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“Fuck, Steve.” Tony stares down at the number on the scale incredulously, his arms hefting his belly out of the way just to see the digital display. “When you said you wanted to fatten me up, I never expect things to go this quickly.”
Steve comes up behind Tony, wrapping his arms around Tony’s sides. There’s too much belly now for Steve to wrap his hands all the way around, but he has no problem letting his fingers press into the plump love handles spilling over boxer that should’ve been abandoned forty pounds ago.
“You wouldn’t have gained so fast if you were so greedy,” Steve teases. “I’m just doing my job of keeping you well fed. Can’t let my husband waste away now can I?”
Tony scoffs.
“300 is cause for a celebration, don’t you think?” Steve mets Tony’s eyes in the bathroom mirror before dipping his head to kiss along the rolls Tony’s neck. “Been a while since you’ve done a sloppy stuffing. Gotten all drunk for me. Eating even when you’re packed to the brim cause you’re too sloshed to know just how stuffed you are.”
Tony shudders at the thought. Last time he got drunk like that he hadn’t been able to move the next day, his gut too tight for him to do anything other than moan between desperate burps and farts that did little to relieve the pressure in his belly. It was glorious. Especially when Steve decided that too full to move didn’t mean too full to fuck, and rode Tony until he came with a shout and Steve followed right behind, coating Tony’s belly in his come.
“You know I can’t say no,” Tony says. “You got me hooked. Can hardly go an hour anymore without cramming something into my fat face.”
Steve spins Tony around, his belly wobbling with the movement. He kisses each of his chubby cheeks. “Soon you won’t be able to go even five minutes without being full.”
“You’re gonna have to bring me my meals in bed cause I’ll be too fat to get up.”
Steve smiles at the thought. “I’ve got a few bottles of champagne in the fridge. I had a feeling this weigh-in would be 300. Chilled a bottle for each hundred pounds, and not the small ones either.”
Tony shudders. “Three bottles, huh? I’m gonna be so fucking wasted.”
“Which means you’ll be nice and hungry even with your belly packed full of booze and bubbles.”
“So what are we waiting for, Rogers? The next hundred pounds aren’t going to gain themselves.”
Tony watches as Steve eyes ignite with desire, his dick perking up and tapping against the low hang of Tony’s gut. Steve is rarely clothed when he’s home. He hates wasting time with clothes when it’s time to fuck. Tony however loves being squeezed into too small boxers that make his fat gut spill over the sides.
“Wait,” Tony says, grabbing Steve wrist as he’s about to leave to grab the first bottle. “I want to make this a real challenge,” he says. “Something extra kinky.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I want you sitting on my lap the whole time, my dick up your ass. It’ll limit how far my belly can push out and when all that liquid starts to hit, I’ll have all two-hundred-whatever pounds of super soldier muscle resting right on my sensitive bladder.”
“Jesus, Tony,” Steve breathes. It’s rare they combine two kinks, let alone three. “That’s intense and… hot.”
Tony smiles. “And no going easy on me. I know you get all soft for my puppy eyes, but don’t quit unless I safeword. I want you to push my limits.”
Steve leans in and steals a quick kiss. “Deal.” He says before darting off, overeager to get started.
When he comes back, there’s no glass, just three bottles in a bucket of ice, a cold pizza he knows Tony will want when he’s drunk and slurring, and a heating pad just in case he gets crampy. He’s pleased to see that Tony has already wiggled out of his boxers, his dick standing at attention. He’s reclined on the couch now, leaned far enough back so his belly doesn’t take up his whole lap, giving Steve room to sit.
Steve mounts him slowly, letting his asshole stretch around Tony’s cock. He bites his lip and moans as he sinks further down. He hands Tony the first bottle when he bottoms out.
“Chug it,” Steve orders, and Tony wastes no time raising the bottle to his lips and gulping greedily. He still feels heavy from the cheesy pasta Steve fed him for dinner only an hour ago, but he drinks like he’s got a ton of room, even as his belly starts to swell against Steve's abs.
Tony only makes it through a quarter of the bottle though when a burp erupts out of him before he can even fully pull the bottle away from his lips. “Champagne, carbs, and dairy. I’m gonna be gassy for days,” Tony comments, aroused. “You’re gonna have to air out the house.”
“All those calories sitting in you like a rock cause you haven’t seen a vegetable in weeks. You’ll be all backed up pushing out rank little farts to try to find relief.”
“And you’re just gonna keep feeding me. Packing more in and forcing my gut to make room and holy shit it’s gonna be so fucking hot.” Tony brings the bottle back to his mouth. He manages to chug more this time, keeping the gas pushed down with another torrent of liquid. When he pulls back his face is contorted slightly. “Fuck,” he digs the heel of his hand into his belly. “It’s stuck.”
“Finish the bottle, then I’ll help,” Steve says smugly.
“Evil,” Tony says, even as he starts drinking again.
“You said you wanted me to push you,” Steve says simply. Tony just hums around his gulps. When the bottle is done, the gas only seems to be further trapped now that there’s more liquid in him.
“A promise is a promise,” Tony prompts, gesturing to his belly.
“I didn’t promise anything,” Steve says, just to tease, but his hands find Tony’s gut anyway, kneading his tight upper belly until he feels the gas moving.
Tony thumps his chest and a deep, long burp bubbles out of him, leaving him breathless. “Holy fuck, I think that’s a record.” A few smaller, but still just as loud burps follow, offering him more relief. His hands join Steve’s kneading his belly, gently coaxing more burps out.
Steve is not moving on him yet. A fact that, as he feels the booze start to hit him more and more, Tony finds increasingly annoying.
“Just gonna sit there looking pretty or are you gonna fuck yourself with my dick?”
“Well seeing how riled up you’re getting with me just sitting here, I think I’ll just keep looking pretty.”
Steve pops open the second bottle and hands it to Tony. He starts drinking, slower this time without the order to chug. His belly is already feeling pretty full from the first bottle, the bubbles still expanding in his gut as he adds more.
Tony props himself up slightly, trying to dislodge another burp. Further upright now, the booze hits him like a truck and he sways slightly as he works the burp up and out before collapsing back against the cushions. “Woah,” He closes his eyes for a second. “Hit me all at once.”
He opens his eyes slowly and Steve’s face is inches from his. He kisses Tony softly on the lips.
“Need a break?”
“No,” Tony tells him, “Just adjusting. I’m okay.” And to prove it he starts drinking again.
Steve rubs his belly in slow circles as he does occasionally dipping his hand lower to see how Tony’s bladder is fairing. He’s almost done the second bottle before he comments on it.
“This last bottle is gonna be a bitch,” he says. “I’m already at a six and I’m not even done bottle number two.”
“Then you better drink faster, doll. Cause you’re not going until you got all three bottles in you.”
Tony mumbles something that sounds like “you son of a bitch,” but gulps down the rest of the bottle anyway. He grimaces when he’s finished, his hand resting on his tight belly.
“Shouldn’t’ve let you feed me such a big dinner.” He rubs at his gut. “I feel so fuckin’ packed right now.” He punctuates his sentences with a long slow, airy burp.
Steve starts rolling his hips forward ever so slightly and only once. “You’re too much of a fatass to turn down a meal and you know it. Besides,” he pushes on Tony’s belly, releasing a series of burps. “You needed something in that belly of yours to soak up all the booze.”
He’s got Tony there, but even with all the carbs his filled with, his head is still spinning, his vision still doubling, and his sex drive through the roof.
“It’s not fair,” Tony pouts. “Sittin’ on my dick and not doing anything.”
“Your idea,” Steve reminds him.
“Yeah, but I thought you’d like—“ a hiccup cuts him off, a sign of a properly drunk Tony. “Ah, fuck. I thought you’d move of s’mething.” Another hiccup and Tony whines as each jump of his diaphragm makes his stomach contents slosh.
“You’ll get your reward after you finish your challenge. You going to keep going?”
Still with a pout on his face, Tony reaches for the bottle as Steve hands it to him. He moves to tip the bottle to his lips, but misses, his movements entirely uncoordinated. Champagne splashes onto his shoulder and Tony looks at the liquid dribbling down his arm, deeply offended. Steve takes the bottle back from him and licks along Tony’s arm, mopping up the champagne with his tongue.
“Does my drunk, sloppy, piggy need some help?” Steve coos.
Tony belches out a pathetic little “yes.”
“Just swallow, okay? That’s all you have to do. Just be a good little piggy for me.”
Steve eagerly starts pouring the champagne down Tony’s throat, but Tony barely makes it five gulps before he’s swatting at Steve’s arm to get him to stop. He’s hiccuping regularly now, only interrupted by a determined belch as his belly tries to make room.
“Too…” Tony seems to loose his train of thought for a second, but when Steve starts rubbing firm circles on his gut, he remembers again. “Too full,” he says. “And I gotta go.”
He’s slurring bad, his eyes not focus on much of anything.
Steve presses into Tony’s belly, still feeling some give. “You’ve got room.” He rolls his hips down hard against Tony’s bladder. Tony squirms and whines. “And I told you that you don’t get to go until you finish all three bottles.”
“And… you say I’m the… the kinky one,” Tony says, ever flirty, even when he’s in no position to be. He reaches down and his hand smacks against Steve’s hip before clumsily working its way down to Steve’s swollen cock. “Let me, jerk you off,” he slurs. “It’ll… distract me. Help me—“ his belly gurgles angrily and a huge burp escapes. “Needed that. What was I—? Oh,” he giggles. “I was gonna jerk you off.”
“If it helps you fit the rest of this bottle, then I’m not complaining.”
Tony starts lazily tugging at Steve’s cock causing him to grunt and moan as he pours more champagne down Tony’s throat. As Tony tugs, Steve can’t help but thrust into his hand for more friction, pressing rather painfully against Tony’s rapidly filling bladder. He pushes the bottle away again.
“Gonna piss myself,” he warns. “Too drunk to hold.”
Steve frowns taking in the state of the man beneath him. He’s flushed, eyes almost entirely shut. He’s coherent, but slurring so bad that if Steve wasn’t used to the sound of his voice, he might not understand him at all. He places the bottle on the coffee table and cups Tony’s face.
“Sweetheart,” he says, trying catch Tony’s eyes. “What’s our safe word?”
“Bumblebee,” Tony mumbles.
“You can use it, baby. If this is too much, you can use it at any time.”
“Don’t wanna,” Tony says. “Just like complaining.”
“Are you sure?” Steve confirms.
“Not a quitter,” Tony says. He tugs Steve’s dick hard then like he wants control. Steve grunts, nearly coming from the sudden, intense stimulation. “Keep going.”
So Steve does. He keeps pouring champagne down Tony’s throat, giving him breaks more frequently now so he can catch his breath. Steve rubs his belly with his free hand helping him burp and, now that the dairy is working it’s way through his system, release low, disgusting farts. Steve checks in with him more often now that Tony is right on the edge of too much, but every time Tony says that he wants to finish. They’re breaking up the sips of champagne with bites of cold pizza because, as Steve predicted, despite how full Tony is, he always wants cold pizza when he’s drunk. By the the time the third bottle is finished, Tony has abandoned jerking Steve off because the only thing his shitfaced brain is capable of doing is lying there moaning, passing gas, and trying to keep it all down.
“Can I…” Tony begins, his hand hovering over his bladder, but not touching because he’s far too sensitive for that.
“Not yet, piggy. I want to see how long you can last.”
And Steve doesn’t make it easy. He starts rolling his hips more steadily now, pressing down on Tony’s bladder as he uses his husband’s swollen gut to get friction on his aching cock. When Steve is ready to come, he grabs Tony by the balls and squeezes, making Tony’s eyes roll back as he comes in Steve’s ass at the same time Steve comes all over the bottom of his belly.
Tony is panting now, tears pricking his eyes as he fights to keep holding. Steve gets off of Tony’s lap to clean him up, but doesn’t relent quite yet, as he wipes Tony clean he presses hard on his sensitive bladder murmuring, “I want to make sure I don’t miss a spot.” Then, when Steve can see Tony literally shaking with desperation, he decides it’s time to let him go. “Go ahead, love. Get up and go to the bathroom.”
Tony tries, god help him he does. But as he tries to push himself up, his gut pins him in place and the most he does is dislodge more gas out of both ends.
“Help,” he mumbles, weakly. “Can’t get up on my own.”
“Awe, you’re so needy, Tony. You need me to feed you, burp you, help you to the bathroom. You’re such a pathetic fat cow. And the embarrassing part? You love it.”
Tony nods in agreement but it makes his head spins and he groans. “Please,” he begs.
Steve comes beside him and hoists him up. Tony nearly topples completely over, but Steve holds him steady, giving him a moment to breathe and let his belly settle before moving him. With Steve’s help, Tony stumbles to the bathroom, whimpering the whole time. When they get to the toilet, Steve knows Tony is too drunk to stand so he sits him down and, after watching Tony’s hands miss, gently guides his dick down so it’s pointing into the bowl.
“Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” And with a ruthless press on his bladder, Tony can’t hold it anymore, pissing into the bowl with desperate force. He moans at the release, swearing in that moment it feels better than sex. He pisses for nearly a full minute, his body untensing more and more with each passing second. When he finishes he leans forward, pressing his forehead to Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s hand comes up to cup his neck.
“Good boy,” Steve mumbles into Tony’s hair. “When you’re ready, I’ll get you back to the couch, okay? Get some water in you.”
Tony hums, still completely hazy. They sit like this for several minutes before Tony mumbles that he’s okay to move. Steve gets them both up, hands washed, and back to the couch without incident. “Small sips,” Steve says as he holds glass of water up to Tony’s lips. “Just a little to start sobering you up.”
Tony drinks the water simply because Steve told him to, but when the glass is gone, he decides the night isn’t over quite yet. “Roll me a joint.”
“What?” Steve asks, sure he misheard him.
“I said…” Tony says, eyes trying and failing to look Steve in the eyes seriously. “I want a joint.”
“Doll, you’re bombed,” Steve protests. “You don’t need anymore.”
“Limits,” he mutters, “Not at ‘em yet.”
“Tony…” Steve looks worried, like he knows this is a bad idea. But he also knows that Tony is persistent.
“Safe word is bumblebee, okay? Now roll me a fucking joint, Rogers.”
Steve cannot believe Tony still remembers their safe word with three bottles of champagne destroying his liver, but he gets up anyway and returns with a small box of flower and rolling paper.
As Steve starts to roll the joint, Tony suddenly starts laughing. Not just chucklingly, but downright cackling.
“Captain ‘Merica is…” Tony is gasping for breath as laughs hysterically. “Is rolling a joint. Not such a Boy Scout after all.”
“Tony,” Steve says with fond exasperation. “I’ve been smoking longer than you’ve been alive. I was a kid with a lot of medical problems, remember? I needed something to take the edge off. Besides, we’ve smoked together.”
Tony nods, but doesn’t stop laughing until the joint is between his lips and he’s inhaling. He coughs hard and a hand flys to his gut. “Fuck.” He belches. “Coughing’ doesn’t feel great on an overfull belly,” he says. “Or bladder. I’m already filling’ up again.” He takes another hit. “Few more puffs though and the pain will melt away.”
He passes the joint to Steve who takes a few hits of his own, just enough to mellow him, but not enough to make him too stoned to take care of his crossed-out-of-his-mind husband.
“Don’t think…” Tony murmurs as he leans his head against Steve’s shoulder, taking several long drags. “I’ve ever been this fucked up.”
“No, you haven’t,” Steve agrees.
“It’s fuckin’ awesome,” Tony slurs. “‘Cause guess what?”
“What?”
“I’m hungry again.”
Steve pokes his belly feeling how tight and stretched to the max it is. “There’s no way you’re hungry again.”
“Snacks,” Tony demands.
And Steve rolls his eyes but pulls out the bin of snacks they keep stashed under the coffee table because Tony’s greedy belly always wants more food. Steve plucks out a bag of Cheetos and starts feeding them to Tony one by one.
“I’m gonna be 400 pounds in no time,” Tony says around an orange mouthful. “Gonna be the size of a fuckin’ whale for you.”
“A sexy whale,” Steve says, pressing a kiss to Tony’s temple. Steve goes to feed Tony more Cheetos but when Tony doesn’t take the bite out of his fingers Steve realizes that Tony is passed out, mouth hanging open, belly grumbling, and soft drunken hiccups making his body jump. He kisses Tony again, abandoning the Cheetos and using both hands to rub his husband’s pack belly, gas slipping out of him even in sleep.
“I got you, doll. No matter how fat you get, I’ll always take care of you.”