DISCLAIMER: I don't own Sherlock
A/N: So, this will be a collection of any fatlock one-shots that I upload. I'm fairly new to this kink, so please bear with me. Most of my one shots will be based off prompts I have found on the Fatlock Tumblr blog, but there may be a few that I get from other places.
Prompt: Sherlock deduces that Greg has started seeing Mycroft when he puts on a stone and a half in two months. His telling Greg that Mycroft that Mycroft fattens up all his partners leads to Myc and Greg's first fight, which ends with a bout of intense, almost aggressive belly worship.
Warnings: Weight gain, belly worship, feederism kink…
Greg hadn't questioned the first pair of trousers he'd had to buy because his waistline had mysteriously gotten a little bigger, nor had he questioned it when he had to buy another pair because he'd outgrown the first. He hadn't really minded when it had started getting harder to keep up with Sherlock when he got into mischief on cases. He paid no mind to the fact that a ten minute run was starting to become a struggle, that it left him hot, sweaty and completely breathless in the face. He still counted himself as a man in his prime, fit and healthy as a fiddle. He was just getting on a bit, that was all. It was the third pair of trousers and a larger work shirt that brought him to the very edge of his tether. He'd had to purchase them for himself because of his gut. It just kept on expanding, no matter how healthy he tried to eat, and how much exercise he participated in. Sherlock was the one to reveal the truth, to pull the wool from over his eyes.
The detective was staring at him with ice-blue eyes, waves of tension practically rolling off of him. There was definitely something bothering him. Greg could see the calculations going on in that big brain of his. He sighed softly and looked up from his pile of large paperwork.
"What are you thinking, Sherlock?" Sherlock gave him a pointed look before glancing away. " Oh, come on. I've known you for almost six years. You think I can't tell when you're deducing something? So, out with it then. What's got your knickers in such a twist?"
Sherlock scoffed loudly at the use of the immature phrase and moved his eyes back to Greg. "You're in a relationship with my brother. You have been for at least two months, no, by your waistline I can tell that it's been exactly two months. You might have to invest in a new pair of trousers, Lestrade. You're practically spilling out of the ones you've just brought. Dear me, what has my brother done to you?"
The D.I instantly turned a deep beetroot colour in embarrassment and shock. "I can't possibly be-" He gazed down and felt his blush deepen at the sight of his stomach poking out from underneath his shirt, and spilling ungracefully over his trousers. The button holding his trousers together had popped at some point in the day. Greg groaned and buried his head in his hands. He was mortified. Sherlock was right. He was going have to buy a whole new wardrobe. He was also correct about him being in a relationship with Mycroft. Well, it hardly counted as a relationship right now. There had been a few dinners where they'd flirted themselves silly with each other, and perhaps a few kisses had been exchanged, but it wasn't as if they were sleeping with each other! Greg had always been very sure of his sexuality, until he'd met Mycroft, and so they had come to a mutual agreement to take things slowly. Mycroft was like no other person that Greg had met before, and he knew, much to his shame, that if Mycroft was a woman, they would probably be fucking each other like wild animals in the dark already. Right now, Greg just felt confused, and conflicted. Part of him wanted to run to Mycroft right now and cry into his shoulder, but something told Greg that Mycroft wouldn't appreciate one of his best suits being stained by his tears. The other part of him wanted to punch Sherlock before going out for a long jog, despite the downpour of rain outside, in an attempt to work off his unwanted gut.
" Ah. So I'm right. You are in a relationship with my brother."
Greg groaned again and ran a hand through his silver mop of hair. When he looked up Sherlock looked as smug as the cat that had gotten the cream. "Yeh, fine." He huffed, putting his hands up as a show of surrender. "But I'd hardly call what we have a relationship. I don't know what it is really."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm not interested in labels, Lestrade. I do not care much for my brother's love life, nor yours."
"Then why point it out?" Greg asked through gritted teeth. He was starting to feel as though he was at the very end of his limit. He was one straw away from screaming and Sherlock was bound to pull that straw sooner rather than later.
"Because, Lestrade, as you have pointed out, I have known you for a good few years. Though I do not consider us as friends, I do think I owe you for all you have done for me." Greg raised an eyebrow. That had almost sounded like a sincere thank you. Looking at the gentleness behind Sherlock's hawk like eyes he could see that he looked as genuine as he sounded. "And so I have come to the conclusion that I should warn you off of my brother."
"Is that so?" Greg asked, more amused than anything else.
"Yes." Sherlock said with such a serious expression that Greg almost burst into laughter, but after a good few minutes of that stoic and almost sullen expression on Sherlock's face, he started to worry.
"Why Sherlock? I know you don't get on with him, but it's not as though me having... a relationship..." He shuddered at the word and shook his head. "It's not as though it'll effect the arrangement you have here at the yard."
"No, maybe not. But he's putting you at great risk."
"Risk?" Greg frowned. " Do you mean cus of his job? Because I already know he leads a dangerous life."
"I don't mean that, you stupid idiot!" Sherlock snapped so sharply it made Greg jump in his seat slightly. "I mean, he's a danger to your health."
"My health?" Greg blinked in confusion.
"Yes. You see, my brother...he's used to ...let's say...bigger romatic partners."
Greg frowned as he let those words process. "Oh." His frown deepened and he swallowed. "Are you saying that I'm not his type?"
"Oh, no, quite the opposite. You're older than him, you're attractive, yet rugged and a little edgy, and you have brown eyes. You're my brother's perfect match, so to speak. There is one little thing. You're simply not big enough. However, if you keep on seeing my brother, I'm afraid that one point is going to change. It's already started."
Greg started to hear alarm bells ringing in the very back of his mind, but he was just about managing to ignore them for now, blocking them out with sheer will power. "What's already started?" He asked dumbly.
"The feeding up, Inspector." Sherlock jabbed a long and bony finger at his gut. Greg pulled a face of disgust as he felt the flesh jiggle slightly. "It will have started off as a few dinners, but let me guess, he's started offering you breakfast, lunch, and tea with him? He also brings boxes of pastries to your workplace if you are too busy to take a lunch break. He's probably started inviting you round to his place for meals too, and he almost always gives you third helpings, as well as a thick slice of chocolate cake for dessert. You try to say no, but you can't resist. You probably noticed your weight gain within the first few weeks, so you've tried taking up a healthier life style. That, I'm afraid, won't work. Mycroft puts drugs in all of his partners meals, specifically made for causing weight gain. You think you're having a nice healthy salad, when in fact you're eating an equivalent of half a slab of butter. The drug also makes you tired and lethargic, not helped by the large food intake you've had lately, which is why running has become such a task for you as of late."
Greg felt himself going red for an entirely different reason now. The alarm bells were far harder to ignore now that they'd turned into high pitched wails of torture. He clenched his fists together. What Sherlock was saying made far too much sense. Of course there could be a possibility that Sherlock was lying, trying to get at his brother through Greg, though that sounded a little too much effort for the detective. In fact Sherlock seemed to go to great lengths to avoid his brother entirely, so interfering in his love life seemed a little odd. Perhaps Sherlock really was just looking out for Greg, perhaps the smug bastard was telling the truth. Or perhaps he was looking out for himself, after all if Greg did become too overweight to go out on cases, there wouldn't be another D.I who would allow him to do detective work, at least not without punching him in the face. When Greg looked up to say something , the detective was already gone, quite happy in the knowledge that he'd caused the desired damage he'd set out to make.
Greg sighed heavily, his chest suddenly feeling heavy with burning emotions. He looked down at his stomach and sighed again. "There's no fighting the truth, Lestrade." He muttered to himself. "You are fat." He looked back up at his desk. The box of donuts Mycroft had brought him earlier at lunch suddenly looked unappealing. He grabbed the box and tossed it in the bin with disgust. If he wanted to lose the weight he'd put on he'd definitely have to stop eating such sugary delights. He'd have to talk to Mycroft too. There was no point in jumping to conclusions. Surely Mycroft wasn't fattening him up on purpose, in which case, why was there so much doubt in Greg's mind?
He shook his head and stood to his feet. He needed to clear his head before he talked to Mycroft. He'd go for that run he'd considered earlier, try to burn off a little fat.
Greg got dressed into some spare clothes. He always kept some on him just in case. With his job stains were forever finding their way onto his clothes, varying from coffee, mud, to much worse. He was grateful for the fact that he was so organised as his spare clothes were slightly baggy and hit his gut. He almost felt normal again.
As soon as he stepped outside he was greeted by a heavy downpour of rain. It was sort of rain that was ice cold, the sort that drenches you, and sends chills right to your very bones. The dull clouds up above were heavy with it. The bad weather wasn't going to let up any time soon. He took a deep breath, half considering just taking a taxi back home. No, he thought to himself sourly, patting a hand on his stomach. He had to lose the weight. He was going to run, rain or no rain.
He began to force his body to move, though after barely a few minutes it was beginning to protest. It was a struggle to breath, every muscle in his body ached, his bones were creaking like rusting hinges, and he could feel his gut wobbling and jiggling about beneath his clothes. God, he was so unfit, and Sherlock was right, as always. This was all of Mycroft's fault. God dam the infuriating man, insisting that Greg should eat so much. He'd been perfectly healthy before he'd begun seeing Mycroft on a regular basis.
Greg was furious. The only thing that kept him running was his anger and his pure will power alone. The more he ran, the more he found himself considering the possibility that Mycroft had a plan to feed him up, like a turkey being prepared for Christmas day. If what Sherlock had said was true, there would be hell to pay, especially if Mycroft had been sneaking drugs into Greg's food.
After a while Greg felt completely miserable. He was exhausted and he was so wet that his clothes were starting to stick to him, not helping to hide his softening gut at all. He was glad that everyone else in London seemed to have taken shelter from the harsh storm. There was no one to see him. He was well known since Sherlock had been in the papers, and there were very few people who didn't recognize him. It would be world ending if anyone saw him right now, looking so unfit and ruffled, and so utterly wretchedly glum.
He froze when he heard a car pulling up beside him, the sound of the engines soaking him in familiarity before he even had the chance to catch sight of the sleek, expensive car. He huffed at the sight of it, wrinkling up his nose in defiance. The car looked incredibly inviting, though it practically had raw power and arrogance scratched into the surface. He always felt a tad uneasy about the mystery cars. The windows were fully blacked out so he could never see where he was going, and if that wasn't awful enough, the drivers were completely silent. They refused to speak to him. Mycroft wasn't ever in the cars sent, which just made the silent and dark journey all the more awkward and terrifying. He would merely ensure that Greg was taken to him as safely and as quickly as possible. It was probably a good job too, because right now Greg was certain he'd punch Mycroft square across the jaw before even asking if Sherlock's words were true. He eyed the car carefully and groaned. He was torn between continuing to run, and getting into that car, that car that would surely take him somewhere warm and dry. He shook his head. He needed to time and space to sort things out in his mind, to try and figure out how he was going to approach Mycroft about the issue of his weight gain . He waved the car away and continued running, hoping that the driver would see sense and leave him alone.
Instead of the car backing away however, it followed him. Greg groaned. At the sound of a door opening he turned to tell the driver to piss the hell off. Mycroft couldn't just 'kidnap' him every time he felt like it. The words he wanted to scream died on the very tip of his tongue at the sight of Mycroft standing beside the car, huddled underneath his umbrella. Greg's mouth went completely dry and rough. It felt like he'd been chewing on sand. He licked his lips and eyed Mycroft carefully. The man looked as pristine as ever, not a hair out of place, nor a crease in his suit. He locked eyes with him and sighed. Mycroft's face was showing an unusual amount of expression and emotion. It was a very rare occasion that he got to see Mycroft's more expressive side and Greg couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for running away from the car. He cautiously moved towards Mycroft and gratefully bunched next to his warmth beneath the umbrella, as they moved to the safety of the car. They slid in silently and Mycroft closed and shook off his umbrella. Greg was breathing heavily from his bout of exercise. His ribs ached badly and thank God it had been raining or Mycroft would see how sweaty he had become in such a short amount of time.
"Why do I have the feeling that you're avoiding me?" Mycroft asked after several tense minutes .
Greg swallowed and looked straight into Mycroft's eyes. He looked so sincere and almost and there was a part of the poor man that looked almost like he was a kicked puppy. It made Greg wonder why he was angry with him at all. "I just felt like going for a run. I didn't realise you were in the car, otherwise I would have stopped."
Mycroft hummed softly and nodded though his face told Greg that he hadn't believed him one little bit. An awkward silence fell into place, till Mycroft broke it. "A run? In this weather?"
Greg swallowed thickly and breathed heavily through his nose. "Yes, Mycroft. A run. I work for Scotland Yard. I need to keep up my fitness and stamina levels."
"Quite right. Wouldn't want those persistent criminals to get the better of you, would we?" Mycroft smiled in a way that turned Greg's insides to mush. He simply couldn't resist the man when he smiled at him like that. It was like his whole world suddenly got a lot brighter. Greg couldn't help but grin.
"Oh no. We definitely don't want that."
Mycroft chuckled softly, his eyes bright and filled with a gentle amusement. " How about we go home and hide from this dreadful weather? We could get a takeaway. Pizza. The large meat feast one?"
Greg was about to protest. Eating a pizza was definitely a big no when trying to lose weight and it would just make the exercise he'd just forced himself to go through absolutely pointless. However, as soon as he opened his mouth, his stomach growled ferociously, the sound seemingly echoing loudly in the car.
"I gather that was a yes, Gregory." Mycroft grinned.
Greg let out a long and weary sigh. There was no point in fighting it, not yet at least. Instead he merely nodded, his whole body slumping both from exhaustion and defeat.
If possible Mycroft's grin widened.
That's what Greg feels like he's going through. Sat in front of him is half of a meat feast pizza in all of its glorious fatty, greasy, meaty goodness. The other half is resting heavily in his stomach. He feels completely full, his stomach straining against his jogger bottoms. He grunted and pulled his jumper down. He was fearful of his gut making an appearance. He turned to look at Mycroft and blinked. The man had barely touched his pizza. A half-eaten slice had been placed aside. Mycroft wasn't busy eating. He was busy watching Greg and God…his eyes.
They were as black as night, filled with a fuming desire so strong that it threatened to choke Greg. The look he was giving Greg was so heated that he could feel his skin almost boiling with anticipation. Anticipation for what exactly, Greg wasn't sure. He shifted awkwardly and groaned as his stomach protested.
"I'm sure you can fit a little more in." Mycroft said, his voice a deep whisper.
Greg swallowed and held his ground. He had to get to the bottom of things, had to know whether Sherlock's words from earlier were true. He licked his lips. They suddenly felt dry. "Your brother was right."
Greg received a puzzled look and a raised eyebrow from Mycroft. "My brother?" He scoffed. "Right about what exactly?"
"You're feeding me up. Making me fat." Greg watched as Mycroft was taken aback. The government official obviously hadn't been expecting that. "Is he right? He said you prefer your partners to be bigger?" A dry, breathy laugh left his lips. Mycroft wasn't denying anything. In fact his face told the whole story. "He is right, isn't he?! Why, Myc? Do you get off on it?! Seeing me getting so fat I can barely fit in even my baggiest clothes?! Do you like making your partners miserable?! Cus I'm bloody miserable. You know, just because you have control over most things, it doesn't mean you can have control over me or my body, so you can bloody well-"
Greg was cut off by the sudden sensation of being hopelessly snogged, a hot and trembling body pinning him down. He didn't respond at first. He was too angry and fed up and there were so many intense emotions boiling within him that he didn't know where to turn or what to do. So Mycroft continued to kiss him, suckling on Greg's lower lip and pulling it into his own hot, wet mouth. The action was aggressive yet loving and inviting at the same time. Greg was confused and a soft involuntary moan left his body and vibrated against Mycroft's soft lips. His mind was furious, his heart told him that perhaps this was the happiest he's ever been, and his body was being annoyingly responsive to Mycroft's advances. In the end his heart and body won and his lips finally began moving against Mycroft's, his hips shimmying upwards in delight.
When Mycroft pulled back he was gasping for air and red faced. Greg panted out a small "Oh." He wasn't entirely sure about what had just happened. Mycroft moved back in and nuzzled his neck softly . He gently brought a hand down to Greg's stomach, causing an growl to leave the detective. He pushed Mycroft's prying hands away and wrapped his arms around his stomach protectively. "Stop it!" He huffed. "I'm not going to get fat just for your own pleasure! It's sick!"
Mycroft sniffed and for a moment he looked devastatingly sad. Greg's heart cracked a little. Perhaps his words had been a little too harsh. Why was it that he always bore the guilt? It was Mycroft who had this insane fetish, not him. But God Mycroft looked so lonely, like he'd had this argument time and time again with past partners. Greg suspected that it was highly likely that he had. He gently took Mycroft's hand and held it in his. "I didn't mean that you're sick. I just meant the whole concept of feeding up your partners…well…you can see that it's completely disgusting, right? For health reasons mainly but it's just…so bloody intense…and you haven't taken in account my feelings at all."
"You seem to be enjoying yourself well enough." Mycroft said, patting Greg's tender stomach gently.
A soft moan left Greg and he sighed. The truth was that despite everything there was a part of him that was enjoying this, part of him that liked being almost painfully full, and God his body became so responsive to time the older man brushed his fingertips against his stomach he felt a strange sensation flood through him, like small electric pulses moving across his skin. In truth he had never felt so content, with his belly full, and a gorgeous man peppering him with attention. "I am. A little." He admitted with a meek smile. "Though I don't know how I feel about all this. Sherlock mentioned that you've been putting drugs in my food to increase my weight gain…"
Mycroft's face crumpled and he nodded. Greg's heart dropped in his chest. That nod confirmed all of his fears. A rush of anger burned fiercely somewhere deep in his chest and he all but shoved Mycroft off of him. At the moment it would seem he had the emotional span of a teenage girl. He was almost certain that he'd get whiplash by the end of his and Mycroft's argument.
"You what?! You know what? I don't even want to hear it! It's one thing having a kink but it's an entirely different thing when you're putting drugs into my food. God, I thought you liked me. And I was almost certain that I liked you too. But now this little revelation has come to light? I don't even know who you are anymore. People warned me about you. Told me to stay away. Told me that you only think of yourself, that you're a selfish bastard. I stood up for you. I told them that they were wrong, to give you a break. I thought I could see a side to you that no one else could see. I thought you cared!" Greg leapt to his feet, his whole body arching like a cat preparing for a fight, his fists clenched at his side. At the moment he had the burning desire to punch the smug Government official in the face.
"Please, Gregory, let me explain." Mycroft reached out to him, his eyes big and pleading.
"I said I don't want to hear it!"
Greg began to leave and for one tender moment it seemed that Mycroft was going to let him. But then long fingers were suddenly wrapped around his wrist and he was forced to stop in his tracks. Greg groaned in bitter annoyance and tried pulling away but the fingers just wouldn't let him.
"Gregory, please. I never meant to hurt you. Listen to me. I know that's probably the last thing you want to do right about now, but at least give me a chance."
Greg nodded but he did not turn around. The grip on his wrist loosened a little but still remained. "Yes, I have a strange kink. I know that's intense and I know that you feel as though I don't care about you. However, my dearest Gregory, that couldn't be further from the truth. I care about you a great deal."
"If you care about me so much then why are you feeding me up like a Christmas turkey?" Greg asked softly, frowning.
"Because I'm selfish as you pointed out earlier. I want you all to myself. I didn't want you to run off to someone else if you ever got a better offer…"
Greg swallowed thickly and turned to face Mycroft. He reached up a tentative hand and cupped Mycroft's chin, running his thumb over the older man's skin with a familiar fondness. "I don't want to leave you…at least I didn't. How could you possibly even think that? You're everything I've ever wanted and yet you're everything that I never even thought to look for. Don't get me wrong. You're not perfect, and sometimes you can be so bloody rude. But I think that's just because you're a Holmes. I would never leave you. Not for someone else. You're an idiot, you know that?"
"So I've been told." The corners of Mycroft's mouth twitched in amusement.
"Hey, don't think I'm letting you off." Greg said, though his voice held no venom.
"I don't expect you to forgive me, Gregory."
"Yes, well, this is a pretty big thing for me to forgive you for. Drugs? What the hell were you thinking?!"
"The drugs are harmless." Mycroft stated softly. "They slow down your metabolism and they make you put weight on. I usually use them in the first stages of feeding up my partners."
"So, what? I'm just one in the long line of partners? Bloody hell. Don't I feel special? I can see why you were bloody single when we met. What's the plan then? Where are you going with this?"
" You are more than just another partner. And you are special. You're an amazing man and…you are incredibly aesthetically pleasing."
Greg scoffed and pointed at his gut. "What? Even with this?"
"Especially with that." Came the predatory reply.
"This really turns you on?" Greg asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes." Mycroft stated honestly. " Every time you put on a bit of weight, the mere fact that I put it there, well, it, affects me in ways that I can't even begin to explain."
" Oh. I can see how it's affecting you alright." Greg swallowed, his eyes sliding down to the visible tent in Mycroft's trousers. Mycroft, unlike Greg, wasn't embarrassed at all. He didn't even try to hide his arousal. Greg was bright red, blushing like a school girl.
"Please don't go." Mycroft whispered softly.
"I…" Greg chewed on his bottom lip in thought. He was probably going to regret what he was going to say next. "I'll stay. If you can convince me to."
Mycroft's sly smile said it all.
That's how Greg found himself sat in the comfy armchair again, large slices of pizza making their way into his mouth and down his throat, settling in his stomach with the other half he'd eaten earlier. Mycroft was barely giving him a chance to chew. The pizza was slightly cold now but it tasted divine and whenever moans of indulgence escaped his lips he was rewarded with a belly rub. At some point Greg's top had been discarded, revealing the poochy belly and the definite signs of fat rolls beginning to form. It should have been disgusting. Greg should have said no three slices ago. Better yet he should have gone when he'd found out about Mycroft drugging his food and purposely feeding him up. But something was keeping him fixed to this spot, like a rope tethering him to Mycroft himself.
It was in that moment that Greg saw what Mycroft enjoyed about the act of stuffing him. It wasn't quite sexual, but even Greg could feel the arousal that was seemingly filling the air. He was squirming in his seat, powerless. Greg wasn't usually such a submissive person, but the thick pizza sitting heavily in his stomach was making him lethargic and a slave to Mycroft. The Government official seemed more relaxed than Greg had ever seen him, his jacket tossed to one side, his tie slightly askew, his hair was out of place, and his eyes watching Greg with the disposition of a kitten watching an object of interest. There was something about seeing Mycroft so at peace that turned on Greg something terrible. God, the man was gorgeous. How could Mycroft ever think Greg would leave him?
Once the pizza was fully settled in his stomach, things got even stranger, if that were even possible. Mycroft began to lavish his gut with attention, in an almost aggressive fashion, as though he was claiming Greg as his own. It was hot and intense and his whole body was screaming and writhing madly, his breaths short, sharp, and frantic. His stomach was brushed by slender fingers, squeezed, kissed, licked, and nipped. Greg's whole body was trembling, sensation after sensation crashing over him. This was bliss.
Tentatively, he brought a hand down to grasp Mycroft's hair, causing the man to look up. "Convinced?" Mycroft asked him softly.
"A little." Greg hummed. "We may have to do this again, just so you can convince me a little more."
"Again? But I thought-"
"Me too, but I have to say, that as far as kinks go, this one isn't too bad." Greg smiled down at Mycroft. "And well, I like you, a lot actually. Just stop with the drugs, ok? And we'll see how things progress."
Mycroft's eyes seemed to shine for a moment and soon Greg's stomach was being showered with more attentions. Greg closed his eyes and let out a happy sigh. Perhaps he'd just made a big mistake, but right now he found that he actually didn't care.