There were a lot of things Marc hadn’t been allowed to do under the control of Khonsu.
Pursue a serious relationship, take up any hobbies, really anything that the internet labeled as self-care was a no go. When he was the one fronting, it meant it was time to serve justice, not whatever “pussy shit humans like you enjoy”.
Staying fit was also held to that same standard. The Avatar of Khonsu couldn’t perform to the highest degree if he was too out of shape to properly dodge a punch. This meant very little actual food, a trait that had coincidentally carried over from his childhood into the present. When he was younger, having a filling meal simply wasn’t an option. As an adult, however, only the essentials were allowed. No sweets, no carbs, just the bare minimum to keep on the muscle and refrain from looking like a stick. It wasn’t uncommon to go days without picking up a fork himself, and to instead coast along with whatever Steven had eaten throughout his day. It wasn’t healthy, he knew that much, but his eating habits was hardly in the top ten of what he’d consider his most pressing issue.
Marc hadn’t even considered it to be that big of an issue, until Steven felt the need to bring it up three days into their new, balanced life.
“Aren’t we going to go to lunch?”
“Why would we do that?”
“Because we’re hungry, and we have two hours to kill. What else are you planning on doing?”
Marc shrugged, “I don’t know, job hunt some more? There’s no telling whether or not the place is going to hire us, we should get some back-up interviews going.”
“Marc, we’ve been job hunting since we defeated Ammit. We can afford to miss half an hour on a sandwich.”
He did end up getting a sandwich, and though he refused to admit it, the meal was rather nice. Not as filling as he would have liked, he should have gotten chips or something as a side, but there was something peaceful about sitting in the corner of a café and chowing down without any pressure from a god hovering over his shoulder. He hadn’t even realized how stressful eating usually was until he found himself looking at a menu without any dietary restrictions. He could, theoretically, get whatever he wanted. Hell, he could order the whole menu, and not have to worry about how Khonsu, or his enemies, would see him after. It was an overwhelming thought, and likely the reason he stuck to the simplest sandwich option they had.
More job hunting hadn’t been necessary; after their interview they’d been offered a job on the spot. Being a cashier wasn’t glamorous, especially for a man in his thirties, but it paid enough to get them by while they looked for a more long-term option. In the meantime, working in retail wouldn’t be too bad. Most of the people working there seemed mentally ill in their own right, and though no one else appeared to have a second person inside their head, it meant most were at least acceptant of his condition. Having a workplace that allowed for both him and Steven to function had been a requirement he’d made clear in the interview, but it was still surprising nonetheless.
It’d been two months since they’d first been hired, and since then a routine had formed. On the days he fronted, the layout was simple. Wake up, go to work, go home, go straight to bed, or if Steven was antsy about sleeping too early- give the body over to him. It was basic, and rather boring, but wasting time wasn’t his strong suit. He could spend hours watching movies with Steven while backing, but the moment he was the one in control sitting still suddenly didn’t feel like an option. After a few minutes of starting a book, or movie, it was as if an alarm was set off in his head. One that alerted him that chores needed to be done, or bills needed to be paid, or anything that could be even an inch more productive had to be put first. It was a state of mind that he couldn’t bare to sit with, especially when there was nothing to actually do. It took three nights straight of going out and visiting the bar before Steven finally offered to just take the body whenever he got too antsy.
With how thoroughly uncomfortable Marc was with wasting time, lunch, oddly enough, proved to be the only exception to this. Having that 45-minute break to leave the confines of day-to-day life proved to be the most exciting part of his time fronting. There were so many different restaurants scattered around London, almost all of which he’d never tried before. It meant every day he got to try something new. After a couple weeks, it’d almost become a game to him: to see how many days it’d take for him to try everything on the menu before moving onto the next place.
The actual quality of the food itself hardly mattered. With only 45 minutes to eat, and very little money in his pocket, most of what he was consuming was considered either fast food or shitty mom-and-pop style dishes. Stuff dripping in grease, or made with enough carbs to leave any god scoffing in repulsion. Despite this, Marc couldn’t resist the excitement that began to bubble in his chest an hour before he was scheduled for lunch. His stomach often grumbled just at the thought of whatever overly processed meal he planned on ordering for the day. When it came time to actually eat, the only disappointment was he never had the time to order more.
Steven never commented it. Though he had no idea why his alter was so silent on the matter, Marc made no attempt at figuring out. The last thing he needed was some sassy comment ruining the little fun his private lunches brought to his day.
♡
Steven wasn’t surprised when Marc called on him to take over for the rest of the shift.
He could tell just from the fleeting glimpses he got while backing that the day had been complete shit. They’d both known about the store wide discounts set to begin that morning, but neither of them could have anticipated just how unruly the store’s customers would be. With half of the staff out sick, and the other half spread out amongst the small store, they were far too understaffed to deal with the cranky elderly people all demanding only the cheapest groceries that side of the city could offer. He didn’t need any further explanation for the switch after one tired look from his host in the mirror.
The nightmare wouldn’t end until around eight o’clock, where Steven finally managed to weasel their way out for the rest of the night. The store would still be open for another few hours, but any longer and the brit was fairly certain he’d pass out on the spot. The manager was frustrated, but understanding, and two minutes after eight they were shuffling out onto the streets. Almost immediately Steven tightened his grasp on their coat, “Well, that was horrible. I can’t believe that woman actually had the nerve to correct me on where the lima beans were. As if we were some teenagers on the first day. Can you believe that Marc?”
His reflection in the passing shop windows shrugged. All anger and frustration from earlier seemed to have vanished, and was place with a rather lifeless slouch. “Yeah, I can. I was there too. Thanks again for swapping out with me bud. It wasn’t even that big of a deal, I don’t know why I just...”
“You know I’m more than happy to step in anytime you need. Shitty days like this are tough on everyone, you know?” He hummed, eyes flickering between the various restaurants lined along their walk home. It took only a few seconds of idle staring for his stomach to let out a rather loud growl, one that left his cheeks a slight shade of pink. He stopped and raised an eyebrow, “Did you have lunch today? I know we swapped around 1 o’clock-”
“Uh, no. We didn’t. Monica said the store couldn’t handle us gone, and we swapped about an hour after that.”
Steven nodded. It wasn’t difficult to notice how fond Marc had grown to be of his little lunch-ins, and though Steven would never admit it, he’d grown to enjoy them as well. On the rare occasion his alter made the move to sit by a window, it was like seeing an entirely different man. One that didn’t care about looking all big and tough, and instead seemed to melt whenever he was given something particularly mouthwatering. His back would sink deep into his chair, and his eyes would develop a slight sheen to them. Steven could easily stare into those relaxed eyes for hours on end, if only the lunches lasted a bit longer.
Another loud growl cut straight through his train of thought, and left the man groaning softly under his breath. “Fuck, guess we should get something to eat then, hm?”
“You’re the one in control buddy, if you’re hungry you’re more than welcome to pick something up.”
Steven couldn’t resist snickering, as if they weren’t both sharing the same, starving stomach. After a few seconds of thought, the brit began walking once again. This time, with more determination than he had prior.
The place he’d decided on was the Chicken Cottage. He knew from his occasional glances into Marc’s daily lunches that the man had already eaten there, and from the easy way he put away an entire box, it was clear the alter didn’t mind it. More importantly, however, he knew they sold a large 12-piece fried box of various chicken parts. A slight smirk managed to wiggle its way on his lips upon noticing Marc’s confused expression from the corner of his eye. “What are you doing? I know you’re not suddenly going to throw away your vegan streak because an old lady called you dense.”
Steven didn’t respond, and continued on with his order. 12-piece bucket, large fries, beans, gravy, onion rings, and for dessert- cookie dough and a chocolate brownie ice-cream. He must have looked like a father picking up food for his family of six, and the thought of that brought a strange sense of satisfaction. By the time they’d packed up his order he had to carry the bags in both hands as he made his way back home to their flat. Marc didn’t utter another word until he managed to lock the door closed behind him.
“Okay, what are you up to Steven?”
Steven dropped the bags off on the coffee table, “What are you yapping about? We’re hungry.”
“Oh, and you’re planning on eating a 12 piece then?”
“Of course not, you know I can’t stomach eating meat myself. But I know you enjoy it.” He reasoned, “And there’s always left overs.”
Marc’s eyes narrowed in one of the many small mirrors littering the apartment. “You’re up to something, don’t play coy with me.”
“And you’re paranoid. We’re trying to work on that stick wedged up your arse, remember? Ooh! Almost forgot, can’t let the desserts melt.” Steven stood up carried the containers over to the fridge, all the while his alter’s presence continued to press into him, like a petty child poking the inside of his brain. “We had a rough day, what’s wrong with a little self-care?”
Marc huffed from behind him, “I thought self-care was watching terrible rom-coms and bickering about fictional characters.”
“Hey, I’m telling you they really did Bella dirty in the movies. You saw it-”
“Point is, I hardly see where buying enough food for a thanksgiving dinner fits into that routine.”
Steven let out a long, overly dramatic sigh. Of course, Marc had to be so difficult. He whipped his head around, “Fiiine, you caught me. I’m some evil mastermind for trying to give my closest chum a good night. Sue me.”
If his response brought any emotion out of Marc, he surely didn’t show it. He simply raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Aaaand giving me a good night includes giving me diabetes?”
Steven just about rolled his eyes into the back of his skull. “No just- forget it! I thought you’d be excited to have the option to eat as much as you want for once. I figured anything you didn’t want tonight you could eat later for dinner. Why else would I be buying food Marc? To kill you? I didn’t put poison in your bloody wings, jeez…”
Silence soon fell between them.
Though Steven could have stood and took in the guilt slowly creeping across his alter’s face, he instead turned back towards the cabinets. He was far too hungry to deal with this kind of shit. With one lazy motion he snatched up a bottle of wine and a single glass, before heading back towards the couch.
The silence continued for the next few minutes. In the meantime, Steven set up the living room for the night. Dimmed lighting, some extra blankets, unpackaging the containers of food he’d ordered- it took all of his self-restraint not to nibble on one of the many fries they had at their disposal. He could feel Marc watching though, and there was something satisfying about slowly opening up every container, and not taking a single bite. Their stomach let out a loud growl, just to emphasize its displeasure. He allowed his eyes to linger on the bucket of chicken for a few seconds longer than necessary, before turning his attention back towards the tv.
When Marc poked his head from the mirror on the table, Steven knew he had him. “Steven.”
“Mhm?”
“I’m- I’m sorry.”
“Oi? For what?”
“You know what. Just- you want me to take control?”
Steven shrugged, carelessly flipping through the channels. “I dunno, do you want to take control?”
“I mean, if it means we’ll actually get something in our stomach instead of letting good food get cold just for the sake of being a smart ass, then yeah. I want control.”
The brit hummed, but didn’t say another word. With a satisfied sigh he leaned back into the couch, and loosened his reigns. It took only a second for his vision to flicker, and appear in the new viewpoint in the mirror.
Marc didn’t waste a single second getting adjusted before plucking out one of the grilled wings from the box. He teared the piece of meat off with a content purr, sinking back into the couch. “Fuck, this has no right being as good as it is.”
Steven smiled; he couldn’t agree more.
♡
Marc wasn’t entirely sure how to go about approaching such a massive amount of food.
Usually when they ordered dinner, they ordered a little less than what filled them. It was better to leave a meal with more room, but no leftovers, than it was to leave a meal stuffed but with loads of leftovers. Neither of them had a habit of actually eating the scraps the next day, almost always leading to a moldy container of food the next week. This made actually looking over the array of meats and sides all the more exciting.
After very little thought, Marc decided to eat what couldn’t be reheated first. This included both the onion rings, and the fries. The best combo, he found, came in the form of alternating between taking a bite of chicken, and slipping a fry in his mouth. The combination coated his mouth in a satisfying layer of grease that made it impossible not to relax.
This pattern continued for several different pieces of chicken, all the while some generic action movie played on the background. He knew vaguely what was going on, something involving a bomb and a lady stuck on a train. The longer the night went on though, the harder it became to concentrate. His mind seemed to grow hazy, and that harsh pain of being hungry began to dimmer. By the time he finished off the last fry, the feeling had subsided entirely, and was replaced by a comforting warmth in his stomach. To celebrate he reached forward grabbed the box of onion rings, eyes never darting away from the food in front of him. “Hey, buddy?”
Steven must not have been expecting to hear his voice, if the several second delay meant anything. “Yes Marc?”
“Do you want me to put anything on? Like, one of your dumb soaps? I’m not watching the movie.” He dunked one of the rings in an unnecessarily deep tub of gravy, a move that proved to be revolutionary. He let out a loud sigh, “Fuck- that’s so good. Have you tried onion rings in gravy? I think I found a new favorite thing.”
The laugh that followed brought a weird warmness to his chest. “That good, hm?”
“Yeah, it is. Here, front for a second. You’ve got to try it.”
“It’s okay Marc, it’s your dinner.”
“It’s our dinner. We share a body; we share the food. Now come ‘ere and try this.”
Steven laughed a little more, before finally giving in and trading spots. The transition from sitting with a full belly, to watching from the mirror was far more jarring than he’d anticipated. Especially since he hadn’t really felt like he ate that much. The brit must not have been expecting the harsh change either, if the immediate hand on his gut meant anything. “Dang, you’re really going to town Marc.”
The ex-mercenary looked away. “Oh, yeah. I was probably going to wrap it up there after a few more onion rings anyway. Just thought I’d give them a little try first.”
“You don’t need to do that, it’s all good. Good-in-the-hood. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. Now here, how about I try one of these famous gravy-rings, hm?”
Marc didn’t turn back, as much as the faint crunch of the breading made him want to. Without having to look, there was a hyper awareness of every movement their body made. From the relaxed adjusting in between the two cushions, to the slow way their mouth savored every morsel of flavor the cheap junk food provided. It was slobbish, and it was hard not to think of how easily Steven could watch him during every second of it. He grit his teeth, arms crossing over his chest.
“Mm, that’s delicious.”
His eyes snapped back, “What?”
“The onion ring dipped in gravy, it’s delicious. I don’t know why more people don’t do this.”
Marc could feel himself flushing even through the reflection. “Oh, uh, thanks.”
“You wanna trade back now? So, you can finish them off?”
He shrugged, “It’s alright, you can have them. I know I’ve already eaten a lot of it.”
Before he could say another word, Marc was already back in the body. It was a move that immediately left him tensing. He didn’t even realize his hand had taken up a spot resting on his stomach until a soft rumble erupted underneath it.
Steven let out what he could only describe as a pleased hum, “I think I would rather have you eat them, but thanks.”
Marc huffed, but after a few moments of hesitation he slowly picked up the box once more. Any thought towards the tv was scraped entirely as his attention narrowed in fully on the large quantity of chicken still residing inside.
This time around, it was impossible not to think about the slight tightness in his shirt. Most of the definition he’d once worked hard to keep, had grown soft and practically non-existent over the last few weeks. Up until today, he’d hardly call them chubby by any sense of the word, but with every additional swallow it became harder and harder to make that argument. Sometimes, after a particularly large mouth full, he could almost feel his gut stretch to accommodate it. His eyes would instinctively flutter shut; hand eager to rub the newly sensitive bump.
He must have looked ridiculous. He never once gathered the strength to look in the mirror, but he had no doubt if he did Steven’s large, fishbowl eyes would be staring back at him. Marc Spector, the ex-avatar of Khonsu, the man who’d successfully saved the earth from Ammit’s control, gorging himself like a complete and utter glutton. The thought should have been enough for him to leave the rest of the meal then and there, but instead he found himself eagerly reaching for the side of beans. A move that left his stomach groaning in disapproval, and his lips twitching up into a weak smile.
♡
Steven resisted the urge to actively groan.
It’d been almost an hour since they’d first sat down for the evening, and the difference was night and day. Any and all stipulations about appearances seemed non-existent, as their body laid out fully extended on the raggedy old sofa bellow them. The rest of the sides had long since been licked clean, leaving their belly with what could only be described as a large round, baby bump. And Steven couldn’t take his eyes off it.
It was huge, especially in comparison to the built physique he was normally used to. Any and all signs that they were once buff though had vanished, and was replace by a thin layer of fat, most of which gathered up in the giant swollen bump they’d earned. Every minute or so a little rumble would work its way through their stomach, and leave Marc with the cutest little look on his tired face. He’d never once seen his host in such a way. Tired, content, vulnerable. It was a sight that had no right being as attractive as it should have been.
There were only three or so pieces of chicken left on the table, two strips and a breast. It’d been several minutes since he’d seen Marc make a move, and the longer he laid there, the more likely it seemed the other finally got his fill. Steven bit his lip, eyes flickering between him and the remaining pieces of meat. It seemed wrong just to let them sit there going bad, not when every other crumb had already been swallowed long ago. Even the gravy tub had managed to disappear sometime in the mix of everything. Surely, with as out of it as Marc seemed, he wouldn’t notice if…?
With a tentative breath in, Steven carefully made the move to raise their arm. It was strange, given he hadn’t really taken control of only a singular body part since they worked out their schedule, but it came fairly easily. There was little to nothing in the terms of a barrier between him, and the body. If anything, Marc didn’t even seem to notice the change in control. As if on instinct alone, upon picking up one of the chicken strips his alter was quick to readjust, mouth opening and eyes fluttering shut in preparation for the crispy scrap of meat being pushed through his greasy lips. Steven’s mouth began to water, and so did Marc’s.
Each bite taken was much slower than it had been before. With how close he was to being in front, it meant Steven could feel every individual swallow as the food carried itself down their throat and into their stuffed stomach. Marc’s stuffed stomach. Somehow that distinction only further egged on the growing feeling bubbling inside him. One he wasn’t sure he’d felt since realizing he shared a body with another man, but now seemed to be growing more and more unavoidable by the second.
It took about a minute to finish off the first strip, and Steven was eager to move onto the second. Once again Marc made no complaints, simply chewing and swallowing the meat down like second nature. He must have just assumed it was himself doing it. The thought alone that he was too far gone to realize who was doing what was enough to leave Steven taking hold of the other hand, and shoving it down against that too tight bulge in their pants.
Marc let out a quiet gasp, only to soon be muffled yet again by another bite of chicken. Steven couldn’t think of a better sight than this. His host. His stoic, strong alter, broken down into a gluttonous, gasping mess. Steven didn’t even realize he’d begun pushing the food in too fast until a sudden coughing fit broke through his train of thought. The brit yelped, dropping control of both arms immediately.
Marc sat up seconds after, hands gripping onto the side of the couch for support through what could only be described as a combination of coughing, and wheezing. It took a good few moments for the fit to settle, and for his alter to once again sink back against the armrest. A soft groan left his lips, “Fuck, if you want me to finish it off Stevie, you’re going to have to take it slower. It’s getting really hard to find room…”
Steven’s face in the reflection turned a deep shade of red. “Oh, hi! S-sorry. You noticed-?”
“It’s hard not to notice when someone takes control of your body and begins hand feeding you. I’m stuffed, not stupid.”
Steven blushed harder, if such a thing was even possible. He turned his eyes away with a weak huff. “Well, sorry. Is it, er- how are you feeling?”
Marc shrugged, slowly bringing a hand back up to his gravid belly. The button up shirt that once fit easily now struggled to contain the giant gut waiting to burst out. It took everything in him not to take control and slip the top off. “Very, very full. I don’t think I can handle much more than this. I look like I’m fuckin’ nine months along.”
The brit chuckled, “You look very- comfortable.”
“You mean fat.”
“Well- yeah. You did just eat almost an entire family sized chicken bundle. But you also look comfortable.”
A slight smirk pricked the American’s lips, “You just like seeing me in a weak position.”
“Oh, most definitely.”
“Well,” Marc began, slowly rolling himself over to better face the mirror. “It’s all fun and games now, we’ll see how you feel tomorrow when you’re the one carrying around this weight.”
Steven somehow doubted he’d be capable of regretting it in the morning. Not after a night like this. Even through the sarcastic tone, he could still see the content behind Marc’s eyes. Content, and pleasure feeling as full as he did, even if painfully so. There was a soft edge to it all he wasn’t sure he’d seen anywhere else.
Once again Steven found himself looking back down at the chicken at the table, and then this time at the fridge. There was a small pause between them, before he finally asked, “So, for curiosity’s sake, when you said you were having trouble, does that mean you physically can’t eat more, or…”
Something smug spread across his alter’s lips. “You want me to eat more, Stevie?”
Steven sputtered, “What? No. Well I mean- that’s a you decision. Clearly, you’ve had quite a lot. I would hate to push you over a limit-”
“Oh, really? Cause I’m getting the feeling you’d love to see me past my limit.”
The brit sat at a complete loss for words. How could he even respond to that? There wasn’t even a trace of sarcasm to be found. Though Marc was obviously teasing, there was a clear level of seriousness that left him stumbling to find his place. Especially when neither he, nor Marc had ever shown any sign of genuine interest in the past. He wasn’t even sure either of them had masturbated since they’d came together. Was that even what he was suggesting? Or was he-
“Yelp, you’re over-thinking something right now.” Marc grunted, breaking any train of thought he had going. “I’m going to take that as my time to finish up this last breast.”
Without another word, Steven watched through wide eyes while bite by bite, the breast was torn apart. The only thought left on his mind was how disgustingly casual everything seemed to be. This was a rare moment, a brief glimpse into a part of themselves that Steven had never seen before. And yet, despite all of this, he could still feel a barrier between them. It was as if Marc held the control not just over the body, but over him. There was an unmistakable cockiness to his tone that said even now, while he was completely disabled, he still held the power between them. That he was the one who should be blushing, not the man currently finishing the rest of an entire family sized meal by himself.
Steven took a sharp breath in. Perhaps it was time for a slight change.
♡
Marc wasn’t sure when exactly he became aware of just how interested Steven was in his little dinner. It occurred sometime around his third drumstick, when after a particularly deep dip in the gravy he found himself rewarded with a faint purr. At first, it’d been easy to write it off as one of his own internal reactions, he wouldn’t put it past himself after all. The longer he gorged, however, the easier it became to feel the other’s presence. It was like a comforting heater, warming his body with every shaky noise his alter made.
The presence should have been invasive, but it oddly enough wasn’t. If anything, it was cute. He’d never seen the normally prudish man sound so- sensual. It was as if not even Steven knew what to do with this new, excited side. This was only further confirmed by the not-so-subtle move to take hold of their arms, and eventually move his hand downward against the obvious tent he’d gotten over the last hour of feeding.
Marc could only imagine what must be going on inside that other head of his now. It’d been over a minute since the man had gone silent, and the last few bits of breading were being licked off his fingers. Everything inside him groaned in protest of the new addition, and he could almost see his stomach expanding before is eyes. Rumbling, struggling to digest what it’d never been properly prepared to take. The rest of the bones were dropped on the table, and his back hit the couch with a loud belch.
A light blush peppered his cheeks, a single hand moving to cover his mouth. “Fuck…”
“You…are you still hungry?”
Marc raised an eyebrow, attention flicking back down to the now unreadable face staring at him in the mirror. His forehead furrowed, “Uh, bud, I stopped being hungry three sides and nine pieces ago.”
Steven shook his head, “No, I mean- you still hungry?”
A slight smirk pursed his lips, “I’m full, that’s what I am. I ate the last of your chicken buddy, I feel like that should be enough.”
The alter paused. He could see the gears running behind that smart brain of his. There really was something to be said about Steven when he over thought something, like a puppy trying to figure out how to find its bone. He could easily watch Steven struggle to find his footing for hours, and he likely would of if it weren’t for the ache in more places than one. He leaned forward with a low grunt.
“Listen Steven, if you want to-”
His vision flickered.
“-to…fuck! Steven-”
It’d been months since Marc last felt the disorienting sensation that came with a sudden, unprompted to switch. With a lack of any real danger, and a general agreeance on when they wanted to swap, there hadn’t been a need to. He’d almost forgotten just how jarring the sensation was until now, sitting on the couch with his pants removed. The trash covered table was completely cleaned, and the practically untouched wine put back in its place. More noticeably, however, was the large cookie dough tray laid out on the table, right beside the decent sized container of ice cream to go with it. He’d forgotten they ordered that.
His mouth watered, body leaning in closer.
“Feeling a little hungrier now?”
Marc’s head snapped up, only to find himself face to face with the full-length mirror normally hanging in the bedroom. His cheeks deepened in color, did Steven actually go out of his way to grab the larger mirror? Come to think of it, he must have had to take several trips just to clean up the mess he’d made. Without thinking a single hand dropped down to their swollen stomach, still actively rumbling to recover form all the movement. It took more self restraint than he’d care to admit not to let the pleasure show on his face. “Steven- fuck, you didn’t tell me you were going to switch.”
His alter shrugged, and it was only then that Marc processed just how exposed his reflection really was. Sure, it was undoubtably Steven, but the body looking back at him was still the same. His heart practically stopped upon seeing just how tight their shirt had truly become. Bits of skin could be seen between each and every button. He had to of grown at least two sizes bigger, if not larger. Even his sleeves looked strained, trying to hold in the fat dispersing across his frame. He could feel his brain short circuiting just at the sight.
“Uh, Marc? Did you hear me?”
Marc jumped, eyes going wide. “What? Oh- sorry, what did you say buddy?”
He could see the grin spread across his alter’s face, the cocky bastard. “I said that would ruin the surprise. It seems like you’re a little out of it though, feeling alright mate?”
Marc grit his teeth. Fuck, he must have looked like shit. Steven had seen him stumble home from the pub dozens of times, and yet now he somehow felt less in control of himself than he did completely shitfaced. His mind and body were both focusing on entirely different things, neither of which lined up with how he was supposed to be presenting himself right now. He gave a weak nod, “Yeah, I’m okay. Why are we still in the living room?”
Steven raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean? Would you rather be somewhere else?”
Oh, Steven knew very well where else he’d rather be. If the brit wanted him to ask though, he’d rather bite his tongue off. He turned his head back down to the dessert in hopes the conversation would drop there. “So, you’re still not satisfied then, hm? I don’t know where you think I have the room to fit anymore for you buddy.”
He could almost hear an audible eyeroll from the mirror. “For me? What, you think I’m the one asking you to stuff yourself like an overweight turkey?”
The description left his boxer’s twitching, the fucker. He turned his eyes back up to his alter, this time staring him dead in the eye. “Well, you haven’t been exactly subtle here bud, it’s not like I asked for you to buy this much food.”
Steven’s face formed what he would call a perfect contradiction between gentle and sweet, and tired and irritated. It was remarkable just how Steven it was, despite there being no physical differences between them. A patronizing smile pricked the other’s lips. “Well bud, I told you you were more than welcome to save them for left overs, but you chose to eat it all. And don’t you go blaming that on me, eh? I watched you scarf the whole bucket down. You enjoy stuffing yourself.”
His stomach tightened. It would be one thing if it were something normal, like choking or leather. At least then, he’d be able to shrug it off and explain it away as a personal preference. Everyone had their own things, after all. This, however, felt much different than that. He wasn’t just sitting there jerking one off to feet, something weird, but understandable like that. No, he was sitting in his living room, resisting the urge to reach down and touch himself at the sight of just how fat he’d gotten. Yet, another thing to add to the seemingly never-ending list of things fucked up with him.
Marc looked down, nails subtly digging into the couch cushions. “It’s not…I knew you were enjoying it…”
Steven sighed, “We share a body Marc, I’m going to enjoy some of the things you like. Unless you’re trying to suggest you ate an entire 12-piece bucket of chicken exclusively for me?”
“Well, maybe-”
“Wow, you’re such a twat.”
“Hey, shut up. What is this, some kind of intervention? Trying to get me to admit I’m some- some- weird, food fetish enthusiast?”
“I never said you were weird.”
He grit his teeth. “That’s what it is though, right? It’s weird, and sick, and you’re enjoying it.”
“And what if, I said yes?” Steven growled, voice dropping a few decibels lower than he thought possible. With one singular sentence his entire body managed to grow too hot to function.
After a few moments of silence, Steven proceeded slowly. “Is that what you want to hear, hm? That you look like a greasy pig drooling over whenever it can get its next stuffing? That you should be embarrassed of just how badly you clearly love having your gut filled past the point of any rational person? I don’t think this needs to be said darling, we have eyes.”
Everything Marc had to defend himself was stripped away in one fail swoop. In all his years, and all his missions as the once strong avatar of Khonsu, he’d never felt so utterly small. Not in a frightened way, or a hurtful sense. Just- small. Weak and vulnerable past the point of being able to fight, if he even wanted to do so. This should have been the point where they stopped, and called it there for the night. Any rational person would.
Instead, Marc sat there, eyes never looking up from their place on the table.
After a few moments of silence, Steven’s tentative voice broke the streak. “Er, Marc?”
Silence.
“Marc? Did I cross the line?”
…
“Oh bullocks, I went too far, didn’t I?” All of the dark swager from a minute prior vanished in an instant, and that cute ramble he’d grown to adore took over. “I’m sorry. I know you like rougher stuff, and I thought a little dirty word would help you get into the moment, but clearly that idea was shite. You know I don’t actually think of you like that. I love seeing you actually comfortable for once, and I must have gotten carried away with how comfortable I was too. If you want me to pop out for the rest of the night, I totally can-”
The rambling continued for almost a minute after, and it was hard to suppress the smile wiggling its way onto his lips. Remarkable, just how dorky Steven could be even while clearly hot and flustered from his own attempt at “dirty word”s. It was sweet, and dumb, and defiantly Steven. He closed his eyes, head rolling back against the couch.
“Fuck, you’re okay. It’s alright Steven, you didn’t hurt my feelings. I just- definitely wasn’t expecting that out of you.”
He could almost hear his head lowering, “Sorry again. I should have asked if you were into that sort of stuff before just assuming.”
“Oh, I definitely am. I’m surprised I didn’t break on the spot after that little stunt. I’ve just never really, well, been on the receiving end before.”
The brit’s voice lit up with a glimmer of hope. “Well, do you want to be? Only if you want, of course. If you really want, we can switch and I’ll finish up the plate. It’s no big deal-”
Marc shook his head, forcefully bringing his aching body up into an upright stance. His stomach made sure he knew its displeasure with the action by sending a rough cramp through his digestive system. He gripped his belly, “Ahh~ n-no, I want to continue. Just-” he reached down and unbuttoned the bottom of the shirt. It only took undoing one button for the entire rest of the shirt to snap open, and his belly to jut out a good extra inch. The sight was enough to leave him moaning into his hand.
“Mhmmm~…just- don’t stop talking.”
♡
This had to be a dream. There wasn’t a reality where he was actually being told to dirty talk all the while his alternate personality laid back on the couch with a tray of cookie dough on his lap. It simply wasn’t feasible. And yet despite this, here he was. Mouth agape as Marc picked up his first little square of the dessert. It looked so natural in their hand; it was a wonder they hadn’t done this sooner.
“Mmm, Steven?”
“What?”
“I asked you to talk?”
“Oh, yeah.” Steven blushed heavily. Right, he was supposed to be taking charge here. Showing Marc, it was okay to lay back and do the easy work for once. He’d been so distracted by the way his lips curled around each bite; he’d almost forgotten. “What do you want me to talk about, darling?”
Marc grunted through a mouthful of dough, an act that sent a shiver through his spine. After a particularly hard swallow, the other shrugged. “Whatever sounds good bud- er, babe.”
“Babe?” He smirked.
“Shut up, you caught me on the spot.”
“I thought you wanted me to talk?”
“I hate you.”
“You know,” He hummed, subtly taking over control of their left arm. It was really a waste having it hold a tray that could easily just sit on their lap. The appendage was much better used rubbing over top his smooth, tight dome of a belly. He could practically feel all the gas built up inside. Poor fella, carrying all that tightness in there. He pressed his fingers softly against one of the air bubbles, electing a quiet burp out of the man. “I seem to doubt that~”
What happened next could only be described as a blissful purr. His fingers continued to gently massage the various tight stretches of skin, causing little bits of gas to leak out every minute or so. Sometimes they came out in the form of quiet stutters in his chewing, and other times a full belch would bring everything to a dead stop. It was during those stops that he could see Marc’s composer further falter. His eyes would flutter shut, and a hand would momentarily cover his mouth. Steven felt himself crumbling at the sight.
He pushed a little harder on his belly. Their entire face scrunched up, “S-Stevie, that hurts.”
“I know darling, but we gotta get the gas out somehow. Everything’s so tight in there, so tightly packed~” He punctuated his explanation with a light slap to their belly. To his complete satisfaction, a quiet moan was broken immediately by a soft hiccup. It seemed so soft, so gentle, and continued reappearing throughout his next slice. Without thinking, Steven slowly dipped one of his hands into his reflection’s boxer’s. The soft squeeze brought with it immediate relief. “Ahh~ there we go. That’s better. You know, you’re a lot cuter like this. Hiccupping, mouth full of sweets, a lot less stubborn to deal with.”
Marc gave a quiet moan in response, but otherwise didn’t reply. His attention seemed to be on making it through his fifth bar. With every gluttonous bite, his chewing grew slower and slower. He continued, “You’ve been wanting to do this for a while, haven’t you? There’s no way this started just a month ago. I bet you’ve been dreaming of this night for years, little minger. Waiting for the day that pesky bird would leave, just so you could properly stuff yourself to the brim~”
“Ahh~ ahh…I just felt so empty Stevie-” Marc groaned, surprising the both of them in his confession. Any flushness that had faded returned at once, and for a moment, he could almost see the reaction bound to follow. “This is getting a little too heated bud, maybe we should turn it down a little.” Or- “It’s not like that, you know what I mean.” Or, maybe even- “Fuck off Steven, clearly, I’m not thinking straight and you’re a weird pervert-”
None of that happened though. No rushed attempts at composing himself, no excuses under his breath. If anything, the embarrassment from the sudden mewl only seemed to linger for a few seconds, before being cut off by a harsh dive down into his pants. Though touching himself in the reflection was nice, it was nothing compared to the rush of pleasure that came with the harsh squeeze right at the base of their member. The brit growled, “Sh-shit…just felt empty, huh? Is that what you call this? Wanting to ruin your body just for the sake of a good wank?”
Marc could only purr in response. His attention appeared far more focused on rubbing himself off, rather than dignifying him with a reply. Steven furrowed his brows, snatching up control of their dominate hand in one easy swoop. His host’s eyes immediately shot up to meet his, “What‘re you doin’? I’m close!”
The soft slur brought out a deep, possessive growl he hadn’t known he was capable of. A sinful smile spread across his lips. “To what? Peaking? You seriously think you can just go ahead and call it a night without finishing your dessert? Shame on you~”
To prove his point further, Steven took up control of the majority of their torso in the painful move to sit up. The decision wiggled out a few wet burps, and a hard cramp that he did his best to isolate to just Marc, despite how blurred the lines were between the two of them. The former didn’t seem to appreciate it, but made no move to fight his lean forward to pick up the small to-go ice cream bin.
Marc’s lips quivered; attention hyper focused on the now soft ice cream being dumped on the remaining bars of cookie dough. The result was a messy, partially melted mess of dairy and sugar taking over a good chunk of the tray. To most it would have looked completely unappetizing, and it likely should have been.
Once the tub was thoroughly scrapped up around the sides, Steven tossed the container on the floor and jabbed the spoon back into sweet concoction balancing on his lap. When the utensil was brought back up to his lips, this time coated in ice-cream, all Steven could do was hum. “Open.”
♡
Marc had long since given up on trying to differentiate who was doing what, and instead fully sunk into the comfort that was indulging in this unknown part of him. Adrenaline and Serotonin mixed together in a lustful haze that only got stronger with each dirty whisper from his other alter.
Steven, Steve, fuck.
Just hearing the name bounce around in his mind was enough to go straight down into their raging cock stand. Never once had he seen the brit take control in such a seemingly perfect way. Every assurance, every word, dripped both with tender care and unfiltered lust. It was a combination he could get drunk on alone.
“Darling, only a little left to go. Come on, I know a dirty pig like you can fit it in…” The words registered in a way he couldn’t quite narrow down the source of. He’d long since lost the ability to tell whether the words were coming out of their mouth, or the reflection. It hardly mattered, not when his cock was hard enough to take over every muddled thought he was able to have. He opened his lips, only to whine whenever yet another scoop of ice-cream trickled down his throat. The dairy had a way of making his belly bloat up like nothing else. He’d thought making himself any bigger than he’d already been was impossible, but he was quickly proved wrong by the steady swell that came with every disgustingly sweet bite. It was heavy enough to leave him wheezing under all the weight pressing down on his lungs.
“So…fat…” Marc whispered, eyes momentarily falling shut. The constant shoveling down his throat momentarily came to a stop, and thankfully so. It allowed his stomach a few much needed seconds to sit there and simply do its job. As a result, every sense he had become hyper aware of each and every gentle movement coming from inside his belly. The sloshing, the tightening, the uncomfortable stretching. He didn’t even realize their hands were rubbing it until Steven’s voice broke through the haze. “So beautiful, love…So good…”
Even through the extreme aching, Marc couldn’t help but smirk. “Khonsu would be fummin’. He’d shit himself, call us uh fat worm or some bird-shit like that…”
They laughed, “Eh, screw him. He just didn’t want you to enjoy yourself, that’s all.”
The sound of the tray hitting the table brought Marc’s eyes open for a few moments, were they done? Had he actually eaten it all? When he looked at the tray, he saw a few extra bites left, and his lips quivered. “Stevie, I’m too full, no more…”
“Shhshh, it’s alright mate. You did so well.”
“I didn’t finish it.”
“That’s fine, I think one more bite and you might well burst. Just relax, eh? I got you, you’re safe.”
Marc didn’t have any strength left to argue, all of that was soon whisked away by the slow move down his thigh. There was no move to do anything other than lay back, and allow Steven to do the work wrapping his fingers around their dripping cock. He grit his teeth, back stiffening. “Ahh~ f-fuck…”
Steven whispered, “Don’t tense up, it’ll just agitate your belly.”
“Too late.” Marc hissed, resting his hand on top of the massive food baby currently cramping up like no other. Slight drool hung from his lips, “Ahhh, sooo full…”
The tension didn’t die down the closer Steven worked towards getting them to that sweet spot. He already felt like he was teetering over that blissful edge, it seemed like any hard pump had the capability of setting him off. Subconsciously his hips began to buck up into it, which only further encouraged the brit to pick up the pace. His eyes corkscrewed shut, “F-fuck me, more Stevie. Just a little more-”
One harsh squeeze was the last thing Marc needed before everything went white.
♡
Mark’s climax, and his by proxy, was a passionate blur like no other. Aside from a singular fling with a guy back from their high school, Steven held no real experience with anything other than the occasional sad wank after a long day. To compare a quiet rub off in the shower, to both watching and feeling their cock climax all over their swollen belly, would have been impossible.
By the time the last little spurt drizzled out of their now limp member, Steven fell silent. All energy they once had to keep going was replaced with the overwhelming aching in their gut, and a sense of exhaustion he hadn’t felt in months. When he closed his eyes though, he found he could still see-through Marc’s, who was currently laying back with what could only be described as a dopey little smile. It made it difficult not to do the same.
Steven was the first to break the quiet content in the air with a pleased hum, “Well, that may have been the most off the wall thing we’ve ever done.”
Marc laughed, finally making the move to sit up. The movement brought with it a low rumble from the underside of their gravid belly, and the host visibly purred. He stroked the tender side tentatively, “Yeah, probably. I think we may be more fucked up than I thought.”
“You say that, but knowing that turns you on even more, doesn’t it?”
“Oh yeah. Big time.”
Steven was the one to laugh this time. He couldn’t bring in himself to feel anything other than satisfaction and weak pleasure welled up inside their belly. Someone could easily write them off as pregnant with how round and tight it’d gotten. Marc must have been on the same train of thought as he was, because he soon sighed. “It’s going to be a lot softer tomorrow. Less firm, more-fatty.”
“Mhm, that’s how it tends to work. Do you not like the idea, Mark? Being all soft and plump?” Steven asked in an almost whisper like voice. Their dick twitched, and he could see the man’s fingers tighten. The brit smiled, before slowly rolling them over onto their side. “Well, lets give our body a bit of rest then, him? It’s got a lot of digesting to do in there.”
“Mmm, m’kay Stevie.” Mark slurred, allowing the duvet on the back of the couch to be pulled down on top of them. The fabric felt so nice resting idly on his constantly gurgling stomach, he couldn’t resist curling around it. “Goodnight Steven…”
It was remarkable how, despite the constant tight cramps, this was likely the most comfortable he felt in months.
Mark closed his eyes, focusing on the low rumbles in his stomach as he slowly drifted off into the deepest sleep he’d ever had.
The last thing he heard was a pleased sigh, before everything faded to black.