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So a couple years back I tweeted a vague idea about an ex-jock seagull living with a crow who always brought home leftovers. The idea inspired quite a bit of wonderful art, which in-turn inspired me to finally write my own interpretation of the concept! I had enough fun writing the characters that I might write a longer piece starring them in the future. But for now, enjoy the gluttony of an ex-jock who hasn't quite gotten control of their appetite.
Logan and his roommate Roy enjoy a wrestling PPV, with the ex-jock's gluttony on full display...
Game Day Gluttony
By: Indi
The scale creaked when the seagull stood on it, but he quickly reminded himself it’d always done that, no matter his weight. Within seconds the digital display gave him a reading: two hundred and eighty-three. He let out a low whistle as he reread the number. It didn’t change, for better or worse. He placed his wings on his partially exposed belly and gently pressed down. They sunk in, ever so slightly. When he removed them, he felt a subtle bounce.
Logan looked over at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He couldn’t deny the curve of his belly. He took a deep breath and sucked his gut in, flattening it faintly. His old tank top still didn’t cover his belly, leaving a long strip of feathers and pudge visible. His jogging shorts clung to his rump and thighs; he’d felt the waistband begin to dig into his sides the previous week. More and more of his closet seemed to be filled with clothes he could barely squeeze into.
Maybe he was better off going shirtless.
Logan grunted as he pulled off the tank top. He puffed up his cheeks, struggling with the angle. His belly wobbled the entire time, bouncing along with his movements. The sensation caused him to blush, briefly.
Logan dropped the tank top on the floor as soon as he freed himself from it. He looked back at the mirror. Nope. Still as fat as ever. Or as fat as recently, he guessed.
The seagull pulled his phone out of his pocket and jumped onto the Potluck app. The two most recent posts on his timeline were gym selfies taken by friends still on the wrestling team. Smirking and flexing, nothing new.
He clicked on his photos tab and swiftly scrolled through everything he’d posted the last few months, not stopping until he found a gym selfie of his own. The date of the last one was a year prior.
The Logan of a year past was posing in front of a mirror in the bathroom. He had his phone in his right wing, while he flexed with his left. It was a pose he defaulted to when he wanted to snap a quick picture on the run. His gaze shifted to his chest. Instead of a ball gut, he sported abs. Looking between the photo and the mirror, Logan barely recognized his old self.
It was wild what a year away from the college wrestling team had done.
When Logan had quit the team at the end of his junior year, he’d known he might gain some weight. No mandatory practices meant fewer trips to the gym. Not having to make weight for meets meant a less strict diet. But the seagull had expected to gain maybe a dozen pounds, and that was the worst-case scenario. Packing on over sixty pounds in a year felt absurd, the sort of thing he wouldn’t have even joked about.
A frown came upon the seagull’s face. Then he shrugged, and shook his head. The weight was unexpected, but only temporary. Classwork had been heavy that year, so he hadn’t had time to stay active. Too much studying, not enough running. His whole summer was wide open, though. He could go to the gym every day, jog around campus, even take a day trip and hike. The pounds were guaranteed to melt right off.
“Everyone gains weight in college,” Logan said to himself. “I’m just a late blimper.” He chuckled.
The seagull looked back down at the scale display, which had gone blank. He slid out of his shorts and checked his weight again; two hundred and eighty-two. He nodded and grinned. The weight was already fading.
Logan squeezed back into his shorts and tank top, then left the bathroom. In the hall, he passed by a picture of him and his roommate Roy, from when they still lived in the freshman dorms. They had just finished tubing down the river. Logan was shirtless and toned, his backward baseball cap wet and tilted. He had a wing around Roy’s shoulder. The crow’s soaked shirt clung tightly to his large belly.
Logan didn’t even glance in the picture’s direction. He’d gotten good at unintentionally avoiding it lately.
A packed fridge awaited Logan in the kitchen. Take-home boxes filled one shelf, beer another. The freezer wasn’t any different, filled with microwavable dinners and frozen veggies. The apartment was never low on food, since Roy worked as a cook. He brought home leftovers every night and liked to make fresh meals when he had the time. Logan loved always having something to snack on. He’d need to clear some of the food out soon, though, if only to free up room for new stuff.
He dug out a jar of dip, snagged a beer, and closed the fridge door firmly to ensure it actually shut. From the cupboard he grabbed a bowl, which he used to hold the beer and dip. Lastly—but most importantly—Logan grabbed a party-sized bag of chips.
Logan carried his haul into the living room, placing it on the coffee table before plopping down on the couch. His tank top rode up further as his belly bounced. He didn’t bother adjusting it.
Logan filled the bowl with chips and turned on the TV, switching over to a wrestling PPV. About half the pre-show remained. He’d always loved pro wrestling, and had managed to get Roy hooked on it a year before. He appreciated finally having someone to chat about it with.
While the commentators argued about who would win the main event, Logan went to town on the chips. His attention drifted frequently between the TV and his phone, but the eating rarely stopped.
Half-an-hour later, the sound of the front door opening finally pulled Logan away from the chips. He looked over his shoulder.
A chubby crow hurried in, holding a bag of takeout boxes in each wing. He was panting. “Sorry I’m late!” Roy said. He nudged his round glasses up so they didn’t slide off his beak. “Last hour got hectic.”
“Nah, bro, you’re just in time!” Logan pointed back at the TV. “Pre-show’s just about to end. All you missed were a few filler matches and the usual cheesy argument about the tag belts.”
Roy breathed a sigh of relief. “Are they acting like the Avalanche Bros won’t retain the titles again?”
“Pfft, yeah! As if they’re gonna lose the belts on anything but an A-show.” Logan eyed up the bags. “What’d you bring home this time?”
“Everything, honestly,” Roy said as he walked over to the couch. He placed the bags on the table. “We’ve got fries, onion rings, chicken strips, pretzel bites, more fries.” He shook his head. “They were for some big catering order that got canceled at the last minute. Of course they unloaded most of it on me.”
Whenever the restaurant had food they needed to get rid of, they turned to Roy. Logan assumed it was out of habit, from when the crow had been fatter. It’d become a bit of a running joke, both at the restaurant and at home. He certainly didn’t mind the free food continuing to come their way.
“Work trying their best to fatten you up again. They keep forgetting you’ve got me to keep you on your diet!”
Roy let out a nervous laugh. “Without your help, I probably would’ve gotten even bigger.”
“There won’t be any room-filling crows on my watch!” Logan said. He punched Roy in the shoulder, then looked over at the appetizers. “But seriously, this is like, the best game day spread, bro!” He’d loved everything he’d ever eaten from the restaurant, even stuff he’d formerly been apathetic about. He was proud of his expanding tastes.
As he ogled the food Roy had brought, Logan reached for another chip. His wing scraped the bottom of the bowl, pushing aside the tiny remnants that’d broken off of bigger chips. He checked the bag, finding it empty as well. The seagull shrugged. He swore there’d been fewer and fewer chips in every bag lately. Fortunately, he’d made sure to stockpile extras to make up for it.
“BRB, gonna grab a fresh bag.” Logan slid off the couch, his belly wobbling. He missed Roy’s gaze briefly follow the bouncing ball of feathers and pudge. He snatched the empty bag and his empty beer, and went to the kitchen. He shoved the bag in the garbage, then tossed the can into the recycling with expert precision, the seagull grinning smugly after. He found two more bags of chips, then opened the fridge. “Yo, you want a beer?” He shouted.
“Yeah, I’ll take one! Thanks!”
Logan shifted the bags of chips under his wings, then grabbed a six-pack from the fridge and another dip jar. He waddled back into the living room, his score precariously balanced. Roy had taken the time to arrange the rest of the food, creating a mini buffet of treats.
On the big screen, the grandiose opening video package for the PPV began. The wrestlers were all in a medieval tavern, the camera dramatically moving from table to table as short scenes played out.
“Is it just me, or have these been getting sillier?” Roy asked, opening his beer.
Logan cracked open his second and shotgunned most of it immediately. “They’ve always been dumb, it’s great—uworrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp!” He smirked and slapped his belly. “I need to show ya the haunted hotel thing they did a couple years back. Makes this look Oscar-worthy.”
The opening focused on a stringy wolf playing guitar, much to the annoyance of everyone else in the tavern. Two hefty, identical-looking arctic foxes winked at each other before charging the wolf from opposite sides. He looked both ways and sulked, seconds before getting squished between the enormous bellies of the twin foxes. When they backed away, the wolf comically fell over backward, to great applause.
“Nice of them to sneak in a preview of the Avalanche Bros’ match,” Logan snickered between bites.
“I know they’re bound to win, but I don’t think it’s gonna be a...squash match?” Roy looked at Logan, who nodded to confirm he’d gotten the terminology right.
“Maybe not literally, but it’ll be damn close,” Logan said. He descended on the pretzel bites, dunking them in sauce before tossing them into his mouth. “Avalanche Bros are too damn huge to have a competitive fight against the Prowlers of all people.”
“You mean because the Prowlers are jobbers, or because the Avalanche Bros are, ya know?” Roy spread his wings out, mimicking having a massive gut.
Logan laughed. “Both, bro!” He guzzled the rest of his beer and moved on to another. “Combined, the Prowlers don’t even weigh as much as a single one of the foxes. All it’ll take is a single White Out to win. Only way they drag it out is if they do another ring-break spot, but those two don’t really go to the top rope much anymore. They actually used to be slim enough to do moonsaults.”
Roy’s eyes widened and his face flushed red. “R-Really?”
“Yep! That was like, two hundred pounds ago, though. Or was it three hundred? Catering at those shows must be amazing for them to just blimp up like that in a few years!” Once again, Logan missed the brief glimpse Roy gave his belly. “Still the best tag-team they’ve had in the last decade or two. Bet they could both be twice as wide and still pull off five-star matches.” The Avalanche Bros were just the kind of smug heels Logan loved to see. Their style wasn’t as flashy as the more toned wrestlers, and their moves were limited, but damn if they didn’t always put on a good show while looking invincible.
Roy nodded, his gaze shifting to the TV. “Who knows, maybe the other tag teams will just have to bulk up to match them.”
“Ha! They’d have to reinforce the ring if the tag division got that fat!” Logan said. “And I doubt an extra hundred pounds would make the Prowlers any better.”
The opening finally finished and—after a quick display of fireworks—the entrance music began for the first match of the night.
Roy nibbled away at the food, trying a bit of everything but barely eating anything. He coddled his beer, as if rationing it. It’d taken him months of exercise and a strict diet to quell his once-ravenous appetite, along with plenty of boisterous encouragement from Logan. The crow occasionally missed not having to pay attention to what he ate, but being slimmer made him happy, so it was worth it in the end.
Logan, meanwhile, was gobbling up everything in sight. For every bite Roy had, the seagull had five. He chugged beer like he hadn’t had a drop to drink in weeks, and ate like he was starving. The seagull’s eating habits hadn’t changed since his wrestling days, when he’d needed the calories to help build muscle. Old habits died hard—especially ones he was oblivious to.
Caught up in the PPV and conversation, Logan didn’t notice his gluttony at all. More and more food and booze found its way into the seagull’s belly, causing it to bulge outward ever-so-slightly. Whenever he found himself on the edge of feeling full, a raucous belch would inevitably free up more space.
The chips and beer were soon wiped out. Roy happily retrieved more, allowing Logan to continue gorging non-stop.
By the end of the PPV, none of the leftovers remained.
“Now that was an awesome match to end the show on!” Logan said. The seagull burped and leaned back on the couch. He was finally starting to feel stuffed, and gave his swollen belly a gentle rub. “PPV nights are always the best.”
“I look forward to them every month,” Roy said. “Thanks again for getting me into all this.”
“Dude, thank you for joining in.” Logan yawned. “I might have to call it a night, though. Guess all the excitement tired me out, heh. I’m gonna take a quick shower and then pass out; night, bro!”
Logan sluggishly hefted himself off the couch. His belly was less jiggly than before, packed tight with the small feast he’d consumed during the show. He let out another burp and chuckled. The stuffed seagull squeezed by Roy and headed off to the bathroom, a wing clumsily attempting to pull his tank top down again.
“Sleep well!” Roy said. His eyes were locked onto his roommate’s belly and sides, only leaving once the fat seagull had rounded the corner.
Roy looked over at the coffee table, filled with empty boxes and beer cans. Logan had really been packing on the pounds the last few months. He knew all the leftovers he brought home had played a role. And of course there was his cooking. The crow made healthy meals, but his portions were admittedly huge. It didn’t matter how healthy the food was when Logan kept going for seconds and thirds, and frequently wiped out the leftovers all on his own.
A part of him felt guilty. Logan had supported him in his weight-loss, but every pound he’d shed had seemingly shifted over to the seagull.
Then again, Logan was more than capable of ordering tons of fast food on his own. He’d have likely gained weight even without Roy’s cooking. And Logan didn’t seem to mind the gains, either.
Roy certainly thought his roommate carried the weight well. More and more he found himself ogling Logan’s doughy, wobbling middle. He’d even felt it a couple of times on accident, when reaching over to grab stuff while on the couch. The combination of feathers and fat was delightfully soft.
Roy blushed, thankful Logan wasn’t there to see him.
If Logan didn’t care about the weight, then he wouldn’t make an issue of it. The seagull was free to be as thin or as fat as he wanted to be. Though Roy didn’t mind being the smaller one for once, having so often been the “fat friend”. And who knew, maybe Logan would one day resemble the Avalanche Bros he so admired.
The crow cleaned up the coffee table and threw away the garbage. As he did, he started thinking of what he’d make for breakfast the next morning. It was one of Logan’s favorite meals of the day, after all.
Logan and his roommate Roy enjoy a wrestling PPV, with the ex-jock's gluttony on full display...
Game Day Gluttony
By: Indi
The scale creaked when the seagull stood on it, but he quickly reminded himself it’d always done that, no matter his weight. Within seconds the digital display gave him a reading: two hundred and eighty-three. He let out a low whistle as he reread the number. It didn’t change, for better or worse. He placed his wings on his partially exposed belly and gently pressed down. They sunk in, ever so slightly. When he removed them, he felt a subtle bounce.
Logan looked over at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He couldn’t deny the curve of his belly. He took a deep breath and sucked his gut in, flattening it faintly. His old tank top still didn’t cover his belly, leaving a long strip of feathers and pudge visible. His jogging shorts clung to his rump and thighs; he’d felt the waistband begin to dig into his sides the previous week. More and more of his closet seemed to be filled with clothes he could barely squeeze into.
Maybe he was better off going shirtless.
Logan grunted as he pulled off the tank top. He puffed up his cheeks, struggling with the angle. His belly wobbled the entire time, bouncing along with his movements. The sensation caused him to blush, briefly.
Logan dropped the tank top on the floor as soon as he freed himself from it. He looked back at the mirror. Nope. Still as fat as ever. Or as fat as recently, he guessed.
The seagull pulled his phone out of his pocket and jumped onto the Potluck app. The two most recent posts on his timeline were gym selfies taken by friends still on the wrestling team. Smirking and flexing, nothing new.
He clicked on his photos tab and swiftly scrolled through everything he’d posted the last few months, not stopping until he found a gym selfie of his own. The date of the last one was a year prior.
The Logan of a year past was posing in front of a mirror in the bathroom. He had his phone in his right wing, while he flexed with his left. It was a pose he defaulted to when he wanted to snap a quick picture on the run. His gaze shifted to his chest. Instead of a ball gut, he sported abs. Looking between the photo and the mirror, Logan barely recognized his old self.
It was wild what a year away from the college wrestling team had done.
When Logan had quit the team at the end of his junior year, he’d known he might gain some weight. No mandatory practices meant fewer trips to the gym. Not having to make weight for meets meant a less strict diet. But the seagull had expected to gain maybe a dozen pounds, and that was the worst-case scenario. Packing on over sixty pounds in a year felt absurd, the sort of thing he wouldn’t have even joked about.
A frown came upon the seagull’s face. Then he shrugged, and shook his head. The weight was unexpected, but only temporary. Classwork had been heavy that year, so he hadn’t had time to stay active. Too much studying, not enough running. His whole summer was wide open, though. He could go to the gym every day, jog around campus, even take a day trip and hike. The pounds were guaranteed to melt right off.
“Everyone gains weight in college,” Logan said to himself. “I’m just a late blimper.” He chuckled.
The seagull looked back down at the scale display, which had gone blank. He slid out of his shorts and checked his weight again; two hundred and eighty-two. He nodded and grinned. The weight was already fading.
Logan squeezed back into his shorts and tank top, then left the bathroom. In the hall, he passed by a picture of him and his roommate Roy, from when they still lived in the freshman dorms. They had just finished tubing down the river. Logan was shirtless and toned, his backward baseball cap wet and tilted. He had a wing around Roy’s shoulder. The crow’s soaked shirt clung tightly to his large belly.
Logan didn’t even glance in the picture’s direction. He’d gotten good at unintentionally avoiding it lately.
A packed fridge awaited Logan in the kitchen. Take-home boxes filled one shelf, beer another. The freezer wasn’t any different, filled with microwavable dinners and frozen veggies. The apartment was never low on food, since Roy worked as a cook. He brought home leftovers every night and liked to make fresh meals when he had the time. Logan loved always having something to snack on. He’d need to clear some of the food out soon, though, if only to free up room for new stuff.
He dug out a jar of dip, snagged a beer, and closed the fridge door firmly to ensure it actually shut. From the cupboard he grabbed a bowl, which he used to hold the beer and dip. Lastly—but most importantly—Logan grabbed a party-sized bag of chips.
Logan carried his haul into the living room, placing it on the coffee table before plopping down on the couch. His tank top rode up further as his belly bounced. He didn’t bother adjusting it.
Logan filled the bowl with chips and turned on the TV, switching over to a wrestling PPV. About half the pre-show remained. He’d always loved pro wrestling, and had managed to get Roy hooked on it a year before. He appreciated finally having someone to chat about it with.
While the commentators argued about who would win the main event, Logan went to town on the chips. His attention drifted frequently between the TV and his phone, but the eating rarely stopped.
Half-an-hour later, the sound of the front door opening finally pulled Logan away from the chips. He looked over his shoulder.
A chubby crow hurried in, holding a bag of takeout boxes in each wing. He was panting. “Sorry I’m late!” Roy said. He nudged his round glasses up so they didn’t slide off his beak. “Last hour got hectic.”
“Nah, bro, you’re just in time!” Logan pointed back at the TV. “Pre-show’s just about to end. All you missed were a few filler matches and the usual cheesy argument about the tag belts.”
Roy breathed a sigh of relief. “Are they acting like the Avalanche Bros won’t retain the titles again?”
“Pfft, yeah! As if they’re gonna lose the belts on anything but an A-show.” Logan eyed up the bags. “What’d you bring home this time?”
“Everything, honestly,” Roy said as he walked over to the couch. He placed the bags on the table. “We’ve got fries, onion rings, chicken strips, pretzel bites, more fries.” He shook his head. “They were for some big catering order that got canceled at the last minute. Of course they unloaded most of it on me.”
Whenever the restaurant had food they needed to get rid of, they turned to Roy. Logan assumed it was out of habit, from when the crow had been fatter. It’d become a bit of a running joke, both at the restaurant and at home. He certainly didn’t mind the free food continuing to come their way.
“Work trying their best to fatten you up again. They keep forgetting you’ve got me to keep you on your diet!”
Roy let out a nervous laugh. “Without your help, I probably would’ve gotten even bigger.”
“There won’t be any room-filling crows on my watch!” Logan said. He punched Roy in the shoulder, then looked over at the appetizers. “But seriously, this is like, the best game day spread, bro!” He’d loved everything he’d ever eaten from the restaurant, even stuff he’d formerly been apathetic about. He was proud of his expanding tastes.
As he ogled the food Roy had brought, Logan reached for another chip. His wing scraped the bottom of the bowl, pushing aside the tiny remnants that’d broken off of bigger chips. He checked the bag, finding it empty as well. The seagull shrugged. He swore there’d been fewer and fewer chips in every bag lately. Fortunately, he’d made sure to stockpile extras to make up for it.
“BRB, gonna grab a fresh bag.” Logan slid off the couch, his belly wobbling. He missed Roy’s gaze briefly follow the bouncing ball of feathers and pudge. He snatched the empty bag and his empty beer, and went to the kitchen. He shoved the bag in the garbage, then tossed the can into the recycling with expert precision, the seagull grinning smugly after. He found two more bags of chips, then opened the fridge. “Yo, you want a beer?” He shouted.
“Yeah, I’ll take one! Thanks!”
Logan shifted the bags of chips under his wings, then grabbed a six-pack from the fridge and another dip jar. He waddled back into the living room, his score precariously balanced. Roy had taken the time to arrange the rest of the food, creating a mini buffet of treats.
On the big screen, the grandiose opening video package for the PPV began. The wrestlers were all in a medieval tavern, the camera dramatically moving from table to table as short scenes played out.
“Is it just me, or have these been getting sillier?” Roy asked, opening his beer.
Logan cracked open his second and shotgunned most of it immediately. “They’ve always been dumb, it’s great—uworrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp!” He smirked and slapped his belly. “I need to show ya the haunted hotel thing they did a couple years back. Makes this look Oscar-worthy.”
The opening focused on a stringy wolf playing guitar, much to the annoyance of everyone else in the tavern. Two hefty, identical-looking arctic foxes winked at each other before charging the wolf from opposite sides. He looked both ways and sulked, seconds before getting squished between the enormous bellies of the twin foxes. When they backed away, the wolf comically fell over backward, to great applause.
“Nice of them to sneak in a preview of the Avalanche Bros’ match,” Logan snickered between bites.
“I know they’re bound to win, but I don’t think it’s gonna be a...squash match?” Roy looked at Logan, who nodded to confirm he’d gotten the terminology right.
“Maybe not literally, but it’ll be damn close,” Logan said. He descended on the pretzel bites, dunking them in sauce before tossing them into his mouth. “Avalanche Bros are too damn huge to have a competitive fight against the Prowlers of all people.”
“You mean because the Prowlers are jobbers, or because the Avalanche Bros are, ya know?” Roy spread his wings out, mimicking having a massive gut.
Logan laughed. “Both, bro!” He guzzled the rest of his beer and moved on to another. “Combined, the Prowlers don’t even weigh as much as a single one of the foxes. All it’ll take is a single White Out to win. Only way they drag it out is if they do another ring-break spot, but those two don’t really go to the top rope much anymore. They actually used to be slim enough to do moonsaults.”
Roy’s eyes widened and his face flushed red. “R-Really?”
“Yep! That was like, two hundred pounds ago, though. Or was it three hundred? Catering at those shows must be amazing for them to just blimp up like that in a few years!” Once again, Logan missed the brief glimpse Roy gave his belly. “Still the best tag-team they’ve had in the last decade or two. Bet they could both be twice as wide and still pull off five-star matches.” The Avalanche Bros were just the kind of smug heels Logan loved to see. Their style wasn’t as flashy as the more toned wrestlers, and their moves were limited, but damn if they didn’t always put on a good show while looking invincible.
Roy nodded, his gaze shifting to the TV. “Who knows, maybe the other tag teams will just have to bulk up to match them.”
“Ha! They’d have to reinforce the ring if the tag division got that fat!” Logan said. “And I doubt an extra hundred pounds would make the Prowlers any better.”
The opening finally finished and—after a quick display of fireworks—the entrance music began for the first match of the night.
Roy nibbled away at the food, trying a bit of everything but barely eating anything. He coddled his beer, as if rationing it. It’d taken him months of exercise and a strict diet to quell his once-ravenous appetite, along with plenty of boisterous encouragement from Logan. The crow occasionally missed not having to pay attention to what he ate, but being slimmer made him happy, so it was worth it in the end.
Logan, meanwhile, was gobbling up everything in sight. For every bite Roy had, the seagull had five. He chugged beer like he hadn’t had a drop to drink in weeks, and ate like he was starving. The seagull’s eating habits hadn’t changed since his wrestling days, when he’d needed the calories to help build muscle. Old habits died hard—especially ones he was oblivious to.
Caught up in the PPV and conversation, Logan didn’t notice his gluttony at all. More and more food and booze found its way into the seagull’s belly, causing it to bulge outward ever-so-slightly. Whenever he found himself on the edge of feeling full, a raucous belch would inevitably free up more space.
The chips and beer were soon wiped out. Roy happily retrieved more, allowing Logan to continue gorging non-stop.
By the end of the PPV, none of the leftovers remained.
“Now that was an awesome match to end the show on!” Logan said. The seagull burped and leaned back on the couch. He was finally starting to feel stuffed, and gave his swollen belly a gentle rub. “PPV nights are always the best.”
“I look forward to them every month,” Roy said. “Thanks again for getting me into all this.”
“Dude, thank you for joining in.” Logan yawned. “I might have to call it a night, though. Guess all the excitement tired me out, heh. I’m gonna take a quick shower and then pass out; night, bro!”
Logan sluggishly hefted himself off the couch. His belly was less jiggly than before, packed tight with the small feast he’d consumed during the show. He let out another burp and chuckled. The stuffed seagull squeezed by Roy and headed off to the bathroom, a wing clumsily attempting to pull his tank top down again.
“Sleep well!” Roy said. His eyes were locked onto his roommate’s belly and sides, only leaving once the fat seagull had rounded the corner.
Roy looked over at the coffee table, filled with empty boxes and beer cans. Logan had really been packing on the pounds the last few months. He knew all the leftovers he brought home had played a role. And of course there was his cooking. The crow made healthy meals, but his portions were admittedly huge. It didn’t matter how healthy the food was when Logan kept going for seconds and thirds, and frequently wiped out the leftovers all on his own.
A part of him felt guilty. Logan had supported him in his weight-loss, but every pound he’d shed had seemingly shifted over to the seagull.
Then again, Logan was more than capable of ordering tons of fast food on his own. He’d have likely gained weight even without Roy’s cooking. And Logan didn’t seem to mind the gains, either.
Roy certainly thought his roommate carried the weight well. More and more he found himself ogling Logan’s doughy, wobbling middle. He’d even felt it a couple of times on accident, when reaching over to grab stuff while on the couch. The combination of feathers and fat was delightfully soft.
Roy blushed, thankful Logan wasn’t there to see him.
If Logan didn’t care about the weight, then he wouldn’t make an issue of it. The seagull was free to be as thin or as fat as he wanted to be. Though Roy didn’t mind being the smaller one for once, having so often been the “fat friend”. And who knew, maybe Logan would one day resemble the Avalanche Bros he so admired.
The crow cleaned up the coffee table and threw away the garbage. As he did, he started thinking of what he’d make for breakfast the next morning. It was one of Logan’s favorite meals of the day, after all.
Category Story / Fat Furs
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 100 x 100px
File Size 64.1 kB
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