Gainer fic: "Dating"

Hi, everyone! Sorry for going MIA for a bit. Got to thinking after messages from multiple sources said that they missed the days of simple stories like TOMMY and COACH AND JOCK, which were short and sweet and a thousand times more likely to get finished. I myself was already toying with the idea of doing something like that, maybe around 4 pages, before diving back into BIG BRO – kind of to prove to myself that I had it in me to actually finish a story after all this time. So I took the plunge and started writing something dumb and hot on which I could hang a bunch of illustrations, almost exactly like TOMMY. I had a lot of fun going back to bare-bones smut storytelling, and the text turned out nice enough (if I may say so myself), so I took some time to fill it out and edit it. As I post this, I'm starting to work on the art to go with it. If sizes seem vague, it's because I wanna let the drawings convey that.

Feedback is much appreciated, but since it's my very first time sharing an actual gainer fic, please be friendly. Posting this for furry patrons too because the text will barely have to be adapted at all, only the art. See you all in a bit!

DATING

1

For their first date, Kyle took Luke to a food truck festival. Tall, broad, thick-middled Luke would’ve never proposed that – he’d been trying to watch his weight, plus he’d started to get self-conscious about eating in front of hot guys. But he was so smitten, and in such disbelief that Kyle had asked him out, that he didn’t dare say no to him.

And so he found himself plowing through tacos and shawarma and karaage and poutine, packing in the bulk of everything his date ordered. Kyle called himself a foodie, and he did sound like he knew his stuff, but he seemed content to take one bite of each thing, offer a thorough critique, and leave the rest in Luke’s large, clammy hands.

Eventually they reached the edge of the festival, where a band played on a small stage. Kyle laid out a picnic blanket, thoughtfully helped the bloated Luke on to the ground – the smaller guy was stronger than he looked – and placed a large container in his hands. “Now you gotta try my stuff. Didn’t think I’d compare to the savoury food here, so I only brought dessert.” Luke felt self-conscious then – how much did Kyle think he could eat? But then he caught a hint of vulnerability in the gorgeous man’s eagerness, and he resolved to do his baking justice.

In truth, the lemon loaf, the ginger molasses cookies and the date squares were all delicious. So delicious, in fact, that Luke realized he wasn’t forcing himself to keep eating just to appease his date, but out of sheer pleasure too. He hadn’t been this full since college, back when sports and his metabolism meant he could pig out with abandon. He’d tried to forget how much he loved the feeling of overpacking his gut – the flavours, the feeling of accomplishment, the pleasant drowsiness and heat – but it all came back with a vengeance. And this was much better company than his straight teammates – none of them were this hot, nor would they have looked at him with such stars in their eyes, or caressed his big thigh like this...

When Luke was done, Kyle brought him a beer, and the ex-jock surprised himself by belching loudly – then immediately apologized. “It’s cool,” said Kyle. “I guess it's my fault you needed that. I just get way too excited about food.” “That’s a hobby I can live with,” chuckled Luke, patting his pregnant-looking stomach. “I hope you don’t mind another surprise”, warned Kyle.

Just then the next act came in, and it was the corny, has-been pop-punk band that they had joked about when they first started texting. Vulnerable once again, Kyle confessed he’d only pretended not to like them anymore – and Luke, who still listened to them often, was enormously relieved to say he’d been pretending too.

The band started playing, and Kyle put his head on Luke’s shoulder – who, emboldened, covered the man's slender hand with his own warm mitt. There were worse ways to recover from a sore gut, he thought.

2

Gaining weight in the years since graduation had made Luke insecure, but his new boyfriend had fixed that. Outgrowing clothes didn’t make him feel bad anymore – it only meant Kyle would take him shopping, pick out great new stuff for him, and gush over how hot he looked in it. Colleagues poked his soft fat and joked that he looked ready to settle down – but Luke would have the last laugh at the next work event, when even the straight guys gaped at his stunning date. He took in stride the smirks he’d started getting at some restaurants, because the more excessively he ordered, the friskier Kyle seemed to get.

Luke had long fought to rein in his appetite, but Kyle had reawakened the bottomless hunger of his college days, and stoked it with the heat of his affection. Whenever Kyle brought them somewhere he loved and couldn’t decide what to make Luke try, the big lug would gladly gorge himself on half the menu, just to bask in his man’s excitement. Whenever Kyle got carried away cooking for a dinner date at his place, Luke laboured to show him that every last forkful was gold. Every encounter left Luke’s stomach more painfully stretched than he'd thought possible – but he grew addicted to pushing his limits while lapping up Kyle’s attention, and found he needed to keep that high going in the days before they met again. And so besotted Luke would pack himself tight on his own. He’d fill up on drive-thru breakfasts and pastry boxes and multi-bag lunches and party-size snacks and takeout dinners – and arrive to their next date as fit-to-burst as he’d been at the end the last one, ready to reach new heights.

Perhaps the happy lovebird would’ve minded his breakneck growth more if Kyle hadn’t made his leisure time so mellow. But that was another thing he loved: other than the ordeal his gut was going through, everything was amazingly low-effort. College Luke had dreamed of living in the city, free to fool around and party, but the reality of it had been exhausting. The hip, beautiful boys he’d thought he wanted kept dragging him to nightclubs and trendy pop-ups and art events – and seemed somehow embarrassed by Luke’s lame corporate job, the only thing that allowed him to keep up with their spending. By contrast, Kyle, though sexier than any of them, was happier binge-watching nerdy shows, cooking big meals at home, and going to loud blockbusters at multiplexes. If they weren't in public, he'd tease the bloated Luke for holding back gas as he toiled to keep eating, and didn't relent until the lovestruck glutton was belching and farting freely. He was only snobby about dining out: chains were forbidden, most swanky spots were a joke, and the best cooking was found in stalls, trucks and holes-in-the-wall – kitschy, dingy places where the prices were low, the flavours intense, and the portions extravagant. (Big, greedy Luke would never complain about this.) And, while he now worked from home, Kyle knew what a drab, draining desk job could be like – and thus understood what lazy Luke needed on his down time: comfort food, something fun to stare at, and his steaming hot boyfriend treating him like a fat king.

3

As relaxed as Kyle had made him, some new situations and feelings still caught Luke off-guard.

The first time someone offered to put two chairs together for him, he didn’t know what to say. The young, handsome waiter knew the couple and hadn’t meant to be a dick, but his way of being friendly wasn’t exactly tactful. (“Hang on, boss. This thing alone won’t hold that ass o’ yours. Better safe than sorry, am I right?”) Luckily, Kyle – who by then kept Luke on the couch at either apartment, and had twice convinced him to swap out chairs at work – thanked the guy quickly enough that the obese man’s hesitation went unnoticed. As he lowered his bulk, Luke realized there would’ve been an awkward pause even if he had known what to say, as he was still catching his breath from lumbering into the place. He wondered if this particular waiter had noticed how often he got winded these days.

Even then, he still sensed the undercurrent of admiration he usually got from these guys.  In most of the places Kyle liked, both staff and clientele were mostly salt-of-the-earth, blue-collar types, who were typically impressed with the spectacle of Luke’s binges – and who never went beyond some smirking and friendly ribbing, even as Luke’s weight climbed and climbed. They rarely acknowledged the fact that Kyle and Luke were a couple, but they clearly saw what a prize Kyle was – and the more enormous Luke grew, the more prodigious his hunger became, the more in awe they seemed of him. "How could this red-faced, sweaty slob," they seemed to wonder, "now wide enough for two chairs, keep such a movie-star pretty boy wrapped around his bloated, sauce-smeared finger?" "What luck," he could hear them think, longing for a female Kyle, "to have a perfect 10 at your beck and call, head over heels in love, feeding you up like a hog!"

Panting, grunting and burping, Luke crammed food down his throat like a starving animal. As usual, he had most of the restaurant focused on him – plus Kyle’s ardent, undivided attention. But it had been a while since a restaurant seat wasn't drowned by his haunches, and this made him feel smaller than he’d grown used to. He caught himself wishing he had sat on that one chair and crushed it – everyone in the place would’ve gone nuts, Kyle included, although in different ways. But wouldn’t it be a better show for his hundreds of pounds to squash these two? As his brimming, suffering gut pushed him further and further from the table, Luke imagined the rest of him swelling up in real time too: his cheeks hanging off his seats, his mass bending the chairs' legs, his lard sloshing on the floor, a drawn-out fart rattling out... to mixed laughter, and whistles, and even clapping from the crowd. He knew it would take time to get there – but the image still fuelled him to glut his poor, immense body far past a new threshold of pain.

4

Luke and Kyle were very happy together, but they seriously dragged their feet about shacking up.

They had many excuses. They spent every night together anyway. Luke's studio was blocks away from his job, so it was perfect for weeknights – while Kyle's larger, off-downtown place had an amazing kitchen, which he needed for his cooking and baking on the weekends. If they gave up Luke's place, the financing for a ride that could hold him would've been just as expensive – not to mention the cost of parking in the city. (Needless to say, he'd grown far too large for normal cabs or public transit.) And letting go of Kyle's dirt-cheap lease, in this housing market? Imagine that...

The real reasons they kept paying both rents were more private.

When it came to the studio, Luke relished needing Kyle to guide his staggering mass amidst his own cramped furniture, savoured having to turn sideways and be pushed to fit through his own door. He delighted in remembering the party lifestyle he'd planned for when he took the place – while comparing it to the stupor of his current existence, spent cramming his gut, crunching numbers at work, cramming his gut again, being cared for by Kyle, and cramming his gut even more. Specially, he treasured the unbearable, sweltering, endless plod to the office every morning – the only occasion left where he shuffled more than a few steps, and a mouthwatering chance for the mammoth exhibitionist to revel in the stares, pointed fingers and occasional insults he now hungered for. He knew it was all on a timer: he'd grow too vast for his own home; or his abused, struggling body would refuse to support its own weight; or his concerned, well-meaning boss would force him to work remotely, and he'd be paid to gorge himself immobile. But not knowing when it would happen made it all the more delicious. He'd push it till the last second that he could.

On the other hand, their weekends really were all about Kyle's cooking. But, more importantly, they were an irresistible taste of the future, when Luke would finally feed himself too obese to function, and they'd retreat to Kyle's place for good. From the minute they arrived on Friday night, till the moment they left on Monday morning, the wheezing pile of lard did nothing but stare at the TV – and pack his monstrous belly with grotesque amounts of food, as quickly as his lover could bring it. Gleeful Kyle flitted between the kitchen and the reinforced couch, keeping the fires going and tending to his gargantuan boyfriend. He whisked sauces and wiped sweat off Luke's face; braised meats and cuddled up to his overly-warm beau; kneaded dough and rubbed rank farts out of the roiling, sloshing, floor-nearing gut. Whenever suffering, groaning Luke needed to stop and nap, Kyle took the chance to clean up a little, gauge if the pace of his cooking was going to leave gaps in the day's surfeit, and schedule delivery from his favourite spots to keep his helpless sweetheart busy. Gurgling, snorting Luke would be roused by the weight and smell of more grub on his tits, burp long and loud to make room, and sluggishly force in the next fistful, despite the agony in his near-splitting stomach. It was heaven – and each swallow brought it closer to becoming their whole lives.