The Artful Expansion 2: Soft Armor

Chapter 1: A Belly Worth Framing

Steve was elbow-deep in a half-eaten cheesecake and completely unaware of how ridiculous he looked. Jake, sprawled shirtless on their secondhand couch, watched with quiet amusement as crumbs clung to Steve’s scruffy chin and a dab of cherry topping landed squarely on a t-shirt that was now more than snug on his ripe torso.

"You know," Jake said, stretching luxuriously and causing his own soft belly to ripple under the afternoon light, "if you're gonna eat like that, at least have the decency to share." He reached out to the coffee table and grabbed the remote, muting the show they had been watching, an episode of Chopped.

Steve, caught mid-bite, narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me, sir, but this is artist fuel. You can't expect greatness on an empty stomach." His eyes flicked to the remote in Jake’s hand, motioning for him to restore the sound, but Jake would not be dissuaded.

"You're halfway through your third slice. I think greatness is well underway." His eyes flicked longingly to his partner’s rotund torso, a paunchy tire of a middle with ripened love handles and a budding gut that always perched itself above any pair of pants. Another glance from Steve and he unmuted the television with a sigh.

Jake’s grin was lazy and affectionate. His own once-sculpted torso had been slowly swallowed up by indulgent evenings and shameless second helpings—and combined with a slowed metabolism, had grown soft in all the right places, but still retained hidden strength in the muscles he still trained regularly at the gym. Steve loved every inch of him. Maybe a little too much.

After their whirlwind meeting in Steve’s sophomore art class, Jake, who was the model and not a student at the school, had struck up the most glorious relationship. What the pair thought was just going to be an end-of-semester ‘friends with benefits encounter’, turned out to become so much more.

Jake had invited Steve to his summer home out west for a week after the school semester had ended. What had only meant to be one week, had turned into a nearly 4-month deep-dive into a relationship neither of them knew they had wanted, but had forged through food, sex and connectedness on a level Steve had never known possible.

The end result had left them both incredibly soft in all the right places, and tremendously in love.

But that had been two years ago.

When the following fall semester had started up again, with Steve entering his junior year, it seemed only natural that Jake should move in with him. Jake, who was a few years older than Steve, had been a former model who worked for small and large contracts. It was decided that while Steve went to school, that Jake would continue his old life in whatever fashion he could, snagging work that would hire him out. The timing worked out for both of them on each front, with Steve slowly increasing his artistic talents and Jake bringing in steady money.

Now, in his senior year, Steve was wrapping up his final semester. His artwork had become a talking point not only at his college, but also was drawing attention by local galleries as well as some select international venues he’d met either in person, or through online social media contacts. All the while, the two men had kept up their passionate relationship, supporting one another through the good and bad movements of their young lives.

"Actually," Steve said, setting the plate aside with ceremony, "I was thinking of sketching you again today. Post-cheesecake. For contrast." He looked at Jake and raised one eyebrow as his eyes flicked from the man’s handsome face, down his chest, to his stomach which had become Steve’s favorite feature.

Well, second favorite.

Jake glanced down at his belly and gave it a thoughtful pat. The skin wobbled affectionately. He caught Steve’s expression of longing and smiled, raising an eyebrow of his own. "You mean before the bloating finishes its curtain call?" They both turned their heads in unison to inspect the plate that sat on the coffee table. The one that looked exactly like Steve’s. The one that had formerly held an entire cheesecake of its own and was now slowly digesting itself inside Jake’s wonderful stomach.

Steve laughed. "Exactly. It’s a whole act in itself."

They smirked at one another and Steve nodded his head, motioning for Jake to sit up. He did so.

Steve smiled and dug out his sketchpad from beneath a mound of laundry that he had recently brought up from the downstairs laundry room of the apartment they shared—the same one Steve had lived in since his sophomore year; and settled onto the floor.

He let out an audible “oof,” as his knees creaked and his pants protested at being thrust into such a confined position. Unconsciously, he dug under his gut for the button of his 36-inch jeans and thumbed the catch. There was a satisfying zip, and the folds of his pants parted to either side, allowing his bulk to spill forward. Jake, who had not missed a single moment, let out a contented sigh as he watched Steve finally sit cross-legged, pencil in hand.

Steve looked up, following the source of the noise and smiled back.

“That sound never gets old, Steve.” Jake said.

Steve merely winked at him and lifted his chin, signaling Jake to ready himself.

Jake shifted slightly on the couch, letting his belly hang as he leaned back, one muscled arm resting behind his head, the faint hairs under his arm glistened in the light of the room.

Steve’s pencil hovered.

"Hold it—yep, like that. You look like a Greek god on his day off."

Jake smirked. “And which god would I be? Apollo?”

"No, the god of Leftovers and Tight Pants." Steve deadpanned. That earned him a pillow being lightly tossed at him by Jake. He dodged it expertly and picked it up where it had fallen near him and settled it behind his lower back. “Thank you.” He said in a clipped, light-hearted tone.

“Are you ready Apollo?” Steve said softly. Their eyes met and Jake could tell that Steve was now entering work mode. Their collective tone became suddenly serious. Steve nodded.

They stayed in comfortable silence as Steve sketched, while another episode of Chopped began playing on their large flat-screen television. The late afternoon sun painted everything gold, and Steve found himself smiling as his pencil swept gentle curves across the page. Jake’s softness wasn’t just appealing—it was deeply comforting. He loved how it moved, how it settled, how it felt under his hand when they cuddled. He loved it still more when they made love. Jake on top, or when he, himself, held the commanding position. He shook his head and smiled as the blossom of an old dream flickered though his mind, which triggered a reaction, and began forcing blood to the space between his crisscrossed thighs. Nonchalantly, he paused in his artistry and reached to shift his boxers, which had begun to swell.

He resumed, running his pencil over the sketchpad, marveling at the softening form appearing, looking immortalized in graphite.

Suddenly, the front door opened, and Kim entered without knocking, as always. Her backpack was slung over one shoulder, and her asymmetrical bob was slicked down like she meant business.

"Smells like dairy and codependency in here," she said, toeing off her boots to reveal hot pink socks with a Hello Kitty print.

"Hi Kim—and is that jealousy I hear coming from that sweet voice of yours?" Jake said smoothly, not moving a muscle. Kim, a friend and fellow classmate who shared the same major as Steve, was also their building neighbor and lived directly above them. Having her randomly stop by was a regular occurrence and instantly reminded both men of the character Kramer from Seinfeld. They’d always joked about which of them was Jerry.

Steve didn’t even look up. "He’s modeling for me. Don’t disturb the genius at work. And I can hear your eyes rolling—" he said, as he stuck out his tongue, working on a particularly fine line.

Kim mouthed, ‘Oh my god, how did he know that?’ to Jake, who did his very best not to laugh, but was betrayed by the subtle shaking of his muscled shoulders. Kim closed the door and sauntered over.

"Ah, so I’ve walked into an erotic cheesecake crime scene. Again." She clocked the dessert sitting innocently on the table and considered taking a bite. “Glad you’ve both got pants on this time.” She added. At this, both men pursed their lips at the memory.

What had started off as another inspiring artistic session, had turned out to be the beginning of a session of love making on their couch when she’d had the misfortune of popping by. At the time, both men were mid-coitus. Steve still remembered the look of Kim’s startled face while Jake had his legs pinned over his shoulders. Since then, the men had taken great care to lock the door of their apartment before engaging in indulgent sessions like that.

“How do you know Jake’s not ready to remove them for me? He might not even be wearing any boxers.” Steve deadpanned as his hand flew across the page once again.

Kim looked at Jake who pursed his lips and shook his head subtly, forcing a cute laugh from her.

She flopped into the chair next to Steve and eyed the sketchpad. Her lips pursed, but there was approval in her tone. "That’s actually… really good, Steve. The shading on the belly rolls’ is kind of sublime."

Steve grinned. "High praise from the Queen of Brutal Honesty."

"Mmm. Speaking of honesty," she said, digging into her bag, "I think I’m dating a baker."

That made Steve look up. "What, like... metaphorically, or—?"

"Her name’s Nina. She wears Doc Martens, makes sourdough from scratch, and has a tattoo of a cinnamon roll high up on her left thigh."

Jake gave a long, low whistle. "That’s either wife material or a slow-burn gastrointestinal threat. So, when do we get to meet this mystery girl of yours?"

Kim spotted the pile of laundry and grabbed a sock. She threw it, balled-up, in his direction. "She’s great. But also, she baked me a whole pie after our date last week and said, ‘I like girls who aren’t afraid to finish dessert.’ So now I’m spiraling." She puffed out her cheeks for emphasis.

"Spiraling... while finishing said pie?" Steve asked, dryly.

"Obviously. It was peach. My favorite. I might have let that slip on our second date. I had no choice."

“You’re bad at letting secrets slip, my dear.” Steve said to her, “remember that time we got drunk in our sophomore year, and you told me you had the biggest crush on Jonah Hill?”

Their eyes met. Kim’s narrowed and she drew a line across her throat and mimed with her lips, ‘Dead man.’

Jake actually snorted.

“What? He told you that? Steve—confidences!” she said, now adopting a whiny voice and thew her arms theatrically over her head and letting them fall on her knees with a comic thud.

“Seriously? The man’s been inside me and I in him—you don’t think we talk?”

She made the finger across throat gesture once more to each of them and Jake raised his hands in mock-surrender. “To the grave, Kim. The grave.” He said.

“You’d better.” She said.

Jake nodded solemnly. "But peach pie is a gateway drug. Next thing you know, you’ll let something else slip and she’ll stop by your apartment wearing nothing but a trench coat and a pie in her hands."

Kim laughed and put a finger to her chin and looked deep in thought. “That’s actually not a bad idea—mentally filing that one for later.”
Jake laughed.

Then Kim’s face turned pensive. "I’m just saying—it’s new—our relationship. And I like her. And I’m kind of terrified of what it means to be liked... fully. Especially like this." She gestured to her stomach, which looked fuller, rounder. She’d always been skinny since Steve had known her, but just like everyone, she had not escaped the freshman 15. Now, it seemed that her new relationship might push those numbers a little higher.

Steve looked at her for a beat. He got it. Really got it.

Kim, who had been a plucky friend of Steve since freshman year had slowly grown into a great friend. Short-statured and never short with a barb or a joke, Steve had watched her confidence blossom. Not only in her artwork, where her major now had shifted more into graphic design and less into physical media like paint or charcoal; but also in her relationship life.

When he’d first met her, Steve thought that Kim was a regular heterosexual girl. But over the years, had come to find out that she was bisexual and had slowly come out of her shell. Before Jake, the two had spent many a night at one another’s apartment, sharing food and watching movies until way too late in the evening. There never had been any romantic chemistry between them, just a solid understanding that each had the back of the other and that confidences could be shared.

It was shortly during the beginning of his Junior year that he’d noticed Kim had begun to change her look from prototypical ‘cutesy Asian girl’ to a bit of a punk-rock, steampunk look. It was quite the fashion choice, but Steve had fully supported it and had noticed that she had begun to attract the attention of the same sex.

She had begun flitting in and out of relationships, some short and experimental. Others, longer burns. But always, Steve was there to share a pot-noodle and a rom-com any evening she needed to decompress.

"You deserve someone who bakes for you," Steve said simply. "And eats with you. And looks at you like you’re a whole damn buffet." He continued drawing.

Jake smirked from his place on the couch. "Are we still talking about Kim or did you just turn this into a love letter to me again? Because if it is, these pants can come right the ***."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Not everything is about you, sweetie.”

Now it was Jake’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Fine—it’s a two-for-one special." Steve deadpanned.

The three of them chuckled, and for a moment, the apartment felt fuller—not just with laughter, but with something warm and binding. Chosen family, stitched together by food, teasing, and unspoken understanding.

"So," Jake said eventually, "when are you going to submit something to that gallery Kim mentioned?"

Steve blinked. "The Verge? The queer one with all the wine and weird lighting?"

"That's the one," Kim chimed in. "They're doing a new open call for fat-positive bodies. You’d kill. No offense Jake."

He laughed and stuck his tongue out at her.
Steve sighed and sat back. "I dunno. It's one thing drawing Jake for class or for myself. But putting it in a gallery? People will see it. People might... judge it. Judge him."

Jake rolled his eyes and patted his belly with mock drama. "Oh no, not my big gay belly. Whatever shall I do?"

Jake, in addition to doing select modeling for school, where his aunt, Associate Professor Pamela Connors taught in the Arts department, also had a very active social media presence. All of it was tasteful, with no nude photography, but he understood Steve’s concern. Local events meant local interest.

Kim crossed her legs dramatically. "People are going to judge no matter what. That’s what art is. Might as well be judged for something beautiful."

Steve grinned but still looked unconvinced. Jake sat up with some effort—his soft middle sloshing forward slightly as he leaned closer. His belly curved spectacularly over the waistband of his jeans and Steve felt warmth rise in his chest.

"Listen, if you’re going to be sketching my love handles while actively licking cheesecake off your own chin, you owe it to yourself to show the world what fat, sexy brilliance looks like."

Steve huffed a laugh. "That’s going on the submission form. Fat. Sexy. Brilliance." He licked his chin surreptitiously. Sure enough, the taste of cheesecake lingered on his tongue from a spot he’d evidently missed. His eyes found Jake and he grinned.

"Good. It’ll look great under your name."

The rest of the evening passed in a haze of crumbs, laughter, and affectionate jabs. Kim eventually left, promising to text a picture of Nina’s future pie creations, and threatened to steal Jake if Steve didn’t draw her next.
Later, as Steve scanned a photo of a past and more professional drawing of Jake to the gallery’s open call—half-daring the universe to reject it—Jake lay in bed beside him, tracing idle circles across Steve’s belly with the back of his knuckle.

“You’re really doing it,” Jake said softly.

“Yeah.” Steve replied, heart hammering. Steve knew that after graduation, that was when life became real. He would no longer have the ease of access that his college provided him to showcase his artistic talents. Rather, he’d have to push the contacts he’d already made through online and social media and that was scary as hell. He knew that most artists lived hand to mouth until they had hit their big break. Perhaps, by submitting The Verge, he’d get a foot in the door which might open up further possibilities down the road after he’d graduated.

He had known exactly which photo he wanted to submit to The Verge—to their open call. He’d contemplated submitting it that very night, but the lateness of the hour and presently—Jake’s wandering hands—had pushed the thought gently to the backburner. There was always tomorrow.

“Yeah,” Steve repeated, this time turning his head to look at Jake. “And if they hate it, at least I still get to keep the real thing.”

Jake’s belly jiggled as he laughed. He pulled Steve in close. “Damn right you do.”

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