Raffle Story- Rourkie (Patreon)

A quick note: I was asked to credit the characters in this story to the Furry Basketball Association, all rights go to  them.

Lance Wildfyre was never one to watch his weight; at five feet and four inches, and carrying around somewhere in the ballpark of two hundred pounds, some would say he made a strange choice for a baseball player. But tonight, he was the reason the Albany Alphas were celebrating their FBA Finals Championship; after all, if there was one thing nobody should underestimate, it’s how good a rabbit should jump. 

The victory party was building up to be legendary; a huge buffet was set up in the team owner’s sprawling mansion, and the team were allowed one night to let off steam. It was probably a bigger reward for the team than any of the accolades they earned for their championship, especially for Lance. 

The rabbit had set himself up in a small corner of the main party room, with a mountain of food surrounding him, sampling every single dish the party’s sprawling buffet in two or three servings.

“Hey, Lance!” one of this teammates called, shouting over the loud, thumping party music. “Aren’t you going to do, like, anything besides eat?”

The tan furred rabbit held up a glass, throwing back his head to gulp down a jell-o shot. “I’m drinking, too!”

His teammate, a tall, well built husky named Roger Umaechi, smirked. “C’mon. The rest of us are going to jump in the pool, do something to liven up the party.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, gimme like, ten minutes,” Lance waved his teammate off, snatching up a slice of pizza in his free hand. “...Actually, hold on, I didn’t see the dessert  table. Make that twenty.”

“Dude, you’re already the tubbiest guy on the team,” he looked over the short rabbit. “Y’know, proportionally.”

“Yeah, and I can still jump higher than you, Umaechi.” Lance shot back, grabbing for the closest piece of food that remained in his small horde, a fistful of pot-stickers. “I’ve been dieting all season, and I’m in serious danger of dipping under one hundred eighty pounds.”

“Oh, no,” Roger put a hand to his cheek, feigning horror. “You’re getting dangerously close to, like, being in shape.”

Lance tossed a meatball at Roger, which the husky caught in his mouth in a moment of canine impulse. “Laugh it up, Umaechi, and how many baskets did you score tonight? Because I got five.”

Roger held up his hands in defeat. “Hey, fair enough. But the rest of us will be down at the pool if you actually, y’know, want to have fun tonight.”

Lance grinned, raising another shotglass. “Already having the time of my life, thanks!”

When morning came, Lance was decidedly not having the time of his life. The rabbit groaned as he groggily stumbled back into the world of the living, clutching his swollen middle. He already had a sizeable gut, but now, it had inflated to a round lump the size of a car tire.

“Okay,” Roger grunted, feeling how tense his round middle still was. “Okay, I… may have overdone this a little bit.”

The rabbit had crashed on a couch in the team owner’s mansion, though he was far from the only one; a few other of his teammates were stumbling around, picking themselves up from a drunken stupor. Lance staggered over to a mirror, and his eyes popped.

“Oh… oh, boy,” he muttered, cradling his belly. It now spilled over the waistband of his pants, and his shirt was riding up his nearly spherical belly. Some of it was starting to spread out over the rest of his body, making his chest just a little thicker and his waist a little tighter in his pants.

“Ugh… one hell of a party, right, Wildfyre?” Roger slapped him on the back. “We’re officially on vacation for the next few weeks… you got any plans? I’m taking a new lady friend to Hawaii. Might as well ride the championship title while we got it, right?”

The rabbit sighed. “I didn’t even think about that… we’ve been travelling all across the country for every game, I’m probably just going to stay home for a change.”

“Hey, suit yourself. Just try not to eat yourself out of house and home, right?” the husky grinned, patting the crest of the lapine’s belly.

“Haha. Go jump in a volcano in Hawaii.”

Lance carried himself outside, screwing his eyes shut until they could adjust to the morning sun. Fumbling with his keys, he slumped into the driver’s seat of his car and started down the long driveway. It didn’t take long, however, until his stomach growled.

“Wait, what?” Lance prodded his gut as he came to a stoplight. “Really?” He craned his neck, spotting a local burger joint advertising breakfast sandwiches. “Well… skipping breakfast isn’t going to lose all this.”

Lance had gotten used to being treated like a celebrity; it came with the territory of being a professional basketball player, after all. Earning the championship title, however, elevated his celebrity status to a whole new level. The usual spate of interviews and TV spots abated after the first few weeks, but given Lance’s reputation for not letting his extra weight keep him down, he had a very specific fanbase. Men’s Big and Tall Stores, Buffet chains, and restaurants all clamored for his sponsorship, which meant that while the rabbit enjoyed his extended vacation, he was given a stream of free meals and free clothes that always managed to keep up with a slowly expanding waistline. The sponsors, for their part, had the good tact not to mention Lance’s inflating weight. 

“So, if you sign an exclusivity clause with us, Mr. Wildfyre, I think we can definitely promise free meals, well… whenever you want,” an executive for Family Fun Buffets explained, tentatively waiting as Lance gobbled up a huge chunk of lasagna. “We know Golden Time Buffets has approached you, too, so we’re willing to do a lot to make you happy with us.”

Lance sighed contently, patting his belly. His newly tailored suit was already feeling tight after a gigantic meal; a few weeks of gluttonous gorging had made the rabbit’s frame explode, with a cauldron-like belly that was filling his lap, a doughy chest crowned by multiple chins, and his limbs were swaddled with beefy amounts of fat. His cream colored cheeks billowed as he caught his breath, brushing back his brown hair before resting his hands on his belly. He leaned back, making his chair creak ominously.

“So, tell you what… you guys got a really great buffet, but so does Golden Time.” He then smiled wide. “I hate to be stereotypical, but I’ll tell you what will tip the scales… how good is your guys’ carrot cake?”

The alarm blared, pulling Lance out of his overstuffed stupor. “Ugh…” the rabbit’s hand shot out of his sheets, blindly groping for his phone. As the screen lit up his face, the rabbit’s face fell. “Shit!”

He leapt out of bed, stumbling around his room for his uniform; vacation was over. It was now officially the first day of training. Pushing away a small mountain of discarded wrappers, he tried squeezing into his jersey and shorts, with less than successful results. Feeling restricted, he scooted over to a mirror, and the results of his weeks-long binge came hurtling back at him. “Oh, boy…”

His jersey was taking on the dimensions of a sports bra, holding back a chest shaped like a pair of overstuffed pillows, and only skirting the crest of a bulbous, nearly spherical belly that was dangerously close to being wider than he was tall. It was only by the virtue of his strong, sturdy legs that he was still moving as well as he was, but even they were buckling under the weight. His thunder thighs wobbled, threatening to split his shorts, looking not unlike brightly colored shrink-wrap over his creamy fur. His lips thinned, his muzzle sinking back into multiple chins as he tried to suck in his round, chipmunk cheeks. “Maybe… maybe no one will notice,” Lance muttered, vainly attempting to suck in his gut. “I’ve always been the chubby guy, right?”

His team did notice.  Lance’s prodigious weight left him huffing and puffing through basic drills, his entire body wobbling and jiggling as he tried to get through simple defense moves.

“Hey, uh, Wildfyre…” Roger began cautiously, the husky’s brow arched as he could only gawk at his fat teammate. “Maybe you should take a breather? For like, the entire season?”

Lance, still wheezing as he caught his breath, scowled. “Kiss my ass, Umaechi!” the rabbit huffed, slapping his posterior. Almost ready to spill out of his shorts, he cringed inwardly as he felt them wobble. Grumbling, he took the ball and summoned up all his energy, lumbering down the court. Through sheer willpower, he leapt into the air, and sank the ball into the hoop. But as his weight collided with the hoop, almost instantly, the frame snapped, and Lance came hurtling back to earth, landing on his wide back with a loud whump that caught the attention of his entire team. Thankfully, the sheer amount of blubber encasing the rabbit kept him from being seriously hurt, but as he lie splayed out on the court, his view soon filled with the concerned faces of his teammates, Lance had to face facts.

“So…” the rabbit began as he recovered from the shock. “I’ve been thinking. I got this great offer from a Sumo league…”

He was left reminiscing on that last thought, his team still staring at them. Light shined on the rabbit's face, and he had to screw his eyes shut; when he opened them again, he was back in bed. He was waking up from his latest off-season binge, still groggy from the night before. He sat up, almost surprised how easy the action was to perform. He glanced at his belly, bigger than it should have been for a professional basketball player, and larger still from the off-season, but much smaller than it had been in his dream. 

"Hmmmm. Sumo, huh. I might just have to call my manager..."