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Reaching for another handful of M&Ms, Regulus’s fingers meet nothing but smooth plastic. He swipes along the bottom of the bag before glancing inside to be sure that it is, indeed, empty.
Ugh.
Perhaps it’s for the best. Well, it’s almost definitely for the best, save for the edge of disappointment at having nothing left to put in his mouth. He’s been mindlessly snacking all day, one thing after another - a supermarket delivery he put in first thing this morning after realising just how many topics he still needed to cram before his exam on Monday. His stomach feels stretched and a little sickly as he turns back to his laptop, closing Module 3: Commercial Law and clicking into Module 4: Issues in Corporate Governance.
Key issues affecting corporate governance, he reads, tired. Board composition and diversity. Conflicts of interest. Transparency and disclosure. He rubs at his eyes, runs a hand over his mouth; down over his sore belly, kneading into his side. Regulatory compliance. Risk management, particularly in relation to cybersecurity. Shareholder rights.
It’s not going in. Not really. He’s just skimming now, the concentrated flow achieved during previous modules interrupted by the sudden lack of sugar-laden stimulation. Regulus finds studying without snacks almost impossible these days - which, he acknowledges, with a not-insignificant dose of self-loathing, is undoubtedly why he’s piled on such a horrendous amount of weight over the past couple of years. Aced multiple exams, gone up multiple sizes. It’s embarrassing how quickly it’s happened. He has stretch marks, for crying out loud.
Scrolling, he sighs. Downs the last of his lukewarm tea for something to swallow and then, thirsty from the excess of sweets, wishes he had more. Perhaps he should take a break and fetch himself a fresh mug. Perhaps that’d help.
Bracing his hands against the desk, Regulus heaves himself up with a huff, the movement dislodging an unexpected burp - a tiny relief from the syrupy weight distending his gut. Too much sugar, that’s the problem. He needs to hydrate. More tea. Yes.
The way his body moves as he descends the stairs remains oddly unfamiliar to him - plump thighs rubbing together, full belly jiggling gently with each step - a disconnect there, frequently, as if his mind cannot truly comprehend that this body is his. Because Regulus was always skinny. He went through long phases of barely eating, back when he lived at home; terrified that if he allowed himself to let go, he might never manage to stop.
Tugging self-consciously at the hem of his pyjama shirt as he reaches the kitchen, he supposes that fear was justified. He barely recognises himself these days. Still expects to see that too-thin boy looking back at him in the mirror. Still goes to select new clothing in the smallest size, before remembering abruptly that his own size smalls no longer reach around the sides.
He lives with a friend now. Has a boyfriend now. He does his best not to think about it too much.
Thankfully, Barty appears to have gone out. The discovery is predictably relaxing. Regulus can move freely now, without fear of judgement. Not that Barty’s presence really prevents him from anything - not in the way his mother’s still does - but his housemate can be a sarcastic little prick, always side-eyeing him and making jabs, and he tends to take up residence at the kitchen table when they’re studying, fuelled on a constant stream of coffee and irritation.
Again?
I’m hungry, aren’t I? I’ve been cramming all day.
Cramming food into your gob all day, yeah.
He’s put together a little snack before he even realises what he’s doing. A couple of crackers, thick wedges of mature cheddar perched on top, consumed as the kettle boils. A good idea, he decides, as he prepares the tea; something salty to counteract all the sweetness and settle his stomach. Besides, he hasn’t actually had a meal since breakfast, has he? And it must be almost dinnertime now.
The thought gnaws at him: he’d like a proper, savoury meal. Some sort of regular nourishment, satisfying, rather than just the million calories of sugar currently churning his insides. Not that he should be taking in more after that million calories of sugar, especially given the growing tightness of even his most comfortable flannel pyjamas, but…well.
Sinking onto one of the kitchen chairs with his mug of tea, Regulus pulls out his phone, puts in another order, and waits.
Your order has been seen by a real person.
Your order has been accepted!
Your order is being prepared.
Expected delivery: 17:03
There’s a feeling of relief. The promise of an itch about to be scratched. He waits downstairs for the delivery, warm mug of tea held comfortingly against his plush stomach, to avoid making any extra trips up and down the stairs.
Finally, the large, fragrant paper bag arrives and he carries it up to his room, cosy with anticipation. His desk is uninviting now - too many hours of revision, too many empty sweet pouches cluttering the space - and so he sets the food down on his neatly-made bed instead. Lays out his feast. Burgers, gourmet, three kinds to try. Couldn’t decide between them; better to have ordered too much than too little. Thick potato wedges, skin on. Sweet potato fries with aioli dip. A small portion of tortilla chips with sour cream and guacamole, just because it caught his eye.
It’s too much, he knows. It’s ridiculous. He’s always going overboard, always - eating until he can’t, making himself even fatter. And yet from the first salty, delicious bite, this logic ceases to exist: he just wants to eat. He settles himself in front of the massive spread and attacks the food as if his stomach isn’t already stretched with chocolate. As if it’s some sort of challenge. He can still be disciplined like that - can pace himself through it, even if he has to pause and breathe and groan at his own overindulgence now and then.
James calls just as he’s forced three more sweet potato fries into his mouth. Fuck.
Drawn back into reality, and faintly horrified with himself, Regulus considers spitting them out. He’s so painfully stuffed. But he needs to answer the phone, and so, with an effort, he swallows.
“Hi.” His voice sounds strained. That's embarrassing.
“Hi, you. Are you finished swotting for the day? I’m nearly outside. Brought you a treat.”
A treat? Regulus thinks he might vomit if he has to eat another bite. And it will be a treat of the edible variety, there’s no question about that. James loves to watch him eat, especially if he can feed him himself. He’s never made any secret of it.
Perhaps, just maybe, the fact that Regulus has gotten so fat isn’t entirely his own fault.
“Good luck with that,” he responds breathlessly, turning his face away from the phone for a moment to stifle an uncomfortable burp. “You’ll have to let yourself in. I did a bit too much cramming.”
He can flirt like this now. Used to be too ashamed, but got used to it, once he realised the level of James’ genuine interest. He can hear the excitement in his voice now - the feigned oh?, as if he isn’t already picturing just how much Regulus has incapacitated himself this time.
Breathing shallowly, he attempts to sit up a little straighter at the sound of the front door opening, only to grimace at the way his pyjama shirt has turned into an overstuffed corset, the brushed fabric pulling tight around his overfed gut. Even the soft bulge of his upper arms seems to strain against the sleeves. Regulus can barely move. And then there’s no point in moving, because James is there, grinning indulgently and clearing the remaining food off the bed and clambering in beside him. “Well, well. Got bored, did you?”
“Something like that.”
“Didn’t even get dressed today?”
“I was up,” Regulus retorts, gingerly rubbing at the painful jut beneath his ribcage. “Got quite a lot done, actually.”
James plucks at the front of his pyjamas, slowly releasing the straining buttons. The easing of pressure prompts a small, slightly humiliating moan of relief. “So nothing else fits, is that it?”
The words would sting coming from anyone else. From James, though? Regulus feels warmth swelling beneath the weight of his belly, weird as it is. He’s turned on, playing along, as James’ fingers begin to caress the jagged pink stripes below his navel. Fuck, he’s so big now. Grabbable softness, even bloated up like this.
“Everything’s a bit tight,” he confirms breathlessly: a complaint, a confession, a flirt. An intake of air as James leans in to kiss and nibble at the chub gathering beneath his chin, being careful not to push against his overfull stomach. Another as he slides a hand around his side, gently pinching and squeezing at a roll of fat near the base of his shoulderblade. A murmur against his neck.
“You’re getting bigger again, you know. Stuffing yourself silly like this.”
James sounds positively giddy about it. Feeling too huge and stretched for his own skin, Regulus flushes hotly, uncertain quite how to respond. “I know. I don’t mean to.”
“D’you want me to make you feel better?”
Not waiting for an answer - because it’s always yes where he’s concerned - James shifts, straddling Regulus’s legs with a fluid ease he himself hasn’t managed in a long time. Expert hands start to massage his exposed belly; thumbs kneading into velvety soft fat, applying gentle pressure to the hardness underneath, easing tension, coaxing out trapped air. Regulus sighs as James’ lips brush the top of his stomach. Whimpers, involuntarily, as one of his hands moves further down and eases his cock out of his tight pyjama bottoms, sandwiching the tip between his palm and Regulus’s own protruding lower belly.
“Is it too much, though?” he can’t help gasping out - because that scrap of worry never completely fades, even with a man as perfect as James Potter worshipping atop his plush thighs. “Do you still like it?”
And James just grins at him, beautifully flushed now, as he moves his hand. “I fucking love it.”