Prompt: Sherlock and John are having dinner at the Holmes' place. Sherlock's mother cooks a huge dinner, both boys end up eating more than just a bit too much, and try not to let it show/make it too obvious. (I'd love to see Sherlock trying not to burp! ;) )
"John, the cab has been waiting for ten minutes, for God's sake what's keeping you?"
John huffed in frustration and called back, "Just give me minute!"
"I've given you precisely twenty so far," came Sherlock's stroppy grumble through the bathroom door.
"Great, you can spare another minute then," John retorted, turning back to the mirror as he heard Sherlock's shoes go back down the hall and a soft thump that meant the detective had flung himself onto the sofa. John had spent every second of those last 20 minutes fretting. He normally handled this sort of thing well. He was curious to meet the famed 'Mummy' that Sherlock and Mycroft always seemed to be squabbling about. And to meet Sherlock's father of course. John supposed he just wished that he had met them before he began a romantic relationship with their doubtlessly treasured youngest son. He imagined older, harsher, Sherlock's, each capable of x-raying his very soul, seeing through the army doctor to the broken adrenaline junkie. John sighed and straightened his tie. Then he stepped out.
"Ready to go?" he asked, moving past Sherlock, stepping into his shoes and doing them up.
"Yes. Obviously," said Sherlock, springing to his feet and striding up to John, hands immediately flying to his boyfriend's collar, straightening and smoothing it. John watched those dark brows furrow.
"What?" he asked, though his voice was fond this time.
"The tie," said Sherlock, plucking it as if it were a string on his violin. "We're having dinner with my parents, not the Queen."
John chuckled. "Says the man who went to Buckingham Palace in nothing but a bed sheet."
Sherlock's eyes flicked to John's, then crinkled in a smile. "Not my point but-"
"You're right. It's a bit much," John agreed, reaching up and untying it. "Right, come on. Maybe the cabbie hasn't given up yet." He tossed the tie over onto the chair and headed for the door, Sherlock following behind him. The cab was miraculously still there, though the driver strongly implied that perhaps he ought to charge per hour for this trip. Sherlock shut him up by tossing a extra 10 pound note through the divider as he gave the address.
The journey was rather quite. John's fingers tapped incessantly against his knee until Sherlock's long warm fingers settled on top of them.
"My brave soldier isn't frightened of a large free meal is he?" Sherlock rumbled.
John laughed. "No. Course not. It's just-"
"They'll adore you. Or I'll be forced to disown them."
"What? Your whole family?"
"Seems as good of an excuse as any," Sherlock replied blithely. "I've been trying to escape Mycroft for decades after all."
John chuckled and gave his lover's hand a squeeze. He knew that wasn't entirely true, but Sherlock's humor was heartening.
Sherlock's parents turned out to be quite incredibly... ordinary. Mrs. Holmes was cheery and kind and tended to ramble on and on about any matter of things as she set dishes out on the large wooden table in the dining room. Mr. Holmes too was genial, nodding or interjecting into his wife's speech here and there. He seemed a good and quiet man. John found himself warming to him immediately. Sherlock's smile was undoubtedly his, where his eyes were passed down from Mummy Holmes. He saw that as she scanned the table again, looking for anywhere with enough space for yet another pot of potatoes.
"We're so happy to finally meet you, John. Sherlock's told us so much about you," said Mrs. Holmes, finally settling down beside her husband.
"Yes. The man behind the blog," Mr. Holmes said, nodding and giving his son a wink. "Glad Sherlock has someone to look after him with everything he gets up to"
"Oh yes, frightening stuff for a mother to read. Sometimes I'm glad I don't find out about those cases until they're over," said Mrs. Holmes, doling out fried potatoes onto her husband's plate. "Tuck in, boys. You must be starving."
"Thank you, everything looks amazing," said John, nodding and scanning the table again. The smells had been driving him mad, making his stomach clench and growl in interest. But where to start?
"John, eat," came Sherlock's voice, low and warm as it gusted against John's ear, his lover leaning into him as Sherlock also served John potatoes. "You hardly ate anything all day."
It was true, his stomach had been working itself into a knot. He hadn't given it much thought.
"Neither did you," John retorted, smiling softly as Sherlock loaded the deliciously starchy golden things onto his own plate.
"I don't need-"
"Yeah, you do."
Sherlock shrugged and then loaded three thick slices of roast onto John's plate. To be fair, he took the same amount for himself. Then there were mince pies, buttery roasted vegetables, freshly baked rolls, and loads of thick savory gravy. John and Sherlock chatted and laughed with Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, shared cases that hadn't made it to the blog, and otherwise made merry as they ate and ate and ate. Mrs. Holmes cheerily pushed a new dish towards John whenever a clear space appeared. There was roast duck as well, mashed potatoes, fat strips of bacon, steak and ale pie... John utterly lost track of how much he was eating. He was full, then beyond full, then full to bursting with his trousers digging into his belly. But it was all delicious and too tempting to stop. Sherlock too seemed not to notice or mind as he loaded more food onto his lover's plate between bites.
At last, John couldn't eat another bite. He fell back in his chair, trying to take some of the pressure off his stomach. He tried to breath shallowly, doing his best to suck in his massively overfull middle. He tugged at his shirt, now wishing that he had gone with his usual jumper rather than the button up that was now pulling tightly around his belly.
"Oomph, that was terrific! Thank you for such a good meal, Mrs. Holmes," said John, still shifting as he tried to get comfortable. He glanced over at Sherlock and found the man looking utterly undone. The lanky detective was also slumped back in his seat, a hand resting on a bulge of belly John didn't know he had. Sherlock's shirts were always tight, but now the buttons appeared to be screaming, the fabric skin tight around the man's belly. John watched, entranced as Sherlock's breaths caused that endearingly round shape to expand, then contract. His lips looked plump and wet, his eyes were half lidded and dozy. Sherlock's other hand slid down discretely. The detective gave a soft sigh and his belly appeared to relax a bit further. He'd undone his trousers.
John wet his lips, but got a grip on himself. They were with Sherlock's parents, this was not the time to think about stripping those clothes from Sherlock's body with his teeth and having his way with him while the detective moaned and groaned, belly arching up into the air.
"You three relax, I'll get the table cleared," said Mrs. Holmes, standing and starting to collect plates.
"I can help, darling," said Mr. Holmes, also standing and helping out. He smiled warmly at Sherlock and John as he followed his wife to the kitchen.
"Your mum's a good cook," John murmured, smiling as he allowed himself to look over Sherlock again, "Don't think I've ever seen you eat like that before."
One of Sherlock's eyes slid open. "Mm... nor I you," he rumbled, reaching over to prod at John's belly with two fingers.
"Oof! Watch it," John warned, "Christ, I'm full..."
"There's still dessert," Sherlock purred, walking his fingers along John's belly.
"Oh God!" John groaned, then huffed a laugh. "We won't be able to move after." He grinned at Sherlock and reached over to rub the other man's belly. Sherlock sighed happily, slumping down further as it gurgled.
He let out a small burp and flushed, covering his mouth with a hand.
"Sorry," John chuckled, still rubbing. Sherlock only grumbled and muffled another burp.
Mrs. Holmes suddenly reemerged and John quickly jolted up, trying to suck in his belly, his abdominals aching after only a few seconds. Sherlock followed, a touch more slowly, wavering as he hauled himself up and closer to the table. John watched his lover's belly clench slightly. A hiccup? Sherlock was blushing now, his mouth still covered by one hand.
"Ah, p-pudding?" said John, swallowing a belch, his belly feeling only tighter for his trouble.
"Yes! Sherlock's favorite Banoffee pie!" said Mrs. Holmes, cheerfully, carrying it over. Mr. Holmes followed after her, bringing along a tray with coffee, cream, and sugar.
Sherlock let out a soft groan as he eyed the dessert, one hand still clutching his stomach.
"Sounds fantastic," said John cheerfully, even as his trousers dug even harder into his middle as he let his stomach round out behind the table. He reached down and undid the button as well. Oh that was loads better.
Mrs. Holmes served each of them a hefty slice of the sticky pie and poured them each a cup of coffee.
John elected for some coffee first, the warm liquid soothing the stretch of his far too full middle just a bit. He could do this. He lifted his fork and dipped it into the mess of whipped cream and banana. The first bite was heavenly, the second even better, the third the best yet. His stomach twinged at him, begging him to stop, but his taste buds insisted that one more bite couldn't hurt. John did his best to keep chatting politely with Sherlock's parents, attempting not to let on that he had eaten far too much and really needed to lie down and groan for mercy.
A glance at Sherlock showed him that the other man wasn't fairing much better. Every so often Sherlock's shoulders would hitch or jump as his stomach lurched with another hiccup. Sherlock compensated by gulping down coffee between more bites of the pie. This, naturally, did not help matters. John noticed that Sherlock was saying very little and often brought his fist to his mouth to muffle a burp or belch as the detective's now almost perfectly round stomach gurgled. It was pure torture, both to be unable to touch that perfect plump belly and to keep eating that delicious pie. John had never been more aroused in his life.
But he was a gentleman, and attempting to make a good impression and so John Watson did his utter best to swallow any burps that tried to escape him, even as he felt the pressure in his belly building. Then at last, dinner was over and they were to head back to London. John surprised himself by being able to stand afterall. He tugged his shirt down and thanked the Holmeses again and again for a wonderful evening. Then he took Sherlock by the hand and did his best not to waddle as they left. Once the door closed behind them, they walked to the cab they had called. Within two steps of it, Sherlock let out an almighty belch and moaned, almost falling into John, his face burning.
"God, I'm such a-"
"HUUUUURP!" John replied, sighing with utter relief and settling back against the cab. Sherlock stared at him a moment, then both men collapsed into a fit of giggles.
"Oh Christ, I thought I was going to explode," John chuckled, groaning as his belly jostled with the motions of his laughter.
"Fuck, I've- urp- never... never eaten like that," Sherlock groaned, now rubbing his belly, his eyes fluttering closed.
"Maybe you should try that more often," John teased, prodding the bit of pale skin he caught sight of between the man's buttons, "Put some meat on your bones."
Sherlock chuckled and bumped his middle into John's. "Don't tell me you enjoyed this too," he said, his tone joking. But John knew him well enough to pick up on the tiny notes of hope in the detective's voice.
"I did. A lot," John murmured, his hands sliding down Sherlock's sides and cupping that round bloated belly in his hands. Sherlock gasped softly and leaned into John, their too-full middles adding even more delicious pressure.
"I'm... glad," Sherlock murmured, ducking his head down to snog John properly against the side of the cab.
There was a faint thumping noise and the two broke away.
"Come on, haven't got all night," said the driver. Sherlock stuffed a twenty pound note through the crack of the window impatiently and then resumed kissing his overfed love.