Chapter Text
Mr Ellis could be hard to work out, sometimes.
He was the confident and charming type of man, who could sweep a girl off her feet (or a bloke, for that matter) with a well placed sly look, and liked to act mysterious to make himself more interesting. This, Thomas knew. He could tell when Richard was teasing him, drawing attention to a certain topic, tricking Thomas into asking more, only for Richard to wave the topic away and move on from it with a few words, just to get his goat. It was especially infuriating, because he was so handsome while doing it that Thomas couldn’t stay mad (or even really get mad in the first place).
But the real mysteries he kept much better concealed, perhaps certain things about his past which he wasn’t quite ready to open up about. He would still wave it away, but he’d be uncharacteristically shy and quick about it, and Thomas in return would be quicker to drop it than to keep pushing him. Richard would open up when he was ready.
Since it only happened rarely, it took a little longer for Thomas to cotton on to this next part. But sometimes, in more recent weeks - when Thomas knew he’d seduced him, Richard would go shy. Sometimes his lingering lustful looks which made Thomas dizzy with a sort of bashful pride, would falter, and he’d glance seemingly all over the place before looking away, and somehow change the topic.
For a very brief second, he’d not just be shy; he’d be awkward.
Richard Ellis was never awkward.
But Thomas couldn’t possibly tell what he had to hide, not when it came to their attraction to eachother. What could Richard Ellis possibly be embarrassed about?
Now, if Mr Barrow thought more about the whole thing, he’d probably manage to piece it together quite quickly.
Richard knew about his own little… problem. He was terrible at keeping his infatuation with Thomas at bay, which was more than fine, for the most part - Thomas liked it, and frankly, so did he. It was wonderful to be in a long-term, almost domestic relationship with another man, a great and beautiful man at that. So they certainly both made the most of their private moments, teasing and flirting endlessly.
But sometimes he lost control a little too much.
Richard has had inklings of strange fantasies and indecent urges about… certain men. But it had never been quite so problematic. He’d never had to actually acknowledge his strange fixation for what it was.
And that fixation was, of course, food.
Well.
Food coupled with Thomas Barrow, in particular.
The man certainly had an appetite. And it was a problem for Mr Ellis for very different reasons than why one might think it would be a problem, in a relationship such as theirs.
Of course, the ordinary bloke would see many problems with a relationship such as theirs, but that’s besides the point.
No matter what other people thought, Richard Ellis and Thomas Barrow were two ordinary blokes.
But not Richard Ellis, where this particular matter was concerned.
As he’d thought before, if Thomas Barrow thought about it - and he means really thought about it, not frowning for half a second before shrugging it off and returning to his meal at the pub, or the snack he idly munched on while they strolled around York, or his cigarette, or whatever he was lifting to that delectable mouth of his which had caused the lapse in Richard’s confidence when his thoughts went just that extra bit too far-
Well. Maybe, he would connect the dots.
Richard couldn’t let that happen. There were two reasons why.
Firstly, if Thomas thought for a moment that Richard’s pauses were caused by Thomas’ eating habits, there’s a high chance he would take it the wrong way, and become self-conscious about it. Not that the real reason wasn’t wrong, in its own sense - it was strange and absurd by all means, at least, Richard thought it must be - but Richard couldn’t see him stop. And by stop, he means - well, he means… eating. As much as he likes to. Richard would hate for such a thing to occur, as he knows Thomas now. They’ve been together for almost a year, even if Richard had only finally decided to move back up to York about three months ago. But life had never been better, for either of them, since he made that choice.
Thomas once looked a little too gaunt, a little too sharp, which made Richard want to look after him and treat him - to see him truly at ease and comfortable with his own existence. Being very close to his mother growing up, Richard had actually learned to cook many years ago, and now he lived close to her again he’d picked it up once more. With her help, they’d made delicious meals as well as sweet treats, cakes, scones, puddings, the like. And Richard had watched, as Thomas’ nerves about meeting Richard’s parents had slowly faded. His anxiety about being with Richard in public had loosened its suffocating hold. When Richard visited the abbey, he watched as Thomas opened up a little more with his coworkers, smiled more, with his eyes as well as his lips. A certain warmth had come back to his face, a slight redness in his cheeks which had seemed to be missing, and he looked all the lovelier for it.
And of course, he’d filled out a little more. ‘Become more comfortable in his own skin,’ as Richard liked to say in his head, to stop his thoughts becoming too lewd for comfort, but even that he’d never say to Thomas in case it discouraged him.
And Richard didn’t want him discouraged, because food made him happy. That was all, really; he liked seeing his Thomas happy.
And well fed.
And…
By this point he’d completely forgotten whatever his second reason was supposed to be, but it was something about how watching Thomas’ clothes get tighter somehow made Richard’s trousers tight as well, or how the obscene moans coming from Thomas’ mouth when he devoured some cake or other could so easily sound sexual, or when he announced he was full and patted his taut stomach, something twisted Richard’s own stomach, as part of him wanted to help and encourage Thomas to keep going anyway .
Those were the kinds of thoughts or realisations that made Richard’s mind blank with shock for a moment, and as he chased the thoughts away from his mind Thomas would give him a confused look.
Point being, it’s… weird. And the thought of Thomas sharing, or even understanding these fantasies is absurd. It felt a little demeaning to admit, even in the privacy of his own head, but the truth is he feels rather disgusted by it sometimes. He hates to think of himself objectifying Thomas.
And sometimes, Richard felt selfish, for being the cause of all of this. Or at least playing a large role.
It’s not like he’s force feeding Thomas, or anything of the sort - after all it was still the own man’s hands bringing the food to his mouth (not to say he wouldn’t mind feeding Thomas from his own hand, pushing bites of cake between his lips as Thomas lapped up the crumbs or sucked the cream off Richard’s fingers, no he wouldn’t mind that at all), but often he cooked or baked a little in excess, telling himself it’s practical to make more for the next day’s leftovers. But this excuse fell to pieces when Richard would give Thomas a little offhand encouragement, a simple “Have more, if you like,” while he busied himself with cleaning the kitchen. Thomas never asked, of course, but Richard could see the way his eyes betrayed him, staring with interested desire at what remained, a look which always had Richard’s stomach doing little somersaults of pride. So after a little urge from Richard, Thomas would dig in because he couldn’t help himself, and listening to his moans of gluttonous delight always brought extra words of encouragement to the tip of Richard’s tongue, ones that he barely managed to hold back; I know you want it , or Be a good boy and eat up , and maybe even That suit won’t outgrow itself , or something equally as disturbing which would only be perceived as rude if he uttered it, or just plain weird if he whispered it as huskily as he found himself wanting to.
So Richard kept it to himself. No matter how much he envied Thomas’ hands when he rubbed his own belly, or how deeply he desired to take a slice of cake and feed it to Thomas himself. That almost scared him, sometimes; it was all well and good to have one or two strange thoughts slip free, but the desire to act on these feelings, to say what he really felt or do something that would only prove deeply embarrassing, could be dauntingly strong. It was a downright struggle to pull himself together, sometimes - especially when Thomas actually brought attention to it himself . He wasn’t blind after all, or stupid; he knew he was getting bigger and had to buy his suits a size up, and more recently another size up (even just the thought of him outgrowing his clothes by two sizes already made Richard weak in the knees, seriously, what was wrong with him?) and sometimes he made off-handed remarks, ones he probably forgot about moments after saying them, but would remain on loop in Richard’s head for days (no matter how much he tried to tune it out), such as “I’ll be as large as a house at this rate” or “If I eat any more I might pop a button on me waistcoat, it’s so bloody tight,” and how was Richard even supposed to stop his stomach doing somersaults at the thought of Thomas bursting from his clothes?
Just imagine it , his mind supplies cruelly, when he’s desperate to indulge his fantasies, even though he felt dreadful for bringing himself off to such thoughts about the man he loved, Thomas being such a glutton, barely realising it. He keeps eating and eating, in a suit that’s already far too tight for him from all the other times he’s gorged himself, and he can only focus on how good the food is. Little does he realise how much his buttons are straining, his seams fighting to stay together, his belly pushing out at his waistcoat, thighs filling his trousers, all trying to break free as Thomas mindlessly shoves food down his gullet. One button pops, and then another, his seams start ripping, but Thomas is lost in ecstasy, he only wants more, more… Richard is feeding him too, straddling his plush lap and helping him along, encouraging him. “What a glutton you are, Mr Barrow,” he hears himself say, his own voice low and guttural with arousal, “You just can’t help it, can you?” Thomas would desperately shake his head, panting and breathing heavily, moaning around the next bite Richard fed to him, growing too large for the very chair he sits on. (In the back of Richard’s mind, he can hardly believe his own thoughts, but he couldn’t help but keep going until the end, it felt so good.) He pants heavily inbetween bites, all sorts of lewd whimpers and moans escaping him, and Richard is feeling the warm inviting flesh of his belly with his free hand. The chair creaks loudly as his last button pops, and Thomas’ expression is one of pure bliss, sinfully red lips parted…
…Shit.
Feeling rather shameful, it’s at this point Richard has to clean himself up.
He’ll keep a handle on it. He knew he could. And he should probably stop accidentally making too much food.
And that, he did, once Thomas seemed content with his weight. He hadn’t minded his weight gain, as far as Richard could tell, and the extra padding suited him well, surely anyone could see it (right?) - though he still knew Thomas could get a little self-conscious at times, even if he kept it very well hidden, so he still couldn’t let on any hints of this fixation, lest he have to explain all of it (and wasn’t that a conversation he never wanted to have) - but Thomas had recently mentioned that he didn’t want to have to size up again. In fact, his specific words were, “Mr Ellis, I hope watching me stuff myself silly on your cooking has convinced you that yes, I do like it, very much so, but if I keep it up any longer I’m afraid a day’ll come where I can’t buy a size up anymore.” (Of course, Richard was glad he was so confident in himself and his body to say such things so shamelessly, but Richard really struggled to keep the conversation going after that. Somehow he’d managed a lame joke that he better watch it - look where Mrs Patmore’s cooking had gotten her, to which Thomas had called him a cheeky sod and kissed him).
Besides, even Richard knew he couldn’t keep on gaining into particularly unhealthy territory (rationality didn’t stop his traitorous mind from fantasising about such things, though,) so he stopped - accidentally - increasing Thomas’ portion sizes. He still kept them hearty, for the purposes of Thomas’ health and happiness and not at all for any private fantasies that loved to see Thomas fill himself up and - no, not at all. (Sometimes he couldn’t help himself, and still made that little bit too much. Thomas loved it though, and ate as much as he could, until his stomach was packed tight, his breathing light and coming out with little whimpers and whines that made Richard’s own breathing heavy and his dick stir. Richard must be some kind of masochist, because of course when this happened, he only wanted to touch Thomas more; to tell Thomas to give in to his own debauchery, to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt and shamelessly rub his round belly, and Richard could give it the love and attention he desperately wanted to give with his own hands. But he couldn’t, and Thomas liked to be dignified at the table - something Richard bets he learned from old Carson - so of course he never unbuttoned his shirt. It was adorable, admittedly, just yet another of Richard's hundreds of weaknesses surrounding this man. Whenever he burps or whines from his own fullness, he softly excuses himself for it, cheeks reddening a bit, despite Richard’s own being much redder.)
Of course, they made love to eachother fairly often, and Richard got to touch every inch of Thomas then. They have a place of their own now, using the money they’ve saved up in service, and have a flat in York. Richard knew the landlord, having met him in Turton’s many years ago, so they were safe enough there. Understandably, it took Thomas a while to put his faith in a man he didn’t know, to accept him knowing about them, but the longer they lived there with no disturbances, the more his anxiety settled itself.
He still ate at the abbey often while Richard worked in York, so Richard cooking for him was still a somewhat rare occurrence. He was lucky Thomas hadn’t linked Richard’s increased eagerness in bed to the fact it was almost always following a time Richard had gotten to watch him eat.
Richard worshipped Thomas’ body, like a priest at the altar, and it always felt brilliantly indecent and rebellious to have thoughts like that while he and Thomas went to their own version of heaven under the covers. Richard loved the feeling of Thomas’ belly, large and weighty by now, and his developing love handles - he kissed and licked at Thomas’ softened jawline, a spot he particularly adored, not to mention his arse, and thighs, even his lips, plump and red and teasing Richard all through the day.
But he had to be careful. Richard liked to talk, to ravish Thomas with compliments until he was squirming, but he could never let himself go too far. However, Thomas did seem to like some of the darkest parts of his mind, the parts that growled out that Thomas belonged to him, and, in a similar state of falling apart, Thomas would agree wantonly, promising Richard he would do anything for him, while Richard pounded into him, panting, and trying desperately not to watch too obviously as Thomas’ belly shook from the force of it.
So, it was a little difficult. But Richard felt confident he could keep a handle on it. Thomas wouldn’t need to know, and Richard still loved him regardless, of course - and he wasn’t completely hopeless, he didn’t have these thoughts constantly. Just sometimes, in moments of weakness, they jumped out at him and Richard didn’t know what he should do other than lock them away. He did feel guilty, keeping his strange fantasies to himself, while the subject of them went about unawares. Eating was such a mundane thing, simply a means of survival. And normally that’s all Richard saw it as. But a certain movement, noise or comment that Thomas made might cause his thoughts to dip into sin so easily. Thomas had a power over him in that way, and the thought gave him pause, as a third reason came to mind.
Thirdly… he could not, under any circumstances, let Thomas use this against him.
Richard Ellis had looked over one important fact, in all his musings.
Thomas is much more perceptive than he’d been giving the other man credit for.
Because the truth is, he had started connecting dots - at least somewhere in the back of his mind, in his unconscious, he’d taken note of when Richard seemed to falter in his charms, while the front of his mind simply thought it as rather sweet. Besides, Thomas had at least caught onto the fact it mostly happened when he was doing something with his mouth. Richard was never shy about looking at Thomas’ lips, and Thomas delighted in teasing him with them, some way or another.
But something about Richard’s lingering looks lower than Thomas’ lips, or a comment on the tip of his tongue which is never spoken, has kindled a small flame of curiosity in Thomas’ brain, which had given itself its own mission to investigate. Thomas does notice that his own comments about his weight seemed to make Richard pause. Thomas had also spied him doing very subtle double takes whenever Thomas met up with him while wearing one of his older suits, just a tad too small for him. A shame, really; he was just too fond of the brown one to let it go entirely. At first he’d simply thought Richard liked it on him, as Thomas did when it actually fit him, until he realised - while Richard did always like this suit, he never used to look over it quite like he does now.
Thomas still didn’t think much of it though. Perhaps Richard was a little worried about Thomas gaining too much weight, something that, quite frankly, Richard only has himself to blame for. That theory didn’t feel right, though. The reason was simple really; despite his little looks only ever being incredibly short and subtle, there was always a certain intensity in his gaze that tugged at Thomas’ gut. Only a tiny bit, hardly worth noting, even. But there was no denying it.
Still, he didn’t think on it much. Until one day he wasn’t given much other choice.
One morning, Thomas had woken early at their flat, in a rush to get to the abbey. Richard sleepily watched him get ready, a loving smile permanently adorning his sweet face, and eventually he got up, as Thomas was wrestling with the button of his too-small trousers. Walking up behind him, Richard rested his hands on Thomas’ hips and kissed lazily at the back of his neck, then around to the side, nibbling at his jaw. Thomas chuckled, trying to shoo him away, despite loving Richard’s just-out-of-bed warmth which now enveloped him. “I’ve got to go, love,” he murmured. “Can’t be late. I need time to let out my livery once I’m there, it’s… gotten too tight.”
Just as he uttered this, Richard’s hands had found their way to Thomas’ middle, resting over his belly. Thomas felt him go still, looking ahead into the full length mirror Thomas was getting changed by. Thomas watched Richard’s eyes in the mirror; fixed on his hands, on Thomas’ stomach, wide open with a sudden wakefulness that he definitely didn’t have barely a moment ago. His fingers twitched slightly against Thomas’ undershirt, tickling at the soft fat of his belly. Right next to his ear, Thomas heard Richard’s breath hitch. Immediately, he moved away, muttering “Better let you get on with it then,” in a strangely husky voice. He took a few moments to tear his gaze away from the mirror, though, before he toddled off to the bathroom. Thomas watched him go, a little awestruck by his odd behaviour, his belly still tingling from the light touches, as though Richard had wanted to treasure it somehow. Shaking away his own queer thoughts, Thomas ignored it for now and focused himself on changing.
After that little incident, Thomas became much more aware of Richard’s odd behaviours. It doesn’t take him long to notice how commonly Richard’s eyes would be drawn to Thomas’ hands - like a cat seeing a mouse - whenever he brought them to his stomach. Thomas isn’t sure exactly how or what he’s supposed to feel about it, but any lingering self-consciousness that may have existed about his weight seemed to fade further from Richard’s rapt attention, rather than increase. The intense look he gave certainly wasn’t disgust, or anything like it - that was for sure.
As for what it actually meant… well, Thomas was going to have to run some more tests, wasn’t he?