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“Everything,” FP’s voice was so soft. He let his own leather jacket fall from his arms and pool on the floor beside the bed; his shirt soon following, “Come on now.”
He could see Jughead’s body shudder in front of him as he trailed his fingers along his belt and unlatched the buckle for his son.
Jughead took a step toward the bed, his father reaching out and pulling him the rest of the way.
“Everything?” Jughead sounds so shy, watching his father’s hands leave his belt and rest on the crown beanie for a moment before tossing it down beside his shirt and jacket. His prince. FP’s hands return to himself, rubbing over the soft, round belly he has had from years of hard drinking and he just chuckles.
“What are you talking about? Of course everything. You’re not getting in here with your clothes on, boy.” He smirked as his son took a deep breath before pulling his white wifebeater up over his head in response and let his jeans and flannel wrapped around his waist fall to the floor.
FP’s eyes lingered for a few moments, watching with curiosity, rather than lust. He remembered being so lean and toned in high school, but Jughead was so thin looking. He was bitten with jealousy. When his boy’s undergarments pooled around his ankles, he diverted his eyes and Jughead stepped out of them, cheeks beet red, self-consciousness flooding his body as he sat on their bed. He ran his fingers through his long hair, the back of his neck heated wildly response to his flushed cheeks.
Jughead felt the mattress dip with FP’s weight, the old denim of his jeans brushed against his skin as he stretched his legs and body. Jughead watched, his eyes trained on where the curve of his father’s gut met his hips bones and trailed up to the large Serpent tattoo over his thick ribs, over his groomed chest and bearded jaw. His eyes fixed on his lips. Jughead watched as his father’s tongue slowly swiped across his lips, darting in and out as Jughead breathed. The motion instinctively had the younger man moving forward, hypnotized. FP sat up on his arms where he was laying, Jughead’s eyes flickering down as the motion made his father’s round gut appear even more swollen. A rough hand picked his jaw up, beckoning him into a loving, gentle nuzzle of their foreheads pressed together.
Jughead crawled on top of his father’s lap, feeling that belly pressed against his lower half. He was pressed right on his distended stomach. Staring closely he could see the round belly rise and fall with his breathing, it’s so soft and firm and sending thousands of sensations pulsing across his body, every emotion playing across his half lidded, then closed eyes, and parted lips. Jughead moved his hands up and over the thick gut, along the tattooed side of his father. His belly felt so bloated with liquor and fat with diner food, so taut against his fingertips, already the large on it’s own, yet still growing and eager to be full.
Their sighs met in unison, when FP’s lips were only centimeters apart Jughead looked down, seeing his father’s fingers slowly curling around his wrist to hold him in place.
He moved up, his free hand polishing over every curve along his body and ultimately wrapped his hands around his neck and pulled himself in even closer.
“Are you ready?” When FP asks the question his lips brush against Jughead’s and his pulse surges in the wrist he’s holding. He imagines his tongue swiping over his boy’s skin, tasting his flesh and feeling him writhe against his throat.
Jughead’s eyes flickered up from where he was staring at his gut almost worshipfully, the way he looked at him with so much trust and love… it was all his father could ever want. He trails a finger across his belly, slow and suddenly shy.
FP gave an efficient nod, quick and urgent, like he has been given a command. The look in his boy’s eyes was the go ahead and the permission - or the begging.
“Hope you’re still hungry.”
It was unusual he was in the dominant position over his younger man.
FP gave his boy another nuzzle before stretching his jaws, he knew how wide they could go, yawning them apart on the regular to show off around the Wyrm. Remind the members of their status and symbol. Jughead looks devious as he watches, the sight of his pink tongue and sharp, long fangs leading to the dark expanse of his throat, the slight movement of his eyes searching every inch in awe, and his boy begs, whining out weak and needy: “Daddy.”
FP leaned down, closed his eyes, and opened his mouth. His nose pressed against thick, black hair, his chin slid along his skull, and his face was taken between his parted lips and carefully guided past sharp fangs he felt the accelerated breathing at the back of his throat. It felt different than the reverberation of screams and protest in every way. It felt so good. So fucking good. The breathing was soft, and the lack of blood dripping down his esophagus and not dribbling down his chin was much more pleasant.
He sealed his lips around his neck, gave his face a few gentle caresses with his tongue and took the first swallow before pushing him to the back of his mouth.
Jughead winced a little at the feeling of fangs barely scratching by his skin. His father’s mouth was cool and that chill struck his senses like peppermint.
FP shoved forward, craning his body over his boy’s as his animalistic instincts took control, saliva coating over Jughead’s shoulders and dripping down his chest as FP relaxed his throat. It wasn’t a struggle by any means, he was used to prey putting up a fight and having to be painfully stretched around someone the Serpents needed gone without a trace. Jughead wasn’t fighting against fate — he asked for this. FP hadn’t done it in ages; he thinks he was probably still a Freshman back in high school at the time. Now he just needed the closeness of his father again; some sort of faux reset from the man who gave him life in the first place.
Still conscious, Jughead rolled his shoulders inward, trying to make his body as narrow as possible. It wasn’t something he had to do; he had seen first hand in the back room of the Wyrm how FP could take down men bigger than himself and he combined. An apex predator by every charge. His shoulders pushed their way in, forcing FP’s body to stretch further to accept his own.
He lifted the younger Jones to a slightly higher angle and his open jaws slid beneath his chest, allowing his neck to be better aligned with the incoming man. He grabbed his hips and guided him, offering more pleasant touches than any prey he had ever digested… but Jughead wasn’t food.
He brought his boy back horizontal, poking out of his jaws when the hardest part was over. He smirked against the feeling. FP’s neck was bugling wide, he could feel him sliding down, he could smell the emotions playing in his scent and his body heat. FP swallowed another hard gulp, pushing and pulling him in deeper, Jughead’s smooth belly slid over his drooling tongue, the majority of his body inside his flexing, squeezing throat. He almost has to remember his son isn’t food, and almost doesn’t have to when he doesn’t taste so palatable as typical prey. Biology, he assumes, preventing him from the beastly urge to go after his young in scarce times, however, FP was a violent and vicious protector from the start.
Jughead was starting to move under the pull of his throat, starting to slip inside by himself. He had guided himself expertly as he had done in the past. He could feel FP’s whole body contract as his stomach stretched around his body. Jughead felt the coolness all around him. The gentle, soothing undulations were like a full-body massage, rather than a guttural, primal tearing apart, gently squeezing instead of horrifying constriction easing tension instead of building it, and the close sound of his father’s heart beat relaxed him further.
It was rare they got opportunities to be this close.
FP looked down and saw his beer belly bulging out and down while Jughead worked himself in deeper. His slippery throat provided a suction that tugged on Jughead’s legs, and continued to pull what would have been a meal towards his awaiting stomach; but he had no intention of digesting the boy.
He groaned, sending waves of vibrations coursing through his body, feeling his hips and thighs widening to better carry the load that Jughead was becoming in his belly. FP had always loved the feeling of being filled, and the way his stomach turned impossibly round, overloaded with victims to digest. The feeling of pushing past his own capacity, gorging on body after body until he was pinned under his own size and veins pulsed against his stomach ready to burst.
Jughead was precious cargo. Every moment brought them closer. He remembers being pregnant with Jughead in the first place. The feeling of carrying someone with so much love in his heart combined with the feeling of rubbing his growing size. It all felt so good. Aside from the moments of agonizing pain and vomiting, it was ecstasy. Even better now to know that his boy, his heart, would be that close, that protected. Safe. He almost never wanted to set him free once he was inside.
His belly swelled with warmth as the final parts of his son travelled through, making an enormous bulge in his abdomen.
Jughead looked good inside his belly. FP ran a hand over the new girth of himself, the huge bulge, feeling Jughead squirm and relax inside of him, movements slowing as he settled into an restorative, unconscious and peaceful sleep. His hands couldn’t leave his swollen middle, he didn’t think they ever would. It was magnetizing, stroking the firm flesh. His skin was pulled tight, every gentle pat sounding off like a soft drum beat. He stayed like that, stroking his belly and appreciating the warmth and fullness it gave him. He needed to take in every second of the way he felt pregnant and full before he could struggle all of the hundred-sixty pounds of his new, added weight up and off the bed.
After cannibalizing regular prey, he barely moved until he could digest a bit to make the load easier, preferring to relax it off for a few hours while others partied around him; right now he just had to… see. He got to his feet after a few minutes, feeling enormous as his gravid gut drooped heavily from his tall, lean frame. Waddling toward the full length, broken and dirty mirror of his bedroom and finding he just enjoyed the simple motions of walking with his heavy belly, a hand supporting his back and another cradling it in front of him. He stared at his swollen reflection. He carried it openly, proudly, amazed at his size with an adult Jughead safely curled up inside of his womb.
Carrying Jughead’s added weight inside was him was a bit of a strain, but nothing he didn’t handle with prey. FP cradled his filled belly and ran his hands along the expanse. It had been too long since they were together like this.
Carrying Jughead in his womb again was going to take a toll on his body. He was never vain about the way he looked, really didn’t see anything special about himself or anything to really write home about.
He doesn’t get what Fred Andrews sees in him, but knows it’ll drive the other man crazy when he sees how his hips and thighs have already widened to accommodate his belly’s mass, and would curve out with the weight he was going to put on just eating at the diner for the two of them over the summer. FP was going to gorge himself until he was so fucking fat that this belly barely compared to the rest of his body. He had to keep his boy fed after all, and both their appetites were ravenous. “Look at how sexy you’re making me look,” he laughed to the side, glad the boy couldn’t hear him in his stasis. He ran his strong hands over the huge swell of his stretched belly, it was already showing some soft pink around his now popped belly button. Every tender rub appearing more lewd as he made circles around his belly.
“Fuck, Juggie ...you feel so good in me, boy,” FP panted, “I’ve got you, baby. You just relax and let daddy spoil you all summer.” He already looked like he was heavily pregnant and overdue with with a brood of eight when it was just his college boy. He couldn’t wait to start eating, to show off his size. To fatten his thighs and give this belly something to rest on. He was only going to get bigger and he knew what ‘bigger’ meant to his Freddy. He waddled back to their bed, flopping heavily onto his back just to roll over; swarmed in a warm nest of blankets and pillows. He leaned his head down, nuzzling the extra large cargo and got comfortable on his side, tucking a pillow under the mound and curling himself up around his belly as much as he could.
“You’re going to get so big in me,” FP moaned, “I got you.”