Really, there was no reason for mother to be so bothered about it. He ate enough to keep himself functioning after all. It was tedious to have to deal with a tired, hungry, or thirsty transport. The sooner they could make everyone into an android all the better.
So thought Sherlock as he flopped back on his bed, the young man's curls grown long and unruly. He liked it that way, even if it gave his mother another thing to nag him about. He felt it made him look like all those clever old scientists in the text books he sometimes stole from Mycroft when his brother was home from university. The raven haired teenager was far beyond the level of his peers. He needed denser reading material.
He lifted his head lazily as his mother called out to him again, then sighed. Honestly, wasn't it enough that he had already eaten once today? His metabolism might be quickening as he goes through growth spurts, but he's not hungry really. Except when there are sweets. His ears pricked at the words 'banoffee pie'. He wetted his lips lightly with a curious tongue. Well, two meals today was perfectly alright. Maybe he could check if that allowed him to go for longer afterwards. He sat and slid off the bed, then wandered out to the kitchen for dinner.
It was a hearty affair filled with roasted potatoes, gravy, pork chops, and greens. Sherlock ate well, if only to stop his mother's fussing. She still managed to slip an extra couple of chops onto his plate. He rolled his eyes but ate them. Anything for pie and an evening or two where he wouldn't be hen-pecked. His father nodded approvingly and struck up a discussion about work.
Finally dessert came, Sherlock was feeling quite a bit fuller than he ever allowed himself to become, but if it would mean that he would be left to his own devices tomorrow, that was perfectly alright. His mother served him a generous portion of banoffee pie and Sherlock tucked in with honest enjoyment, his ankles crossing beneath his chair as he ate his way through the sweet sticky dessert.
Then he was allowed to be excused and returned to his room. His mother thanked him for eating and looked satisfied. Sherlock estimated he had a full twenty four hours before she would nag him too badly again. He could get to work on- but his stomach felt really quite full, tugging against the tight pair of black skinny jeans he'd chosen that morning. He slid a hand down his torso and looked down in horror at his belly which was poking out a bit for once. He quickly shut his door and scrutinized his reflection in the mirror that hung on the back of it. His eyes narrowed icily as he turned into profile to view the bulge. He prodded it with a finger. Oddly pleasing. Figure, more curved, bulge at middle from dinner draws the eye.
He turned back to face himself forwards and drew his hands down his sides, feeling the shape. Round. Again, oddly enjoyable. He pressed at it harder and grunted. Highly enjoyable. Sherlock pulled his t-shirt up, then gave that rounded belly a slap that seemed to resound. He heard a soft groan. His. Ah, interesting. He bit his lip, pushed his belly out further, watching it stick out over his waist band, pull the fabric taught.
"Huh," the boy breathed, wetting his lips and swallowing as something warm settled in his stomach. Was that from the pressure? Or...? He sat down on his bed and pulled out his mobile, flipping quickly through it, feeling increasingly distracted by how this position seemed only to add more pressure to his middle.
One hand drifted down to rub it absently. That felt... really very good. He looked down, admiring the rounded mound as his hand circled it. Very interesting. Yes, but why-ah. His eyes widened as they lit upon the correct search. So he wasn't alone. A kink? Maybe this called for an experiment.
Sherlock waited until his parents had gone to bed, then he slipped back out into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, lips pursed as he took in his options. His eyes fell on the remainder of the banoffee pie. Perhaps it's absence would be a bit obvious, but he thought he should choose something he would enjoy. He lifted the dish carefully out, then grabbed a large bottle of water and slunk back to his room. He returned for some crackers and another water bottle, then sat on the bed, looking at his choices. He ran a hand down to his middle, which had shrunk quite a bit since dinner. He wet his lips, then decided to start light. He drank down half of one water bottle then started in on the pie, fork in hand.
It was rather tough going after a while, but Sherlock couldn't seem to stop eating. He didn't want to. He continued shoveling the creamy sticky gooey mess into his mouth. The pressure and strain in his belly grew and grew as the pie disappeared. He alternated with swigs of water.
He winced finally, his stomach gurgling in protest. He swallowed a moan as he pressed into it, whimpering. God, it felt so round, so big, just, God! He undid his jeans with a gasp of relief. He slumped back against his headboard, panting and staring down at the white pale dome his belly had become. More.
Hands shaking, Sherlock reached for the crackers and began stuffing them down. He-he felt so big, so round so... fat. And for a reason he couldn't describe, that was the hottest thought he had ever conceived. He threw the crackers aside, and lay back, shoving his hand down his pants. He had to bite his fist to keep from moaning too loudly.
Then he was spent, and flopped back, breath heaving, belly gurgling and tight. He slid a hand over it, his mind foggy with pleasure and fullness. Definitely a kink then. Perhaps a dangerous one. Slowing for the mind... but he could afford to indulge now and again. Sherlock sighed, feeling dozy. Yeah, once in a while. His mum might have a lot less reason to worry about him now. Eating was fascinating.