Fat Hannibal just wants to bake a cake. He will never know peace.
“Will, I must insist,” Hannibal says sternly. “Now that the process has begun I cannot stop until it’s finished.”
“You take your eggs too seriously,” Will says from behind him.
“Egg whites. They are indeed a serious matter. The mixture will lose volume if the sugar is not added at just the right speed.”
The hand on Hannibal’s shoulder doesn’t withdraw. Instead it slides down his back and around to his belly. Will takes the hem of Hannibal’s sweater and draws it up to expose his gut.
Hannibal twitches when he feels a finger push into his belly button. “Will,” he repeats. “Please allow me to concentrate.”
“I’ll still eat it if it isn’t perfect,” Will murmurs. “Or better yet I’ll make you eat it.”
“The texture would be terrible,” Hannibal tells him. “Wouldn’t you prefer to feed me something I’ll enjoy? Something that would have me moaning from the sheer pleasure of it?”
Will clutches at the fat of Hannibal’s stomach as he lets out a gasp against his neck.
Hannibal decides to indulge him. He puts down the bowl of sugar and turns around, forcing Will back a step as his belly wedges between them.
The spread of his stomach is impressive with the hem of the sweater still rucked up to his chest. Will has to take another step back in order to get the full effect. Hannibal has gotten so big—solid and round, but still so soft where the fat spills over his waistband.
He takes advantage of Hannibal’s cooperation, dropping to his knees and reaching his hands up reverently to the flesh before him. A desperate sound escapes his throat as his fingers sink into the dough around Hannibal’s navel. He slides his hands to the rolls of fat at Hannibal’s sides, pinching and squeezing as Hannibal watches from above.
His hands return to the swell of Hannibal’s belly as he pushes up on the overhang, lifting his gut to expose the waistband hidden beneath. Will undoes the belt buckle and then the fly, reaching in to palm Hannibal through his underwear. When Hannibal remains soft in his hand he pulls back and glances up at him.
“I’m not a young man anymore, Will,” Hannibal says, looking down at him. “And it’s been less than an hour since you last accosted me. Not to mention the fact that I did tell you I was trying to concentrate on my batter.”
Will huffs. “Are your egg whites ruined?” he asks.
Hannibal looks over his shoulder into the copper bowl on the counter. The whites inside have turned to a watery froth. “I’m afraid so.”
“Then I might as well have my fun.” Will stands up and turns Hannibal back around towards the counter. The bowl of sugar tips and nearly spills as Hannibal’s belly knocks into it.
Hannibal stands still, allowing Will to peel the waistband of his pants and underwear over the full curve of his ass. “You should feel grateful that I put up with this,” he says mildly.
A small snick as Will unzips himself. “I’ll go into town and buy you more eggs as soon as I’m finished,” he promises.
Hannibal shifts his feet apart and then braces against the counter. “Thank you, Will.” He shivers when he feels the heat of Will’s cock drag down the cleft of his ass. “Though it’s my dignity I’d like to recover.”
Will leans forward to kiss his shoulder. “I can only do so much.”
Dark Hannibal and chubby Will. WARNING: non-con feeding, though it could be considered consensual non-consent.
“Hannibal, I’m full,” Will moans.
Hannibal shows no sign of having heard. Instead he brings yet another spoonful to Will’s lips, smiling when Will obligingly opens his mouth. His Will might protest but he never disobeys. Another spoonful and once again Will opens like a baby bird. “What a good boy,” Hannibal murmurs.
Will swallows and then winces, his lips twisting into a grimace. His stomach is heavy enough to pin him to his chair as it sits swollen and distended in his lap. The obscene bulge of his gut is framed by the torn and ruined remains of his shirt. Hannibal’s eyes rove over the river map of red stretch marks on his skin, from his soft chest to the doughy underbelly.
Will sighs in relief as Hannibal’s cool fingertips begin to rub over the swell of his gut.
Hannibal takes a minute to massage the pinched skin along his waistband before picking the spoon up again.
“I really can’t eat any more,” Will pleads weakly.
“Tch tch,” Hannibal shushes. “I know my heavy boy always has room for one more bite.” He brings the spoon to Will’s lips and watches as his mouth falls open. Will swallows. Whimpers. Hannibal grins and dips the spoon back into the bowl.
Will loves waking up to an extremely obese Hannibal. But he doesn't always have to be nice about it.
Will stirs as he slowly comes to wakefulness in the big bed. He stretches his arms out, then opens his eyes when his hand smacks into soft flesh.
Hannibal is lying on his side with his gut sinking into the mattress between them. The blankets have been kicked down to his legs, displaying every crease and roll along his side. God, Hannibal has gotten massive. Somehow that fact still surprises Will despite his attentive involvement in getting him there. He watches the rise and fall of Hannibal’s soft chest to make sure he’s still asleep. Then he reaches out to slap Hannibal’s belly again, watching for the mesmerizing wobble of fat.
Will is pinching his underbelly when Hannibal opens an eye. “It’s very hard to sleep while you’re playing with my stomach,” he murmurs.
“Sorry,” Will says. Then, “you just look so big this morning.”
“I am big,” Hannibal replies calmly. “Obese, even.”
“God, Hannibal,” Will gasps, wincing at a sudden shock of pleasure. The slight smirk in response is all the invitation Will needs. “Get on your back,” he demands.
Hannibal rolls over, straining a little as his belly follows after him. Once he’s on his back he spreads his legs to allow his gut to sag comfortably between them.
Even first thing in the morning Hannibal’s stomach is big and round enough to look as though it’s pinning him to the mattress. Will knows that with a proper meal that belly actually can pin Hannibal, leaving him as helpless as an overturned turtle until Will massages the tightness away. Provided Will feels compelled to help him in his state.
Will climbs over one meaty thigh and settles between Hannibal’s knees. He places his hands on Hannibal’s stomach and looks over the expanse of flesh before him. “I could do anything to you like this,” he tells Hannibal. “And you’d let me, of course, but there isn’t much you could do to stop me.”
“I’m still very strong,” Hannibal counters. “I could still overpower you.” From this angle his double chin is more pronounced. The observation sends another jolt through Will.
“You wouldn’t,” Will says. “You’d rather lie in your pen, eating anything and everything I can give you. What a hog you are, Hannibal.”
“It’s true I would be happier if you were feeding me right now. Do you intend to make my breakfast, Will, or am I merely to suffer while you tease me with the prospect of food?”
“Watch your mouth or I’ll keep it too full for you to speak at all,” Will warns. “Then I’ll leave you here, flat on your back with nothing to look at but your own aching gut.”
“I apologize,” Hannibal amends. “I’m not at my best when I’m hungry.” He arches his back, just enough to push his girth into Will’s hands. “What if I say please?”
Will grins. “Careful. A little more weight and you’ll really be helpless.”
Obese Hannibal is about to start outsourcing his chores.
Hannibal’s cheeks are pink, his skin slick with sweat, when he finally drops the ax into the grass.
“Come sit down,” Will calls. It’s at least ten degrees cooler in the shade of the oak tree. He’s still a little too warm, but that has more to do with the scenery. He pours a glass of lemonade as he watches Hannibal shake his damp hair out and tie it up again.
Hannibal lowers himself onto a sturdy chaise and takes the glass Will offers him. For a minute they say nothing while Hannibal drinks. Then, “you’re going to have to chop the wood from now on,” Hannibal says. “I’ve simply gotten too big for the job.”
“You’re not too big,” Will scoffs. “You were doing fine. As long as you can waddle your way out here and swing an ax I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”
“It’s swinging the ax that troubles me,” Hannibal says. “My stomach has become quite an encumbrance.” He spreads a palm over the swell of his gut to demonstrate his point—as if Will could have missed the way Hannibal’s girth overtakes his lap and pushes between his legs.
Will takes the opportunity to stare anyways, watching Hannibal’s fingers play over his sloping gut. “I see your point,” he concedes. “Maybe it’s not a good idea with all the weight you’ve gained in your belly.”
“I’m sorry, Will. I know how much you enjoy watching.”
“There are other things I like to watch,” Will says. “I’d rather have you fat like this, even if I have to chop the wood while you sit in the shade.”
“I’m relieved that you think so. Besides, you may be surprised by the appetite I work up just from enjoying the view.”
“Oh, really?” Will smirks. “We’ll have to see about that.”
Chubby—no, fat—Will and Hannibal have a talk about his progress and renegotiate some things.
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Will watches as Hannibal meticulously plates their next course. A serving of meat for each of them, though one portion is much more substantial than the other. Will knows now which plate is his.
Hannibal has been feeding him like this for a while now, coaxing him towards ever-larger portions. More and more food on his plate to match his growing appetite—and to satisfy an appetite of Hannibal’s as well, Will guesses.
During the previous course, Hannibal had unbuttoned Will's shirt and sucked a bruise from the skin just above his navel. It wasn’t the first time Will had had Hannibal’s mouth on his stomach, but the dining room was a new location. He recalls how Hannibal had glanced up from between his thighs and instructed him to continue eating. And then insisted that Will clean Hannibal’s plate as well.
He had enjoyed the praise Hannibal lavished on him when he finished the food. But as the feeling ebbed away, it was replaced with the sense that they were moving too quickly towards an unknown destination.
Hannibal is spooning a large puddle of sauce onto his plate. Will’s wine glass clanks as he suddenly puts it down. “Hannibal," he blurts out. "We should slow down here."
Hannibal looks up, his spoon suspended above the plate. “What are you talking about, Will?”
Will gestures to the plates and then to kitchen in general. “These full-course dinners, the marathon feeding sessions. I’m getting too fat. I think we should ease up a little, at least for now.”
“You’re not too fat,” Hannibal says, frowning. He puts aside the sauce and looks down at Will’s belly. His shirt is still hanging open, allowing his gut to pooch over the edge of the counter as he leans against it. He’s certainly gotten big but even by societal standards most wouldn’t consider Will too fat. By their own standards, according to the way they talk at night, Will is nowhere near their limits.
“I’m getting fatter too quickly, then,” Will clarifies. “I like putting on weight for you—getting bigger, rounding out like this—but I’ve really put on a lot. I guess I need some time to get used to it before I gain any more.”
“Of course, Will,” Hannibal says. “Any significant change to the body requires a period of adjustment. But If I may, once you adjust to the weight I think you’ll find that you aren’t as big as you feel you are now.”
Will looks at him a moment. “You don’t think I’ve gotten that big, do you?” He takes a handful of flesh from his side and pushes it forward, effectively scooping more of his belly onto the surface of the counter. The fat wobbles like a turned-out jello mold, then spreads as it settles. Will uses two hands to heft the remainder of his gut onto the countertop. The result is an impressive pile of flesh, mounded high and sloping towards the plates lined up on the other side of the counter. Will puts his hands on either side of the mound, emphasizing the width of his bulk as well as the size, and gives it a jiggle. “I’m pretty big, Hannibal.”
Hannibal stares a moment longer, then closes his mouth. He regards Will with glazed eyes. “Perhaps I’ve underestimated the progress you’ve made.”
Will gathers his bulk into his arms and steps away from the counter. He lets his belly settle back into its natural shape. “See? We’re going too fast. You’re so focused on making me bigger that you haven’t realized how big I am. Let’s just… be content with this for a while.”
“I see your point, Will. Sometimes we focus on our goals so intently that we forget that the reward is not accomplishment for its own sake. I apologize for being overzealous.” A pause, as Will gives a lopsided smile. Then, “do you wish to continue with dinner?”
“Sure,” Will says, smiling more broadly. He rounds the counter and picks up the plate with the larger portion. “But you can have this one. I want to see you eat it. All of it.”
Hannibal considers it and then takes the plate. “I believe that’s only fair,” he says.
Will's scoop and plop move was directly inspired by this gif.
Will bothers obese Hannibal while he's trying to sleep off a big snack.
Will walks in the door, pulls off his boots, and looks around for Hannibal. He finds him in his favorite spot, half-naked body nearly filling the loveseat in the sitting room. His head is tipped back against the back of the couch, a sated and sleepy look on his face. His arms lay slack at his sides. The surface of his belly is floured as if he had used it to roll out a ball of dough.
“Let me guess,” Will says. “A dozen jelly donuts.”
Hannibal opens an eye. “There’s jelly on my face,” he guesses. His tongue darts out to lick at the corners of his mouth.
“No, Hannibal. Your gut is covered in powdered sugar.”
“Oh.” Hannibal’s chin doubles as he cranes his neck to peer down at his belly. “I thought I had wiped that all away.”
Will comes closer, rounding the coffee table. He can see the discarded donut box at Hannibal’s feet, stamped with the logo of his favorite bakery. “You decided you’d have a snack while I was out, so you sat down and got comfortable. Probably lined up a few donuts on your belly the way you like to do.”
“It’s merely a convenience, Will, I’ve told you this.”
“And as you ate, the powdered sugar fell off the donuts and piled up on your belly. Then you started rubbing your belly, without realizing you were smearing it all over yourself. Or just not caring.”
The powdered sugar is spread in lazy circles around Hannibal’s stomach, betraying all the places where he had rubbed himself as he ate. It looks like Hannibal had paid special attention to the swollen dome of his gut—understandable, considering the size of his snack—as well as the fat rolling over his sides. Will also spies fingerprints around his navel, another place Hannibal’s hands tend to stray as he eats. Further up there are undisturbed little hills of powder in the hair on Hannibal’s chest, suggesting he had barely finished eating before he nodded off.
“And then you finished your snack and promptly fell asleep. Probably clutching your belly since I wasn’t there to massage you.”
“It’s good to see your profiling skills are still so sharp. Jack would be proud, I’m sure.”
Will smirks, then turns on his heals and walks out of the room.
“Will?” Hannibal calls. “My stomach is still quite sore. You wouldn’t leave me to suffer without my belly rub.”
“Calm down, Hannibal. I’m just going to get you a glass of milk.”
Will and obese Hannibal relax after a big dinner.
Will glances at Hannibal beside him on the sofa. His belly is bloated and round, protruding in a great swell that forces apart his thick thighs. His eyes are closed as he strokes his gut. Bartok’s third piano concerto is playing softly—the evening's after-dinner selection. For a moment Hannibal’s fingers twitch as if there are keys beneath them.
Will leans over, lets his lips brush the shell of Hannibal’s ear.
“Would you like fries with that?” he whispers.
Hannibal’s mouth quirks, as if caught between a smile and a frown. He opens his eyes. “You’re teasing me.”
“I don’t intend for this to become a habit.”
“You better be careful then because I can definitely see this becoming a habit.”
“The pain alone is enough to dissuade me from ever attempting it again. I will admit that fast food is delicious, but my body is still protesting.”
“If your stomach hurts it’s because the amount of food you ate was obscene. I’m actually not sure I’ve ever seen you put away that much.”
“It seems that I am just as susceptible as anyone else to the pleasure response triggered by foods that are high in fat.”
“No, Hannibal, don’t make it out like you had no choice in the matter.” Will moves closer to him and begins to rub his belly. The sweater he’s wearing is soft but Hannibal’s belly is hard and solid beneath it. Hannibal sighs in relief as Will’s fingers work over him. “You chose to eat all those french fries. And you insisted that you wanted more, even when you were already full and aching.”
“I wouldn’t object to indulging in french fries more often,” Hannibal allows.
“Good,” Will says. “Because I wouldn’t object to indulging you.” He gets off the couch and moves to kneel between Hannibal’s feet. A strip of flesh is visible where the sweater is riding up. When Will pulls up on the hem, Hannibal’s belly seems to bulge forward.
Hannibal lets out a low moan as Will presses kisses to the sensitive dome of his stomach.
“I could make you so fat that way.” Will traces his fingers over Hannibal’s stretch marks, admiring the evidence of his growing appetite. “Take you to McDonald’s, order everything on the menu. Would a challenge like that intimidate you, Hannibal, or would you relish the chance to impress me?”
“Will,” Hannibal whines. He’s squirming now, seeking greater contact as Will’s fingers dance teasingly over him.
“I bet you’d be half-hard just standing there, listening to me list all the food I intend for you to eat. Anticipation welling up like saliva in your mouth.” Will ducks his head and puts his mouth on Hannibal’s belly, kissing downwards until he’s sucking at the doughy flesh around his navel.
Hannibal is practically panting above him. He lets out a guttural moan when Will’s tongue dips into his belly button. “Will,” he gasps. “Please…”
Will loves when he’s like this, helpless and desperate and beyond stuffed.
“Would it embarrass you?” he asks. “Everyone knowing that all the food I’m ordering is for you, my gorgeous and obese glutton of a husband? We could go through the drive-thru instead, if you’d rather. I could feed you until this gut of yours is squashed against the dashboard.” Will lays a light smack to his stomach, making Hannibal yelp. “Remember the seat belt extender we bought you for the plane back from Italy? Should we get you one for the Bentley?”
Hannibal is breathing in shallow little bursts, his eyes screwed shut. “It would be cruel to saddle the Bentley with so much weight.” His hips twitch at the thought of it. “I could ruin her suspension.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Will reaches under Hannibal’s belly and gropes in the direction of his open fly. “Though I don’t think the seat belt in the truck will fit you any better. You’re a pretty wide load.” He finds the waistband of Hannibal’s underwear and pushes his hand inside. “Hannibal,” he says. “Did you come just now?”
Hannibal opens his eyes and levels Will with a disdainful look. “How can I last when you’re saying such filthy things to me?”
“I think you’re a little more into the fast food thing than you want to admit.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Will.”
Will grins and takes his hand out of Hannibal’s pants. “Don't be embarrassed about it, Hannibal.” He bears down on Hannibal's gut as he leans forward to kiss his mouth. There's a saltiness at the corners of his lips that Will licks away. “I’m delighted to have another way to spoil you.”