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Blood and Chocolate	By : christinecornell Category: Celebrities - Misc > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 15 -:- 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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When I woke up the next morning, I lay there in bed for a few moments with my eyes closed. There was a part of me that wanted to see Alex all full and soft, albeit with a nicely rounded little belly, but then again, I wondered if there was to be any way into him that would make him feel that way and would make him look that way. There was a soft boy in there somewhere: he needed to be coaxed out and loved in the absolute most tender way possible.
The boy did love to eat, and there was something in there. I knew that if I was to hold a feast for me, him, and Lou, and maybe Angie, too, if she wished to join the three of us, then there had to be a way of feeding him more and more than he could stand. If there was any way that I knew about gaining weight, it was that it came about at a gradual pace. I had to pack that flat little tummy with as much food as I could possibly make for him and then some, and then perhaps we could make a little progress.
There was only thing that stood in my way, however, and that was one word: how. How would I do that?
I thought about his reaction to the matzo soup and how he was more than happy to eat more. I also thought about the actual ingredients of it as Elle had laid them out for me. Jewish food was very humble and yet I gave it such a twist that he wanted more. To elevate and add to the culture. Of course!
Perhaps I could make him a nice big fat Reuben sandwich, one with lots of sauerkraut and pepper on the pastrami, and I could whip up some homemade curly fries. I had the potatoes, and I had the spices and the things to make up curly fries: I also had the pastrami with the black peppercorns on the sides. All I had to do was actually make it all up for both him and me.
There had to be something indulgent in there, something to round it all out with the intent of giving him a nice round, chubby little belly.
I thought about him getting all round, too, especially as I climbed out of bed and made my way into the bathroom followed by the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He had that narrow, oval face but I pictured him being rounder and softer there: those cute little apple cheeks whenever he smiled only to grow even rounder and fuller, the absolute ripest fullest apples I could think of; his slender svelte waist filled out in the sweetest, softest way possible, and his hips in even rounder, shapelier fashion.
I couldn’t explain it, but I pictured him carrying the weight so well. I pictured him being so full and shapely that I couldn’t resist wanting to come closer to him.
Indeed, I leaned against the counter’s edge, and I closed my eyes. I pictured him there next to me, nice round little face as round and gorgeous as the full moon, nice thick body, and a fat little belly poking out over his belt. I also pictured him in the shyest way possible: he would stifle little burps in his throat and gently tug down the hem of his shirt over his little belly. His face all round and soft, and kissable! His body all round and soft, and there was no way I could keep my hands off him, either.
Alex was already a recluse to begin with, but I also thought about him being so cute and soft with the reclusiveness. A baby all for me to take care of.
Maybe I was sick and twisted in the head with that fantasy, but I also wanted him to feel more like himself. There was a hungry boy in there and I wanted him to come out and play with me.
Come and play with me, Alex. Be a good boy and play with me.
Yeah, I also thought about tying him down and force-feeding him with something extra decadent like cake. I would have to work my way to that, if I could, anyway. Alex was not only a wallflower, but he always thought ahead of me. He always observed every step of the way before anyone else did.
The coffee maker made that soft ding! and I jarred myself out of the fantasy. I poured myself a cup and I stood before the living room window with my gaze fixed on the hills out there on the other side of the valley. Someday, I would find myself out of the Bay Area, even with as much as I loved the place and as much as I called it my forever home.
There had to be more to life than staying in one place: one thing that I loved about touring was that we were able to witness life happen in other places and find more stories about everything and everyone. I was more than happy to make up that matzo soup for Alex, and I was more than happy to share a bit of my culture with him through the spicy hot chocolate.
The most decadence that cultures had to offer to him, and me, too.
I sipped on my coffee, and I watched the clouds around the summit of the hilltops break away a bit. A break in the clouds only to reveal another layer of darkness in there: the clouds moved again, and some light followed. I took another sip, and it was right then I knew what to do.
I picked up the cordless phone and I dialed his number once again all to invite him over to my place later that night.
“Mmm, hello?” His voice was so warm and round even on the other end of the phone. I knew that he was still feeling soft from the night before.
“Hey, sleepy sweet boy,” I greeted him. “You wanna come on over for dinner tonight?”
“Ooh, no can do,” he told me with a clearing of his throat. “I’ve got to help my parents tonight. I can do lunch, though.”
“Oh, boy! Uh, what time you want to come over?”
He treated me to a soft groan on his end. “I dunno—I literally just woke up...” He groaned again and I knew he was stretching his arms over his head.
“How’re you feeling right now?” I asked him.
“I’m feeling all warm right now,” he sleepily replied to me. “I’m all enveloped up in my blankets. I almost don’t even want to get out of bed.”
I had to stop myself from offering to come on over to his place to make him breakfast in bed. That would be another thing to save for later once I had found myself all the way inside of his armor.
“I’ve got to go pee, though,” he said. “And I’ve got to get up, anyway, for a cup of coffee. Damn it.”
“I’ve got a pot of coffee over here,” I offered him.
“Mmm, that’s so kind of you, Eric—I've got some of my own, though. How ‘bout eleven-thirty? That'll give you some time to make everything you want to make for the two of us—is Lou gonna be there?”
“I don’t know... I’ll go ask him once we’re done here. Just one other thing—”
“Hm?”
“What would you like to eat?”
“Whatever’s on the menu, my man,” he answered with a clearing of his throat.
“Homemade Reuben sandwich with homemade curly fries and—” I scrambled for the right thing to round out the whole thing. “A milkshake?”
“Holy shit,” he groaned out. “Although, what about a cup of tea instead? I see the shake being a bit too heavy.”
I nibbled on my bottom lip at that. I had a few teabags laying around in the pantry, but a part of me wanted to spoil the shit out of him with a nice hearty chocolate milkshake. It would also spare me the trouble of actually making some ice cream in the machine in the cupboard as I didn’t feel like going out again just for a half gallon of vanilla ice cream. I didn’t even know how to work the machine, either. But with myself, I knew that it would be worth it in the end.
“Yeah, I can make you some tea,” I told him, and I had to resist cracking a little smile, especially since he couldn’t see me for myself.
“Okay. I'll be over there in a few hours or so.”
We hung up at the same time: I held onto my cup of coffee, and I made my way next door to Lou’s place. The place was dark, and the door was locked, and I knew that it would be just me and him that night for dinner. I was more than happy to make lunch for Alex, though.
A few hours’ time, and I knew that the ice cream alone would take about that long. The ice cream as well as my making sure that those sandwiches and the fries were nice and hot.
Indeed, he came over at eleven-thirty sharp, right as I was putting the ice cream machine away into the cupboard so there would be no questions asked: he came over complete with a dreamy, slightly dazed look plastered over his face. I knew that he had slept well the night before, and I knew that he was feeling good right then. He hung up his jacket on the hook next to the door, and he stretched his arms up over his head. He tugged his shirt down over his waist, still slim and slender, beautiful even. The sight of his slim waist made me question whether I actually wanted to go through with it all. The band of his jeans hugged the tops of his hips and accentuated the delicate shape of his body.
Delicate and thin, and very beautiful. A beautiful boy.
But when he stretched his arms over the black crown of hair upon his head, and he showed me a small sliver of skin over the belt of his jeans, I knew what he was thinking. That slender beautiful belly needed to be filled up.
“You look like you’re about ready to strip for me,” I teased him as I lunged for that little stripe of skin just to poke it; he lunged backwards, complete with his hands and his arms down before him. He held back for a second, and then he pressed his hands onto his hips, and he gyrated them for me.
“Cute,” I remarked.
“Cute? Not hot?”
“Maybe if you took your shirt off,” I suggested. He cracked me a mischievous smile and then he stopped, complete with a hand on his slender stomach.
“Ooh,” he groaned.
“What? Tummyache?”
“Hungry,” he said. “So hungry, actually. I didn’t have breakfast, believe it or not.”
I shook my head at that. “Tsk, tsk, Alex, you know you should always have breakfast.”
“I didn’t think about it, to be frank,” he confessed as he took his seat there at the kitchen table, complete with his back to me. He tilted his head back for a whiff of the Reubens: I was toasting the bread first and then I followed it up with the thousand island dressing, the sauerkraut, and then the pastrami. There was something so sexy about pastrami: something I couldn’t exactly put a finger on whenever I ruminated over the thought. Maybe it was the peppercorns fused with the curing, maybe it was the right amount of fat embedded... I had no idea.
Before he showed up, I also put in a little pinch of sugar into the thousand island dressing: I also did the same thing with his fries. A pinch of sugar in the fries as well as an extra pinch of salt in there. Those little extra nuances of flavor and I had rolled the dice all the while.
I laid the thick slices of pastrami over the hot slices of toasted sourdough bread, and then I placed it all together. A side of curly fries, and then his cup of tea, still with the bag nestled on the inside there, and I walked it on over to him.
“Enjoy, big fella,” I told him, and he cracked me a sweet little smile and mouthed “thank you” as well. Once I had whipped up a plate for myself, as well as a quick little milkshake for myself, I took my seat next to him: all the while, I noticed that he had waited for me.
Even with his starving belly, he still waited for me.
With that waiting, he went nuts with it. He was not exaggerating when he said that he was hungry as he dug into the sandwich. At one point, he leaned back in the chair with his legs wide open and both hands on the sandwich: it looked as though he was about to have an orgasm from the taste of it.
A little bit of sugar was all I needed.
A little bit of sugar was all he needed. I sipped on the milkshake, and I was already feeling full by my own hand. Surely, it had to come about at some point with him.
He ate the whole thing, lock, stock, and barrel, and he ate that whole thing plus the fries at such a deliberate pace. Though he wasn’t exaggerating when he told me he was hungry, he ate with such care, and I had a feeling that it was because he wanted to relish the flavors of the sandwich as well as the fries.
It worked. The extra pinches of sugar and salt worked.
Alex leaned back in the chair with his legs still wide open and the cup of tea in hand.
“Mmm, that was delicious,” he told me. “This tea is utterly perfect, too.” He downed the rest of it right then and there, and I had a feeling about that as well.
I stood up and I lunged back into the kitchen for another bag of tea leaves. I opened it and I slipped it into his mug when he held it in repose: I then picked up the kettle and I returned to him once again.
“Here, Alex—” I poured him some more of that hot tea, and he showed me a little smile as a result.
I set the kettle down on the stove once more. He let out a low whistle, and I knew he was getting full. But he was more than happy to have more tea.
“Here—” I gave him some more curly fries and he squinted his eyes at me.
“You trying to fatten me up?” he demanded.
“No, no,” I assured him as I set the empty tray back on the counter behind him. “It’s just—you seem to be enjoying yourself with all of this. I can’t help but want to give you more.”
“It is delicious,” he told me as he picked up another few fries. “I never would’ve dreamed to have had a homemade Reuben sandwich with homemade curly fries before.”
I sat back down at the table with my milkshake nestled in between my hands. “You sure you don’t want a milkshake?” I offered him.
“Positive,” he assured me.
“I made it with homemade ice cream,” I told him.
“Really?” He raised his eyebrows at that
“Really, really. It's positively homemade. The only thing that isn’t is the milk itself.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t think that you made the milk yourself,” he confessed as he leaned back in the chair. “I don’t see any cows roaming around here.” He lowered his gaze to the long spoon nestled on the side of the glass, and he nibbled on his bottom lip. I knew what he was thinking. I knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Would you like a taste, though?” I offered him.
“Just a small taste,” he replied. I picked up the spoon, and I picked up a small piece of the shake. With one hand underneath the spoon head, I handed it over to him. He took in that spoonful with his eyes closed.
So sensual.
He swallowed it down, and then he shook his head about: stray tendrils of black hair sprawled all over his chest and shoulders like the tentacles of an octopus. He looked on at the head of the spoon for a second before he very slowly, very gingerly ran his tongue over the smooth silver.
There was a hidden sensuality inside of him, and one that I was more than willing to uncover for myself. That quality in him was utterly precious and delicate, and he needed to nourish it, even if it meant getting him as plump and round as a Christmas goose. All the delicious, decadent food that he could ever dream of, and I would be more than willing to make it for him to fill up his little belly and make him feel at ease, and in a way that he had never felt before, either. I wanted to see more of it, too: to see more of it and to relish it, away from the world at large and away from anyone who might dare to question it like Lou or Angie.
When he licked the rest of the residual milkshake off the spoon head, he looked on at his own reflection in the silver. His blue eyes drooped a bit, but he had a way to go before he was truly stuffed, however.
“Oh, my god, that was so delicious,” he remarked in a low voice, and he turned his attention over to me.
“Would you like a glass?” I offered him, and he shrugged.
“I dunno... I’m feeling pretty full and content already,” he replied. “It’d be pretty heavy on my stomach. Plus, I’d hate for you to get up again and make me a milkshake, too.”
“I’ve got no problem with that,” I assured him. “It’s made with skim milk, though.”
He shrugged again. “I don’t really know, to be honest,” he confessed with a little lick of his lips. “I taste the skim milk in there and with that ice cream, too. I like it, to be honest.” He glanced down at the cup of tea before him and furrowed his brow. “You know what? Fuck it. I'll take a small glass of it.”
“Oh, boy! Vanilla or chocolate?”
“Vanilla, and just a small glass, though,” he insisted.
I was eager to make it for him, though. A scoop of the vanilla ice cream into the blender with some of the heavy cream for a quick one; but then I realized that I had no skim milk left. There was, however, some of that whole milk that I had bought the other day.
I wondered if it would be too much for him to stomach, though. But then again, I had my lurking suspicion that I could do it and he wouldn’t even notice or care because it was just that delicious and just that decadent.
His back remained turned towards me as I poured in some of the whole milk instead. A quick stir of it and I returned to him with it in hand.
“These fries are so good,” he remarked as he shoveled in some more.
Oh, the power of a little pinch of both sugar and salt.
I set the glass down next to him and, once I gave it one last little stir with the spoon, I anticipated him to drink it all down in one fell swoop, no questions asked. I continued my milkshake all the while, just to make it look as though I was merely enjoying myself with it.
“Ooh, this is utterly scrumptious,” he said. “It feels like it’s coating my throat and my stomach.”
Even with his ensuring me that he was full, he still drank it all down. That whole milk would do him magic.
I resisted the urge to smirk at him as he drank it all down. It worked. It all worked.
“Phew.” He leaned back in the chair and rested both hands on his stomach. “Stick a fork in me—I'm done.”
I also resisted the urge to show my boner to him from underneath the table. His belly was slender and svelte, but there was a little roundness there, just like with the matzo soup before. He looked so cute and so soft, and I wanted to cuddle with him right there. But I couldn’t: no way I could, not without coming clean to him at first, and I had no idea as to how I would do that.
What I could think about, however, was improvising it all in the end.
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Blood and Chocolate