Chapter Text
Feederism. He'd bounced from google to wikipedia to urban dictionary and had left a trail of extremely questionable browser history, but he'd found a term that might just describe what this was. He'd always had a bit of an oral fixation and certain articles had mentioned a link, but the important thing was that there were people out there who had the same thoughts he'd been having, and people who embraced them enough to change their lifestyles. Steve wasn't ready for that, but he'd been comforted by what he'd found.
He'd also had all doubts erased that this was something that might pass, or something exclusively tied to his feelings for Bucky after spending an hour on youtube, a whole drop-down list worth of variations of stuffed and feeder clogging his search bars and a few extra balled up tissues in the trash.
For the first couple he'd tried not to, but every video he'd watched had had him thinking of Bucky and what his lips would look like smeared with cake, what his stomach would look like stretched with watermelon or soda or more hamburgers than any person needed for a single meal. What'd pushed him over the edge had been thoughts of Bucky's laboured breathing between large mouthfuls of pancakes and he hadn't been able to catch his own breath for a few minutes afterwards. Finally allowing himself to indulge in these thoughts had been half of the pleasure, and the guilt he'd expected to start weighing him down was there, but it was being buried beneath a budding excitement over having figured this out. The endorphins were helping as well.
It wasn't normal, and he wasn't about to start screaming from the rooftops but knowing he wasn't alone was sometimes half the battle.
Unfortunately, he was quickly discovering that the other half was keeping his mind off of these new-found fantasies enough to keep focused on the rest of his day.
Doing research hadn't gotten it out of his system, it'd sparked something new in him and curiosity could be all-consuming. He'd kept his mind on the road when he'd gone to pick Bucky up on his bike, but he'd lost himself thinking about Bucky slumped back on the couch with his belly on his thighs when he'd gotten stuck at red lights.
The warm press of his friend's body against his back on the way home had been reason for certain thoughts since Bucky had started to feel a little more like his old self, but today he'd found himself searching for the feel of his belly—to no avail. The slight curve of it wasn't pronounced enough. Not yet.
--
“Just hear me out. I really think she's into you.”
“I told you, Buck, I'm not interested.”
“...It's the lip ring, isn't it?”
Steve scoffed and shook his head dismissively before taking another sip of his coffee. The caffeine didn't do anything for him but the taste was a comfort. It'd been a few days since he'd spent some time on the internet and he was doing pretty good with himself but how could he tell Bucky that what he was interested in was the small smudge of jam left on the corner of his mouth? He'd already packed away a dozen breakfast sausages and a sizable helping of scrambled eggs this morning, and now he was working on a stack of toast piled with butter and blackberry jam, sipping on orange juice between bites. It was all enough to have Steve feeling a little warm, but Bucky's choice of conversation was certainly helping him to keep his eyes on the paper.
“What would it hurt to give it a chance?”
“It's not the lip ring.”
“Then what is it?”
“I'm just...not looking.” Steve was scanning an article about the success of a local baseball league for kids, getting pretty fed up with this conversation and Bucky wasn't taking the hint. Seventy years and things hadn't changed with Bucky trying to set him up with any girl that might see him, but the problem was that he almost felt more invisible than he had when he'd been small. Now they only saw the body, the symbol and what he was supposed to stand for, not him, and his attention was elsewhere anyway.
“That's the problem. What don't you like about her?” Bucky took another large bite of toast and Steve glanced up, not sure whether he was getting turned on or pissed off but he just ended up rolling his eyes.
“It's not her—it's not the lip ring,”
“...But if you had a choice. Lip ring or no, what would you go for?” Still snacking on toast, Steve stopped and watched for a moment under the guise of thinking with a flat look on his face, and then he made the mistake of letting it crumple just a bit.
“...I guess I would rather someone without,”
“So it is--”
“--Bucky.” Steve pushed his chair back in exasperation, took his own empty plate from the table and then brought it to the sink to start washing it off. He couldn't just sit still and deal with this. “It's me. My priorities aren't there right now, that's all. I'll find someone when I'm ready.” Scrubbing the plate with some extra gusto, he flipped it into the drying rack and then turned back around to face Bucky just as his friend started to open his mouth again.
“There's nothing wrong with wanting someone else to sleep beside every once in awhile, Steve.”
It was the 'knowing' look in his eyes—the one that said I know you need to get laid--and that damn smudge of jam that had him reacting before he could come up with something to say in return, grabbing a slice of toast from Bucky's plate and stuffing it right into his mouth just to get him to stop talking.
For a moment Bucky looked confused, jam smeared up onto his lips and Steve froze, realizing what he'd just done. He'd been thinking about feeding Bucky for days, but not like this. Then he started to chew and Steve realized he was still holding onto the toast and his stomach did a flip, though when he spoke he sounded downright grumpy.
“...Just shut up and eat your toast.”
He lingered there, eyes locked with Bucky's as his friend worked to slowly draw the whole piece of toast into his mouth, and through the annoyance he was still feeling Steve looked a little like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. There was a tension in the air, time felt like it'd slowed down, and it was only when Bucky reached up with his metal arm to hold the toast himself that Steve let his hand fall away.
“Sorry.” Steve murmured, taking a deep breath.
“...It's all right.” Steve had been torn between sitting himself back down and just getting out of the apartment for awhile, but then Bucky was looking at him with that same look and speaking through a half-mouthful of toast, and Steve was heading for the door.
“I'm going to get eggs.” Since Bucky had eaten them all, again, and then he was gone.
And that was how it'd started.
--
Two days later and—to Bucky's surprise, Steve had been up early making eggs for breakfast. He'd been offered a few bites to taste test and Steve had fed him straight from the pan off of the spatula. It'd been unexpected but a welcome gesture and Bucky certainly hadn't complained when Steve had been up early again the next day making pancakes.
Day after day he kept waking up to Steve cooking, fed bites straight from the stove-top at various points of readiness and then he'd sit down with his friend and enjoy. A habit that'd been his own started to become something they did together and he couldn't help but feel happy. He started to expect it, to look forward to it, and not just the food in general but to Steve cooking for him. He looked forward to the moments where Steve would offer him those bites, feeling warm from something other than the food until one morning he'd asked for a sample himself, and the way Steve seemed to light up did nothing to discourage him.
“I'm getting a gut.” Bucky murmured as he swallowed the lick of waffle batter Steve had given him—a lick he'd asked for--his human hand grabbing at his stomach through his tshirt and his eyes fixated on the blond's face.
There was something about the way Steve had been stealing glances at him during their breakfasts together, the way he caught his eyes lingering--and not on his face or on his ass which would have made all of this easier to parse instead of the fleeting glances that seemed to be focused on his midsection. He wasn't sure whether Steve was judging him, trying to figure out how he'd managed to gain anything at all, or whether he was just fascinated as neither of them had looked to be anywhere near overweight in the photos he'd seen of them.
“Yeah?” Steve's voice almost sounded strained and he'd paused for a beat before speaking—something difficult to miss when Bucky's focus had been on him as soon as he'd made the comment, waiting for a reaction.
“You didn't notice?” He had. Bucky knew he had. What else could be possibly be looking at? Steve may have thought that he'd been sneaky about whatever he was up to, but he seemed to have forgotten who he was dealing with.
“Is that your way of saying you don't want one of these?” Deflecting. That Steve could do with a semblance of competence. Not that it wasn't still obvious, but Bucky just looked thoughtful for a moment, debating whether or not to just drop it for now before letting some humour fill his eyes.
“Not what I'm saying.” And he gestured for Steve to give him another lick by sticking his tongue out and waiting. The waffles were going to be good and he hadn't eaten yet, of course he wanted them. What he hadn't realized was how much he'd also wanted Steve to give them to him.
They'd talked idly as Steve had put the batter in the waffle maker, waiting the few minutes it took to cook but instead of just serving everything up and getting into it, Steve set the two waffles aside onto a plate to cool while he refilled the maker. This wasn't something they could do in bulk, and after the next two were done and he was refilling the maker again, Steve seemed to feel his impatience in the air. The first two were still hot, but not hot enough to burn as Steve grabbed one and held it up.
“Before I make the rest.” Another taste test. If the badder needed anything extra, Bucky would surely be able to tell if he sampled one of the finished products. That was all the prompting he'd needed before opening and taking a healthy bite.
“...It's really good, Steve.” He hadn't even needed to taste it to know that, but he'd gone for it anyway, cheeky enough to reach out and take another bite before he'd even fully swallowed the first when Steve failed to lower it away from him.
“You sure?” Always double checking, Bucky had to think Steve was just teasing him about the normally enthusiastic responses he gave him, but what if it was more than that? What if Steve was starting to like feeding him as much as he was starting to like being fed and Steve was fishing for him to take another bite? It was a theory he was rolling around in his head, and as he went in for a third bite, he decided he was going to test it.
“I'm sure.” Steve still hadn't lowered the remaining half a waffle from its trajectory to Bucky's mouth, finding himself almost incapable of it as Bucky went in for another bite. He'd become conscious of his own breathing, trying not to flush as his friend chewed slowly, eyes locked with his own and Steve didn't look away.
“Good...” He'd lowered his voice, suddenly aware of the air thickening between them as Bucky went in for another bite without breaking that eye contact and Steve felt his mouth go dry, not saying another thing. He watched his friend chew, watched his lips purse and his throat bob as he swallowed and when Bucky came in for the last bite, he put it in his mouth instead of just letting him come for it.
The silence stretched on even after the waffle was gone, the both of them carefully watching each others eyes but it was Bucky who finally broke the silence, voice quiet and low, mindful of how close they felt to each other.
“They need syrup.”
“...Yeah. Right here.” There was no asking what this was, why Bucky was going with it, why any of it was happening. Steve just grabbed the bottle from the counter and poured syrup out onto the remaining waffle like he was in a daze, picking up the plate and bringing the whole thing between them this time before picking up the waffle separately and offering it up.
Bucky immediately dug in, taking a big bite and Steve watched his lips with heavy eyes, a trickle of heat as heavy as the syrup dripping off of the waffle going straight to his groin. He couldn't help but imagine Bucky slumped on the couch instead as he fed him, syrup dripping down his lips and his chin as he got through waffle after waffle, belly on his thighs as he ate until he couldn't. By the time the second waffle was down to one bite, Steve was mopping it through the syrup left on the plate before offering it to him, and then he picked up the third without hesitation.
This would all be better if Bucky were in on it with him, but he was going to take what he could get, feeding Bucky bite after bite until his friends' lips were sticky with syrup and his saliva was thick with sugar. Steve was hard in his pants but he couldn't bring himself to care when Bucky was groaning softly through another bite, down three waffles in just a few minutes. He was such a glutton like this, eating more than his share like he was still starving for it even when he was full and Steve was more than getting into it, holding the fourth waffle up to Bucky's lips.
“Steve...”
“There's only one left, Buck.” He'd seen him eat more than this, and lost in the groove they'd fallen into he didn't think twice about encouraging him.
“What about the ones in the maker...” The maker that was currently making sizzling noises and leaking thin trails of smoke, a burnt smell overtaking the room that neither of them had seemed to notice until now. It took Steve another moment to even remember what Bucky was talking about before he turned, plate shoved onto the counter as he cursed and pulled the waffle maker open.
“--Shit,” They were toast, completely black, and then the smoke detector was going off and Steve dubbed the moment dead and buried. His immediate reaction was to turn back to Bucky, concerned that a noise like that might trigger something in him and he was just in time to witness him reaching up and crushing the detector with his metal arm, the high-pitched beeping immediately dying out. Steve couldn't say he was relieved, but he'd unplugged the waffle maker and he did his best to quickly dig the blackened waffles out into the sink.
Then he deflated, huffing a sigh and mourning the moment lost as he leaned back against the counter, erection dead and burried.
“Everything okay?” He wasn't going to ask if he'd had to crush it or not. That'd seemed like an automatic reaction and they could get a new one. Bucky had seemed to have deflated as much as he just had, shoulders relaxed and eyes looking a little tired as he walked back over and discarded what was left of that smoke detector onto the kitchen table.
“Yeah. I'm fine. It's just a fire alarm.” There was something in his eyes that Steve couldn't pinpoint, something upset but nothing like how he looked when something had sparked trauma in him.
Steve couldn't help but crack a deprecating smile as silence lingered, glancing down and then back up at Bucky who—now that he thought about it—looked sort of like a cat that'd just been scared shitless, his hair a little mused and his expression confused. It was funny in an awful sort of way, all of it.
“I'm proud of you.”
That got Bucky's attention, perking up for a moment before scoffing and shaking his head.
“Jerk.”
Steve smiled a little wider. They could save waffles for tomorrow.