John rolled on the bed. It was what he did mostly these days, -on the weekends' mornings, at least- rolling on the bed, and waiting for Sherlock to come into the room with trays and trays overflowing with food.
It had started slow, of course, -an invite to dinner here, a gift from the pastry down the corner there…- but soon enough they both understood what was going on, and, more importantly, that they both enjoyed it.
As Sherlock approached the bed, John could see the devious smile already forming on his face.
-Hungry?
John sat up immediately as Sherlock laid the tray on the bedside table.
-Aren't you going to eat anything?
-Perhaps later.
He sat on the edge of the bed and gave John an unmistakable look. He complied with the implicit order and began eating joyfully. It wasn't long before three pieces of strawberry cake, a small mountain of hotcakes and a tall glass of chocolate milk disappeared never to be seen again.
John put the tray away and, with a satisfied smile, collapsed into bed again. Sherlock slithered besides him, a bony hand caressing his bloated stomach.
-So soft.
He pinched a flabby roll.
-You ought to be ashamed of yourself, letting yourself go like this.
John unwittingly bit his lower lip, half ashamed, half aroused. He put his hand over Sherlock's and pushed it into his own fat. Sherlock gave a surprised gasp.
-Oh.
He slided closer, their bellies almost touching; Sherlock's hard and taut, John's bulging and soft. They could feel the heat their bodies were irradiating, even if they were not actually touching each others' skin.
-Maybe I should make you do a couple of pushups, do you think you can manage that? Or are you too much of a fatty already? I bet that belly will pin you right to the floor, I don't think you would even be able to manage a single one without going out of breath.
John squished his own belly with both hands.
-Oh, please don't make me do pushups.
Sherlock smiled and clicked his tongue.
-So lazy. No wonder you've gotten so plump. I should put you on a diet.
He wouldn't. John knew he wouldn't, but he played along. He held Sherlock tight, surrounding him with his arms, letting him feel his whole body engulfing his slim one.
-I know I should cut back, but I just can't! Everything's too good, Sherlock.
Sherlock was wordless for a moment, just laying kisses all over John. His heavy breathing on his skin was more than John could bear.
-You are such a glutton, aren't you? How many pairs of trousers have you outgrown already? Shameful, spilling out all over your clothes…
John was far beyond words by now. It always amazed him how Sherlock could keep speaking right till the end. He could never master the ability.
-Ah, Jesus, Sherlock!
Sherlock had grabbed their erections together and was pumping at an increasingly fast pace. They wouldn't last long.
-It wouldn't kill you to be on top for once, John. You could use the exercise.
He was right, of course. John was so out of breath that he wouldn't have dreamed of replying. He was terribly out of shape.
Sherlock came on top of him. A few more strokes and he was done as well. Sherlock collapsed by his side, covered in sweat.
-That wasn't the only breakfast we had, was it?
Sherlock turned to look at him with a toothy smile.
-Of course not.