Working up a sweat
Oh Jesus, what did I just write? l///D
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
If there's one thing Dean hates most, it's having to get up and move. And...well, not having anything delicious in his mouth...or not having Cas around.
Point is, moving around /sucks/; Castiel was out grocery shopping while Dean sat on their soft couch *barely enough room for Cas to squeeze in these days* 'snacking' on a few dozen baked treats; multiple empty bags of chips and variety packs of candy half hazardly thrown around.
The entire time his hand and mouth on autopilot as he watched the newest episode of Dr. Sexy MD. Crumbs and globs of icing and filling littering his massive tits. Large butterball chins jiggling back and forth with every quick move of his jaw.
Minus not having Cas around to rub his large girth, everything was perfect. Until, the supplies ran out that is. Reaching over he noticed the cardboard box empty except for one fluffy pastry. His eyebrow knitted together, there's no way he plowed through everything already. It's only been 15 minutes since Cas left!
A huff past his nostrils at the thought of having to get up. He braced himself as he scooted his blubbery rear forward, his arms, belly, and tits jerking like gelatin with each jerky move forward.
This shit's definitely harder than it used to be; "When your fatass gets to 780 lbs, no shit it gets harder." he scoffs to himself bewtween panting breaths. With everything he's got, he hauls himself upright; sweat lightly trickles down his forehead as he tries to balance and keep himself from leaning forward too much.
He just got himself upright and he /still/ has to walk to the kitchen?! He quickly eyes the last sugary pastry before reaching with fat stubby fingers.
Baby steps Dean, baby steps. Or...waddles. Little pants escape his messy lips as he nurses the butter cream filled treat, one fat arm lightly stretched out for balance as the other reaches for saftey in the safe, warm blubbery rolls of his side. As much as he loves and adores his blue eyed angel, he's going to be giving him a major stink eye when he gets home. Moving /sucks/.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
If there's one thing Dean hates most, it's having to get up and move. And...well, not having anything delicious in his mouth...or not having Cas around.
Point is, moving around /sucks/; Castiel was out grocery shopping while Dean sat on their soft couch *barely enough room for Cas to squeeze in these days* 'snacking' on a few dozen baked treats; multiple empty bags of chips and variety packs of candy half hazardly thrown around.
The entire time his hand and mouth on autopilot as he watched the newest episode of Dr. Sexy MD. Crumbs and globs of icing and filling littering his massive tits. Large butterball chins jiggling back and forth with every quick move of his jaw.
Minus not having Cas around to rub his large girth, everything was perfect. Until, the supplies ran out that is. Reaching over he noticed the cardboard box empty except for one fluffy pastry. His eyebrow knitted together, there's no way he plowed through everything already. It's only been 15 minutes since Cas left!
A huff past his nostrils at the thought of having to get up. He braced himself as he scooted his blubbery rear forward, his arms, belly, and tits jerking like gelatin with each jerky move forward.
This shit's definitely harder than it used to be; "When your fatass gets to 780 lbs, no shit it gets harder." he scoffs to himself bewtween panting breaths. With everything he's got, he hauls himself upright; sweat lightly trickles down his forehead as he tries to balance and keep himself from leaning forward too much.
He just got himself upright and he /still/ has to walk to the kitchen?! He quickly eyes the last sugary pastry before reaching with fat stubby fingers.
Baby steps Dean, baby steps. Or...waddles. Little pants escape his messy lips as he nurses the butter cream filled treat, one fat arm lightly stretched out for balance as the other reaches for saftey in the safe, warm blubbery rolls of his side. As much as he loves and adores his blue eyed angel, he's going to be giving him a major stink eye when he gets home. Moving /sucks/.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.