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The McCall-Stilinskis’ table is packed with, well, pack. Scott has been insistent on them all doing things together once in awhile, bonding, especially after a bunch of them had split off to go to different colleges. Derek had been reluctant, at first. But it’s… nice. To have this sort of thing, again. After a few times he finds himself looking forward to it and when Scott texted him the invite to dinner, Derek accepted automatically.
Which is how he ends up like this, fleshy hips caught in between the armrests on the dining room chair, uncomfortably full of Melissa McCall’s insanely delicious homemade Mexican cuisine. He’d started big, confidently eating more than his fair share of helpings and is bloated, overfull even before the others start pushing more food at him, and that’s before dessert. Between his own appetite, Melissa and, weirdly enough, Stiles, Derek ends up uncomfortably stuffed. So by the time the meal ends, and everyone is getting up to help with the dishes, Derek… well, Derek can’t.
He braces both hands on the armrests and tries to heave himself up, but his stomach aches when he tries and the heavy girth of it is blocking his path. So Derek rests back, trying to act nonchalant about it, hopes no one notices anything odd in his absence from the kitchen.
Stiles comes back in first, rakes his eyes over him with a smirk and folded arms and asks, "You okay there, big guy? Not feeling up to helping?"
Derek grunts noncommittally, can tell Stiles knows why he's still sitting here by the weight of his eyes on Derek's middle.
"That's okay, you helped rid us of leftovers, at least," Stiles grins and plops next to Derek, kicks his feet up on the chair across from him.
"Shut up, this is your fault."
Stiles's eyes dance with amusement and he says, "Oh, really? It's my fault you licked five plates clean plus half that cake I made? How was it, by the way? Must've been pretty delicious if you kept eating until you couldn't get up."
Derek sighs and rolls his eyes.
"I'm gonna take that as a, 'yes thank you, Stiles, it was indeed delicious, and I would definitely like another slice or five immediately.'"
Derek glares at Stiles and his overstuffed stomach grumbles loudly, betraying him.
Stiles laughs. "Okay, maybe not. I'll let you have a breather. At least until you can stand again. I'm sure your werewolf healing will take over soon."
The others start to trickle out of the kitchen, and as he passes, Scott says "We're gonna go watch a movie, come on. Stiles, it's your turn to pick." Lydia sighs as she slips around Scott, and Isaac groans behind her.
"Oh!" Stiles says, eyes going wide and hands gripping the armrests. "Um, yeah, actually, you guys go ahead. Derek and I are gonna sit here for awhile."
Derek is immediately suspicious. Stiles never misses an opportunity to pick the movie and torture them all with useless facts. If Derek enjoys bantering with him when he does it, no one has to know that.
"Why?" Scott asks, incredulously. Derek folds his arms and glares at Stiles, and then immediately unfolds them when it puts uncomfortable pressure on the fullness in his stomach.
"We have catching up to do! I've been away at school for months, and Derek totally missed me, isn't that right, Derek?"
"Um," Derek says. He might have, but he's not just gonna go tell them that.
Thankfully, Scott resumes his walk to the living room, throwing them both a dubious expression. "Oookay, sure, whatever, dudes."
"You're welcome," Stiles says, a few seconds later. A smile is teasing at his lips and Derek is sure he's never seen Stiles smile so much at once.
"I'm glad this is so amusing for you."
"Aw, Der. I'm only trying to help."
Derek scoffs. "Of course."
"Hey, I got them off your back, didn't I? It's not my fault you ate so much." Stiles reaches over to pat his belly, and Derek resolutely ignores how much he wants to keep Stiles's hands right where they are. "Wow."
Derek sighs and says, "What."
"You sure you can't fit anything else in here? Seems like you've got some room.” Stiles presses his fingers gently into the blubbery fat that covers his bloated stomach. He’s looking at Derek intently, and Derek isn’t sure what it means. “I’m sure a big guy like you can eat twice that."
Derek isn’t ashamed at all of being big, or of eating big for that matter, although it would’ve been a little embarrassing to have to wait in the dining room by himself as he digested. He’d be thankful to Stiles for saving him from that, but it’s clear he has an ulterior motive and Derek isn’t sure what it is yet. Still, he can eat more, so he concedes the point. “Yeah, I guess I could.”
The rabbit-quickness of Stiles’s heartbeat picks up just a little more speed. His breath gets a little shallower. It’s subtle. He still has a warm hand rested on top of Derek’s belly. “I could get you a little something.”
Ordinarily he wouldn’t push himself much beyond this, but Stiles seems strangely eager to get him to keep going. Derek holds Stiles’s stare for a couple of seconds, but still can’t figure him out. He shifts in his chair and pokes at his belly experimentally. "Maybe in a few minutes," he says.
Stiles lets out a shaky breath, and when he speaks his voice is pitched a little lower. "Yeah? Anything I can do to help?"
He starts moving his hand, just light pressure, but Derek has to fight the urge to arch up into it. "What are you doing," he says.
Stiles catches his eyes and winks. "Helping."
It’s only through sheer force of will that Derek keeps his breathing even as Stiles caresses his belly. His skin is tingling wherever Stiles touches, even through the layer of clothes between his hand and Derek’s gut.
“Why.”
Smiling again, Stiles’s hand takes a big sweep around the top curve of Derek’s belly. “Come on, man. Do I really need a reason to help a bro out?”
“Yes,” Derek hisses, annoyed at himself for letting this get to him. It’s really - it feels…
“You’d be surprised at the things I’d do for you, dude.” Stiles’s eyes go wide and a blotchy flush creeps up the sides of his face as he says, “Um, I mean, remember all those times I saved your life? I do plenty of completely selfless good deeds, okay? Come on, give me a little credit, here.”
Derek rolls his eyes. “I can tell you’re up to something.” Stiles makes an indignant noise, but Derek continues, “But I’m willing to let it slide if you keep, ah, doing that.”
Stiles goes back to looking self-satisfied. “Oh yeah? You mean-” his hand presses into Derek’s belly, going from slightly tentative to sure, confident.
“Mmm.” The sound slips out before he can catch it, and he leans back in his chair. Stiles gets a little too zealous, presses in too hard, and Derek keeps his mouth closed to smother the burp that bubbles up from his overstuffed gut. But it doesn’t seem to deter him in the slightest. His fingers slip down to dip into Derek’s belly button through his shirt, circling around it almost playfully. Derek doesn’t squirm under the touch, but it’s a near thing.
It’s clear that Stiles likes it, that he wants to do this, but Derek still isn’t really sure why. What is he getting out of this?
A smell hits his nose. Derek is surprised it took him so long to notice. Now that the scent of the food has been pulled into the kitchen and the ones of the others are in the living room, it’s more obvious, but Stiles is so close he should’ve smelled it earlier. Lust. It’s not something new. Stiles smells like lust more often than not, but now it’s strong, clear, focused on him.
Derek cracks his eyes open, doesn’t remember when he’d shut them, but he turns his head to take Stiles in. Stiles’s gaze is caught on what his hand is doing, and his eyes are glassy, unfocused. Tiny beads of sweat prickle on his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed warm pink. After a long moment, Stiles’s hand stills as he notices Derek’s attention. “Um, I-”
“I think you should go get me some more cake,” Derek says, brain swimming in a fog, caught in the feedback loop of Stiles’s lust and his own.
Stiles gasps and his fingers grip the fabric of Derek’s shirt. His eyes flit to Derek’s and they’re blown black, pupil swallowing his irises. “Yeah?”
Derek fights a smile and says, “Yeah, Stiles, come on.”
“Fuck, okay.” Stiles scrambles out of his chair and almost trips over himself in his haste to get to the kitchen.
Derek takes a moment to compose himself. He lets out a shaky breath and tries to calm the rapid beat of his heart, not to get his hopes up that this is something it’s not.
When Stiles comes back, dropping the plate, utensils, cake and a can of whipped cream on the table, Derek tries to sit up again. He grunts as the pressure in his gut, that seemed to ease after Stiles’s impromptu belly rub, redoubles. Stiles places a hand on his shoulder, firmly pushing him back. He says, “Hey, relax, big guy. You’ve got a lot more to eat.”
Nervous flutters kick up in Derek’s stomach to go along with the fullness, and suddenly, he can’t wait to keep going, to show Stiles how much he can really eat.
Trapped by the weight of his belly, Derek watches Stiles busy himself with preparing a plate. There’s a little less than half of the whole cake left; the second cake had been demolished after dinner. Once it’s piled with a generous slice and heaped with whipped cream, Stiles hands it to Derek.
“Is that all?” Derek asks, teasing.
“Not even close, buddy.” Stiles sits back down, slides his chair absurdly close, and reaches a hand to rest on Derek’s belly. “Eat up.”
Derek manages to drag his eyes away and dig in. The taste hits his pallette and he moans a little around the mouthful; it’s just as good as it was the first time he tried it. He’d already been ridiculously overfull at that point in the meal, but he didn’t have it in him to resist something so delicious. It’s rich and chocolatey, heavy, buttery, moist, perfectly sweet: everything a cake should be. Derek knows he could keep eating this until he passed out.
A few bites in, Stiles laughs breathily and pats his belly. “Good?”
“Mmm,” Derek says, mouth stuffed with cake, unwilling to pause his eating enough to string words together.
Stiles starts up another gentle belly rub. “God, I need to start baking more often.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Keep you nice and full. Would you like that?”
Derek grunts in response, shoving in another mouthful of cake. He feels greedy, gluttonous, desire amplified by Stiles’s.
“Yeah, fuck, me too. I could feed you like this every day. I want to. God, Derek.”
Derek moans around the last mouthful, lets his eyes flutter shut as he leans back a little more, into Stiles’s hand. He swallows and licks his lips free of chocolate. “I’d be huge if you fed me like this every day.”
Just the thought of it sends a shiver down Derek’s spine, and Stiles grabs at the blubbery fat further down on his belly. “Ah-h, yeah, well, that’s the idea.” His voice is shaky and low: undeniably turned on even if Derek couldn’t hear the way he shifts in his chair or smell the arousal flooding the air around him. “Is that-” Stiles swallows. “Okay?”
Derek opens his eyes and smirks at Stiles. “I think I could handle it.”
“Do, uh, do you want to?” Stiles whispers.
God, how could Stiles even ask him that, when he’s sure it’s more than clear how much he wants this. He wants it, all of it, with Stiles, more than he can even express. So he just says, “Yes.”
“Fuck. Okay. Yeah.”
Stiles grabs the plate and fork out of his hands, and Derek closes his eyes, rests back. His breath heavy to match the weight of his gut; he feels full, so full, but when Stiles hands him another plate of food, all he wants to do is eat.
“Come on, you can fit a little more in there, can’t you?”
“You could say that.”
Derek dives in with a little more restraint than last time, tries to savor it, and he can feel the way he’s pushing wildy past his body’s limits. Stiles’s hand immediately slides back into place, this time massaging at his lower belly, grasping at it like he can’t get enough. When he slips his hand lower, Derek feels Stiles’s fingers against his bare skin, and shivers. He hadn’t realized his shirt had ridden up enough to expose part of his gut and idly he wonders how long it’s been like that. But he doesn’t care; He’s consumed with taking bite after bite of food.
Stiles Shoves his forearm underneath the heavy hang of Derek’s underbelly and lifts it as if testing the weight. “Jesus, Derek.”
Derek keeps eating but watches Stiles, the rapt expression on his face as he takes in Derek’s body, as if it’s the best thing he’s ever seen in his life.
“Looks like you don’t even need my help to get fat, Derek. Doing it all on your own. So, so gorgeous.”
Stiles places his hand flat on his belly and starts to shake it. Derek can feel every ripple cascade across his fat body. He burps and it releases a little pressure, but not enough, so he starts slowing down, but doesn’t want to stop, not yet.
“Come on, big guy. Almost done.”
Derek shoves the last big piece of the slice into his mouth and sets the plate on top of his belly so he can reach around his gut with both hands. He holds it, comforting, as Stiles strokes all the spaces in between. He feels massive.
After a long while of whispered encouragement and reverent touches, Stiles takes the plate back and sets it on the table. “You ready for more?”
Without thinking, Derek says, “Yeah,” an overstuffed hiccup interrupts him before he continues, “More.”
“Fuck me, dude, you’re so. Fuck.”
Stiles fumbles with setting his plate this time, looking beautiful and eager.
Derek is… distracted. That’s what he tells himself when Isaac strides into the dining room before he can do so much as hear him coming.
Isaac’s eyebrows raise judgmentally. “I really don’t know how you can eat so much and still be able to move.”
Stiles barely hides a laugh under a fake cough, but to Derek’s surprise says, “Oh no, this is for me. I didn’t get a chance to try the cake after dinner, but Derek here said it was too good to pass up.”
“Whatever,” Isaac says as he continues to walk, looking like he couldn’t care less.
“He’ll warm up to me one day,” Stiles says, swiping some frosting onto his finger and sucking it into his mouth. It’s unreasonably attractive.
“I doubt it.”
“Hey! You did!”
“Yeah, maybe,” he says, and watches Stiles’s face split into a grin.
“Get a room,” Isaac says as he strides back through the dining room, arms loaded with beer bottles.
“Maybe later!” Stiles shouts, and then gives Derek a wink.
Stiles picks up the new plate. “So, uh,” he pauses for a moment and doesn’t hand it to Derek. He looks suddenly nervous, unsure. “Could I, uh…” He cuts a piece off the slice of cake, suspending a forkful, dripping with whipped cream, inches from Derek’s lips.
Derek shudders, nods, leans forward to catch it in his mouth just after some cream drips down onto Derek’s shirt. Stiles gasps, loud, spends a long time just watching Derek with his mouth open and panting, lips bitten bright red.
“More?” Derek asks, and Stiles startles back into action.
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” He scoops up another heaping forkful, and watches intently as it disappears into Derek’s mouth.
Too soon, Derek starts to feel pangs in his stomach. He should stop. He’s not gonna be able to get up at all tonight, at this rate. But he keeps opening his mouth for more. Derek is more full than he’s ever been in his life and it feels surprisingly, ridiculously good.
“Yeah, that’s right. Doing so good, Derek.”
Finally he makes it to the end, and Stiles is practically vibrating, leaning so far into Derek’s space he’s barely sitting in his own chair and Derek can feel the shallow pants of his breath against his skin. Stiles tosses the plate onto the table carelessly and brings one hand to cradle Derek’s aching belly and the other grips the back of his chair so hard the wood creaks.
“Can’t believe you ate all that for me. Can’t believe you.”
On a whim, Derek says, “I’m not done yet.” He reaches forward as far as he can and catches the can of whipped cream between his fingers.
“Oh my god,” Stiles whispers.
Derek shakes it, making his body jiggle in response, and uncaps the can. With the tip in his mouth he squirts the sweet foam directly into his mouth and drinks it down in greedy gulps. It seems like only seconds before it fizzes out, empty.
He drops it, gasping in a breath, when his stomach rumbles ominously. He brings a fist up to his mouth just as he lets out a burp.
Stiles looks like he’s about to faint. “Jesus fucking christ.”
“Is that enough--mmph-” Derek starts, but Stiles cuts him off with a kiss. He moans as he licks chocolate and whipped cream from Derek’s lips and Derek can feel the way he’s trembling against him.
He breaks away and says, “Shit, sorry, I just. You’re so-”
Derek pulls him back in and swallows his whimper, kisses him sweet, soft.
“Wow.”
“Yeah,” Derek agrees.
“You should um, take me back to your place, so we can. Do more of, of that.” Stiles gestures vaguely to their mouths.
Derek fights a grin. “I would, but…” He pointedly eyes his swollen belly.
Stiles looks seconds away from mauling him anyway, house full of werewolves be damned, but he curls his arm back around Derek’s belly and says, “I can wait.”