not when Falena had been so insufferable all day. The thrum of salt and grease drowned out all the frustrations that had driven him out of the palace that night.
Leona gazed out the window at his former classmate Vil, or more accurately, an approximation of his old classmate. He hadn’t deliberately parked next to the billboard; he told himself it was just a coincidence.
Vil looked good, he always looked good, but this version of him looked off. Too perfect and polished, even for Vil. Most obviously, though, in Leona’s opinion, was the exposed six pack. It was Photoshop or some clever makeup trick. Vil didn’t have abs. That would require caring for your body and nourishing it properly. Not punishing it and contorting it into an ideal that Leona had personally never seen the appeal of. He pulled his eyes away from Vil’s midriff to take in the rest of him. Ivory skin wrapped in vaguely traditional garb as Vil beamed back at him with that infuriating fake smile he did. Small delicate hands wrapped around the bottle of liquor he was clearly meant to be shilling.
Leona thought about his family’s advisors muttering things about optics. A judgemental finger poked against his gut when it could barely even be classed as one. He hadn’t slowed down after that first conversation, had made no lifestyle changes. At that point he just didn’t care to, simple as that.
Then weeks later he was called in again, forced to stand in front of a full-length mirror. While various royal stylists poked at him. Eventually, after much hushed muttering, a corset was produced.
Girdle.
One stylist had corrected him. When men needed one, it was called a girdle. Leona didn’t care what it was called, it was still uncomfortable and meant he couldn’t breathe properly. He hated it. Public appearances were a pain even without the addition of being suffocated. When the photos appeared, there was one word Leona heard more than any other. Noticeable.
They were right; it was noticeable, impossible to ignore even. In that moment, that was exactly how Leona felt. Suddenly there was something he could win at. What had soothed a wound at first now also fuelled a fire.
It hadn’t been his intention when he started, he just needed to get out, get away from everyone. Driving around the city at night helped, but it didn’t quiet the buzz of constant disappointment and comparison. It also turned out when you were awake in the small hours of the morning, you got hungry. That was how he ended up at the twenty-four-hour drive through, the only place open that late. Leona still remembered the high he felt from that first stuffing, burger after burger, forced down his own throat.
He ate until he physically couldn’t swallow another bite. Until he was a greasy, burping mess. He jerked off in his car for the first time that night, his hand brushing back and forth against the soft underside of his belly. Thinking about bursting one of those stupid corsets they forced him into. Hairy tanned fat pouring out in every direction, a legit scandal, impossible to ignore.
His drive though excursions became almost a nightly occurrence. The pounds piled on, extreme excess on top of a waistline already thickening from inactivity and royal banquets.
His family didn’t force him into corsets any more, or those weird skin coloured garments that pulled him in all around. He remembered the day he was told it was pointless. Even with hours of poking and pinching, he’d gotten too big. There was nothing they could do to conceal it, only attempt to manage the media fallout. Until he got his weight back under control, Leona had scoffed at that. He’d never felt more in control in his entire life.
Then the tabloids started:
“Playboy Prince packs on the pounds.”
“Esteemed Royalty to Extreme Obesity.”
They weren’t all winners. If these people were talented writers, they wouldn’t be tabloid journalists. They wouldn’t crouch in bushes, hoping his belly would plop into view as he stretched up to help Ruggie reach something while shopping.
Winners or not, Leona kept them all. Shoved under his mattress. Any servants that came across them would probably mistake them for weight loss motivation. The ones with pictures were his favourites. He didn’t have to look at the dates to put them in order, he just looked at the photos.
He was belly heavy; he didn’t need a tabloid paper to tell him that, he felt the tug on his lower back. Not to mention how it brushed against everything, constantly in the way.
He liked to look at how his upper arms had also thickened and his ass had swelled. Most surprising to him by far, though, the dollop of fat at the base of his tail, Leona didn’t even know your tail could get fat. Now he was determined to see just how soft and puffy that mound of flab would get. Every stitch he had to snip on his pants to wiggle his tail through felt like a victory.
Leona chased his last handful of salty fries with a mouthful of sugary soda. He burped into his fist, massaging the side of his belly. He still had so much more greasy food to get through.
His eyes returned to the billboard. The liquor was produced locally. Leona wondered if that meant he was in town. He thought about checking Vil’s socials, which felt dangerously close to caring. Instead, he reached for another burger.
He tossed the wrapper into the back. Chicken this time, mayo spilled out the sides of the sandwich, oozing over his hands. He licked his fingers clean, then wiped his hand against the passenger head rest.
Leona kept his glances at Vil’s billboard in the low twenties as he worked his way through his multiple fast food bags. He scratched lazily over his strip of exposed belly, warm and doughy under his fingers, at odds with how stuffed he felt. His skin stretched tight over the crest of his belly. That was itchy too, new stretch marks forming, darting across his tanned skin, another thing that was impossible to ignore.
Leona sighed and stretched, letting his t-shirt rise over the crest of his belly. He couldn’t stay here in a deserted parking lot all night; Leona would eventually have to go home. He reversed out of the parking lot and started the drive back to his home, to his family and responsibility.
He drove in silence, not even bothering with music as he headed through the downtown streets. It was closing time for most local nightclubs, so the streets were busy, despite the late hour.
Leona couldn’t quite believe it as he stopped at the red light. There was Vil, wrapped in amethyst silk, a short cocktail dress that may as well have been lingerie. He was stumbling around outside a nightclub. He’d clearly had a good night. His hair was tied up, exposing his neck. Lilac mixed with vanilla, a messy scoop of honey, and lavender ice cream. Sat at the traffic light Leona watched Vil swaying on the spot as a man he didn’t seem to know all that well ran his hand up his bare arm.
“Not my circus, not my monkeys,” Leona mumbled to himself. The light turned green and, with one last brief look at Vil, he drove off. In the rear-view mirror, he watched the bottom feeder’s hand slither across Vil’s bare shoulder and up the side of his exposed neck. Leona sighed, slamming on his brakes and performing an illegal U-turn that earned him an angry honk from the driver behind him.
The car bumped up onto the curb and his brakes squealed at the sudden stop. He leant over and pushed the door open.
“Get in the car.” He shouted at Vil, who eyes glazed was making no effort to remove the man pawing at his dress.
“I don’t think the lady wants to go with you,” The nameless man shouted back.
Leona rolled his eyes.
A second voice registered through the rabble of the crowd pouring out of the nightclub.
“He’s a Kingscholar.”
Leona’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, anger boiling up in his chest, undoing all the good his stuffing session had done.
“Get in the fuckin’ car, Vil.”
Recognition filtered through the drunken haze, and Vil’s eyes lit up just for a moment.
“God fine, you don’t have to be rude,” He snapped, wriggling free from the sea of limbs, threatening to ensnare him. He wobbled towards the car, Leona shot a warning glare at one of the guys that looked like he might object. Leona pulled the car door closed behind Vil and sped off.
“Where are you staying?” Leona asked, trying not to look at him as Vil scrambled around in the trash at his feet, looking for the red clutch he’d dropped into the mess.
Vil rattled off the name of an extravagant gated community on the outskirts of the city, of course. Leona rolled his eyes, as if he wouldn’t be going home to a literal palace.
They drove in awkward silence, Vil staring out the window. Leona was trying to judge how drunk the other man was, he had seemed completely out of it outside the club but now he just looked tired and, if Leona was honest, a little sad.
“You look tired,” Leona didn’t know why he said it, he just wanted to break the silence.
“Well, you look fat,” Vil snapped, eyes widening like he instantly regretted it. They swiped at each other all the time. So why did Vil look so rattled? Leona licked his lips. He could have fun with this.
“I’m guessin’ here is fine,” He muttered, gesturing to the sidewalk.
Vil’s eyes widened; they were far from both Leona’s palace home and the gated community Vil had been staying in. Dirty and loud, even this late at night, true downtown and in an unfamiliar city, to boot.
“I’m sorry,” Vil said. Leona would never actually kick Vil or anyone out, but just how desperate the other man sounded caught him off guard.
Leona didn’t mind Vil pointing out his weight. The opposite, in fact, he was already half hard. That word alone falling from Vil’s parted lips was apparently all it took these days.
Fat
Vil was looking him over. Leona wondered if he noticed the pinch of his sleeves on his flabbier upper arms or if, like everyone else, Vil was simply taking in the sheer amount of belly.
“I didn’t say it was necessarily negative,” Vil mumbled, “Plus size modelling is very in right now.”
Leona’s denim wrapped erection brushed against the weight of his belly, pooled heavily on his lap. The steering wheel pinned his gut in place. Just like that, he was fully hard and wondering when he became so easy and if it was correlated to his ballooning weight.
Vil’s plus sized comment had also caught Leona’s attention. He glanced over at Vil. It wasn’t particularly noticeable, but Leona found Vil so aggravating he had logged many hours staring at the other man.
The silk dress he was wearing clung to him, the fabric didn’t skim or hang off him like it had in school. No, it was undeniable Vil had filled out. Thicker upper arms, Leona could still almost wrap a single hand around the limb, pinning the other man in place. Only now his fingers would drip into something plush and warm instead of hitting bone.
Leona’s eyes drifted lower, past the suggestion of a belly under the silk. His gaze stopped at the tops of Vil’s exposed legs. As Vil shifted against the leather seats, round, pale thighs moved against one another. Sloshing cream that Leona felt an instinctual need, deep in his bones, to lap at. His rough tongue pressed against impossible softness, and the promise of something sweeter only a little higher. Leona wondered if that had plumped up, too. Vil always had the prettiest little cunt, because of course he did.
Leona realised he had been quiet for too long, staring at Vil out of the corner of his eye, one eye reluctantly on the road.
“So is that why?” He asked, alluding to Vil’s weight gain.
“Why what?” Vil snapped.
Leona’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. Again, talking to Vil was as infuriating as it had been in school.
He tried to focus on the road and not the loud crinkling as Vil kicked his feet around in the trash underneath his seat. He couldn’t ignore the loud screech of polystyrene. Vil’s stiletto heel poking through one of his old soda cups.
“Ewww, god my shoes are stuck in one of your cups. Do you know how much these cost?”
Leona did. His sister-in-law had an entire walk-in closet full of more pairs than she could ever hope to wear.
“I dunno a fiver.”
“A fiver!” Vil gasped. He was far too easy to wind up.
“Take the shoes off if you’re so concerned,” Leona shrugged.
“Are you serious? You want me to stick my bare feet into all this trash?”
“Suit yourself,” Leona said, returning his attention fully to the road. Maybe after he dropped Vil off, he would make another drive through stop. It had been a weird night.
“You should really clean your car if you are planning on having company,” Vil huffed, wrestling his shoe free from the soda cup.
“To be fair, I wasn’t plannin’ on having company,” Leona pointed out. He glanced back over at Vil. He still looked like he was about to burst into tears.
“Listen, it’s none of my business, but are you okay?” Leona asked, his tone as neutral as he could manage.
“Are you?” Vil spat back.
“No,” Leona shrugged. He’d never seen the point in playing games, certainly not to the level that Vil played them.
Vil didn’t respond, instead he started rooting around in the clutch he had retrieved from at his feet. He pulled out a small golden compact, which he popped open.
Leona looked at Vil’s makeup out of the corner of his eye. It was a mess. Dried mascara crumbled against flushed cheeks, lipstick smeared at the corners of full lips. Vil had started dabbing powder on his cheeks, which was doing nothing to fix his makeup. All it was doing was filling Leona’s car with the smell of expensive floral powder that reminded him of home and made his nose tingle.
Leona leaned over, never taking his eyes off the road as he snapped the compact shut.
“I think it might be a lost cause, Vil. You’re starting to look like a clown.”
Vil huffed, wiggling against his seat.
“Have you got any water?”
“Sure there’s some there,” Leona gestured to an iced coffee cup. The ice had melted, leaving behind several mouthfuls of water, grey water but still water.
“Pull over.”
Leona raised an eyebrow.
“Pull over. I’m going to be sick,” Vil gasped, hand clasped to his mouth as he stared at the offending iced coffee up. Leona continued to drive, mainly because there was nowhere to park but also because he felt Vil was overreacting
“Please,” Vil whimpered, resting his head onto his knees.
“Fine, but only because I don’t want you to mess up my car,” Leona laughed.
Vil shot daggers at him from his place, bent over his knees. Leona pulled into the first parking lot he saw and shut the car off. He leant over and opened the car door for Vil.
Vil leaned out of the car, swallowing mouthfuls of the cool night air but thankfully not throwing up. Leona looked at his exposed back, his pretty neck begging to be marked up. He thought about placing a comforting hand on Vil’s shoulder, but that felt overly familiar, ironic, given what he was about to initiate.
He glanced over at Vil toward the familiar billboard and smirked to himself.
“You done with the amateur dramatics?” Leona asked, wrapping his tongue around his sharp canine. He was hungry for something else, “Your Highness.”
Vil turned back towards him, shooting one of the most indignant looks Leona had ever seen. Despite that, though, Vil closed the car door and slid closer to him.
“What did you just call me?”
“Your Highness,” Leona smirked, daring Vil to take the bait.
He did.
“That’s rich coming from the poster boy for spoiled princelings.”
Vil had called him that before, many times, in fact. But spoiled took on a different meaning now, scratching at a specific part of Leona’s brain. He rubbed at his bloated middle, still wedged tightly against the steering wheel.
Vil shifted closer until he pressed his silk wrapped thigh against Leona’s much larger one. Vil tugged on his furry ear, pulling a low growl out of him as he tilted his head into Vil’s touch, giving him access to his neck and fattened jaw.
Vil’s tongue ran across Leona’s buried jawline. Small, fast licks like he was grooming him, Leona was almost touched that Vil remembered so specifically what he liked. There was no visible jawline to guide him now that had disappeared several dozen pounds ago. Vil was working from memory alone.
Vil pulled back, poking his tongue out past lipstick smeared lips. The tip of his tongue was rubbed red from licking at Leona’s stubble.
“You need to shave.”
Leona ran a hand against his own padded jaw, chasing the damp trail Vil had left behind.
“Yeah?” He replied lazily, unfazed. He knew that would infuriate Vil, “I’ll show you what I need.”
Moving with surprising speed and grace his size considered he grabbed ahold of Vil, lifting him from his seat with ease.
“Unhand me, you beast,” Vil shrieked, wiggling in Leona’s grasp. He was much softer, with wider hips too. Vil wasn’t the only one that remembered. Leona would spend all night categorising the differences until the sun came up. Vil’s ivory skin bathed in golden sunlight.
He tossed him onto the back seat, enjoying the slight bounce and wobble. That had never been there before. A very welcome addition, Leona would have to manhandle Vil more often.
Leona tried to follow Vil, only he didn’t move any further. Leather cushions squeezed at blubbery hips. Not the pounce he had planned. Wedged firmly between the front seats. He was, not for the first time, aware of how in the way his rounded belly had become. Its heavy weight forced him to tilt forward, like his gut was desperate to be pressed against Vil’s softer middle.
Vil was staring up at him, lips parted. So enthralled by the sight of Leona pinned in place, tamed by his own gluttony. He hadn’t even complained about the trash crinkling at his back yet.
Wiggling his hips through the gap, he had tossed Vil through with ease, Leona finally joined him in the back seat.
His tight black T-shirt rolled up, exposing more of his belly. The doughy overspill wobbled close to Vil’s much smaller stomach.
“You’re such a mess, your clothes don’t even fit you.” Vil pointed out, brushing the tips of his fingers against Leona’s hairy belly. Then long acrylic nails scratched along the buttery ring of fat. His exposed underbelly, the most vulnerable part of him. A purr rumbled up in his chest. Vil’s eyes widened, just for a moment, caught off guard. That made two of them.
Vil pressed his palms flat against Leona’s belly, appraising the size and weight of the new addition between them. Leona climbed over Vil, straddling his waist. He rubbed his head against Vil’s neck and shoulder, scenting him, covering the smell of the many men that had apparently groped at Vil earlier in the evening.
Leona’s mouth lulled open, feeling at ease. Vil smelt like himself again, but also like Leona. Seeing his opportunity with Leona’s mouth sitting open, Vil plunged his fingers into Leona’s mouth.
Vil’s fingers wiggled past his incisors, wrapping around his canines. Poking at sharp teeth that were more than capable of tearing him apart.
Leona held his jaw tight, enough pressure that Vil was aware of the strength behind those sharp teeth, but not enough to actually hurt him. Leona could never hurt him, not for real. Not that he didn’t understand the appeal that Vil saw, their bickering reaching a boiling point. A clash of teeth and nails. Leona snapping his jaw shut, ripping Vil’s fingers off at the knuckle, wrecking his pretty manicure.
Things hadn’t boiled over, though, not yet.
Leona’s rough tongue moved between Vil’s fingers, forcing them apart. Trailing up the sides, pressing his tongue against the base of Vil’s fingers. Thoroughly soaking the slender digits.
Leona eventually relinquished his hold on Vil’s fingers, letting him pull them free from his mouth. Leona shifted back up against Vil’s exposed neck.
“Are you done slobbering all over me?” Vil asked. Faux disgust, doused in arousal, every hook up with Vil in a nutshell.
“You smell so good,” Leona purred. A reminder that Vil could fuss and bitch as much as he liked, but Leona knew, he always knew.
“And you smell like grease.” Vil countered.
Leona continued, undeterred. Pressing his stubbled cheek against Vil’s smooth one, as his fingers tangled into Vil’s updo.
“You’re starting to, as well.” Leona pointed out, plucking an old French fry out of Vil’s hair. He held the fry up in front of Vil’s face with a smirk, daring Vil to react. The other man didn’t disappoint.
“Don’t you dare, I swear to God!” Vil almost shrieked, writhing underneath him.
“Relax, I wouldn’t.” Leona laughed, tossing the fry onto the trash covered floor. “I hate cold fries.” He added with a lopsided grin.
Leona pawed at Vil’s silk dress, sliding it up his newly blossomed curves. Instead of milky smooth skin, though, Leona’s fingers grazed against something else. Something familiar, but in an entirely different way. Leona pushed the dress right up under Vil’s chin, letting him get a proper look at what was impeding Leona’s marking up his perfect skin.
The realisation of what exactly Vil was wearing filled him with an anger he couldn’t define. He hated when Vil made himself smaller, in any sense of the word. Before Vil could catch on to what he was doing, Leona ripped the Spanx apart. He tore from where the garment started all the way to Vil’s crotch, tearing it off of him entirely. Protective hide torn apart, his armour pierced. What soft, fuller limbs had only hinted at poured out into Leona’s waiting hands. It wasn’t a lot, nothing compared to Leona, but enough to fill Leona’s hands like fresh warm dough.
“Ohmygod, you animal, those are expensive,” Vil shrieked, wrapping his arms around his soft belly, limbs sinking into his chubby middle. Leona pulled his arms away, drinking in the sight of him. Laid out, beautiful and plump. Not a single stretch mark. He had clearly become acquainted with carbs but hadn’t dropped his intense skin care routine. Vil squirmed under Leona’s gaze, his thighs wiggling against the back seat, pulling Leona’s attention lower.
Leona had been right. A perfect but decidedly chubbier cunt stared back at him. A plump handful, resting warm against Leona’s palm. He longed to slip his fingers inside, trail along Vil’s plush labia. Maybe later, once he’d taken Vil apart, perhaps Vil would even let him suck on his clit. For now Leona settled for pressing the heel of his palm onto the soft puff of fat. Freshly shaved, a shame, Leona’s tastes ran more to the wild and untamed. Polished and proper was an act, an act he was determined to get Vil to drop. Even just for one night, raw and real, just once.
“Oh, so you were looking to get fucked tonight.” It wasn’t a question. Leona shifted over him, his breath hot against Vil’s ear. “Whore.”
A sharp slap against his cheek, Vil’s fingers curled inwards, claw-like nails scratching across his face. Leona hoped Vil would break the skin. It would make a turnabout fair play. Leona clicked his tongue. No such luck. He chased the sting with his fingers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vil raised his hand again. Leona considered letting him have another attempt, but he had something more fun in mind. He captured Vil’s slender wrist, tugging his hand up to his mouth, licking at the heel of his palm.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you’re far too pretty to be actin’ like a feral street cat?” Leona asked, nipping at Vil’s ear, teeth clattering against a probably ridiculously expensive earring.
“Has anyone told you that you act like too much of a brute to be a prince?” Vil spat back, fists balled up against Leona’s chest.
“Constantly,” Leona laughed.
Vil’s nails dug into Leona’s meaty pecs, the tips of his fingers engulfed in flab. Vil wasn’t pushing him away, though, just the suggestion of annoyance.
Leona leaned forward, capturing his mouth into a possessive kiss. Leona angled his jaw wide, letting Vil’s tongue freely explore his mouth. Then he took the control back, tugging at Vil’s lower lip, growling into Vil’s open mouth. He didn’t have an ounce of shame left, not when it came to Vil. Leona pulled back from the kiss. His stubble had already rubbed Vil’s jaw into a warm pink.
“Sambuca, classy,” Leona laughed, reaching a finger out to tug at Vil’s bottom lip, “You tasted like slimline tonic last time.” He continued watching Vil’s red lipstick bleed onto his fingers. “How drunk are you, exactly?”
“Drunk enough that I’ll let you,” Vil breathed, pupils blown, “Not so drunk that you have to get your royal panties in a bunch about it.” He added, nipping at the tip of Leona’s fingers.
“Okay, then. How do you want it?” Leona asked, another growl bubbling up in his chest.
Vil rolled his eyes. “Vulgar as always,” He paused, glancing around the back seat. Eyes seeming to roam over the weight Leona had packed on since they last did this. “Let me roll over. I don’t want to look at your scruffy face.”
“Suits me,” Leona smiled, gesturing to the billboard. Plastic, perfect Vil stared back at them.
“You’re such an ass,” Vil hissed, looking between the advert and Leona.
“Awww, don’t be like that. The real you is so much better.”
The patches of skin where his makeup had rubbed off bloomed red. He looked splotchy, splashes of flush pink against powdered ivory. Leona thought he had never looked more gorgeous.
“… shut up,” Vil mumbled, embarrassed by such an honest compliment. That wasn’t part of their game, but it was the truth.
Vil moved into position. Silk dress hiked up around his chest, his feet still in their stilettos, wiggled carefully between Leona’s knees as Vil climbed onto his hands and knees. His back arched to line up against Leona’s crotch. He was just so tall, modelesque in every sense of the word.
Leona didn’t immediately move, instead drinking in the sight of Vil laid out beneath him.
“Hurry up and fuck me before I change my mind,” Vil hissed. Patience was never Vil’s strong suit.
“Yeah, yeah in a minute, your Highness,” Leona laughed. Reaching forward through the gap in the seat, he grabbed his forgotten soda. Ripping off the lid, he downed the good third of the soda that remained. The bubbles rounded his belly out even further. Who knew when he would get this chance again, Leona wanted to be properly stuffed.
Liquid and bubbles sloshed around his already stuffed stomach. A series of burps bubbled up his throat, creating some space. He leant back over Vil, the sudden movement causing him to burp again directly against Vil’s ear.
“God, you’re disgusting,” Vil mumbled. Leona couldn’t see Vil, he had buried his face against the seat, but he knew he would be wrinkling his nose.
The smell of arousal was becoming too overpowering. Leona would not be able to exercise restraint much longer. He wrestled with his belt, nudging his belly out of the way so he could unbuckle the belt and tug down his jeans. Zero romance or fineness, tactless or not, he didn’t care he needed to be inside Vil right this second.
Fingers gripped at Vil’s fuller hips, ready to enter him, finally sinking his cock into Vil’s fattened cunt. Only he didn’t. His belly pressed against the swell of Vil’s perfect round ass. Leona tried again, rutting against Vil, trying to squish his belly flat enough. The tip of his cock brushed against his goal, pulling a throaty moan from Vil. Then a whimper when Leona didn’t go deeper.
“Are you too fat to fuck me?” Vil whispered, a tone Leona didn’t think he’d ever heard before. From the scent alone, Leona could tell Vil was soaking his own plump thighs with that thought.
“No,” He huffed, feeling like he might choke on the arousal Vil was throwing out. “I just, I just, I need, fuck.” He slurred. He knew what he needed to do and didn’t plan on wasting time by warning Vil.
His hand wriggled under the heavy hang of his belly, scooping it up onto his arm. He dropped it onto Vil’s back, marvelling at the plopping sound it made and how that was drowned out by Vil’s desperate whine. Leona’s bloated belly fit perfectly into the arch of Vil’s back. They had always just fit together. A twisted kind of perfection, like they were meant to be.
Belly out of the way, Leona buried himself deep in Vil. He was as tight and wet as Leona remembered, fingers dug deep into Vil’s hips as Leona rocked against him. Leona had thought little about weight on others, but this was so much better than it had been in school. Vil was so soft and plush beneath him and endlessly responsive. He’d stopped bitching, too. Leona felt Vil interlock his ankles with Leona’s, his stilettos grazing against Leona’s legs. That was new, but not unwelcome.
The windows were steaming up, but Leona could still make out the billboard for Vil. Twenty pounds lighter, give or take. Flawless skin and makeup. Leona tore his eyes away, looking back at Vil beneath him, real and a million times more beautiful. Messy and messed up, drooling onto Leona’s leather seats.
“You know, even your pussy got fatter,” Leona whispered. The closest either of them came to really, properly, acknowledging it. Vil moaned into the cushions beneath him, pushing his hips back against Leona. “It’s good, it’s all so good,” Leona confessed.
He felt Vil tighten around him. Vil always did like praise when they got down to it. Even if that praise was a vague half confession. Leona thought about his own increased libido as his weight continued to climb. He thrust deeper into Vil, pulling another gasp from him. Was it the same for Vil? He certainly felt wetter, practically spilling down between both their legs.
Leona’s gut bounced against Vil’s back, causing the occasional burp to bubble up in him, hot against Vil’s ear as he leant further over him, engulfing him entirely.
Teeth clamped onto the back of Vil’s pale neck, pinning him more in place than Leona’s massive belly already was. He sunk his teeth in further and further, Leona was pushing his luck. He continued until Vil squealed in pain and the taste of copper filled his mouth. When Vil saw that, he was definitely going to bitch about the cost of cover up or designer scarves, but Leona didn’t care.
Leona’s head spun, looking at how beautifully he had marked up Vil.
‘Mine, mine, mine.’ The beast part of his brain screamed at him, louder and less afraid than Leona was. Things he didn’t know if he could ever say out loud. Vil looked over his shoulder at him.
“Why did you come back for me?” He asked, overwhelmed tears streaking through what remained of his makeup. His hair was shaken loose, hung messily around his face, stuck to flushed and sweaty cheeks.
“Because…” Leona huffed, it was difficult to catch his breath like this, never mind speak. “You are, as always, impossible to ignore.”