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Chapter Text

Unsaid tradition dictated that Alfred would let himself into Arthur’s London flat whenever the UK hosted global conferences. He’d stayed the night after yesterday’s all-day meeting, and now Arthur stood in the kitchen, plating breakfast as Alfred stretched his arms and trudged in. 

“Fuck–“ yawn “–I was hoping I’d beat you to the stove.”

Arthur grunted. “Haha.” 

There were two tall glasses of orange juice on the kitchen table, along with vased flowers in the middle. Atop tartan placemats were the utensils, a jar of jam, the salt and pepper shakers, and a small bowl of beans. 

Alfred sniffed and sat down. “I would’ve made some decent grub, too.”

Ignoring the urge to pinch Alfred’s cheek, Arthur plated up the food at the stove for them, and stepped over. “You’d cook for us? Here?” Laugh. 

“Well, mostly for me. Because I need a delicious, filling, American breakfast–“

“Please. You could do without gorging yourself as soon as you wake up.” With that, he set down a modest dish of poached eggs, two of them, with four whole slices of slightly burnt toast, buttered and topped with blueberry preserves. 

…It was modest for Alfred’s standards, anyway. Arthur himself only had a single egg topping a piece of toast, dressed in pepper. 

Despite the complaining, Alfred licked his lips and eyed the food lustfully as he sat. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll settle for yours. But I’m not eating those beans.”

His fork cracked the yolk, which was predictably not very runny as it should’ve been, but Alfred nonetheless dug right in and swallowed half the egg, taking several bites of toast, too. 

“Your breakfasts ain’t half bad, old man,” Alfred snorted, slipping into his Southern drawl for a split-moment. Arthur cringed at the use of the President’s English in his home. “…Sometimes, anyway. But most of the time your eggs make me wanna hurl.” 

“You can never just give a straight compliment without tacking on an insult, can you?”

“I get it from you.”

Arthur smiled at that, begrudgingly, face hidden from Alfred’s gaze. Yes, the boy was right, oh-so right. 

He was busying himself with the tea kettle after he’d forgotten to light the burner underneath, and…

…as he turned around from the stove, Alfred had already cleared off most of his plate, save for the last egg and two slices of toast. 

“Easy, now, the food’s not going anywhere.”

Arthur gave Alfred’s lower tummy a few good pats as he passed by to his own seat – it was on instinct. 

How many times had he teasingly done the same thing in private, or before meetings began? Asking Alfred if he’d put on some pounds and goading him on? 

Except, before, there had been a flat stomach there, sometimes toned, and sometimes with the faintest hint of a layer of belly fat. Usually the latter, especially during the Winter months, but only enough to call a bit chubby, not fat. 

Alfred had always been taller and wider in the waist than most of the others, with broad shoulders and usually some kind of muscles about him. He was young and his nation was strong, it was all expected. 

Now, though, when Arthur patted with his palm, there was a rounded, plump paunch underneath that indented at his touch, cushioning his fingers. A little, round muffin-top that pinched the stretchy waistband of his pajama pants. 

Alfred flinched a little at the touch, freezing up. And when Arthur said nothing, he spoke up quickly, smiling sheepishly, “Stress-eating. Heheh…”

He was America. He was the most powerful nation in the world right now, and it was hardly close. Of course he was naturally the most stressed out. 

It wasn’t an enviable position. 

…It still seemed like a poor excuse, though. 

When some beats of silence passed, Alfred awkwardly added, “Hey, it ain’t easy being the ultimate bastion of freedom and justice! The paragon of the West! Leader of the New World! The Free World!”

Arthur sat with his black tea, paying little attention to his own meal. He gave an easy smirk. “Oh, yes, those are a lot of good justifications. I’m sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the huge appetite you already have.”

“Quiet, old man!” Alfred crunched a big bite of his toast, as if to spite him. 

There were crumbs and butter and dots of sticky blueberry preserves all along his lips and cheeks – Arthur sighed to himself, watching Alfred prattle on, completely oblivious. 

…Arthur, on instinct yet again, reached out with a folded napkin, fumbling as he wiped Alfred’s face, and by the time he realized what he was doing, it was too late to pull back. 

Alfred’s expression deadpanned. “Seriously?”

“I couldn’t help it. You eat like a pig.”

“Ah, yes, you’ve only told me a million times in my life already.”

There was a hint of sourness there. 

Arthur rolled his eyes and slid Alfred’s plate over to his side, dragging it with two fingers across the tabletop. One egg and three of the toast were already gone, vanished and leaving only crumbs. 

If he ate like this all the time, it was no wonder he was packing on some pounds. 

“You’ve forgotten your table manners,” he chided, beginning to slice up the remaining toast into squares, moving his knife in a gridlock pattern over the bread. “Do I really have to teach you again?”

“No. You don’t have to baby me, I can feed myself.”

“Hardly. You always make a bloody mess…”

“Not true.”

“Need I remind you all the stained jumpers I had to put in the wash last time you visited…?”

“…Fair. But that’s a gross outlier, shouldn’t have been counted.” Alfred smiled at him innocently, but his eyes were watching. 

Arthur scoffed back. “And another thing– You always eat too much, and too often. How else will you learn self-control and, God forbid, portion control unless I show you myself?” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You yap a lot.”

“I’m doing this for your own good. Not for my own sake. This is what’s best for you.” It’s a spin on his usual ‘I’m doing this for myself, not for you.’ Admit he likes to spoon-feed Alfred the same way he used to when Alfred was but a Colony? Never. 

Alfred rolled his eyes. “Whatever. If you’ll do the work while I can be lazy, I’m all for it.”

“Of course. I don’t want you spoiling my new tablecloth. I just put it in the wash and ironed it.”

With the fork and knife, he cut the last bits of the egg up with precision, skewering two squares of toast and a chunk of egg whites. 

…When Arthur looked up, holding the forkful over the table, Alfred was smiling cheekily. 

He was cute. So effortlessly charming. With a smile fit for a magazine cover. 

“…You look like an idiot.”

“You look like a nanny.”

Tch. Arthur shoved the food into Alfred’s mouth to shut him up.

“Such a smug look on your face, when, really, you enjoy this! Honestly, you still act like a pouty child sometimes–“ another bit of the solid-ish yolk sliced up, layered on a small toast piece, devoured by Alfred “–You’re so lazy that you act incompetent on purpose, just so you can piss me off enough that I do it for you. And–“ more egg whites cut, more toast popped into Alfred’s mouth “–And, you won’t ever admit it, but you love being pampered like this! I bet it must soothe that massive ego of yours…!”

The screech of metal cutlery against porcelain cut Arthur off immediately, and he abruptly stopped himself. 

There was nothing left on the plate. 

Alfred still had his devilish smirk as he belched and leaned back, humming in pleasure and sipping his coffee. “Yup, all true~ You make a good mother-hen, can you blame me?”

In that moment, with sparkling blue crystal eyes and that content look on his face, the way he had his hands on his full stomach… He looked very much like British America again. 

Arthur got up, dispelling the thought. “Get your things packed up. Your flight’s in four hours and I know you’ll be napping your way into a food coma soon.”

Once a mother-hen, always a mother-hen.

Chapter Text

Alfred had pudged up again – it was no surprise. Really, Arthur had been expecting it. 

They were both back in the same London flat during afternoon-time, not more than a month later. He’d dropped by out of the blue. 

“Dude, you gotta let me crash here for the weekend. Seriously.” 

Alfred was softer all-around, now. Wider-set, his arms looking thicker as some of the muscle smoothed away into fat, and most of all some slightly chubbier thighs. Even his chest had a bit of a plumpness to it rather than the perfect pecs he usually had.

To top it off, when Alfred shed his hoodie, a muffin-top was revealed. His lower belly had gained some pudge…spilling just over his waistband in a very pinch-able roll. 

He looked good enough to eat.  

…It wasn’t as if Arthur was staring or anything. No, no. 

But maybe there had been some weight to that claim about stress-eating, after all. 

No pun intended. 

Alfred flopped onto the sofa, wearing a shirt that was a touch more form-fitting than how they’d used to be, the usual lazy relaxed-fit ones. His shirts were tightening up around his pooch of a belly, beginning to outline the roundness… 

Arthur kept himself from staring, clearing his throat. “You drop over here on one of your whims again, expecting me to put down everything just to host you for a few nights–“

“Well, there’s actually a reason! I’m in hiding. And you can’t sell me out. This is like witness protection.”

Setting placemats on the parlor table, Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m sure. You know you’re getting less and less creative with your excuses to come over, Alfred.”

“Sh-Shut up! It’s not an excuse, I really gotta lay low!” He looked away, with the hint of a blush blooming on his cheeks. “Anyways– You got ice cream? Who am I kidding, I know ya do! Hand it over! I need some sugar!”

“It’s tea time now, I’ve already got pastries.”

“But–“

“Ice cream is a lot of calories, don’t you think?” It came out a bit more sharply than Arthur had intended, and Alfred winced a little – he realized the implications of what he’d just said. “…In any case, I had snacks prepared for myself, I’ll bring everything out. Since you so graciously let me know you were traveling here.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault! International crises don’t come with a thirty day notice!”

“You should be worrying more about your national crises. Like – your waistline, perhaps.” 

Alfred cringed back, his expression looking a bit pathetic as he squeezed his eyes shut, blushing. “Guh— ouch, dude! It’s called bulking before I cut, a wimp like you wouldn’t get it!” 

He sat up and followed to where Arthur was — he had some belly jiggle as he walked now, Arthur couldn’t help but notice, with lustful eyes; every step toward the table sent a gentle ripple through the fabric of his now tighter-fitting shirt. 

Before his pants suddenly got sticky, he made his way to the kitchen as Alfred sat and settled.  

There was not a single coffee-bean anywhere in any of Arthur’s homes. He insisted upon it – Alfred could put up with a coffee withdrawal whenever he stayed over. Although the boy wouldn’t admit it, the hot, sweet cinnamon tea Arthur always made for him when he visited, which he had regularly indulged in happily during his Colony-hood, was still a favorite of his.

Arthur poured a cup for each of them, making sure to toss a heaping of sugar spoonfuls in for Alfred, even if he definitely didn’t need more sugar and calories. Arthur was being hypocritical, again, he was very aware. Chiding about calories and then stuffing the lad with more… 

When Arthur came back out, holding a silver tray with the cups, saucers, and dish of the promised snacks, he found Alfred on his phone, and lazily stuffing his face with the little caramel candies Arthur kept in a bowl on the tabletop. There was a pile of the crumpled wrappers in front of him.  

“…I was only gone for five minutes and you’ve already spoiled your appetite,” Arthur chided, setting the tray down gently so the tea didn’t spill. 

“Oh, this isn’t even half my appetite, trust me,” Alfred spat back, through sticky chews of the melty caramel. “Hand the real snacks over, c’mon~”

Arthur slid a dish for him, full of pastries, across the table for him. “They’ve, ah— They’ve been sitting out for a while, so they won’t be very warm, I’m afraid.” 

…Teacakes, store-bought. Pulled out of the packaging from his fridge. But he didn’t need to tell Alfred that. 

He sat himself down across from Alfred. “I-I followed a new cookbook this time-“ tugging at his collar- “Just came out of the oven an hour ago. I’m quite certain you’ll like them.”

“Try me.” Alfred grinned and took a stack of two teacakes, one chocolate and the other chocolate with vanilla frosting on top, plus a few more of the candies, which he quickly unfurled. 

It was absolutely greedy, the way he chomped on chewy caramels and then stuffed a teacake whole into his maw. And it absolutely enraptured Arthur. 

After swallowing, Alfred looked over at him with a wobbly sort of grin. “So. I’m running from my government.”

“Again?”

“Dude! I’m telling you, you don’t know what it’s like to be lil’ ole me!” He feigned hurt, clutching a hand over his heart. There was more squish to his chest there, fingers sinking in slightly. “Congress is always nagging me, literally with something new every day. It’s never-ending! Is this really the price of being the number one hero? ‘With great power comes great responsibility,’ or whatever?” 

“I assume this has to do with the——“

“Yeah, the situation with China. Yes. Situations, actually, plural.” Two more candies went into his mouth. The molehill of wrappers was beginning to turn into a mountain. 

“My boss went totally bonkers. He wants me in DC, doesn’t want me anywhere near Yao unless all the top brass are in the room to monitor me, and… Fuck. All this over some cellphones, the nerve…”

Arthur had been watching intently as Alfred spoke, not because he was interested in his complaints, but– The whole time, Alfred had been mindlessly picking off pieces of the chocolate teacakes, popping them into his mouth until three whole ones were devoured in no time. 

Ah. The stress-eating, it was definitely more than real. How bad must it be when he’s alone and free to order any kind of fast food he wants?

Arthur’s eyes were drawn to the gentle curve of Alfred’s lower belly, how it was beginning to pudge out more solidly the more he stuffed himself silly. 

There was a heavy sigh from Alfred, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “…I just need a break, is that too much to ask for?” Alfred bit off half another teacake and chewed the chocolatey goodness inhumanly quickly. And he was talking with his mouth full of crumbs, now, “They’ll probably find me by tonight and drag my ass back on Air Force One. With, like, twenty CIA agents watching over me. Who knows how much more freedom I’ll have…”

His gaze snapped over to Arthur over the table. 

Oh, God, he was giving his puppy eyes–

“Stop with your begging, it wasn’t like I was going to kick you out. Bloody hell.”

Alfred laughed, his chubby cheeks turning rosy. “Duh, I already knew that when I came over here.”

Manipulator, master manipulator. 

Arthur could only sigh as he cut half a square pistachio-flavored cake for himself, poking a small portion with his fork, and guiding the chunk into his mouth just as Alfred reached for what must have been his sixth pastry. 

The tea had grown lukewarm by now. Alfred cupped the porcelain in his palm, brought it to his lips, and downed it in one swift go. 

And Arthur half-gagged, just a little. “Christ, don’t waterboard yourself. At least not until you’re out of my home.” 

“Whaaat~? Needa wash everything down,” he insisted, upon seeing the way Arthur eyed him over the rim of his own teacup. “I mean, your cooking is just so dry–“

“I’ll hear none of it, you ate them all down to the crumbs.” 

“That doesn’t mean much, though.”

…True, it didn’t. The boy would eagerly scarf down anything set in front of him, and it showed in his burgeoning physique. 

Arthur sighed to himself, tearing his eyes away from the sight of Alfred’s bloated tummy. Desperately trying not to stare too long at the way Alfred rubbed it gently, letting out a few little burps. Arthur wasn’t even right-minded enough to scold him about table manners, too busy compartmentalizing the many lecherous thoughts seeping straight from his brain down to his cock.  

If Alfred kept on with his pace of gaining, Arthur stood no chance. 

“–Now…onto more serious matters…” Alfred cleared his throat suddenly as he sat back up, cocking his elbows on the table and folding his hands. “…Ice cream?” His crystalline eyes absolutely sparkled, just as they did when he’d been young, begging for cookies and treats after supper and even before it, too. 

Arthur rolled his eyes, knowing full well he was going to concede. There had never been a time when he didn’t. “Fine. But I only have one quart for you this time.”

Chapter Text

“Oi, Angleterre…”

Francois leaned over to Arthur as they both looked over at Alfred, who was sitting across from them at the other side of the very wide round-table: He was wearing a button-up dress-shirt and slacks with a belt, neither of which flattered his new figure. The buttons at his lower stomach were strained, his soft pooch of belly hanging over his waistline as he sat. And the belt hardly fared better, straining at its last loop. 

It wasn’t so bad that he looked like a complete blimp, just…chunky. His thicker waist and softer midsection were definitely noticeable now.

Francois cleared his throat. “…Isn’t it about time you put that boy on a diet?”

Arthur’s ears perked up, he had to force himself not to blush. He bit his tongue. “Alfred always gains a bit of Winter weight during the holidays,” he said flatly and calmly, ducking his head further into the meeting’s itinerary papers Ludwig had passed out earlier. “He’s always been like that. The lad keeps himself indoors to stay away from the cold, and has Thanksgiving, Halloween, Christmas, and New Year’s to pig out like an utter hog.” 

“…And you are defending him, because…?”

“Oh, please. I’m not defending him. It’s just a simple explanation.” 

“It is an excuse for his gluttonous behavior~” 

“Why do you say that like he’s still a baby and I’m his father?”

“Because you may as well be.” François giggled a little, shielding his face with his papers as he avoided some of the stern gazes from around the table, particularly Ludwig. Arthur followed Fran’s lilac eyes toward Alfred’s bulging form again with his own green ones. He was as wide as the seat in both waist and hips. 

Fran tutted again, staring. “He is still a child. A very overgrown child. In many different ways, ooh la la.” He nudged his dear England, who was flat and unmoved, though not without a twinge of red painting the tips of his ears. “This is the point where you try to whip him into shape, non? I’m surprised you didn’t a while ago! He can hardly fit in his chair!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s only had to size up a bit…” Twice, to be exact, because he’s up to 2XL, now, inching closer to 3. Arthur would know, he had to iron his dress-shirt earlier this morning at the conference center hotel. “…Anyway, if Alfred wanted to lose some weight, he would’ve come to us all, throwing a tantrum and begging, and it’s not my problem anyways, and–“

“My, my, you do have a lot of excuses for the boy!”

“Wanker.”

Although, now that Arthur was really looking… Peering up again, and taking in every detail he could see at this angle… 

Alfred was wedged into his chair rather tightly, the lovehandles and plush rolls of his waist pinching the armrests slightly, curving atop them. He looked so very doughy, squeezed into his seat…

Arthur had to look back down, shuffling the documents again as he ignored the boner pitching a tent in his slacks. 

He looked bigger now than earlier at the hotel. Had he really not noticed during those fleeting moments, ironing up his wider slacks and shirts?

The many holiday months had certainly been kind to him. He tried not to let the little peeks of Alfred sneak into his line of sight, but…

…If he really thought about it, even more…he’d noticed Alfred slowly abandoning wearing his regular suit-jacket at meetings at least for a month now – Arthur suspected it didn’t button anymore, and that the sleeves pinched his meatier arms. 

But most of his weight gain had stuck to his lower belly and ass, with some fat coating his chest, although his face had still managed to remain slim for now. His cheeks were chubby as ever, but his jawline only softened marginally, not enough for a double chin quite yet. 

Alfred had what was likely the sugariest frappuccino known to man on the tabletop in front of him, heaps of syrups and chocolate shavings in it and extra whipped cream on top. He suckled on the long, thin, plastic straw, sipping the frappe and letting out a satisfied hum whenever he pulled back. His eyes were always staring intently on whoever was speaking, never drifting to make contact with anyone else. 

He was slurping on it like a pig, mass amounts of empty calories filling him up and adding to the fat laden all over his plush form. Getting plusher by the day. 

It was lucky, that Arthur had gotten a seat directly across from him, the stretch of the long table far enough of a distance between them so he could ogle unnoticed – it was the perfect view. 

Arthur did not at all pay attention to the climate summit going on, instead imagining how Alfred’s inner thigh fat definitely rubbed together under the table, how his ass was certainly squished into the confines of the smaller chair, and…

The delicious thoughts persisted for the few more hours the conference ran on, striking his dick up until he peeled his gaze away and forced himself to abstain from looking. 

It never lasted long, because Alfred would easily cause him to relapse with just the slightest way his chest jiggled when he reached for his notepad, or when his tummy would gently rumble and cause him to flush. 

Up, up, up. Arthur’s hand cupped and caressed the naughty bulge through his slacks, indulging it just enough to make his dick calm down again. 

The cycle repeated at least three more times. 

His very troublesome boner had permanently subsided by the time the meeting did, thankfully gone unnoticed by Francois– his chair was so tucked into the table, that his lap was hidden underneath.  

As every other nation mingled for a bit or filed out of the hall, Arthur lingered, slightly frazzled from his cycle of edging, watching as Alfred squished out of his chair and headed through the double doors into the corridor. He followed closely, but not too close, intent on meeting up with Alfred anyway. 

He caught up with him at the end of the hallway, by the restrooms and water fountains and vending machines. 

Alfred stood at one, of course, feeding several dollar bills into the slot. Standing in front of it, he was nearly wider than the machine. 

Arthur cleared his throat and made his footsteps louder, announcing his presence as he walked up beside him. “Craving sweets today?” The coffee, now candy… And Arthur had already glimpsed wrappers of many chocolate chip muffins from the hotel’s continental breakfast in Alfred’s room earlier. 

“Psshh. Yeah, you could say that.” He had a massive sweet tooth. Even now, at the vending machine, he was going for the biggest chocolate bars, nothing gummy or sour, and no chips either. 

Alfred smiled a little crookedly and mulled over his options, clicking various button combinations on the dial-pad. One chocolate bar, a second, then a third…

Arthur’s eyes were like saucers as he felt a heat wrap up his shaft yet again, savoring the sight of Alfred’s plush body up close: His wider thighs, and how his arms had grown thick and plush; his lovehandles settling at his hips, dipping over his waistband; how his ass stuck out far when viewing his side-profile, and his tummy rolled, too. 

…Oh. And his chest. His chest was certainly softer than Arthur recalled. So much more, that he could see the gravid outline through his button-up shirt.

The changes, until just then, hadn’t been very evident. But they were suddenly clearly than ever, now. 

Arthur coughed, again. “Do you have your suite key with you? I believe I dropped my wallet in your room when I went to iron your clothes and steam your tie.” 

Completely planned, actually. Arthur had slid the leather bifold out of his back pocket as soon as they’d both left to attend the meeting. 

“Uh, yeah, I have it in my–“

“–Not so fast, Amérique!”

Alfred tensed up and stiffened as Francois pounced from behind him, looping his arms around Alfred’s wider waist. 

“More junk food? I think your figure could do without those, they are a lot of calories, you know~”

“Don’t worry, Fran, I’m totally gonna start sticking to my New Year’s resolution once February hits.” There was a grunt as he reached down to grab the three candybars that landed at the bottom of the vending machine. “January ain’t for dieting.”

Bent over like that…his tush was exceptionally round and pillow-looking. It was starting to hang plushly, filling out his slacks in a very enticing way. 

Francois reached down, and sunk his fingers into Alfred’s much fatter derriere, and flash of jealousy went across Arthur’s face. He should be the one with his arms ‘round Alfred’s thicker waist, with his palm cupping Alfred’s wider ass, and—

Of course, Alfred lurched at the sudden contact, yelping. “G-Guh! Hands off the goods!” 

“…Your ass is bigger. Not that I am complaining~”

It was rare that Al ever blushed. But there it was, a rosy pink shade coloring the canvas of his chubby cheeks. 

“Fuck you,” Alfred muttered back, unwrapping one chocolate bar. He bit most of it off, as if out of spite. 

“My, my, Angleterre is right for once! You have definitely porked up over the holidays, my cute little America!”

“—Piss off now, Frannie,” Arthur had raised his voice and stepped between the two. “I’ll have a chat with the boy. Like you said.”

Francois regarded them both, scritching his stubbly beard, and seemingly decided with a smirk that leaving with the others would be the most entertaining course of action. “…Fine, I’ll leave the lovebirds be.” He leaned in closer, up to his ear, and whispered, “Maybe try the French diet on him, Arthur, oui?~”

He smacked Fran underneath the chin, stomping on the tip of his polished shoe, too, but he only snorted out a little laugh as he walked off. 

Arthur stood and steadied his breath, watching Alfred look more flustered from the comments than he’d ever normally get. “Alfred–“

“–Whatever it is, I don’t wanna hear it,” he said a bit snappishly, but his expression softened when he whipped around to see Arthur’s face. 

His stepped closer, and his hand went to rest on Alfred’s shoulder, patting it rather gently. Hesitantly. “Oh, don’t mind him. You know how he is with asses.” 

Alfred snorted, running a hand through his sandy blond hair. “I’m drafting up a restraining order right now.” 

Arthur allowed himself to chuckle, but watched Alfred’s mouth hawkishly, waiting for a goofy grin that never came. 

Instead, his voice tapered off, and he grabbed his own belly dryly, squeezing a good, thick bit of the flab in his palm. “…He’s not wrong, though. I’m getting pretty chunky these days.”

Oh, the urge to tell him that he looked splendid, absolutely delectable, and—- “You look just fine, it’s just your clothes. I could go with you to get a new suit tailored that flatters you better–“

“N-No! No…No thanks, really. I-I don’t care for English suits! Too friggin’ stuffy! American suits got more room around the middle anyways!”

…That felt a bit self-deprecating, the way he called himself out, and patted the very bottom of his overhang softly. 

Alfred puffed his cheeks out, pouting, and chomped down on his candybar. 

Arthur coughed to alleviate the tension. “…It’s only holiday weight, I’m sure you’ll work it off in no time.”

“Yeah…”

All he could think to do was pat Alfred on the back, and change the topic. “A-Anyway… Let’s let me grab my wallet from your room, and we can go get some hotel lunch, yeah? On me.”

“Yeah…” He finally looked up, smiled softly back. “Yeah, I’m starving!”

Chapter Text

“I’m giving up on jeans,” Alfred announced one day, looking rounder than ever as he barged into Arthur’s countryside English cottage. 

The excuse this time was that he needed some emergency sewing done; what exactly he needed sewed, Arthur hadn’t known when Alfred had called last night. 

But now it was apparent: Alfred passed off a folded pair of blue jeans as soon as the door opened, and Arthur had to momentarily adjust to the sheer weight of them. 

He locked the door after Alfred wandered inside, and as he spread the…very wide pair of jeans out, searching the denim, he spotted the issues: A full tear down the ass of them, and the button popped off. 

He flushed, and admittedly a blood-rush pooled to his dick at the thought of Alfred being so big he was actively ripping his clothes. “Christ, what did you do to them?” 

“Bent over after a big lunch, huge mistake.”

He could just imagine the sight, of Alfred perched over a cobblestone street, slowly bending to pick up something up, his belly squished between his thighs and chest…

It was only then, at those perversive thoughts, that Arthur got a good up-and-down of him. “You look…”

“Heh. Been enjoyin’ too many cheeseburgers, that’s for sure,” Alfred chuckled, patting his belly lovingly. 

It had only been around two months and a half – maybe three full months? – since he’d last seen Alfred, and he was already looking plumper. His precious face had gotten much more cherubic, and he had a nice, full gut now.

He was stuffed into some sweatpants that were very snug on him, the waistband pulled up partially over his belly, as high as they could go. The other half of his gut plumped out over the top of the tight elastic, pressing so harshly into his fitted shirt that the fabric showed the indent of his navel. 

None of this dampened his good looks one bit, though. 

“…So, you were visiting Glasgow, you said?” Arthur vividly recalled the conversation from last night. He’d seemed frazzled and eager to take the next flight over to England. 

“Yuppers! I haven’t been in years. And Edinburgh was almost next if it hadn’t been for… yeah.” His cheeks shaded pink a bit. “Alisdair was pretty miffed about it though, got an eyeful of my ass. He’s probably gonna call you up any day now and scold you about me.”

“Ah. Lovely.” He unfurled the jeans, again– marveling at their sheer size for a good moment, and how even they hadn’t been big enough to contain Alfred’s rear. A tiny whistle came out from his lips. “…I believe you’re due for a sizing up, lad.”

“Hush! No shit I am!” He slung his backpack onto the loveseat with a little smile he couldn’t stop, and sat on the bigger couch beside it. “Just…see what you can do with ‘em? They’re already my stretchiest jeans, I at least wanna keep one pair…”

His grumbling muffled his words a bit. 

“What was that bit at the end?” Arthur had heard full well, though. 

“N-Nothing, just…couldn’t find your remote, dude.”

Alfred wouldn’t meet his gaze, humming as he channel surfed. Arthur was too busy, and too horny, to pay him much mind; he waded through a box of thread and fabric patches to find the closest patch to the dark denim. 

…He was so engrossed, in fact, that he didn’t even notice Alfred pulling out McDonald’s from his backpack until the smell hit him. 

Arthur looked up and arched a brow. 

Two wrapped burgers, some fries, bottled soda. Already horny, this sent Arthur to the brink. 

He watched on from the corner of his eye, being very indulgent about it. Alfred unwrapped and sunk his teeth into a double bacon cheeseburger. The fat under his chin jutted out, his chubby cheeks stuffed up with food…

Suppressing a full-blown erection, Arthur silently plucked out his pincushion and made his way to the couch. 

“‘Enjoying too many burgers’ is right,” Arthur commented with a playful scoff, settling down beside him. 

The difference between them, when Arthur got a good look at their legs side-by-side, was astonishing: Arthur’s skinny thigh was hardly close to half as wide as Alfred’s much chunkier one, caked in layers of the softest pudge, rounded off at the top, and squished against his other thigh…

“Heyyyy, ya don’t gotta rub it in! Only I can say that!” Alfred was grinning at him, though, biting off another mouthful of burger. “Besides—“ he says, chewing, “Last time I saw you, you said I still looked good—“ and he stuffs from fries in, too, meat and potato intermingling. “Still totally hot and sexy. I ain’t worried!”

Those months apart had surely taken a toll. “I don’t remember saying anything of the sort,” Arthur insisted, threading the needle and looking down intently as he began his work. Though, if he were honest, he thought Alfred looked even better than last time. 

Alfred laughed through his full maw, swallowing and then finishing up the rest of the burger in a matter of bites. While Arthur was meticulously sewing back and forth, thickening each line of thread, he took a swig of his soda, refreshed and sighing. “I’m really pooped, dude. The airport kinda sucks. So much waiting around, and walking…”

He let out another sigh, deflating a little, relaxing. Alfred, still not quite used to his new heft yet, draped himself over Arthur’s shoulders like he always tended to do, pushing into his side to bother him——

But he was so much heavier now than when the weight difference between them had only been fifty pounds, and Arthur lurched forward with a yelp as he was pressed by the force. 

“…My bad, heheh.”

So clingy, and needy, and… Arthur was acutely aware of the delicious belly rolls squishing into his side.

He straightened himself up again, allowing Alfred to at least partially lean on him. As much as he could handle. “You’ve gotten pretty heavy, have you? You did a number on these jeans, too.” The needle threaded back and forth, Arthur all but used to sewing up repairs like this – it was subconscious.  

Alfred snorted. “…The Department of Health and Human Services has been on my fat ass already.” He chuckled a little, watching Arthur intently to spot his reaction. “Listen to this: They want me to diet!” 

“Don’t call yourself that,” Arthur finally said, thereafter going back to his sewing. He very pointedly refused to call Alfred fat, or even use the word in relation him – he was very careful with his word choice. It was different when Al had actually been slim, and ‘fatass’ was a tease, but now that he was actually caked in blubber… 

No, no, he would not let that word slip. The boy was sensitive about it as it was, even if he tried to hide it. 

“Oh, please, dude. I’m not that delusional. I own mirrors, ya know.” Alfred slurped his cola carelessly again, with a deadpan look, and unwrapped his second burger. “I know I’ve put on some extra poundage.”

Arthur cleared his throat, being a bit more seriously now than his teases before. “Y-Yes, yes– You have a touch more pudge on you, lad.”

At that, Alfred rolled his eyes. “Why are you being so nice and delicate about it? You usually never sugarcoat things! I thought you’d be nagging me about how much of a blimp I am by now!”

Across from him, Arthur was gritting his teeth, desperately trying to stop the erection that was blooming in his trousers. “You’re not a blimp, Alfred. Hon•est•ly.” He let out a huff, like the notion offended him. 

“Well, you can’t deny that I eat like one! That’s why I’ve been avoiding my bosses like the plague… I mean, a diet, really? I can’t do that. Sometimes I get cravings for burgers and fries, or…or donuts, and fried chicken… oooh, or–“ (Arthur cleared his throat; Alfred looked on sheepishly, near-drooling) “…And when I get those cravings, nothin’ helps except satisfying ‘em.”

“…You’ve always been an… indulgent one,” Arthur said carefully, threading his needle a few times to thicken the patch. 

“Well, yes! I can’t resist food! I was stress-eating, and I gained weight, and then I saw I was fatter, and I ate more, and… you get the picture. But it’s okay.” Alfred flippantly opened his maw wide, scarfing down the rest of his burger like it was nothing, along with a handful of salty fries. 

Arthur watched on and crossed his arms, pretending to be annoyed. “Dare I ask how many burgers you’ve already had today?”

“Oh, c’mon, that’s not fair! The portion sizes here are way too small, I have to get, like, at least seven or eight to fill me up!”

It made Arthur sigh and roll his eyes, half-affectionately. “I must say, the thing that’s been bothering me isn’t your weight gain, it’s you. You don’t seem very concerned about it. In the past you always fretted about your wei–“

“Because, I… Your criticism is annoying,” Alfred said, faltering, as he popped some more fries into his mouth. “But, clearly you don’t seem to mind me going full glutton mode. Because you haven’t said shit since I’ve really started to get bigger. Haven’t nagged me at all or forced me on a diet. Which is what’s bothering me.” 

Arthur paused for just a moment, and suddenly became very invested in threading his needle up again. “…I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it,” he murmured finally, flattening out the very wide jeans on his lap. The fabric was looking worn all around from the strain of always containing Alfred’s swelling body, he noticed. “You look…nice.”

“You don’t have to force yourself to say that, ya know.”

“I-I’m not! And I would not just for the sake of pleasing your fragile ego!” 

Alfred’s brows raised, very high, and a smirk danced on his lips. “…Oh, really? Maybe, could the old man be…a chubby chaser?”

Arthur sighed, very heavily, fighting off a blush. His scowl prevented it rather well. “You always have to make it perverted. I swear you’re just like that frog.”

“At least I’m not a chubby chaser~”

“You little– If I’m chasing after you, Alfred, then it’s more than just ‘chubby’!” 

He did actually laugh at that. Alfred’s deep, sweet belly laugh was enough to soften Arthur up again. “That’s for sure. I won’t complain about not being bothered to lose weight, though.”

“So you…don’t…want to shed some pounds?” He said each word carefully, like he was trying to grasp them at the same time. Usually he’d be all over some different trend, or fad exercise machines, or diet pills. Jumping at the quickest way to burn some calories. But this time———-

“Fuck a diet. I know I said my New Year’s resolution was to slim back down, but I was never really gonna stick to that anyways, hehe…”

Alfred set his hand on his tummy, almost like the touch comforted him a bit. He certainly looked comfortable, with his exorbitant meal finally finished and digesting, and a luscious smile on his face. 

“It’s better than famine,” he added bitterly, but there was a twinge in his voice and smile that felt like he was almost proud of that fact. Proud of coming so far, Arthur had to assume. 

“…Besides, I have to be number one in everything, duh,” he added quickly. “And that includes weight.”

“So…you’re doing alright?”

“It’s not a big deal. Dieting’s a lot of work! Exercise, too. Too much work!” he whined, sheepishly smiling as he rubbed the pudge of his soft stomach, all gentle-like. 

Said stomach gurgled. 

“…I’ve got ice cream,” Arthur offered quickly, fumbling with his needle. He bet and doubled-down in his head that this little grumble was from hunger, and not fullness, despite the big meal he’d already downed. 

“You already know what I’m gonna say, dude.” Alfred let out a contented little sigh as he leaned back, smiling and awaiting. 

Hunger, check. 

Arthur was back, scurrying, with a pint of rocky road – Alfred’s favorite. 

It was usually reserved for Alfred’s visits, yes, and he often even kept two pints wedged in his freezer back in London, just for him. When Arthur had bought it this time, though, during these few months he was spending in the countryside, the ice cream had been…for himself. To pick at, sometimes, when the one day of bombardment from Alfred’s texts each week wasn’t enough, and he needed to fill the radio silence with memory. 

Arthur sat back down on the stuffy sofa, shedding his slippers and bringing his legs up onto the cushioning. Although he was still, technically, tending to the patchwork repair job on Alfred’s jeans, that task had long been abandoned. He’d only been working on it idly, making lazy, loose stitching he knew he’d have to go back over later. 

“Damn, so fucking good…” he murmured lazily once he had the container and silver spoon, barely wasting any time as he dug in. 

He was definitely unaware of how erotic he ate. 

Alfred dipped the spoon in deep and scooped out a heaping, stuffing it into his maw – before quickly going down to scoop another. His phone was in his free hand, absentmindedly scrolling while he ate. 

Did he even realize how much he was eating? How some stray ice cream dribbled down the soft beginnings of his double chin? 

The swirls of his tongue around the cold spoon, lapping up the decadent cream…it was phallic, how he slurped at that spoon. 

…If the jeans on his lap were good for one thing, it was hiding his incoming erection. He couldn’t stop it, now, having to clutch the thick denim close. 

Arthur sat quietly as he watched on, his dick pulsing. A gameshow played on the television, but he could hardly pay it any kind of mind. 

The next time Arthur dared to look up, at Alfred stuffing his face and focused on the TV this time, half the container was torn through. Alfred scooped up another heaping of chocolate, chewing on the marshmallow bits and nuts buried deep. His eyes were glazed over just a little. 

Each bite was quicker than the last. 

“Honestly, you eat too fast,” Arthur chided suddenly, setting the jeans down onto the couch cushion at once. His boner had partially quelled away, and he hid the rest of it by pulling the fabric of his pants out at his crotch, making them look baggy. “If you’re going to have so much, sit and enjoy it at least.”

“You think this is a lot? You’ve never seen one of my real binge seshes,” he said slyly, shoving a big spoonful of melty rocky road into his mouth.

His grin was definitely cocky, accented by the sparkle in his eyes and how his cheeks were so very rosy. 

He had certainly packed away a lot, and it showed in how his gut had expanded, growing more solid as he stuffed it with food. A bit of his shirt had ridden up it from all the gorging, a his belly button exposed between the high waistband of his pants and the hem of his too-small shirt. 

Arthur shifted, his cheeks pink, unable to take it anymore. “Really, now? You need to be taken care of better,” he murmured, turning his body in such a way that his heavy bulge wasn’t very visible.  

His hand reached out, slim and careful palm finding the crest of Alfred’s very round and doughy belly. 

The blubber sat perfectly in his lap, taut from food, and Arthur set his hand right where that gut met the curves of his squishier chest. At the crest of his belly, feeling all his softness through the fabric. 

Alfred nearly choked. “D-Dude, Artie…!” he began to protest, but his voice faded away. A shiver went up his spine as he sucked in a breath, though he didn’t withdraw. 

“You’ll get a stomachache otherwise,” insisted Arthur right back, giving his chub a few good pats. It made Alfred cringe; his belly jiggled tenderly under the motions, and Arthur felt his face grow hotter. “You obviously can’t handle tending to your body on your own. I’ll have to do it for you. You should be grateful!” 

“D-Don’t say it like that…” Although his expression was one of slight annoyance, his chubby cheeks tinted a bashful pink, and Nantucket twitched happily. 

Alfred couldn’t meet his gaze, his eyes flitting away and his expression growingly bashfully nervous. That look on him was just too cute, how was Arthur meant to resist?

So, as Alfred hesitantly went to slurp away at more rocky road, Arthur rubbed the top of his belly, his fingers gently massaging every inch of where it was firm. Alfred could not meet his eyes, still, his flustered face flickering away whenever he dared to peek down at Arthur’s comforting hand. 

His palm soon ventured further south, to the softer bits, caressing the front of it. Alfred whined just a bit, trying to hide the moan that bubbled up; he soothed it by shoving more ice cream into his face. Arthur clicked his tongue, amused by the current situation, and scooted himself a bit closer. 

The front of his belly was slightly softer, and had more give. It felt just wonderful underneath Arthur’s gentle finger-pads. He spread his hand and then scrunched it, and laid it flat…moved it in circles, slowly. 

Under his touch, Alfred relaxed. His tummy quivered a little as he let out a pleased sigh. Arthur’s hand didn’t stop for a moment, lovingly making sure Alfred was tended to. He’d gotten aches from eating too much so many times in the past, Arthur knew all the right spots to soothe him completely. 

Eventually, when he had his fill and his dick was slowly weaning down flaccid, Arthur leaned in further and retracted his hand. He cupped Alfred’s cheek, and placed a kiss to his sticky lips, a smooch that pressed on for a while as Arthur’s arms looped around his neck in fervor. 

…This hadn’t been the first time – there had been several in tanks and trenches during the heat of the second world war – but it was definitely the longest, and the sweetest by far.

Chapter Text

It was Arthur for a change who was traveling. He found himself ringing the doorbell atop the stoop of Alfred’s brownstone in Manhattan. 

There was no particular occasion, except that, admittedly, Arthur was looking forward to seeing how the boy had softened up since they’d last met. Which was…some time ago, now. At least a few months. They mainly talked by phone these days. 

On the way over from the airport, he hadn’t been able to resist purchasing a box filled with a dozen donuts, all Alfred’s favorite flavors, from his favorite sugary coffee chain. It was an encouraging gift, he thought. What better way to approve of Alfred’s continued growth than by tempting him with fresh treats?

…Nobody came to the door. Alfred was expecting him, so he should’ve perked up and answered by now, or yelled from the top of the stairs that he’d be down. 

Arthur rang again. 

Silence. 

“Bloody hell.”

It took a moment, but he fumbled around for the spare key he kept and unlocked the door himself, trudging into the warmth from the chilly New York gloom outside. 

He almost started yelling and scolding, something along the lines of Alfred being too lazy to answer the damn door for him, when Arthur spotted him: Napping, on the couch in the living room, snoring loudly. 

Alfred was sleeping softly on his side, his glasses off and hair mussed. There were pillows under his head and several crumpled hamburger wrappers, soda cans, chip bags, and a Twinkie box on the coffee table, along with his video game controller resting near it. The television was still on, with a shooter game paused. 

Arthur tutted as he passed by, nudging aside a stray empty bucket of fried chicken with his toe. 

He strode to the kitchen, which was far neater than the living room area. Some dirty dishes and bowls laid in the sink next to an empty pot of mac ‘n cheese remains, but the counters were clear. Arthur left the donuts there, on the island, and came back to settle on the couch, watching the way Alfred stirred, a snore coming from him. 

He had definitely porked up again, as expected. 

Alfred’s chubby tummy was poking out of his hoodie at the bottom, in a thick roll, looking rounder than ever. And, lying sideways like this, he was so wide that his belly fat was spilling over the edge of the couch. 

How perfect, perfectly exposed…just hanging there… He’d absolutely sneak a handful – if he didn’t already know Alfred would wake up instantly the moment his arctic hands touched his warm skin. A shame. 

Alfred roused himself just a beat later anyway, though, stealing any chance he had to grope him into reality. Not even a poke. 

His pearly blue, bleary eyes gently fluttered open, and then met Arthur’s gaze. “Mmm… Mornin’.”

His sleepy voice was especially cute, and that soft grin, too… Couple that with his chubby face free of glasses, looking softer and youthful than ever, and Arthur was completely smitten – and helpless to his charms. 

He smiled back at Alfred slightly, lopsided, planting a hand on his plush thigh. “Morning? It’s past noon already,” he snorted, and Alfred’s laugh back was harmonious. 

“Not my fault,” he said, rolling himself over onto his back. His stomach jiggled and settled, poking upward like a mound, and he had the cutest double chin as he peeked up at him. “You took forever to get here. I couldn’t help myself, I snacked into a food coma, okay?”

“My flight was delayed, thank you.” Scoff, scoff. Alfred snickered as always, loving the reactions he always got out of Arthur. But the second half of that excuse stuck out to him. “…And you call all of this–“ he spread his arms wide, gesturing to the messy room with the mass amounts of fast food remains, “–just snacking?” 

“Well–“

His tummy growled, deeply.  

“Hungry again? Already?” It gobsmacked him every time. 

“I can’t help it!“

“…There’s donuts. In the kitchen,” he rattled off simply, failing to be nonchalant about his intentions. 

Alfred’s eyes widened significantly. “Ah, dude! You do love me!”

While Arthur tilted his head away, avoiding a visible blush, it seemed the prospect of all that dessert still wasn’t enough to compel Alfred to move…he laid down just as he was, still. 

He was lazing, and– Well, this was the perfect opportunity. The perfect excuse. 

To rouse him, Arthur reached over and poked his exposed vanilla chub, the skin so soft to the touch. And his fat was especially thick and pillowy, like a marshmallow. “Up and at ‘em, big boy.”

Yelping, Alfred instantly grabbed the hem of his hoodie and pulled it down over his belly roll, shielding his flesh from Arthur’s wandering hands. “Y-You can’t attack me like that! My belly is…sensitive…there…” 

There was a lot of it, too, at least a dozen or more overflowing handfuls Arthur could grab at once, if he wanted. Alfred had looked to the side, mouth wobbling and cheeks pink, obviously feeling flustered. 

Even more reason to continue teasing him. “…Just how heavy have you gotten now, anyway?” His tone was a tad more critical, in a playful way. 

“Huh? I-I dunno…” He got even more red at such a question, but the look on his face said he was never going to answer an exact number. “I stopped weighing myself after I broke the scale, hehe…”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “B-Broke…?!”

“Dude, they don’t make those things as sturdy as they used to!”

“Even more reason for you to get up and have a walk around. It’ll do you some good.”

He rolled his eyes. “Ugh, you’re the worst.” Finally, Alfred sat himself halfway up, yawning and reaching for his glasses, and heaved into a standing position, knowing Arthur would not relent on this. If he wanted his food, he’d have to go pick up the box of treats himself. 

The scrunched elastic waistband of his sweatpants nestled underneath his belly, snug. When he stood, Alfred readjusted that stretchy fabric at right his hips, where the sweats especially strained, and trudged toward the kitchen. 

Knowing he couldn’t be caught, Arthur watched him leave intently, staring at the hefty jiggle of his fat ass. Each cheek hung heavily. 

He had a little waddle to his step as he went over to the kitchen and then back, settling himself on the couch again and taking up a good portion of it. The poor furniture creaked underneath his weight, but he paid no mind and lazed his head backward. 

Alfred huffed from the good bit of physical exertion, his cheeks shading the slightest bit pink. “These look yummy…”

With the donut box in hand, he readjusted himself on the couch; his fat belly sat plush in his lap like a mound of dough, thick and firm from all the carbs he constantly ingested.

He looked even wider from the side, and Arthur blinked while trying desperately to suppress a boner: The curve of his belly stuck out far, his gut pressed against his thick thighs and the fat rolls at his waist squished together. There was no toned waist left, only soft side-rolls, and a soft shelf of fatty moobs perched atop his gut. 

Arthur could just eat him up. 

He laid back further into the couch with a grunt, giving more room for his belly. Sitting up had it far too squished. The box of donuts laid on the couch in between them. 

“—Are you seriously staring?” Alfred caught him and it made Arthur jump. Cue the egotistical hero laugh, too. “Dude, you look like you’re drooling. More than me lookin’ at these babies.” 

At that, he licked his lips, almost to emphasize it – grabbing a plump, jelly-filled donut. 

Arthur watched his hand intently, a roll of fat at his wrist and cute little sausage fingers. 

…He had dimples at his knuckles, now. 

Arthur chewed the inside of his cheek. “I-I’ve told you, you look better like this. It suits you.”

“Being a fat fuck suits me? Thank you.” There the donut went, devoured in two big bites. Alfred looked at Arthur, smirking, a bit of red jelly dotting the corner of his mouth. 

Another donut came, shoved into his mouth whole this time: Glazed with cracking sugar frosted over the top. 

His smirk burned into Arthur’s eyes, very knowingly. 

And Arthur’s dick surged. “…Stop tempting me.”

“I’m not doing anything~”

“You are such a slimy bastard–“

Arthur interrupted himself to draw a sharp breath, deciding he would take matters into his own hands. Very literally. 

As Alfred reached for the next donut, he swatted his fat hand away, instead grabbing the long one he had been going for. Chocolate-frosted, full of creme…

He was gentle whenever he fed Alfred. With the eclair in two of his slim fingers, he pressed the fat tip to Alfred’s awaiting lips… 

And Alfred bit into it, suckling it slowly until half the donut was stuffed into his maw at once. “Mmnmph…”

Some of the thick cream dabbled his bottom lip – and the way Alfred lapped it up clean was just so intoxicating. 

He was so greedy. He always ate every last bite, every last crumb of every little thing set in front of him. 

“Mmmm… Mm, fuck, these are good.”

“You’re welcome,” tutted Arthur, reaching for another donut. 

Now he had a Boston Créme, offering it to Alfred. He pushed the diabetic goodness up to to his mouth, and the cream burst forth from the inside, thicker than the eclair’s. Alfred’s cheeks puffed like a chipmunk, but he quickly swallowed and kept on the flow of eating. 

For Arthur’s part, he could not resist urging the treat into his maw, getting a bit harsh with it. Not too much, but definitely forceful enough that Alfred hadn’t even a second to speak in between bites. 

In the rare quiet, he thought back to what Alfred had said before, about how he’s broken his scale. How big was he now, that he’d gone over the capacity? Most household scales went up to, what, 150 kilos? God, just the thought of such a high number like that excited him, and made the fabric of his crotch close to bursting. 

…The fabric of Alfred’s hoodie also looked fit to bursting, just in a different way. 

The black cloth was looking a bit tighter over his  belly, showing an ident of his navel as he continued to stuff himself. This on top of all his evident binging earlier left his tummy still slightly taut, food not yet digested. 

As Arthur reached for another pastry, he couldn’t help but notice no others remained, except whatever he was currently chewing on. “…Ah, you finished them all,” he remarked, with a measured voice. “Good boy.”

Alfred was absolutely preening from the praise, a wide smirk pushing his cheeks up, mouth full. He wiped his lip free of frosting with his finger, and then licked the sticky, gooey icing off it. 

However, one thing in the kitchen had been bothering Arthur: amongst all the sea of wrappers in the living room, the kitchen only had one pot of macaroni, nothing else cooked from the past few days, evidently. 

“…I’ve decided we’re going out for dinner this evening,” Arthur announced, once Alfred had finally slurped down the last donut (a strawberry frosted one, with sprinkles). “You need a real meal and not all this junk food all the time.”

He aware of how ironic the statement was. Ironic and hypocritical. Arthur might even call it some sick form of satire or juxtaposition, helping him shovel donuts into his mouth while telling him to eat better. 

When Alfred swallowed, he set his hands on Arthur’s hips. “I’m shocked! Cheap-o’s taking me out to dinner? You can afford me? Have pigs started flying?”

“I don’t think you’ve learned how to fly without a plane, no.”

“H-Hey—!” It looked as if he was going to argue through his reddened face, but decided against it – he did have piggy tendencies, that much couldn’t be disputed. “That wasn’t even clever. Low-hanging fruit.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, hand falling down to his bloated belly, moving under his shirt to caress the soft skin there. It was instinctual at this point, that his palm gravitated there after feeding Alfred a hearty meal. It’d happened so many times, that Alfred was accustomed to it by now, and didn’t shy away. 

In fact, he groaned at the touch, like it was a pleasant relief. He licked his lips again, shutting his eyes. “Seriously, though, I haven’t restocked my pantries in forever. Do you know how hard it is to go grocery shopping? Walking around the store is tiring, man! And the trip back to the car…it’s killer for my calves. Fuck, if I gain any more weight, I won’t even be able to fit in the driver’s seat anyway… Jesus. My belly’s close to touching the fuckin’ wheel! You should see it!” He was rambling about his plights, letting them all out along with a few little burps. 

Arthur hummed and nodded along, stroking the front of his belly and making a mental note to get Alfred moving around a bit more. He hit a particularly sensitive spot which made Alfred let out a large belch, granting him a sheepish smile. 

But as Arthur gently massaged the width of his blubber, he spotted…something else sticking out from underneath the curve, through what he imagined was a thick layer of fupa, too. 

His brows must’ve raised a little too high and his verdant gaze downward must’ve been a little too obvious, because Alfred froze up and squirmed a bit, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

He reached, and…

Poke.

“H-Hey!”

“You just woke up and you’re already so excitable.”

“It’s your fault.”

“It’s always my fault,” he chided back, pinching Alfred’s tender lower belly – the very bottom roll, all plush and squishy. 

Alfred snorted at how easily amused he was. “Oh, don’t start with me. You’ve been rock-hard since I started eating, dude.”

“I-I have not! You’re mistaken! Idiotic as always!”

That was enough to soothe Alfred into a sweet laugh, Arthur still cupping his overflowing belly in his hand. 

“…Think you can rub one out for me?” Alfred was biting his bottom lip slightly. “It’s not so easy to…you know, anymore, with all this belly in the way…” He slapped the side of said belly, thick and solid. 

“Oh?”

“Just, you know…touch it a little, please…” he practically whined, looking a twinge more bashful than Arthur had ever seen him before, chubby cheeks going pink as he averted his gaze. 

“Don’t worry,” Arthur said with a hint of pride, patting Alfred’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of it. Just…”

His voice trailed off. 

Several inches of Alfred’s cock poked out far past even his huge belly, which was a testament to its delicious length. 

Arthur’s hand went to the underside of his belly, grabbing a handful of the thick, plush fat there, and lifting it up——jiggling. 

Alfred mewled. 

“…Just help me hold it up a bit, yeah?” Arthur finally finished, unable to quell his own boner. 

Alfred obeyed, and gently gripped the sides of his own love-handles, lifting the rolls up to allow more room, his belly fat collected in his arms. He huffed. “Just—— God. You have no idea how sensitive it is down there.”

“I can imagine.”

Arthur kept his one hand squishing into Alfred’s belly blubber, for all the pleasure that brought him from touch alone, and used the other to gingerly pump Alfred’s shaft. He wasted little time with any kind of foreplay aside from some rough strokes. The donuts had been the real foreplay, already. 

His dick was twitching under Arthur’s commanding finger-pads, pressing in ferociously. Some strained little mewls and whines came from Alfred, perfectly content to sit back and let Arthur do the work of getting him off. 

He’d dipped right in instead of working Alfred up, so it was working particularly well. Part of his shaft, near the base, was hidden underneath a very pudgy fat pad – but it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, because Alfred had girth and length to him. He’d slowly seen that fupa grow, the snapshots of it over a few months’ time, getting plumper and plumper, his cock buried in soft rolls and folds down there…

Alfred sucked in a breath, and Arthur’s hand jerked and grasped and tugged him just hard enough that he finally let out a heave and came. “Ah~ Mgh…” 

He panted, his dick squirting, finally, against the bottom of his doughy belly. He let out some more huffs, embarrassedly, as Arthur grabbed some tissues to wipe him up. 

It had been quite a huge, sopping wet load, too – sticky cum from probably many weeks of being pent up. 

He cleaned his pale, smooth belly free of the white splotch, blushing when he spotted faint, faded stretch-marks on the underside. It was enough to make him shiver as he let go of Alfred’s belly, patting it. 

Alfred himself completely relaxed into the couch cushions, posture melted. His face had a pleasant look on it as he seemed to be lost in the feeling off relief. 

But– Arthur was still horny, he wagered hornier than Alfred was, and wouldn’t allow himself to get blueballed. 

Alfred’s moobs looked perfect for sucking… All muscle there had melted away, leaving squishy fat. His pecs were now plump and soft mounds, rounded out and resting on his far bigger belly. They actually looked a tad small next to his gut, comparatively – but, the one that Arthur suddenly reached to grope still overflowed his palm. 

Alfred gasped, both sensitive in the erogenous way and in the self-conscious way. He was ripped out of his daydream-scape stupor. “H-Hey! No touching there!” 

This seemed to be the one area that crippled Alfred’s otherwise boisterous confidence, turning him into a blushing, bashful bunny. Arthur smirked rather haughtily (and giddily?) as he finished the job and cupped, then squeezed, his other moob, too. 

“Stop? But your breasts are so nice.” Squish, squish, again. Alfred squirmed and yelped and blushed harder as Arthur teased him, relentlessly kneading his moobs. He was blissed out already and unwilling to protest too hard, or push him away. “These are at least D-cups.”

“…Th-That’s not what I want to hear.” However, Alfred’s body was betraying him, because his boner was already perking up again. So young and spry, Arthur was momentarily jealous. 

He massaged his wide nipples, the tips poking up as Alfred bit his bottom lip and squeezed his eyes shut, looking away. 

“…You really are a kinky old man.”

Arthur harrumphed under his breath and pinched Alfred’s cheek, as he often did to scold him– except, there was a lot more fat to pinch, now. His cheeks were especially soft and chubby looking with the added weight; he really did resemble a cherub, like a rosy-cheeked baby Cupid–

“And you are so lazy, Alfred darling,” he laughed out, rolling his hips forward to grind against that massive belly, the sight of it far too tempting now. “No wonder you’ve put on all this weight.”

“…Y-You’re just skinny from your poverty,” Alfred insisted under a blush, “I can have whatever I wanna eat, whenever I want, however much I want–“

“Convenience makes you lazy,” he chided back, humming as he squeezed Alfred’s lower belly. “That’s exactly it. You’re gluttonous and lazy and you don’t want to stop stuffing your face. Good grief.”

He was trying to keep it together, fumbling a bit as he went to straddle Alfred. There wasn’t much room on his lap with so much gut covering it, but he managed – gently pushing his chub and making some more room. 

By the time Arthur settled there, his legs spread and his front pushed flush against that tremendous belly, Alfred was swallowing hard, holding Arthur by his hips. 

“…Fuck, I’m fucking massive,” he huffed, breath all warm and shallow. His cheeks blushed redder when he said it, seeing the round flabbiness of his gut pressed up against Arthur’s very flat stomach. 

It was almost comical. 

Arthur laughed and bucked his hips, desperate for friction. Half of his laugh came out cracked and shaky, the feeling of all that toasty, delicious fat rubbing snug against his clothed dick already making him see stars. 

This was something he’d been wanting to try for a while now, but never quite had the nerve to finally give in and do. 

The way Arthur moaned was blissful, almost soothing, giving a few rocks into the plushness. 

Alfred held him, steadied him in his cramped lap. His belly quivered. “…You’re having fun.”

Arthur peeked his eyes open, looking at Alfred’s lovely face after he’d said that; he looked a bit surprised, in a good way. “Just how many kinks do you have?”

“Bugger off…” Arthur sucked in a breath, and pressed the needy angle of his erection deep into Alfred’s soft folds. 

His crotch was already wet and stained, but the nice pressure left him close to bursting prematurely. He kept his grinding steady but fast, bordering frantic, putting his arms around Alfred’s plump chest and holding him close while he pathetically prodded his tum.

For all of Alfred’s teasing, he looked equally as worked up, nibbling his bottom lip and gripping the dips of Arthur’s waist tightly, as if afraid of losing that desperate contact for even a moment. His hands kept trailing, though, up Arthur’s sides and to his nape… Alfred pulled at his hair with the same freakish strength he’d always had – which was at least some small consolation that the weight wasn’t being too harsh on his body. 

“F-Fuck…” Arthur’s eyes squeezed shut again. 

His dick rubbed against the front of Alfred’s belly, squishing in every crease – he was so close, right there. 

Humping, drawing out his thrust– his boner was itching, and Alfred groaned underneath–

Until, Arthur’s cock smeared jizz into the inside of his pants, and he hummed, sitting down onto Alfred’s lap, knees bending. He leaned back, holding his gut by the sides, very softly and tenderly. 

Alfred wiped some sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, also quite winded from the pleasure – probably a bit hard again, too. His lopsided grin hid how flustered he really was. “So, about that dinner…”

Chapter Text

“Breakfast, love.”

“Coming~!” Alfred chirped back, almost instantly. 

The two of them were staying at one of Alfred’s houses in Saratoga, a little ways out into the Adirondacks. January chill was still in the air, and hoarfrost covered most of the bushes and evergreens outside. 

Arthur fussed at the stove, scraping a metal spatula against a poorly-greased cast-iron skillet, wearing a pink frilly apron Alfred had got him as a gag gift. 

Breakfast would be served extra hot and crispy this morning. 

His cooking had improved little by little since frequently staying with Alfred. It had to, with his appetite and Arthur’s refusal to have them eat fast food every day. 

Admittedly, most things turned up burnt. But he’d gotten good at cooking eggs. Which…also, admittedly, were simple enough to make if he kept track of the time properly. 

These eggs were for Alfred, though, so he’d watched the frying pan like a hawk. In the end, the edges of the whites turned out a bit crispy, but that was just how Alfred liked his eggs. 

…That, and it wasn’t as if he was picky. 

Arthur set a full plate of four sunny-side-up eggs, six slices of buttered toast, and eight (microwaved) applewood bacon strips onto the set table. And a mug full of coffee – as much as it physically pained him to brew – with extra cream and sugar scoops. 

He heard heavy footfall slowly approaching, so Arthur brought the mug to the table, waiting. 

The den was on the staircase that led down from the kitchen to the basement, about halfway, on a landing that alcoved off to the side. It was only eight steps down from the kitchen. 

…And yet, as Alfred waddled and lumbered up the short few steps, he was huffing a bit and his cheeks were blushed pink. Heaving himself up the stairs was the most exercise he got these days. 

The slovenly Winter months had done wonders on his luscious body yet again, as they did every year. This year, even more so than usual. 

Alfred was wider than ever from many weeks of coddling and gluttony, having to shuffle partially sideways through every doorway – and the one to the kitchen was no exception. He had plenty of chubby rolls at his waist to spare, thick love-handles settling at his meaty hips, and a very chunky belly – the biggest part about him, with a very generous overhang that kissed his mid-thighs, far eclipsing the bulge of his cock, now. 

But despite the weight gain, there was always a warmness to him and his sunshine smile, looking so content and plushly full whenever he was stuffed and satisfied after a good meal. 

That was the Alfred that Arthur loved seeing the most. 

Alfred didn’t fit in the circular breakfast nook anymore – which was a shame, because Arthur so loved to sit with him by the draped windows and lean over the table to feed him jam on toast, the sun filtering through and the view immaculate. The fact was that Alfred’s belly just couldn’t wedge between the booth and the bolted-down table at the center. They’d fix it, sometime, and get a freestanding table they could push around. 

So, for now, Alfred went to the regular table near the stove and sink, pressing two armless chairs together to sit on – because his ass was just that wide and jiggly these days. Not to mention, a single wooden chair of this old age stood no chance against his weight. 

He’d been bashful and adamant about using only a single chair at first, but eventually his pride had quietly ebbed away when it had become far too uncomfortable to sit in just one with his thighs hanging over the sides.  

Both of the chairs lightly creaked in tandem, still. 

Al settled, huffing, and sniffed the air. “A-Ah… Thank fuck, a good ole American breakfast.” His smile was even cheerier than usual. 

The edge of the table pressed into his belly, his chair as close to the table as he could get without it completely digging into his blubber. The top roll spilled right onto the tabletop by a good few inches. 

Alfred wiped the sweat from his forehead, unwilling to admit out loud the walk up made him quite a bit winded. Arthur could tell, though, from the redness of his plump cheeks and the way his breath was still steadying from shallowness. 

The chairs gave another heavy squeak as Alfred readjusted himself, threatening and foreboding. 

As Arthur came up beside him, he spotted how Alfred’s asscrack hung out from the top of his slightly-strained joggers, his plain t-shirt unable to reach far enough to cover it, either. 

God, he was a fatass. An adorable fatass. 

He pulled up a chair next to Alfred, shucking off his apron and oven mitts. “I’ll make seconds when you’re ready for them,” he hummed, silently wondering what he’d make for the inevitable thirds after that. Burgers and fries, maybe, topped with a fried egg? And the fries, with melted cheese?

“You’re the best—sometimes—Artie~” Alfred grinned, half an insult. He chowed down without a care, like usual. 

This routine was eerily consistent for the past few months they’d been staying out here.  

Soon enough his lips were greasy with butter, cheeks full as he hungrily chewed…

…Some butter was also smeared on his pudgy cheek from the bread. Feeling unusually brazen, Arthur leaned in and kissed him there, lapping it up with the tip of his tongue. 

Alfred sucked in a breath, his mouth half-full of egg and bacon and bread. “D-Dude…” He blushed and stared ahead, not faltering in his eating. 

“…You still get so flustered after all this time.” Arthur went to cut up a veritable chunk of whites, and held it up for Alfred. “It’s cute.”

“Shut it.” He gulped down the crisped egg. “You’re being weird like usual, of course I’m flustered when I’m being felt up by a pervert–“

Arthur kissed him, again, but this time squished one of his belly rolls at the same time. 

It spawned a very high-pitched yelp from Alfred, of course. “H-Hey—!”

It was too difficult and frankly unreasonable to not fondle him when he was eating like this. 

Arthur’s slim fingers sunk in deep without even trying; Alfred’s folds were so very warm and plentiful. 

And, currently, Arthur’s digits were buried underneath those soft moobs of his, where his chest and belly met. He held him close, their bodies flush together– Arthur let out a pleased sigh and just sat there, relaxed, clutching Alfred tenderly as he ate. 

It was no surprise how quickly the toast and bacon strips were crunches away, messily, with Arthur reminding Al to keep his mouth shut while he chewed. 

Whenever Alfred lifted his hand, and poised his fork over some greasy egg whites and stabbed them, his arm wiggled. 

His arms were caked in jiggly blubber now, when they’d once been toned, firm muscle. Alfred had always taken pride in his well-formed upper body– so when Arthur teasingly poked and squished his flabby arm, Alfred blushed like mad and squirmed a bit. 

Really, his biceps were more like wide, thick pads of fat. They hung low and strained his shirt sleeves, shaped like glazed hams and pillowy to the touch. 

He couldn’t resist touching. He never could. Alfred’s fat spilled out of his sleeves in soft curves, the pale flesh looking so tantalizing…

It was all so fascinating. The same arms that had once dragged Sherman tanks by the mile during the Second World War, were now reduced to flabby, muscleless bingowings–

“Having fun?” Alfred snorted after a while, as he practically inhaled a strip of greasy bacon. 

“Never better,” he half-purred back, giving Alfred’s arm a very affectionate squeeze. 

Breakfast was soon cleared, and then seconds, too; Alfred leaned back with a sigh and a very heavy gut, content. 

The meal had swelled him up considerably; this sight was always a glorious one. That belly sat proudly, puffing out against his shirt, making a heavy indent. 

He looked fit to bursting as a little belch came from his lips, Arthur’s thighs quivering just a bit in response, involuntarily. Alfred’s hand stroked his tum up and down, all along the side of it, and all Arthur could dwell upon in his head was how he’d get to feel up that overfed belly soon—

He stood, flustered, and pressed his palm to Alfred’s shoulder. “That must ache… Let’s get you to the sofa, it’s much comfier and you can sprawl.”

“Mmmm…” he hummed back in agreement, saying little more as his fingers still attempted to quell the churning sounds of his stomach. 

Alfred heaved up, looking bigger and even more overfed, a little moan cooing out of his lips. He wobbled, and eventually steadied himself. “Nnnghh…”

His belly certainly dipped far past his waistline, but the meal’s bloat made it jut out even more. The fabric of his shirt couldn’t contain it all, his overhang peaking out from beyond the hem…

Alfred’s sweet, delicious, pale belly, with the smoothest skin kissed by stretchmarks at the bottom overhang—

First and foremost, Arthur fretted, though – for Alfred’s sake and the sake of not wanting to come right then and there. He reached and tucked the shirt back down over Alfred’s plump gut, under his lowermost belly roll, which made him whine a bit at the touch. 

When Alfred turned and stepped, though, the fabric didn’t stay, and rode up again. 

Arthur just sighed. “What size shirt is this, again? I’ll have to buy you some bigger ones soon.”

Alfred huffed. “…No.”

“No?” A thick brow quirked. “I’ll find out one way or another, I do all our laundry.”

Alfred was still somewhat bashful whenever his weight was brought up bluntly. Old habits die hard. “It’s, um, I wear a 4,” he said quickly beginning to lumber over to the couch. 

He was outgrowing 4XL? It was such an excruciatingly sexy thought. 

“A-Ah, right, then—“ Arthur patted his back, standing to his side for support in walking. “I’ll take care of it for the Spring and Summertime. Don’t worry, love.”

How was Alfred going to fare for these warmer months? Those times of the year weren’t easy for fatsos of his size. It was certain to be hot and sweaty and uncomfortable for him if they stayed anywhere with temperate or tropical climates. They were better off migrating toward Fargo or something. 

Arthur shoved those thoughts aside for now, though, because the idea of staying further North at one of Alfred’s cabins near the border stirred up unpleasant scenarios of having Matthew visit and likely…criticize whatever this was that they had going on, and wonder why his brother was thrice his normal size. Arthur also wasn’t keen on thinking about just how much bigger Alfred would be by then…

He shivered, and cleared his throat.

Meanwhile, this whole time, Alfred had been shuffling, slowly, and it was such a cumbersome process– but Arthur had grown used to this. It seemed that Alfred grew slower and slower every week. 

His footfall was heavy, looming toward the living room attached to the side, instead of the colder den downstairs. He was panting, still, in mild exhaustion, his gut sloshing with fullness. 

His little waddle and heavy breathing were enough, alone, to nearly make Arthur stain his underwear with pearly splotches. 

…He was edging close, that was for sure. 

And eventually, Alfred plopped his fat ass down onto the sofa, the cushions dipping and his chest jiggling faintly. “Haaaah, I made it… F-Fuck… I feel so friggin’ bloated…” His hands rested on his tummy, as they tended to do these days, sausage fingers beginning to soothe his tender stomach with little rubs. 

He groaned, pitifully, and squeezed his eyes shut; Arthur settled next to him, very close, his own hands gravitating toward that belly. Feeling him up, svelte fingers moving along every curve and squishing all that pliable flesh. 

“You ate too quickly, again,” he chided, gently pressing his hand further into that belly fat and making soothing circles. “How many times do I have to tell you to slow down between bites? And–“

“Yeah, yeah…” Alfred waved, though a smile bloomed on his lips. “C’mon, rub like you mean it. I got crazy indigestion from your cooking.” 

“Can it, you git.”

In retaliation, Arthur reached and gently stroked his soft double chin, which was a thick, healthy roll of fat now, and then moved down – he poked Al’s navel, and stuck his finger in, jiggling his belly, savoring the feel. 

Predictably, his boner swelled more at the mere sight of that mountainous gut shaking and wobbling like jelly, sitting proudly on top of chunky, dimpled thighs that strained the seams of his sweatpants. 

Alfred even gasped a bit, through a moan. “Artie, fuck, your hands are magic. M-M…mmph…”

Oh, that pleased him— Arthur grinned at that. 

He moved his hand South again, cupping the area underneath his belly button. The skin there was especially supple and soft, covered in red stretchmarks from all of Alfred’s fast gaining. 

…But his tummy would be aching higher up. 

His fingers very quickly dashed up, smoothening over the chunky curve of Alfred’s gut, and finally resting just at the crest, underneath his moobs. And, fuck, did he feel bloated, right under Arthur’s palm, his stomach solid and resistant. The little circular massages he did there were enough to summon more soft sighs of relief from Alfred, and many more purring moans. 

Many minutes of that continued on, until Alfred seemed to relax and slump more, perhaps easing into feeling more comfortable with the digestion and the belly rubs taking effect. It was only then that Arthur was tempted once more, for his hand to travel…

Hesitance?

No, it was fine. There was no reason to be embarrassed about such things. They’d been together for a while now, really together at least in some kind of way, and it was no secret how much he enjoyed all of Alfred’s jiggly bits. 

So, his hands moved further under Alfred’s shirt, cold palms finding the softer skin of his waist… 

What had once been a trim waist with sharp planes and bits of muscle, was now filled with the fatty curves of rolls. Many, many rolls. 

Arthur held his squishier sides as he leaned up to kiss him, deeply, watching as Alfred shivered from the touch. His fingers moved between the heavy creases of his belly fat, fondling every inch of sweaty, warm flesh. 

Alfred melted and practically purred, like a very fat house-cat (and equally as domesticated as one), reveling in the ache of a fattening meal being slowly soothed away into bliss. 

Maybe a supersized America was actually even cuter than the tiny American Colonies, and much easier to coddle, too.  

All was very well.