#but when a man becomes a dad and kinda gains that ‘dad bod’ some go absolutely crazy about it

[sttoru]

yk i never said anything about it, but seeing people hype up and drool over dad bods but stay absolutely away from / silent about mom bods makes me go… ?? 😟

[burlybanner]

molecular gastronomy born from astronomy

Bruce is back from space - but is he whole? An angsty, science bros gainer fic answering complicated questions from Thor: Ragnarok. 

(Ignore the title - I just had fun with it. And yes, Thor:Ragnaork spoilers ahead).

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Tony/Bruce

Warnings: Weight gain, some kink related elements, stuffing and cooking elements.

Word count: 2035

***

Tony awoke and broke into a sleepy grin as absolutely heavenly, delectable scents wafted through the penthouse bedroom.  Bruce, he thought as a lazy grin spread across his lips. But Tony would’ve known without the mouth-watering smells anyway; their bed was uncomfortably cold without the big guy warming it up.

“Friday,” Tony yawned. “What’s the time?”

“Seven-oh-five, Boss.”

Tony’s brow wrinkled. 

“A.M.?”

**

He silently watched Bruce at work from the far left kitchen corner and it felt like old times, except today Bruce used the main kitchen for his creative outlets, instead of his cozy chem lab. He zoomed from pot to pot, clearly in the zone since he hadn’t noticed Tony’s watchful eye and careful grin.

Tony gentled his gaze while leaning casually against a doorjamb. He folded his arms as Bruce worked like a master chef, shuffling a plate here, turning off a burner there, grabbing some spices from a rack or a plucking a sprig from an actual plant and dumping it into a boiling pot. It made him think that somewhere, in an alternate universe, Bruce must’ve been a sous chef in a burgeoning restaurant. Imagining him as a fat-bellied chef with a staff of his own didn’t seem too far off the mark. Especially in recent days.

His eyes roamed over the physicist’s jiggling torso as he stirred the gravy, or sauce like a mad man - Bruce’s body had morphed considerably after returning from Sakaar, or Asgard, or wherever the hell they’d been, but Tony didn’t mind. He did have his own theories regarding Bruce’s creeping weight, stemming from the night he returned to New York, but he was waiting for the right time to discuss all of it.

“Two years?”

Tony’s breath had hitched the night Bruce explained, although it may have been the pounding he’d just received.  He was restless and sweaty and alive, because all night long they’d been jumping each other like alley cats in heat. Bruce’s sex drive had run off the charts, when before it’d been just a whenever the mood struck kind of thing.

“Uh, huh,” Bruce panted, licking his lips. His matted curls had fanned wildly across his brow, both from sweat and from Tony’s constant fingering, but he didn’t appear fazed. In fact he scanned Tony up and down like a piece of choice chuck, which Tony loved, and Bruce deserved.

“Kept me like a captive in a locked car trunk. Not again, though. Never again. He’s gonna goddamn listen now, whether he likes it or not.” He pawed Tony, covering his face with deep, sensual kisses, and Tony responded in kind. They took another hour reacquainting their bodies before Bruce honest to God rolled up and declared--

“Fuck, I’m starving. Are you?”

Bewildered, Tony flipped the covers off their bodies and shot Bruce a double-take “Now?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bruce slung a robe over his shoulders and tromped across the bedroom. “I’ll be...I’ll be right back. Promise.”

He was, but like forty minutes later, which - okay, fine - it took a while for Tony to relieve himself in the bathroom, and wipe up. But he glared at Bruce when he returned smelling of deep fried something and cake, apparently stuffed to the gills, and maybe, finally tuckered out.

“What’s gotten into you?” He demanded.

“Mm, nothin’,” Bruce mumbled, tumbling into the bed. He had mashed potatoes in his hair while crumbs flaked off into their bed. “Kinda tired.”

“Seriously--? So we’re just going to ignore the fact that you left me high and dry to grab a midnight snack? And - goddamn it, what the hell did you eat? It’s all over the bedsheets.”

“Asked if you were hungry, Tones.”

“That’s not the point, Banner...hey, are you listening to me?”

No, Bruce wasn’t, because a loud, honking snore erased his sentence.

“Son of a bitch...”

Although irked, he didn’t bring up Bruce’s weird reaction the following day, chalking it up to space-lag. Maybe he should’ve considered it more; he was as much a scientist in his own right, and the situation called for an answer. Each time he tried though, Bruce fucked him until he couldn’t remember his name.

And that’s how it went for the first few months - incredible fuck sessions, followed by Bruce’s insatiable need to stuff himself. Until Tony admitted they couldn’t keep it up forever - well, he couldn’t, Viagra be damned. He didn’t like explaining why to Bruce because it meant having to admit his virility had limits, but they discussed their sex life like rational adults, which honestly Tony never expected to see in his lifetime.

So, although Bruce agreed to tone down the sex, he swapped his ramped up sexual urges with even more food.

Tony wasn’t averse to it, though. Seeing Bruce’s body swell and soften was more pleasurable than expected; maybe, Tony thought distantly, Bruce/Hulk had experimented with carbo loading for gladiatorial fights on Sakaar. If he really tested those waters, Tony figured the answer lay somewhere between Bruce reorienting himself to his human body’s needs, and making peace with Hulk. You don’t just cut off a being like Hulk without some after effects. You can’t.

Bruce tapped a metal mixing bowl with a slotted spoon, waking Tony from his wandering thoughts. It was Thanksgiving and they could’ve ordered in, but Banner wanted to cook a Thanksgiving meal for the team so caterers be damned.

“You look hot in that chef’s apron,” Tony finally said, and Bruce jumped a foot.

“Dammit.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He couldn’t stop the chuckle tumbling from his lips, though Bruce looked angry enough to skewer him with his spoon.

“No worries,” Bruce muttered, grabbing a bowl. “Just...don’t do it again. And what are you doing up this early?”

“The delightful kitchen smells. And missing your warm, hot bod.”

Bruce hid a smirk in some cooking steam, but Tony saw it. Sighing, he came over and wrapped his arms beneath the apron to tease Bruce’s middle, feeling how much his partner’s gut had grown over the months; it wobbled seductively over his beltline and Tony couldn’t help prodding and pinching the doughy softness.

“Mm.” Bruce shook his head. “Can’t now. Gotta finish prepping.”

Tony didn’t let go. Instead he made a low noise in his throat and gently swayed back and forth with Bruce in his arms. Bruce swayed with him, allowing it for a few seconds, but then broke free.

At least he offered a deep kiss, as an apology.

“You taste like spice cake,” Tony murmured, licking his lips, and Bruce laughed while turning down a burner and checking the contents.

“Probably because I ate some.”

“That bundt cake from your cousin?”

“Uh, huh.” Bruce checked something else, and a sweet flavor wafted over. “I...ah. I finished it off an hour ago, though. Sorry.”

“That’s ok,” Tony smiled. “I had a slice yesterday, when you unwrapped it. It really was good.”

“Yeah.” He sighed softly and checked the oven. “I also had a full breakfast cooked for both of us, but--”

“You ate it,” Tony said, but he wasn’t mad. He searched for a Power Bar in one of the cabinets, and grabbed a coffee mug. “It’s no big deal.”

“Isn’t it?”

Bruce meant it as a throwaway mutter as he reached for the flour and sugar, but Tony refused to downplay it. “Not to me, it isn’t.” He filled his mug, added a few teaspoons of sugar, and unwrapped the energy bar. “I suspect being back in your old body after being out of it for two years is pretty disorienting.”

Bruce huffed and shook his head in that little self-deprecating way Tony had missed. “Oh, you don’t know the half.” Bruce violently dumped flour, salt, and vanilla into the bowl and kept his expression everywhere but Tony’s face. “He’s upset. He’s furious. He wants out all the time, and staying calm isn’t enough. But satisfying our physical needs pacifies him temporarily, food and sex especially. F...flooding my body with endorphins without overly kicking up my heart rate--I...I think the natural endorphins are helping.”

Tony swallowed and approached carefully as Bruce dumped cut up nuggets of butter into his mix and pounded the dough with a bit more strength than called for. “You know, Bruce,” Tony murmured. “You could try some of the newer drugs--”

The unexpected laugh bubbling from Bruce’s throat bordered on manic. “Oh, yeah, get addicted to drugs on top of everything else. Which ones? Pills? Or opioids? Or maybe your and dear old Dad’s favorite, bourbon--” He cut the remaining rant with a hiss between his teeth. “I...I’m sorry. I’m sorry. That was unconscionable and out of line. I...I--”

“Shh.” Tony wrapped him in his arms again, swaying as he did before, and Bruce relaxed in his arms. “Look. It took two years for you to come back, so it may take that long to renegotiate the boundaries. But we can, and we will. You restored balance before, and you have me now. We can do it together.”

“ ‘We,’ huh?” Bruce forgot his fingers were covered in flour and sugar as he thumbed Tony’s fingers. Then he briefly shook his head, nervously pawing at Tony’s arm. “I’m getting fat,” he finally sighed.

“You sure are,” Tony said, kissing Bruce’s cheek when he stiffened. “But so what? You’re still you. I still love you.”

And Tony froze, realizing those actual words had exited his lips. But Bruce heard, and he suddenly squeezed Tony’s hand. “Same,” he murmured. “Didn’t know how to say it.”

“Well, we’re both rotten in the ‘saying the right thing at the right time’ department.”

Bruce half-laughed, half-shuddered. “True. But I’m...I’m telling you, the only acceptable ‘drugs’ for me right now are food and sex. So I’ll probably become pretty massive before we reason out the solution. You...ah. Are you okay with that?”

Tony squeezed Bruce tight before relaxing. “I’m kinda digging it, to be honest. More of you to love, and all. What’s another hundred pounds here or there?”

Bruce nearly choked. “A hundred--?”

“Or whatever.” Tony’s hands snuck under Bruce’s apron, searching for the squishy gut he’d grown accustomed to. “It won’t matter to me. Even if I have to reinforce everything in the tower to accommodate you, I’d do it.”

“You’re an ass,” Bruce said, but Tony could hear the waiver in his voice.

“But you love me?”

“But I love you,” Bruce murmured back, and Tony released a held breath, knowing it was the truth.

“All right, then.” Tony rubbed his hands together. He made a face at the stickiness and ran his hands under the tap. “You need me to help with anything?”

“No, not yet.” He went back to the dough and began gently kneading instead of pounding. “The prep work is almost done, and the turkeys are cooking in the other ovens. The pies will be ready to cook in a few minutes, and once the sauces cool I’ll put them away until later. Then it’s waiting until around noon, to finish up the biscuits and potatoes and the rest. If anyone from the team starts bugging you, tell them dinner begins at three. On the dot.”

“Okay. Perfect.” Tony’s smile sharpened. “So when you’re done with this and waiting to begin the second round, let’s do some stuff.”

Bruce wasn’t watching, preferring to roll out his dough on cutting board. “Hm? Science stuff?”

“No, not science.”

“Wh...oh.” Bruce got it, and paused to blink up at him. “You sure? It’s not...not too much? We did a lot last night--”

Tony laughed. “I think my libido can handle it. Promise, I’ll let you know if it’s too much.”

“Oh. Okay then.” Bruce chewed his bottom lip, attempting not to grin like a schoolboy. “Ten minutes. I’ll be done in ten.”

“Sounds good. See you.”

“See you.”

Tony’s dark chuckle followed him down the hall. Talking had helped them both, and he felt lighter than air as he did an impromptu dance step back to their bedroom. He meant what he said; Bruce could double or even triple his weight, and he could suddenly become chief stockholder of Viagra, Inc. But whatever, because it didn’t matter and they’d figure it out. Together.