Chapter Text
Steve expects Bucky to swim with a shirt on, like most of the other campers, like Steve does himself sometimes, to keep the attention off his chiseled torso. But Bucky isn’t shy the way Steve is, and he bares his top half with an abandon Steve envies from his perch at the edge of the pool. He’s lifeguarding, technically, but he hates sitting above everyone else, so far removed from what’s happening. Plus, he reasons, it’s easier to circumvent an emergency if he’s already got his legs in the pool.
He watches Bucky survey the deep end of the pool, preparing for a dive, and finds himself cataloging the way Bucky’s stomach rounds out over the waistband of his swim trunks. His skin is tan against the bright red and white of the fabric, the roll of his belly crowning his hips, and Steve tries not to stare.
Bucky dives, sure and clean and flawless. Steve watches him navigate through the water around other campers, cutting through the water with strong, deft strokes. He surfaces near Steve’s feet, and Steve jumps a little with the splash, and Bucky grins.
"Hey, you," he says, flicking water at Steve. "What are you doing all on your lonesome over here?"
"Guarding your life," says Steve, reaching down to cup a handful of water and tossing it back at him. "Though it doesn’t look like you need it."
Bucky hauls himself out of the water and onto the cement beside Steve. His thighs - which Steve has spent altogether too much time observing, trying to discern their exact shape and size beneath Bucky’s jeans and shorts - spread against the concrete in his spangled swim trunks. Wider than Steve’s, certainly, but then Bucky’s got bigger hips, too. Even without the extra chub, Steve guesses, Bucky’s build would be stockier than his own.
"What do you mean?" Bucky asks, and Steve halts his examination.
"You looked pretty comfortable in there," he replies. He glances at Bucky’s arms and shoulders - they look strong, solid, muscular. "Are you a swimmer?"
"Used to be," says Bucky, stretching his arms over his head. "In high school. Silver medal in the championship senior year."
"Damn," says Steve. "Why didn’t you continue?"
"Don’t think Shield U’s got a swim team," he says, with an easy grin. "Plus, this thing makes it a little hard." He grabs a handful of his stomach and jostles it. The air leaves Steve’s lungs, and he swallows hard.
"I totally overdid it this year," Bucky continues, as Steve tries to tear his eyes away from Bucky’s settling belly. "It’s so easy to just lose track, you know? Like you think, Okay, I ate too much this weekend but if I go to the gym tomorrow it’ll be fine, but you never really get around to going to the gym, and then suddenly …” He pinches the swell of pudge above his right hip. “Voilá, you’ve gained thirty-four pounds and none of your pants fit and your parents ship you off to fat camp, and you’re just like, All I did was eat a bunch of cheeseburgers.”
Steve is suddenly overtaken by an image of Bucky stuffing himself with cheeseburgers in his dorm room, his belly bloated and full. He swallows again and dips his fingers into the cool water to center himself. He should not be thinking about Bucky eating until he’s too full to move, and he definitely shouldn’t be aroused by it.
Bucky bends to trail his fingers through the water, too, his stomach doubling over as he leans forward. He flips the water at Steve, who flinches, jerked back to reality.
"You don’t seem to mind it," he says, gesturing. "I mean - it sounds like you’re not too fazed by it."
"By what?" asks Bucky, sitting up. "This?" He slaps the side of his stomach and Steve closes his eyes to avoid watching it ripple. "Nah. I mean, the pants-not-fitting is kinda inconvenient, but other than that, I mean, it’s just how it goes. I eat whatever I want, and I’m not getting laid any less, so …" He laughs, and Steve does, too, after a moment, ignoring the nagging itch in his own gut. "I don’t think I’m too out of shape, you know, I get winded a little more easily but I can still run and hike and shit." He leans back to rest his weight on his hands. "It’s not a bad deal, all things considered. It beats the hell out of dieting."
"Yeah, I bet," says Steve. Almost self-consciously, he runs a hand over the tight ridges of his own torso. Bucky snorts out a little laugh.
"Probably never been a problem for you, huh?"
Steve shrugs, feeling himself blush. He knows he’s luckier than most - good metabolism, good genes, good natural athleticism, good distribution of weight on his tall frame. It doesn’t feel fair, exactly, to look like this so effortlessly.
"Not exactly," he says softly, and Bucky smiles. His blue eyes crinkle up, and his cheeks - full, a little stubbly, and pink from the sun - push up into twin apples, and the hint of pudge under his chin makes itself a bit more noticeable.
"Next semester," he says, "we gotta hang out more. I’d be more than happy to work on my beer belly with you."
Steve almost chokes. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he manages after a moment. “Nothing sticks on me. I’ve tried.”
Bucky shrugs, grin still in place. “At the rate I’m going,” he says, “I’ll probably absorb your share of the calories just by looking at them, so you’ll be golden.”
"Well, in that case," says Steve, cracking a smile of his own, "yeah, I’ll take you up on that offer."