Indulgence

It all started at the St. Patrick’s Day office party, which was also Bucky and Steve’s first-year anniversary. Granted, not many offices had a St. Patrick’s Day party, but not all offices had an enthusiastic Irish boss.  Bucky had been so intimidated by him the first time they met—six feet and two inches of sheer muscle and rules. It didn’t take long to realise that ‘Captain’ (the fond name given to him by his employees who likened his appreciation for doing things by the book to a ship’s captain) Steve Rogers was a man of discipline and hard work, and Bucky had been so afraid that he wouldn’t be able to keep up with his new boss’s expectations.

“Don’t worry about it,” his cubical-mate, Natasha, had reassured him. She possessed beautiful, rich red hair—but was not Irish. Her well-concealed accent hinted of something Russian. “He’s really strict about himself, but not too bad with others. Doesn’t hurt if you have a pretty face either,” she’d added with a wink.

She and Bucky had become friends very quickly, after they found their common interest of slacking off during the post-lunch lull by watching cat videos. Bucky was used to being the ‘gay best friend’ for a lot of his lady friends, but Natasha was his first gay best friend. She’d been dating someone named Wanda—who had her picture on every flat surface of Natasha’s desk—since the sun was born. Bucky hadn’t been in a relationship since college (where the entire school had been alerted to the scandal of an intern dating their boss—in retrospect, Bucky had a habit for dating older men of authority), and he’d ended that one when he got a job offer two states over. Bucky had always prided himself on his career above any other things, and he’d been the best student in his class, the hardest worker in the entire Drafting & Business floor of Fury Architecture. While Steve might not have expected that level of dedication in his employees, he certainly appreciated it in Bucky.

Which is why no one (and least of all Bucky) was very surprised when, after the first Saint Patty’s Day party when Bucky was so drunk he right-out told Steve how often he’d fantasised about being bent over one of those small, rickety office desks and fucked until the next work week, Steve and Bucky started showing up to work in the same car.

And it had been mostly bliss since then. They had the few odd arguments over Steve’s unfaltering need for routine and complete lack of spontaneity, but they always made up with blindingly-hot sex. Bucky had never had a boyfriend like Steve before, someone so completely selfless and attentive to his needs. Every part of his strange desire for a dominant and assertive man to take care of him was fulfilled in Steve. Sure, he’d had Dom-sub relationships before, but they had always either been too rough, or more into sadism than what Bucky was looking for, or too clingy.

After a year of figuring each other out, every secret, every backstory, Steve and Bucky were so in love and involved with each other that sometimes it seemed like they’d been married for fifty years. Steve certainly knew enough of Bucky’s stories, having already heard them at least twice. Every time Bucky would tell someone about that time he broke his arm in twelfth grade, or when he fell into an ice hole the winter of freshmen year, Steve could recount each detail like he’d been there.

Bucky would never say that he’d begun to get bored of their relationship. It would be so unfair. Steve was everything he ever wanted—hot, kind, funny, with just a touch of authoritative, and the sex was good, their relationship dynamic was perfect.

So why did he, when he was really being honest with himself, feel unsatisfied?

Steve gave him a little one-fingered wave from across the room, checking in. Although Bucky was more outgoing in small groups, quickly hogging the spotlight and telling an interesting story or a funny joke, large crowds and parties gave him anxiety. Steve was required to be there, as the head of their department, and he insisted that Bucky didn’t have to go with him, but Bucky had promised he’d be fine, and at the first sign of discomfort, he would give the signal that he was going home.

Although Bucky did feel a little overwhelmed, they’d been at the party for a grand twenty-three minutes, and Bucky didn’t want to hop out so early. Maybe that’s why he was feeling distance lately—because sometimes he wasn’t honest with Steve—or himself—with what he wanted. Maybe he didn’t know what he wanted.

Nat swooped in with a plate filled with various green and shamrock-shaped snacks. “You’re giving Steve you’re I’m-Fine-But-Secretly-Not-Fine-Please-Rescue-Me-Face.”

“Am not,” Bucky replied with a scowl, taking one of his own mangled pot-o’-gold cookies. Whoever said that Pinterest recipes were easy was wrong.

“You are,” Nat replied with a knowing smirk, following Bucky’s gaze over to where Steve was listening to Coulson—the department’s other over-achiever (and unfortunately for Phil, not the object of Steve’s affections)—propose a new scheme. “You only eat cookies when you’re feeling sorry for yourself.”

Bucky scowled at the burnt ‘gold’ part of the cookie. At least the cauldron was already supposed to be black, so it wasn’t that obvious that they had burnt to a tasteless crisp.

“Well, go on. Don’t just sulk. What are you going to do about it?” Natasha gently goaded him.

Bucky narrowed his eyes and made a beeline for Steve. If he wasn’t going to signal that he wanted to leave, he might at least take Natasha’s advice and stop sulking about it. And maybe get Phil to stop talking Steve’s ear off—not that Bucky was jealous. But he was feeling a little bit more vulnerable and clingy than normal.

On his expedition across the room of happily drunk, green-clad co-workers, Bucky passed by the snacks table and grabbed a plate full of happy green shamrock cookies and mint Oreo’s that looked much more appealing than his pots o’… charcoal. He slid in between Steve and Phil, holding up the tray a little.

“Hi, Sweetheart. Phil was just telling me about his plans for the new wing on the high school,” Steve greeted him with a smile that made all his frustrations melt away.

“Oreo?” he offered.

Steve frowned down at the plate of festive treats like Bucky was offering him a dead animal. “No, thank you.” In a quieter voice, he added “my diet.”

Ah yes. The legendary regimen which kept Steve’s abs sharper than the apex of the building Bucky had drafted last week. Although Bucky certainly respected Steve’s need to plot out exactly what he would eat for the next month and work out dutifully every other day, he sometimes wished that Steve could just relax sometimes. It seemed like something silly to get upset over, but it was almost frustrated how completely Steve clung onto his diet.

Bucky shrugged. He was irritable over several things, and he didn’t want to get fussy over insignificant things, especially on a night as important as their first year anniversary. Feeling a little guilty, he observed what else was on the snack table, looking for a sort of peace offering. Maybe they had some… green celery, or something.

Then Bucky spotted macaroons. (Green ones, of course.) Steve had mentioned many, many times his love for macaroons, despite the fact that Bucky had never seen him consume a single macaroon. Bucky happily loaded his plate with an entire stack, and went back over to Steve.

“They have macaroons.”

Steve’s eyes lit up with a happy sort of mischief Bucky had never seen in his eyes before. He seemed fifteen years younger, like some kid whose dad just told him they were getting a puppy against his mother’s wishes. As suddenly as Bucky saw that side of him, it was quickly shut down. “Maybe later.”

For crying out loud, Steve, live for a minute, Bucky wanted to say, but it wasn’t his place. Steve was driven by this for his own reasons, and Bucky wasn’t going to force him out of it. “Alrighty,” he shrugged, popping one in his own mouth. Suddenly, the room felt too hot, too stuffy. “I’m going to get some air,” he whispered to Steve, handing him the plate. Steve nodded, deep in conversation with T’Challa, from the department one floor up.

Bucky went into the bathroom and opened the window, sneaking out onto the ledge. They were on the fourth floor of a moderate-sized building in D.C., but Bucky had never been afraid of heights. He pulled out a joint, thinking of how Steve would chastise him if he knew he forgot to bring his Marijuana Card. Bucky often wondered why it was that Steve was so obsessed with rules, but again, Bucky was happy to be a passenger in Steve’s life. He didn’t need to make a home inside Steve. Truth be told, Bucky was used to living in someone else’s house without even unpacking his suitcases. It wasn’t that he was the type of person to leave if a relationship got tough; he was just used to never really getting comfortable.

He and Steve hadn’t really talked about things long term, and the one-year mark kind of snuck up on both of them. Bucky didn’t regret one moment of it, though.

He finished his joint, and with a much clearer head and a calmer mind, decided to sneak back into the party, maybe take the plate back from Steve and finish the macaroons to satisfy his munchies.

Except, when he worked his way through the crowd to the spot where Steve was, there were no signs of the macaroons.

Natasha snuck up behind Bucky and tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. I thought you left.”

Bucky shook his head. “Nah, just popped out for a smoke. I came back in for a snack, but I guess Steve threw the macaroons out.”

Natasha pulled him in close, with a wicked grin, like she was about to share a deep secret. “He ate them.”

Bucky didn’t quite know what to make of her claim. There had been maybe a dozen macaroons on the plate. It wasn’t impossible to think that Steve had eaten all of the macaroons, but very unlikely, because it was, well… Steve. “Are you sure?”

Natasha nodded. “Yeah. I guess he might finally start working on that happy relationship weight. Catch up to you a little bit,” she added with a gentle pat to Bucky’s small paunch.

“I…” he began.

“Oh, don’t think I haven’t noticed. You don’t need to be embarrassed. Putting on a couple is natural.” Bucky blushed. To be honest, he hadn’t noticed himself. So he supposed it wasn’t really that much. Before he could respond (or at least try to verbally process) all the information Nat had given him, she gave him a quick hug. “I’m headed home. Have a fun night!”

Bucky turned back to where Steve had been standing a moment before, but discovered that he had moved to the other side of the room, right next to the food table, and was happily munching on a scone while chatting with Scott.

A scone.

Don’t make a big deal out of it, don’t make a big deal out of it… Bucky repeated to himself as he joined Steve’s side again. But it kind of was a big deal, to watch Steve just eat for the pleasure of the taste of food, rather than the function of nutrition.

“Hey,” he said quietly, not wanting to disrupt the raw beauty of Steve enjoying himself for once.

Steve almost looked embarrassed for a second, and Bucky never, ever wanted to see him look embarrassed for enjoying himself. He handed the blond a beer from the keg near his knees. Steve read the label. “’Of Foam and Fury’.” He laughed and took a sip. Bucky had seen him drink beer twice before. Maybe. “Not bad. Guess my family back home know what they’re doing.”

Bucky chuckled. “I’ll stick to Guinness, thanks.”

The night was quickly becoming interesting enough for Bucky to want to stay a little bit longer. Steve had two more beers, getting pleasantly buzzed just enough to let go of the last shred of self-control he had, and nibbled on various macaroons and other calorie-laden treats for the rest of the night.

It put Bucky in the strange position of actually not drinking at a party, to make sure that he was sober enough to drive home. By the time Steve was ready to leave, an adventure-filled two and a half hours later, Bucky’s high had worn off enough for him to safely drive AND for him to be anxious enough about a variety of things, the main one being that he kept going to the bathroom every ten minutes to try and see the weight Nat had been talking about. Was his butt bigger? His butt was definitely bigger. No, it was just the light colour of the pants. He swore never to wear beige pants again. Just black from now on, especially if he was gaining weight. Were his love handles bigger than before? They certainly seemed chunkier. Maybe it was just the lighting.

Steve giggled at something funny that Sam had said the whole way down from their floor and into the car. Bucky carefully helped him in, half wondering if he’d hit his head trying to crawl out the window of the bathroom and this was all a dream. Bucky got into the driver’s side and turned the ignition. Steve’s hysterical laughter had given way to silence, as he cradled his torso and grimaced.

“You alright?” Bucky asked, legitimately concerned. Steve had probably never had this much sugar in his entire life. Or beer. His system probably wasn’t used to it all.

“Fine. M’stomach hurts,” Steve complained. “Ate too much.”

For some reason, a hot flash of arousal zipped right down to the lowest part of Bucky’s belly, and his cock immediately showed its interest in the matter.

Now why the fuck would that turn me on? Bucky wondered.

The night had already been one series of inexplicable surprises after another, and Bucky decided not to question it in favour of getting Steve safely home to their apartment, helping him get changed, and going to sleep. Although, it was quite a challenge, considering Steve’s poor stomach gurgled nearly constantly.