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Chief, having won the championship, used his prize money to buy the land they called home for his community. Meaning, they would no longer be harassed or threatened to leave. Chief’s achievement called for a celebration. Marla, who had been withholding alcohol from Chief (along with several other delicacies that were high in sugar), believed Chief deserved to be rewarded for his hard work. Marla’s goal was to create Chief an array of sweet treats to show her thanks but, as expected from living in a crowded community, her idea to do so had spread like wildfire. Before she knew it, she had neighbors knocking on her door, offering to bring desserts of their own. Marla was a kind woman. She didn’t have the heart to turn them away. With a big smile, she accepted each and every one of their advances. The more the merrier. There wasn’t such a thing as too much sweets.
Marla had planned to surprise Chief with a feast of his very own at eight o’clock. She had set the mood by blaring some classic Spanish music, lit some candles around a rather large dining table the others helped haul outside, and decorated it with tons of plates carrying sugary treats. The array ranged from churros to flan, abuelita chocolate, arroz con leche, alcohol, and so on. The list was endless. It was a banquet fit for a king.
Joe was the man assigned to lure Chief to his seat. He hadn’t helped bake, so it was the least he could do.
Joe walked up to the trailer Chief called home. Chief had decided to wash up and pop some painkillers after his match. He was planning on having a few beers once he was done. He thought he deserved a couple for giving it his all today.
Chief’s thoughts came to an abrupt stop when he heard a knock on his door. “One minute!!” He yelled. Throwing a towel around his shoulders, he answered the door, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. His hair was loose; free from his locs and laying over his shoulders. It was damp from not having been dried properly.
Chief’s eyes lit up at the sight of Joe. “What brings you here, amigo? Do you want a beer? Come.”
Joe shook his head, dismissing Chief’s offer. “Maybe some other time. I got a better way to celebrate.”
“Oh?” Chief smirked. He leant in the doorway with crossed arms. “And that would be?”
Joe simpered. “Follow me, big guy.” Gesturing Chief to follow, he headed outside. Chief was quick to trail behind Joe after throwing on a shirt, his classic sweater, and his hat.
As soon as the two stepped outside, they were greeted with a loud cheer. “Felicidades!!” The citizens shouted simultaneously. Chief was rushed by dozens. Old and young grabbed at his arms and concurrently congratulated him and welcomed him to eat.
“Try mine, first!” Said one woman.
“No, no. Él no es un nino! Venga, Chief. Try some of my delicious flan! You will like it!” Cooed another.
Chief looked upon his people and the food they had prepared with wide eyes full of shock. It took him a second to comprehend what was going on. When he had, he pulled on a big smile and shyly tipped his hat. “What is this, eh? I don’t recall asking for a fiesta. How much did this cost? I will pay-“
“Hey.” Joe interrupted. Clapping a hand upon Chief’s shoulder, he continued to speak. “Relax, big guy. You won. Don’t you think you deserve a little more than one drink?” Joe smirked. “Now come on. Sit.” Joe said. He pulled out a chair that had been placed in front of the feast for Chief.
With some hesitation, Chief gave into his demand and plopped his rump upon the wooden seat. “Ok ok,” he hummed. “What’s first, huh?”
Joe looked over the arrangement. The first thing that he laid his eyes upon was a thick slice of tres leches. It was wet and surrounded by a small puddle of milk. It looked decent.
“How about this?” Joe asked. Picking up the plate, he brought it over to Chief. He had no idea what it was so he didn’t bother explaining.
Chief sat up straight to take a look at the cake. “Ah, tres leches.” He grinned. “This stuff is good. Have you tried any before, Joe?”
Joe shook his head. “Nah, I could go without it. I’m not too big of a fan of sweets. Enjoy.”
“Eh?” Chief raised his eyebrows. “Who said I was offering? Don’t get ahead of yourself, jefe.” Chief jeered in a playfully stern voice.
“Not like I wanted some anyways. You’re built like a bear. I’m sure you eat as much as one, too.” Joe teased. “I know better than to take food from a wild animal.”
Luckily for Joe, Chief was able to take a joke. The two shared a laugh. Joe found it comforting. Even though they were surrounded by dozens, it felt like it was just him and Chief. He had yet to pick up a bottle of beer but he was already feeling tipsy. It must’ve been the high you get from winning a fight. Joe felt like it was just him and Chief vs the world. In his heart, Joe knew that Chief deserved the praise he received. You see, Chief wasn’t your ordinary man. He fought for what he believed in and he fought hard. He fought for those who were too weak to fight as well. Chief helped Joe through some shit. He helped him through his withdrawals and his living situation. Thinking all of this over made Joe regret not baking him something. Joe wasn’t a good cook whatsoever. He wasn’t experienced at all, but trying and failing was better than not trying. Yet here he was, sitting besides Chief with nothing to give him. Joe felt pathetic.
Joe’s eyes had glazed over. The scruffy exboxer’s hooded eyes were glued onto a treat within arms’ distance. Chief saw this and spoke. “Oye, it was a joke. Don’t take it up the ass, huh? Eat.”
Joe shook his head. Chief’s words made his eyes gain a competitive look. “I think you’ve misunderstood, Chief.”
“Eh? How so?” Chief quiered. He held a plastic fork to his awaiting lips. It looked comically small in his large hands.
“I was thinking of what you’d have next, is all. That is.. unless you already have a bellyache from a tiny piece of cake.” Joe zealously uttered. “Which is understandable, you know. You are getting pretty old. I bet you’ll take a dive before you get through half of all of this.”
Hearing Joe publicly debase him was starting to get on Chief's nerves. He had enough of his babbling.
Shoveling the last piece of tres leches into his mouth, Chief pushed the empty plate to the corner of the table. “Enough with the bullcrap, Joe. You know me. Unless the money is good, I won’t take a dive, amigo.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, /amigo/.” Joe goaded. He felt a ping of pride, sensing that Chief was growing rather agitated. He could see in Chief’s eyes that he was upset. Whenever he spoke, he heard that chilling rumble of an attitude Chief’s words were oozing with. It made him shudder.
Chief eyed Joe. He didn’t wait for Joe to pass him the next plate. He grabbed one on his own. One with an entire quivering flan. Chief had to replace his plastic fork with a spoon. After all, you couldn’t eat flan with a fork. If you were to use a fork, you’d leave the liquid sugar behind. Chief, who was clearly familiar with Hispanic desserts, knew this.
Joe watched with eyes of interest as Chief cut off a morsel of flan with his spoon.
Chief wasted no time in lifting it up to his awaiting lips and welcoming it inside of his warm maw. His lips firmly wrapped themselves around the spoon to suck the flan off of it. The way Chief ate was oddly hypnotizing to Joe. He looked so serene, even though his eyebrows were knitted, setting a constant reminder for Joe that Chief was full of ambition. Joe knew Chief well by now that if the latino put his mind to it, he could accomplish anything. This would definitely be a promising sight.
Chief’s eyes were fixated upon the jiggly flan. So much so, he didn't realize that Joe was staring. That, or he didn’t care. Joe wasn’t sure. Joe closely observed Chief. His eyes followed the spoon each time it sank into the flan and carried a hefty amount to Chief’s face. He liked the way Chief’s lips curled around the spoon. It was cute, in a way.
Joe sat with his arms crossed while Chief steadily pushed through the entire flan. With that down, he had successfully finished a slice of tres leches cake, a whole fan, and a bottle of beer he had grabbed to wash it all down. Joe was unable to tear his eyes away from Chief. He was far too entertaining.
Chief pulled away from the empty beer bottle with a groan. He placed it on the floor and out of harm’s way. His expression was weary and indifferent. He must’ve been wondering how much more he could stomach.
“Hey, don’t tell me you’re backing out already.” Joe huffed. “You’ve got plenty to go, big guy.”
Chief shook his head. “Of course not.” He replied, leaning back in his seat. He tipped his hat over his eyes. “I think I need a break, is all. Un minuto es todo yo necesito..”
“A break already?” Joe scoffed. “Come on, Chief. You’ve barely eaten. What do you want next, huh?” Joe scanned the plates of desserts. “How about this?” Joe pointed to a tray of tiny churros accompanied by chocolate dipping sauce. Chief only grunted in response. He didn’t even bother to lift his head.
“Hey.” Joe snarled, tugging Chief’s seat backwards. It hardly budged. Chief was heavy. Joe then leant forward to match Chief’s height and gave Chief’s cowboy hat a flick. “Don’t throw in the towel so early, pal.”
“Who said I am throwing in the towel, eh?” Chief murmured, his stern eyes burning holes into Joe’s skull.
“Just saying cuz that’s what it looks like.” Joe shrugged. He wore the smuggest expression. He knew damn well he was getting under Chief’s skin. “Now, come on. You don’t need a break. You’re a strong guy. You could go on for at least another twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes?” Chief repeated. “I think you’re giving me a little too much credit, my friend..”
Chief’s patience was growing thin. Joe was too close. He was on the verge of pushing him away but froze when Joe stepped between his parted thighs. Chief drew his lips into a thin line.
“Oye.. What's the big idea, huh? Had too much to drink, Joe?”
“I haven’t had a drink all day.” Joe assured. “Just wanted to lend you a hand, seeing that you’ve begun to slow down.” Joe smirked. Taking one of the mini churros he dipped in chocolate into his grasp, he grabbed Chief by his sturdy jaw and slowly pressed it past his canines. “There, that’s a good boy. Come on, chew~” Joe sang in a sickening sweet voice.
Chief felt humiliated. Blood rushed to his face, making his cheeks glow. He glared at Joe, having yet to be convinced that he was telling the truth. He refused to believe Joe being in his right mind would do something this risky. Nevertheless, his embarrassment is what coasted him into eating from his hands.
“You’re drunk.” Chief murmured through his mouthful.
“Whatever floats your boat, compadre.” Joe teased. Before Chief had the opportunity to swallow, Joe had hoisted another churro to his lips.
Chief laughed nervously. “You aren’t gonna slow down at all, amigo?”
The corner of Joe’s lips curled, making Chief break into a cold sweat. “Nope~”
Chief chuckled stiffly. “I see..”
Joe was serious about the ordeal. He wouldn’t leave Chief’s side until he had cleared the table. There wasn’t too much that remained, save for the arroz con leche, abuelita’s chocolate, and a heap of pan dulce. Joe was confident that with his help, Chief would finish it all and in the end, he did. Joe didn’t stop when Chief dismissively batted his hands away, released sickly sounding belches, complained, or rested his head backwards; exposing his neck to Joe’s eager eyes. Joe was merciless.
Within an hour, Chief was stuffed beyond relief and a little drunk, too. He felt like he was going to burst. His belt was tight and his shirt rid up to expose his navel. As for his stomach, it had lurched forward. It was nice and round and despite it being stretched, his abs were faintly imprinted upon his belly. Joe couldn’t help but whistle. “Well, won’t you look at that!” Joe goaded. He brought his hands down to jostle Chief’s taut belly. “You’re fucking huge, Chief. Gotta keep an eye on your weight, from now on. Since your metabolism has slowed, who knows where all of this would go. Maybe to your hips? Or your tits? You wouldn’t mind them getting bigger, would ya?”
Chief moaned. A bubbly burp rumbled from out of his throat. His head was leaning back, his face covered by his hat. “E-enough, Joe.. deja me en paz..”
Joe snorted. “Fine, fine. I'll leave you alone.”
“Please do..”
“…”
“…”
“Hey, Chief?”
“..yeah?”
“Congratulations on your win.” Joe muttered, his voice dropping an octave. “You amazed me out there.”
Chief smiled. “I’m glad, Joe. Thank you for being by my side.”
Joe smiled in return. “No problem, big guy. Now lets get you back to your truck.”
Nodding, Chief shifted his weight to hold his hands out to Joe. He needed help getting up.
Joe gladly offered his assistance. Draping one of Chief’s arms around his shoulders and using one of his hands to still Chief’s belly, he hauled him to his truck and laid him on his back. Once he had laid him down, Joe closed the truck’s door.
“Goodnight, Chief.”
“Goodnight, Joe.” Chief muttered. Within moments, he fell into a small sugar coma. He’d need hours to recover.
To Joe, even if it meant he’d hear Joe complain all day over a stomachache, it was worth it, seeing Chief as bloated as he currently was. He was thankful to have been handed the opportunity to relentlessly stuff him. It had been a good day.