Chapter Text
James Barnes, known as Bucky to the few friends he let close enough, tucked his chin close to his chest, the bitter, cold wind cutting straight through his coat. His long brown hair whipped wildly in the air from the strong gusts of wind. The heels of his boots sounded quietly against the cobblestone road, his pale blue eyes constantly flickering around, taking in his surroundings. The brunet’s left hand stayed in his coat pocket, fingers playing with the weapon he had stored there.
Looking up at the large factory in front of him, steam billowing from one of the large pipes on the roof, Bucky took a deep, determined breath before pulling out the metallic stake, clutched firmly in his left hand, and slipping inside.
The factory smelled of wood-smoke, fire ash, and sweat. Grease and the general newness of the building and large machinery permeated the air. With most of the equipment turned off for the night, silence seemed to echo over the vast rooms, sliding among the looms and threaders, though a soft whirring noise could be heard stretching from a back office. Dust, cotton fibers, and other detritus from the few weeks of full cloth production littered the floors and laid over every surface, along with the general feel of desperation that drove the workers, mainly women too tired to wonder at their own hollow lives or children too young, but oh so nimble inside the massive machines, to know how helpless they truly were. This was a newly minted full cloth factory for the rising industrial giants to squeeze the life and labor from the underclass with no one able to stop the inevitable march of inhumane progress.
On a catwalk, as if surveying his already decaying domain, stood the tall, muscular form of Steve Rogers, a man of physical beauty. His dress was impeccable, matching his markless features, his eyes a brilliant sapphire, taking in the expanse of humanity’s newest monument to forced menial labor and untimely death. Flush lips practically hidden behind a neatly trimmed red-gold beard hinted at a sensuality belied by the wide set shoulders and almost impossibly narrow waist. In one ceilingless room below his perch a series of wood fires slowly died out, tended by him alone, fueling the last dregs of power to that one loom he had claimed for his own masterpiece of cloth weaving. As the lone night security guard, hired sight unseen by the rich, almost negligent factory owner, Steve had free reign of the grounds and building, thus he had claimed, and mainly kept locked tight, a small office with loom in the back. But something had drawn him early from the end of his night’s work, and so he left his personal business untended as he stood, monitoring the chilled rooms and night-cold machines, pursuing his more mundane nightly occupation.
Finally, he spotted the sole figure on the ground floor, the one which didn’t belong, had arrived uninvited. Silently, the blond watched the man’s progress . . . the human hunter who had pursued him almost to exclusion for several years. Though fast for one of his fragile kind, James Barnes was laughably child-clumsy when compared to a vampyre of Steve’s vast years and rare abilities. The reborn being merely watched the less-than-stealthy movements of his long-time adversary . . . well, long time for a human; a mere extended moment or two for Steve.
Bucky made it up the last step, his lean body already tensed with defensiveness as he looked at the vampyre standing in the middle of the catwalk. The hunter’s footsteps echoed throughout the empty space as they sounded against the metal grate of the floor below him.
Amusement flickered over Steve’s intense blue eyes and, conversationally, he said “Ah, the ‘Winter Soldier’ again?” The company which had hired James, a group of vampyre hunters called Hydra, had nicknamed the man such for his eerie ability to slip in like a silent winter snowfall and bring cold death then melt away. But that name had been granted by humans, who considered James Barnes to be the epitome of stealth. For the vampyre community, it was a joke, a child’s foolish dreams, a frighteningly real threat by an otherwise unthreatening human.
Bucky sneered, flipping his stake between brass fingers, the metal gleaming from the moonlight pouring in through one of the windows, “Cap, been awhile.”
Noting the bitterly metallic protective sheath over the human’s strangely twisted and scarred arm, Steve felt a surge of anger and pity, quickly tamped down. Emotions had no place in an encounter between vampyre and hunter, even if the vampyre in question found these little sparring matches more of an amusement than a risk. He knew James was no match for him, but he continued to allow the man his hopes, his delusions. Softly, Steve said, “Someone took a souvenir since last we met?” and gestured to the prosthetic, a flicker of something akin to regret crossed briefly over his calm face before he once more, coldly, pushed all emotion away.
Taking a step to the side, pale blue eyes never leaving his target, Bucky twirled the stake again, the mechanic whir of the protective covering filling the space, “have one of your blood-sucking friends to thank for it. Maybe you can help me out, Cap. I’d like to send a fruit basket or something.”
As if disinterested, pacing slightly in the opposite direction, keeping the space between them like a dance, Steve said, “and to which friend should I deliver your message?”
“Natasha Romanov,” Bucky answered, eyes narrowing.
“You lived after meeting the Russian?” Sounding faintly impressed, Steve let a small smile flicker over his full lips, all but hidden by his soft beard, “ah, but I would expect nothing less of the ‘Winter Soldier’.” In reality, he was surprised the frail human had ever been seen again if he’d tangled with the Romanov; she was not known to spare hunters.
“You and me have been doin’ this dance for awhile, Cap,” Bucky leered, taking an offensive step forward; however, he still left some space between himself and Steve. “‘Bout time we finish this. I will say, though, that I’ll miss chasing your shadow.”
“Shadows are all you ever will catch, infant,” Steve said with a bored look.
Snarling at the offensive name, Bucky took another step forward, lifting his arms higher, body crouching in a defensive stance. “We’ll see about that,” the hunter growled before launching himself towards the Vampyre.
With reflexes born of his particular clan’s gifts, the vampyre surged up and over the advancing human, landing neatly behind him. Whirling around, striking out with his right arm, Steve slammed his powerful, muscular limb across the metal gears of James’ prosthetic covering, jamming the elbow so it would extend and contract with great difficulty. He barely registered that they had crossed over the ceilingless rooms to face off over his own still humming, still diligently working automatic steam loom.
Grunting with the pain of his damaged arm being bent, Bucky lifted his leg to kick forcibly at the vampyre, trying to get distance between them once again.
Steve caught the man by the boot, taking the brunt of his forceful strike without even a grunt, though he felt it vibrate through his muscles. So, the man had learned a trick or two recently, probably from Romanov. Letting the man overbalance due to the interrupted flow of the attack, Steve suddenly thrust backwards, hard, letting James go at the apex of his push.
Stumbling back, heels teetering over the edge of the catwalk, Bucky, with a soft gasp of surprise, fell into the massive working loom below. Strong threads being shot over and back by the shuttle wrapped hungrily at the metal gears and supports of his prosthetic sheath, dragging him into the teeth of the card reader, gnawing metal and flesh easily, painfully, crunching through bone and thin leather straps and even thinner support frame with the ease of a man chewing a piece of long-roasted beef.
Bucky let out a loud, piercing scream as the powerful machine chewed and tore his arm. The hunter tried to fight against the gears and sharp teeth that ripped through his tissue and muscles like they were nothing more than parchment.
Horror crossed Steve’s features and he flung himself down, over the catwalk edge and to the concrete floor, ignoring the minor jarring from such an incredible drop and sudden landing. He reached instinctively into the machine, ripping strong threads with his bare hands, pulling the man out by anything he could reach: his shredding clothes, his long hair.
Finally, he won the deadly tug-of-war, and Steve knelt by the damaged machine, holding the bleeding human across his lap, the formerly damaged limb ripped horrendously from the socket. Human medicine could do nothing in time to help this brave, foolish, misguided man to live. “James . . .” Steve’s voice whispered, broken and horrified, an odd, indefinable wrenching in his chest.
Bucky gasped, his face already paling with the massive amount of blood loss, his pale eyes struggling to stay focused. Blood soaked through the ripped coat, pooling below him on the concrete floor; crimson had splattered on the hunter’s neck and face from the violent injury. Feebly, with his only remaining arm, the hunter tried to shove the vampyre away, a pained groan breaking past his lips as the movement jarred his severely damaged shoulder.
Ignoring the weak kitten-like attempt to move him, Steve cupped the man’s face firmly in both large strong hands. He forced James to either meet his eyes or close his own. Knowing he made a choice for the human that James might never want, but feeling responsible for the mortal wound he’d inadvertently inflicted on the frail being, Steve leaned in and sealed his lips over James’, beard scratching across the human’s mouth, drawing energy from the man’s body and forcing him to accept Steve’s in return, sharing, blending the very essence of their beings.
Bucky continued to struggle, right hand pressing against Steve’s chest, but the vampyre’s grip was too strong, there was nothing the brunet could do to stop this.
The small contact wasn’t enough to help in the short time the human had remaining. Never unsealing their mouths, Steve ripped the man’s clothing from him with unnatural strength. He pulled his own clothing off, still one handed, the other forcing James to keep the kiss going. Pressing their nude bodies against one another, the vampyre allowed the energy exchange to happen along their entire lengths, wherever flesh touched flesh.
Letting out a pained scream, muffled by Steve’s lips against his own, Bucky’s back arched off the ground as fiery pain raced through his veins. His hand never left the vampyre’s chest, still attempting to shove the stronger being off of him, although the attempts were becoming weaker as each moment passed, the steady amount of blood leaving his body taking the young hunter’s life faster than the vampyre could give.
The human’s life was failing fast as his blood continued to seep from that torn arm, despite Steve’s attempts. There was no other way, not if the blond wished to save the brunet. Drawing in a breath through his nose, still sealing their mouths, Steve used his free hand to grip James tightly and flip them over, the dying human on the cold cement floor now. Fumbling James’ legs open, pushing him wide with strong hips, Steve lined up. There was no time to prepare the man; he needed too much contact, too much life energy to go gently. Steve thrust his large length into the smaller man without preparation, feeling that tight heat tear but having no other choice. Instead, he merely drove his own flesh harshly, quickly in and out, shunting into the man as forcefully as he could to bring himself to completion as soon as possible. The tight, regrettably moistening blood heat of James surprisingly enticed Steve like no other sexual contact had. He had never raped a person before, and normally such an action would be repellent, but the very idea that through this one brutal act he could spare James’ life, his almost pure innocent confused soul, drove Steve further towards completion.
A loud, sobbing scream erupted from the weakened human, his hand clawing and scrabbling at the icy concrete floor below him to try and get away. The fire in his veins paled in comparison to the tearing, ripping of his virgin passage as Steve thrust in and out. Bucky had received many injuries and prided himself on being able to handle pain . . . but this - - he’d never felt anything this agonizing. His whole body ached and jarred with the vampyre’s brutal pace. “Stop . . . please . . .” Bucky whimpered, his pride fading away as he gave into begging for the being he saw as his enemy to stop, to just let him die.
“Accept me, damnit it!” Steve growled low in his throat, almost a guttural rumble. “Accept me and I will stop.” He was close, Steve could feel the building, tightening heat, but he could not release without James’ permission. It wouldn’t work without that small acquiescence.
Seeing no other choice, Bucky sobbed once more and let his body still, no longer fighting, just giving his body up to the vampyre.
“Thank you,” Steve breathed, almost inaudibly, as he thrust in once, twice, a third time, deep, bottoming out completely, balls slapping heavily against James’ tortured flesh. Then the vampyre released his hot load, filling the human, painting his walls with thick ropes of cum. Steve breathed into James’ mouth, a breath of life for a dying man, his energy coursing through his pores and spent member to fill the human . . . and change him like no natural process could.
Gently cupping James’ . . . no, he could read his unwilling lover's mind now and knew the man preferred Bucky . . . cupping Bucky’s head gently in one large hand, Steve eased his kiss as he stilled, still semi-erect, inside that now healing passage, surprised by the intense pleasure he felt as the torn flesh re-knitted around him, tightening even more as the once virgin male below him recovered, fitting Steve exactly. The bloody shoulder had stopped giving off life essence and the chilled flesh below Steve’s felt . . . right once more. “Good boy, baby . . .” Steve cooed softly.
Bucky panted, his last breaths wheezing as his body changed into something he despised, his icy blue eyes wide as they developed a bright gold ring around the irises. Finally, his lungs, his heart stopped. He looked up at the blond vampyre above him, eyes glowing with golden fire. Bucky clawed at Steve’s chest, nails digging at the cold, stone-like flesh; his body vibrated with need. He needed more contact, his body betraying his mind, “Cap . . .” the hunter had never learned the vampyre’s real name, only the name that Hydra had given him.
“I know, sweetheart. I know,” Steve cooed again, and began to slowly move inside the newborn vampyre, this time gentle and unhurried. They now had all the time in the world.
Body more sensitive than ever, Bucky moaned and canted his hips to meet Steve’s, his whole being seemed to be taken over by the primal need for the contact, for the energy that the older vampyre released with each thrust.
His voice gentle, expression caring and almost loving, Steve began to softly kiss Bucky’s face, his neck, his now healed shoulder, beard lightly rasping over each place. If later the fledgling vampyre wanted a replacement arm, Steve would provide it as much as he was providing the energy his newborn craved.
“Cap . . .” Bucky moaned again, “please . . .” the brunet’s arm wrapped around the bigger being, bringing their bodies closer, chests flush.
“What do you desire, sweetheart?” Steve prompted, his pace gentle even as his massive tool swelled once more with the desire to claim this man below him. Steve had never sired a vampyre before, and the need to protect, to fulfill, grew with each stroke inside his new lover, the Omega to his Alpha.
“Need it . . .” Bucky breathed, his body thrumming with pleasure, his new heightened senses completely overwhelmed so that he couldn’t even think straight, couldn’t think about the fact that the man inside of him was something he’d been raised to hate, to kill.
“Need what, my love,” Steve breathed against Bucky’s shoulder, kissing the healed flesh, the smooth skin. “Tell me what I should do for you.” He picked up the pace, but only slightly, wanting to feel this heavenly tightness pulling at him, desiring release all over again, even this soon, but not wanting to rush this time, now that they had time.
At the increased pace, Bucky moaned, head falling back; his body longed to submit completely to his sire. He needed more; he felt a fire in his veins that only seemed to calm when Steve thrust completely inside.
“You need to use your words, my love,” Steve instructed gently, pulling his mind back to his own long-ago rebirthing and how his own sire had failed to instruct him, a mistake he would not repeat for his own newborn. “You need to push past the feelings and control them. Words ground you, Bucky. Tell me what you desire.” He opened his lips to expose his fangs and dragged them ever so lightly across Bucky’s shoulder towards his throat.
“Fire . . . burns . . .” Bucky gasped out, the feeling of Steve’s fangs against his skin causing his eyes to roll back and hips to thrust upwards again, pushing the blond deeper inside his passage. His skin burned and tingled, the cold concrete below and the firmness of Steve’s strong body above him was almost too much for the newborn to handle.
“That is your new energy, love. It will burn for the rest of your life. It grows hotter when you are near me, even if you do not see or hear me,” Steve patiently whispered against the skin he teased. He continued his slow thrusts into Bucky, continually joining his lover, filling him over and over with the massive tool.
“Make it stop, Cap . . . please . . .” Bucky whimpered.
“I will never make it stop, Bucky,” Steve vowed. “I want you to burn bright as the heavenly stars.”
“It hurts . . . too much,” the brunet ran his nails down Steve’s back.
“Only because it is so new, Sweetheart,” Steve cooed gently. “You must accept it, learn to feel. Do not let it overwhelm you, control it and embrace it. This is who you are now, my love. Do not deny yourself.”
This is who you are now, those words seemed to echo in Bucky’s mind, over and over again, like a sickening taunt. The words cleared the fog in the newborn’s mind, finally allowing his anger to burn through, turning his eyes completely gold. Growling, the brunet shoved against Steve again, pushing with all the strength he’d gained from Steve.
The older vampyre fell back, off and out of the newborn, landing on the cold stone ground of his private office, near the damaged yet still grinding automatic loom. Surprise lit his features as he looked at his lover. Of course the younger vampyres strength had been nothing as compared to Steve; he’d moved simply from the shock of the sudden rejection in the middle of a feeding - - such a thing was unheard of.
Bucky scrambled off the floor, his skin still stained with the dark crimson of his blood, although he no longer bled. “What did you do to me?!” the brunet shouted, his teeth bared in a snarl, flashing Steve his new fangs.
“You would have died, permanently, Bucky. I . . . stopped that.” Steve stood and held up his hands, palms out. “I healed you.”
“You turned me!” Bucky growled, “you should’ve just let me die!” The brunet looked down at his left shoulder; he stumbled back. It seemed to hit him that his arm was gone. His whole life had been fighting and hunting, now he was crippled, useless . . . even worse than that, he was now a part of the same species he’d committed his entire life to wiping out.
Steve’s hand shot out to catch Bucky’s right arm easily, preventing a fall into that still dangerous machine nearby. “Calm down, Bucky, please. Let me wash you and dress you, and we can discuss your new life.”
Bucky snarled, eyes flashing dangerously, his body curled into a defensive stance. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you!” However, the mere thought of being separated from his sire caused a twinge of pain in his chest. What had Steve turned him into? Some sick type of slave? Bucky had heard of some vampyres turning humans into their own personal slaves, an object to be used at their discretion. The newborn couldn’t understand his subconscious need to be around Steve, to be a close as possible.
With a sigh, Steve moved to the desk and the wash station beside it. He opened the cabinet then gave the pump a hard push or two to get the water flowing into the basin. “At least let me wash you up, Buck. You’re filthy.” The clothes were a complete loss, but Steve kept a small closet of them since he practically lived here, locking himself almost securely into the small work room-office combination during the weakening daylight hours.
Instead of listening to the older, stronger vampyre, Bucky backed up further, shaking his head. The brunet’s eyes were wide and his expression was a mix of anger and fear.
Instantly, Steve grabbed Bucky by the right arm again, dragging him forcibly from the nearby machine, the cloth, metal, and flesh still trapped deep in it’s gears. “Will you stop trying to re-kill yourself? That won’t be a pleasant experience and will be a painful re-healing process.” Steve’s tone came out short, frustrated at Bucky’s still clumsy newborn confusion. He drew a breath, reminding himself that his newborn needed patience and understanding.
Wrenching his arm out of Steve’s grip, Bucky growled, low and hateful, “I’d rather stake myself through the fucking heart than stay here with you.”
“That won’t work, so don’t even bother, unless you want the others to tease you for being a foolish pup,” Steve sighed. “Heart staking only works on blood-suckers since that’s where they store their foul energy-giving blood supplies.”
“Then what am I? What are you? I’ve killed your kind with a stake before,” Bucky’s eyes narrowed, still defiant.
“There are no reports of stake deaths among us. We are vampyres, Bucky,” Steve patiently clarified, the second half coming out sounding more like ‘peerays’ than ‘pires,’ though he was surprised he had to. “I shared my life energy with you so you wouldn’t die. Now you are a vampyre like me. A stake will not kill you unless it decapitates you somehow.”
Bucky shook his head and turned away from Steve, his balance seemed off with the loss of his arm. His steps were clumsy, nothing like the sure-footed, stealthy man that had entered the factory; his body leaned to one side, trying to compensate for the missing weight of his left arm.
“May I please clean you up as I answer your questions, Bucky?” Steve lifted a soft cloth, dipped in the cool water.
“Fuck off,” Bucky growled as he began to walk away from Steve, but with every step he took, his body seemed to grow weaker.
Steve frowned, eyes filled with worry. “You’re too young, Bucky, to go far. Please, trust me in this. I know how to take care of you.”
“What? By raping me? Is that what I am to you now? Some fucking sex toy?” Bucky whirled around, stumbling to the side from the sudden movement.
Steve once again grabbed Bucky’s arm to rescue him from the machine. He sighed and thrust the newborn Omega at the office chair. “Sit,” he blatantly ordered, hating himself for using that Alpha control. The blond turned and began the process of shutting down the machine and unhooking the large steam pipe that fueled it so it wouldn’t inadvertently start again.
At the direct order, Bucky’s body and mind instantly listened, physically unable to disobey his sire. The brunet hated the overall need to please the blond, to listen, to be his good boy. The whole thing seemed off, so unnatural to a man that had spent his whole life being in control of himself.
“Yes,” Steve said firmly, his voice almost, but not quite, neutral. “I did rape you. It was the only way to give you the sudden flux of energy and life-seed you needed. You were bleeding out quicker than I could replace your energy. It was a matter of time, only.” He looked up. “I wouldn’t have preferred to rape you at all, Bucky . . . or even convert you if I felt I had a choice.” He lowered his sad, intense blue eyes back to the machinery.
“You did have a choice!” Bucky screamed, temper flaring again, “You could’ve let me die!”
Turning away from the finally still loom, Steve stood, either unaware of or completely comfortable with his own nudity. “You wanted to die, Buck?” he asked directly. “You wanted me to kill you?”
“I didn’t want to die! But I’d rather be dead than stuck with you . . . having no fucking control over myself!” Bucky snapped, fangs flashing, fist clenching tightly.
Wincing at the repeat of the newborn’s hate, Steve sighed and moved back to the sink beside the enraged vampyre. He grabbed the cloth and began to wash the congealed mess from the brunet’s left side with gentle, strong hands. “Why did you give in then? You could have defied me until the end and you wouldn’t have converted. A vampyre can only convert the willing.”
Bucky hung his head, his long brunet hair clumped together with blood and sweat. Hanging like a thick curtain, hiding his face from the other being. Why had he submitted to Steve?
“Stand up, Buck,” the order came gently, almost a request but not quite.
Bucky listened, rising to his feet; he didn’t lift his head, not allowing himself to look at the other vampyre.
Carefully, Steve gripped Bucky’s hips and picked him up to place him on the edge of the desk, pushing his business papers aside. Dipping the cloth back in the water, rinsing it then wringing it out, Steve began to wash Bucky’s nether regions, careful and gentle. “It was because you didn’t want to die and you knew, despite everything, that I was trying to save you, Bucky, isn’t it?”
Looking away, eyes still downcast, Bucky clenched his jaw and didn’t answer Steve; although the blond was right, the brunet didn’t want to voice that agreement. He was a disgrace to his family and fellow hunters; he’d allowed himself to be turned, to become some object to be used.
Sighing, Steve continued to clean the younger vampyre. “I know it wasn’t because you were pleased by the rape, so you can stop being embarrassed and worried that you liked that. It was solely a choice of survival, and in the end, most people choose survival. Just most humans don’t recognize it when a vampyre offers it. You’re smarter than most. Instinctively smarter.”
Bucky still didn’t say anything, figuring ignoring his sire was the last bit of defiance he had left.
Finally, having cleaned Bucky’s body, Steve pulled him carefully from the wooden desk and carried him the few steps to the sink. He reached over and snagged his chair to ease his burden into the leather seat. Steve leaned Bucky backwards over the sink and began to wash his hair in the cool water. “Right now you are over-sensitive due to being a newborn. Conversion heightens everything. You will calm with time if you try, but you need to work on control. If you don’t, you will stay a fiery jumble of raw nerves.” Steve’s large hands were gentle as he worked the tangles and clumps from the newborn’s oversensitized scalp.
It took everything in Bucky not to lean into that touch like a goddamned cat; the newborn clutched the arm of the chair tightly and continued to stare up at the ceiling, his eyes had returned to his light blue, ringed with gold.
“Since you are hyper-sensitive, you are vulnerable. I’ll stay close to protect and guide you.” Steve offered softly, finishing with the wet silken strands, letting them fall softly through his fingers one last time before sitting the newborn up and reaching for his only towel.
“You gonna fuck me again, Cap? Order me around? Must be great, having a hunter at your complete mercy, right?” Bucky snapped, tone bitter and harsh.
Drawing a deep intake of breath, Steve let it out slowly, keeping his patience with effort. This hunter had been instructed very poorly by his owners. Finally, Steve said, “Hydra taught you didn’t they?”
“Sure, after blood-suckers murdered my entire family, including my little sister who was only three at the time . . . I had no one else,” Bucky growled, looking up at Steve with hatred in his eyes.
“Blood-suckers . . .” Steve echoed, disgust tinging his voice. “Yes, they would do something so evil.” With a shake of his head, Steve dried Bucky’s body then wrapped his hair in the towel. “Well, you cannot go back to Hydra now. They will certainly torture you.”
“Better for you, right? Keep me locked away? You finally won, Cap,” Bucky sighed and closed his eyes. “I’d say congratulations are in order, right?”
“Why do you call me Cap?” Steve finally asked the question which had bothered him for the last five years, not answering the newborn’s angry assumptions and insults.
“Captain,” Bucky said with a simple shrug, not opening his eyes, “is the name Hydra gave you.”
“They did?” the vampyre looked slightly intrigued. “Why? What do they think I am a Captain of?”
“Don’t know . . . didn’t care, honestly, so I didn’t ask . . . more likely than not they wouldn’t have explained it to me anyway,” Bucky supplied easily, “they just told me to kill you, so that’s what I’ve been trying to do.”
“Why didn’t they train you to go after the blood-suckers who murdered your family?” Steve challenged, waiting to see how Bucky would answer that. Steve knew Hydra had lied to the brunet; the blond wanted to see how far the lies went.
“They told me you and the Russian were responsible,” Bucky finally opened his eyes, looking up at Steve, “they said you two murdered my family. I went after Romanov after our last . . . encounter, but well,” Bucky looked down at his left side and sighed, “you saw how that ended.”
Steve began washing himself quickly of Bucky’s last remaining human blood and their combined dried semen. “And you still think that?” he asked carefully, sounding almost detached. “That Romanov and I murdered your family?”
“Doesn’t matter what I think anymore, does it? You own me now, I don’t have control over my mind or my body, so what does it matter what I think?” Bucky sounded defeated, his normal cocky and sure attitude melting away.
“Own you? No, I don’t own anyone. I don’t believe in buying and selling people like livestock, Bucky.” Steve shook his head and grabbed part of his torn shirt from the floor to dry himself off. “And control will come as you mature and learn. No newborn ever has control.” He then opened the closet and fished inside for clothing for the pair of them.
“Just use them for you own sick pleasure, then?” Bucky looked back up at the ceiling, pale eyes empty just like his tone.
“I could never have found pleasure in raping you if it wasn’t to ultimately save you. And I could never have found release without the permission you gave, Bucky,” Steve corrected gently.
Bucky looked over to Steve, eyes narrowed in an expression of hatred, “And what now, Captain? What are you going to do with me now? Since I can’t leave you.”
“Of course you can, but it would be foolish,” Steve corrected in small exasperation. “You’re too weak to make it on your own. You’d be killed before sun-up. And my name is Steve. I’ve never been a captain of anything, ship or army.”
“Steve,” Bucky repeated lifelessly, “Well, Steve, what happens to me now?”
Sighing, Steve walked back over to Bucky and knelt on the floor before the chair. He began shimmying decadently soft underdrawers onto the man, pulling them over one foot than the other before caressing them up the man’s calves. “I am going to instruct you, protect you, care for you . . . and make sure the other vampyres know you are no longer working for Hydra so you are no longer our enemy.”
Bucky snorted, looking down at Steve, “your kind are going to want to rip the rest of my limbs off.”
Chuckling in surprise, Steve looked up, so close to Bucky’s crotch but eyes meeting the other vampyre’s instead. “Now why would they want to do that?”
“Shall I recount the last five years for you, Steve? I’ve killed a lot of your friends. I’m sure they’ll all love it that I’m pretty much your bitch now,” Bucky’s eyes returned to the ceiling.
“All of the friends of mine you killed won’t care one way or the other, since they’re dead, aren’t they?” Steve shot back, but his tone sounded deceptively light. “And you are not my bitch or sex toy. You are my newborn. I am your sire. I will protect you from the idiots who don’t recall that a converted vampyre is no longer an enemy.”
Bucky sighed and shook his head.
“Now, can you please, and this is not an order but a request, Buck, answer my question? Do you still think I killed your parents and sister?” Steve used one strong arm to hoist Bucky from the seat enough to slide the drawers over his thighs and ass, the decadent softness teasing the newborn’s crotch. Steve lowered him back to the leather seat.
Much to Bucky’s horror, an erotic mewl broke past his lips as the fabric brushed over his sensitive skin. His eyes dilated, the pupils expanding as his hips stuttered, attempting to rub his filling member against the soft fabric.
“Like that, Buck?” Steve breathed, smiling softly. “Everything will feel so much better or worse now that you are a vampyre.”
His hunger for more energy, more contact, caused the newborn’s mind to go fuzzy again.
Sensing the shift in awareness, in need, Steve pulled the other vampyre off the chair, removing the drawers once more, and lay back on the floor, allowing Bucky to stretch his length over the harder, larger muscled mass of the blond’s body. “Go ahead, Buck, do it. You know you need to, baby.”
Bucky’s eyes flashed gold again, another moan escaping into the air as he ground his hips down against Steve’s.
The older vampyre moved his legs, opening his thighs so the brunet could settle between them. He kept his legs open and inviting. “You won’t hurt me. You were born for me, Buck. Go ahead,” he coaxed, knowing that unlike a weak human, they, as vampyres, could take a suddenly full passage with little to no preparation from the right partner . . . and Bucky was Steve’s perfect partner now, made in the dying and rebirthing of Bucky’s body and soul. He could tolerate any brief pain his lover might inflict on him; he was prepared to feed Bucky anyway the newborn wanted to try to share.
Shifting slightly so that his sire’s length was lined up with his entrance, Bucky keened, an almost animalistic sound, as he lowered himself on the erect member. The full feeling caused the brunet’s head to fall back and lips to part in a soundless gasp, the fire in his veins dulling with the close contact of the blond.
Feeling the full tightness, Steve let out a moan of pleasure, allowing his newborn to set the pace, take what he needed. Steve kept his eyes fixed on Bucky’s, his hands going to the brunet’s slender hips to guide him gently, steady him as the brunet sat over and around Steve’s thick manhood. His answering energy heated and called to Bucky’s, already leeching out and filling the needy vampyre newborn. Of course, Bucky wouldn’t truly be satisfied until Steve’s life-seed filled him yet again, and the Omega would need such energy transfer and life-seed often these first weeks. But, Steve was beyond explaining such difficult ideas at the moment, so he let Bucky explore instead.
Bucky lifted himself off Steve’s member until only the tip remained inside before sinking back down, over and over again, the pleasure making the newborn pick up the pace; needing harder, firmer contact to satisfy himself. “Stevie . . .” Bucky mewled, a needy moan echoing throughout the room.
As he sensed the direction Bucky wanted to go with their loving, Steve accommodated, gripping the brunet’s hips harder and thrusting up to meet Bucky every time he slammed himself down, angling his hips enough to slide forcefully over the other vampyre’s prostate with each thrust. “I’m right here, Bucky. I’m here, Sweetheart. You know what you need. Go ahead and take it. Let me give it to you.”
Bucky’s head fell back once more, his right hand moving down to wrap itself around his own leaking member, the pleasure he felt at the touch almost making him black out. Everything felt magnified by a hundred, every touch, every caress; the stroke of Steve’s erection against his prostate threatened to overwhelm the newborn.
“Good boy, Bucky baby. Go ahead, pleasure yourself. Show me what you want. Take your energy from me, love. Harder, deeper, take everything I have to give.” Steve bent up so he could fasten his lips over Bucky’s neck, sucking lightly, barely grazing his teeth over the pulsepoint there but never making any move to break the skin or take the energy that sang through his lover’s veins in place of the blood that had dried to dust at conversion.
“Stevie . . . I’m - -” Bucky arched his back, bottoming Steve out.
“Don’t be afraid, love, go ahead. Give in to your release. It won’t hurt you, I promise, baby,” Steve coaxed, his hands caressing at Bucky’s hips, no longer guiding the other vampyre in his wild, needy thrusts. The big blond grunted with every move Bucky made, feeling his own member thickening, his balls heavy with the imminent orgasm building between them. “Tell me when to cum for you, Sweetheart. Tell me when to fill you so full you leak my seed over both of us . . .”
Moaning loud, mind completely gone with the intense pleasure, Bucky felt his balls tighten and, with his impending orgasm, the brunet clenched his muscles around Steve’s shaft and groaned, “now, Stevie . . .” That was all the warning Bucky gave before he saw white and came hard, his load painting Steve’s chest as he rode the intense wave of pleasure.
On command, willingly, Steve let himself tumble over the edge, his great rod pumping load after hot load into the lean brunet, coating his lover’s walls and overflowing, filling him, promising to leak out once he was no longer stuffed so full of raging manhood. Steve let out a shout of triumphant pleasure at the release, letting his teeth just break the surface of Bucky’s neck but lapping at the rapidly healing wound rather than taking anything from him. The hot ropes of cum across his chest and abdomen filled Steve with a fiery heat all it’s own, unique to Bucky, sharing the brunet’s energy and life-seed as well. Still cumming hard, Steve dipped his fingers in Bucky’s semen and licked his fingers, grinning wolfishly up at his lover. “Mine, Bucky . . .” he purred.
Instantly, almost as if the response was programmed into him, Bucky nodded and breathed, “yours, Steve . . . all yours.”
Humming in approval, Steve offered breathlessly, as he lapped another scoop of cum from his questing fingers, “and I am all your’s, love. Forever and always. To the end of time’s long line . . .” He felt himself finally grow semi-flaccid, spent for the time being inside his newborn lover.