Archive of Our Own

In high school, Steve had loved watching Bucky lope onto the football field, game after game, tall and broad and lazy with confidence where Steve was small and scrawny and still a few years away from a proper growth spurt.

Bucky - graceful, strong, and everything else that Steve was not - was in those moments the most familiar and most beautiful thing that Steve had ever seen.

Steve had always loved Bucky, of course.

Bucky, who liked his paintings and laughed at his jokes and didn’t mind just sitting with Steve outside his house, scraping their trainers against the cold pavement as the rest of the world rushed by - Steve didn’t know if he could have hated Bucky if he tried.

Steve loved Bucky, but it was watching Bucky after those games that made Steve realise exactly what that meant.

After the big game, at parties Steve was only invited to because everyone knew they were a package deal (the football jock and his nobody best friend), Bucky would fill up on cheap keg beer, pretzels and midnight snack runs. He would swell with this celebratory indulgence, covering burps with the back of his hand and rubbing his swollen stomach in front of the other players, who would laugh and slap their thighs as if it was all the funniest joke.

Then, always at his fullest, Bucky would try his luck with a lucky senior girl. Steve would watch Bucky lean in, strong hands trailing up soft thighs, or grazing fingertips against tightly bloused breasts. Both parties would be breathing heavily, awkward with teenage nerves and flushed with alcohol until Bucky’s lips, red and chapped and plump would brush against soft lip gloss, his eyes half-lidded, shirt rucking up to expose a sliver of muscular back curving round to tender, swollen stomach.

And that was when Steve would have to look away, get up, leave - do anything to distract himself from the rush thrumming through him, that made him want to cry and punch something and take off his clothes and join them all at once.

The morning after, Bucky would always ask Steve what he thought of the girl, as if he knew that Steve had seen them together, knew that Steve had been watching.

Steve would mutter that she looked ‘nice’, and change the subject.

Later, alone, Steve (not having the words for it then and barely having the words for it now), would palm himself, imagining Bucky downing the rest of the keg in one continuous swallow, swelling tight and round and fleshy.

In his mind’s eye Steve would lean over Bucky, helping him drink from the keg, watching his torso bloat and round, until Bucky would reach down to jeans, sitting low and tight around his glutted stomach, and unfasten them, his swollen gut surging forward in synchrony with Steve’s orgasm, hot and deep and desperate.

Steve - well, he couldn’t bear it.

It was no wonder that by the time Steve enlisted straight out of school they were barely speaking.

-

Ten years later

Steve wasn’t expecting much from the new team member.

He’d spent a lot of time building Cap’s Training, after all. Some people might have thought it would be a risk to take a chance on Natasha and Sam, both fresh from deployment, twitchy and cynical and about as prepared to adjust to civilian life as you’d expect. But Steve had been in their shoes only a few years before, so he’d worked hard to give them a place to thrive, and to shrug off the various sized chips on their shoulders. Together, they’d built the gym and its clientele list from the ground up.

And he prided himself on his team’s professionalism. He’d seen other trainers get frustrated with their clients’ lack of progress, or make fun of them when talking shop.

But he’d been on the other side of that coin, too. Having once been a desperate highschooler who needed a spotter for just the barbell and couldn’t get weight to stick if he was eating butter mixed with superglue - well, he understood hard won progress. And he knew that Sam and Natasha got that.

So, it made sense that Steve was worried about some clueless newbie throwing off the team’s balance - even if it was just an admin guy.

(That was what he told himself, anyway, trying to forget the amount of times in his life someone had called him a ‘control freak’.)

Mr Stark, being one of those such people, had tried to tell Steve more staff was a good thing - that Cap’s Training was getting too busy for the manager and lead trainer to be messing around with memberships and IT and marketing ‘bullshit’.

Steve told Tony he didn’t mind the extra work. He never had.

But Tony had already signed the paperwork, and what the owner said goes, so there was nothing for Steve to do but wait until the newbie’s first day.

Morning of, Steve arrived early, comfortable but gym professional in a white tee and sleek, slim fit track pants. He was taking some extra time to practice his ‘I’m genuinely happy to meet you, really’ face. Annoyed as he was about the situation, he was determined to welcome his new staff member with as much warmth as he could muster.

As it turned out, he could have saved his emotional energy. At 8:26am, the automatic doors opened and Bucky Barnes walked in.

At first Steve didn’t recognise him.

He was older - they both were, of course, the pedant in Steve later pointed out.

But that wasn’t the only difference in Bucky’s appearance.

Steve saw a clean shaven man walk in, fiddling with his phone as if he was checking his destination address one last time, his neat man bun contrasting with the crisp button up. Steve tried to ignore the fact that the man was tall and broad-shouldered in exactly the way that Steve liked - in that his height and musculature were offset by a thick, soft middle and chunky thighs, like a jock who’d swapped cardio for craft beer post-college.

The thought brought up an image in his mind of a wide, heavy belly straining against buttons of a tight flannel shirt. Strong hands lifted bite after bite of brewpub burger to a faceless man’s mouth, before chasing it with a long swig of thick, dark beer. Greasy hands ran soft circles around the man’s swollen stomach, obviously bloated out further than before the meal began...

And Steve pushed the thought away. He didn’t like to think like that at work. Writing weight loss plans during the day and jacking off to fantasies of bloated gainers when he got home was a weird enough psychic tightrope to walk as it was, thank you very much.

Composure restored, Steve was about to mentally dismiss the man as a hairy hipster type who wouldn’t fit in with his ex-military crew when the man looked up from his phone.

Like a punch to the gut, Steve realised that an overfed, office casual version of his former best friend was walking towards him.

Oh god.

60 pounds. That’s what Steve estimated Bucky had added to his formerly athletic frame, give or take.

Mostly give.

As Bucky got closer, Steve swept his eyes over Bucky’s gently mounded pecs straining gently against his collared button up, and the soft belly that gently curved over the waistband of his trousers, shifting rhythmically as he moved.

Steve’s cheeks suddenly felt warm, and he was sure his face was fixing involuntarily into an expression somewhere between a grin and a grimace.

Not because Bucky didn’t look good - Steve didn’t think Bucky could ever look bad to him. No, the reason Steve’s heart was pounding out of his chest was that Bucky looked good, too good, better than he’d ever looked.

And he had no fucking idea what to do about that.

Bucky was looking straight at him when Steve’s eyes once again levelled.

“Yeah, I get it, I don’t exactly look like I should work at a gym,” he said, waving a hand up and down his torso, reddening slightly in reaction to Steve’s non-plussed demeanour and clearly not recognising him at all.

In Bucky’s defense, over the years Steve had also packed on the pounds - just in the form of over half a foot of height and a few layers of lean, compact muscle.

Didn’t mean the blank look on Bucky’s face didn’t sting.

So Steve just stared, not knowing whether he should correct the asshole vibe he’d obviously given off, or introduce himself.

Meaning Bucky was the one to break the silence.

“Hi. I’m -”

“James Barnes. I know.” Steve interrupted a bit too quickly, then paused a bit too long before explaining: “I’m the lead trainer here.” Still unsure of what else to say or do, he kept his hands by his sides - even if Bucky didn’t recognise him, a handshake seemed too formal for old friends.

“Right.” Bucky shifted awkwardly. “No one really calls me that though. You can call me -”

“- Bucky, I know.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “Have we met before? Mr Stark wasn’t really big on names when he hired me.”

“Yeah, he's not really a 'know your name’ sort of guy," Steve muttered darkly, looking away and rubbing the back of his head with one hand. It was true. Tony certainly hadn't bothered to mention the new hire’s name to Steve at any point after hiring him, that was for sure.

So, maybe Steve was feeling a bit petty. He waited for Bucky to open his mouth to say something else before he put him out of his misery and put his hand forward to shake Bucky’s.

“Steve. Steve Rogers. Uh, from high school.”

Bucky paused, and for a moment Steve thought he’d be upset, walk out then and there. He wouldn’t have blamed him.

Bucky’s eyes opened wide. “Steve - what the hell -” and Bucky was launching himself forward, bypassing the handshake by grabbing Steve by his shoulders and pulling him into a back slapping hug.

For a second or two, Steve’s brain stopped working, and all he could feel was the heavenly feeling of his hard torso sinking into a warm, soft chest and belly. His whole body shivered involuntarily in pleasure.

Then the warmth was gone, and Bucky was stepping back from the hug, looking Steve up and down in wonder.

“Man - you got buff!” Bucky squeezed Steve’s shoulders for emphasis, gawking good-naturedly. “You’re like a Greek statue or something.”

“Uh. Thanks. I guess I look a bit different than senior year,” Steve choked out, feeling uncomfortably warm and deeply self conscious for the first time in years.

Bucky just grinned up at him, hands warm and strong on his shoulders.

“Senior year. Fuck, it’s been too long, “

For a moment, stomach tensed, Steve thought he was going to bring up the way they’d parted at school.

Instead, Bucky dropped his hands to the sides of his belly and gave it a good shake, shifting the soft flesh upwards and then letting it fall back into place.

Steve couldn’t stop himself from staring, and his cock twitching with no input from his conscious brain.

It took a few moments for Bucky’s belly to stop jiggling. It took Steve another second to realise that Bucky was speaking again.

“ - long enough for me to get this gut.” Bucky looked up sheepishly, searching for Steve’s reaction to his new body. “Surprised you recognised me at all.”

“I’d recognise you anywhere, Buck.” Steve breathed, and the two stood, taking each other in.

After a few moments, Bucky broke the silence again.

“So, feel like showing me around, boss?”

-

Bucky had to admit that Steve Rogers was the last person he’d expected to be waiting for him in the foyer of Cap’s Training.

Hell, how Steve Rogers looked in the foyer of Cap’s Training - six-foot of muscle trying to avoid having some kind of conniption at the sight of his high school best friend - was the absolute last way Bucky expected Steve to look if they ever met again.

(Well, not the conniption part. That part made sense.)

He’d already been vaguely anxious enough about taking a job at a gym, having been around a certain type of gym bro enough in his life to know what they could be like. Anticipating a variety of potential comments about his body or how he could take advantage of the ‘facilities’, Bucky had been fully prepared to take on the role of the self deprecating big guy - making jokes about hating exercise, being the office vacuum cleaner for leftover snacks, that kind of shit.

Already on the defensive when he saw how imposingly fit the gym employee that was sent to greet him was, he’d been halfway through trying out his ‘fat guy’ act for size when Steve had introduced himself.

At that moment, Bucky’s brain had short-circuited as it tried to reconcile the memory of his slight best friend with the smart mouth with the awkward Adonis standing before him.

And then he saw Steve looking him up and down in that shy, lingering way that used to drive him crazy.

That still drove him crazy, apparently.

So, operating somewhere on the spectrum between autopilot and panic, he just - kept the fat guy routine up.

It was easy, after all.

It wasn’t like he didn’t fit the part.

He had for years.

Sometimes, Bucky thought it was funny that, if you didn’t know him, you might think he was the kinda guy that peaked in high school.

He agreed, but for none of the reasons you’d expect.

Someone looking at his highschool yearbooks would see him in various photos throughout - football training, football finals, athletics carnival, prom - each of them showing an obviously fit, if stocky young man with a smirking grin in each, as if he knew some grand secret and was hiding it away from the rest of the world.

And it was true. Back then, he’d had Steve.

Steve wasn’t in any of the pages of the year book besides his 1 by 2 because, no matter how much Bucky would try to drag Steve into the spotlight, he’d wriggle and slink back into the background of his own life, preferring to sit and sketch it then experience it. Steve was too fucking smart and funny and pretty to ever stay anywhere he didn’t want to be for long.

And Bucky’s secret was he was one of the lucky ones who got to see that part of Steve.

Bucky hadn’t planned on - on feeling like that about Steve. At first, he just didn’t want to let Mrs Rogers down - not when she’d taken him aside on the first day of junior high, face set with the same serious expression Bucky spent most of his time trying to get off Steve’s face, and asked him to look out for her boy.

It was the first time in his young life that an adult had trusted him with anything more serious than a shopping list, and he took the precious gift and tucked it inside his heart, letting it swell with pride and warmth.

He was worth something.

Steve needed him.

He was worth something because Steve needed him.

Of course, a few years and puberty can really do a number on even the noblest of intentions.

Bucky wasn’t sure when it became a game exactly.

(Maybe sometime around the time he noticed Steve’s sideways looks turn into lingering glances.)

(Certainly by the time Bucky realised that Steve couldn’t take his eyes off him when he ate, and that Bucky didn’t want him too.)

But at some point he stopped wanting to keep Steve safe, and just wanted to see that pretty little mouth pouting in his direction, just so he knew that someone cared what Bucky Barnes did when he hadn’t just run over a yard line or got an A or winked at a girl just to get a rise out of her.

The only problem with the little game that Bucky started to play was that it turned out that he knew Steve better than he knew himself.

Most of the time, when Bucky thought back on those days - those parties - all that came to mind was Steve’s sad eyes the next morning.

And then the usual self-recriminations would start, and he’d beat himself up all over again about what an arrogant little shit he’d been to ever think that teasing his best friend with the superhero-sized crush on him about his freaky little kink could ever turn out well.

Speaking of, what had that got him, exactly?

It had lost him Steve, that’s what. He’d been spooked like a wild animal, and neither of them had the emotional intelligence to sort the mess out before graduation.

Other times, in the years since (like when Bucky was a six pack and at least an entire pizza deep, by himself, on his couch, again), he would remember other things. Those times, Bucky, buzzed and fever-warm from being just-a-little-too-full, would find himself trailing one hand over his bloated gut - rounded not just with his last meal but with years of meals like it - and pushing his jeans down and stroking himself with the other.

Pulses of heady pleasure would throb through him as he remembered those parties; the hot thrill of shame as he gorged himself on beer and pretzels and chips and flat soda until he was so full he could barely stand; the delicious line between pleasure and pain as he kissed a girl, pulling her on top of his tightly packed torso; and Steve watching him, all blotchy faced, blown pupils and betrayal.

And what else did my little game get me?

It got me pretty fat.

And Bucky would come in hot, white spurts, grabbing at his soft underbelly as the aftershocks rippled through his fleshy stomach.

-

“Sam,” Natasha said a few weeks later in the breakroom, “have you noticed that we’re not Steve’s favourites anymore?”

“Why Natasha, now that you mention it, I have.” Sam replied, crossing his arms and turning to faux glare at Steve without missing a beat.

Steve didn’t look up from the paperwork he was going over.

“I’ve told you both, Bucky’s an old friend.”

“If I looked at any of my friends the way you look at Bucky I’m pretty sure they’d kick my ass,” Sam said.

“Oh, I’d definitely kick your ass if you looked at me like that,” Natasha deadpanned in Sam’s direction.

“Hear that Rogers? Nat said we’re friends.” Sam grinned like the Cheshire Cat in Nat’s direction. Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Don’t you both have work to do?” Steve was glad neither trainer could see the flush on his face as they shuffled out, their attention now diverted to arguing over who would take the 10 AM strength and conditioning class.

He was never sure whether Sam and Natasha were flirting with each other, or whether banter was just their preferred method of communication.

Steve felt that this was unfair, considering it was so plainly obvious to them that he was flirting with Bucky.

It’s not like he was even trying to. Bucky had always had a way of making Steve feel like he belonged with just a smile and reassuring hand on his back, and that hadn’t changed.

And Steve liked it.

Steve liked that his former best friend was back in his life, and that Bucky didn’t seem to resent him for freezing him off ten years ago. He liked that Bucky seemed to genuinely want to let bygones be bygones, no pound of flesh to be requested or given. Steve’s heart, heavy with guilt for so long, ached with the relief that seeing Bucky smile again - at him, because of him - brought him.

At the same time, Steve also kind of hated it.

Steve hated that he couldn’t keep a goofy grin off his face whenever Bucky walked in the room.

Steve hated that he got butterflies in his stomach when Bucky so much as looked at him.

He hated that he’d spent several years training like crazy so he would never feel as small and lonely and hopelessly in love as he had been in high school, just to have Bucky treat him like nothing had changed at all - and for him to feel like nothing had changed at all.

He hadn’t wanted much. He guess he’d just hoped to feel like maybe he could call some of the shots, this time around.

Instead, Bucky, who’d always been handsome, was now was some kind of walking wet dream for Steve, soft and strong and oh so fucking thick at the same time.

Steve was in deeper over his head than before - and on top of it all, they were work colleagues now.

Running away and joining the army wasn’t exactly an option this time around.

He’d tried to keep his distance, hoping that Bucky would want to as well, allowing them time to get to know each other again slowly, to decide as adults how close they really wanted to be.

Instead, Bucky was all back slapping physicality and “Y’know, I used to have to drag this guy to the gym, just for a little company?” winking wisecracks to Natasha and Sam while Steve stood to the side, red-faced and flustered and unsure of who was teasing who.

Bucky still knew how to push Steve’s buttons, apparently.

And for all the world it felt like he was trying to goad Steve into… something. What it was he didn’t know. After all this time, he still had no idea what Bucky wanted from him.

But all Steve could do was let him, eyes tracing Bucky’s curves every time he entered the room.

-

In his second week on the job, Bucky insisted they go to lunch to catch up.

Steve - well, Steve panicked. The panic was familiar: it was the same panic he always felt taking a date out to eat.

He didn’t worry about whether they’d like the meal - rather, he worried that they’d like it too much.

And that they’d notice that Steve really, really liked that.

Basically, that the whole ‘I’m a totally normal guy with no weird, contradictory sexual fantasies about bodies and lifestyles about as far from mine as they can be, nothing to see here, move along please’ jig would be very much up.

Steve knew he wasn’t the most subtle person around, and he hated the thought of all his cards being on the table so early on in the piece. Afterall, that part of himself was not something that Steve shared with just anyone.

(Or anyone at all, a cruel part of his mind reminded him.)

All this meant that he planned to take Bucky somewhere safe. Healthy. Nutritious.

Maybe Steve’s favourite organic whole foods cafe, with the build your own salad bar; or the new vegan place with black bean burritos and the best cold brew in the city; or the sushi hole in the wall with the fresh tuna sashimi special with miso tahini and crunchy spiced edamame…

By the time lunchtime rolled around, Steve still hadn’t decided, and Bucky was impatient.

“I just googled ‘food near me’. The place on the corner looks good?”

“... Whatever you want,” Steve gave in, and let Bucky lead the way.

And that was how Steve found himself in the local fried chicken joint, enjoying himself in exactly the way he was afraid of.

Steve had been here before, so knew the food was good (and had said as much as they walked in).

He also knew the portions were generous, but had said nothing when Bucky had ordered fried chicken, loaded waffle fries, a side of mac ‘n’ cheese, and an iced coffee to wash it all down with.

Bucky on the other hand made no excuses for his meal request; as if it was a reasonable amount of food for an office lunch.

If Steve’s voice was a bit shaky when it was his turn to order (caesar salad, no dressing, black coffee), he was almost sure neither Bucky nor the waiter had noticed.

True to form, when Bucky’s food came out the chicken pieces were enormous, thickly battered and tender, the two sides were easily big enough to be small meals on their own, and his drink was topped with a generous scoop of good vanilla-bean ice-cream and inches of glossy whipped cream.

Bucky’s eyes widened.

“Gonna eat all that?” Steve asked, not knowing whether he wanted him to finish it or not..

“Ye of little faith.” Bucky picked up a piece of chicken and ripped into it like a starving man.

While Bucky tackled his meal, they talked.

About nothing.

About (almost) everything.

About Bucky giving up football after highschool for an academic scholarship halfway across the country.

About Steve getting discharged after getting shrapnel to the thigh, and being so impressed with his rehab trainer that he got his Cert in personal training.

About how they both somehow found their way back to their hometown, and to Cap’s Training.

Despite knowing how carefully they were both avoiding the elephants in the room (Bucky’s weight; why they hadn’t talked for nearly a decade), Steve was a bit surprised that he felt so content sitting next to Bucky. It was - well, it was easy. Easier even than the high highs and the low lows of their friendship in high school. So easy, just to sit back and watch Bucky switch between bites of chicken and cheesy pasta, sometimes pausing to load more sauce on his fries or sip noisily on his iced coffee.

It was also the most excruciating arousing lunch of Steve’s life.

Up close, Steve finally had the chance to really look at Bucky, to take in the differences the years had made. His face had puffed out, flesh creasing at his jaw, padding it out when he grinned. His shoulders, still wide, had rounded, his arms had thickened, and his thighs now splayed wide in his seat.

And his belly. Steve’s mouth was dry and his hands were sweaty just looking at the soft expanse that pushed forward several inches into Bucky’s lap. He found himself gazing at his lunch, the wall, the door - anything to stop himself from obsessively staring at Bucky’s stomach as it gently rounded out over the course of their meal.

Half an hour later, Bucky was mopping the dregs of his mac ’n’ cheese up with his last waffle fry. He popped it in his mouth with a satisfied groan, then leant back in his chair, breathing heavily, belly pushing proudly in front of him.

“I can’t believe I ate all that,” Bucky huffed, wiping his hands on his napkin then rubbing the sides of his belly with hands as he was easing the heavy tightness of the huge amount of food he’d just ingested.

“I told you this place was good,” Steve said neutrally, looking away strategically as he sipped his coffee, squirming in his chair to try to minimise friction against his half hard cock.

“It was, but that was ridiculous.”

You can say that again.

When Steve looked up from his coffee he saw Bucky with his hands still on his belly, looking at Steve for all the world as if he was asking Steve permission, and was steeling himself for a negative answer.

“No judgement here.” Steve’s voice was husky. He locked eyes with Bucky just for a moment, then looked away, clearing his throat. “Especially when you didn’t say a word when I picked all the croutons from my salad.”

Bucky grinned.

“Well, if you’re not going to eat them…” Bucky gazed half-jokinging at Steve’s leftovers.

Steve pushed his side plate towards Bucky without a word.

When he was back in the safety and solitude of his office, Steve slumped into his chair and thumped his head against the cool wood of his desk.

Having had years to think about it - to stay up at night tossing and turning over it - he had finally landed on the theory that Bucky had been teasing him on purpose in high school. Teasing him - but in that bro-’check out the notches on my belt’-way that didn’t mean anything except that a teenage boy was trying to assert his masculinity.

For years, that explanation had made sense to him.

But Steve had no idea how to explain Bucky’s display at lunch.

Of course, Bucky could just have grown that large an appetite in the considerable time since they’d last talked. A few years of indulgent overeating would certainly explain his new physique.

Nerve endings already frayed, Steve felt his arousal build again at the thought of Bucky giving in to hedonism over the years - Bucky, breathing heavily, not registering when he ate to past the point of fullness meal after meal, ignoring the effects of his diet as he outgrew his clothes again and again, letting his new rounder, softer, heavier body become his new normal, forgetting he ever fit into size 32s or used to run laps around a football field just to warm up...

Steve groaned and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to erase those thoughts from his mind. He knew better than most that Bucky’s weight gain, far from being the result of intentional overeating, was much more likely because Bucky had stopped training like an athlete but hadn’t stopped eating like one. God knows Steve had enough clients in the same boat, and understood from their experiences how galling it could be to deal with changes in your body you felt out of control of.

Guilt began to pool and twist in Steve’s stomach as it always did when he considered how much the people he fantasized about often hated exactly what he liked about their bodies, their habits. A part of him hated himself for that alone.

Despite this, a thought niggled at the back of Steve’s brain, like his dick playing devil’s advocate.

Sensible as the ‘former athlete gone to seed’ explanation was, Steve still couldn’t explain why this new chunky, greedy Bucky had eaten past his limits today, huffing and puffing and rubbing at his belly like a wounded animal.

It hadn’t explained why Bucky seemed to want Steve to be the one to tell him to stop.

If that was what Bucky was asking him, he didn’t think he had it in him.

-

Steve ignored Sam and Nat’s knowing expressions again when he went out to lunch with Bucky a few days later.

And a few days after that.

And a few days after that again.

After another week, they had a standing lunch date if their schedules coincided.

Each day with Bucky was as easy as that first lunch. Mostly, they talked - talked about their families, about the gym, about old times - and dancing, always dancing, around the elephants in the room.

And then, when there was nothing else to say except all the things they couldn’t, they sat quietly, and Steve watched Bucky eat. Chinese, Indian, burgers - anything within walking distance was fair game.

One time, they shared a family sized platter of souvlaki. Steve watched Bucky polish off three quarters of it, removing succulent pieces of lamb from skewers with workman-like efficiency, wrapping them in thick, floury pieces of pita bread, and smothering his messy handmade wraps with creamy tzatziki. After digesting for a few minutes, Bucky heaved himself back inside the tiny Greek cafe and got a double serving of baklava. Steve barely touched his portion, enjoying watching Bucky eat the sticky dessert with his hands, pausing only to lick sugar syrup from his fingers.

On another day, Bucky ordered a family-sized plate of nachos, and ate it with cutlery like it was pudding. He broke the corn chips up as much as he could before shoveling huge spoonfuls into his mouth with determination, until the bowl was scraped clean and he was breathing heavily, spots of sour cream dabbed at the corners of his mouth.

Steve, heady with arousal by the end of each meal, would try to restrain his lustful thoughts by watching for signs that Bucky was upset, guilty, or frustrated by his eating habits.

What he noticed was that Bucky’s meals weren’t a mindless binge. Rather, it seemed he would eat exactly as much as he wanted, just to the point that his entire body slowed, as if all the food weighing him down had made moving incrementally harder. Then he would lazily shift himself back in his chair, belly taut and heavy in his lap, not caring as it brushed softly against the tops of his spread thighs.

And that was when Bucky would catch Steve’s eyes, as if he was daring him to comment.

In those moments, Steve would get the feeling that Bucky was eating exactly how much he thought Steve wanted him to eat.

A few weeks after Bucky started, Steve started taking cold showers after lunch.

-

Ten years later, it was worrying how little Bucky had learnt from high school.

He didn’t know if it was muscle memory or just habit at this point, but he still couldn’t force himself to be - well, normal around Steve. Or at least his baseline normal for the last ten years.

What was worse, was that he liked it.

When Bucky had seen his mom last, even though he’d carefully avoided mentioning anything about seeing Steve again, she’d had the audacity of accusing him of being happier since he moved back. All in the same breath as she slapped his hand away from a second slice of cake, of course.

He didn’t like to think too hard about what that said about him.

He didn’t like to think too hard about what happy meant, when he was stuffing himself in front of Steve almost daily, hoping to see the tell-tale signs that he could still make Steve writhe in his seat, pretty pout parted, lips slick, eyes dark.

And he didn’t like to think what his new normal meant, when he’d go home most days, wired from just being in Steve’s presence all day, and order a family order of takeaway that he never seemed to have enough leftovers from to make stretch longer than a cold, greasy breakfast on the run.

He didn’t like to think about the fact that he’d only been at the new job for a bit over a month, and his biggest, most comfortable pair of jeans were feeling tight.

So he didn’t.

Instead, itchy to prove that Steve was real and really back in his life and not just something he dreamed up, he’d snapped a selfie of them both, the angle making Steve inch over Bucky in height, the lighting emphasising Steve’s muscled frame, and Steve’s muscled frame emphasizing Bucky’s soft, wide one.

That night he settled into sweats, arranged his dinner delivery in front of him (creamy thai green curry with coconut rice and roti, pad thai and spring rolls to start, paired with light, fruity IPA Nat had recommended him), and sent the pic to his sister.

guess who

my brother punching above his weight?

he’s cute tho. 10/10.

ps pls send more pics of good looking men in ur life. I am bored and single

Bucky rolled his eyes as he replied, juggling his phone between spoons of curry.

no and NO

look closer

think high school

...

u can’t be serious

that can’t be lil steve

“Hah!” Bucky yelled out in triumph to himself. He wasn’t crazy. Steve was unrecognizable.

yep

NO FREAKIN WAY

i still don’t believe u

did he like, eat a greek statue or something?

that’s what i said!

sending this to mom, like, yesterday

please no

y? u know how obsessed she was with him!

that’s exactly why I can’t tell her!

she’ll want to see him

and feed him cake

he probably hasn’t eaten cake in years

u’ll have 2 tell her eventually

u no it totally broke her heart when u broke up

ffs becky

we were NOT dating

but yes, i do remember somehow being both her only and second favourite son

well, u cant blame her

Bucky threw his phone down, unsure whether texting his sister had been a good idea. Far from taking his mind off his current life, the conversation was suddenly veering into territory he very much didn’t want to delve into at the moment.

A few minutes of furiously shoveling rice into his mouth later, his phone buzzed again. He picked it up.

so, u think u’ll fuck it up again?

Bucky swallowed a piece of roti sopped with the last of his curry and sighed. I guess I may as well get it over with.

not if I can help it

he’s my new boss

holy shit

this is WILD

I don’t envy ur life at all

Bucky felt an acidy gurgle start in his gut, and he knew his excessive meal wasn’t entirely to blame. He idly thought that he should have expected this is where their conversation would end up - where he tended to avoid emotional confrontations, his sister liked to run straight at them like a freight train.

She was right in her misgivings though; doing whatever it was he was doing with his new boss was probably not the smartest move for his career.

Or waist line.

thanks for the pep talk

DON’T TELL MOM

only if u keep me updated

fine

luv u 2 big bro

The conversation was supposed to make Bucky feel better. Instead, it just made him want another beer. Or three.

Bucky put his phone down for the last time, and reached for another serving of food before he realised he’d eaten it all.

-

Steve’s Friday night drinks with Sam had become decidedly more awkward since Bucky had started working at the gym.

This was mainly because Sam was ecstatic that he’d finally worked something personal out about Steve.

“I guess I now know why it never worked out with anyone I set you up with,” Sam chuckled into his beer one such Friday night.

“Sharon and I had a great time on our date the other week, actually.” Steve kept his voice neutral; he was not in the mood for anything remotely resembling this conversation. He was still jittery with sexual frustration after watching Bucky demolish two footlong cheese steaks and a jumbo strawberry milkshake that day at lunch, and that was even after he gave in and jerked off in his afternoon shower to the memory of Bucky groaning softly after his meal and reaching below his bloated gut to loosen his belt.

Of course, Sam didn’t seem to get the hint that Steve didn’t want to be reminded of the sorry state of his love life.

“‘Date’, single, Steve. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“We just didn’t click. It happens.” Steve avoided looking at Sam, taking a long gulp of his hard seltzer instead.

He’d liked Sharon. A lot.

Just not like that.

If he was being honest, he’d thought letting Sam set him up with her would 1) distract Steve from Bucky, and 2) shut Sam up about how Steve should ‘get out more’.

“C’mon, you’re honestly telling me she had a chance?”

Steve was nought for two, and paying for it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam.”

Sam was not to be deterred.

“Oh yeah? Well, how’s this: see that guy over there - “ Sam gestured to a tanned, Nordic blond at the other end of the bar. The man had the style and beachy long hair of a surfer dude and the body of a generously padded weight lifter.

“- Would you date him?”

Steve looked him up and down. He took in the broad shoulders, mounded chest, thickly muscled arms and proud belly that was pushing gently against the wooden bar, and found himself biting the inside of his lip in an effort to control any other visible signs of his appreciation of the man’s appearance.

Sam chuckled. “So that’s a yes.”

Steve thought about protesting his innocence, but instead threw back the last of his drink.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let Sharon know she wasn’t big or hairy enough for you.” Sam was smirking into his beer bottle and Steve was not impressed.

“I’m glad you find my love life so amusing, Sam.” Steve started picking at the label on his drink absently, trying to think of a way to escape this conversation. “But that’s not the reason I didn’t date Sharon. You know I dated Peggy.”

“Yep, you definitely did date that curvy brunette,” Sam chuckled again before continuing. “I’m just saying that you have a type.”

Sam took a sip then used his beer to wave Steve’s protests away. “It’s cool, I have one too. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t make an exception.”

Steve’s stomach was churning at the thought that his preferences were so somehow that obvious. So now I have a ‘I like fat guys, position of boyfriend available’ sign on my back? Great. He scowled, anxious to deflect the attention away from him. “An exception, like for a scary redhead?”

“Maybe. Maybe scary redheads are my type.” Sam waggled his eyebrows. “But we’re not talking about me, buddy. We’re talking about you and one Mr Barnes.”

Steve picked up the intensity he was picking at his drink bottle label. “He’s a friend.”

“A friend. That you’re dating. I think there’s a word for that...” Sam raised his eyebrows at Steve, smirking.

“I’m not dating Bucky, Sam.” Steve growled.

“Then what do you call all those lunch dates you’ve been having?”

“I call them ‘lunch’.”

Sam huffed, unimpressed with Steve’s recalcitrance.

“Well, you keep on getting ‘lunch’ the way you have, and your man’s gonna be 300 pounds before you actually ask him out.”

Before Steve could stop it, an image of 300 pound Bucky flashed in Steve’s mind - double chin, wide waist, swollen chest, belly hanging low and heavy, flesh straining against every item of his clothing. The churning in his stomach was rapidly replaced with a coiling arousal the strength of which set him trembling, his body primed for it from being achingly turned on all afternoon - hell, for the last two months.

“I think I need another drink,” Steve said, standing abruptly, face reddening, “and to never talk about this again.”

Sam just laughed. “You’re the most repressed guy I know, Rogers.”

Well, he got that right.

-

“So,” Bucky asked a few days later, in between bites of his second banh mi, “Doesn’t it bother you?”

Steve forced himself to look up from where he’d been watching crusty bread crumbs land lazily on Bucky’s belly. Two empty cans of coconut juice and a plate that had once held several greasy beef skewers lay on the table between them. Steve’s meal - a light chicken noodle soup - had been taken away by a waiter around the time Bucky had ordered the skewers and his second lunch roll.

“Does what bother me?”

Bucky popped the last of the roll in his mouth, chewing and swallowing quickly, then wiping his hands on his shirt, fingers sinking slightly into his flesh as he did so.

“You know. Me. Being fat. Eating like a pig all the time.” Bucky said casually.

Steve froze in his seat.

“You don’t eat like a pig, Buck,” he said eventually, voice was neutral even as his heart was racing, terrified of where this conversion was going, and why.

“So you agree that I’m fat.” Bucky’s smile was self-deprecating, but his eyes were dark.

“I didn’t say that.” Steve’s voice cracked a little, but was otherwise level.

“I’ve put on weight since I moved back, you know.”

Steve half-shrugged, and looked away, trying to hide the fact the thought made him so aroused he could feel his pupils dilating.

He knew that Bucky had put on weight; he’d known for a while. He couldn’t not notice that Bucky’s jaw seemed ever so slightly softer, his chest thicker, his belly rounder, his shirts gaping ever so slightly between the buttons. In fact, it would be accurate to say it took a lot of time and energy for Steve to think about anything else on a day to day basis.

“You’re a personal trainer, Steve. Shouldn’t you be telling me to eat a salad or go for a run or something?” Bucky continued, considering Steve carefully.

Steve swallowed thickly.

“Do you want me to train you? Is that it?” He finally said, not knowing how else to respond.

It was Bucky’s turn to look away, cheeks pink.

Something about the way Bucky was suddenly so shy - acting so fucking coy - after glutting himself shamelessly in front of Steve for weeks - well, it made Steve shiver.

“I can do it, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t know.” Bucky didn’t look back at Steve, but one hand rested on his soft side, thumb moving in small circles. Steve couldn’t take his eyes off it. “I never know what I want when you’re around, Stevie.”

He looked at Bucky again, eyes dark, finger still stroking the side of his belly.

“But I think you know exactly what you want,” Bucky said.

Was this Bucky finally calling him out? Telling him he knew what Steve had been up to, knew Steve had been watching him, enjoying him eat?

Was this Bucky giving him permission for - for all of that?

“I think,” Steve started, voice husky, heart beating fast, hands sweaty, “that you should have another bahn mi. While I think it over.”

Bucky’s eyes widened but he didn’t protest when Steve got up and returned a few minutes later with another lunch roll, this one with double the meat and enough sauce that the paper bag was translucent with grease before Bucky even took a bite.

Bucky took the proffered roll, watching Steve as he sat down. “Is this how it’s gonna be?” He asked softly.

Something about the tone of Bucky’s voice jogged loose a memory from Steve’s mind.

Senior year, and drunk Bucky, well-padded in the off-season, had found his way into the Rogers’ backyard and was throwing pebbles at Steve’s bedroom window like he was trying to sneak his best girl out after lights out. Steve, fully a year into his resolve to distance himself from Bucky, was just glad his momma wasn’t there that night to see him crack his window and yell down into his cobblestone courtyard.

“You’re gonna break my window, idiot!”

“Is this how it’s gonna be then?” Bucky, red-faced, paused his stone throwing to yell straight back at Steve.

“Go home, Bucky.”

“So you hate me? Is that it?”

“I don’t hate you.“ Steve paused, breathing deeply to control his rising anger at the indignity of the situation Bucky was putting him in. Why couldn’t he just let it be?

“Tell me what I need to do then, Stevie,” Bucky slumped his shoulders, and looked so defeated that Steve almost felt sorry for him. “I - I just want my best friend back.”

“Yeah, me too.” Steve shut his window, and sat down on his bed so he couldn’t see if Bucky was walking away, or still standing underneath his window, waiting for him to say that things could go back to normal, to the way they were.

A certain uneasiness settled in Steve’s stomach as all the unknowns of his relationship with Bucky rose again to the surface of his mind, breaking through the fog of his arousal.

And the knowns of their relationship? Well, if anything, they were even worse than the unknowns.

In front of him, Bucky had launched into his sandwich roll. He ate it steadily, one bite after another, pausing only only to wipe greasy juice off his chin. HIs breathing was heavy as he neared the last bite, but he pushed through the discomfort he was obviously in, stifling a burp with the back of his hand after his last swallow, His forehead prickled with sweat and his eyes looked a little glassy.

Steve looked away.

“Well, you let me know when you know what you want, ” Bucky said, breathing heavily.

Steve stayed in his seat when Bucky levered himself out of his and walked back to the office.

-

A few days later, Steve almost choked on his coffee when Bucky poked his head around the corner of Steve’s office.

“Hey, are there any snacks here?”

Steve managed to splutter something about protein bars in the breakroom cupboard, which made Bucky wrinkle his nose in disgust and mutter, "I meant edible," before walking away. Steve saw him later that morning with a caramel latte and an apple danish filled with cream.

He appreciated the olive branch Bucky had extended to him, and a large part of him (the majority, if he was being honest) just wanted to sit and watch Bucky eat his mid-morning snack, sip by sip, bite by bite, as if each mouthful sustaining Bucky physically somehow sustained Steve spiritually as well.

But the other part - the cruelest, hardest part of his heart - couldn’t get what Bucky had said the other day out of his head.

‘I think you know exactly what you want.’

He couldn’t say it, not the other day. Sometimes he was sure he’d self combust if he had to verbalise what he wanted to a random stranger, let alone Bucky.

And that was if he was sure he knew what Bucky wanted.

Well, he knew something of what Bucky wanted at this point. He wasn’t a complete idiot.

But that same small, cruel part of him couldn’t help but sneer - of course Bucky wanted Steve now. He was over six foot, could do muscle ups in his sleep and had the abs and arms to prove it.

It was scrawny Steve that Bucky hadn’t wanted.

But still.

Why shouldn’t I be allowed to be satisfied, when Bucky is offering freely?

-

Steve asked Bucky to lunch again a few days later. He asked casually, as if no greater emotion had passed between them than acquaintances asking each other how they had been. Bucky responded that Friday worked for him, and Steve replied equally nonchalantly, managing not to blurt out that he was also free every day that week and making a mental note to cancel his midday meeting with Tony.

When lunchtime finally rolled around (Steve didn’t think he’d ever had a client session feel as long as his 10:30am slot that day), Bucky was waiting for him in the foyer.

“Where to?” The question was neutral, but when their eyes met Steve knew it was anything but.

“I know a place,” Steve replied, feeling his pulse quicken.

He led them a few blocks away, to a quiet Italian restaurant that was just far enough from the gym that he was sure Bucky wouldn’t have tried it yet.

They made small talk about marketing and memberships as they walked, tension bubbling between them like a brook.

When they were seated at a table by the back, Bucky didn’t even look at the menu, just rested one hand on the side of his belly and looked at Steve like a challenge.

You let me know when you know what you want.

“You - you want to talk?”

Steve bit his lip and dug his fingernails into his palms, trying to will the nerves from his voice even as he trembled all over.

Fuck. Here goes.

“No. And I don’t think you do either.”

“That so,” Bucky was rubbing gentle circles on his side, eyes hooded and dark as they kept Steve’s gaze.

“I think you want to eat,” Steve swallowed, heart pounding, hands clammy. “I think I want you to eat, Buck.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows slightly, but otherwise didn’t react. Steve was starting to think that he’d misjudged what Bucky wanted, when Bucky responded. “Well, how about you tell me what’s good?”

Steve didn’t need to be asked twice.

“Lasagna,” he said, a bit breathlessly. “The lasagna’s good. Big slices. Meaty.”

Bucky nodded. “Then I’ll have the lasagna. What else?”

When the waiter came, Steve ordered him the lasagna, with garlic bread on the side. And the cannelloni. And a risotto.

“And just a black coffee for me. I ate earlier,” Steve added at the end of the order. The waiter’s eyes bulged slightly at that, but left without comment.

This was a hearty heat’n’serve kind of establishment, the kind of place Steve would stop by as a treat after a gruelling workout on a cold winter’s day. He’d never dream of it on a warm spring day like today, and would usually tell his clients to avoid places like this if they were watching their weight - it was astounding how many calories you could stuff between layers of thick pasta, creamy cheese and rich meat sauce.

Today, he sat in silence as the massive meal he’d ordered was placed on the corner table between them.

Steve also mostly kept his mouth shut as well while Bucky steadily ate his way through the meal, murmuring soft words of encouragement, and getting up once to order a generous glass of beer for Bucky to wash it all down with.

Eventually Bucky was scraping down the last of the cannelloni, breathing heavily and shifting in his seat around his bloated stomach, as if he couldn’t get comfortable.

Swallowing hard, Steve got up again and ordered a double slice of tiramisu from the glass display at the counter and placed it in front of Bucky. He then moved his chair next to him and placed one hand on Bucky’s belly underneath the table, and began to rub soothing circles into the taut flesh.

Bucky arched his back into the touch, letting out a soft moan as he did so, eyes blown.

“Feels good Stevie. Don’t stop.”

“Just keep eating. I won’t stop ‘til you do,” Steve said, barely keeping it together between the visual stimuli of glutted Bucky before him and the tactile sensation of his hot, tight belly under his hand.

Bucky moaned softly again, but did as Steve said, powerless not to, picking up the spoon and beginning to hack away at the dessert before him. Steve knew Bucky was stuffed to the gills, but he’d chosen tiramisu for a reason: the softened sponge and creamy layers would go down easily. He was right; even as full as he was, Bucky was able to finish his plate in a few minutes. When he placed the last spoonful in his mouth, he savoured it, sucking on the spoon as pulled it from his mouth for the last time, lips wet.

Steve just kept rubbing belly under the table, easing the overpacked flesh with gentle pressing circles as Bucky leant back against the back of the booth, closing his eyes, his only movement covering his mouth from soft belches that the gentle pressure of Steve’s fingers was evidently producing.

-

Their walk back that day was not unpleasant, but was quiet with an indescribable tension that crackled between them. When they reached the gym, instead of heading towards the offices, Steve took Bucky by the elbow and led him through the training area to a quiet back room. Posters of human anatomy lined the wall, but otherwise all that filled the small space was two chairs, a desk and a scale.

Steve led Bucky to scales by the small of his back then turned and closed the door.

“You gonna weigh me, Stevie?” Bucky asked from behind him, voice soft and deep.

“Yes. Now take off your shoes. It’s more accurate that way.” Steve’s voice shook slightly, but otherwise he remained composed, years of client consultations kicking in.

When he turned around Bucky was kicking off his shoes by toeing each one off at the heel. He tried not to be disappointed that he didn’t get to see him bend over.

Breath shallow, heart beating fast, Steve walked behind Bucky and placed his hands on his hips, exactly where they rounded gently upwards and outwards from the waistband of his pants. Bucky’s breath hitched audibly, but the man in front of him made no attempt to move himself or Steve’s hands. Steve bit his lip.

Bucky felt so good, so warm, so fucking soft underneath his hands, but he resisted the urge to squeeze Bucky’s love handles, or to let his hands drift forward, keeping his fingers from following the delicious contour of where Bucky’s belly fold began at his hips before curving into the soft underhang jutting from his abdomen.

Instead, Steve pushed forward, guiding Bucky by his hips onto the scales.

“What did you weigh when you started here, do you think? 230? 240?” Steve said, voice soft.

Bucky’s hips rocked slightly between his hands. “I don’t know. 240, I think,” he breathed.

“And what do you weigh now?”

Steve could barely stop from thrusting his own hips forward when he felt Bucky lean over slightly, his stomach muscles contracting as he did so. He has to suck in to see the number on the scale. Fuck.

After a pause, Bucky said quietly, “273.”

Already hard, Steve could feel his eye dilate at hearing the number. Over 30 pounds in a little under two months. Oh god.

Using every ounce of will power he had, Steve leaned forward, controlled, until he was within nibbling distance of Bucky’s ears (no further).

“That’s good progress, Buck. Real good progress.” Steve paused, letting himself bask in the heat between their bodies, listening to the chorus of their shuddering breaths. “Think you can keep it up?”

“...Yeah, Steve. I think I can.”

Steve leant forward further, letting his face rest in the crook of Bucky’s shoulder and neck, nuzzling the soft, salty skin above his collar. He felt Bucky lean into his touch, and place his own hands over Steve’s at his hips, dragging them agonisingly slowly over his soft, cotton-shirt covered gut. Steve moaned softly at the back of his throat, pressing his hardness against Bucky’s back.

God.

He needed more.

Leaving a hand on Bucky’s stomach, Steve circled round his body, mouthing Bucky’s neck softly as he turned, then moving up, trailing kisses over his soft jawline, up his chin, then finally teasing at the corners of Bucky’s mouth. He opened his eyes, saw Bucky had his shut, then started moving his mouth downwards again.

Down his neck, over the light patch of chest hair at the edge of his shirt, then across Bucky’s soft chest, mouthing his shirt above his nipples, leaving little wet patches where his lips had been, then nipping them gently through the fabric. Bucky’s breath hitched as Steve started unbuttoning Bucky’s shirt with his mouth still nuzzling against Bucky’s chest, letting his fingers trail at the hot skin beneath.

Above Bucky’s navel, the skin was taut, stretched with the huge meal he’d just consumed. The fabric around Bucky’s buttons there was stretched tight, letting slivers of flesh peek through before Steve released them one by one. Without clothing covering it, Bucky’s stomach in the flesh looked even bigger than it usually did, hairy and pale and bloated and scattered with purple and red stretch marks.

It fucking did things to Steve.

As he reached the final button and let his hands trace gently over Bucky’s heavy roundness reverently.

And then Steve was kissing his way down Bucky’s naked chest, mouthing its contours, before moving lower to the swell of his stomach, He paused to nip gently at its apex, before moving to swirl his tongue round the fleshy circle surrounding his deep navel.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, dropping to his knees. Bucky was breathtaking from this angle, double chin leading to breasts like half crescents peering over the pale moon stomach squeezing over his waistband. Steve took the swell of Bucky’s lower stomach in his hands and groaned instantly, his cock throbbing even more intensely than it already was.

“So soft, Buck, so tender,” Steve muttered, barely being able to comprehend how exquisite the silky feel of Bucky’s underhang heavy was in his hands.

He’d known it would feel good, but nothing in his previous sex life had prepared him for the sheer pleasure cupping and squeezing the flesh of Bucky’s butter-soft underbelly.

It was almost more than he could take.

Leaving one hand squeezing Bucky’s overhang, he trailed the other downwards, tracing Bucky’s hardness through his trousers. Bucky softly moaned, moving to undo his fly. Steve batted his hands away gently to do it himself, undoing the tight pull clasp at the top and the zipper then pulling them down roughly.

Bucky’s musk filled Steve’s senses, making him moan softly as his arousal intensified again. He leaned forward and mouthed Bucky through his underwear, feeling Bucky swell harder under his mouth through the fabric. His hands were now trailing up and down Bucky’s naked thighs, feeling how they transitioned from soft and dimpled at the nook of his groin and along the inner thigh and at the knee, to thick and firm along his quads and hamstrings.

Soon Bucky was keening above him, which was when Steve hooked his fingers into the waistband of Bucky’s briefs and shimmied them down his thighs, making Bucky gasp as his cock jumped free of the fabric.

Bucky’s cock was as beautiful as the rest of him - a thick, dark pick shaft led to the reddened tip, glistening with pre-cum.

Steve took him in his mouth slowly, hot and salty and wet all at once, letting his forehead press into Bucky’s soft underbelly as he did so. That in itself almost pushed Steve over the edge - with one hand desperately he fumbled with his own pants until he had a hold of himself, unsurprised to find he was thickly slick already.

Steve licked and sucked wetly and slowly at first, teasing between the engorged head the base of his shaft with the tip of his tongue. Then, as Bucky began thrusting softly into his mouth, he swallowed him deeper, letting the rhythm of Bucky’s thrusts set the pace of his tongue and jaw slickly sliding back and forth over Bucky’s hardness.

Minutes seemed to last hours as their joint rhythm grew faster and faster. By the time Bucky was breathing heavily, was grabbing at the neckline of Steve’s shirt, Steve had lifted his free hand to cup Bucky’s balls, and was squeezing them gently in pace. Spittle and pre-cum was leaking around Steve’s mouth as Bucky’s thrusts got wilder, hitting the back of his throat.

The hand around his own cock was moving at an uneven pace, not being able to synchronise pulling himself off when his focus was on Bucky. Even still, with each rough pull he felt himself edging closer to his own completion.

And then Bucky’s balls were drawing up tightly under Steve’s palm. Steve took Bucky deeply into his mouth once more, hollowing his cheeks tightly around his cock and pressing his tongue deeply against Bucky as he took over the rhythm for both of them, sucking and pulling until Bucky was groaning and spurting hotly against the back of his throat.

Swallowing deeply, tasting the bitter saltines of Bucky tingling in his mouth and feeling Bucky’s hands loosen their grip around his collar, Steve let Bucky drop from his mouth and desperately turned his attention to himself.

Using one hand on Bucky’s waist to steady himself, he raised his mouth to nip and suckle at the deliciously soft flesh of Bucky’ belly and fat pad in front of him as gripped at his slick hardness with determination. It only took a few concentrated jerks and he was there, coming with his forehead pressed hard against Bucky’s deep navel and his other hand gripping Bucky’s thick love handles so tightly his knuckles were white.

Below him, his come had splattered across the scale Bucky was standing on, obscuring Bucky’s weight. He noticed numbly that wet droplets of himself had splattered across Bucky feet as well.

“W-whoa there,” Bucky finally got out between heavy breaths, still recovering from his own orgasm. “I just ate my weight in Italian food. Be gentle.” He put one of his hands over Steve’s hand on his hip, which was when Steve realised how tightly he was still holding the flesh there.

Steve, awoken from his post-orgasm stupor, loosened his grip and lifted his head.

The bottom of Bucky’s pale, hairy belly was covered in red marks from his urgent ministrations, glistening patches from where he’d licked and kissed and sucked.

Did I do that?

Steve looked up, embarrassed, to see Bucky smiling down at him, like sunshine on winter’s day.

-

A few minutes and a few trips to the bathroom later they (and they scale) were both mostly presentable again, bar a few wrinkled clothes.

When Bucky came from cleaning himself up it seemed he’d taken a detour past a vending machine and was munching a jumbo chocolate bar.

Steve raised his eyebrows and smirked, even as his dick twitched with interest at the sight of Bucky, still bloated from lunch, eating again already.

“What? I get hungry after sex.” Bucky sounded indignant, but his eyes were twinkling.

Steve tried to push down the fluttery joy seeing Bucky like this made him feel.

This was supposed to be about Steve, and his needs, after all.

This was not supposed to be about looking at Bucky eating a fucking chocolate bar and falling head over heels all over again.

“You were so skinny in high school, Buck,” Steve teased, trying to take back control of the situation. “Don’t know what happened to you.”

Bucky, apparently unoffended, snorted and then immediately brought a hand up to block the resulting belch. “Oof. You happened to me, Stevie.”

And like a lightning strike, Steve finally got it.

He’s doing this for me.

He’s always done this for me.

Panic curdled through Steve’s post-orgasmic blissful haze. Fuck.

Why would he go and do a stupid thing like that for?

“I -” can’t do this.

“- uh -” I can’t let you do this.

“- I - “ want...

“- think we should get back to the office.”

Bucky looked at him for a long time, as if just staring at him would give him the power of mind reading. Steve couldn’t meet his eyes, not for a second.

“I guess so.”

-

A week later, when Steve was out talking shop with Tony, Sam and Nat approached Bucky’s desk, making for him in an alarming pincer attack.

“So, have the wonder team made up yet?” Sam got to him first and placed a vanilla latte frappuccino with extra cream on top in front of him.

It was painfully obvious to anyone working at the gym that Steve and Bucky were - well, if not exactly fighting, then something that resembled it closely enough that they were avoiding each other in the breakroom and being eerily polite to each other in meetings.

That didn’t mean either of them were going to acknowledge it. Especially not to Nat or Sam.

Bucky stayed silent, but took the drink proffered to him, getting cream on his nose as he sipped it.

Natasha moved in next, smiling like a shark as she leaned close to Bucky and wiped at the cream on his face with a single finger. “It was Steve’s fault, wasn’t it honey? You can tell Aunty Natasha.”

“You guys are weird,” Bucky said with as much dignity as he could muster as he wiped at the rest of the cream on his face with his shirt sleeve. “I think this might constitute workplace harassment.”

Sam snorted. “So you’re going to tell Mr Rogers that we hurt your feelings by bringing you sugary coffees?”

Bucky reddened slightly, thinking for a moment how adorably flustered Steve might have been only a short while ago if he saw Bucky drinking something that was so unnecessarily calorific so casually.

“...No,” he finally answered, remembering there were other people in the room. “But for the record, my favourite flavour is caramel.”

“I’ll let Mr Rogers know that for next time. For after you make up.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Sounds like it was definitely Rogers to me,” Nat leaned back, and rubbed her thumb and forefinger in Sam’s direction.

Sam grumbled and pushed a crumpled $10 note across Bucky’s desk to Natasha. “Not fair. It’s not like it was ever not going to be Steve...”

Bucky shooed them away, only squirming a little on the inside.

“Oh, and you’d both better be coming to my party, Barnes,” Natasha called out as she and Sam sauntered out of his office. “You can duel at ten paces in my courtyard if you have to. I don’t care. Just be there.”

“Yeah, yeah. Do I look like a guy who’d miss a barbecue?” Bucky grumbled loudly as they left. He was pretty sure he heard Sam stifling a snort.

Once they were gone, Bucky gulped at his frappuccino aggressively. He let himself have a moment to feel well and truly sorry for himself as he tried to imagine getting through Natasha’s housewarming without having an office to hide from Steve.

It didn’t help that a part of him was still reeling from the weirdest, hottest sex he’d had in his life.

He’d got an erection looking at a box of frozen lasagna in Whole Foods the other day, for God’s sake.

And his relationship with his bathroom scale was getting awkward to say the least...

Bucky shook his head from those thoughts. None of it mattered, because somehow, Steve still didn’t trust him.

At this point, he wasn’t sure what he could do differently to change that.

And it fucking sucked.

But Bucky was a big boy (a 2 times extra large boy if he was being strictly accurate).

And big boys - well, they did cry, because that was emotionally healthy and it was the 21st century.

What they didn’t do was stuff up their new job over high school drama and not be able to pay their rent next month andhavetomovebackinwiththeirmomohgodohgodohgod.

Nope. They didn’t do that at all.

Instead, they continued to eat their feelings to deal with the fact they had to be civil and chirpy in the workplace when they were - let’s face it - probably in love with their boss despite their boss wanting nothing to do with them outside of weird food sex.

Or, you know, something along those lines.

He sighed, and got out his phone.

you free next saturday?

4 u, maybe. whats up?

be my plus one to a work party?

will steve b there? OMG YES.

probably. you can talk to him while i eat my weight in burgers. I think i fucked it up again.

oh boy.

ill b there. us emotional fuck ups need 2 stay 2 stick 2gether, u no?

new barnes family motto?

thanks. you’re a lifesaver

i got u bro <3

It turned out that big boys also asked their little sisters to save them from themselves.

Until then, he just needed to grit his teeth and get through it.

-

Steve almost missed Natasha’s party.

Correction: he was planning to skip it entirely to stay back at the gym to get some extra gruelling conditioning work in, before going home to eat a sad, defrosted meal of dry, unseasoned chicken breasts and broccoli and listen to motivational podcasts that would yell at him about how ‘‘pain is weakness leaving the body’.

It was possible that someone who knew Steve well might describe his coping mechanisms as more like self-flagellation than anything else.

Which was probably why Sam knew where Steve would be that evening.

Sam had other plans for Steve.

Or Natasha did, and Sam was her willing henchman.

Either way, Sam had interrupted Steve on the 987th burpee pullup of his set of 1000 that he’d forced his already exhausted body to push through as his last exercise, and proceeded to glare at him while he finished the last 13 reps.

Steve’s thighs and upper arms were burning when he dropped to the floor for the last time, so he barely protested as Sam led him to the showers then shoved a clean pair of slacks and a white t-shirt at him, muttering about emotionally repressed man children who were ‘definitely not his size’.

And that was how he ended up at Natasha’ housewarming in Sam’s (definitely a little too tight) emergency clothes that he kept in his gym locker, nursing the double strength vodka and soda Natasha had pushed into his hands as he came through the door. He was still trying to process the cat’s eye expression on her face as she’d greeted him that didn’t quite say she was happy to see him, but definitely made it clear that he was not allowed to leave any time soon.

“James is on barbeque duty,” she said, the silent ‘so be a good boy’ reverberating loudly between them.

“Good to know.”

Her apartment wasn’t huge, but there was enough room for him to sit himself on a stool at her kitchen island away from the other party goers, who were mostly congregating past the apartment’s living space outside in the small courtyard. He recognised about half the people there - Sam’s sister was there, trying to wrangle her kids, and he was pretty sure he could see Mr Stark talking to Nat’s weird roommate (Chris? Clark? No - Clint, that was it).

From their introduction years ago, Steve had managed to gather that one of Clint’s major hobbies was what he liked to called ‘solitary night parkour’, and had also managed to gather from Nat suddenly changing the subject that it was better for him not to ask too many questions about that.

Completely coincidentally, Steve also just happened to have the perfect vantage point to watch Bucky flip burgers. Slightly flushed with the heat of the grill, unconsciously biting his lip with concentration as he checked the cook on the meat in front of him, and with an apron tied tightly enough around his soft, round belly that Steve could just make out the indentation of his navel - well, he looked fucking beautiful to Steve.

Which continued to be the problem.

He took a long sip of his icy vodka and soda, letting it burn all the way down his throat.

The sensible part of his brain pointed out that he should probably eat something after the workout he just had, especially if he was going to be drinking.

But instead of hunger, he just felt numb. So he took another drink.

-

He was sucking at the ice on the bottom of his first refill when a stockily athletic woman in a short sundress plonked herself on the barstool next to him.

“Long time no see, lil’ Steve,” was her opener, elbows askew on the counter and her head held in her hands as she smiled at him expectantly.

It didn’t take Steve long to recognise Rebecca Barnes - not many people called him ‘lil’ Steve anymore, after all.

The moniker ‘lil’ Steve’ didn’t even feel that weird to him - he’d always been a little bit scared of her, and nothing had changed in that department judging from the way that how she was grinning at him felt eerily like the start of an interrogation.

The biggest change he could see in her was an upgrade to a salon balayage from the DIY blonde hair box kits she’d used regularly as a teenager. While he wouldn’t say it to her face, his primary memory of her from back then was as a towel-headed figure stamping up and down the Barnes household demanding that Bucky “stay out of the bathroom, OR I’M DUMPING YOUR JERSEY IN BLEACH!”

“Nice hair, Becks,” he said finally, after considering and rejecting various other opening lines.

“I’d say the same to you, but it looks like you’ve kept the same floppy side part situation for the last ten years,” she replied, winking as she playfully mussed his hair (which was admittedly floppy enough to muss). “But I guess the rest of you scrubbed up alright.”

If anyone else had done what she had just done he would have been incredibly irritated. But the Barnes charm wasn’t exclusive to her brother; both siblings exuded warmth and had the uncanny ability to make the person they were speaking to feel like the centre of their world.

He was both relieved and immediately suspicious that she was still choosing to bestow that warmth upon him.

“You come with Bucky?” Steve strained to keep his voice neutral as he gestured with his drink to where they could both see Bucky clearly. He was munching a beef patty in a bun while he started draping sausage links on the grill (his fifth burger, by Steve’s count).

“Nope. But he did invite me.” Becky raised an eyebrow at Steve, as if considering what it meant that he’d brought up the topic of her brother so soon.

Steve made a non-committal sound in response and took a long sip from his glass.

“How’s your mother? Good, I hope -”

“Nope. We’re not doing small talk Steve.” She stopped him mid sentence with a hand on his shoulder. “I want to have a good time tonight. So I don’t want to spend the entire night feeling bad that my big brother is out there sulking.”

“He doesn’t look like he’s sulking to me,” Steve muttered, somewhat in shock of the turn in the conversation.

“I know,” She waved her hand impatiently in Bucky’s direction. “But he eats when he’s grumpy. And that’s what, his fourth burger so far?”

“Fifth,” Steve said automatically and definitely a little bit too quickly, before clamming his mouth shut.

Becky just looked at him curiously. “Not that you’re counting.”

“Not that I’m counting,” Steve finished the rest of his drink with one gulp and immediately got up in search of another nip of Nat’s good vodka, needing to do anything to get some distance from the conversation. His legs felt a little bit like jelly as he did so from the combination of hard exercise and alcohol on an empty stomach, but he felt fairly stable as he got up from the stool.

“Still not sure what your brother sulking has to do with me.” He was lying through his teeth. If he was even halfway convincing, he knew it was because his face was hidden behind the freezer door.

Back at the bench, he poured a drink for Rebecca before he refilled his own. Both were strong.

“As always, a gentleman.” She sniffed the drink gingerly then took a sip, spluttering slightly. “Ahem. But you don’t get off that easily.”

She coughed through another sip, then continued. “If he’s sulking, you’re hiding. And not very well, by the way. You almost got away with this kind of shit when you were properly ‘little’ Steve. But it’s much harder to hide a six foot adult in a kitchen that barely has room for a microwave.”

Steve clenched his jaw. He really didn’t need someone else pointing out how pathetically he was behaving. He was doing a fine job of that himself, thank you very much.

“So, what did he do, read the room wrong and make a move?” Rebecca asked bluntly.

Not quite the way it went. The memory of Bucky struggling to push down the last few spoonfuls of tiramisu as Steve rubbed his broad middle flashed in his mind. Steve chose to take another drink instead of answering. He swallowed thickly.

Becky kept talking, oblivious to Steve’s reverie. “I know, I get it. He’s not exactly the athlete he used to be. But if you had to turn him down, does it have to be this awkward afterwards?

Not the athlete he used to be…? His brow crinkled. It literally took seconds for Steve’s increasingly tipsy brain cells to make the necessary synapse connections to work out that Bucky’s sister was implying that Steve turned down Bucky because he was too fat.

“...Frankly, either of you could have just paraded around a revenge plus one tonight. You know, like a normal person. But instead, we get - this,“ Becky continued, waving her hand vaguely between Steve and Bucky like that was all that needed to be said, “Whatever this is.

Steve was barely listening, his gaze drawn outside once again to Bucky, highlighted by the deepening sunset. His large, handsome figure doubled over with laughter at something someone had said that Steve couldn’t hear.

His eyes traced Bucky’s handsome face, drinking in the the bright smile, the curves of Bucky’s chest, hips and thighs, heart aching at the sight, then filling with anger at the thought that anyone would dare suggest Bucky was less than what he looked like to Steve right now, which was damn near perfect.

For the first time in his life, Steve was fed up with obfuscating, and pretending, and outright lying, in face of assumption after assumption about how he felt about Bucky.

“Rebecca, not that this is any of your business, but I went to every single one of your brother’s football games in highschool because I couldn’t take my eyes off him,” Steve was looking straight ahead as he said this, straight at Bucky, hand clenched tight around his glass. “And I’ve been sitting here for the last two hours for the exact same reason. As far as I’m concerned, he’s even more beautiful today than he was back then.”

Steve’s heart was pounding and his chest was tight, but at the same time, it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He couldn’t help basking for a moment in the strange peace that a small piece of honesty had brought him.

“Oh. Oh.” Becky took a sip of her own drink. “Well, I don’t get it then.”

“Get what? That your brother is fat and I think he’s hot? I’m not sure how I can make that clearer,” Steve turned back to her, deadpanning gruffly, prepared to argue the point.

“No, no, I get that bit. Which, you know, cute. Well, the burger counting thing is a bit weird. But the rest of it is cute,” Becky said thoughtfully,

“That, um, isn’t a thing.” Steve spluttered. “I’m just, uh, observant.”

Apparently there were limits to his new found honesty.

“Chill, Steve.” Rebecca giggled, “I’m a ‘live and let live’ kind of person.”

“Oh,” was all Steve could choke out in response.

“Look, if you meant what you just said, maybe you could try, I don’t know, talking about it?” She took a deep breath, and looked him straight in the eyes with a serious gaze that he’d seen one too many times on Bucky’s face. “I think you owe it to him, considering that he’s been in love with you, since well, forever.”

Steve looked away again, but Rebecca was quiet for the moment, letting her words sink in.

“...Since high school forever?” He finally replied, knowing what the answer would be but tensing for the response anyway.

“Yes, Steve, since high school forever.” Becky patted Steve on the shoulder as she stood up. “You really did a number on him back then, you know. I’d probably resent you for it, if I didn’t know first hand what a complete jerk my brother could be back then.”

“Oh, and mom’s fine by the way,” she said, as an aside. “Don’t tell James, but when you two make up she wants you over for cake.”

Rebecca’s words were like a warm balm, and Steve’s heart ached thinking that, after everything, the Barnes family would turn around and welcome him with open arms.

For so long, he’d been so busy worrying about what everyone in his life would think of him if he was asked for what he wanted, that the idea that being honest about his feelings could be this simple left him stunned.

“I - I think I’d like that.”

“I think we all would.”

-

A couple of hours later, Bucky had said his goodbyes to the crowd and was making his way to the door, pointedly ignoring Steve’s prime position at the kitchen island, as he had all night.

Those same couple of hours had been ones of contemplation for Steve, and with some self-reflection and a couple more drinks under his belt, Steve was sure of one thing; he wasn’t going to let Bucky go again.

“I’ll walk you out.” The world spun slightly as Steve stood up from his stool.

Bucky turned to look at him gravely, then sighed. “If you want.”

Multiple drinks on an empty stomach were starting to hit Steve all at once, but Bucky was already moving towards the door, so Steve gamely followed in as straight a line as he could manage.

In a blur of Nat’s Scandi decor they were out the door and in the street. Steve was lagging a few feet behind Bucky, frustrated that Bucky was walking so fast when his legs felt like heavy jelly and his vision was just a tad out of focus. He barely felt that it was now raining, and that a chill had settled in the air as the night had deepened.

As Steve was concentrating hard just to keep walking, it was a surprise when Bucky came to an abrupt stop and swirled round to face him.

“Well, what do you - “ Bucky started, before being shocked into stopping by Steve walking straight into him.

In that moment, Steve’s hands landed on Bucky’s sides, and he came undone. There were no other words for it.

Bucky was warm under his hands, so soft but so firm even through the material of his t-shirt. Steve’s hands had landed on the juncture between Bucky’s ribs and where his stomach expanded outwards and downwards. Even though he’d had his hands on Bucky before, something about this gentle touch felt so right - like he had been born to fit his hands on Bucky’s waist - that his throat tightened painfully and he felt deep, shuddering breaths rise in his chest.

He felt his head fall and his forehead hit the nook of Bucky’s shoulder and neck with no conscious thought on his part.

“Whoa buddy. How many drinks did you have tonight?” Bucky shifted beneath him, keeping their bodies as separate as he could, but didn’t push Steve off.

“I’m so tired.” Bucky’s shirt was damp but his skin was soft, and he smelt like smokey barbeque, rain, and sitting in the back of the bleachers in the hot sun watching his best friend run lazily onto the field.

“I’m not surprised. All those 5am starts are bad for the soul.”

Steve scrunched his eyes up against Bucky’s shoulder. He could hear the annoyance in Bucky’s voice, but there was kindness and concern there as well. Steve was very sure he didn’t deserve the latter.

“I’m tired of running from you, Buck. I don’t know why I ever started.” Steve suddenly felt bone tired. Tears were pricking his eyes and nausea was beginning to curl in his stomach.

“As fun as whatever this drunken moment is Steve, I’m tired too. And wet. Mostly wet.” Bucky sighed, and pushed Steve back then, holding him by his shoulders, face unreadable. “How about we get you home?”

“Don’t want to go home. Want to talk. To you.” Steve felt himself slurring, even if he was still thinking mostly straight. As he looked away from Bucky’s eyes he felt exactly like the drunken idiot he was pretty sure he looked like.

Bucky paused before he answered and Steve could almost hear the cogs turning in his head as he weighed up how much effort he wanted to go to to get rid of Steve that night. “Fine,” he finally said. “We can talk in the car while I drive you home.”

Talk in the car they very much did not do. Steve wanted to, but the moment he sat down the hint of nausea he’d felt before stoppered his tongue by flowing over him in ever more insistent waves. Bucky, unsurprisingly, didn’t push him to try.

They’d only been driving for about ten minutes when Steve made Bucky stop the car so he could throw up the better half of half a bottle of vodka down a storm drain.

The rain washed away most of the bile down the drain, which was a positive for the regular pedestrians along this street, but the wet weather also meant that Steve was soaked and shivering when he stepped back into Bucky’s car.

“S-sorry about th-that,” Steve stammered, feeling both 100% better and 100% worse than he had before. He didn’t think he was sick apart from the alcohol, but between the retching and the cold and the punishment he’d put his body earlier he was tense and cramping all over, and the dull ache in his thigh and his slight limp told him his old leg injury was playing up

“So,” Bucky said as he started the car again, cranking up the heat as he did so even though he didn’t say a word about Steve’s condition. “You’re up north, right? I’m not exactly going to be able to pull over on the freeway for you to throw up.”

“RIght. I’ll c-call an Uber.” Steve was already fishing in his pocket for his phone when Bucky placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

“No, Steve, that’s not what I meant,” Bucky was calm as he switched gears and turned a corner. “Look, I’m going to drive back to my place. You can get cleaned up and Uber back to yours, or you can crash on the couch, whatever you want.”

“Oh.”

Steve didn’t feel much better by the time they pulled up to Bucky’s apartment block. He’d developed a truly throbbing headache and his shivers and cramps were worse than they were before. Apparently he looked pathetic enough that Bucky threw his jacket over Steve’s shoulders and drew him close wordlessly. Steve said nothing, and just basked in Bucky’s body warmth, grateful again for another simple act of kindness that he was sure he didn’t deserve.

Even though he’d expelled a great deal of alcohol from his system, he found as he grew more and more tired his understanding of the night’s events grew hazier. He knew Bucky must have noticed that, since there was no gentle prompting from him about Steve getting the hell out of his place already. Instead, Bucky gave him a glass of water before leading him towards the shower with a fluffy towel, clean sweat pants and a tee -shirt in his arms.

When he’d got out of the bathroom, warm and dry and freshly showered, Bucky took his wet clothes, handed him another glass of water, pushed him into a room with a bed and closed the door behind him. Steve was fairly sure this was Bucky’s bedroom, and he would have protested, but the door was closed and he wasn’t entirely sure he could form articulate full sentences at this point.

So he got into the bed. It was freshly made, but still smelt like Bucky through the fragrance of the laundry soap. He breathed the smell in deeply, letting it wash over him.

He slept fitfully that night, dreaming of sleepovers at the Barnes household, except that Becky and Bucky kept making him play truth or dare and wouldn’t believe any of his answers for ‘truth’.

And that was how Steve found himself waking up in Bucky’s bed, swimming in an old shirt and pair of trackpaints of Bucky’s, regretting about every decision he’d made from - oh, age 16 onwards.

-

If you’d told Bucky a few days ago he’d be crashing on a couch the night of Nat’s party, he’d confidently have said it would be Natasha’s, or, at a pinch, his sister’s.

If anything, he was expecting his sister to be the one crashing somewhere other than her own bed, judging by the way she was listening eagerly to Nat’s housemate’s tales of his weird nocturnal activities.

So no, he never thought he’d be spending the night on his own couch.

The next morning, frankly, he was feeling a bit pissed off about that.

That Steve was in his bedroom.

That behind his closed door, Steve was in his bed.

Pissed that Steve had got drunk last night and groped him on the sidewalk (it being beside the point if Bucky’s lizard brain hadn’t entirely rejected the contact).

Pissed that Steve had half-assed a not-even-an-apology, refused to talk in the car, thrown up on the side of the road and somehow on top of it all put on such a pitiful show that Bucky had given in and let him crash at his.

And now it was past 9am on Saturday morning and Steve was sleeping in for possibly the first time in his life.

Bucky had no idea what you were supposed to do when your former friend/ one-time friend-with-benefits/ full-time boss was hogging the room with all the stuff you needed to, you know, escape the apartment where you were trapped with said former friend/ one-time friend-with-benefits/ full-time boss.

He’d only had the presence of mind last night to grab his phone charger and clean sweats from his room. So for the last half hour after Bucky had awoken, he’d had nothing else to do except brew himself a pot of strong coffee and settle into an aggressive session of doom scrolling.

Bucky’s belly grumbled loudly, voicing its complaints about this arrangement.

So, it was maybe possible that part of Bucky’s grumpiness this morning was partly due to hunger. He’d got out of the habit of eating a proper breakfast at home over the last few years, usually filling himself up with any leftover takeaway that might be in his fridge at any one time, or some kind of on-the-go pastry on his way to work.

But there was no leftover takeaway in his fridge, and no way to leave his house to get more food without going into his bedroom for his wallet and waking Steve.

He picked up his phone, opening one of the food delivery apps on his home page. If he couldn’t go to food, maybe food could come to him?

As he scrolled through the nearby restaurants, his stomach gurgled again, and he gave it a quick pat - enough to make his shirt ride up slightly, making him realise that last night he’d grabbed a t-shirt that had fit him about three months ago.

He didn’t know what would be more humiliating - Steve waking up and seeing how ridiculous Bucky looked in sweats he’d eaten himself out of, belly poking out of clothes, spread of takeaway breakfast food in front of him - or Steve thinking that he’d done all that on purpose to frickin’ seduce him.

Because it isn’t like I’m not that desperate.

I put on over 30 pounds just to get the man’s attention, after all.

And lately, he was feeling every single one of them.

Now when he moved, he’d feel his gut bunch up on his lap when he’d lean forward to get up, his knees creaking every so often under his own weight.

And comfortable as sweats were, he’d started feeling tinges of hot shame when he walked around in them - they did nothing to hold back the slight jiggle of his butt, breasts and belly that was set off just by his everyday movements.

And when he sat down, he felt rounder and heavier than ever, as if his own inertia was acting to keep glued to his couch.

Bucky let a hand trail over the rounded mound of his stomach, which pushed stubbornly almost a foot into his lap at its deepest - god, he felt so soft in the mornings when he hadn’t eaten yet.

He grabbed the side of his gut and gave it an experimental jiggle. The movement shook through his pillowy side and his mind flashed to Steve doing this to him the other day, touching his belly, kissing it, biting it -

He let go, even as his dick twitched with interest.

Okay, he admitted to himself, maybe this wasn’t only for Steve.

Not that he could quite define this.

Not when Steve kept cutting this off before anything they ever really got anywhere.

Bucky supposed that one day he might thank Steve (would he?) for making him realise that food and sex were apparently a thing for him.

It was certainly something he wanted to continue to explore.

His heart just hurt, knowing that it was never going to be with Steve.

The moment the man came out of his bedroom, he’d probably have an explanation for last night ready.

He’s probably already awake, thinking of it now. Bucky thought to himself. Anything to avoid talking about - about us.

Bucky flashed back to highschool then, to all those nights Bucky would tease his best friend to get a rise out of him, to provoke him, to try to get him to admit that he liked what he saw…

Well, can’t say he didn’t learn from the best.

And that was when the doorbell rang, making Bucky almost jump out of his skin.

-

“Yeah yeah, I’m coming.”

Bucky acted out the whole -folded gut in lap - creaky knees - body jiggle- routine and heaved himself over to the door, not impressed at all with whoever was bothering him before midday on a Saturday.

When he opened the latched door to its limits, he was surprised to see Steve on the other side. He was still wearing Bucky’s sweats from last night, which were hanging off him - the bagginess combined with the sheepish look on Steve’s face made him look young and unsure of himself.

“Steve? I thought you were asleep.”

“Uh, I went out. You know me, early riser.” Steve rubbed the back of his head with one hand.

“And you came back?” Bucky was way too past caring to bother to be polite this morning.

“I, uh, thought we could have that talk we didn’t have last night.” Steve searched Bucky’s face for a reaction as he said this. Bucky just glared at him. “But I can also just get my stuff and go.”

“Huh,” Bucky grunted, then flicked the chain off the latch and turned around, letting Steve let himself in.

Choosing to avoid interacting with Steve any more than he had to, Bucky stomped into the spare bathroom to grab Steve’s clothes from last night.

When Bucky walked back into his living area, Steve was standing next to the kitchen bench, which was now piled high with crisp, white bakery boxes, two takeaway drink cups balancing on top.

Bucky could smell cinnamon donuts and a caramel latte from across the room.

“I thought maybe we could eat while we talked.”

Steve looked so innocent as he said it, as if he hadn’t just bought enough baked goods to feed a grade school class.

It made Bucky see red.

“You think I’m going to let you feed me those after what you did the other day, Stevie?” Bucky’s voice was tight and strained.

“No, Bucky, I - “

“I might have hurt you in high school, and I’m sorry for that. But that doesn’t give you the right to jerk me around like this.”

“It’s not -”

Bucky didn’t wait to hear him out. He just stalked into his bedroom, snatched up the last of Steve’s belongings from the dresser, then walked right back out to Steve and dumped the lot in his arms.

“I think you’d better leave.”

“Bucky, I love you.” Steve hung his head in defeat, clasping his belongings to his chest.

“What?’

“I love you Bucky.” Steve still couldn’t look Bucky in the eye, but Bucky could see the blush creeping up his neck, and hear the tremor in his voice. “That’s what I wanted to say last night. That’s what I wanted to say this morning.”

...What?

“But I can leave, if that’s what you still want.”

“No, just - fuck. “ Bucky was at a loss for words. “I’m going to sit down.”

And he did, wandering back to the couch and slumping down into it. He leant his elbows on his knees and pressed against his eyes with the heels of his hands.

This was not how he’d expected the morning to go. At all.

Across from him, Steve had slid down against the edge of the kitchen counter until he was sitting on the floor, knees bent in front of him, his belongings forgotten on the floor beside him.

“I’m sorry about all the pastries. I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just got a bit of everything.”

Bucky huffed in response.

“I’m an idiot, Bucky. You know that.”

Bucky snorted, despite himself. “When you did you work that one out?”

“Well, I’ve had a pretty good idea for a while. But your sister helped point it out last night.”

“Of course,” Bucky instantly feeling an anxious curiosity creep over him at the mention of his sister. “And what did my sister say to you?”

Steve sighed. “It… it was more how she made me feel.”

“My sister… made you feel things?” Bucky’s hands were back on his face, massaging his temples.

...I’m going to kill her.

“I’m not explaining this well. ” Steve’s face scrunched up in frustration. ”Um. Did you know your mom wants to invite me over for cake?”

… Yep, Becky is 100%, no questions asked, dead.

“- And your sister didn’t care that I knew how many burgers you’d eaten -”

“- You knew how many burgers I’d eaten?” Of course he did, the pervert, Bucky thought, both ashamed and quietly pleased that Steve had noticed his grazing indulgence at the barbeque last night.

But Steve continued uninterrupted, clearly on some kind of nonsensical roll.

“- And I know Sam and Nat think I’m an idiot as well. I just…” Steve paused and swallowed, letting his head hang forward again.

“I think I thought for a long time that ‘me being happy’ meant that I’d be making someone else unhappy, Buck.” Steve’s voice was quiet, and strained. Bucky ached for him in that moment, knowing without a doubt that every word of his last sentence was true.

“And what do you think now?” Bucky said, tense as he waited for the answer.

“I think by not letting myself be happy I just ended up hurting you, Buck. Other people too, but mainly you.”

“And… what would make you happy?”

“I think… I think right now I just want to hold you.” Steve paused, his voice cracking. “Would that be okay?”

Taken aback, Bucky considered Steve’s request for a moment, searching his heart for resistance.

After a few moments he sighed and gave in.

“... If you bring me that coffee and a donut, then sure.”

-

They were quiet at first, as they sat next to each other on the couch.

Steve didn’t want to push while Bucky sipped his coffee and nibbled on his donut. Instead, he reached for Bucky’s empty hand. His hands were strong and warm as he traced the curves and lines of Bucky’s with his finger tips, his head a heavy weight on Bucky’s shoulder.

Tension still thrummed between them as they sat in their ill-fitting clothes on the couch, but it had eased from a hostile buzz to a soft hum that drew them together rather than pushing them apart.

The tension turned to awkwardness once Bucky had finished his breakfast, neither of them knowing how to initiate what Steve had asked for.

Eventually they shuffled enough that Steve was lying on his side stretched across the back of Bucky’s (thankfully) generously proportioned 3.5 seater. Bucky then lay himself on his side next to him, so that Steve could spoon him gently from the side.

A few more minutes of rearranging cushions under heads and hips, and a couple of misplaced elbows in sides, Steve had his arm slung over Bucky’s wide hip, delicately brushing the side of his belly with his fingertips as if his t-shirt was made of fine gossamer.

Bucky could still hardly believe that this was happening. His heart was beating wildly and his side and back felt like they were burning where Steve was touching him. The sugar and caffeine he’d just consumed, both still lingering tantalisingly on his tongue, had taken the edge off his hunger, and his bad mood. That meant that all he had to focus on was the Steve’s body heat against his back, Steve’s hot breath on the back of his neck, Steve’s fingertips fluttering just above his navel - it was all Bucky could do to stop himself from rocking his rounded backside against Steve’s pelvis.

He surprised even himself with the strength of the turn of his feelings - or at least the power of Steve to arouse his body.

I’m never going to be able to say no to you, am I babe?

But he knew he had to be patient. Steve was like a skittish horse, and he didn’t want to scare him off, so he stayed still.

Mostly.

With a jolt, Bucky grabbed Steve’s draped hand with his own and pressed it properly against his body, splaying it across the curve of his soft side, pressing it in and holding it there.

“If you’re gonna hold me, hold me,” Bucky grumbled, hoping Steve couldn’t hear the tell-tale hitch in his voice from the heated flutters Steve’s touch were kicking up in his lower belly.

-

Steve was a wreck.

When they’d talked before, Steve had tried to suppress the acidy gurgling of his stomach - between a lack of food, the nausea of his hangover and his almost crippling nerves over how this morning would go down, his stomach was cramping with anxiety. And then there was his headache, and his muscle aches, and the exhaustion he felt from a short night of disturbed sleep preceded by weeks of self loathing, and years of repression and soul sapping guilt....

Mostly, he could keep himself together on a day-to-day basis, but all of this, all at once? It was all - well, it was a lot.

And yet - and yet - here he was, slotted between soft couch cushions and gently spooning his softer friend - his Bucky. At every contact point between his front and Bucky’s back and legs he could feel his muscles relaxing with no conscious thought involved. His heart rate slowed, and a deep relaxation spread over the rest of his body - a loosening that was only possible on some primal level, when he knew he was home.

When Bucky grabbed his hand and pressed it to his soft lower belly - well, touching Bucky’s soft, warmth, feeling the heft of his belly under his hand, from his pinky tickling the crease of his underbelly to the give of Bucky’s soft side all along his forearm - it was nothing short of a salve to his soul. He breathed the smell of Bucky in deeply, pressing his forehead harder into Bucky’s padded shoulder, and barely stifled a sob.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, Buck,” He kissed into Bucky’s shoulder, trying to calm his shuddering breaths.

“You gotta stop crying on me, Stevie.”

Bucky chuckled bodily underneath Steve’s arm, and then Steve was laughing too, pulling Bucky close against him by his waist and letting the last of his tension drain from him.

And then they talked.

About the elephants in the room.

About how neither of them had a clue what they were doing.

About what they really wanted.

And it was hard.

Harder than hoping the other person would make the first move.

Harder than lashing out.

Harder than walking away.

By about lunchtime, Bucky had turned to face Steve on the couch and had one thigh lodged between Steves, one hand resting on Steve’s hipbone, his swollen torso pressed flush against Steve’s.

At some point, one of them had retrieved the bakery boxes from the counter. Several were now empty, and scattered round the couch. One had a single flaky pastry left, and was positioned closest to them on the coffee table. Steve reached over Bucky to grab the creamy apple turnover and brought it between their bodies. Bucky’s eyes were glazed, and crumbs were scattered over their chests and the couch underneath them. Steve brought the pastry closer, hand feeding it to him one bite at a time.

Bucky ate messily, his breath slightly laboured from how full he now was. Apple and cream fell from the pastry casing down his cheek and chin.

Without missing a beat, Steve leant forward and licked the food from Bucky’s face, nipping each spot gently before kissing Bucky deeply, savouring the sweet taste of Bucky and cream on his tongue.

Bucky smiled at him. “Hungry, Stevie?”

“For you, I’m absolutely starving.”

-

A bit over two months later, Steve was standing in the entrance of Bucky’s childhood home, having his cheek pinched aggressively by Winnifred Barnes. The fact that old age had shrunk her already diminutive frame even further did nothing to stop this; one warm smile from this woman and he found himself leaning forward and letting her coo and fuss over him.

He still felt bad about what he’d put her son through all those years ago, and had been hesitant to come to this afternoon tea. But Bucky had reassured him that all his family wanted was to see them both happy.

That was something Bucky was teaching him; that sometimes just showing up was enough.

Something else Steve was learning was that a lot of that time, showing up was enough to make Steve happy.

After she let go of his cheeks, Winnifred shooed Steve through to the kitchen, where Rebeccawas putting the finishing touches on a platter of tea and sugar cookies. She dropped what she was doing to hug him as a greeting, before stepping back to take the flowers and chocolates he’d brought from his hands.

“So, uh, James looks… happy,” Rebecca said, smirking, after she’d homed the flowers and placed the chocolates on the tray next to the tea.

It was the first time Steve had seen her since Natasha’s party, and while Bucky and he hadn’t exactly announced that they were dating, they hadn’t denied it to anyone either. Since everyone in their lives just assumed there was something between them as a given, they’d both taken a certain enjoyment in being on the other side of the joke for once.

So Steve just grinned back, easy and genuine. “Yeah. Yeah he does.”

A few minutes later, Steve, laden with tea trays, walked into the living room, where Bucky and Winnifred were fussing over her signature black forest cake. Today’s version was several times bigger than her head at least.

Bucky tried to swipe a chocolate shard off the top of the cake, but was stopped by a hasty slap from his mother.

Winnifred looked annoyed.

Bucky looked big.

Bucky had put on weight over the last two months. Steve didn’t know how much, but he couldn’t deny that it had happened. And he couldn’t even pretend to be surprised - they’d talked about Steve feeding Bucky (and Bucky feeding Bucky), and neither of them had wanted to stop since that slow, sweet afternoon they’d spent on Bucky’s couch.

But they had kept their indulgent lunches to a minimum during work hours - if they hadn’t stopped those they knew there was no way either of them would be able to get anything done at the gym.

Their lunches, however, had been replaced with cozy weeknights when they ordered in generously, lazy weekend brunches that stretched into lunch and beyond, and dinner date nights that left Bucky packed full and breathless, begging for Steve to rub his overstretched belly to give him some relief.

The results were plain to see: Bucky had really been packing on the pounds.

Some of the signs were subtle - like softening of his cheekbones, the thickening of his wrists, the further rounding out of his shoulders that still could be taken as muscular broadness at first glance.

Some, only Steve knew about - the new, angry stretchmarks striping the widest, softest parts of Bucky’s belly, the sensitivity of Bucky’s nipples as his chest grew and softened, the way Steve’s arms could fit around less of Bucky’s middle than they could even a few weeks ago.

But some of the signs were undeniable - the thickened double chin, his widened waist and thighs, the grunts Bucky now sometimes made as he got up and down from a seated position - and of course, that belly, bigger than ever, rounding out high in front of him then hanging low over his waist, almost obscuring his belt and half his fly.

As Steve looked Bucky up and down, he had to suppress the urge to bite his lip at the sight of him.

I’m sure we’ll slow down.

Just not yet.

Steve walked over to put the tea tray next to the cake, and as he moved nearer to Bucky he spontaneously put his hands to the side of Bucky’s face and pulled him close to kiss him.

If one of the Barnes women made some kind of excited squeak in the background, he chose to ignore it.

When he leant back, Bucky was blushing, but was smiling wide.

“I thought we were going to make them guess a little longer, Steve,” Bucky whispered into Steve’s ear.

“You know I can’t control myself around you,” Steve breathed back, letting one hand trail down Bucky’s side, lingering on the curve of Bucky’s hip where it bulged above his waistband as he turned back to face Bucky’s family.

-

Later that afternoon, Winnifred served the cake, pointedly cutting Bucky a sliver of a slice while placing almost a quarter cake sized slice on Steve’s plate, and a slightly smaller one on Rebecca’s.

A few minutes later when Bucky’s mother’s back was turned, Steve swapped his plate with Bucky’s. Bucky rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest.

“No fair! If you get to do that, I do too,” Becky whispered defiantly to them both, and pushed half of her slice onto Bucky’s new serving, creating a wobbly tower of cake, cream and chocolate.

When Winnifred turned back to them, she narrowed her eyes at Bucky’s suddenly huge serving of cake, but otherwise said nothing.

-

Later that evening, Bucky was lying on his couch, propped up on cushions, finishing off another generous slice from the huge package of leftovers Steve had been sent home with, groaning as he did so.

“More?” Steve leant forward to take Bucky’s plate.

“More cake. Fuck,” Bucky grunted out as an answer, breathing heavily against his fullness. “You know I hit 314 pounds this morning. It’s like you want me to get bigger or something.”

His t-shirt had ridden up his front as he’d eaten, and his jeans had long since been unbuttoned, leaving Bucky swollen as a beached whale, his engorged middle jutting forward tautly above his navel, underneath which his thick bottom roll flopped forward heavily towards his thighs. He looked huge.

“Is that what you want, Steve?”

Automatically, Steve got up and brought him the rest of the cake in the tupperware they’d brought it home in.

“You know what I want.”

Bucky grinned. He did.

Steve sucked him off while he finished the cake.

-