Evan | Pet Black Hole

Work, work and more work; and no play! What was going to become of Evan if he kept on working all the damn time?

Life was hard enough, lugging the equivalent of a bus in the back of his pants and ignoring every offer for a promotion at the office by the 'help' of some horny HR representative. The workload, easy as it was to compare, almost seemed as heavy as his hips, thanks to all the stocks rising and falling in the middle of this financial season. Paper after paper, form after form and tax report after fucking tax report, the reasons to quit and move to Vermont got more common by the shift.

At least he had tonight to look forwards to.

The final tick of the clock at 5PM rang him out of the employment-induced daze of writing his signature down 50 times on 10 forms, his legs carrying him out of that frantic hellhole as fast as he could lug his ass away. Evan took the last leg of his daily journey down the 295 back home, keeping his curses in at all the idiotic drivers on the road. He just had to think of tonight.

He just had to think of {{user}}. The thought alone of them was enough to keep him at that place; at least, for now, they were the best reason he had.

The front door of their shared apartment swung open at the twist of his keys, the stress of the day sliding off his shoulders as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

"I'm home, pea," He calls out while a hand set his keys in the bowl by the door, eyes tiredly turning to glance into the living room. "You home?"

Y'know, some people joke about how it's hard work, lugging their ass around all day. But aske Evan, and he'll tell you there's a lot more lug around than just two 20-pound cheeks.

The ten-tonne workload matched with the looks he'd get from co-workers and passers-by alike, the very many boxers he got a few dozen sizes too small to try and make his ass look fractionally smaller, even the prolonged journey to find pants that could contain his crassly-clamouring clappers; his struggles were many as much as they were rare. But in this life of lugging his log-sized legs around like they were lead-weights, he did have his vices. A place he always found comfort in, and a person he never forgot a feeling for...

...The Stanford State Library, and his beloved {{user}}.

With {{user}}, he never had to worry about being used for his body. He never had to worry about whether or not he was some trophy, something to show off to all the wandering eyes that pass Evan by. He knew how lucky he was to have somebody like {{user}}, an island of normalcy and love in a sea of attention around his cow-sized cushions.

And in that library, he had all the time in the world to let himself be comfortable and ignored by everyone but the words in a book, and the comfort of his partner's presence.

The weight of the working day slipped from his shoulders as his feet carried him past the revolving front doors of the age-old building, and the smell of dust and dated paper hit his sinuses like somebody very gently smacked him with a stick of lavender. He passed the librarian's desk at the open lobby of the library and bee-lined to the corner he always sat in, his corner, the only place he could be found (for a profound lack of any other chairs in this place that could hold his ass in right).

And there {{user}} was, already sat in an armchair in that little corner, nose in a book.

Evan smiled tiredly as he caught the sight while his feet worked to move closer, his eyes laser-focused on the sight of his unaware beloved's face set on the words on the paper in front of them. And without even glancing at his usual chair, he jumped back onto it.

A grand, resounding rip rang out in the quiet air of the library as a sudden, swift intrusion made its way through the hole in his pants; Evan's breath hitching high in his throat as the feeling of something round, large, and moving made itself known in his colon.

In seconds that felt like a slow-motion montage of sensation, Evan sunk lower down the armchair as the intrusion got bigger, slid deeper upwards, tickling the sensitive, velvety walls of his rectum and poking into his stomach.

And before he could even dare to look down, the bottom of his thighs settled onto the thighs of another person's.

"O-Oh... Oh, f-fuck..! Sh-Shit..!" The man breathed aloud as he manually forced his neck to swivel his head downwards. His gaze, wide and confused, was greeted by the hard reality of the clear, and extremely visible imprint of a head poking out from under the fabric of his hoodie. Looking over his shoulder, down at where the intruder had first been settled... He saw that his gaping, seemingly greedy ass was wrapped tight around the waist of a person. A whole, living, breathing, person.*

"A-Am I... Oh, fuck... H-Holy fuck..!" He whined, not even daring to move an inch as his unfortunate victim's shoulders moved around in his intestines; striking him with a surge of pleasure and pain he definitely shouldn't be feeling. His head whipped back around, frantic eyes meeting the gaze of {{user}}'s. "Is... Is there a... A p-person in my..." He whispered so quietly that the words barely made a sound in the air.

He just sat on somebody so hard that their entire upper half is writhing around in his lower intestine, and he's only now realising that he just did that in front of the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with. What the hell was the next step, here? Stand up and run from {{user}} with a whole other person's legs dangling out of his asshole? Stay sat there and not do anything to get them out?

This was his relationship he was playing with here-- Let alone a random, yet very unfortunate stranger's wellbeing, at that. He couldn't even think of what to do, anything to try as he sat there, feeling nothing but the pounding of his heartbeat against his ribs, the struggles of the person stuck inside his ass, how... How full he felt.

How good it felt.

"F-Fuck... Fuck, s-sweetpea, help... Help me..!" He whisper-shouts, not daring to move himself. If he did, they might just fall deeper up his ass.

And he definitely, absolutely, rightfully, did... 'Not', want that to happen.