Sacrificial Hog
Authors: Molly Ren
Rating: PG-13?
Pairings/warnings: Dean/pie, chubby!Dean, belching, gluttony.
Being a sacrifice was not all that bad, Dean reflected as he cut into his fourth slice of apple pie.
He knew when he'd pulled in here that the people were just a little too nice. There was no earthly reason why they'd want to give him the best room in town, or why they'd insisted on bringing him the best home-cooked spread he'd ever had: fried chicken, all the sides, and an entire apple pie all to himself... which he'd done his best to eat all of: shit was that good.
Now, though, he was regretting it slightly. Dean leaned back in his chair, having to work a little to undo his pants, and sighed heavily at the relief when his fly gaped across his tummy. He used both hands to rub his hard-packed stomach, which had bulged out so huge that you could clearly see his navel though the tight-stretched fabric, and gave a big, satisfied belch. Even now, he found himself eying the final slice in the tin and wondering if he could fit that in his belly too--it'd be a shame to let something so delicious go to waste--and deciding to go for it.
Well, in thirty minutes or so, he amended as his near-bursting belly rumbled warningly at the thought. He massaged his gut a little harder, discovering that when he pressed on the sides of his tummy he could force himself to burp, which made a tiny bit more room in his bloated belly. "Bruuuuup!" Challenge accepted: he had to let what was already in there digest, but in thirty more minutes he could totally handle it.
Then, of course, there was a knock at the door.
Swearing under his breath, Dean struggled to his feet, trying to refasten his jeans under his belly and realizing there was no way in hell that was going to happen. He took a minute to run his hand through his hair, grateful his t-shirt was long enough to hide the evidence, before popping the door open. He startled the woman on the other side of it, who had been leaning up against the doorjamb in what he belatedly realized was a cheesecake pose.
"Um," said Dean. She stared at his belly, while he stared at her barely-there skirt and top, which wouldn't have looked out of place in a stripper's bar but was wildly inappropriate in this little hamlet. Suddenly, Dean remembered the chapter on prehistoric sacrifices Sam had read to him in the car on the way to this weird place. Before being sacrificed, most victims would be lavishly entertained for days or even weeks beforehand, having every one of their appetites satisfied so as to be pleasing to the gods.
The girl was still staring, but her eye had moved to a lower bulge in his pants. She tried to look up at him through her lashes and breathed, "Can I... get you anything else?", a country girl mimicking a starlet's smolder.
Dean grinned. "Yeah, sweetheart, I think you can." He remembered that Sam was due to show up some time in the morning to save him from the evil townspeople's clutches, but in the mean time he fully planned to enjoy himself.
Rating: PG-13?
Pairings/warnings: Dean/pie, chubby!Dean, belching, gluttony.
Being a sacrifice was not all that bad, Dean reflected as he cut into his fourth slice of apple pie.
He knew when he'd pulled in here that the people were just a little too nice. There was no earthly reason why they'd want to give him the best room in town, or why they'd insisted on bringing him the best home-cooked spread he'd ever had: fried chicken, all the sides, and an entire apple pie all to himself... which he'd done his best to eat all of: shit was that good.
Now, though, he was regretting it slightly. Dean leaned back in his chair, having to work a little to undo his pants, and sighed heavily at the relief when his fly gaped across his tummy. He used both hands to rub his hard-packed stomach, which had bulged out so huge that you could clearly see his navel though the tight-stretched fabric, and gave a big, satisfied belch. Even now, he found himself eying the final slice in the tin and wondering if he could fit that in his belly too--it'd be a shame to let something so delicious go to waste--and deciding to go for it.
Well, in thirty minutes or so, he amended as his near-bursting belly rumbled warningly at the thought. He massaged his gut a little harder, discovering that when he pressed on the sides of his tummy he could force himself to burp, which made a tiny bit more room in his bloated belly. "Bruuuuup!" Challenge accepted: he had to let what was already in there digest, but in thirty more minutes he could totally handle it.
Then, of course, there was a knock at the door.
Swearing under his breath, Dean struggled to his feet, trying to refasten his jeans under his belly and realizing there was no way in hell that was going to happen. He took a minute to run his hand through his hair, grateful his t-shirt was long enough to hide the evidence, before popping the door open. He startled the woman on the other side of it, who had been leaning up against the doorjamb in what he belatedly realized was a cheesecake pose.
"Um," said Dean. She stared at his belly, while he stared at her barely-there skirt and top, which wouldn't have looked out of place in a stripper's bar but was wildly inappropriate in this little hamlet. Suddenly, Dean remembered the chapter on prehistoric sacrifices Sam had read to him in the car on the way to this weird place. Before being sacrificed, most victims would be lavishly entertained for days or even weeks beforehand, having every one of their appetites satisfied so as to be pleasing to the gods.
The girl was still staring, but her eye had moved to a lower bulge in his pants. She tried to look up at him through her lashes and breathed, "Can I... get you anything else?", a country girl mimicking a starlet's smolder.
Dean grinned. "Yeah, sweetheart, I think you can." He remembered that Sam was due to show up some time in the morning to save him from the evil townspeople's clutches, but in the mean time he fully planned to enjoy himself.