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Dr. Ivo Robotnik was not one to give gifts to anyone so the first day he dropped a freshly baked loaf of bread on Stone’s desk, the agent thought he was going insane.
But they had a deadline to focus on and Stone never got to ask what the occasion once. The bread was gone in barely two days, it was the best Stone had ever tasted. For the first time in a long time, the agent didn’t mind that he had to eat three sandwiches a day at his desk or long for variety while they hit each goal.
The next week brought another loaf, this time sourdough. Stone again didn’t get to ask why because the deadline had made the doctor irritable. The agent found himself pinned to the wall by Robotnik’s hand instead of his own on multiple occasions which just felt like a bad time to bring it up how good the bread tasted.
It went on for months, the doctor was constantly overworked and Stone never got a good chance to ask what was going on. The agent did start a spread sheet that tracked the breads or other baked goods that appeared on his desk, what nearly impossible deadlines the doctor was assigned, and the doctor’s average mood of the day. He had later added a fourth column to say thank you with an extra little note about his favorite flavor or characteristic in each baked good. He knew the doctor occasionally looked into his personal spreadsheets, so even if he never got a chance to say thank you directly.
The deadlines kept happening, the baked goods kept appearing, and Stone had to start wearing his belt a notch looser to fit his waist.
The agent didn't mind one bit. He craved the attention from the doctor, the little skip his heart did when Robotnik briefly stopped at his desk to drop whatever he had stress baked the night before into his lap.
Stone knew it couldn’t go on much longer, and he would at least have to start to ration the treats. His button up shirt was starting to feel restrictingly tight against his abdomen and pinched at his armpits, his suit jacket strained when buttoned, and his pants were stretched thin over his thighs and waist. It wasn’t the weight itself that was the problem, but the fact that Stone couldn’t afford a new suit and still make rent for the month. The rent in the area he lived in was low for the state, but that didn’t mean G.U.N paid him a living wage.
However the other issue was that he would have to start turning down Robotnik’s bags of pasteries and bread, which seemed like a fate worse than living in his car. He spent many long nights stressing about it, so much so that he did create a habit of his own, born from that stress. Stone stress ate the pastries Robotnik had stress baked.
One particular evening, Stone stayed late to be a warm body in the lab. He had finished his busy work for the day and remained to praise Robotnik and make sure he was kept caffeinated while he worked on the last leg of a project. At one point, the agent stood up to stretch, making sure to still move around after the many hours of sitting. That was when the unthinkable happened; a button popped off his suit jacket and skidded across the floor.
Stone made a pained noise, his heart sinking as he fell to the floor and began searching in vain, cursing himself all the while. He was hopeful Robotnik had not seen.
“Is this finally the hint you need, agent?” Robotnik asked almost mockingly as he didn’t bother turning away from the screen, “you really need a new suit, that one distractingly tight around that new pot belly of yours.
“It’s an apron belly,” Stone pouted in protest. He knew better than to talk back to Robotnik, but he was pretty certain he would be fired either way. He was out of uniform, had indirectly launched a projectile in the doctor’s direction, and now he wouldn’t even be able to buy the suit Robotnik wanted him to.
“I can’t afford it.”
The doctor blinked, finally turning around to look at Stone properly. He stared down at the man who was kneeling at his feet, the offending button resting in his palm.
The genius leaned down, plucking the circle of plastic from Stone’s hand and turning it over, but keeping his eyes on the agent, “how many times have you repaired that suit?” Robotnik asked, his hands finding the tie looped around Stone’s neck and loosening it.
“Enough to last me four years,” the agent reapplied, his voice getting quiet. He felt mocked in a way.
The doctor hummed in consideration, “Stand up and strip.”
Stone’s head snapped up, his face so red it only made his brown eyes sparkle more as they widened in shock. He spluttered, but still stood, hands shakily beginning to remove his tie.
Robotnik watched as the strip of fabric fell to the floor, eyes flicking back up to the agent shrugging off his jacket and starting to unbutton his shirt. The doctor was secretly pleased about that, watching as the shirt fell away with each new button freed.
Robotnik was not sorry about staring. The agent had put on enough weight his “man-boobs” had a bit of heft to them, partially covering up the two crescent moon like scars under each one. As he unbuttoned further, the doctor let his gaze drift down from the agent’s fuzzy chest to the star of the show.
The doctor bit the inside of his lip as he stared at Stone's belly, finally free of the shirt. It was glorious and soft and all his fault. Robotnik couldn’t be happier just staring at the flab resting against the agent’s waistline because the shirt was no longer holding it back.
Robotnik wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into the pudge, but Stone had moved on, undoing his belt and beginning to shimmy his pants down his thighs.
“There. Why was I doing this again?” The agent asked, looking anywhere but Robotnik’s red face. He could feel the older man ogling him and he wasn’t sure if it was positive or negative. He felt chilly since he was now standing in nothing but his boxers, socks, and sock garters.
“Oh.” Robotnik looked at Stone’s face which was equally red, “The badniks need your measurements. Now, Hop to, I’m busy and you are nothing but a distraction today.”
Stone pouted, but Robotnik turned his back as the younger man was swarmed with badniks. The measurements were done quickly, with minimal poking and prodding from the drones, but Stone remained undressed since someone had taken his old suit.
The agent sat on the corner of his desk, twiddling his thumbs and getting sucked into a pit of anxiety. He wasn’t sure what the badniks were doing or why they needed his measurements. His brain convinced him of the most likely solution, Ivo was cloning him because he was going to be fired.
Robotnik had come over at one point and just stared at him without saying a word. Stone stared at the ceiling, it felt much too embarrassing to make eye contact with his boss while mostly naked.
He couldn’t even go back to his apartment as the evening dragged, because he didn’t have any clothes. Not that he would want to, the lab had always felt more like home to him than an apartment that sucked up the majority of his paycheck.
Eventually, around eight the next morning, a hoard of badniks flew in carrying a box. They dropped it on his desk before flying off toward Robotnik. Hesitantly, Stone opened it to find a charcoal grey suit that was lined with the same red lining as Robotnik’s coat. He hesitantly took it out and started to get dressed.
When he pulled out the tie, Stone paused, running his fingers over the silky purple material until they caught on the tie pin. The man’s face split into a smile as he realized Robotnik had made sure everyone knew just who he belonged to.
Stone tied the tie, making sure the Robotnik logo pin was in line with his heart before turning to look at himself in his dark computer screen.
“You look good, sycophant.”
Stone jumped a little at being suddenly addressed before turning around and grinning, “Thank you, sir!”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get sappy on me. We have a meeting in twenty minutes and I want to show off my new and improved agent.”