Work Text:
Frank grabbed the red shirt he often wore during Leathermouth shows off of it’s hangar in the back of his closet. They had been on a hiatus looking for a new drummer for a few months- long enough for him to be nervous to try it on.
He’d been putting on weight pretty consistently since before they had even been on the hiatus- but no one could really tell. Back then it could have been mistaken for bulking- now it would be mistaken as prepping for hibernation- and would they be wrong? He sighed, thinking of a few weekends ago, when his bandmate James Dewees- who got back from his long family trip- had said that exact phrase.
•••
“Jeeze dude I leave you alone for a few weeks and you eat the house like that witch with the like… candy house. You know that one? Yea… like… like you’re a fuckin bear getting ready for hibernation.” James burst out laughing, face red, eyes screwed shut. His hand was suspended in the air, body convulsing with the force of his laughter. The tension in his arm released and he slapped his thigh, using it as a brace after, so he didn’t crumple up.
“Fuck off.” Frank rolled his eyes and punched James’ arm. “You’re not very fuckin’ skinny yourself.”
“Yea but its funny because you were- you were a fucking stick.”
“Whatever man.” Frank sighed and rolled his eyes. “Its the fuckin’ meds.”
“That’s why there are 5 empty large pizza boxes in your recycling.”
“I HAVENT TAKEN THE RECYCLING OUT IN LIKE A MONTH.” (lie) It was more like 2 weeks- the last time the recycling came by.
“That’s still over one large pizza a week all to yourself, not to mention everything else in there.” Both James and Frank had their attention on the overflowing bin full of boxes of snacks, fast food, and more. Admittedly, there was a lot.
“Let me see your trash I bet it’s full of beer… for your, fuckin’ beer gut.” Frank wasn’t feeling very fiery, he just wanted to get band practice over.
“Stop bickering like you’re married you two.” Andrew piped up as he set up his amps. “Frank, make sure your voice is warmed up.”
“Well Yes Sir.” Frank said and mock saluted, punching James’ arm one more time before he got his mic set up, regretting having band practice at his place.
•••
Back to the red shirt at hand… Frank looked at it and held it out, it looked so small at this point, compared to what he had been buying and what was actually fitting him. He was up to an XL and that was fitting a little snug around his belly as of recently. He had never gotten another red shirt, just opting for plain black and white ones that he could brand with the Leathermouth Ø. He wanted to wear the red at their first show with the new drummer, to be a little more bold, but there was no way in hell it was fitting. He’d have to lose like 50lbs. It was nearing 7:30pm and he wouldn’t have time to run to the mall to get a new one. He looked at the tag, M, how the fuck was he ever a medium?
Frank sighed and took off the shirt he had on, letting it fall to the ground. He grabbed the red shirt once more and stepped over to the full length mirror he had on his sliding closet doors. He looked at the stretched out tattoos on his stomach and sighed. He’d only get them touched up if he either lost the weight or hit a plateau, whenever that would be.
He liked to pretend it wasn’t mostly his fault. Sure, the meds had slowed his metabolism, but he had also been really emotionally eating during the Leathermouth hiatus. It had gotten to a point that he even began to recognize it- when his “fat” jeans stopped fitting all together.
He got the red shirt on over his arms and that was when he started to struggle, he got it down to his shoulders and it was impossibly tight. He pulled it down as hard as he could over his chest, letting go and huffing, slightly out of breath from the struggle. His eyes went to his reflection in the mirror, the shirt looking like a bra over the tits he had developed. He laughed and turned away, tears spiking the corner of his eyes. He didn’t know why he had done it, he hadn’t been a medium for almost a year. He tried to pull up on the bottom that was cutting into his middle, but it wouldn’t budge.
“F-Fuck…” He struggled to get it off- unsuccessfully.
“Frank we should probably get goi-“ James walked into the room, unexpectedly, he must’ve stopped in to let Frank carpool so he could get drunk.
“KNOCKING IS A THING JAMES!“ Frank gasped and instinctively tried to cover his exposed middle, there was nothing that could hide the belly that was spilling everywhere. “JESUS CHRIST!”
“You need help there?” James asked, looking un-phased, walking over with a smug smile on his face.
“No- I- I don’t.”
“Oh, okay.” He turned around to leave.
“Wait-“ Frank said, voice as low as a mouse. “I might uh, I might need uh-“ He tried to call James back without saying what he wanted.
“Hm? What did you say Frankie?” James stopped walking but didn’t turn back.
“Can you come here?” He said a little louder.
“Why?”
“Oh come on man are you serious? Can’t we just be men about this?” Desperation was in Frank’s tone, as sweat beaded on his forehead.
“You’re the one with your shirt stuck on, and you won’t admit it.” James turned back to Frank, walking towards him, smirk stuck on his face.
“Just please- help me get it off.” He said just above a whisper.
“Hm?” James was a few inches from Frank, arms crossed in front of him.
“God! You’re a fucking dick…” Frank sighed, admitting defeat to James, and himself. “My shirt is stuck on, can you please help me get it off?”
The glee that lit up James’ eyes was sick. “Gladly.” He said and unfolded his arms, grabbing the edges of the red shirt and pulling it up, stretching it over Frank’s head and getting it off his arms, setting him free. The shirt was dropped on the floor, James pressed in against Frank, kissing him. His hand reached up and tangled in Frank’s short hair, pulling him closer and feeling the other’s soft body against his own.
Frank whimpered underneath the kisses, wrapping his arm around James’ waist, slowly walking backwards and eventually tipping himself onto the bed, falling back. He felt his dick pressing against the top of his sweatpants and poking the bottom of his belly. James got on top and rutted against Frank’s hard cock, and his belly in the process. It was just in the way.
James leaned down- bellies pressing into each other- to nip at Frank’s neck and double chin, before whispering; “Being a little late won’t hurt.” and taking his own shirt off.