Short Story: "A Special Treat"

Author’s Note: This is a short story I wrote rather thoughtlessly back in summer 2013. As far as I can recall, this is the first written entry featuring Zhen Dou and Ooshiro (especially Ooshiro, who wouldn't show up until towards the end of the year), and may or may not be chronologically set in a time post-dating the events currently going on in the main story.

This story contains elements of gradual/rapid weight gain and references to fat fetishism, so those wary about or easily grossed out by that sort of thing may not enjoy this.




It's a typical day at Kanpai's Restaurant and Pub: sparse in the morning, loaded by lunchtime, and moderately populated in the evening. But for Zhen Dou, today is anything but typical. In fact, he cherishes these days whenever they happen. He can never predict when they'll happen, but when they do, they become that much better.

Despite being a RED-sponsored establishment, Kanpai's considers itself as “neutral territory”, and welcomes all kinds of customers with open arms. Speaking of customers, there's a group of regulars, all of them sporting the colors of Builders League United. Today, the group includes a Sniper, a Medic, a Scout, and a Spy. Zhen recognizes them immediately, and he gladly shows them to their table (which they frequent so much, that the young Soldier has internally considered it reserved just for them). He greets them as he does every other customer, but his tone and wording becomes more casual and friendly. Sometimes, when the Medic in question—himself a born-and-bred Japanese—is present, he would strike up a chat in his native tongue. But every time the Sniper's around, his heart is sent aflutter; none of the others cause him to feel this way.

He goes through the Medic's, Spy's, and Scout's orders quickly, and turns to the Sniper. “And what would you like today, Mort,” Zhen asks, his pink cheeks becoming a touch redder. The other three are generally easy to figure out (the Medic's allergy to seafood restricts his choices by quite a bit, the Spy doesn't eat much, and the Scout generally veers towards vegetarian options), but Mort is a wild card. Sometimes, he will order a little bit of almost everything, other times, he'll settle for a treat and a drink. But one thing never changes: he always returns for seconds.

“Geez, you two are such pigs!” The Spy teases while pointing his chopsticks at Mort and the Medic, who happen to be sitting right next to each other. “Don't you agree, Vince?”

The Scout laughs nervously, uncertain whether to play along or not. “I can't say I disagree.” He watches the Medic eat before saying, “Ooshiro, you're eating less than usual. Are you on a diet?”

The Medic—Ooshiro—drops his chunk of rice and bows his head sullenly. “I-is it that obvious?” Vince nods. “Well, I've been putting on weight again recently, so I'm trying to hold back on my meat portions until it stabilizes.”

“Well, it certainly won't be easy with this glutton around,” the Spy grins as his chopsticks grab hold of Mort's cheek and pinch and stretch it. The Sniper is clearly not amused.

Swatting the chopsticks away, Mort changes the subject. “Hey, has anyone noticed somethin' a little bit different about Zhen?”

“If you're talking about the way he acts around you, that's nothing unusual,” the Spy flatly points out.

“Alan! I mean...” He leans forward and lowers his voice. “Dontcha think he looks a little, erm, softer?”

The Spy, unimpressed by this revelation, says, “Mort, I always thought of you as the type who's into older men, like Gramps and Duncan. You gonna go toddler-cuddling on me now?”

“Dammit, of course not! 'Sides, Zhen-y's eighteen now—legal, but still a bit young fer my tastes. I just find it kinda weird, that's all.”

“You're the weird one, Mortimer. He only looks different because he hasn't been wearing his helmet. Besides, he's always been a bit on the soft side, if you know what I mean. Want my advice? Dump shark-boy here and give Dou Boy a try!”

“I told you, he's just not my type. I mean, he's cute an' all, but...”

“Uh, guys?” Vincent butts in. “Maybe we should change the subject. Zhen could be listening, for all we know.”

As it turns out, the Scout was right. Standing behind a pillar, out of view, is Zhen Dou. He's only caught the latter part of the conversation, but he's heard just enough to realize just what Mort thinks of him. He pinches his cheeks, thinking over his recent eating habits. Back when he was still in SOLDR, his food was strictly rationed, and his parents—back when he lived with them—would feed him accordingly, making sure he received just enough to keep his strength up while training. But once he graduated and moved to the barracks, he's gradually veered away from the SOLDR-approved diet and had begun cooking and eating of his own free will. Come to think of it, all those sweets he's been eating might have also contributed to his waistline. How has he not noticed this at all?

He comes out of hiding to take back their empty plates and hand them their bill. Once all is said and done, he makes head right for the bathroom, where he inspects himself in the mirror. Oh, I really have gained weight, he thinks with a frown. At this rate, Mortimer will be absolutely disgusted by me! A part of him realizes this is ridiculous, but the rest of him is too ashamed to listen. “I can't fix my age, but I can at least fix my body... right?”

Little does he know, somebody was watching the whole time. Out of nowhere, two hands sneak up from behind, and they grab hold of Zhen and drag him into a bathroom stall. As he struggles to break free, a voice whispers, “Shush! It's me, Alan!” The Soldier looks up at his captor and immediately recognizes the blond, freckled face. “Don't scream, I'm here to help you.”

“Help me?” Zhen asks. “You mean, you can help me lose weight?”

The Spy scoffs at the comment. “Please! Don't even bother! Most diets never work for long. Take it from the one who tried to get Mort to lose weight.” He puts his hands on Zhen's shoulders. “Listen, if you want to get Mort's attention, losing weight is the last thing you should do. In fact, you should keep doing whatever it is that you're doing.”

“WHAT? But if I do that, I'll...”

“Grow fat? Zhen-y, Zhen-y, Zhen-y. A little extra poundage isn't the end of the world. In fact, it's the key to Morty's love. You know what they say about getting to a man's heart through his penis.”

“I thought it was through his stomach.”

“Yeah, that, too. Mortimer Mundy is a very simple man. He's like an overgrown puppy in a man's body. If you're going win his love, you've got to compete with the big boys!” Alan digs into his breast pocket and pulls out some (rather steamy) photos to show off. “It's no big secret that Mort has a thing for larger men. I don't know the particulars of how his mind works, but I believe he likes to feel protected and spoiled, like a heroine from a cheesy romance novel. And to be honest, you're kind of tiny and vulnerable-looking, like a baby.”

Zhen's face falls glum as he inspects the photos again. “So what you're saying is... if I just bulk up a little bit, then I might have a chance?”

The Spy grins as he swipes the photos and pockets them. “Exactly! I know what you Soldiers are capable of. So have a go, yer mug!” Zhen cocks his head in confusion, and Alan sighs in exasperation. “Go for it!” Then he pushes the small Soldier out of the stall and disappears before he's even aware of what just happened.

Following Alan's advice, Zhen begins work on his new “diet”. In addition to increasing his usual portions, he has also started making extra to eat during his breaks. He's also stocked up on snacks and baking ingredients, for when he needs to hide his intentional gaining under the guise of sharing treats with teammates and friends. To make sure all is going according to plan, he buys a scale and sets up a weekly goal of five pounds per week, minimum. Once that becomes too easy to surpass, he steps it up a notch to ten pounds, then twenty. As a working mercenary, however, he cannot afford to get too soft and lag behind. He takes up walking and weight-lifting—habits which are simple to do, but still beneficial in the long run.

Over a month has passed since his private meeting with the BLU Spy, and a lot has changed since then. Mostly himself. His baby face has grown even rounder, sporting a slight double chin. His rear end has practically doubled in size, and his rotund belly is beginning to peek under the crack of his strained top. Even his chest has puffed up, budding into soft, feminine breasts. He's become quite fat, and at a faster rate than even he expected. The exercises he's been taking has helped to improve his ability to maneuver with the excess weight, but he is still a bit bothered by the tightness of his clothes and the way his bottom and belly jiggles with every step. While his growth is not exactly a well-kept secret, Zhen still tries to hide it whenever possible, especially from his parents. So when Mort and his friends from last time return, he starts feeling more ashamed than proud.

“Nihao,” he greets with a whimper. “How can I help you?” He can almost feel their gaze boring through his plump body, especially Mort's. What does he think of the changes? Does he really get turned on by this sort of thing, or was the Spy just pulling pranks? The poor boy's trembling from anxiety.

The day has only gone downhill from there. He flubs their orders, spills Alan's drink, drops Vince's order, then Mort's, and almost forgets to give them their bill. He has lost count of all the apologies he's given to them. Slapping the bill on the table, he exits through the back door of the restaurant and runs towards the only other place where he can find solace this time of day.

In the middle of the copper-colored desert land is an oasis of a park, built for civilians to stroll around in, ignorant of the blood-stained efforts being taken to protect them. With trees and flowers planted by RED's many laborers, the park is the most beautiful part of the town, and has become an attraction, even for mercenaries from both sides. Zhen Dou has frequented this park for as long as he can remember, and has taken to visiting during times of duress, such as now. There's not much to do, but sitting on a bench, watching people and their families and pets passing by, puts him at peace. Unfortunately, this pastime is having little effect on his mood.

“Mind if I sit here?” A voice suddenly asks him. Instinctively, his eyes shift to catch a glance at the person standing next to him. He cannot see their face at all, but the person is a giant of a man, with a formidable stomach. Judging by his outfit, he appears to be quite professional, wearing a clean white blouse and blue tie with black pants. Hesitant, the tiny young Soldier nods and scoots over. The giant takes up the remaining space on the bench and sighs, “Danke.”

Danke? Zhen's alarms start going off immediately. He knows almost zero German, but “danke” is a word he hears frequently, mostly from his Medic ally and occasionally from the BLU Scout whenever he slips into foreign tongue. But this man's not wearing his team colors, and he's definitely not a Scout. He tilts his head up to get a better look at the stranger and squeaks in terror. The man looks almost nothing like his Medic, sporting round glasses and short, graying black hair with a loose curl; behind his coal black eyes lies a hidden strength that intimidates Zhen. He has seen this man before: a few times, he's come to the restaurant, usually accompanied by Vince or Ooshiro, and always by Mort; occasionally, he caught glimpses of him on the field, living up to his frightening reputation as a battle-hardened doctor with an active trigger finger; but most recently, he's seen his face and half-dressed body in one of Alan's candid photos.

The portly giant's eyes widen the moment he locks gazes with Zhen, then he chuckles when he hears him squeak. “Ah, it's you! Zhe vaiter boy from zhe restaurant! I never vould have expected you to be here, 'specially at zhis time. Jane, right?”

Zhen turns away, and mutters, “It's Zhen, actually.” He looks back up at the man. “And you're Hartmann-sensei... right?”

“Ja, close enough. Now, vhat's vith zhe long face, Zhen-y? Tell Opa Hartmann everyzhing.” As he says this, Hartmann wraps his large arm around the tiny boy and pulls him closer.

Meekly, Zhen starts explaining. “It's a long story, but, well, there's this person I like. And this person, I heard they like, um, bigger men. Not tiny little boys like me.”

“So you thought you'd bulk up a bit, right?” Zhen nods. Then, a mischievous smirk on his face, Hartmann pinches the young man's cheek. “Vell, you've certainly done a good job of zhat—zhough it's probably a bit different from vhat zhey vanted.”

“N-no! Actually, zhey—er, they—kind of like their men... like this.” His round cheeks turning bright red, he averts his gaze. “Honestly, I don't understand how anybody could be attracted to this. It's really more of a burden than a blessing.”

Hartmann shrugs. “Can't say I necessarily understand the attraction, either. But my vife used to say she'd love how soft I vas, zhe feeling she gets vhen she rests her head on me. As for being fat, unless you've been overweight your entire life, you can never really understand how it feels. I've alvays been a stocky kid, so I got made fun of a lot. But I hardly paid much attention; I had better things to do zhan vorry about vhat a bunch of immature brats thought of me. Anyvays, I've had a lifetime of experience carrying excess veight. You don't. Zhat's vhy you find it bothersome.”

“Oh. Is it possible for me to get used to it?”

“Maybe. Zhat depends on vhether you vant to stay zhe vay you are now or not. It's your decision.”

Zhen thinks long and hard about the decision before saying, “I honestly liked the way I was before. I was a little chubby before, but it never bothered me until a month ago. Now I'm really fat, and I hate it.”

The large doctor chuckles and ruffles his hair. “Zhat's zhe spirit! If zhis person really does like you, he vouldn't care vhether you vere big as a house or tiny as a mouse. He'd admire you just zhe vay you are. Not to say you cannot change for him, but you shouldn't force yourself to do it just to get his attention. If you have to, zhen he probably doesn't like you in zhat vay.” He hears voices in the distance, calling out what sounds like “Jane”, and he whips his head in the direction of the sound before turning his attention to Zhen again. “You should talk to him.” He pats the Soldier in the back, stands up, and walks away just before the caller can see him.

The name being called out was not “Jane”, but “Zhen”, and the person searching for him was not his parents—like one would expect—but Mortimer. “There you are,” Mort says with a mix of relief and joy. “When you ran off, I got worried, an' looked all over town for ya. Here.” He takes one of Zhen's pudgy hands and shoved a wad of bills into it. “Sorry for all the trouble, mate.”

Zhen stares at the money in his hand, then at Mort. “But... but why? I've been screwing up all day. If anything, I should pay you for all the trouble I've caused!” He thrusts out the fistful of money, but the Sniper stops him midway and gently pushes it back towards him.

“Take it, Zhen-y. It's the least I could do. If that's not enough, I'll order takeout, so it'd at least be worth the money I gave.” Mort takes Hartmann's spot on the bench as Zhen reluctantly pockets the tip. “After you left, Al told me everything. He pro'lly meant well, but he still shouldn't have done that.” He stops, then continues, a sadness in his eyes, “But then again, it's my fault for havin' such weird tastes.”

Shocked, Zhen blurts out, “It's not your fault! That's just the way you are. There's nothing wrong with having different tastes in men or women or whatever. If anyone's at fault, it should be me! I was stupid to force myself to change just so you'd notice me.” Tears welling up in his eyes, he stops to wipe them away with his sleeve. “So please... don't stop coming because of me. You've always been my favorite customer.”

Mort's laughter takes Zhen by surprise, and he's unsure whether to be offended or take it personally. Once he calms down, he puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles. “Zhen, why would you ever think that? You seriously think I'm gonna ditch you just 'cause of a stupid decision you made? You're the best waiter an' cook an' takeout guy, an' an ace mate! Listen, Zhen, I like ya now, an' I liked you then. But I jus' never thought of you as anythin' but a friend. I mean, you're adorable, but you're like a little brother to me, an' I don't wanna ruin that.”

“Oh. I see. Well, I don't see a problem with that, I suppose. I'll be the best little brother ever!” His smile fades. “But I still can't stop feeling that way for you.”

“Right. Those kinda feelings don't go away too easily.” The bushman furrows his brows and scratches his chin. A second later, he snaps his fingers. “I've got just the solution! Here.” He lifts the small Soldier's head and kisses him right on the forehead. Zhen's eyes are wide like saucers, and his entire face is flaring up. As soon as Mort's lips pull away from his skin, he sighs in relief as the welling passion inside him gradually cools down. “It's not much, but it should do the trick. Something friendly, but slightly intimate—a cure for a crush.”

“A crush...?” Zhen isn't sure what to think of it at first. But the more he looks back, the more he realizes that his feelings were, in fact, just a fleeting passion with little grounding other than the fact that the man sitting next to him just happened to be a regular customer who treated him with respect. His lips curl up into a gentle smile. “I think I understand now. Thank you.”

“No worries, mate. Now... what're you gonna do about this?” He lightly pokes at Zhen's tummy, causing him to recoil.

Amidst all the drama, Zhen had forgotten about his little weight problem until just now. “Well, I still need to make up for making a mess out of everything. Tell you what: I'll give you my dessert everyday for a whole month. And I'll work extra hard from now on. You can join along, too—exercise is a lot more fun with friends!”

“Eh, I'll pass on the working bit, but I'll definitely take the dessert!”

Unable to help himself, Zhen bursts out laughing; that answer was so Mort-like. “Okay, then. You go walking with me every Saturday, and I'll double your dessert.” He holds out a hand. “How about it, friend?”

Mort pretends to ponder it over, then shakes on it. “You drive a hard bargain, mate.”

From that day, the two of them would take strolls through the park every Saturday—sometimes alone, sometimes with friends—and Zhen would invite Mort (and company) over to his place for a treat. Like last time, Zhen has set weekly goals and pushed himself to fulfill them. While he's still chubbier than before the catalystic incident from months ago, he has become much more comfortable with his body than ever. Most importantly, the two mercenaries have formed a bond that is unbreakable.

Meanwhile, Mort has found himself unable to fit into his pants, though as anybody will tell you, this situation is nothing unusual for him. But that is another story for another time.