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Blood and Chocolate	By : christinecornell Category: Celebrities - Misc > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 70 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Based on my own predilections or not, this is still a work of fiction. by the way, you will get hungry reading this. Just, just just trust me on this.

Chapter List
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It was a pain in the ass to drive back home, and more so to drive out to Alex's place to tell him, simply because I worried about getting caught by either Elle or Dave or someone in the apartment complex. But somehow I managed to get back to my car and drive out of there without another peep sent my way. Even if I never wrote anything down, I knew what could come out of this, and it was so easy to fall into traps of some sort as well.
I could only focus on getting my ass over to Alex's place and telling him what was going on. But then again, I wondered if his parents even knew about anything that was happening between us. It was all just between the two of us and Lou, and for the time being, it was only just the two of us. We had to keep the secret, that is if Alex never told them where and how he gained as much weight as he did.
I had only been over to their place all of twice, and both times I needed Alex there in the car with me because I couldn't remember it offhand. But this time, I did remember it all, and I was able to sneak up on the neighborhood as well as the mouth of their driveway as well. I parked the car up the block so they wouldn't see me out the window, and yet once I walked my way up to the driveway, there was the garage door standing wide open and Alex plopped down on the chair in the middle of the concrete floor with his guitar plunked across his lap. It wasn't cold out but I did catch a bit of a shiver upon seeing him there with that low neckline and his collar bones exposed.
“Eric!” he called out to me once I came within earshot. I strode up to the garage doorway, and I hung there on the side with my heart pounding and my lungs flaring.
“Hey,” was all I could muster.
“What's going on? Are you feeling okay?”
“I have to—I have to tell you something.” I gasped for air even though I hadn't been running this whole time.
“Well, to be honest, I don't really know if you should be here right now,” he confessed to me.
“Why not?” I managed to gasp out.
“Because you're a guy. My parents already have a hard time with the idea of me bringing a girl home—another dick, and they'd completely lose their minds. I'm already hearing the word 'meshuggah' in my sleep.”
“Are your parents even home?” I asked him.
“Nah, they've been out all morning, but they should be home like any minute, though,” he explained as he ran his fingers through his black hair.
“Which means if they pulled up right now—”
“Right.”
“Well, could I at least take you out for something to eat?” I offered him.
“Um, yeah, I'd love to. I don't know if it's just my appetite burgeoning up again, but I'm down for it. But I'll have to leave a note, though.”
“Take your time, no rush,” I assured him with a shake of my head.
“But I'll just say that I'm going out with some friends and I'll be back soon enough. You know how it is with us.” He moved his guitar out of the way and ran his hand down the soft rounded shape of his belly, much to my pleasure. The hem of his shirt hugged his waist in such a way that made me think of one of those roulade cakes, the kinds where you'd roll them up and fill them up with lush cream: he had such a beautiful roll of fat there now that I wanted to kiss him there some more.
At least he wouldn't be able to ask me about what had happened until we made our way over to the diner across the street from Ruthie's, and I was able to let him eat a big piece of pie with his matzo soup: it was one of a few places in Berkeley that carried matzo soup, and he was more than willing to have a big bowl of it while I helped myself to a big Denver omelette.
“I snuck over to Elle's place earlier,” I gave it to him straight.
“You went over to her place, really?”
“Yeah. I followed Dave over there.”
He raised his eyebrows at that.
“What did he say to you? Moreover, what did she say to you?”
“See, that's the thing,” I told him as I poured some cream into my cup of coffee. “I snuck around the side of the apartment complex and eavesdropped on them.”
“They just had the window open and everything?”
“Yeah. The whole thing was a cinch.”
“And you heard everything?”
“Yeah, I think they're up to something,” I said to him as I stirred in the cream. “Like she's trying to get us to eat more—trying to get me to feed you more.”
“So, mind games and manipulation and... all of that.”
“Every last part of it.”
“And yet, you seek her advice when it comes to giving me stuff to eat.”
“Yes.”
“You seek her advice when I'm very obviously putting on weight.”
“Yes.”
“You make it known to her that you enjoy all of this. You enjoy making me stuff to eat—and in fact, I can tell that you enjoy making kosher food specifically for me.”
“Yes. And I absolutely do enjoy making you all of that, and I look forward to making sufganiyot for you for Hanukkah.”
“So...” He stopped with his gaze pointed off to the side for a second, and then he cleared his throat. “...what exactly is the problem with all of this?” he asked me, baffled.
“The problem is... I'm having way too much fun doing this,” I confessed. “You know, I like to cook and make food, and I like doing it for you, especially. I like the way your body looks with a few extra pounds. It's just... by the sound of it, she wants to take it many steps further. She wants me to get inside of your head and make you into a little pig, as she put it.”
“So the fact that she got inside your head allowed you to find out what gets you off,” he followed along. “And yet, everything good and decent in the world has a consequence.” He rested his hand on his belly. I nibbled on my bottom lip. We had become puppets for her, and yet we seemed to be in deep with all of this. I was going to have to face her again at some point when it came for the next round of homemade food, and I knew that Alex would probably have to face her as well.
And it seemed as though Alex had read my mind on top of that.
“Is there any way that we could make fat suits?” he asked me.
“Fat suits? Not that I know of. You could always put a pillow or a wadded towel under your shirt.”
“But what if she wants to see me, though? You know. See the results of her puppeteering and what have you.”
“She won't,” I assured him.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I won't allow it.”
“You won't allow it?”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“Because you're mine.” I stopped dead in my tracks at that, and in fact, he straightened his spine at the sound of that.
“I'm yours?” he echoed me.
“Did I say that?”
“You did!”
“It felt good.”
“Well, if I'm yours then that must mean that you're mine,” he quipped back. “Yeah, that does feel good.” He sighed through his nose again, and that time he picked up his cup of coffee. “Well, what do you think we should do?”
“We'll figure it out as we go along,” I told him. “It's how we got into it, after all.”
“Kinda 'dig ourselves out', if you will,” he followed along.
“Exactly, exactly...” My voice trailed off, and I watched him lean back in the seat across from me. His shirt was still a little bit loose around his belly, but I could see the results of it all.
“My mom did point out to me the other day that I'm getting kinda... chunky, anyway.”
“Did she say it in a derogatory manner?” I asked him as I sipped on my coffee.
“Actually, no. She was brushing past me and rested her hands on my hips and she said, 'oh, my baby's getting soft again.' She put her arms around my waist and held me, and it felt so good, too.” His face turned bright pink at that, and I couldn't help but smile, either. This was what I loved: filling his tummy and making him feel good about himself. Moreover, this was what I wanted as well: to see him happy meant I was happy as well. But I started to wonder what exactly it was that he wanted, though. He was eating the pie, but what did he really want out of all of this and out of his fresh new little belly as well.
He took a sip of his coffee and from underneath the rim of the mug, I could see a slight double coming in under his chin. He did look good with a little extra weight, and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted him to stay that way. I didn't want him to gain any more weight, and I didn't want Elle to win, either. We were just about pleasure here: pleasure and enjoying all the food we could ever ask for between the two of us.
He set down his mug on the table before him and looked on at me as if he wanted to tell me something important.
I held still with my lips pursed and my hands upon the table before me as if I was about to climb up to my feet.
“I say we get into her head,” he suggested.
“And how do we do that?”
“Flip the script,” he continued.
“Flip the script?”
“You give her some ideas, like all of your Mexican food and Swedish food and what have you.”
“I haven't heard her say a word about anything like that before,” I recalled.
“Good, good! Make those suggestions to her and see how she reacts. If she takes them, try and see if she does it begrudgingly or with a certain look.”
“Stink eye?”
He raised a finger. “Evil eye,” he replied. “Like she's trying to figure you out from there. It'll drive her up the wall and she'll have to tell Dave about it and they'll have to go back to the drawing board. Hopefully, anyways.”
“And what if she doesn't take them?” I asked him.
“She probably will,” he assured me, and I could readily tell that he was making all of this up as he went along. “But if in the odd chance that she doesn't, take the nuclear option.”
“And what would that be?”
“Get in her pants,” he suggested.
“Get in her pants?” I wrinkled my nose at that.
“Yeah. If nothing else, give her to me. The next time you go out to fetch something to make, I'll come with you and I'll hide out in the men's room, and we could go from there.”
“I like this side to you, Alex,” I confessed.
“Hey, you mess with the bear, you get the claws,” he said with a drumming of his fingers on the table before him.
“What about Dave, though?” I asked him.
“Don't worry about him,” he assured me. “It's gonna drive him up the wall especially now that I think about, but I feel it'd be worth a shot.”
The waitress returned with our food right then, and he relished in that big bowl of matzo soup as if it was his last meal. Even though he obviously liked it, I could tell that he didn't enjoy it as much as the soup that I had made for him before, especially when he sprinkled some more salt and pepper on top of it.
I had done something for him, alright. And there was no way in hell on Earth I could let it slip away into the realm of overkill.
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Blood and Chocolate