Chapter 9
Bucky held his arms out at shoulder-height, feeling more than a little silly. "Are you sure I shouldn't just order shit and see if it fits?"
Steve didn't even pause his ministrations with the measuring tape, currently wrapping around Bucky's chest at the nipples. "Are you kidding? Return policies are a nightmare. There's no sense guessing when we can determine your size exactly."
Bucky cocked an eyebrow. "I think you're just making excuses to be a kinky little shit."
Steve couldn't conceal his devilish smile. "Maybe. You love me."
Bucky rolled his eyes but said it back. "I shouldn't get too many clothes, anyway. I'm just gonna grow out of them."
"Just because your future self will change does not mean you shouldn't honor who you are now," Steve intoned without a hint of irony.
Honestly, Steve's occasionally preachy, on-the-nose life lessons annoyed Bucky, but he knew they came from a place of sincerity and had probably resonated with the younger man in the past, so he didn't say anything about it. "Fine, but nothing too crazy. I'm not made of money. Especially growing the way you want me to."
They were waiting to weigh him until the end of the month, hoping to hit the next ten-pound milestone, but Bucky had well outgrown his 2x wardrobe, so he must be nearing 290. Jesus. I'm almost 300 pounds. 280 was still almost 300, but 290 was really almost 300.
"You know I'm happy with whatever you decide to do with your body," Steve muttered, but Bucky wasn't sure if he said it because it was what he was supposed to say, or if he meant it.
"That's not what it sounded like the other week," Bucky responded, referencing the night where Steve had babbled about Bucky growing to fantastic proportions while in subspace.
That did get Steve to pause, blushing as he looked up at Bucky. "I said that out loud?"
Bucky smirked despite himself. "That's not all you said."
"Oh my god, Bucky, I'm sorry. That was just fantasizing. I don't seriously expect any of that. I was just imagining shit to get off. I have no filter when I'm in subspace. It doesn't mean I actually want it, any more than-"
"Relax," Bucky told him. He was trying to cut Steve off less, but he didn't want to let him spiral into anxiety. "I know. It took me a little off guard, but it shouldn't have been so unexpected. You're allowed to have whatever fantasies you want, as long as you're honest with what you expect of me."
"Well, your body is your own, of course," Steve stuttered diplomatically.
Bucky went on without waiting for him to continue, knowing if he didn't, he was in for a body positivity Ted Talk. "I know it is, honey. But you have a kink that hinges on me changing my body to match your desires. I am okay with that, but you have to be completely transparent with me about your expectations, realistic or otherwise. That way if it's too much I can tell you. If you're just hoping for me to get to a specific weight, but don't vocalize that, either I end up disappointing you, or I don't know what I'm in for. Understand?"
"But I don't want to scare you off."
"I know, sweetheart. I appreciate that. You can be delicate with your honesty. But you have to communicate your expectations before I can meet them or not."
Steve nodded, and continued measuring Bucky's waist at the narrowest part and around his belly button, tapping the numbers into his phone. "I should be grateful to get what I can."
"You can show me you're grateful when you give me head," Bucky quipped, only half joking. Steve wouldn't allow himself his deepest pleasures without penance, and Bucky didn't like that. He was his dom; it was his job to determine if he was deserving of punishment or reward, after all. "I'm going to give you what you want. You don't have to worry about me getting in too deep if you're honest with me. Trust me to respect myself enough to decide when I want to stop, okay?"
That got to him, Bucky knew. Steve nodded. "Okay. You're right. I would really love it if you were around 350 pounds."
"Good boy," Bucky praised, ruffling his fingers through Steve's hair. "No promises I won't want to stop sooner, but that's a goal I'll work towards. We'll see how 300 feels first, okay baby?"
"Okay Daddy," Steve responded automatically, beaming up at him from his knees, taking Bucky's inseam. He nudged Bucky's bulge with his knuckles.
"Hey! Stay focused," Bucky ordered as Steve cackled. "After we buy some clothes, I'll fuck you doggy style, okay baby?"
The clothes arrived less than a week later. They were mostly 3x depending on the size, a pack of t shirts, two button ups, and a pair of jeans. Most of Bucky's shorts were still manageable enough, mostly because of the elastic waistband. A lot of the weight had gone to his belly, chest, arms, and neck, making shirts tight across the shoulders and ride up over the peak of his belly, exposing the bottom. All of his jeans were from last year, but he didn't need any going into the summer, and he would probably be a different size by fall, anyway.
He was over at Steve's again. It had been a little over one month since the first date, and Bucky felt like he never saw his apartment anymore. Outside of work, he slept at Steve's, ate at Steve's, fucked at Steve's, and if he really wanted to, he could have brought his laptop over if he didn't have any video chat meetings that day and work at Steve's too. He had more than a drawer; he had a designated space in the bathroom, the bedroom, and at least half of the food in the kitchen was bought for his benefit. They hadn't had the conversation yet, but at the rate things were moving, it wasn't far away.
Steve was filming and Bucky was out in the living room. He sat in on Steve's livestreams sometimes, but Steve was doing feet stuff for an exclusive client and Bucky didn't feel like watching that, so he was sitting on his phone in his living room when he got the notification. He opened Steve's door and took the packages from his own doorstep, taking the items back in just as Steve exited his room.
"That didn't take long," Bucky remarked.
Steve shrugged. "It shouldn’t, if I do my job right." Bucky was so proud of him. He told him, but Steve had a one-track mind. "What's that?" he asked of the package in Bucky's hands.
Bucky put on a little show all for Steve. The blond immediately perched on the sofa arm, taking out his phone.
"These are for your eyes only," Bucky made him promise. He stripped, trying on only one of the t shirts. They all fit the same, anyhow. They were roomier than his old ones, but not as forgiving as he expected. "Did you order these tight just to be kinky?" he accused.
"No, I swear!"
"They must run small, then."
Steve shook his head. "They said true to size, honey. I don't think it's the clothes."
Bucky picked at the hem, wondering if it would stretch out over time. "I can't have put on that much weight in a week."
Steve shrugged. "Maybe you're just bloated now."
"I haven't eaten since breakfast."
Steve's eyes were fully dilated with lust. He was staring at Bucky like he was a piece of meat in a cartoon where they were stranded on a boat in the ocean. "Try on the rest."
The jeans fit okay. The button up was comfortable, but only just. If he moved around, the buttons gapped and strained. "We should have gotten a size up."
"Oh, but then I couldn't watch you eat your way out of this," Steve coaxed, slithering up to Bucky's side and pawing at his tummy. "Hungry?"
"Fuck you," Bucky swore good-naturedly. But he was hungry.
Steve told him to keep the button up on. He was getting a little bossy, but Bucky let it slide for now. He'd make him pay for it later.
Steve was having a good day, so he offered to make them chicken alfredo, the simple kind with fettucine, jarred alfredo, and premade chicken fajita strips. "Sara used to make this on grocery nights."
"Why do you call her Sara?"
"I feel like mothers are too often reduced to what they did for others, their reproductive or marital value. I want to honor the whole person, say her name. No one else knows it anymore."
"If you had kids, would you want them to call you by your name?"
"I don't want kids. Haven't changed my mind since 11," he answered immediately, referencing the conversation they'd had 20 years ago, one of the last they'd ever had.
"Me neither. Do you still want to get married?" Bucky said without thinking, then winced at the poor phrasing. Do you still want to get married at all? Do you still want to get married to me?
"Fuck yes," Steve answered enthusiastically, undeterred. He was measuring out the fettucine, then thought better of it and dumped the whole box into the pot. He set a timer on the smart speaker and started grilling the chicken strips. "Sundown, in a forest. I have the playlist picked out already-"
"You still want to wear a ballgown?"
He paused moving the strips around with a wooden spoon. "You remembered," he half-whispered.
"Of course. Are you gonna use the same vows?"
"Of course."
The unasked question hung in the air. Bucky said it first. "You can still have my last name."
"What, you don't want to be James Buchanan Grant?" Steve asked, catching him by surprise.
"Well, I thought since…"
Steve interrupted Bucky, and he knew it was intentional. "I'm fucking with you."
"Why do you do that?" Bucky asked. "Every time I'm serious, you joke around. If we're going too fast, just tell me." It didn't bother Bucky if it was just a joke, but he wanted to make sure it didn't have a deeper meaning. Okay, maybe it bothered him a little, the fact that Steve only said he loved him when he was joking around, that he had to be kidding to say something that important.
"I'm sorry. I'm not used to commitment. I know I don't need to protect myself with you."
"If that's your instinct, maybe it's telling you something. You don't have to say something just because you're supposed to."
"It's my birthday in a couple weeks," Steve told him, changing the subject. He went on without waiting for Bucky to answer. "I talked to the property manager about my lease. I own this apartment, you know. I don't rent."
"Oh?" Bucky answered mildly. He knew all this.
"They said if I pay off the down payment on your apartment, I can buy that too. If I own both apartments we could modify them any way we want. I had an independent contractor in here the other day while you were working. He said not all of the wall between our apartments is load-bearing. We could knock parts of it down and join our living rooms. It would be nice to have two bathrooms. There's no reason either of us should give up our space. We can convert the extra bedrooms into a guest bedroom and an office, and keep the other two as a primary bedroom and my filming room."
Bucky didn't know what to say.
"I know I'm a man of many words, even for the stupid shit. But for the big stuff, I want you to know my heart through my actions."
"You want two front doors?"
"Well, obviously. We'll have to widen them to have a door big enough for you to fit through," Steve joked. Maybe.
Even though Steve's savings was significantly bigger than Bucky's, he insisted on paying half of the down payment on his apartment. Then after Steve bought them and merged the address, his name would be added to the lease, and Bucky would pay half of the contractor's price to knock down the center wall. The project cost him about forty thousand, which was almost all of his savings. But after the work was done, he'd only have to pay half of the property taxes and utilities instead of rent, which would work out to be cheaper. And he'd live with his boyfriend.
As soon as the apartments were joined, Steve ordered paint and decorations from Ikea. Bucky had given him full reign over the interior design, giving up on the sad hotel aesthetic he'd accidentallied into over the years. Steve designed it all on the Sims, then he had a few bad weeks where all he could do was sleep. One day his legs couldn't hold him up, he even gave Bucky a crash course transferring him off the bed and into a wheelchair he kept in the closet for such occasions. Bucky was scared, but he tried not to let it show. While the contractor was in, Steve took advantage of the extra space and added a few side projects to widen some of the doorways (for his wheelchair, he claimed), add bars to the bathroom, and take out Bucky's kitchen entirely to extend the second bathroom and include a waterfall shower room he could wheel into. While he was laid out on the couch, he gave Bucky instructions on which furniture went where, what paint coated which walls, what artworks hung where. The last thing the contractor did was knock out the fence on their adjoining balconies, and as July came to a close, Bucky hung string lights from the awning and transferred Steve to a lawn chair. His creaked dangerously as he lowered himself onto it, nearing the weight limit of both the flimsy plastic furniture and his new-ish button up. He'd been going to the gym more recently, even when Steve wasn't up to coming with him. Taking care of Steve made it easier to extend that same care to himself, as well. While he certainly didn't cut back on portions of food, he tried to have less takeout and cook more balanced meals, as well as eat more regularly, as opposed to forgetting to eat for six hours and then eating 5000 calories in one go. He learned to cook from YouTube videos, ordering hundreds of dollars worth of groceries every week into their new enormous fridge, and making delicious meals for both of them. Steve couldn't eat a l
ot of foods from his allergies, intolerance, and sensory issues, so Bucky worked to create a menu with both variety and trusted staples. On Steve's worst days he barely spoke, almost like when he was in subspace. They didn't have sex unless Steve was up for it, even if Bucky offered to do all the work. Their first month after moving in together was a little trying, but like Bucky promised, he stuck around.
By the time August came around, the regular meals had effected his waistline, and the button up barely closed. It gapped between every button while he was standing, and sitting, several of the buttons strained in a way that threatened to pop off.
He wore it anyway, relishing any opportunity to tease Steve.
The younger man's blue eyes almost bugged out of his skull when he saw it. "Jesus, Buck, you're looking wide."
"Rude," Bucky told him without feeling, bending down to give him a kiss where he was laying on the lawn chair. As he stooped down, he heard a tear and felt an immediate release. He cursed, one hand going to his middle to confirm. He'd lost a button, right over his belly button.
Steve swore too, watching the button tumble through the balcony railing. "Good job, now you've killed some tourist walking on the sidewalk 11 stories down."
"They deserved it." Bucky plopped down on his lawn chair, half expecting it to give up the ghost in solidarity, the way it was groaning.
"Wanna pop the rest off, since it's already ruined?"
Bucky had only just eaten lunch about an hour ago, leftover pulled pork and loaded baked potatoes. The fullness was just beginning to wear off. "I could eat." He stood again and went to the kitchen, reviewing the options. He pulled out a half-gallon of birthday cake for himself, and a lactose-free ice cream sandwich for Steve.
Steve took the sandwich and walked Bucky carefully as he sat again, anticipating another wardrobe malfunction, Bucky was certain.
"You're not eating," Steve noted after a moment.
"Waiting for it to melt."
"So you can chug it all?"
It had been because the cold hurt Bucky's teeth, but he shrugged and put the spoon in the cup holder of the chair. "Why not." He lifted the lid of the ice cream, revealing its soupy form. He lifted the container to his lips and began to drink. The container wasn't full; he'd had some the other night, leaving about 6 cups of ice cream. That was nothing, especially liquid.
About halfway down the feeling of fullness returned. He adjusted in his chair, but most of the discomfort was coming from the tightness of his shirt. If he removed it, he knew that he could finish the rest easily. But he could see Steve watching from the corner of his eye, so he put on a show. He sucked in a little, ignoring the screaming of his full tummy, and chugged the liquid like he'd learned back in his high school party days. With a flourish, he dropped the empty container and allowed his belly to surge forward. Two things happened. The three lowest buttons sprang off the shirt, and the back legs of the chair bowed and gave out, dropping (thankfully) only about four inches and collapsing on the floor.
"Piece of shit merchandise," Bucky griped.
"Right," Steve agreed. "Definitely the shirt and chair manufacturer, not the wearer."
"Hey! You can't make me fatter and then fat shame me," Bucky protested.
"How about you weigh yourself? For my birthday?" Steve pleaded.
"Your birthday was a month ago," Bucky bitched, but he rose (with some difficulty) and went to the scale's location in the primary bathroom.
"Well?" Steve asked with bated breath when he returned. "Are you above 300?"
"305," Bucky told him. He'd put on 25 pounds since March, about 5 pounds a month. Which was over one pound a week. Which meant he was eating an excess of 3500 calories a week at least. Probably more, with all the working out he'd done recently, both at the gym and around the apartment redecorating.
"How does it feel?" Steve asked him. He clearly hadn't forgotten how Bucky promised to put on another 50 if he liked how 300 felt.
Bucky contemplated. Although it was obvious, he felt bigger. His center of gravity had changed, and all of his movement was affected. He knocked into things with his gut all of the time; doorframes, counters, Steve. His appetite had increased, accustomed to eating past its fill at every meal. His face had seen the changes from his most recent weight, taking him from the chubby category truly into fat. He had a real double chin that couldn't even be hidden by a full beard. He looked round and wide from every angle, too large to suck it in anymore. He still had a muscular build beneath it all, but it looked less and less apparent that he'd been a star athlete back in high school. He hefted his belly with both hands, feeling the weight of it. It was round, with a hint of a peachy shape at the bottom, stretch marked around his belly button, and incredibly full from the ice cream. He imagined what it would feel like in 50 pounds. He'd certainly graduate past 3x. Hell, maybe he should skip 4x entirely just to have clothes with some growing room for once. Without pushing, he'd probably settle on a weight eventually and be able to buy a wardrobe without worrying about replacing it in 6 months. He'd be slower. But other than that, he'd been working on his strength and endurance in the gym. He hated cardio, but it did make things easier for the rare occasion the elevator broke and he had to use all 11 goddamn flights of stairs if he ventured out of the apartment. When Steve felt better, in the fall they wanted to take walks around parks. He'd gone for a check up at his primary care provider the other week (and hadn't looked at the scale, to save the surprise), and when the doctor had suggested a blood panel to check for hyperthyroidism, his numbers had all come back healthy. They told him he might need to look at lowering his cholesterol and blood pressure in five years if it continued in the same direction, but by 40 he considered himself lucky if he wasn't on several medications. His dad had gained some weight in his 40s anyway, so a lot of it was genetics. His blood sugar levels were good and nowhere near prediabetic, which was the main concern.
"Let's agree on 325, and we'll go from there," he told Steve.
"You're 305 now, how about 330? A true 25 pounds," Steve bargained.
"You're getting mouthy," Bucky observed, teasing but not expecting it to go anywhere. Steve hadn't been up for sex recently.
"What are you gonna do about it?" he demanded petulantly.
"Color?"
"Green, please, Bucky, I want you so bad," he whined.
Bucky chuckled and scooped him up in his arms easily. "You're such a brat. Need someone to put you in your place."
"And what's my place?" Steve argued back like he wasn't being carried like a doll.
"With my cock in your throat."
Steve whined with need. Bucky laid him down gently on the bed, actions contradicting his words. He knew Steve hated it when he treated him like he was glass, but he was the most beloved thing in the entire world to Bucky, more precious than the most priceless artwork post-soup-bombing. "I'm going to fuck your face."
Steve moaned wordlessly, opening his mouth and holding his tongue out for Bucky's cock.
The brunet stripped off his pants, stroking himself to full mast before straddling Steve's face. "Tap my leg if you need air."
"Don't need air," Steve claimed, making grabby hands for Bucky's body. "Just need you."
Bucky had never sat on anyone's face when he was smaller, and it seemed like an even worse idea now. He lowered himself delicately, holding himself up against the headboard to not put more weight on Steve than necessary, but the younger man hooked his arms around his thighs and pulled him, throwing the larger man off balance and inelegantly shoving his cock into his throat and all 305 pounds of him onto Steve's face. "Jesus! I'll break your fucking nose," Bucky exclaimed, trying to pull himself off Steve, but the blond's arms were wrapped tightly around him. He could've broken away easily, but he trusted the younger man to know his limits. It did feel heavenly.
Bucky spread his knees, angling forward so his cock was positioned better into Steve's mouth, his heavy underbelly resting on Steve's forehead. Steve wasn't in a position to be able to move his head up and down, so Bucky cautiously began thrusting, listening for the sounds of breathing. Steve's breaths came through his nose even and clear, and building confidence, Bucky fucked down, slow and filthy. Whereas regular blow jobs made him feel powerful, here he was entirely in control; setting the rhythm, shoving his cock as deep as he wanted. Steve couldn't pull away even if he wanted to, and he took it all so well.
"That's right, take it, you fucking whore. You were born for my cock. You like it when Daddy rests his fat gut on your head? I've gotten so fucking big, and it's all your fault. Keep encouraging me to eat more when I'm already heavy enough. You like that, baby boy? You like how big Daddy is?"
Steve couldn't voice his appreciation, but he made it evident with his hands, gripping onto Bucky's thighs, acrylic nails digging in, sharp enough to break skin.
"God, I'm close baby, your throat feels so fucking good. Gonna breed you later, knock you up like the slut you are." Bucky couldn't hold back for long, spilling his seed into the warm throat below him. The instant he'd pumped his last, he rolled off the younger man, checking him. "Color?"
"Guh. Green," Steve stuttered around his mouthful, wiping come and sweat from his beard. Bucky was likely to have chaffing around his groin, but it had been worth it. "S'okay if you break my nose. Wouldn't be the first time. You didn't!" He added hastily at the expression on Bucky's face. "I'm a professional, remember?"
Bucky sighed happily, laying down beside Steve. "Yeah, anyway. When are you going to film a video of us?"