This include's male weight gain and overeating

*Warning: Yoai included*

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Uranus Skyward stretched and yawned, feeling the sun striping through the windows, warming his skin. Blinking awake, he turned languidly in the bed and ran a hand through the tumble of his new husband's hair.

"Good morning, Mr. Skyward," he mumbled.

Daniel Howard, who had been Mr. Skyward for some 25 hours, smiled with his eyes closed. "Mmm."

"Let's hear it for jet lag," Uranus said dryly. He tossed the covers back and, groaning, got out of bed and padded across the hotel room, opened the French doors, and stepped out onto the balcony. Below, light midday traffic hummed along the narrow street. Murmurs and bellows in musical Italian drifted up.

Daniel came out and leaned into him, sliding an arm around his waist.
"Hungry?"

"Starved." Uranus's tummy obligingly growled, making them laugh.

"Let's go. Neptune told me about this restaurant he said we had to try."

Waking as they walked, the newlyweds strolled through the neighborhood to the center of town, where they caught a taxi. A hair-raising ride ensued, but somehow they made it to the restaurant intact.

They were seated, and Daniel, who spoke Italian, ordered wine for them immediately.

"I need it after that cab ride," Uranus grumbled. "Italians seem to think traffic lights are suggestions."

Daniel laughed, his eyes lighting up. Uranus reached across the table and took his hand.

They placed their order, then drank the wine.

"Ahem," Daniel said.

"Uh-oh."

"Time to talk about it."

"Do we have to?"

"Yeah, we really do."

"My mother," Uranus groaned. Uranus's mother might have been well-intended, but no scissors were ever going to touch her apron strings. She did her very best to make sure that both her sons were mama's boys, and though they were both fully grown, insisted that their rightful place was by her side as often as possible.

Daniel, however, was no dummy. "Think, sweetie," he said. "What did your mom say to you at the wedding?"

Uranus frowned. "She said a lot of things."

"What did she say while we were eating the cake?"

"Oh, that," Uranus said. What his mother had said was, "Don't let marriage make you fat, dear. What a thing to say at your own son's wedding!"

"So…" Daniel said.

"So…"

"So … if you let marriage 'make you fat,' what can she do about it?"

"Nothing," Uranus said slowly.

"That's right. Nothing. And … what is Italy famous for?"

"Food," Uranus said, catching on.

"We've got two weeks, lover," Daniel said.

"Bring it on," Uranus challenged.

Just then, the antipasto arrived, a huge platter that practically covered the entire table. Daniel scooted his chair around and snuggled up against his new husband.

"Here," he said, reaching for his wineglass. "You drink mine too."

Uranus, who didn't speak Italian, thought that the antipasto might be the whole meal and dived in. As he steadily emptied the platter, he felt his stomach becoming pleasantly full. The antipasto was replaced by a huge shallow bowl of minestrone. Daniel tucked Uranus's napkin into his collar.

The soup was warm and mildly spicy, and so tasty that every swallow made Uranus want another one. The soup vanished into his stomach before he knew it. His midriff began to feel tight, pushing against his belt. After the soup came fish. No, not just fish … a whole fish, on a bed of saffron rice.

Uranus steadily ate, savoring the symphony of flavors. His belly was starting to bulge, pushing insistently against his belt. Uranus shifted uncomfortably in his chair, beginning to feel rather stuffed. His midsection swelled with each breath, making the waistband of his pants slice and pinch. Pausing to drain his wineglass, Uranus let out his belt a notch and stifled a belch.

The fish plate, containing nothing now but bones, vanished, to be replaced by a deep bowl of pasta. From the first bite Uranus was hooked. This was nothing like Mueller's brand spaghetti-from-a-box. These noodles were as homemade as you could get, carefully rolled out and sliced by hand, and the sauce … wow! Like tomatoes exploding in the mouth, fresh from the vines. Uranus inhaled deeply, savoring the smell.

Inhaling deeply, however, seemed to have been a mistake, as it reminded him that his gut was running out of room. His abdomen was compressed between his ribcage and his waistband, clearly a mistake on nature's part, and it was getting awfully packed. He let out his belt another notch. That pasta was so delicious, full or not he had to have it all.

Slowly, dreamily, he gorged on forkful after forkful. Uranus's tummy swelled with each bite. Daniel laid a hand on it, his eyes widening at how distended his midriff had become. He himself had eaten only sparingly from his plates.

Uranus felt himself slowing down. He drew breath and belched sharply.

"Overfilled the tank," he said apologetically.

Daniel handed him his wineglass, which had magically been refilled.

"Take your time," he said. "Just relax. Meals here aren't meant to be rushed."

Uranus sipped his wine, relaxing as Daniel gently and steadily massaged his bloated and aching belly. Whoo. That was better.

Given a momentary pause, his stomach gurgled and churned. Uranus belched again.

"Pardon me," he mumbled.

Daniel patted Uranus's distended abdomen.

"Let it out," he urged.

Uranus felt better as he returned to the pasta. Holy cow, was it good. Even as he felt his stomach being stretched to capacity, he savored every bite. He could almost feel his aching belly swelling as he ate. No matter. Nothing mattered but this delicious food, his husband – his husband! – stroking his thigh and bloated gut, the wine, Italy, everything.

After the pasta came homemade Italian ice, a refreshing palate cleanser. It slid cool and smooth down Uranus's throat and into his swollen stomach, gently bathing his overloaded gut and preparing him for what lay ahead. Which turned out to be not Italian but Viennese, the famous Sacher torte. Seven layers of sinfully rich, dark chocolate cake layered with apricot jam.

By now Uranus's stomach was filled beyond capacity and he was so full he was puffing. The moist dark sweetness filled his mouth and slid painlessly down his throat into his aching belly, tautly distended, straining the seams of his shirt.

He fumbled for his belt. Where was it? His midriff protruded so far over his waistband that it took some searching. Finally he found it and discovered that he had already let it out to the last hole. Giving up, he undid it altogether and unbuttoned his pants for good measure – not without a grunt of effort.

Uranus's tummy was stretched so full he thought he might burst with every bite. His stomach, aching and distended, swelled tautly outward, his shirt riding up, unable to cover the acreage any further. Daniel began massaging his bloated gut, gently, gently, rhythmically, handing him his wine. Uranus belched, then belched again. He began to recover. Oh, was he full, though.

The final course appeared, a fruit and cheese tray. Daniel began to feed Uranus. Strawberry, a sharp tangy cheese, pear, a mild dry cheese, a swallow of wine, a bite of sponge cake, on and on and on. Uranus was dazed, stupefied, stoned on food. His stomach was in another universe, beyond imagining, beyond description.

He was only dimly aware of Daniel helping him to his feet. He waddled clumsily out onto the square, his overloaded gut slopping and sloshing with every step. Daniel stopped and gazed at it, running his hand down it with something like awe. He pushed his shirt the rest of the way up so he could admire it better. In the afternoon sun, it gleamed like a work of art, a taut dome, smooth and perfectly round, bulging hugely with good Italian food.

Daniel pressed a fingertip to it here … here … here … there was no give anywhere. That bloated midriff was hard as a rock. Uranus tried to speak and hiccupped instead, short of breath.

"Well (hic!) … that … ought to (hic!), ought to … show … Mom," he managed.

Daniel smiled like a cat. "It will drive her crazy to find out there's something in your life she doesn't have any control over."

Uranus blinked, lengthening his gaze to focus on a church across the square. "What (hic!) … ex … actly … is that?"

Daniel, deliberately misunderstanding, laid a hand on the magnificent sculpture. "Uranus's tummy."