Chapter Text
It all started when Stolas, innocent and curious, had managed to stumble his way into one of Blitzø’s secrets.
Truth be told, Blitzø had a lot of secrets. And despite what his big mouth and brash attitude might lead others to believe, he was pretty good at keeping them. Some of them he had to keep tight under lock and key, pushed so far down that they’d never see the surface, for fear of losing everything if they ever managed to break out.
The secret that had been plaguing his mind recently wasn’t as grand or as heartbreaking as any of them. It seemed kind of stupid when he thought about it for too long, and yet he’d been forced to push down the feeling. What he wanted just didn’t mesh with the life he’d built, and if he had to choose one or the other, he’d pick the one that didn’t alienate everyone he loved, thanks.
But then Stolas had found out.
It had started off as a relatively innocent conversation about their teenage years. The trials, the rebellion, the dumb shit he used to get up to, that Stolas had never been able to experience. And maybe Blitzø had gotten a little too comfortable recounting the stories, as he started to reel off that one time Fizz had dared him to eat an entire cake in 10 minutes, and he'd done it, even if he had belly ache for a solid hour. On the plus side, the wank he’d had later that night had been one of the best of his life.
“Oh, I didn't know you were into that,” Stolas had commented rather innocently, and Blitzø had looked up at him from where his head rested against those plush, feathery (even plusher recently) thighs. His new favourite pillow.
With a chuckle Blitzø asked, “Into what, pain? Do you think I let you spank my ass for an hour the other week just for the hell of it?”
“Ah, it was the pain,” Stolas had muttered, with what sounded like an almost disappointed click of his tongue, but he’d continued to gently stroke his talons along Blitzø’s horns and down the side of his face.
Something had stirred up inside of Blitzø, something that he’d been pushing down for a long time, and with it, a small mixture of tangled up fear and excitement. Swallowing back the lump building in his throat, he’d tried to sound curious, rather than hopeful, as he asked, “What else would it be?”
“I thought it might be a feeding thing. It's amazing the kind of things that turn people on. Though I'm not one to talk,” Stolas had rambled with a chuckle, not even skipping a beat, but Blitzø’s mind had been pinned under the words, how casual they were.
Because really, it hadn’t started with Stolas, it had all started about 25 years ago. Barbie had stuffed a bunch of pillows into his clothing, so when he fell off the practise rope (again) it didn’t matter if he still missed the crash mat. Obviously, that had only made it harder to balance, and he’d hit the floor even more, but he’d refused to take the pillows out until long after the practise session ended.
It wasn’t a thing then, of course, it had just felt nice, being soft, pinning Fizz down until his momma had to come and pull them apart, because Fizz had refused to tap out. He hadn’t really recognised that it was a thing until puberty was in full swing, and honestly, just about anything could get him hard then, but he’d been spending most of his tips on snacks and fast food to try and quell the demands of his growing body, and maybe he’d been overdoing it. Maybe he was unconsciously picking up all of the calorie laden stuff because it tasted the best. Or maybe, he realised that he was starting to develop a little potbelly, and it shouldn’t have made him hard. Fuck, why did it feel good? The little extra weight, the softness.
Running his hands over the roundness, his body had shuddered, and he’d imagined the feeling of more, of being full, heavy. So he kept on pushing it, seeing how far he could go before he started to feel disgusted, but it never came. He liked it.
Or he did. Until he realised that he was struggling to fasten up his outfit for the weekend show, and Barb gave his softness a little poke, playfully telling him he was getting tubby. He did, until Fizz tried to catch him, and the little extra weight was enough to throw off the routine, barely able to hold him. He did, until his dad found out.
He’d just stood there, hands over his middle to try and hide his shame, as he was berated about ‘wasting’ hard earned money on stuffing his face. When he’d tried to argue that he was hungry, that he couldn’t focus when his stomach was rumbling, he was told in simple terms that so was everybody else, but they didn’t let it affect the shows, they didn’t ruin it for everyone else.
So he’d cut back, he’d gone hungry. Not for the first time, and definitely not for the last.
Life just wasn’t conducive to the little things he wanted, not when he was an acrobat, not when he was begging for scraps after the fire, and not in any of the jobs he found himself in after. So he pushed it down and forgot about it. Got on with life.
Until he’d hit close to rock bottom, again (not quite though, he knew what that felt like), and spent a month gorging himself on whatever he could put in his mouth to numb some of the guilt and longing that never seemed to go away. And he’d put on a bit of weight, that same little belly that pressed against all of his belts, that made his shirt dip out. He’d run his hands over it, felt the softness, the weight, the gentle rounding, it was what he’d wanted, and it felt…
It felt fucking awful.
It felt like giving up on everything, like he was destroying the only thing he had left to offer, and like it was exactly what he deserved. His own lack of restraint would be the thing that eventually ruined it all. And the worst part was, it still got him hard.
But then the trial happened, Stolas lost everything, and Blitzø had other priorities.
The first month hadn’t been easy, figuring out how to live together, doing what he could to try and fix whatever was troubling Stolas, even if he had no idea what it was. But the following months were harder. The months where he was the only thing that Stolas had, and he knew he had to be everything, everything he’d never been capable of.
In those months under Blitzø’s care, they’d eventually figured things out, slipping into a routine that kept them sane (most days). As they settled properly into life together, and then together together, with all of the mushy feelings and shit out in the open, he’d watched the bird fill out a little, marvelled at the new softness, sunk his teeth into and whispered sweet words of praise into the collarbones he could no longer feel through the feathers and softness combined. The padding felt like a symbol of his love, a little bit of him in all of the home cooked meals that added the extra pounds.
At the same time he lost a lot of his own troublesome weight. He hadn’t exactly been trying to lose it, but making sure that Stolas was eating well, was recovering and feeling his spirits start to lift, that was more important than anything. Definitely more important than Blitzø. It wasn’t until Stolas looked down at the imp’s slightly more protruding ribs in concern, that he realised he’d shed the weight without trying to. It was for the best.
With his body back to the way it should be, they’d managed to settle back into something normal, a new kind of normal, where they both found their footing, learned how to dance around one another, dance with each other. It was just another blip in the life they were building, getting on with, together this time.
Until Stolas had said those words, when they’d been stable for over a year, actual partners, with things looking up. They had a three-bed apartment, a room for Loona, one for when Via stayed over, and one for them to share. It had been long and complicated, but Stolas had been offered his power back, and turned it down, except for enough magic to make him feel whole again, and permission to see Via, that was all he needed from his old life.
Blitzø didn’t want to fuck that all up.
So when he’d eventually managed to wrestle his mind back into the present, Blitzø had laughed it off, steered the conversation into other crazy shit that got people going, noted a few of them down as things to try out later when Stolas’s curiosity was piqued. He didn’t mention it again, didn’t bother adding it onto the list, because it wasn’t what he wanted anymore. That’s what he had to tell himself.
It took less than a month to realise that Stolas was less inclined to let things go.
It had been a pretty standard fuck sesh for them, a little bit of rope, a gag, some light teasing. After the excitement, Blitzø was taking his time appreciating Stolas’s body, the curves, the way they dipped beneath his claws, the softness of his plumage.
Nowadays, their aftercare often ended up like this, the lingering touches and slow kisses, sappy shit, but Stolas interrupted the quiet, his voice still a little rough from screaming against the gag for the last hour, as he muttered out, “That was wonderful as always, but I’ve been thinking…”
“Oh yeah? Want to get up to something really freaky?” Blitzø hummed against the feathers at Stolas’s neck, pressing a kiss there.
Despite the hoarseness of Stolas’s voice, he still sounded gentle, somewhat serious, as he explained, “You know I’d never judge you for your kinks. I thought that even if we haven’t always been the best at communicating, we’ve at least always been honest in that regard.”
Hearing the suggestion, the light accusation under the words, Blitzø cautiously pulled back to look up at Stolas. The pupils in his eyes were gone again, but even without them, Blitzø could feel that the steady red gaze was focussed intently on him, and pulled his eyes away to pretend he was focussing on smoothing down a stray feather.
“Yeah, you know what I’m into,” he muttered back.
“So if I made a suggestion, you’d tell me if I was overstepping?”
“Sure, you know I’ll try pretty much anything once though,” he agreed, even though he could feel something nervous bubbling up inside of him.
Even though he was sure his body knew exactly what was coming, he was still taken by surprise when Stolas suggested, “Then perhaps we could give feeding a go?”
It took him several seconds to get his thoughts straight, to figure out how he was supposed to respond. And yet all he could manage to offer was a mumbled, “You… You’re into that?”
“I could be. But I get the feeling that you’re into that darling,” Stolas argued softly, brushing Blitzø’s cheek with his thumb.
“Why- why do you think that?”
Stolas chuckled gently before answering, “I’m not oblivious, Blitzø. I know you enjoy taking care of me, when you’re not forced to do so, and you always put an emphasis on the cooking, on making sure that I’m eating right, even now that things are settled. And I appreciate it, I do, but I’ve also noticed that you’re not exactly averse to the changes it has had on my body.”
Blitzø’s hands slowed, because Stolas was right, in all of that. Blitzø paid a lot of attention to the thickness around Stolas’s thighs, and he loved making sure that the owl was eating right, the effect on his body just a nice bonus. But it wasn’t the accusation he’d been expecting.
“So… you want me to feed you?” he asked hesitantly.
“If that’s what you want, I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to giving it a go.”
Blitzø thought for a moment. In all honesty he wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore. He’d been with bigger guys in the past, wouldn’t say no to a softer body under him (over him, whatever), but it wasn’t the same. He wanted that, wanted the softness, wanted the heavy feeling in his gut, full and warm and sated. Wanted what he knew he couldn’t have.
But maybe this could be an alternative. Maybe he could live vicariously through this, after all, Stolas didn’t have to worry about a little extra weight slowing him down, he worked a desk job now. Maybe Blitzø could have his cake and eat it (metaphorically, because Stolas would be the one eating the cake in this scenario).
“Yeah… Yeah we could give it a go,” he agreed.
With it decided, they set a date, and the whole week leading up to the event, Blitzø felt the excitement and apprehension bubbling up in equal measure, fighting against one another to try and figure out which one should come out on top.
Even as he prepped for the night ahead, he couldn’t push either of them down. Loona and Via were out of the apartment, they had the whole evening to take it slow, and yet it felt like too fast after so long.
As he pulled the tray of brownies from the oven his hands were shaking. It was a recipe he didn’t cook very often, baking usually needing too much precision, but he’d done it enough times to know they should turn out right (even if he had added a ton of extra chocolate). That didn’t still any of the nervousness.
A shower whilst he waited for the brownies to cool was enough to stop the shaking, so he could cut straight lines in the traybake, but it didn’t relieve all of the stress. All he could do was take a deep breath, as Stolas finally stepped from their room into the living area, feathers still lightly damp from the shower, but puffed up enough to make him look a little bit thicker. He knew that preening had become a habitual part of their aftercare routine, a way to pamper Stolas and check him over, and a way for Blitzø to centre himself, to focus his mind on the here and now.
“Are you ready dear?” Stolas asked, as if he wasn’t the one about to be subjected to a whole tray of brownies (or however much Blitzø could convince him to eat, it was their first time).
“Yeah, remember what we said though, if you’re not into it, we can stop,” Blitzø reminded, trying not to shake as he took the plate. He hadn’t been this fucking nervous since he was a teenager, realising he’d overshot and was about to stack it on the trapeze. He’d had hundreds of guns pointed at him since then and had never felt this nervous.
“I remember, and the same applies to you.”
Straddling one of Stolas’s thighs, he felt the fat and feathers dip a little between his legs, and leaned forward to feel the soft little paunch push against his own waist. His breath caught at the feeling, but it didn’t distract him from the task at hand.
Slowly, he lifted one of the bite-sized chunks of brownie to Stolas’s beak, offering it up, and the owl took it gratefully, with a hum of, “Oh darling these are exquisite.”
“Well there’s more where it came from, better eat up birdie,” Blitzø taunted, pressing his lips to Stolas’s neck. It was an attempt to hide the blush that was already steadily rising on his cheeks, the hand on his back, pulling him closer, making the shame turn to a tingling kind of embarrassment, one they’d played with in many other scenes before. But he nipped at Stolas’s collar in an all too familiar way that had the owl groaning, only silenced by another bite pressed to his beak.
It’s what he wanted, a version of it, at least. Blitzø waited to feel it, as he plied Stolas with the next mouthful, and the next, and the next. The flutter in his chest, warmth in his belly, something to show for the gift he was being given. But even as he imagined a little more softness beneath him, Stolas filling out a bit more, it wasn’t the same. It was hot (fuck, was it hot), but it wasn’t the thing he’d been waiting for.
Instead he imagined their roles reversed, Stolas straddling his thicker lap, the big bird adding his own weight, and only increasing Blitzø’s with every little mouthful. That brought the little drop in his stomach, the mixture of shame and arousal that he was so used to.
Coming back up to the surface from the shock of his fantasy, he found that he’d been mindlessly continuing to feed Stolas, and the rich smell of chocolate had filled the room, so heavy he could taste it with every flick of his tongue. His traitorous stomach let out a low growl, hungry for more than the sweet taste.
“Would you like a bite?” Stolas teased, and before Blitzø could turn down the offer, one of the little cakes was at his lips, Stolas holding it there. He could refuse. He should refuse.
But he didn’t, he opened his mouth, let Stolas deposit the bite and felt a warmth already blossoming in his gut as he closed his lips around the lingering finger, offering a gentle kiss and licking away the crumbs. Stolas wasn’t lying, he’d knocked it out of the park with this batch, soft and gooey, incredibly rich, but with just enough bitterness to not make it too sweet to handle.
“How’s that darling?” Stolas cooed, almost as sweet as the cake.
“Yeah, it’s good,” he mumbled half-heartedly, swallowing away the mouthful. Trying not to get too caught up in the feeling, the hunger for more, he reached to pick up another for Stolas, but there was already a hand on the plate.
“Then have another,” Stolas insisted, already lifting a second treat from the pile.
“They’re meant to be for you,” Blitzø argued nervously. “If you keep on feeding me there won’t be enough left to fill you up.”
But he didn’t refuse another bite as it was offered to him, Stolas gently arguing, “There’s more than enough, I won’t miss a couple.”
As Stolas’s hand moved to cup his side, a thumb ran over Blitzø’s stomach, over the little ridges he had to try so fucking hard to maintain. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be softer too, for the thumb to have something to press into, warm and heavy.
“That’s it darling,” Stolas encouraged with another bite, and Blitzø sank into him a little further, a purr starting to rumble in his chest as he was caressed and cherished, doted on.
It was so easy to fall into it, the gentle smile, the tender caresses, the amount of love that was radiating from every bite that Stolas raised to Blitzø’s lips. Another landed on his tongue, and he let his eyes slide shut.
“You’re doing so well,” Stolas encouraged, and Blitzø realised that he didn’t know how many he’d eaten, all he knew was the numbing repetitive motions lulling him deeper, the persistent taste on his tongue, the smell still heavy in the air, and the tightness. He was getting full on it already. Fuck, it felt good, the warmth leaking outwards, the feeling of the softness he kneaded under his fingertips, and imagined if he could feel his own fat shifting under his touch. Calories turned to pounds, filling him out, and Stolas quietly, tenderly encouraging him to fall into it deeper.
It was everything he’d longed for, it was- shit. Shit. No, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t-
Stolas let out a surprised squawk as Blitzø suddenly pulled away. Falling off the sofa in an effort to put distance between them, he scrabbled to find his footing again, but his breath was still heavy. Even as he climbed onto his hooves, he knew there was no way he could brush it off and pretend he hadn’t just thrown himself back in panic. Not when Stolas was looking up at him with a mixture of surprise and concern, little pupils darting for only half a second to the plate of brownies now scattered across the floor.
“Blitzø, are you-…” Stolas started to ask.
“Shit, sorry,” Blitzø interrupted before Stolas could finish the question, a question that he didn’t want to answer, that he knew he was about to do anything to avoid. “I’ll clean it up.”
As he dropped back to his knees though, flipping the plate and starting to clear up the crumbs, Stolas reached down to still his hands and insisted, “It’s alright darling. Breathe, it’s okay. The brownies can wait a moment.”
Blitzø had barely even noticed that his breathing was still coming fast and shallow, until it was pointed out to him. Flashing his eyes up to Stolas he saw a vaguely familiar sight, and didn’t want the pity that was cast down at him. Not over some stupid fucking fetish. It was pathetic.
And it only made his spines flair a little as Stolas gently insisted, “Will you please tell me what’s wrong? If you wanted to be fed, you know you could have just-…”
“Stop, I don’t want to- I-...” he started to snap back before the little words wormed their way in, the promise that they were going to communicate now, that they had to try and make this shit work if they really wanted it. But the deep breath he took to try and clear his head only made his eyes start to sting, frustrated tears gathering at the edges, and a growl slipping out.
Any shreds of the mood that might have managed to make it through his first attempt to kill them were definitely dead now. He could feel it in the silence, in the lingering scent gone stale.
“Blitzø,” Stolas sighed, and cupped the imps face in a touch so gentle that Blitzø could barely feel it, and knew he could run away if he wanted to. But he still followed where the hand guided him with a sigh, crawling back into Stolas’s lap, and pressing his face into the chest feathers so he wouldn’t have to meet that bright red gaze.
“Talk to me Blitzø,” Stolas muttered, but it came with the uncertain lilt of a question. An offer, rather than a command. “Tell me what you want.”
Blitzø had never been very good at telling Stolas what he wanted. It started because he didn’t want to lose the book, and when that reason was taken from him, it continued because he didn’t want to lose Stolas.
Rather than answer the question, to admit what he really wanted and have to figure out how to deal with the other questions that would no doubt follow, he asked, “What if no matter how much I want it, I can’t have it?”
Stolas hummed, arm gently wrapping around Blitzø and pulling him closer. “You’d be surprised. Not long ago I never would have dreamed that this could be real. An apartment, no expectations, friends, Via, Loona... And you. I never thought I could have this.”
“That’s not the same, that’s all good shit, things that made your life better,” Blitzø argued, and started to card his fingers through the feathers, to try and straighten them out before they settled all in their puffed up state.
“Not initially,” Stolas corrected, and they both knew they weren’t going to forget the pain of those first months after the trial any time soon. “But it worked out. Are you saying that what you want would make your life worse?”
“I can’t afford to get fat off little fucking cakes, I need to be able to do my fucking job,” he argued, and immediately realised that he was giving too much away, that it was even news to himself that at least a small part of him wanted to be too fat to go out on missions. Fuck.
“It’s just a couple of cakes, I’m sure you’ll burn most of them off at work tomorrow,” Stolas tried to reason.
He was already in too deep, already giving too much away, so he didn’t stop to think before he asserted, “But it won’t be. I... I want more than a couple of cakes.”
“You can have more if you want. Business is steady enough that we can afford a few extra desserts. And you were a little pudgier when we started to live together, but that disappeared in no time,” Stolas offered, but the words only made Blitzø retreat further, tail twitching. He’d learned that when the little bit of venom bubbled up in his throat, his best option was always to keep his fucking mouth shut.
When Blitzø didn’t respond though, Stolas sighed and muttered, “Could you tell me what I'm saying that's upsetting you?”
It was a common question between them now, one that they’d both tried to keep bottled up for fear of how frequently they needed to ask, scared that saying it out loud too many times as they tried to navigate them meant that they weren’t good for each other. But over time they’d learned to realise it was because of how many times they said it that it was still working, that they were figuring it out.
Dodging the actual question though, testing the waters instead, Blitzø asked, "Would you- would you still love me if I was different?"
"I'm almost certain I would,” Stolas answered immediately, voice so sincere Blitzø couldn’t help the little smile that tugged at his lips. “But, different how?"
It was the answer he’d been hoping for, so much better than ‘yes, no matter what’, because he hoped that if he was too much of an asshole, Stolas would fucking leave him, find someone good. Even if he was supposed to be avoiding thoughts like that now. But the words gave him a little bit of hope that was incredibly dangerous, it made him think about what was possible. How maybe- if Stolas was okay with it, he could…
No. He lacked self-control at the best of times; this was the one thing he’d (mostly) been able to keep under control.
So he muttered out, “Forget it, it's stupid. Like I said, it would probably fuck up missions and we can’t afford that just so I can bust a nut.”
Stolas was silent for a long time, running his hand up and down Blitzø’s back in a comforting gesture. Spines to tail and then back again. It was so long that Blitzø was about to suggest they clean up the rest of the brownie and call it a night, but was stunned to silence as Stolas hummed, “I think you’d look very handsome with some extra weight.”
Blitzø felt his whole body tense, every muscle constricting as if it would make him smaller than he already was, let him disappear. He’d never let anybody know, or at least not anybody that mattered. Maybe a couple of imps and hellhounds at parties that he knew he’d never have to see again. But now Stolas knew. And he realised far too late that his reaction had only been confirmation, he was too fucking comfy around the owl.
“You’re incredibly handsome now, of course,” Stolas corrected, before Blitzø could try to counter and pull the conversation back to something comfortable. “But I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to you thickening up a little, if that’s what you wanted.”
He didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to say to that. But eventually he landed on an appreciative and yet somehow still dismissive, “Thanks, but like I said…”
“If you’re truly worried about work, there are things we could try,” Stolas interrupted. “But I’ve already overstepped once, I won’t push you to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.”
Blitzø let out a bitter laugh at the little bit of hope that welled up inside of him again. Even if Stolas did, for some fucking reason, have a magic way of making sure Blitzø could somehow be fat and do his job, there was still one glaring issue. “You got something up your magic sleeve that could stop me being such a pussy too?”
“You know you’re braver than you give yourself credit for,” Stolas scolded. It was an old argument at this point, about how his feelings didn't diminish everything he’d accomplished. “But if you needed a little push to find the courage, there are options. After all, we’ve tried hypnosis before, when you’ve needed help to clear your mind.”
Blitzø perked up as he remembered the floaty feeling, the bliss of letting go, of not having to think, mind blissfully quiet for maybe the first time in his life. Even after everything they'd done together, it had still taken him a long time to give it a go, to build up the trust he needed to hand over complete control. “So, you could just get rid of all the bullshit inside my head?”
“Only if that’s what you want,” Stolas offered. “But as always, I refuse to do anything permanent. It would only be for a night.”
Snuggling into the feathers again, Blitzø mumbled, "Yeah, maybe."
"I won't push you, but if you decide you want to give this kink of yours a try, I will be more than willing to help you with it.”
It was stupid. It was so fucking stupid that Blitzø was considering it. He’d pushed that shit down for years, sworn it didn’t matter anymore. But the little part of him that still lingered was growing harder to ignore with every moment that he stayed in Stolas’s lap.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, to let go every once in a while, give into the temptation with someone he trusted to hold him back. Maybe that would be enough to finally get this shit out of his system. He just needed his head rewiring, for all of the hangups and bullshit to go away for one night, and reversed come morning so he could get on with his life afterwards.
And if he found out it was the greatest fucking feeling in the world, and he never wanted it to end... Well, that was a problem for later.