Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Are you ready?” Lance asked, pulling his car to a stop on the parking lot outside the CargoLunar shipping bay. He saw Hunk wipe his hands on his knees and gave him a smirk. “You’re not actually nervous, are you?”

Hunk glanced at him, wincing slightly. “Uh, kinda.”

“Hey, it’s gonna be good. Everyone will like you, trust me. And the job isn’t anything you can’t handle.” He gave Hunk a pat on his leg. “Let’s go.”

As they walked through the doors and into the shipping company’s quarters, Lance had to admit that actually, he was nervous. Not because he thought Hunk wouldn’t fit in there--the workers were nice people for the most part, and Hunk had always been well liked--but he felt weirdly anxious about sharing this side of his life with Hunk. Maybe he wouldn’t like it. Maybe he’d get bored. Maybe he’d quit in a week’s time and leave.

This is only temporary , he tried to remind himself, but the knot in his gut stayed tight and relentless.

“The locker room is this way,” he said, gesturing for Hunk to follow him. “You can get changed first and I’ll show you to the office so you can pick up your card and shit. They’ll take care of the rest.”

Hunk nodded, trailing behind him. “So you’re gonna be gone until your shift ends, then?”

“Yeah, flying out in half an hour,” he said. “The loaders are usually tight on their schedule. Fred who runs the show down there, he’s like military about it.” He flashed a grin at Hunk. “Kinda reminds me of old man Iverson, you’ll see what I mean.”

Hunk grimaced. “Are the mechanics like that too?”

“Nah, man, relax. They’re cool, much more chill than the loading bay crew.”

“How about the pilots?”

Lance shrugged. “A mixed bunch.” He stopped in front of the locker room door and peered in to see if anyone was there, before opening it fully. He gave a lopsided grin at Hunk. “Some bad, some good, but mostly they’re okay.” Hunk smiled back at him, but Lance knew him well enough to see the strain behind it; he still looked anxious. “Tragically, you’ll have to wait to meet them--there’s no one else in right now.” He cocked his head at the door. “C’mon, I need to get changed.”

It had been almost two weeks since Hunk’s surprise return. Just like Lance had predicted, the company did have a part time opening in the mech department, and though it was probably below Hunk’s usual pay grade, he had taken the job. The interview had been last week, and by Friday, they’d been celebrating Hunk’s new employment.

Today, it was Hunk’s first day. Everything was happening so fast.

Lance showed him to an empty locker and unlocked his own; Hunk had brought his own coveralls, which was probably wise as Lance knew from experience how limited the company’s size range was. As he bent over to pull off his jeans, he felt his gut squish against his legs, and absentmindedly grabbed it as he straightened up. It felt--softer. Bigger. His eyes darted to his flight suit; he was probably due an upgrade soon enough if this kept up.

It was scary how easily Hunk had fit into his life. After that first night, he’d been worried about things turning weird between them, but everything had worked out well so far. More than well. It was so nice to have Hunk back; they had foregone the heavy subjects and just relaxed back to their old banter, spending the nights talking and chilling. If Lance didn’t know any better, he’d say he was goddamn happy right now.

He folded his jeans and stuffed them in his locker, taking out his flight suit. He usually wore it with just an undershirt and some boxers; the fabric was thick enough to keep him warm during flights. He hooked his legs in one by one, then pulled the suit over his shoulders, trying to ignore the way his belly jiggled under his shirt with every movement he made.

It was all Hunk’s fault. Lance had known his friend was a great chef, but he hadn’t been prepared for what was coming at him when he’d asked for Hunk to be in charge of the cooking. He’d gotten to know Hunk’s skills during their years as roommates; Hunk’s mother owned a restaurant, and even with just the hot plate they’d had in their room, he’d blown all of Lance’s attempts away. The mini fridge in their room had always been stocked with easy ingredients, and Lance had come to learn that Hunk could whip up almost anything into a meal if he felt like cooking--that skill had certainly come in handy on those nights when they’d missed dinner while caught up playing games on Lance’s console.

But none of that had prepared Lance for the full force of Hunk’s cooking. That first night after Hunk’s return, Lance had come home to a house smelling like an Italian restaurant and found Hunk in the kitchen, finishing up a sauce that looked like it had taken hours to make; turned out Hunk had made it from stuff he’d found in Lance’s kitchen--he hadn’t even gone shopping. It was the most delicious pasta Lance had eaten in years.

And it had only gotten worse since then. Hunk was a master of stir fry, a king of creating hearty meals, and after three nights in a row with Hunk making dinner, Lance had been forced to suggest a takeout night because his stomach simply couldn’t handle how much he was eating. At least with takeout, he could regain some control over his portion sizes.

He pushed the hem of his undershirt down, then reached under his belly to pull the zipper up. He was used to sucking in to make suiting up easier, but today--that just wasn’t enough.  

Lance glanced down when the zipper got caught, but all he could see was his gut, spilling out between the two sides of his suit. A flush spread on his cheeks; Lance ignored it as he yanked the zipper out from where it had gotten stuck, then tried again, sucking in harder. This time, the zipper flew up past the widest point with the force of his pull, and he almost managed to hit himself in the face with his hand. “Motherf--”

“Everything okay?”

Lance threw a glance at Hunk; he was sitting on the bench, halfway through changing. “Yeah, yeah.” He wasn’t about to admit to Hunk that he was having trouble with his suit, but he could feel Hunk’s eyes on him as he shifted around, trying to make the suit fit better. It wasn’t just the waist region that felt tighter--it seemed like the suit had shrunk all around, clinging more closely to his upper body and legs as well; it probably looked ridiculous on him. Lance sighed. “The zipper’s just acting up,” he mumbled, not looking at Hunk as he pulled on his boots.

“Oh,” was all Hunk said, but when Lance looked at him, he saw Hunk’s eyes fixed on his form, like he couldn’t look away.

Fuck . Lance didn’t want to draw any more attention to his hopelessly expanding waistline than it was already getting, but there was no ignoring it when his suit felt this tight. As he straightened up, he turned to look at his reflection in the mirror above the sink--he was far away to see most of his body in it, and--yeah, he looked pretty big.

Lance felt a thrill run down his spine, his hand touching his gut in a fleeting gesture. It looked like all the food he’d been eating recently had gone to his belly, making it rounder and fuller than before; with so much more on the front, the seams around his waist were pulled tight, fitting between the rolls forming around his waist. Jesus, he was starting to look fat.

He grasped his gut, then shot Hunk a look. “Maybe you should’ve let me skip breakfast, after all,” he said, patting his belly to make his point.

“But--” Hunk’s eyes darted up, an apologizing smile spreading on his lips. “Breakfast is important.”

“Says you.” Lance huffed, letting his hand drop. “Doesn’t mean you should make me one every day.”

Hunk let out a chuckle. “I can make you something lighter for dinner, if you--”

“Uh, no need for that,” Lance cut him off quickly; he didn’t want Hunk to get the wrong impression. He forced a smile on his lips, but it felt strange in his burning face. “I’ll cut back when you move out.” 

The truth was, he loved Hunk cooking for him. He could hardly bear the idea that he’d have to give it up--the fact that one day in the near future he’d have to do so anyway was enough to make him want to eat everything Hunk put in front of him. Though how much of that was the food being seriously delicious, and how much it being specifically made for him, Lance wasn’t sure. “I wanna enjoy it while it lasts,” he said, trying not to sound as sentimental as he felt.

“Lance--” Hunk started, but his words were cut off by the door to the locker room suddenly flying open. They both turned to look as two men in flying suits walked inside, stopping at the sight of them.

The first one was Dietrich, whose face brightened up at seeing Lance. “Oh, good morning!” He gave him a grin and a wave. “Thought you’d be by the docks already, they’re eager to get going.”

Lance glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh, shit,” he said, grimacing. “Good call.”

“Better hurry up before Fred starts missing you.” He smirked and gave Lance a clap on the shoulder on his way to his locker. But instead of opening it, he turned his attention to Hunk. “You’re the new mechanic, right?”

It took Hunk a moment to realize Dietrich was talking to him. He looked almost dazed, his expression hard to read except for the blush on his cheeks, but he quickly straightened his face as he focused on Dietrich. “Who, me? Oh yeah, that’s--that is me,” he said, smiling in that awkward way that told Lance he was silently freaking out.

“You’re Lance’s friend, right?”

For a second, Hunk looked surprised. “Um, yeah. We go way back.”

Dietrich hummed, glancing away, and for a moment, Lance thought he would shut up and leave Hunk alone. No such luck.

“So then you must be the same friend who’s been keeping Lance from our dates, huh?”

Lance couldn’t see Dietrich’s face from where he stood, but he knew that tone--the man was a perpetual shit talker. He suddenly didn’t want him to be the first person to talk to Hunk. “Hey, fuck off,” he groaned, “no one’s keeping me off anything.”

“Aw, come on, you’ve been blowing us off for the last two weeks, what did you expect? That we don’t get jealous ?” Dietrich smirked at him, then turned back to Hunk. He pointed back to Lance with his thumb and said, “This dude used to be a regular at our poker nights until you came along. Can’t believe he’s missed two nights in a row now!”

Hunk’s eyes darted from Dietrich to Lance and back. “Uh. Sorry?”

There was a beat of silence, then Dietrich busted out laughing like this whole exchange was the funniest thing in the world. Lance rolled his eyes--what the fuck was his problem?

“Sorry, dude, I’m just messing with you. I mean--” Dietrich leaned back, appraising Hunk with his eyes. “--I don’t blame him. You’re a good looking guy. Right, Morris? Ain’t this dude just too good looking?”

The young black man who’d hung back to watch the scene now lifted both his arms in a shrug. “I’m not gay, but the dude’s a looker, all right,” Morris agreed, shaking his head in amusement.

“Right, see? I guess we just can’t compete when someone like you shows up.” Dietrich tutted, then grinned at the both of them.

Lance saw Hunk’s expression flicker, his face flushed under his dark skin. He looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him. “I said fuck off, Richie, ” Lance said, stepping to Dietrich’s side; he knew the man hated the nickname, which made it perfect use for when he pissed you off. “You’re not as funny as you think, Jesus.”

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” Dietrich quickly backed off, his shit eating grin turning into a more controlled smirk. “I was just talking, chill.”

Lance ignored him. “We should get going,” he said to Hunk, who nodded stiffly and stood up to finish getting dressed; he zipped up his coveralls in a flash, like he wanted to hide his body from their eyes.

But before they could leave, Dietrich stopped Hunk with his arm stuck out for a handshake. “Sorry, bro, seems like we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Dietrich--only assholes call me Richie.” He winked at Lance, and Lance returned the favor by flipping him off.

Hunk hesitated just a beat, then took his offered hand. “Hunk,” he said, his face composed but guarded. “Hunk Garrett.”

“ Hunk? ” Lance saw Dietrich’s shoulders stiffen; his voice was full of suppressed laughter when he continued, “That’s, uh, that’s quite a fitting name.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake...” Lance rolled his eyes, and heaved a sigh. “Come on, Hunk, just ignore him.”

“Hey, McClain! You should bring this hunk to the game on Friday, yeah? Or we could have beers some other night? Morris, back me up here--”

The rest of Dietrich’s words were cut off as Lance pulled the locker room door shut behind them. He let out an exhale, shaking his head. “Fucker,” he muttered, then nodded his head back towards the same corridor they had come in. “The office is this way, I’ll show you in but we need to hustle.”

Hunk followed him, taking a place by his side. “Who was that guy?” he asked after a moment.

“A fuckhead.” Lance sighed; he had hoped for a smoother start for Hunk’s first day. “Dietrich Smith. He’s one of the pilots, mostly works the night shift.”

“Is he one of the good bunch, then, or the bad? Seemed like you guys are friends.”

Lance grimaced. “‘Friends’ is a strong word.” He shrugged. “Work friends, maybe. You know, we play poker and drink beer, talk shit. That kind of friends.”

“So, when he said ‘dates’--”

“--He definitely didn’t mean we’re actually dating,” Lance finished for him, scowling at the idea.

“Do you think he has a crush on you?”

“What?” Lance stopped on his tracks, staring at Hunk incredulously. “How should I know?”

Hunk rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know, just seemed like, uh...” He trailed off into silence, looking uncomfortable.

“Well, doesn’t matter. I don’t like him, and I don’t date guys.”

Immediately after saying it, he flinched. Yeah, you’re just hopelessly in love with one , he thought with a pang, turning back to the corridor so Hunk couldn’t see his face.

“Yeah,” Hunk said quietly. “I guess I should know that.”

“Yeah,” Lance echoed. He started forward again; the company’s office space was just around the corner, but he was already running late--he could set Hunk straight later. Not that he was looking forward to that conversation, but... Hunk was his best friend, and he hated keeping secrets from him. It was enough to be harboring a major crush on the guy; he didn’t need Hunk to think he was something he was not.

The thought of telling Hunk made his insides squirm with anxiety, and Lance frowned, picking up his pace. He was just about to round the last corner when Hunk said, “Maybe we should go, then? I’d like to know who your friends are.”

Lance groaned. “I don’t know, dude, you really want to? After all that bullshit?”

“Yeah, I mean, why not?”

“Because--” He tried to rack his brain for an excuse that didn’t sounds childish and petulant, but nothing came up. He gave up with a sigh. “Fuck. Okay, maybe. But--I really need to go now. You just go through that door, the ladies there will get you signed in.” He pointed towards the glass door leading to the office space, taking a step back himself. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” Hunk said. Suddenly, he frowned, and gave Lance a careful look. “So... you’re not gonna be here for lunch?”

Lance shot him a look back. “Dude, I should probably be skipping lunch altogether, with the way this suit fits.” He somehow managed to say it without blushing. “Maybe you should worry about your own meals for a change.”

Hunk chuckled, his lips forming into an awkward smile. “But lunch is important too--”

Lance snorted. “You’re unbelievable,” he said, grinning at Hunk’s face. “But yeah, don’t worry. I’m gonna grab something when I land on M2B. They do great lunch burgers there.”

“Oh! I wish I could go with you,” Hunk said, perking up at the mention of food; he looked wistful for a moment, like he’d do anything for a chance to fly out with Lance.

A warm feeling spread through him. “Maybe one day.” He smiled, already turning to leave. “It’s not too uncommon to have a mechanic for a ride along.”

“I’ll see you later!” Hunk called after him.

“Yeah, see you.”

As soon as he turned the corner, Lance started to rush--well, as much as he could. The breakfast Hunk had prepared that morning had been a testament to his fraying nerves: his stress baking had produced a pan full of warm, fluffy coconut rolls, and Lance had maybe had one too many in his gluttony. He wanted to press a hand on his middle, but didn’t dare to in case someone saw him.

When finally he arrived at the cargo bay, he was flushed and out of breath; it didn’t help the matter that in his hurry, he’d become more than aware of the new weight he’d piled on. There was just more jiggle everywhere, and it was, to Lance’s great surprise, turning him on in the weirdest way.

He wiped a hand across his forehead, rolling his shoulders as he stopped to compose himself. Get a grip , Lance told himself, trying to push all the shit in his head to background noise--he’d have plenty of time to mull over it during flight hours.

“So, what’s the plan? Change of clothes and head back out?”

Lance nodded, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the clothes rack. “Yeah,” he said; the tone of his voice described his lack of enthusiasm perfectly.

In less than two weeks, Lance had run out of excuses to put off the inevitable so today, they were going out for beers with Dietrich, Morris, and a couple of guys from the mechanics’ side. It wasn’t Friday, so no poker, but Lance still felt like he was about to lose at something tonight. “Let’s say half an hour?” he said, his feet leading him straight for the kitchen.

He scanned the fridge for something to eat; he wasn’t strictly speaking hungry, but he felt like eating something. When nothing in the fridge seemed appealing, he shut to door and looked around the counters. His eyes settled on a round, foil covered pan left on the stove-- bingo . Lance grabbed a knife and peeled the foil back to reveal half of a crumble topped pie.

He smiled, anticipating the sweet taste on his tongue as he cut off a generous slice. He’d already had some yesterday, and he had to admit: Hunk sure knew how to bake. This peaches and cream filled pie was the best incarnation of his tried and true recipe so far--Lance had enjoyed each and every one Hunk had made since coming to live with him, but there was something about the soft creamy filling with the juicy slices of peach baked in that left him craving more.

Just when he had his mouth full of pie, he heard Hunk’s voice from behind him.

“Are you hungry?”

Lance turned around, half a slice of pie in one hand and a guilty look on his face. “Um, no,” he said around the bite, swallowing his mouth clear. Hunk raised his brow, his eyes moving from Lance to the pie; he quickly shoved the rest of it in his mouth, and grinned. “Wow, you look great.”

Hunk had been quick; he had changed his jeans for dark slacks, and was currently buttoning up a rich blue shirt that brought out his thick arms and broad shoulders. The shirt fit him closer than most of his clothes, and Lance’s eyes were drawn to the plump little belly on his middle. He’d thought Hunk looked a little softer lately, but he still wasn’t used to him being this lean, so it was hard to tell if he was imagining things.

“Thanks, bro. It’s not too much, is it?” Hunk tugged at his shirt, smiling at Lance.

He gave a shrug. “Maybe a bit, but you look nice so--go for it.” He chewed on his lip as he gave Hunk another lookover--he really did look nice. Lance turned around to cut another pie slice. He needed something to distract himself.

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat before we leave?”

Lance waved him off, mouth full of pie as he headed back to the fridge and got himself a drink. “No, it’s fine. The bar’s got a pretty good snack menu, and I’m gonna be drinking anyway, so...” He cracked open the can of coke and drank, then continued, “This is fine.”

“If you’re gonna be drinking, then all the more reason to eat before.” Hunk crossed his arms, but Lance just smirked, shaking his head.

“Hunk, it’s fine. Like I said, they have a menu. Nachos, fries, onion rings, you name it.”

Hunk eyed him for a moment, then sighed. “Fine,” he said, shrugging. “I guess I need to eat something too, so might as well order when we get there.”

He pressed a hand over his stomach, like he was testing it for hunger, and Lance’s gaze was drawn back to Hunk’s middle; he stuffed the last piece of pie into his mouth, a sudden wave of heat reminding him that he’d meant to take a shower before they left. Lance turned to the pie, again, glancing at Hunk as he said, “You want some of this, too?”

“Nah, you can have it.” Hunk shook his head, letting his hand drop; Lance thought he saw a smirk crossing Hunk’s lips.

“Suit yourself, dude. Your loss.” He looked down at the pie, and cut off a thin slice, leaving an even quarter left in the pan. “I’m gonna take a quick shower, give me 15 minutes.” He took the slice with him as he left Hunk waiting and headed for the bathroom; on the way there, he ate the pie in two bites, savoring the sugary taste before washing it down with the rest of his coke.

Well, at least now he definitely wasn’t hungry.

If he hadn’t just given Hunk the time frame for their departure, Lance would have stayed in the shower until he’d finished jacking off. He palmed his dick with a soap slick hand, his other hand grasping his gut roughly, making him gasp at the double sensation. He’d been feeling softer too, lately, much softer, and it was no wonder with the way he’d been eating. Lance gave his dick a tight squeeze and stroked it slowly, kneading his pie bloated gut with the other; his body was tense with lust, but he forced himself to stop--he didn’t have time for this right now.

He still couldn’t stop himself from feeling how  plush his body had become as he washed it, how his flesh jiggled as he toweled off and got dressed. When he finally looked at himself in the bedroom mirror, all he could think was big. He looked big. He tried to will the blush away from his face, then decided to blame it on the recent showering.

Twenty minutes had passed when he reappeared to the living room. “Ready to go?” he asked Hunk, who was lounging on the couch, flipping through the channels on the big screen.

Hunk sat up and looked at him, his eyes traveling down Lance’s body. He resisted the urge to tug at his shirt; he knew exactly how the blue henley clung to his round belly, leaving no guess work as to where all food he was eating was going.

Hunk’s eyes darted up. “You look--”

“Don’t say ‘nice’,” Lance tried to interject, but it was no good.

“--nice. Uh.”

Lance sighed. “That bad, huh?” He glanced down at his belly, rubbing it briefly before letting go. “I know it ain’t great, but I don’t think I can fit into any of my ‘nicer’ shirts.”

“Lance, you look good,” Hunk tried, but Lance wasn’t having it.

He waved Hunk off, walking across the room, defiantly ignoring the jiggle of his belly under the soft shirt. “It ain’t a beauty contest, so who cares,” he said gruffly. He didn’t need Hunk’s reassurances; he knew he was in a rough shape, so there was no point in trying to hide it. “C’mon, let’s get going.”

They had decided to take the shuttle to the area where the bar resided, not far from the company’s lot. Lance knew he wasn’t going to be in any shape to drive when they were done for the night, and since Hunk’s licence had expired while he was traveling, the best bet was to leave the car at home.

He’d have preferred driving, though. It was easier to quell his nerves behind a familiar steering wheel and let the traffic distract him. Lance frowned to himself as he glared out of the shuttle window. Why was he so nervous in the first place? He knew these guys. Even Hunk had already made his acquaintances with the lot--Lance had seen him and Dietrich talking a couple of times, seemingly in good terms. There was no reason for him to feel like--like he was introducing the guys to a new date, instead of an old friend. Lance shut his eyes for a moment, trying to get his head under control.

“Listen, we can cancel if you’d rather not do this,” Hunk said beside him. He sounded so considerate, Lance wanted to kick himself.

“Sorry, I’m just--tired, is all.” Lance grimaced; he was being such a spoil sport. “Why’d you go and say yes, though. I thought you didn’t like Dietrich.”

“Sorry, dude. He kind of ambushed me when I was talking with Jackson and Stevens--they were asking the same thing, so I, I couldn’t say no to three people all at once...” Hunk chuckled, looking at his hands.

“It’s fine,” Lance said.

“I--I don’t dislike him, you know. Dietrich? If he’s your friend--”

“ Work friend. ”

“--fine, work friend, I’d still like to get to know him.”

Lance turned to look back outside. “I don’t know him that well, either. He’s been with the company less than a year, I think he was doing something else before that.” He realized he should probably know more about a guy he’d spent so many nights drinking with, but--their relationship didn’t go that far.

“Do you not like him?”

Lance sighed. “I like him fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Hunk said after a moment of quiet. “Just, you know. Tell me if you want to go home.”

He kept his eyes on the passing scenery, drumming his fingers on the hand rest of the seat. It was still early in the evening, and the sunlight fell mercilessly on the dusty streets rolling by below the shuttle line. The rainy season hadn’t started yet; everything was so dry. Lance swallowed--as much as he was dreading this meeting, he sure was ready for a cold drink.

The Silver Surfer was, by name, a surf bar. Inside the establishment, the name went as far as a couple of dusty surf boards hung up on the walls, with faded plastic palm trees lodged in the corners to create atmosphere. The music that played too loudly in the half empty bar was slightly more modern that the decor, but only slightly. It wasn’t swanky, or even all that welcoming, but it was cozy, with cheap beer and a good shelf of tequila if the evening called for something sharper. Lance had been introduced to the bar soon after he’d started working for the company, and over time, he’d grown surprisingly fond of it--it was a good place for drinks after a long shift was done.

He didn’t need to look far to find their company. His eyes went straight to the booths at the back of the bar, where the CargoLunar workers usually hung out, and he immediately spotted the familiar frames of his work mates. “There they are,” Lance said, pointing behind the pool table, but he threw his hand out to stop Hunk before he could head there. “Let’s order first,” he said, guiding him to the bar.

Hunk followed his lead silently until they got to the counter. “You going to get food already, or--”

“Just getting a drink first. But you can get food if you’re hungry. Here,” he said, snatching a plastic menu from the bar and handing it to him. He ordered a beer for himself, and glanced at the back table again as the bartender served him.

“Umm...” Hunk hummed next to him, sounding apprehensive, and Lance turned his attention back to him.

“Nothing grabbing your fancy?” He leaned closer, though he knew the list by heart; they hadn’t changed it since he’d first come here. “Trust me, the food here’s better than you’d expect.”  

Hunk glanced at him. “I can wait till you get something too, I’m not--”

“Dude, just get something. You don’t have to wait for me.” Lance flashed him a grin, tapping on the menu. “The nachos here are pretty solid, and they’re big, too. But don’t worry about that--I’ll eat the leftovers if you can’t finish it.”

Hunk’s eyes drifted over Lance’s features, like he was trying to read him, and he was thankful for the chance to look away when the bartender hit the pint in front of him. Why did it feel like every time it came to food, nowadays, it felt like a competition? Like he was trying to impress Hunk by eating everything in sight, which--was insane, wasn’t it? All he’d get from that route was impossibly fat.

He felt his stomach gurgle, as if just thinking about food was making him hungry now. Lance flushed--he was going to have to watch himself and not go overboard.

“Oh, hey, yeah, can I have um...” Hunk had turned to the bartender and was staring at the menu with his brows pulled down in a look of concentration. “Nachos supreme, double the onion rings and a small fry? Oh, and I guess a beer.” He smiled and nodded at the bartender, who repeated his order back at him.

Lance grinned, patting Hunk on the arm. “There ya go, big guy, though I don’t know which stomach you’re going to put all that in--I told you the servings here are generous.”

Hunk laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess we’ll see.”

As Hunk got his drink, Lance lead him to the booth at the back corner where three men sat talking. It was Dietrich who greeted them first. “Hey, Lance, Hunk! Welcome!” He smiled genially, turning to look at them from his seat at the edge of the booth.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Lance replied, raising his pint in greeting. He looked around the table as he took a seat on the opposite side, moving deeper in so that Hunk could sit beside him. “Jackson’s not here yet?”

Stevens, who had in turn moved to let him and Hunk sit, shook his head. “Nah, he got stuck with a sticky combustion engine this afternoon. Last I saw him, he said he might take a while.”

“You’ll just have to enjoy the present company until then,” Dietrich added, offering him a grin.

Lance rolled his eyes, and took a drink. From the looks of it, the trio had been sitting there for while--and Hunk wasn’t the only one hungry, as both Morris and Stevens had empty plates in front of them. They had probably both come here straight from work, while Dietrich had had the day off after working the night shift; he looked fresh and relaxed, flashing a grin at Lance when he caught him looking.

“You guys getting any food?” Dietrich asked, raising his pint to his lips. “He hasn’t been here before, right?” His eyes moved from Lance to Hunk, waiting for one of them to answer.

“No, this is my first time.”

“--But yes , he is getting some food,” Lance tacked on. “Gotta give the old place credit where it’s due; that menu has saved many a drinking night from disaster.”

Dietrich’s smile grew wider. “Let me guess, you rec’d the nachos?”

“Guilty as charged,” Lance replied.

Now Dietrich bust out a laugh. “This guy,” he said to Hunk, “is unbelievable with his nachos. They give him extra because he always finishes his plate.”

Lance felt Hunk’s gaze flick to him, but kept his eyes on the man across the table. “No, they don’t,” he said.

“Aw, no need to get defensive. It’s an open secret,” Dietrich said, leering at him.

“Oh fuck off--”

“Well, if Lance likes it, then I’m sure it’s good enough for me,” Hunk said, coming to his rescue; he was always ready to keep the peace.

Dietrich hummed, his eyes narrowing as he looked from Lance’s flushed face to Hunk. “So, what’s the story behind you two? Childhood friends?”

Lance grimaced. Here we go , he thought glumly, taking a drink to hide his face. The beer in his glass was already down to almost half--he was going to need a refill soon if this kept up.

“Ah, no, we met at school, at the Garrison,” Hunk said.

“Galaxy Garrison? The space academy up North?” Morris asked, joining the conversation for the first time; he leaned forward on his seat, a look of interest on his face.

“Yeah! We’ve been friends since the first year.”

Morris nodded approvingly. “Oh, yeah. My cousin went there, that’s a pretty top notch academy, isn’t it?”

“Oh yeah, the training was great.”

“I hear many of the top pilots come from there,” Morris said.

“ So --how’d you end up working for this shitty company then?” They all turned to look at Dietrich, who chuckled and gave a nonchalant shrug. “I mean, I had to try three times before I got my flying licence, so this the best I got to offer, but you guys sound like you know your shit.”

Hunk glanced at Lance, his brows high with surprise. “You didn’t tell them?”

“Didn’t feel like bragging,” Lance said, looking at the bottom of his pint before drinking it down. Hunk’s eyes stayed on him, and okay, Lance had to admit he was a shitty liar. “What does it matter, anyway? We’re all here because nothing better came up, right?”

Dietrich snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.”

The rest of the guys shrugged it off, except for Hunk who was now frowning; he perked up when Stevens asked him, “You were in the mech core, then?”

“Yeah.”

“And Lance?”

“He was in pilot training. We were on the same team.”

And now they were all looking at him. Lance wished he still had beer left to drown into, so he could avoid the question in their eyes. How did you end up here , that’s what they wanted to know. Like he had an answer--or at least one that he could give in front of Hunk.

He was saved by the waitress--she appeared by their table with a tray loaded with food. As she started piling the stuff on the table, Lance saw Hunk’s eyes widen at the size of his order. “Told you it was gonna be a lot,” he said, punching Hunk on the arm, and couldn’t resist adding, “You gonna be okay?”

“Ah, I hope so.” Hunk licked his lips, glancing at the food and then back to Lance. “I might need some help, though.”

The waitress finished unloading everything on the table and Hunk pulled his nachos closer. Lance eyed his plate, and while the pile of food was indeed big, he quickly realized that Hunk’s serving was smaller than expected--when Lance ordered nachos here, his plate was usually heaping with food. Fuck, how had he never noticed that? “Let’s see how far you get on your own first,” he said, ignoring the spike of excitement that ran through him.

He ordered another beer from the waitress, idly rubbing the side of his gut. The hot, greasy smell of bar food tickled his nose, making his mouth water, but he didn’t want to order for himself just yet--a beer would suffice for now, and then... Lance took another look at the food Hunk had ordered, his eyes lingering on the two sticks loaded with fresh onion rings, then skipped over to the bowl of heaped with fries; he swallowed. This might be harder than thought.

“I see you like to eat big too,” Dietrich said; he looked like he was enjoying the show. “Though I don’t think I’ve seen even Lance eat that much in one go.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lance scoffed at him.

Hunk had just stuffed a bite of nachos in his mouth, and he was forced to eat his mouth clean before he could reply. “What can I say, I like food.” He smiled, though his face looked flushed. “Always been a big eater, though Lance has, uh--he’s giving me a run for my money these days.”

“ Hey ,” Lance exclaimed.

He threw a glare at Hunk, who answered with grin, his dark eyes full of easy amusement; Lance blushed as he realized that he couldn’t tell Hunk he was wrong, but Dietrich’s voice pulled his attention away before he could retort.

“You two must have made a helluva team back in the day,” he said with laugh.

“Oh, yeah, we had good times,” Hunk quickly picked up on Dietrich’s lead.

“Let me guess, you guys were roommates?”

Hunk chuckled. “You got me there,” he said, then took another bite before continuing, “but it was a three people team, so Pidge was our third wheel since second year onwards.”

“Pidge?” Morris asked suddenly. “As in, Katie Holt? That Pidge?”

“Oh, yeah!” Hunk brightened up at the mention of their friend’s real name. “You know her?”

“Know of her, I don’t know her personally.” Morris laughed, shaking his head like the mere suggestion was absurd, but he seemed more interested in the conversation now. “I like listening to podcasts about space on my downtime. I just listened one where she was a guest the other day--I knew I’d heard that nickname somewhere. She’s a real genius, all right.”

Hunk beamed. “That’s awesome! She’s one smart cookie, I couldn’t keep up with her at times, but then no one could, really.”

“But didn’t you say you worked on the Phobos project?” Stevens asked Hunk; he had been quietly following the conversation from behind his drink, but now his gaze was fixed on Hunk curiously. “I heard you talking to Jackson about it last week.”

“Ah, yeah, I did an engineering gig there. Just a few months, it was great.”

Stevens nodded. “That’s pretty impressive. You ever do any work on the Mars sites?”

“Oh, yeah, I had a stint there too. A year back or so.”

Hunk seemed to have forgotten about his food as the conversation kept going; Lance was grateful when the waitress finally brought a refill for his beer so he had something to focus on aside from Hunk’s various expeditions around Earth’s colonies. Not that he was jealous of Hunk’s obvious success, but fuck, he could do without yet another reminder of his failures. He tried to follow the conversation while downing his pint--too fast, he needed to calm down--but all the beer was making him crave something salty to balance it. His eyes slid over to Hunk’s onion rings, untouched so far. No one likes cold onion rings , he thought as he took another drink. It would be a shame to order the same dish for himself if Hunk left his uneaten, but--he couldn’t just ask for Hunk to give them to him. That would be too embarrassing.

“--But all that just makes me wonder even more,” Dietrich was just saying when Lance tuned back in, his loud voice emphasized by alcohol, “why the fuck is a talented young dude like you working for CargoLunar ? Shouldn’t you be out there in the world, not down here with the Earth trash.” He laughed to take the heat off his words, but Lance could see he was genuinely curious.

Lance felt Hunk glance at him. “I--”

“He and his lady broke up, so he came home,” Lance said. Everyone’s eyes turned to him, but he kept his expression as level as the booze churning through his system allowed. “You wanna dig into his business now?” He fixed a glare on Dietrich, who tipped his glass in apology.

“My apologies,” he said to Hunk, “didn’t know that was the case.”

“It’s fine, it’s--not that dramatic,” Hunk tried, but faltered to a stop, his eyes seeking Lance’s.

Lance belatedly realized he probably shouldn’t have said that, but at least it had gotten Dietrich to shut up. He could feel Hunk still looking at him, but he didn’t want to meet his gaze yet. He felt on edge, the two beers to a mostly empty gut giving him a quick rush that made him restless instead of relaxed, and what was worse, his stupid blurp had made everyone pay attention to him again. Lance lifted his pint to his lips, hoping the next beer would calm him down.

“You should eat something,” Hunk said when he lowered his glass.

He couldn’t hold down a burp, so he did his best to stifle it behind a fist before finally meeting Hunk’s eyes. “How’re you doing on yours?” he asked, raising his brow in an attempt to gain back his confidence. “Got plenty of food for me right there if you give up now.”

Hunk immediately flushed; his lips parted, but he didn’t say anything yet, instead glancing at the half a plate of nachos and all the sides he still had left. He chuckled, looking at Lance sideways as he picked up his fork again. “I guess I should eat more before it cools off,” he said, hesitating just a beat before adding, “you can have some of those onion rings if you need a bite. I--I don’t think I can eat all of this.”

Lance felt a warm rush color his cheeks, but he kept his cool. “You’re not even going to try them first?”

“I... guess I should?” Hunk said, chuckling as he picked up the topmost ring from the stick. He took a bite that caught most of it, leaving only the handle where his finger were holding on to the ring. He nodded as he chewed. “Crunchy, ‘s good.” He took another after popping the first one in his mouth, then pushed the rest of the stick towards Lance. “Please, have them.” He gave Lance a pleading look that was softened by the smirk he was trying to hold back.

Lance didn’t need any more persuasion, not really. But he gave a mock sigh, tutting at Hunk playfully. “Know your limits,” he said, eagerly snatching an onion ring from the stick and dipping it in the small bowl of garlic dip it was served with. It wasn’t as hot anymore as he liked them, but fuck, he was hungry now, so he bit in before grinning back at Hunk. “No need to waste good food.”.

“I’m not wasting it,” Hunk shot back, “you told me you’d take care of my leftovers.”

The rest of their company had been watching their exchange so quietly Lance had almost forgotten their existence, but now Dietrich’s voice pierced through his buzz again. “Look at these two, ain’t it just so nice to see such bromance happening right in front of your eyes,” he said to the others, smiling drunkenly at Lance as their eyes met. “Gives hope to a bitter old loner like me.”

“Whatcha mean by that?” Lance asked, taking another onion ring.

Dietrich gave a loose shrug. “Maybe one day I’ll have what you guys have.” His blue eyes were oddly intent when he looked at Lance before turning his attention to the other two. “Right, guys? Oh, but Stevens already has a wife. Sorry, bro,” he said, laughing as Stevens scoffed at him and shook his head.

“You guys still rooming together?” Morris asked.

Lance opened his mouth to reply, but Hunk was faster. “For the time being, yeah,” he said.

“Well see, that explains it,” Morris said, turning back to Dietrich.

“Oh, so you’re saying we should move in together?” Dietrich smirked. “You’d let me eat from your plate then? I mean, you didn’t even offer me a share from your fries earlier.”

Morris waved him off. “You didn’t ask, dude,” he said, leering at Dietrich.

The guys kept up their banter while Lance focused all his efforts on stuffing his face with as many onion rings as he could. He felt mortified--he hadn’t even considered their food sharing would be seen as coupley. That’s how they’d always been with Hunk--sharing was part of both their natures--but now, it seemed like there was a weird undertone to everything that had once felt so simple. He wondered how Hunk was taking it, but he couldn’t make himself look, instead reaching for his pint and emptying it in his throat.

He was down on his last rings when Jackson joined their company, obviously coming straight from the job. Jackson was older than the rest of them, but he made it work for his advantage, rugged masculinity and all that; the waitress trailed after him like she wasn’t immune to his charms either, and Lance jumped in to order another drink for himself, as did the others.

“What have I missed?” Jackson asked as he pulled a chair at the end of the table, looking around while rubbing his stubbled face.

Stevens, who was the most familiar with him, filled him in. “Hunk was telling us about all the work he’s done, you heard of the Mars thing yet?”

Jackson looked at Hunk, his interest piqued. “No, I don’t think we’ve talked about that. Were you with the mech crew there?”

“Yeah, upkeep and problem solving mostly. It was an intense couple months,” Hunk said, but before he could say anything more, the waitress returned with a tray full of drinks and a plateful of food for Jackson. Lance said a quiet prayer to whatever gods were listening that he didn’t have to go through another replay of Hunk’s career moves without a distraction.

And speaking of distractions --Lance looked at the empty sticks that had held a double set of onion rings, totaling up to eighteen pieces. With a guilty flush, he realized he’d gone through both stacks without even asking Hunk if he had wanted more. And now he was cursing himself for not ordering food while the waitress was still by their table, because apparently even that wasn’t enough for him. With a jealous look at Jackson’s poppers and fries, Lance grabbed his pint.

When he lowered his glass on the table with a barely stifled burp, there were suddenly fries in front of him--Hunk had slid his third dish over, with his barely touched set of fries on it. Lance swallowed; even cooled off, the fries they did here were seasoned so well, they were perfect to munch on even if you forgot them for a while. As Lance reeled the bowl of fries closer and casually snagged one with his fingers, he stole a look at Hunk. His plate was clean, so at least he hadn’t been too busy to eat his nachos, but then he saw Hunk’s big hand subtly cradling his stomach underneath the table.

Lance felt his throat go dry and swallowed again--Hunk couldn’t actually be full yet? Not when that serving and then some was Lance’s usual, something he could easily eat to finish. And yet, Hunk had ordered so much food, much more than he seemed capable of eating.

Almost as if he had ordered it for Lance to eat.

He let the conversation slip by as he doubled down on his fries, his mind churning as he thought about the nachos, the rings, and everything else. He wanted to mimic Hunk and touch his stomach--it was starting to feel heavy, bloated up with food and drink--but he resisted the urge, substituting the need with more fries until he was scraping the last ones from the bowl. His heart racing wildly, Lance took his beer and drank it down, wanting nothing more than to lean back and rub his swollen gut right then and there.

Of course, he couldn’t do that. Burping under his breath, he shifted on his seat, trying to regain his bearings. He’d lost the thread of discussion to his food lust, and the others had moved on; Hunk and Jackson were still talking at the head of the table and the three others were laughing over their beers on Lance’s other side. Maybe he was just too drunk, too full to think, the rush of blood too loud in his ears to make out what everyone was saying.

“You okay?” He realized Hunk was looking at him, talking to him, eyes looking dark in the bar lighting; Hunk’s gaze darted down to the empty dishes in front of Lance, and he bit on his lip before smiling. “See, no leftovers? Good job.” Hunk’s voice was quiet when he said that, like he was only talking to Lance. Like he didn’t want the rest of them to hear.

Good job.

The words echoed through his mind, sending sparks running through his system, making heat pool up in the pit of his stuffed gut; Lance suddenly realized he was overwhelmingly, undeniably, turned on. He knew he was supposed to say something back, but his brain was coming up with a blank, because--what did you say to that? “Ah, t-thanks,” he stammered drunkenly, trying to laugh, but it turned into a hiccup instead. Lance could see Hunk’s expression change as he continued to stare at him, face burning, and needing. “ I need to, can I--” he started, trying to turn in his seat, but as he switched position he could feel his gut press against the hard edge of the table, and the sensation stopped him dead.

He glanced down, confused at first, but as he saw the damage his mindless eating had done, he jerked his head up; he could see Hunk’s eyes follow his, a change coming over his face as he took in Lance’s situation. For a moment, Lance expected him to reach over and touch him , but he was too drunk to trust his senses; he could easily have imagined the twitch of Hunk’s arm, the heat in his eyes. He could have imagined it all.

“I need to pee,” he blurted out, awkwardly backing away from the table.

The booth felt several sizes smaller than usual as he squeezed his way out. Lance didn’t remember having this much trouble with the seats here before, but maybe he just hadn’t noticed it. He stumbled past Hunk who’d gotten up to let him out, mumbling his excuses, heading for the bathrooms on the other side of the bar.

He could feel his bloated gut leading the way, bouncing with each step as he wound his way through the early evening crowd. Walking made the air bubble up from his stomach, forcing out burp after burp, but the blare of the music saved him from the worst embarrassment. Still, the empty bathroom felt like a safe haven after the noisy bar--Lance went straight for the cubicles, and locked himself in the last one.

He didn’t think--he dropped his pants and grabbed his erection, barely choking back a groan as he stroked himself. There was no mirror in the cubicle, but he didn’t need one; looking down, all he could see was the round ball of his gut underneath the shirt, jiggling with the beat of his hand. He shuddered, trying to hold his voice as he ripped up his shirt and clapped a hand on his fat gut, palming the flesh with reckless, drunken abandon. One hand on his dick, the other on his belly, Lance leaned his back hard against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut as he jacked off in needy, hard pulls.

Hunk got that food for me .

The thought repeated in his mind, innocuous but burning hot, just like Hunk’s eyes at the table when his gaze had dropped down to see Lance’s gut wedged against the table. Lance whined, picking up his pace, fingers kneading the top of his stomach as he imagined Hunk doing the same to himself, to Lance, his big hand grabbing at Lance’s flesh, his low voice murmuring praises into his ear--

He didn’t even need to finish the fantasy. It was all too much, the aching fullness of his gut blending with the vision in his head until his whole system was on overload, and he reached his end abruptly, muffling a cry against his shoulder.

Lance opened his eyes to see come streaks dripping down the opposite wall of his cubicle, and that finally gave his brain a jump start.

“Oh, fuck. ”