Soarin’ woke up with a groan.
He opened his eyes blearily, then reached up to rub the sleep out. Blinking rapidly to wake himself up, he suddenly became aware—as he did every morning—of the huge, light-blue mountain towering before him.
During the mornings, piercing rays of sunlight had a tendency of straying through the shades at the far side of the room, and landing right on his pillow. His gut, though, had long since grown big enough to shield his pillow and eyes. Soarin’ patted it appreciatively. His hand rebounded as if off of Jello, his generous flab jiggling at the impact.
Glancing to his left showed that Braeburn’s side of the bed was empty. Admittedly, Soarin’ tended to take up a good three-fourths of the mattress whenever he was in it, but the sliver of space reserved for the little Appleloosan stallion was empty. At least, Soarin’ thought with a flicker of amusement, it looked like it was. He shifted his weight slightly, smooshing his ass against the mattress. It didn’t feel like he’d rolled over on Braeburn again.
Screwing up his eyes, Soarin’ felt a small tightness building in his chest. A small burp burst out of his muzzle—the remnants of last night’s feast.
He groaned, resting both his hands on his blanket-covered belly. They’d gone out to a buffet last night. All-you-can-eat, of course. Ever since the two of them had relocated to Ponyville, Soarin’ had rarely been more grateful for anything than for Twilight Sparkle’s recommendation of the local Crystal Cuisine Buffet.
He could scarcely even remember how much he’d eaten. When Soarin’ started to eat, he tended to fall into a feeding frenzy of sorts, cramming as many calories down his throat as he could. Good thing he had Brae with him to help out, he thought, smirking and patting his belly again. That colt made sure that his plate was never empty. He’d left the buffet last night well and truly stuffed, which was saying something—even for him.
Thinking about Braeburn made him think about breakfast. Soarin’ massaged his gut thoughtfully, kneading his mounds of flab like dough. His stomach gurgled loudly, still occupied with digesting its hefty meal from the previous night. Still, Soarin’ decided, he probably had room for some more. It was rule one of the household that Soarin’ wasn’t allowed to miss breakfast (or second breakfast, or lunch, or dinner or supper or midnight snack), and he wasn’t about to start breaking that rule now.
His nostrils twitched. Slightly disappointed that he couldn’t smell anything from here, he decided that it was probably because the door was closed. All he had to do was get up and waddle to the kitchen, and breakfast would probably be waiting for him.
Soarin’ brushed his bed covers aside, yanking the blanket off of his giant gut. It came into full view, a massive, light blue mountain of concentrated feeding. Soarin’ scratched it absentmindedly, then swung his legs over the side of the bed.
It took some doing, admittedly. Soarin’ was not, by any means, a light stallion. Moving that much mass took energy, and by the time he’d managed to swing himself upright into a sitting position, Soarin’s appetite had already redoubled. His belly rumbled loudly, complaining at its lack of fullness. Soarin’ just patted it consolingly, and muttered, “Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll get you something soon.” He hoped Brae would make pie today.
The mattress sagged heavily under his weight: over five hundred pounds of stallion made for one heck of a downward force. Soarin’ rubbed his eyes with one hand and scratched his chest with another, then laid his hands on his belly and blinked at his reflection in the full-size mirror on the wall.
Two years ago, if anypony had asked Soarin’ if he thought one day he’d have a figure like this, he’d have laughed in their face. Sure, he loved his sweets, and had been known to overeat every so often—but he was a Wonderbolt! An athlete! He couldn’t get fat.
That had been before he’d met Braeburn. Soarin’ whistled appreciatively, patting his belly again as he remembered the first time he’d tried the cute Apple’s cooking. That stallion had a hell of a talent in the kitchen—and from the moment Soarin’ had tried his apple cobbler, he’d known he was in love.
With the cobbler, that is. He’d fallen for Brae later, though not by much.
Braeburn might’ve had a hell of a talent for cooking, but Soarin’ had one hell of a talent for eating—and, when indulged, a downright addiction to a good fruit pie. One thing had led to another, and before long, Brae was dropping off a pie for him every Monday morning. Soon enough, a pie a week became a pie a day—and, not long after, Brae had just moved right in, taking over Soarin’s admittedly sloppy kitchen and prepping meals for the big stallion whenever he pleased. Which was, to be sure, incredibly often.
Braeburn loved to cook food almost as much as Soarin’ loved to eat it. Before two months had passed, Soarin’ was downing more food than ever. By the three-month mark, even Spitfire had to comment on how much heavier he looked—and that was before he’d stopped fitting into the uniforms. But Soarin’ couldn’t help it—so what if he was putting on more weight than he was burning at practices? Food was just so good.
And even better was the fact that he soon discovered that he loved what came with it. It’d taken the two of them finally “coming out” with a proper relationship, but the more Braeburn encouraged him, the more Soarin’ had realized that he didn’t just love eating the food—he loved keeping it on, too. Putting on weight, adding pound after pound to a stocky figure that soon became a chubby one—that was what Soarin’ loved.
Taking an “indefinite leave of absence” from flying had been hard. These days, Soarin’s wings would barely get him off the ground. Even fueled by magic, most pairs of wings would find lifting a five-hundred-pound behemoth all but impossible. Still, given his hefty Wonderbolt pension and the amount of bits he’d had saved up over the course of his career, the two of them had been able to live fairly well: comfortable, relaxed, and, of course, well-fed.
He might have lost his athletic physique, but what he’d gained was much more valuable. Soarin’ loved his new size—and if anything, Braeburn loved it even more. The little Apple stallion was almost quivering with excitement whenever he got the chance to parade Soarin’ around Ponyville, kissing his pudgy cheeks, and occasionally, even in public…
Soarin’ blushed slightly. Well. Braeburn was only a little bit shameless.
He eyed his reflection again, hefting his big belly. Beneath all that flab, he was still strong. He had to be, to carry all this around. Still, he could easily stare at his belly all day. It was his most impressive part: a big, powerful gut that dominated his figure utterly. He cupped his hands around his big moobs—either would have easily been a G-cup on a mare—and amused himself by jiggling them for a few seconds.
Then his belly grumbled again. Soarin’ rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered, patting it consolingly. “I’ll feed ya. Just in a bit.”
He turned slightly, just until a third of his oversized rear was visible in the mirror. He cupped a hand around his ass—which covered approximately none of it. His massive, globular rear was simply too large these days to be covered up by anything other than the ridiculously baggy sweatpants he bought at the Ponyville Big and Tall store. Braeburn had nattered on one day about how his cousin Big Mac shopped at the same place, but for some reason, Soarin’ didn’t think it was quite for the same reasons.
A pair of bright white undies were stretched to their limit around his waist, the fabric groaning as it struggled to contain his bulk. They were just a pair of vanilla white briefs—Brae had bought him a pair with “WIDE LOAD” stamped across the cheeks, but those were in the wash. And besides, Soarin’ usually only wore those on especially frisky nights—and last night, he’d been too stuffed to do anything more than groan on his bed, his overfilled belly sloshing and gurgling above him.
He gave his ass a squeeze, and smirked when he came away with a fistful of flesh. “You are one sexy stallion, Soarin’,” he said aloud, meeting his reflection’s gaze. “And that is an ass to die for.”
It absolutely was. Especially, he thought, his smirk twitching, with Braeburn under it.
Right now, though, he was too hungry and tired to be in the mood for any naughtiness. He was still waking up, after all, and his growling tummy wasn’t about to feed itself. So, once he’d given his butt and belly a good scratch, he heaved himself to his feet—with no small amount of difficulty—and went off tromping toward the door.
He hoped he could find some food. Maybe, he thought, licking his lips eagerly, there’d even be leftovers from last night. Braeburn always remembered, even after Soarin’ had been lost to a food coma. Memories of mornings past where he’d woken up to a feast nearly as big as the one he’d downed the previous night filled his mind, and Soarin’ felt a line of drool slipping out of his muzzle. He slurped it up, wiped off his cheek, and made his way back toward the door.
The floor trembled beneath his every step, his belly smacking against his hips as he walked. His chunky thunder thighs rubbed together, any hint of a thigh gap long since laughed out of the room. Far beneath his bountiful belly, Soarin’s stallionhood strained against the confines of his briefs. He was bigger than Braeburn in that department, too—a good sixteen inches when he was hard, and with balls the size of grapefruits. Given that Brae was a cute little bottom who couldn’t keep his hands off of a good-sized cock, that had only ever been a plus.
His package rested comfortably against his leg fat, jiggling softly as each of his padded footfalls echoed off the floor. Soarin’ licked his lips again as he reached the door, his thoughts full of the food that might be waiting outside it—not to mention the sweet, alluring smells, the scents that would fill his lungs and drive him crazy with hunger. He was salivating already; he could scarcely wait.
He opened the bedroom door eagerly. Braeburn was outside, waiting for him.
Soarin’ yawned, stretched. Being a tall stallion, he always managed to brush the top of the doorframe whenever he did. By contrast, Brae was just the opposite: a lean, toned stallion just over a head shorter. “Mornin’, Brae,” Soarin’ grunted, scratching his belly and stepping out into the hall. He couldn’t help but notice how close his love handles were to the frame; before long, they’d be scraping against the sides.
He rather liked the sound of that.
“Mornin’, sleepyhead.” Like Soarin’, Brae was naked save for a pair of briefs; from the look in his eye and the lilt in his voice, it seemed like he’d just as soon have been rid of them. "How you feelin', sexy?" The twang in his voice was a familiar comfort to Soarin’s ears, and he shot Braeburn a sleepy grin.
“Not feelin’ too sexy right now,” he said. “More like hungry.”
Braeburn whistled. “Sugarcube, you’re always gorgeous.” Soarin's eyes drifted down to Braeburn’s crotch, where a rather prominent bulge was straining against his briefs. His gaze slowly moved back up, and he eyed Braeburn’s chest approvingly. The smaller stallion’s muscles flexed lightly—not bulky, but toned, lean from years of work.
“Could say the same to you,” Soarin’ said playfully. He yawned again, then burped. Patting his belly, he shot Braeburn a hopeful grin. “Was hoping to get this guy here some filling.”
“Oh?” Brae laid a hand on Soarin’ gut and smirked. “You feelin’ hungry, you big piggy?”
“Always,” Soarin’ said. He grinned sheepishly. He liked the weight of Braeburn’s hand on his belly; liked the warmth and closeness of it.
“Mm. I’ll bet.” Brae planted his other hand on Soarin’s gut and slowly slid the both of them up toward Soarin’s armpits. “Mmff. You’re so soft.”
Soarin’ slid his arms around Braeburn’s back. “I wasn’t so soft last night,” he joked. “I thought I was ready to burst.”
“That’s the plan, partner,” Braeburn poked back. “One of these days, we’re gonna stuff you up fatter than a prize hog, till you just can’t take no more.” He sighed happily. “Ain’t a pony in Appleloosa that wouldn’t be plum jealous of me right now.”
Soarin’ was faintly amused by just how much belly he had to reach across to even reach Braeburn’s shoulders. His fat squished happily against Braeburn’s chest, the smaller stallion’s reach barely long enough to tough Soarin’s back.
Brae glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. Soarin’ sighed good-naturedly, then leaned back down, meeting Brae’s muzzle in a kiss.
“Mmff,” Braeburn murmured once they broke off, nuzzling Soarin’s chubby cheek. “You’re sexy when you’re fat.”
“I’m always fat,” Soarin’ reminded him.
Brae gave his love handles a squeeze. “Then stop that,” he said, chuckling. “You’re drivin’ me nuts over here.”
Soarin’ gave him another peck on the mouth, then pulled back, letting his arms fall to his sides. Braeburn didn’t let go.
Soarin’ yawned again. His belly gurgled loudly. “C’mon, Brae,” he said. “I just woke up.”
“Mmff,” Braeburn said, his voice muffled against Soarin’s flabby chest. Soarin’ rolled his eyes.
Braeburn pulled his head back and grinned up at him. Letting his fingers slither across Soarin’s flab, he poked his coltfriend’s fat playfully, then slithered his hands around Soarin’s waist. “Can’t even reach halfway,” he said. “You big, loveable lardball.”
“Loveable, sure,” Soarin’ grumped. “But this lardball is getting hungrier.”
“C’mon sugarcube.” Brae reached up for another kiss, which Soarin’ returned anxiously. “You know how much you turn me on.”
Soarin’ whined quietly, then paused, smacking his lips thoughtfully. “That tasted like apple pie,” he said.
“Waiting in the kitchen,” Braeburn said. He rocked his hips against Soarin’s belly, making its contents slosh gently. “I was taste-testing.”
“Then let’s go have it.”
“You’ll get some,” Brae said in a faraway voice. He hugged Soarin’s belly, hugging his big body to him. Soarin’ groaned as Braeburn all but molested his gut.
Then he blinked. He could feel something long and hard pushing between one of the folds of his gut. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked suspiciously.
“Mmph.” Brae grunted, squeezed Soarin’s love handles. “See how much you turn me on?”
“Brae, I don’t wanna have sex,” Soarin’ whined. “I just wanna eat.”
“Oh, you’ll eat, you big piggy.” Brae’s hips pushed against Soarin’s big, jiggling belly, thrusting their long, stiff companion deeper into the big stallion’s flab. “You’ll eat and eat, getting bigger and bigger, fatter and fatter as I stuff you fuller than any pony’s ever stuffed another pony.”
Braeburn was humping him now. A low groan slipped from Soarin’s lips as Braeburn’s dick slipped into his navel. It was a long, deep cavern—the perfect thing for a horny Appleloosan stallion to fuck.
Soarin’ bit his lip. “Brae,” he grunted. “Are you actually...fucking my belly button right now?”
“You betcha,” Brae grunted back. “Heavens to Celestia, but you’re just so soft and warm…” He groaned softly, resting his head on Soarin’s gut as he humped his belly again and again.
“You turn me on like no other pony ever did,” he murmured huskily. “You big, loveable stallion. You sexy piece of meat. Mmph—”
Soarin’s eyes widened. “Brae don’t do it,” he warned. “Brae, don’t—”
“F-fuck,” Braeburn panted. “I love you, babe. Oh, hell—”
He staggered, his hips bottoming out against Soarin’s navel as he hit his peak. He came hard, shooting his load and splattering the insides of Soarin’s folds with cum. Braeburn groaned happily, blinking and running his hands across Soarin’s flabby chest as he came down from his high.
Soarin’ scowled playfully down at him. “You done down there?” he asked.
Brae cuddled into Soarin’s chest. “Maybe,” he admitted.
“Great,” Soarin’ muttered. “Now I’m hungry and covered in jizz.”
Braeburn poked his belly playfully, then stepped back. His erection, coated with a mix of pre and seed, flopped against the inside of his thigh. “You can’t even see it, sugarcube,” he said, grinning. “Too much fat in the way.”
Soarin’ sighed.
“C’mon, Soarin’.” Brae blinked up at him owlishly, all big-eyed and innocent. “You know you like bein’ all covered-up like that.”
Soarin’ grinned ruefully. “Guess that’s true.”
Braeburn grinned back. “Now,” he said happily. “Want me to get that pie for you?”
“Ah, actually.” Soarin’ cleared his throat, looking rather sheepish. “I’m a little hard now too.”
Braeburn’s eyebrows waggled madly. “Are you now, you lil’ rascal?” He gave Soarin’s chunky thigh a squeeze. “C’mon, now. Let’s get you into the kitchen.”
He slid an arm around Soarin’s waist, making sure to fondle the big stallion’s bouncing ass as Soarin’ waddled his way to the kitchen. “You can have a seat and eat. I’ll see what I can do for you.”
