Steve POV
Steve turned over in the bed, and he felt Bucky roll over behind him, his belly fitting perfectly in the concave space of Steve’s back.
“You awake?” Bucky whispered.
“Mhm,” Steve responded sleepily, although he wasn’t entirely, yet.
Bucky snuggled a little closer, cupping his top arm over Steve’s chest. He tucked his chin over Steve’s shoulder, beard tickling his cheek as he whispered. “You ready to get out of bed?”
“Cold,” Steve whined, shrinking further under the covers.
Bucky chuckled and began to rise. He slapped Steve lightly on the flank, letting him bundle the comforter and sheets around himself. “That’s why one of us has to start the fire.”
Steve listened to the sound of Bucky stoking the cinders of last night’s fire, placing new logs in the fireplace and sparking the kindling. They’d needed to light the fire more often as the summer ended and September began, and it seemed as if it might become a permanent necessity.
After the crackle of the flames sounded large enough to produce actual heat, Steve gathered the blankets around himself and went into the kitchen. He cast a glance at Bucky reclining on the sofa, browsing something on his phone. “Are you cooking breakfast?”
Bucky shrugged. “I lit the fire. You cook.”
He was as transparent as glass, and Steve loved it. He came up behind him and bent down as Bucky craned his neck back to meet him. “Good morning,” he said after they’d kissed.
“Good morning, Mr. Rogers,” Bucky returned. “How did we sleep?”
“Very well, Mr. Barnes.” Bucky liked to poke fun at Steve’s formality, but Steve felt better knowing that he was liked as well as loved. He rummaged through the fridge, selecting something to cook. “What do we feel like?”
“I dunno, something sweet?”
Suddenly, Steve had an idea.
On his tenth birthday, he had woken up and the entire apartment was filled with the scent of cinnamon. He’d gone into the kitchen to see Sarah fussing with a piping bag full of icing. He must have made some noise for Sarah to hear, because she spun around with a bright smile on his face. “Good morning- happy birthday, Stevie!” She’d presented him with a cinnamon roll nearly the size of his head. He sat at the little table in the middle of the kitchen, bathed in the July sun. He felt bad eating the whole thing and asked if she wanted to split it, but his Ma insisted it was all his.
The first bite was heavenly, and Steve was certain she’d gone down to the corner bakery to get it. Treats there were delicious, but often expensive. Steve had never eaten anything from there himself, but at school, some of his richer friends would take out carefully wrapped packages of flaky pastry and large, gooey cookies to flaunt to the rest of the table.
“Ma, how’d you afford this?” he’d asked.
A grin had split across her face. “I didn’t buy it, sweetheart, I made it.” Many times afterward she’d told him that it was the best compliment she could have received. To save money, Sarah would often bake bread herself, and about a month before she’d gotten the idea and had begun saving flour and cinnamon to bake it herself, and had procured the recipe from the library.
Steve didn’t get any other presents that year, but it was one of his favourite birthdays by far.
“Can you wait an hour or two? I wanna try something,” Steve asked, taking out his phone and googling cinnamon roll recipes.
“Sure, but I’ll work up an appetite,” Bucky warned him.
Steve was counting on it. He found a recipe with ingredients they already had and didn’t look too complicated. The recipe made 8 single-serving rolls, but when Steve separated the square of dough into strips, he opted to make two regular sized rolls and combine the remaining dough into one giant roll. He spread the cinnamon filling on each strip and rolled them up, setting them in the oven and adding an extra five minutes for Bucky’s monstrous roll to cook the whole way through.
Twenty-five minutes later, his two rolls were cooling on top of the stove, and the third look perfectly-golden brown. “Okay, it’s ready,” Steve called, setting the island with dishes.
Bucky took his seat and Steve placed the cinnamon roll before him. In retrospect, the cinnamon roll from Steve’s birthday might have seemed bigger in his memory, but the one before Bucky had risen to nearly a foot in diameter.
“Holy shit, Steve,” Bucky exclaimed with a little laugh. “You made… uh, an absolute unit of a cinnamon roll. How many is this?”
“Six,” Steve responded pleasantly. “You said you’d have an appetite,” he remarked, pouring Bucky a large glass of milk.
Bucky agreed with a grunt, taking a big sip before he began to eat. Steve hadn’t provided any utensils, half hoping Bucky might pick it up and bite into it like a hamburger. Instead, Bucky found the end of the curl and began to peel it, eating the sugary strips like a kid. He dropped the curl into his mouth from above, slapping a little bit of frosting into his lips in the process.
Steve laughed and leaned over the table to kiss it from his face. “Good?” he asked.
“Mm, I like the Pillsbury kind better,” Bucky joked, and Steve slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m just kidding. This is amazing, baby. Keep the recipe.”
Steve had to admit that it was very good; it was filling without being too heavy. The sweetness of the icing wasn’t too overbearing that the spice of the cinnamon went unnoticed, and the bread was warm and moist without being soggy.
After Bucky had unwrapped almost half of the roll, he began to slow down. “Fuck, Steve. My eyes might be bigger than my stomach.”
Steve snorted. “Impossible. I haven’t seen you leave anything unfinished in months.”
Bucky sat back, adjusting the waistband of his sweats. Even his pajamas were getting tight again as he crept closer to 300. “Ugh, I dunno. This might best me yet. It’s not that I don’t want to finish it-- it’s so good-- it’s just a lot of the same, ya know?”
“Hm.” Steve turned to the fridge. “We have some bacon left over from the other day. Want it cold?”
Bucky huffed. “I doubt more food is the solution here, but sure. Why not.” Steve got him the strips from the fridge, and the brunet ate them before continuing with his roll. “The salt and the sweet go really well together,” he commented.
“I’ll be sure to make bacon with it next time,” Steve made a mental note for later. He watched Bucky struggle, even though he put up a valiant effort. Steve stood, offering an arm. “You’re not gonna be able to finish it like that. Let’s get you to the couch, spread out a little, yeah?”
Bucky took his arm, grabbing the plate with his other hand. With a large tug, Steve managed to help him up, and the ex-con panted a little while he navigated to the living room. He sat sideways on the couch, propping the plate on the dome of his belly. As reclined as he was, he barely needed to grip the edge of the plate for it to stay balanced. Steve sat between his knees, spying how Bucky’s t-shirt had ridden up to just below his belly button, shadow evident in the straining fabric. He splayed his hand on Bucky’s belly, then, feeling how tight it was, began to rub his fingers over the sides.
“Mm,” Bucky groaned. “Yeah, keep doing that. Feels good. Oof.” For all his complaining about being full, he continued to eat, and soon only the gooey center of the roll remained. He popped it in his mouth and then sucked his fingers free of frosting. Steve continued to rub his tummy, alternating between large circles on the sides and concentrated little massages near the top. “Thank you, baby, that was excellent. Although, 6 might have been overkill,” he protested.
Steve grabbed one of his love handles and shook a little, watching his flesh ripple. “Next time, I’ll make you eat 7,” he joked. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, though. Bucky’s appetite had grown significantly in the last month, and it looked like things might continue in that trend, at least until their previous marker of 320. He might even be close to 280 now, Steve pondered, judging the heft of Bucky’s gut with his palm.
“God, make those often enough and I’ll really get huge,” Bucky moaned.
Steve barked out a laugh. “What makes you think you’re not already there?”
“Maybe, but I carry it well,” Bucky insisted, patting his belly.
“Oh, that’s certainly true,” Steve agreed, leaning up to kiss him. Bucky huffed when Steve accidentally put a little too much pressure on his tender stomach, but he smiled into the kiss anyway. “Whattya think, too full to fool around?” Steve asked with a devilish smile.
“Ugh. Yes. But when did that ever make a difference?” Bucky grunted, sitting up a little more.
“Ha ha. But seriously, I don’t want to hurt you. We can just cuddle. We don’t always have to fuck,” he added.
“I know. But I like it so much.”
Steve grinned. “Yeah, me too. Want me to ride you?”
Bucky nodded, and Steve helped him peel down his sweatpants. They’d left indentations on his chunky hips, and his boxers looked like they were getting tight too. “I’ll have to wear 3XL soon,” Bucky murmured. “Think that means I’m fat now?”
“Honey, you’ve been fat since I met you.”
“Nuh-uh, I was husky then. This is fat,” he punctuated his statement by grabbing the side of his gut and wobbling it as Steve had earlier. Steve couldn’t continue their banter for anything in the world after watching that angelic sight. He was driven with the singular purpose of feeling Bucky against his, inside him, upon him, and he couldn’t wait a moment later. He yanked Bucky’s boxers down with a hasteful fury and began tearing off his own pajamas with the same speed.
Bucky chuckled patiently. “Okay, sweetheart, take it easy. Where’s the lube?” he found the bottle himself, gently placed on the floor next to the leg of the sofa for convenience of use. Steve already had Bucky’s hard cock out, working along the shaft with one hand and tracing his fingertips over Bucky’s stretch marks with the other. “So impatient today, honey. You keep rushin’, I’m not gonna let you come until I say.” Steve stopped himself from whining aloud, but Bucky caught his enthusiasm anyway. “That what you want, baby? Fine. Let me know when you’re close, and if you finish before I say you can, you’ll be in trouble. Okay?”
Steve nodded furiously. He couldn’t decide whether the idea of trouble or listening sounded more fun, but as it usually did, his desire to submit to authority won out and he knew that he would stop himself from breathing if Bucky said.
He worked his own bottoms off, and at Bucky’s urging, his shirt too, and Bucky started prepping his ass while he ground down onto the larger man’s fingers. They’d been getting more practiced at anal, and Bucky was learning which positions were better for hitting Steve’s prostate and which positions could offer Steve waves of pleasure without hitting him just where he needed it most. Steve knew he liked that kind best; there was a special kind of gleam Bucky got in his eye when Steve would beg. Fortunately, Steve was never above begging.
“Please, please, put it inside me, daddy, I’m ready, just- p-please,” Steve stuttered, his hands moving over Bucky’s stomach in aborted little motions.
It amazed him how Bucky always managed to look so powerful and dominant while quite possibly not being able to move off the couch by himself. He looked at Steve with impassive stormy blue eyes, continuing to scissor his three fingers inside the blond.
“Please, daddy, I’m loose enough, I want it- ah, god,” Steve whined, grabbing onto the shoulders of Bucky’s shirt that he was still wearing. “Won’t you take this off?”
“Pick one. Either I take off the shirt, or I penetrate you now.”
“When do you penetrate me if you take off the shirt?”
“When I want.”
Steve nodded. “I want to see you. Please.” Bucky removed his fingers, and Steve gasped. He worked himself out of his shirt one-armed, depositing it on the floor with the rest of their clothes. “Can I touch you?” he asked, fingers hovering over Bucky’s gut.
Bucky nodded, spreading his legs apart further so that Steve could have more room.
Steve moved his left hand over the brunet’s pecs while he stroked Bucky’s shaft with his right, hoping that the more turned on Bucky was the quicker he might fuck Steve.
Steve took the moment to admire Bucky’s physique. It was changing so rapidly that he found himself unfamiliar with his lover’s body. Bucky’s shoulders were wide, broad with muscle and frame, and padded with a thick layer of fat. His pecs were large and round, sitting on the shelf of his impossibly round tummy. When he was full like this, he had no creases on the side, lovehandles lending themselves to the extension of his waistline. Recently, the rest of his body- his arms, ass, legs, and even face- had been playing catch-up and accumulating new layers of padding, but his stomach always remained Steve’s favourite topic. Currently, it was noisy, too; he could hear (and feel) Bucky’s poor system struggling to digest the large breakfast he’d ingested. As the surface area of his stomach grew and his sides rounded out, his overhang grew deeper and only part of his treasure trail was in view.
Steve was just on the edge of desperate again when Bucky stilled his hand and motioned for him to line up. “Okay, baby boy, gonna fuck you now,” he said, his strong hands grasping Steve’s waist.
Steve could’ve sung for happiness as he sunk down on Bucky’s cock, finally satisfying the visceral need to be filled. “Shit, Buck, you feel so good,” he moaned, letting Bucky move him how he wanted.
“So good for me, Stevie, such a good boy,” Bucky praised, getting himself into the position he liked.
Steve bottomed out, hyper aware of the head of Bucky’s dick resting just against his prostate. He moved his thumbs over Bucky’s sensitive nipples, and Bucky arched, brushing against Steve’s g-spot.
He cried out and Bucky continued to thrust against that place inside him. “God, honey, you’re so tight,” he exclaimed, panting.
Steve already felt himself getting tired, worn out from begging. His muscles began to spasm from holding himself so rigid, and he grabbed onto the back of the sofa for support, sagging down and resting his head on Bucky’s chest.
“Hang on, sweetheart,” Bucky warned, taking Steve by the waist and flipping them in one fluid motion. His power and strength surprised Steve, and before he knew it he was lying on the other end of the couch with Bucky kneeling above him. “Think you can put your legs on my shoulders?” Bucky asked.
“Yeah…” Steve panted, still shocked. “But… aren’t you too full?”
Bucky smirked. “Eh. Your belly rubs helped.” He helped Steve get his legs into position, and then continued to mercilessly thrust down, the curve of his dick hitting Steve’s prostate perfectly with every movement.
“B-buck,” Steve cried. “I’m… getting close…”
“Not yet, baby, hold on,” Bucky commanded, and Steve screwed his eyes shut. Pulses of lightning were moving from his throat to each of his limbs, setting his skin on fire. He was holding on as tightly as he could, chanting not yet, just a little longer… in his head. He hoped Bucky knew his limits, because he really didn’t want to disappoint him. Even if trouble sounded nice, this morning he didn’t want to misbehave. He wanted to earn Bucky’s soft ‘good boy’.
Just when he thought he really couldn’t hold on for a second longer, Bucky spoke. “Okay, now, baby, come for me.”
Steve released and came, hitting himself on the stomach and Bucky’s chest, too. Bucky maintained his pace, coaxing himself through the climax until he was spilling inside of Steve. He began to lean forward in exhaustion, but Steve’s legs wouldn’t fold anymore than they were. He attempted to speak, but his brain hadn’t come back online yet, and he muttered a garbled mess of words.
Bucky got the message anyway, and laughed, collapsing on the other side of the couch. “Ugh, I’m so sweaty,” he complained.
“That’s okay, I’ll lick it off you,” Steve offered.
Bucky huffed out a breathless chuckle, but shook his head. “That’s okay. I think I’d prefer a shower.”
They cleaned off together, managing to squeeze into the small (and getting increasingly smaller) stall. Afterward, they were clean and sated, and Bucky had the idea of taking a quick nap.
They were woken when Steve’s phone went off, a call from Carol inviting them over for lunch and to meet Monica, who had come to stay with them permanently. They changed into nice clothes, after a small round of Steve sabotaging Bucky by suggesting shirts that were all far too small, and then walked over.
Maria served celery tuna fish sandwiches with chips and pickles, and Bucky had a polite two plates. Monica was absolutely charming, greeting Steve with a majestic curtsy and asking Bucky if he got to eat as much dessert as he wanted, since he was an adult.
Carol and Maria seemed to be doing well; Monica was such a perfect fit for them that it was hard to imagine the house without her. Maria seemed to have put on some motherly weight, and Steve and Carol shared a knowing smile.
A little after two, Bucky said that they ought to get back and check on the sheep, so they promised to visit again soon and walked back home. On the path, Steve spotted some wild daisies and forget-me-nots and picked a few for Bucky, tucking them behind his ear.
“I’m gonna grow it out for you, all the way down to my waist, and then you can braid flowers into it,” Bucky told him, and Steve laughed and held his hand.
Once they reached the enclosure they tested the fence for stability and watched Scarecrow and Toto chase each other around a trough, and when it got dark they went inside for dinner. After they were done, Steve watched TV and Bucky shopped for some new clothes (size 3XL) online.
They went to bed a little early; Steve had to wake up at 6 the next morning to drive out to Reykjavík to meet with another farmer. Bucky read on his phone a little, and Steve wrapped himself around Bucky entirely, like he was clinging to life. Months before, he would have worried about seeming too clingy, but not now.
“I was always searching for my purpose, you know?” he whispered. “I never felt whole unless I felt like there was meaning. I thought I was supposed to save the world.”
Bucky shifted, and Steve moved with him, as one creature; four legs, two hearts. “That’s why you joined the army?”
Steve nodded. “But that wasn’t my purpose. You are my world. And you saved me.”
Bucky kissed the top of Steve’s head. It used to frighten Steve, thinking he couldn’t be big enough to make a difference, thinking he might be born and live and die without ever changing anything, that the world would just keep spinning and being the terrible place that it was.
But the world isn’t 7 billion people, he was realizing. The world is each individual. And we’re all saving it.
He didn’t feel afraid. He felt so full, of love, of Bucky, of hope, of everything. It wasn’t enough to fill the hole inside him; sometimes it felt like it was collapsing, revealing even more depths than he’d thought. But he was starting to understand what the emptiness meant. It meant that he was alive, breathing, and fighting for happiness. He had his happiness; it was here in his arms. There was so much inside and out, and he’d never have to face any of it alone ever again.
October 15th would make it twelve years since Sarah died.
I made it, Mom. I found home. And it only took me a dozen years, Steve thought, letting a tear escape from his eye. It didn’t matter. It could’ve taken 70 and he wouldn’t mind. His home was with Bucky, and it always would be.