Bucky POV
Neither of them spoke the entire way to the restaurant. They went inside, and Steve picked their table while Bucky ordered. Bucky took his seat in the chair opposite Steve. He preferred booths, but he knew that Steve got nervous if he couldn’t pick a table with a tactical advantage.
“Did you order a large?” Steve asked.
Bucky shrugged. “Medium.”
“You feelin’ okay?”
Bucky shifted nervously. “Sure, why?”
“Seem like you lost your appetite, s’all.”
Bucky looked outside the large window, where a mourning dove was picking at cold fries outside in the twilight. “Maybe I should.”
“Buck.”
“Hm?” Bucky turned to meet Steve’s eyes. He seemed agitated.
“We need to talk,” Steve said, and immediately Bucky panicked.
“I know, I’ve gained weight, but I’m going to lose it--” he began.
Steve interrupted. “What? No, why?”
Bucky froze. “I thought you wanted me to.”
“No, I don’t want you to.” Steve took Bucky’s hand over the table. “I thought we talked about this. I like you as you are, I don’t want…” he struggled for words.
“When?”
“What?”
Bucky drew his brows together. He felt as if there was a barrier between them. It seemed difficult to communicate tonight- normally, it was so easy for him to say what was on his mind. “When did we talk about my… about…”
Steve saved him from finishing his sentence with a small laugh, although it seemed more nervous than genuine. “At the airport, remember?”
“Yeah, but you said you were okay with me at that size, not that… I don’t want to get. Fuck, Steve, you’re so pretty. I don’t want to look like a slob next to you.”
Steve sat back in his chair. “I don’t want you to worry about it, is the thing. Are you comfortable with the way you look, right now? Without worrying about what I think.”
Bucky shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.” He kept warm in the cold weather. He could eat as much pasta as he wanted. He was strong enough to work the farm, pick up the rams and move the hay bales.
Steve nodded. “Okay, good. Then I love you at this size. You’re perfect. And if you gain more weight, that’s okay too.”
Bucky looked down at his hands. He’d painted his nails out of boredom the either day. Maria left a bottle of polish at their place by accident, and he’d noticed it was a particular colour of periwinkle that matched his eyes. He’d sent her a picture, and she’d responded with heart-eye emojis, and told him to keep the bottle. It had started to chip. “I don’t want you to see me any different. If I’m fat.”
Steve looked into Bucky’s eyes with an expression he couldn’t gauge. They were so focused on each other that Bucky could see his own reflection, looking dejected and wide. “Bucky. I adore you. I swear to you, I will never look at you differently. I never have, have I?” Bucky shook his head. “I didn’t judge you when I was your parole officer. I didn’t treat you differently when we stole millions of diamonds from Thanos. I don’t see you different if we’re making love, or if you’re eating yoghurt and you have some in your beard, or if you smell bad after a day of sweating. I’ll look at you the same if you lose 70 pounds, or gain 100, because I love you. All I see is you. You’re my Bucky. I feel like it burns me up, sometimes. I love you so much I can hardly breathe. All my life, I’ve been searching for direction, for something higher, and it was all calling me here, to you. You’re my life and my meaning and everything. I feel like I’ve had this hole inside me, all my life, and now it’s finally been filled.”
He said it with absolute conviction. There wasn’t a single moment of hesitance in his eyes.
But Bucky felt hesitation within himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Steve in return; he did, so much. He made him feel like no one ever had, and every word he’d said was true. He just didn’t know why he felt so scared.
Steve spoke again, when Bucky didn’t respond. He knew he should- Steve had a tendency to ramble on and get nervous if Bucky didn’t vocalize all his reactions, but he just couldn’t think of anything to say. “Listen. You know I love you at any size, yeah? But, it’s more than that, too. It kind of… turns me on.” He was blushing.
Bucky immediately perked up. Physical needs were so much more simple than emotional ones. “Wait, what?”
Steve blushed deeper, focusing on the salt on the table. “I didn’t want to say it before, because I didn’t want you to think that I cared more about some fetish than your body image.”
“Hang on. What do you mean, fetish?” Just when Bucky thought Steve couldn’t get any freakier. Damn, he should’ve known a repressed cop would be so kinky.
“You. Uh, gaining weight. I think it’s hot.” He rushed on before Bucky could speak again. “Some people are attracted to abs. I’m… not. I don’t know. I’ve always known it, I guess. And I’d still be attracted to you if you had a BMI less than 18. You’re just… predisposed to it, I guess?” Bucky must have visibly flinched, because Steve immediately switched his strategy. “I mean, you like eating food, and you like your body… I like watching you eating food, and I like your body, too. So it works out, right?”
Bucky paused for a moment, processing. “What about it exactly turns you on?”
“God, everything,” Steve answered enthusiastically. “I like it when your shirts are a little too small. Like when the buttons gap, or the seams pull. I like it when you eat too much and you get so full it’s hard for you to breathe. I like the way your belly feels. I like the way you look, all wide and sexy. I like that you eat when you’re happy, and you look happy. I like that you’re soft and warm in bed. I like how heavy you are when you roll over on me. I like your sweet tooth, and that you can’t get enough of ice cream. I like your stretch marks. I like your rolls. I like your double chin. I like-- do you need me to go on? Because I really can go on.”
Bucky didn’t. “So, it’s like, an emotional thing as well as a sexual one?”
Steve thought about it before he answered. “I guess. You could probably make some psycho-analystic deduction about it.” He laughed nervously again. Bucky wished he’d stop. “I guess I should’ve mentioned it earlier, huh?”
“Well, you live with a guy for four months, you expect him to bring it up.”
“I’m sorry. Really, Bucky. I didn’t mean for it to come across badly. I wasn’t trying to trick you, I swear. I just wanted this to have the best outcome possible.”
Bucky was a little shocked about how much forethought Steve had put into it. Usually, the blond had zero filter, saying everything that came into his head at any moment. It had surprised Bucky on so many occasions how frank Steve could be. But there was this whole aspect to him that he’d known nothing about, that he’d willingly been acting upon Bucky without his knowledge.
Steve went on. “Do you feel tricked? Because I don’t want you to feel tricked. Wait- that sounded bad. I don’t mean that you should feel how I want you to feel. I just want you to be okay with it. But if you’re not, that’s okay too.”
Bucky could tell that Steve was trying to compensate for his silence, get on his side. It agitated him. He didn’t want to be coerced into agreement.
The waitress arrived with their pizza. “Njóta!” she told them, and Steve thanked her in Icelandic. Most of the residents spoke basic English, but Steve enjoyed the chance to practice his Icelandic.
Steve didn’t move to take a slice off the platter. Bucky didn’t either. He didn’t feel hungry anymore.
Steve really started to look like he might freak out, and Bucky spoke. “So… you’d find it sexy if I ate, like, six slices of pizza?”
Steve nodded in relief. “Yes. Yeah. Of course, you don’t have to. I mean it. Your happiness is more important to me than anything I might want you to do,” he said, but all Bucky heard was your happiness is more important to me than my happiness.
Which is a ridiculous thought, he added. Our happiness should be equally important to each other in a relationship. He wanted Steve to say I love you, and I want you to do this.
“Okay.” Bucky pulled a slice of pizza out and served it to Steve first, then pulled the largest slice onto his own plate. “I think we should work on communication.”
“Yes. Let’s do that,” Steve agreed. “Do you… have any suggestions?”
Bucky bit back the passive-aggressive thought on his tongue. Maybe tell me if you have a giant secret you’ve hidden from me for months.
No, he reminded himself. That’s not a healthy way to deal with anger. You’re angry at Steve; that’s valid. Voice that anger in a productive way.
“You tend to overthink a lot,” he started, picking pineapple off his pizza. Pineapple-and-ham was Steve’s favourite, but Bucky detested pineapple. “That’s okay. But you don’t have to suffocate alone, okay? If you’re freaking about something, don’t keep it to yourself. That just makes the problem worse, when it’s something we could talk out.”
Steve scrunched his face in frustration. “I don’t always want to bother you, though. If I think something’s dumb, I don’t want to bring it up.”
“But then you stress about it and it becomes a problem, honey,” Bucky explained. “I care about what you care about. If something’s bothering you- even if it’s something small, or something you’re sure you’re imagining- it’s better to bring it up than bury it down.”
“Okay.” Steve paused. “I feel like you’re being condescending.”
“What? Why?” Bucky was startled from cutting his pizza with a knife and fork.
“You’re saying it’s ‘better to mention it than bury it’, and that’ll ‘make a problem’. You’re making me feel like me overthinking is a problem, and that you have to deal with the ‘burden’ of me saying it at all. That’s why I don’t.”
“Okay.” Bucky resumed cutting his pizza. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to convey that. I don’t think it’s a problem. It’s just the way you are.”
“I know it’s the way I am. You don’t need to justify me overthinking. And don’t make it sound like I’m some close-minded person that won’t change myself. I know overthinking is a bad habit, and I’m trying to replace it with healthier ones.”
“I’m sorry,” Bucky apologized again. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like you’re not improving yourself. Of course I don’t believe that.” He thought about his next words. Sometimes, they- both he and Steve- had a habit of saying things were okay unnecessarily. Sometimes Steve needed reassurance, but it got him into the habit of sounding condescending. Maybe they weren’t as good at communication as he thought- maybe he was good at talking at Steve and Steve was good at shoving all his thoughts down until they bubbled over.
“I know,” Steve said, finally picking up his piece and eating it. “I know you don’t mean to hurt my feelings. And I know that if I don’t say anything about it when you do, I’m making it as much my fault as yours. I’ll work on it.”
Bucky smiled. “Me too.” And he felt a little better. Not entirely, but it was a start.
The first slice of pizza went down quicker than he expected. In the heat of conversation he’d forgotten how hungry he was, but it had cooled off enough for him to eat it without burning his tongue and he reached for a second slice in no time.
Steve offered no reaction except to hand Bucky over his crust when he was done with his first slice. It was a habit they’d gotten into months ago, the first time they’d had pizza together. Steve admitted that he hated the crust but never wanted to waste it, and Bucky offered to eat it. Thinking back, Bucky could pick out at least one instance a day where Steve had gotten him to eat more. But instead of being mad, he considered Steve’s intentions behind it. He wasn’t trying to trick Bucky into some weird sexual situation he was uncomfortable with; Bucky knew that. And it wasn’t like Bucky wasn’t already doing a good enough job of overeating himself. Hell, he was already well on his way to fat-- if not firmly in that territory already-- when they’d met. His irritation at Steve’s secrecy faded away to a pleasant contentment in enjoying good food. He didn’t stop after three slices. Steve tapped out after his second- sliding the crust onto Bucky’s plate and pushing his chair away from the table to finish his local, artisanal soda. After the fourth slice, his waistband felt tight, but he wanted to really attempt to explore whatever this was. After all, how was he supposed to make a fair verdict on how he felt about it until he’d experienced it?
So he overate intentionally, forcing himself to finish the fifth slice and take the last one.
By this time, Steve’s interest was clear; he’d been staring at Bucky’s mouth, and his pink blush had developed into a full rouge. His breath was coming out almost as choked as Bucky’s; he panted lightly as he shifted in his chair, adjusting around the full dome of his stomach.
And after he’d finished all the pizza, he was uncomfortably full, and the waitress came to collect the tray and he ordered pie in bad Icelandic.
“I thought you didn’t like key lime pie,” Steve mentioned, breathlessly.
“I don’t. I ordered lemon,” Bucky responded.
Steve shook his head with a smile. “Límóna is lime, sweetheart.”
Bucky grunted and surreptitiously undid the button on his pants. “Then they oughta make it not sound like lemon.”
Steve tore his eyes away from Bucky’s face. “Ahh… what?”
Bucky laughed. “Nothing.”
The pie arrived quickly, recently refrigerated, and both plates had a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Bucky frowned to Steve after the waitress had left. “Did I order two?”
Steve shrugged. “Guess so. I don’t really want mine though. We could get a box.”
Bucky pulled it over to his side of the table. “No use letting it melt on the way home.”
Steve looked positively wrecked, and Bucky was seeing the upside of the situation. There was very little he wouldn’t do if Steve asked. The semantics of it might have been a bit convoluted, but when it came down to it, yeah. Eating six slices of deep dish pizza and two pieces of pie (even if it was key lime) a la mode wasn’t a hardship.
What was a hardship was getting into the jeep to drive back home. Steve offered, but Bucky didn’t trust him to keep his eyes on the road, the way he’d been staring at him. Once he sat in the driver’s seat, he was embarrassed to realize that his belly was fully resting against the wheel. He blushed and moved his hand to the side of the chair to adjust the position.
“Don’t,” Steve stopped him with a hand on his forearm. “I mean, unless you’re very uncomfortable…”
Bucky shrugged. “I can drive. I’m just a little… squished.”
Steve’s cheeks were positively scarlet. “Then, please.”
Bucky complied, turning the key in the ignition. The energy on the way back home was miles different from the way there, and Bucky couldn’t be more glad.
He wasn’t entirely glad of the state of the roads; the long stretch off the main highway that took them back to Myvatn lead them over a particularly rocky section that had Bucky’s belly jostling in his lap. By the time he parked next to the cottage, Steve was vibrating.
He was all over Bucky the instant they were inside, kissing his neck and grinding on his hip, but Bucky had another idea the drive had given him. “We have any rocky road?” he asked. “All that vanilla was kind of boring.”
Steve’s eyes went wide, and he fetched the half gallon from the freezer. It wasn’t Ben and Jerry’s, but Bucky figured that was his own fault.
“Oof, honey, not sure I can finish all that,” Bucky remarked. It was fun to show off for Steve, sure, but his stomach would absolutely murder him if he attempted to shove more than a few spoonfuls down his throat.
“That’s okay,” Steve assured him, his voice deep and rough with lust. Bucky took the carton and plopped right down on the far cushion of the sofa, not even bothering with the table. Steve took his customary place between his legs and began pulling Bucky’s pants down his hips.
It felt right, doing it like this. So long he’d hid his overeating in shame or excuses. Steve’s support of his body wasn’t enough; he needed to be wanted, desired. Maybe it was fucked up that Steve wanted him fat, and maybe it was fucked up that he wanted to eat until it hurt. But their fucked up seemed to fit right into each other, like two factory-defect puzzle pieces.
His appetite surprised him again, and he realized that while he was thinking he’d managed to put a decent dent in the ice cream. Steve had begun rubbing his belly, and that was helping immensely, moving the digestion process along. He felt rather bare with his full gut hanging out and testing his shirt, too full to even suck in, but Steve’s blissed out expression calmed his anxiety.
He shifted, sitting up a little more. The action made his shirt ride up, the fabric rolling above his belly button. Steve actually made a small whimper, his hands automatically moving to the bare skin.
“Fuck, it’s hot in here,” Bucky complained, pausing from eating for a moment. The heat of the fireplace had caused the ice cream to melt significantly, and he was having trouble keeping it on the spoon.
“Take your shirt off,” Steve suggested, completely transparent.
Bucky smirked and leaned forward. Steve took the carton and spoon out of his hands right away so his hands were free, and in a moment he was sitting in only his boxers. Steve’s eyes were fixed on Bucky’s chest. It had been a while since the brunet had dared to be shirtless in front of Steve; or at least, in such strong lightning. But Steve’s hand whispered over his body in reverence, and everything felt natural out in the open.
“How much is left?” Bucky asked, and Steve tipped the carton toward him in response. Less than half remained. “Fuck it,” Bucky muttered, taking the carton, but not the spoon. He lifted it to his lips and began to chug.
Right when he really thought he could drink another drop, he’d emptied the carton. He cast it to the ground, barely caring if it landed on its side (but their carpet was fairly expensive, and not a drop of ice cream dripped out). He panted for a moment, trying to lean back on the arm of the sofa and relieve some of the pressure. “Goddamn, baby,” he moaned. “Don’t think I’ve ever been this fuckin’ full in my life.”
Steve cupped his hands over the fullest part of Bucky’s gut, reshaping the flesh to let it go and watch it gently jiggle. “Mhm,” he agreed, his eyes glued to Bucky’s gut.
“Shit, that feels really good. Can you do that for a while?” He closed his eyes. Steve must’ve nodded, or either forgotten to respond entirely, but he continued to rub, kneading Bucky’s belly like a mound of dough. Bucky felt so full and wide, larger than he’d ever been in his life. It was certainly true. Despite the recent plateau in his weight, the activities of the night and the indication that these habits might continue would certainly aid to him finding a new high every week. And he truly couldn’t bring himself to mind.
After a few minutes, he opened his eyes again and put one of his hands over Steve’s on his belly. “Alright, baby, that’s enough. Are you still sore from earlier, or--”
“Yeah, but I can do it,” Steve insisted, standing and ripping his jeans and boxers right off. “Can I ride you?”
Bucky chuckled, taking his boxers off (they’d left indentations in his skin, and he made a mental note for later that he’d have to upsize his wardrobe yet again). “Pretty sure that’s the only way we can do it, honey. Way too fuckin’ full to do it any other way.”
Steve got out the lube and dumped it into his hand, working himself open before he could even ask. He kneeled low over Bucky’s thighs, and Bucky had to lift the underside of his belly with his forearm for Steve to line himself up properly.
“Fuck, daddy,” Steve murmured, using that word again. “You look amazing. 264 pounds, shit.”
Bucky froze. “You-- uh, you saw?”
Steve had the decency to look apologetic. “The scale was bluetooth connected to my phone. I, uh, couldn’t think of a good time to bring it up.”
Bucky chuckled, pulling Steve down onto him. “Well, I guess now’s a good a time as any. Not like it’s gonna stay like that for long.”
“So you wanna do it? You want to gain weight?” His speech was stuttered as he lowered himself on powerful thighs. He was still a little loose from earlier, and Bucky wanted to make sure he went easy- Steve’s ass must’ve been bruised pretty nicely- but the blond set up a furious pace, rocking his cock forward into Bucky’s fat underbelly.
“Sure. I mean, I was before. What’s the difference in doing it on purpose?”
Steve stopped for a moment. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to be halfway on this. It’s your body. Wherever you draw the line, that’s a good place to be.”
“Okay.” Bucky started shifting his hips (as much as he could with about 60 pounds of gut and 200 pounds of boyfriend on top of him), and Steve got the idea and began moving again. “So, what’s an ideal weight for you? Just toss a number out there.”
Steve thought for a moment, concentration certainly impeded by the fact that Bucky’s dick began to brush over his prostate and his eyes were fluttering shut, precome leaking out of his head. “280? You can gain as much as you want. I’m not interested in you getting much bigger than 350, though. That’s not to say that you can’t, I-”
Bucky interrupted him before he went down a trail of ‘whatever you want is okay’. “I don’t want to get any bigger than 350, either. I probably wouldn’t want to deal with more than 320, honestly. And I’ll probably level out if I don’t force myself to gain as actively.”
“Right… level out…” Steve repeated, clearly not focusing on the words at all. Bucky smirked and grabbed onto his waist, manhandling him a bit rougher and fucking him down. Steve went limp, allowing himself to be thrashed on Bucky’s cock. “Daddy… daddy, daddy, daddy,” he muttered. Bucky was sure he wasn’t even aware he was saying it.
“Yes, my good baby boy,” he whispered. Steve was spasming in irregular movements, and he knew he wasn’t far from finishing. In a moment of inspiration, he put his left hand around Steve’s throat, clamping down at the sides to restrict blood flow, but not enough to hinder his breathing. Steve’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t protest. Instead, his eyes rolled back and he came with an unintelligible cry that might’ve been Bucky’s name. His come painted the underside of Bucky’s belly, and a moment later he came too, filling Steve’s ass for the second time that day.
Steve pulled back to collapse against the other side of the couch. Bucky recovered first, huffing a little around his gut as he pulled himself up by the back of the couch. He moved over to Steve to kiss him, a little sloppily, but he didn’t care.
“Holy shit,” Steve moaned. Sweat stuck his pretty hair down onto his forehead, and he looked about as limp and spent as Bucky felt. “No lie, that was the best sex of my life. Not that every time we do it isn’t great,” he added. “But--”
“I agree,” Bucky said, kissing the crown of his head. “You’re right.”