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There’s a list in Bucky's mind — sometimes in a notebook, for when his mind's too slippery to be trusted — for every stupid, dumbshit decision he's made. It's a habit born from instinct, from heeding and mentally noting down the cutting remarks from the sometimes rasping, oftentimes disgruntled, occasionally strikingly clear voice in his mind.
At first, the lists weren't consciously made; they sprang into quiet existence and grew like mold under his nose until he looked back and thought, ah, right, that was stupid. Later on, he got more intentional; if he wanted to stop acting like a zombie terrified he dug out of his own grave, then he needed to make a concentrated effort on curbing his own self-destructive tendencies. And then he kept doing all these things, illogical and pointless — showing his face at the market, letting Steve chase him, intentionally teasing out the memories he knew were going to hurt —, and he realized that maybe Bucky Barnes was just like that. He is just like that.
So the lists keep going. And fuck him if the list for biting Steve isn't longer than most by a country mile.
Biting Steve Rogers the first time was, to name just a few things: cruel, selfish, pitiful; a revelation, more than he was worthy of; somewhat necessary to stop from going even more goddamn insane, because he really had been no better than an animal some of those days when he was still scraping together his own brain.
The second time he bit Steve was a display of what happens when he’s got no power greater than himself to answer to; the third was proof that he’s a genuine bastard; and the fourth was Steve’s fault, actually, so he doesn’t really count it.
Five, six, and seven happened in rapid succession; there's nothing quite like being on the run together to be struck with a sense of looming dread and urgency. And then, for a while, he thought that was all he would get, that maybe lucky number seven was the end of his line. Being willing didn’t make the inevitability of cryofreeze any less terrifying. He never confessed his worst fears to Steve, but they were probably both thinking it before he went under:
What if the only solution was to wipe him clean again? What if the body of Bucky Barnes was destined to be a shell for a mind that can never remember what he was born to be? What if the livid purple bite on his shoulder and the one sickly-yellow on Steve’s nape were the last?
And then none of those fears came true, because apparently karma is real and it feels a little bad for the whole decades of torture thing. Bite number eight was desperate and clinging, and Bucky began to realize he’d been dragging Steve along like a real asshole, always teasing him with these possessive claims but never giving him a real bite.
And then he did it again, three goddamn times — nine, ten, eleven — because whatever hell it is that assholes and genuine bastards go to, Bucky’s definitely going to one that burns hotter.
And then it didn’t really matter. The Blip was probably a lot like Hell for the people who lived through it; Bucky couldn’t say if what he felt was any worse. He wasn’t exactly around, so mostly it’s overwhelming — mostly it feels like time has left him behind once again, yet another half-decade lost to him —
Mostly he wants to get his teeth on Steve’s scruff and shake him around ‘til he goes limp beneath him.
That's neither here nor there, except he can't stop thinking that it'd be nice to get that counter in his mind up by one, and maybe expand on that list a little further in the meantime. He’s probably burning a hole in the back of Steve’s skull, but he can’t tear his gaze away. If anybody here has anything smart to say about his and Steve’s probably very blatant desperation to never leave each other’s sight lines, they’re sure not saying it within earshot of Bucky, so he doesn't feel overly guilty for his hungry gaze.
Then again, there’s been a lot of that desperate clinginess going around. It’s possible people barely even register it anymore. It’s the same as the way nobody even blinks at two men together, which is a fun fact of reality that Bucky still can’t get enough of. He can press a hand against the small of Steve’s back, into the curve of his waist, over the nape of his neck, and the worst he gets from the peanut gallery is a knowing smirk or an exasperated eye roll. No suspicious frowns, no disapproving glares, no pointed looks to quit acting like a queer before he gets them in trouble.
The best part is how Steve always shivers a little, leaning into it as if he craves Bucky’s touch as much as Bucky craves to touch him, and fuck if Bucky doesn’t want to touch him so badly right now that his palms ache. Steve’s looking all casual but delicious in jeans and a tee, braced over a table and deep in conversation. Bucky wants to go and smack his ass with his metal palm to make him yelp. Bucky wants to slide an arm around his shoulder and watch his face go all soft and gooey. Bucky wants to sink his teeth into the bruise-yellow skin at his nape and make it bleed, then go a little higher, roll the mating gland under his tongue and feel it split beneath the power of his jaw —
“All good, man?”
Bucky does not twitch, because he was the Winter Soldier and he’s above that. Sam gives him a smile that says he sees right through him; Bucky tries not to scowl back and achieves what might be a toothy grimace instead. “Yeah. Here for Steve?”
Sam raises an eyebrow. “What, you think I want to get in between you two? Hell no.” Bucky rolls his eyes to hide the relief that courses through him. He refuses to admit that they’re unhealthily attached to each other — as if he hasn’t been the cause of Steve’s unhealthy attachment issues since at least 2014 — and especially not to Sam, who is the only one who will vocally disprove of that fact. “You’re stinking the place up, though. Get your boy and get out of here.”
“Am not,” he shoots back childishly, even though Steve has been shooting him little glances every other minute, and Bucky committing pheromonal warfare while sitting mildly on the living room couch would sure explain that. Sam doesn’t dignify him with a response, just claps him on the shoulder — his left side, and Bucky swallows back a laugh at his minute wince when his palm strikes awkwardly against the metal — and meanders his way to the larger group.
Steve and Sam exchange a hug when he gets there, Steve grinning wide enough to make Bucky’s hands spasm with desire. The hug is pointedly brotherly from Sam, hard back pats and all, which nearly makes him laugh again until they both exchange a look and then glance at Bucky. He almost gets his ass up out of the deep cushions of the couch, because he’ll be damned if they start gossiping over him when he’s right fuckin' here, but then Steve breaks away with a little wave and heads to Bucky instead.
Steve smiles at him as he steps close. It's a private sort of smile, different from what he’d given Sam yet still enough to make another one of those hungry impulses fire through his system. Steve’s been smiling a lot lately, and Bucky hopes with a lump in his throat that he’s part of the reason why. Steve's not limited anymore to the cautious joy from when he’d still been on the run, or the tense hope from after Shuri cleared him. This sort of smile fits him, easy and comfortable and familiar.
He’d only started smiling like this recently — really recently, because even after the fight against Thanos there was still the matter of the stones, and good God had that produced some terrific screaming arguments, worse even than the ones from back when Bucky was still best classified as an unstable dickhead or from when Steve was all justified anger and pigheaded stubbornness in a body that couldn’t handle it. They’d both carried that tension for weeks, but with everything out of their hands now it’s sloughed off like old skin. The last time Bucky felt this free was after the trigger words were pulled from him.
And, no, he's not exactly proud of the amount of drywall patching they’d had to do in the interim between then and now, but he is a little smug about the throbbing bite Steve's left high on his neck and the promises whispered into his skin. That bite's lasted nearly two weeks, which must be some sort of record. Besides, it’s impossible to feel sorry about lifting such a weight off of Steve’s shoulder that now he shows no reservations about crowding into Bucky when he stands to meet him and humming, “Hey, you. Wanna do lunch?”
Bucky smiles back, turning to rub their stubbled cheeks together. “Hm, yeah, I could eat.” He leans in to take Steve’s earlobe between his teeth in a gentle nip. Steve’s shoulders jump, his hand leaping to Bucky’s wrist to begin to drag him away without even a cursory complaint about Bucky not saying goodbye first. “Aw, Stevie, should’ve said you were starvin’. We coulda left sooner —”
“You’re a jerk,” Steve hisses at him once he closes the door behind him, face already red. “Actin’ like you don’t reek.”
Bucky takes a surreptitious inhale, but he can’t tell that his scent is any worse than usual. Maybe something’s wrong with him, but that’s nothing new. “Can’t help it,” he husks instead of voicing any concern. He presses his nose to Steve’s shoulder, and he doesn’t even need to play up his throaty groan or the way his hips jump to grind against Steve’s. “Look so good, Stevie, these pants make your ass look fuckin’ incredible.” He grabs a handful for himself, and Steve jolts before dragging them along even faster than before.
“You’re awful,” he complains again, but Bucky can smell the way his scent turns, just knows he’s chubbing up in those jeans. “C’mon, let’s go home.”
Bucky has his own apartment, but he doesn’t argue when Steve talks about his place like they both live there. It’s got their scents practically embedded to the walls at this point, and there’s nothing like stepping into a place that smells like them and getting Steve pressed up against the wall and tasting, nipping, biting —
“Oh, God, Buck,” Steve rasps, hips rolling into the air as Bucky laps at the bruise he’s left. “What's gotten into you?” Bucky slots over his mouth in a kiss instead of answering, sucking at that lush lower lip. Steve’s cock throbs against his palm when he goes to cup him in his hand. “Ungh, fuck, seriously…”
“Just need you,” he pants, because it's true. It feels like an itch down his spine, directing his hands and mouth until he’s got Steve underneath him in every possible way. He wants to drown in Steve’s scent, wants to roll around with him until there’s no telling where one of them ends and the other begins, wants to bite him, fuck him, mate him, breed him —
He reels away, jaw dropping with realization. Drool pools in his mouth at the sight of Steve, pupils wide and lips red, and he swallows it down as Steve makes to chase him, wet mouth dragging over Bucky's jaw instead when he tips his face away. “Fuck, Steve,” he heaves, twitching when Steve pulls his earlobe between his teeth. “I think I’m rutting.”
Because, sure, Bucky likes a handful of Steve’s ass. Bucky likes pressing his lips to Steve’s throat, likes marking him up, likes fucking him until they’re both sweaty and panting. But he likes it so much because of Steve — he loves how Steve arches his body into him, desperate for his touch; he loves how Steve goes red and shivery when teeth scrape against the cords of his neck; he loves how Steve gets loose-limbed and happy when he’s all sated.
This is markedly different. This is a drive inside of him, not to please but to take, and he has to clench his hand into the fabric of Steve’s shirt to keep from tearing seams where they stand.
Steve puffs out a breath of surprise, then groans in delight. “Seriously?” He inhales noisily, mouthing along Bucky’s throat. “Buck, oh my God.”
Bucky laughs breathlessly, feeling steadier now that he’s recognized the source of this greedy desire. “Always some new shit, huh?”
Steve’s grin presses to his cheek, switching their positions smoothly to crowd Bucky against the wall. “Mmhm. You remember the first time we spent my rut together?”
Bucky mumbles a curse, because of fucking course he remembers. Hard to forget the splotchy color of Steve’s desperate face, the broken way his voice cracked when he begged for mercy. Fuck, Bucky really is an asshole. “Hell no, Rogers—”
“Only seems fair.” His grin is shit-eating and unwavering. “You certainly enjoyed it when you were doing it to me.”
Yeah, he had, because the idea of retribution hadn’t existed as a real possibility. Not that it would’ve stopped him — edging Steve to his absolute limits gave Bucky the sort of control he hadn’t had in decades, and he’d been greedy for the feeling.
Besides, edging isn’t really Steve’s style; he gives in to Bucky much faster than he’d ever admit.
“Steve,” he rasps, tipping his throat for the way Steve is nipping hard at his jaw. “No need for gettin’ ideas, baby, I’ll take such good care of you, c’mon.”
Steve hums, stepping back towards their bedroom with a sly smirk. “That won’t work on me.”
Maybe not, but Bucky can be desperate. He lunges as soon as they’re past the threshold of their room, tackling Steve into the mattress with a ragged whine. “Been aching for you all day, honey, you don’t even know. Need everybody to know this sweet ass is mine, don’t you want that?” He palms said ass and sneaks a sharp bite to Steve’s mating gland, which is growing puffy in response to Bucky’s scent. And Christ, isn’t that something bigger than he has words for: Steve’s body, so tuned in to Bucky’s that it changes him. He keeps running his mouth, that tug in his chest impossible to resist. “Could fill you up with me, get you all loose and open for me… C’mon, I know you like that.”
Steve bares his teeth around his hiss even as his eyes go lidded at the thought. “You could,” he snarks, and Bucky bites back a snarl when Steve flips them and pins him down. “But I want my turn first.”
“Steve,” he growls, frustrated. Still, he ruts up into the swell of Steve’s ass sitting firmly over his bulge. He gets his metal hand over Steve’s nape, digs cruelly into the tender bruise his last bite left behind — whopping number forty-three, because the only good thing about a screaming match with Steve was the angry sex that came after, or during, or before, and they certainly haven’t been having any less sex since all the arguing calmed down.
Steve wobbles beneath his grip, face going slack with pleasure, and Bucky presses his advantage to flip them again. Steve’s next flip takes them off the bed, Bucky landing with a hard thump and a wheeze when Steve scrambles to sit on his stomach again, his hair tousled and his smile smug. Steve’s hair all grown-out is a good look, Bucky thinks; it’s also a good handhold, and Bucky has no shame about fighting dirty with his knot on the line. “Steve,” he snarls again, teeth bared, and Steve laughs even as he growls back, back arched into the grip tugging at his scalp. “Let me — hey!” He pulls his arm away, backing off at the threat of sharp teeth at his wrist, Steve’s teeth snapping at the air.
God, he’s a fucking animal. Bucky is hopelessly in love with him.
“What, you’re giving orders now?” Steve laughs, face flushed as they grapple over the floor, scrabbling for purchase against the hardwood and each other’s bodies, warm and strong and growing slippery with sweat. “I’ve been letting you have it good for too long.”
Steve’s been letting Bucky have it good because he’s insatiable for anything Bucky gives him, but Bucky doesn’t voice that, teeth grit as he twists to slam Steve onto his side before bullying him onto his stomach, dropping to pin him with his body weight. Steve writhes, grumbling and growling, but he also presses his ass up into it when Bucky thrusts down, the noises catching in his throat. “If you wanted a damn turn,” Bucky says, breathless as he starts up a sloppy rhythm that leaves him panting, “then you should’ve said so before my rut.”
“Blatantly unfair,” Steve huffs, reddened cheek pressed to the floor. “If I knew you were gonna rut I’d’ve gotten the cuffs ready.”
“Yeah, keep on dreaming.” Bucky laughs despite himself, widening the splay of his thighs to give Steve more room to shove his hips up with a mesmerizing roll of his spine. “Your scent’s really doing it for me.”
“You know what else could be doing it for you,” Steve says, planting his knees and grinding back against Bucky. Bucky is not proud of it, but he’s barely listening at this point; it should be illegal for Steve to be able to move his ass like that in jeans. Of course, his inattention means that it’s all too easy for Steve to get a leg around him and flip them again. Bucky doesn’t even protest it right away, because Steve punctuates their new position with a filthy swivel of his hips and a haughty smirky. “Me.”
“Ugh,” Bucky says, annoyed that a shitty joke can make him feel more affectionate. “Take your damn jeans off, how about that.”
“How ‘bout a compromise?” Steve asks, sweet as anything. Bucky glowers at him, because the compromise between clothes off and clothes on points him toward the direction of blue balls, but Steve continues, “How about we both get our turns—”
“It’s not a compromise when it’s literally just what you wanted,” Bucky gripes.
Steve says, louder, “We both get our turns. At the same time.”
“Hardly a turn,” Bucky says, but he’ll take this over Steve enacting whatever his idea of revenge for that first rut is, so he talks quickly to smooth over the sour little tick to Steve’s mouth. “Fine, then, what do you want?”
“Jeez, no need to sound so thrilled,” Steve rolls his eyes, clambering to his feet. Bucky wonders for a second whether it’s bad form to sweep his legs, but Steve is getting hands under his arms and hauling him back up toward the bed before he can act on any impulse to keep fighting. “Just get your clothes off, soldier.”
“Very romantic,” Bucky deadpans, but he doesn’t hesitate to begin pulling at his shirt and belt. There’s another joke on the tip of his tongue, but he promptly loses it when Steve also begins to strip down and he’s greeted with miles of smooth, freckled skin. Christ, retirement looks good on him. He’d look even better with some teeth marks filling in the empty spaces where the freckles don’t reach. “Damn, Stevie, you sure you won’t just let me at it?”
He aims for a handful and gets two, flesh squeezed between his fingers. Steve scoffs, asking, “Now who’s the romantic,” but he doesn’t pause in rifling through the drawers. Bucky ignores him, wetting his lips as he watches his own hands slide over the swell of muscle, his left thumb sliding down the crack of his ass until he’s rubbing dry over a puckered rim —
Steve’s palm in the middle of his chest shoves him back toward the bed. He lands with a wheeze, and a bottle of lube follows him, and then Steve kneels, swinging himself into position over Bucky’s face.
All uncertainty evaporates. “Well, hello there,” he croons, pressing a wet kiss to the head of Steve’s cock. Steve’s all warm skin and thick muscle, and Bucky sets his hands upon him immediately, reveling in the sweet way he dimples beneath his touch.
He can’t see it, but he knows Steve is rolling his eyes when he presses another item back between them, curling Bucky’s hand around it. “Get that in me, and maybe your knot’ll be next.”
“Maybe,” Bucky mutters, but he brings the object up to his face to inspect anyway. It’s an anal plug, one of the weighty metal ones they have that always leave Steve nice and soft and open once they come out. The pit of hunger in his stomach yawns wider, and he wets his lips. “I’ll have you beggin’ for it.”
Steve’s answer comes as an amused puff of air that brushes across his hip, followed by the soft press of lips. Bucky lets the teasing go without a complaint, focusing instead on encouraging Steve to shuffle forward, squirming up the bed to get his mouth on the curve of Steve’s ass.
His skin is warm beneath his lips, and Bucky distracts himself from Steve lazily kissing his way across his stomach by sucking bruises into it. Steve’s mouth slides across his length, demanding attention, and Bucky imitates him with a hot stripe of his tongue from Steve’s taint to his tailbone. Steve’s next breath shakes on the way out, and Bucky smiles as he fumbles the lube open and coats his fingers.
A second bottle clicks open. The press of cold, slick fingers against his ass makes him grunt, hips twitching up to slide his aching cock against Steve’s cheek. When Bucky presses a kiss to his rim, Steve presses one to the side of his cock; when Steve crooks a finger and teases it inside of Bucky, Bucky does the same, lapping along where Steve parts around him.
It’s a dance between them, fast-paced and sensual. Bucky's impatience feeds into Steve's eagerness feeds into Bucky's hunger, on and on, churning them to a tempo they can barely keep pace with. Each step coaxes a new noise out of Steve, stokes a new flame inside of Bucky. Steve laves his tongue against Bucky’s burgeoning knot and Bucky’s mouth waters, spit dribbling down Steve’s thighs. He presses a second finger into Steve’s rim, moving quicker than usual, and a groan is muffled into his skin, Steve’s hips shifting back into the stretch.
The dual sensations of attention to his knot and long fingers stroking along his walls are a dizzying juxtaposition that make his muscles twitch, his body rolling to and fro. Bucky vaguely remembers his ruts as a hazy heat clouding his head, a fog that made his body ache for touch. Getting that touch is like finally cutting through the clouds to soar over the top, a focus as blinding as the sun settling over him as he licks Steve open around his fingers.
Bucky’ll never tire of the way Steve flutters and clenches around him, his hole always so tight on their first round. It never matters how often they do this, doesn't matter how desperate Steve gets for a faster pace. It's the serum, Bucky knows, but getting Steve's toes curling over a single finger never fails to get him going.
Steve's body resists even as it shows his appreciation, his cock twitching and dripping down Bucky’s chest. Bucky can’t help the mindless way he praises him, words murmured between kisses and licks, “All wet for me, baby, can’t wait to fuck this tight ass. You’ll take my knot so well, huh? Hungry little hole can’t wait for it.”
He slides his ring finger in to punctuate his point, and Steve drops his forehead against his thigh as he scissors his fingers inside of Bucky in retaliation. “Buck,” he groans, fingers curling, and when Bucky jerks and moans in response he leans in and gently sucks a ball into his mouth, humming in pleasure. “You know I always want you.”
Bucky curses, pulling back and watching the way Steve’s hole glimmers with lube and spit around his knuckles. He presses his stubbled cheek into the pinked skin of Steve’s ass and fucks him open with a determined efficiency, using his metal hand to stroke a teasing finger along the underside of his heavy cock. “Lucky me, huh?” He means it, even if he keeps his tone light. “Bet you’d open up real nice around me, milk me right outta this rut.”
Steve’s breath is hot against his skin. “Fuck.” He must feel Bucky’s grin, because he grinds his forehead into Bucky’s thigh and reprimands, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I still want to go first.” He gives a pointed curl of his fingers, tugging at Bucky’s rim in a test that makes his hips jump.
“Thought we were goin’ at the same time,” Bucky huffs, but it’s hard to stay annoyed when he gets the plug in hand and pressed to Steve’s fluttering hole. “Ready, baby?”
“Almost,” Steve says, and then he shifts smoothly upwards and throats half of Bucky’s cock in one go. A gasp tears out of him, and it’s only Steve’s firm grip that keeps his hips from bucking up into that wet heat. His knot throbs, ready to go at the first hint of a hole to fill. Before Bucky can choke out a warning, Steve is fisting it tight and swallowing him down ‘til his lips are brushing his fist, and Bucky’s a goner.
His stomach twitches through it, his mouth hanging open uselessly where he pants against Steve’s ass. Steve is a mess, dribbling cum and spittle down his cock, swallowing noisily and still not keeping up. It’s only when Steve reels away with a gasp, chin tipping deliberately upwards to let the second half of Bucky’s load splash across his throat, that Bucky remembers he was doing something.
Steve groans when Bucky slides the first inch of the plug in, his hole parting around the tip. Bucky’s mouth shapes around a shuddering moan as he watches, his knot pulsing through the last of his orgasm and his hunger visceral. “Fuck,” he breathes, on the edge of a whine. “You ain’t really gonna make me wait, are you, sweetheart? You’re not cruel like that.”
A harsh breath washes across his stomach, Steve propped up on his elbows to hover over him. Cum drips over his throat, his chest; it's a scene straight out a damn porno, Bucky thinks, distracted again by the sight even as Steve wipes half-heartedly at his mouth and chin.
“It’s not cruel,” Steve huffs. He presses a kiss to the trail of hair over Bucky’s stomach, then licks briefly into his navel to make him jump. “Good things come to those who wait.”
Bucky grumbles, stuffing another inch of the plug into Steve’s hole. He wonders if he'd get accused of being a knothead for scooping some of that cum clinging to Steve's collarbone to use as lube, then decides that would take too long and keeps on pressing.
“This rut waited eighty years for shit to stop hitting the fan so I could take my sweet time with this tight little cunt, but you’re not lettin’ me have that, huh?” Steve shudders, bearing down on the final wide curve of it, and they both hiss as it settles, Bucky’s fingers sliding over where Steve flutters around the narrow stem. “How’s that feelin’?”
He gives it a tap to watch Steve’s thighs jump, snickering as Steve scrambles sideways off of him to escape his reach from doing it again. A hand slides behind his knee, Steve shuffling to settle between his thighs, and Bucky lets his legs fall open even as his chest heaves.
Ruts don’t go like this. Ruts are spent alone in bed, fist around his knot; they’re spent ignoring the scent of another alpha so thick in the air he can’t escape it; they’re spent over another body, sweat slick and burning, rutting into tight warmth and spilling deep, snarling with pleasure —
He can’t help the way his lip curls into a snarl now as Steve shuffles closer, slick cock nudging down past his balls. Steve magnanimously ignores it, leaning down and brushing his mouth against Bucky’s jaw as he lines himself up and presses, thighs flexing, past the initial resistance of Bucky’s ass.
Bucky bites back a harsh noise, breathing through bared teeth. It doesn’t make any goddamn sense when the fire in his belly wants to fight and fuck and fill, but it’s undeniable how good it feels to be stretched open and taken. It’s Steve, he thinks: it can’t not feel good when it’s Steve pressing deeper inch by inch, hot and heavy inside of him.
Steve sinks in until his balls brush the curve of his ass and doesn’t wait for more than a beat before he begins to move in earnest. His rhythm is slow, shaky with poorly withheld impatience, and it goes right off the rails when Bucky stretches his arm down and smacks his metal palm against the base of the plug nestled inside of him. Steve yelps, pulling back to glare at him, and Bucky’s laugh rings for only a moment before Steve punches the breath out of him with a quick, snappy thrust.
Bucky licks his lips, eyeing up the hot flush of Steve’s chest and throat cut across by the tacky lines and pools of his cum. He can’t help but to smear through it, palming possessively over Steve’s scent glands with a messy hand. Steve lets him with a long, whining groan, baring his throat to the width of his hand, and the noise Steve lets out when he fits his palm over the bulge of his Adam’s apple is downright lewd.
Bucky’s cock twitches in interest. Steve’s thickly aroused scent overlaid with his own digs into his hindbrain and lights it up; between the serum and the rut, he knows it’s only to be expected that he’s quick on the draw, but it nearly aches how fast he’s getting hard again — hell, he never even really got the chance to go soft.
Not that Steve seems to be faring any better; he’s got his lip caught between his teeth, his brows pulled tight. Bucky recognizes that face, knows that Steve’s trying to hold back for his sake, but fuck if Bucky gives a damn how fast Steve comes right now. Steve’s fingers dig harshly into the meat of his legs, and Bucky knows without having it said that this is his chance.
“C’mon,” he croons, pressing his thumb into Steve’s rabbiting pulse. Blonde lashes flutter over cheekbones, red lips parting, and Bucky can’t help but grin at how easy his Stevie can be. “Give me that knot, sweetheart, show me how good I feel.”
“Buck,” Steve whines, head dipping. He manages another few thrusts, a few garbled noises that are nearly words, before he gives in and shoves a hand between their bodies to get a fist around his knot. “Ah, fuck, Bucky…”
The twitch of Steve’s cock inside of him makes him moan, surging up to kiss Steve as he pants through his orgasm. He sneaks his hand over Steve’s, squeezing just hard enough at his knot to get a hissed groan out of him before he backs off, tracing a teasing hand up the underside of his own cock as he leans back and lets Steve ride out his knot half-buried inside of him.
“God,” Steve mutters eventually, voice rough. He pulls away with a shuddering sigh, Bucky’s hand falling away from his throat as he leans back to watch his slow slide out of Bucky’s well-fucked hole. “Ah... Sure you want to top tonight?”
“Steve Rogers,” Bucky growls, and Steve laughs.
“Yeah, okay. But, y’know, fair’s fair, so…” He presses hard on Bucky’s leg when Bucky shifts as if to sit up, keeping him down, and Bucky only has a short moment to frown up at him before cold metal is pressing against him and sinking inside smoothly. “There.”
Bucky curses, head grinding against the pillow as he fights his body’s reaction to clench down on the plug; if he knots again outside of Steve, he’ll be pissed. “The hell is that for?”
“To remind you how to do your job,” Steve jokes, giving the base a cheeky flick and grinning when Bucky curses again. “Thought I’d give you a little present for your first rut. What, you don’t like it?”
“I’m not the one always begging for a knot up my ass,” Bucky grumbles, but the thought of fucking Steve with the plug inside him, rubbing all along his walls, keeping the seed Steve spilled in his body — “Fuck. It’s fine.”
“Just fine?” Steve presses with a smirk. Bucky wipes it off his face by lunging up, twisting out of Steve’s grasp and shoving him onto his back with a low growl that spills freely out of his chest. “Okay, yeah, fine’s good, fine is — oh!”
Bucky leers, pushing the plug he'd tugged away back inside of Steve and grinding it deep. “Fine is…?”
“Fine!” Steve yelps, pink down to his nipples as Bucky gives another mean thrust of the plug, listening to the sloppy squelch of the lube as Steve’s rim gives way to the pressure.
He pumps out another squirt of lube into his palm, baring his teeth at the temperature when he slicks up his cock. It’s a quick flick of his wrist to pull the plug away again and line himself up instead, pressing slow and easy into the heat of Steve’s ass. “Mmn, Jesus, Stevie…”
Steve makes a strangled sound of agreement, grappling to get a hand behind his knee and lift his leg higher, baring himself to Bucky. Bucky still can’t believe he gets to have this: Steve opening up around him, silky and hot and squeezing him tight as they slot together.
Fuck, Bucky never should’ve bitten Steve the way he did, never should’ve strung him along, but how can he regret a single moment of it when this is where it got him? He’s got no idea how, but they somehow stumbled their way to this miraculous happiness, and now Bucky gets to just — have this. Not just now, not just for a stolen moment, but for as long as Steve’ll let him, and that's the craziest fucking part: Steve might let it go on for forever.
He presses his palm to Steve’s chest, slides over his collarbone and along the corded muscles of his shoulders and neck, and Steve yields with a secretive little smile when Bucky ends up tracing the blue-ish blur of the bruise of his last bite. Yeah, Steve might even want it to go on for forever.
“All yours,” Steve purrs up at him, pleased as punch, and Bucky can’t fucking take it anymore. He shifts forward with a grunt, watches Steve go wide-eyed and gasping before he even begins, because Steve’s a shameless size queen and loves this position, but Bucky’s no goddamned better because this way — Steve’s ass in the cradle of his thighs, braced over him with elbows planted in the pillows — he gets to set his teeth to Steve’s throat and make him beg.
Sure enough, the first deep grind of his hips has Steve choking on a moan. “Fuck, you’re big,” he wheezes out, and any other day Bucky might have had the mental capacity to make fun of him for sounding like a whiny virgin, but right now all he can really think is fuck, you’re tight.
“Nngh,” Bucky quite intelligently manages rather than voicing that. Steve’s made magnificent attempts at sucking his brain out through his cock and riding him until he’s speechless before, but Bucky’s own brain is doing its level best to collapse in on itself over being balls deep in Steve while the heat of rut is licking up his spinal cord.
Steve, because he’s an All-American bastard, has no sympathy for such a plight. “Come on, Buck,” he husks, a throaty purr he only ever manages when he’s too turned on to be embarrassed by the fact that he’s being obscene. Bucky sucks a patch of freckled skin between his teeth and feels his vocal cords buzz, “Thought you wanted to knot me up.” He squirms on Bucky’s cock like he might find the leverage to fuck himself on it with his hips in the air, then splays his palms along Bucky’s shoulders as he tacks on, “Better get to it if you want me bred.”
Bucky releases his mouthful with a gasp, hips jerking without his input at the words. The plug jostles inside him, pulled tight by the flexing muscle of his ass and thighs. Bucky hisses, focus pulled back to the thought of Steve's spend inside him, and the fact that he’s inside Steve now, and he can knot him and spill into him and knot him and spill into him and knot him again, because Steve can take it. Steve takes everything he gives.
Bucky likes that more than he has words for. Knowing that Steve is always hungry for him and always wants more sates some deeper instinct, some primal need, because he’s the only alpha in the goddamned world who can bend Steve neatly in half and fuck him over and over and over again, who can fuck him right —
“Yes, yes, yes,” Steve chants, nails digging into his flesh. Bucky hardly notices, not even when Steve's hand slips on the sweat and smacks against his metal arm hard enough to get the plates shivering in response. “Give it to me, alpha.”
Bucky grinds out a laugh that’s more of a wheeze. It’s not like he doesn’t know that Steve’s getting his hand into the tangled wire of instincts and pulling at anything his fingers brush against, but it’s a little mind-melting how easily it works. His knot pulses angrily, ready to go; any other day, Bucky might be abashed at how quickly he’s tipping over the edge, but he can’t dredge up the brain power to care about anything but returning the favor and filling Steve to the brim.
He rocks in, lets Steve feel the burgeoning swell of his knot against his rim. It’s probably too soon, Steve slick and welcoming for his cock but not worked over enough yet to open up for a knot. But Steve moans for it, curls limbs tight around him and begs, words spilling from his lips as Bucky’s fail him: “That’s it, come on, Bucky. Come on, let me have it.
“I will,” Bucky groans, letting gravity do half the work for him as he fucks Steve open. The slap of skin on skin pounds through his skull, and he slides a hand between them to grip hard at Steve's ass and feel the way his hole spasms tight around him. They both let a curse slip, and Bucky presses further, tracing a finger where he’s stretched tight around his cock. “I fuckin' will. Think you can fit it, honey? So goddamn tight…”
Steve groans, eyes dark and lidded. “Mmn, you’ll make it fit, won’t you?” Steve’s teeth slide across his jaw, bared in a grin. “You know I can take whatever you give me.”
Bucky can’t help but smirk back, raising his chin to kiss Steve across the mouth. Steve sucks on his tongue, nipping and growling playfully, and the sound of it raises the hairs on the nape of his neck. “Greedy,” he chides, though the scrape of his voice gives him away. “Want it that bad?”
"What'd I say?" Steve catches his lip between his teeth. There’s not a chance he’s been taken in by Bucky’s attempt at high ground, not when Bucky is sweating down his spine and blowing his knot in the first five minutes. He plays along anyway, blunt nails scratching at Bucky’s back, kissing him with a desperation that builds heat low in his gut. "Always want you."
A shuddering groan tears from his throat, his hips working with new urgency. That old, forgotten mantra, the furious need to fuck fill breed, is crawling up his spine; he clings to clarity, clawing for just a moment longer to look at Steve beneath him, fucked out and beautiful. "Yeah, guess you did say that." He chases Steve's mouth, bites at the sweet pink of his lower lip until he's shivering. "What'd I do to get lucky enough to end up with a guy like you, huh?" he muses.
Steve kisses back with an amused hum. "Ask myself that all the time," he says, and Bucky ducks his head to suck on his scent gland to keep from having to look at the earnestness on his face before he goes and messes it up by knotting over the idea that Steve loves him for whatever fucking reason. "Mnn, Bucky, Buck.. Knot me, c'mon, I know you wanna."
Bucky groans wordlessly, his teeth clamping down over the front of Steve's neck to keep him still as he ruts into him harder. Steve arches beneath him, ass clenching down, and Bucky breathes harshly through his nose as the coil in his gut winds tighter, tighter —
"Sh-shit, fuck," Steve pants. "C'mon, yes, c'mon, knot me, bite me, Bucky, bite me —"
Bucky's teeth sink in a fraction harder, and Steve practically howls, his knuckles bumping against Bucky's stomach as he reaches between them to get a hand on his cock. Bucky grits out his encouragement, hands tightening on the plush flesh of Steve's thighs.
Steve's noises go high and airy, desperate and chanting; he comes with a yelp, his throat vibrating beneath Bucky's tongue. On his next thrust, Steve's hole finally yields to the press of his knot with a filthy sound, and Bucky sinks in with a low moan. Steve cries out, body going tight with the waves of his orgasm, and Bucky is helpless to do anything but follow.
Bucky drags his mouth from jugular to gland, shuddering as Steve claws down his back with a gasp. "Do it," Steve says, nearly a snarl for how desperate it is. "Bucky, do it, do it — ah!"
The thin skin over the mating gland splits beneath Bucky's teeth like ripe fruit, his eyes squeezing shut as he rocks his hips through a knot that makes his head spin. Steve makes a wounded noise, fingers digging hard into his skin, and Bucky wraps him up the best he can without tugging at the join or freeing his teeth from Steve's flesh.
"Bucky," he whimpers, and Bucky pets a hand down his side, rubbing away the goosebumps on his thigh. "Oh my God, Buck…"
Christ, he's crying. Bucky detaches with a labored breath, rubbing his nose along Steve's cheeks and his thumb against the tears that glitter at his lash line. "Aw, don't get weepy, you sap."
"Fuck you," Steve gasps, throwing his head back into the pillow. "Take it back if you don't want me cryin'."
Bucky looks at the smear of blood, the rapidly bruising swell of the bite he's left behind, and grunts as his cock reminds him how happy it is to be in this situation and his heart kicks into a joyful double time. "Hell no. You're stuck with me now, Rogers."
Steve huffs a disbelieving laugh, then beams up at him with the force of a thousand suns, because of course. "Yeah. Guess I am."
Bucky shoves his face into Steve's hair, unable to look at that face too long without a tightness threatening at his throat. Steve pets a hand over his nape, thumb wandering over his mating gland, and all at once Bucky is struck with the solution to that nagging little bit of guilt he sometimes still feels over how he'd treated Steve.
He rolls them with a practiced efficiency, Steve barely jostled as he settles neatly into place at his lap. Bucky stifles a moan as the plug reminds him of its presence, and Steve leers down at him in response, kissing away his soft pants and rocking carefully in his lap until his grip loosens around Steve's waist.
It's a position that evokes images of younger versions of them: Bucky beleaguered and exasperated, Steve righteous and snarling. The way Steve used to pin him down is a long way from the fond drape of his body against Bucky's, the ecstatic scent and cold tip of his nose against his jaw keeping him grounded in the present. "Hey, Buck."
"Hey, punk." Steve pinches him, and he takes it with a smirk. "Watch it, you. Not very good of you to treat your mate like that." When Steve falters, soft mouth dropping open, Bucky only smiles. "If you want, that is."
Steve glares at him, which is awfully at odds with the way he dives in for a hard kiss, pressing into Bucky like he can merge them together into one being. "Yeah?" He asks, a giddy grin splitting his face.
It's hard to kiss him like that, so Bucky smacks a few over his face before dropping back and tipping his chin up, watching the way Steve's gaze drops to his gland with no lack of hunger. "Go ahead," Bucky says, and doesn't even have time for a noise of surprise when Steve lunges in, teeth sinking into his gland without fanfare.
He bares his teeth at the sting, bucking up into Steve, but Steve only holds on with a low grumble and hands tight at his biceps. When he pulls away, it's only far enough to give a cursory wipe of his mouth with the back of his hand before they're kissing again; it doesn't work, and their mouths both taste of iron, but it's easy to ignore with the blooming of smoke and maple in the air. "Love that," Bucky sighs, shuddering at the smell of them, and Steve laughs fondly through the kiss. "Love you, punk."
Steve's teeth press to his cheek, his smile too wide to keep the kiss going again. "Yeah. Yeah, I love you, too. Think it’ll keep?” His thumb strokes possessively over the throbbing bite at the base of Bucky’s neck.
“No idea,” he admits, and can’t help but press his fingers against the top knob of Steve’s spine and pull at his skin, tugging at the healing bite until Steve’s face twists in pained pleasure.
Steve puffs out of a hot breath of air, submitting easily when Bucky presses in to get his mouth back to his throat. “Guess we’ll just have to do it again, huh?”
Bucky grins at the thought. He’s left livid bruises in the shape of his teeth on Steve’s skin more times than he can count on his fingers and toes, but he’ll never turn down a chance to do it again. To do it officially, now, as it is. “As many times as it needs.”
It’s a promise he intends to keep.