Summary: Chuck comes clean about his weight gain, dreading a future of losing weight and quitting binging. But, the parrot receives a pleasant and surprising response from Kyle, and the birds realise that handful of extra pounds is no burden at all between lovers. But Wilbur approaches later with a proposal that might just take a few pounds gained... to a few dozen.

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Chuck’s stomach still burbled quietly when morning came, offering a soothing ambience for Kyle to bask in. The flamingo woke much earlier than his partner and for quite some time lay with his eyes closed to listen to the wondrous gut beside him working overtime once again.
When he finally brought himself to open his eyes, Kyle yawned and rolled onto his side to face the yellow parrot. Chuck had been on his back most of the night to accommodate his swollen middle after the feast he’d practically inhaled the evening before.
Now, the yellow parrot’s middle was soft and spilled easily towards Kyle. Kyle stared at it, swallowing hard his desires to reach out and touch it. Squeeze it, shake it, knead it.
Before he had a chance to give in, the flamingo rolled out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen in his boxers.
He could not imagine Chuck wanting breakfast after the way he had eaten last night, but he buttered some crackers just in case and put a thick square of cheese on each. While he dressed up the crackers, coffee brewed.
He lovingly plated the crackers in an arrangement as close to a heart as he could manage, then poured two coffees. For himself, a small espresso, and for Chuck a long black turned white with whipped cream and sugar.
Humming absently, he carried the drinks and snacks back to the bedroom on a tray and set them down on the nightstand next to Chuck, who stirred.
Kyle bent over the parrot to massage his meaty shoulders, sinking his fingers into his doughy biceps to feel the muscle just under the insulation. Chuck yawned and moaned and rolled onto his back to look up at the flamingo.
His eyelids hung low, but open, blinking.
“Hey big guy,” Kyle greeted gently, “How are you feeling?”
Chuck inhaled slowly and deeply and his eyes drifted downwards to gaze at lump spilling over his hips. He sighed and muttered, “Fat.”
Kyle smiled sympathetically, touching the bird’s cheek. “I found the suit pants. Want to talk about it?”
Chuck grimaced at the mention of the pants. In all his liftetime he had never experienced such a humiliating affair as bursting the waist of expensive trousers with nothing but a gut too big to suck in. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t noticed I’d gained any weight, that’s all,” he answered, averting his eyes. “I look just the same as I’ve always looked. But I… I guess I should start watching what I eat so I don’t have to replace all my clothes.”
Kyle held out the creamy coffee to the yellow parrot, and sipped his espresso. “You don’t need to watch what you eat if you don’t want to.”
“I’m fat, Kyle.” Chuck wriggled to sit up and took hold of the mug. He glared into it. “I can’t keep binge-eating or I’ll keep getting fatter until I can’t lose weight at all. Better to start trying to drop pounds now before it’s too late.”
“But, so what if you are fat? You’re healthier than you’ve ever been.”
Chuck swirled his coffee, frowning into the creamy vortex. “What makes you say that?”
“You’ve twice the energy you had a couple months ago. You’re happier, your feathers are cleaner and brighter, and that bald patch you had for years has grown over on your back. You’re much healthier, Chuck.” Kyle emptied his espresso. “And I might add, the extra energy has made you so much better in bed. Vigorous! Like an animal!”
Chuck spat coffee over his chest. “Kyle!”
Kyle grinned wryly. “I’m just saying.” He put down his cup and picked up a cracker, which he held in front of Chuck’s curved grey beak. The parrot did not resist it for long and was soon swallowing the snack.
Kyle leaned over the bed and wrapped his gangly arms around his partner’s doughy belly, and rested his long neck atop the pillow he made from it. “I know you’re shy about it, Chuck, but I quite like your belly. You don’t need to lose weight or watch what you eat—not for me, anyways. If you’re uncomfortable, then by all means--!”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” Chuck replied quickly. He took a swig of his coffee to soothe his nerves. Despite his apparent worries, he showed no hesitation about the rich and fattening beverage. Then, his hand snaked down to press Kyle’s deeper into his pudge, puppeting the flamingo’s wing feathers to rub in firm circular motions. Kyle purred, the sound of arousal vibrating soothingly over Chucky’s empty belly.
“I like this,” the parrot whispered.
The flamingo kept kneading around and around, trying new motions and harder pressures and softer kneads until Chuck’s beak drifted blissfully open. Kyle fed him a cracker with one hand while he rubbed with the other. The parrot chewed slowly, savoring, and swallowed. Kyle’s eyes lit up when he opened his beak for more.
It proved to be a quiet day at work, which was unusual for a Saturday. When lunchtime rolled around, reception was empty and no clients were to be seen. The “help yourself” bowl had hardly been touched, so Chuck grabbed a handful of chocolate cookies to go with his lunch—he couldn’t let them go to waste, after all.
As it was a beautiful day outside, the parrot carried his lunchbag out of the shop to take a seat at the picnic table at the small grassy park beside the building. He pulled a sandwich from the blue insulated bag and lifted it to his beak.
“Chuckyyy!”
Chuck stopped seconds from biting down. He blinked and lowered his sandwich.
“Hey Chuck!”
Chuck’s brows lifted and he tilted his heads towards the wide and jiggling silhouette bounding in his direction. “Hey Wilbur. What are you doing here?”
The retriever bounced—more accurately, wobbled—across the mechanics’ parking lot, waving his paws energetically, despite his arms being full. His shirt was beginning to ride up, golden fur poking over his waist band from all the jostling.
In one hand Wilbur clutched two bags with the local donut shop logo, and with the other, his pudgy fingers struggled to wrap around one large takeaway coffee. A second coffee was precariously squeezed between his oscillating moob and bicep.
By the time he threw himself onto the bench across from his cousin, he was panting, tongue lolling.
“I need to talk to you,” he breathed, setting down his bags. He handed one coffee over to Chuck and took the one at his moob for himself. He gulped some down, and wiped his maw on his arm. “I brought snacks.”
“Thank you, but Kyle packed me lunch already.” Chuck waved his sandwich at the retriever. “And after that plate you gave me last night, I need a little less food today.”
“No, that’s why I’m here!” Wilbur slapped the table with his paws, which sent the flab of his arms shaking, which led to a chain effect over his moobs and belly. He barely fit on the bench, which bowed under him. He paused to catch his breath, panting heavily. Then, with full energy, resumed, “I saw the way you can eat, Chuck. It’s incredible.”
Chuck reddened and put down his lunch.
“Don’t be embarrassed!” Wilbur opened one bag to pulled out a box of six donuts. He plucked the sweetest-looking one from the mix and munched half in a single bite. Sprinkles stuck to his cheeks and jelly coated his black lips with gloss. “Listen, Chuck, I know you were worried about money. You know how I said I could help? I can help. Let me help!”
Chuck reluctantly picked up his coffee, mulling it over. “I’m okay, Wilbur. I don’t need money.”
“But what if I told you that you could earn hundreds—even thousands!—by just eating. One meal. One meal a week. Seriously, Chuck, think about it. You have some natural ability to stuff yourself blind, and you can make it pay.”
Chuck made a face. He drank the coffee, then nibbled his sandwich. “Sounds pretty dodgy.”
“Meet me at All You Can Chow on Tuesday and I’ll show you. You won’t regret it, I promise.” Wilbur downed the second half of his donut and reached for a second without pause. “No, come to my hotel first, then we’ll go the restaurant together.” The retriever stuffed the second donut whole into his cheeks and chewed. “Arrive around three o’clock. Alright?”
Chuck scratched the back of his neck. “Alright…”