Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The world outside the window is still wrapped in the deep indigo of pre-dawn when Tony wakes.

He stirs. His lashes flutter as he blinks blearily, his vision hazy from sleep. His mind is foggy—caught in the delicate space between sleep and wakefulness—but it takes two slow, orienting breaths to realize his cheek is pressed against the warm, golden plane of Bucky’s bare stomach.

Tony feels like he’s moving through molasses, his limbs sluggish and weighted. Even the simple act of opening his eyes feels like a monumental feat until the faint tick of the clock on the bedside table anchors him in the present.

5:54 a.m.

He takes a brief, necessary moment to acclimate to his surroundings.

A thin blanket is pushed low on his hips, his own chest bare and his skin warm. His scent lingers in the sheets, stronger in places where he and Bucky had tangled together during the night—reminders of the hours that passed in a blur of sweat, whispered promises, and Bucky’s soothing, hypnotizing drawl.

It’s like a thunderclap in his chest. The memory of it rushes in with a startling clarity that makes his breath hitch.

The hazy fragments of the night stitch themselves together—the way Bucky had touched him, the way his hands had soothed and coaxed and held.

Color floods Tony’s cheeks as he remembers how he’d melted into Bucky’s touch. How he had whimpered and begged in a way that felt both alien and horrifically inevitable.

The fragmented flashes of memory send his heart pounding.

The sound of his own voice, desperate and needy, crying out for Bucky; the feel of Bucky’s hands steadying his hips, guiding him through the waves of intensity; the rasp of Bucky’s voice murmuring in his ear, “You’re so good for me, Tony. So perfect.”

He cuts the traitorous thought off with a sharp inhale, clenching his teeth on his bottom lip to steady himself and suppress the strangled, muffled groan that rises in his chest.

So much for remaining calm, cool, and collected.

Tony barely suppresses a flinch as Bucky stirs beneath him. The Alpha’s hand slides up from his bare back, fingers curling into the mussed strands of Tony’s hair. The touch is slow, almost absent-minded, sending an involuntary shudder down Tony’s spine.

“You’re thinkin’ too hard,” Bucky murmurs, words rough with sleep. His eyes are still closed. When Tony blinks up at him, his lips quirk faintly like he’s caught Tony in the middle of something. “I can hear you from here.”

Tony freezes, his face burning hot, though he doesn’t know whether it’s from embarrassment or the warmth blooming low in his stomach.

“I’m not—” he starts, his voice cracking awkwardly—Christ—but Bucky cuts him off with a soft hum, his fingers working gently through Tony’s disheveled locks.

“Sure you’re not,” Bucky drawls, his tone teasing but warm, a quiet rumble that seems to settle right under Tony’s skin. His hand pauses to scratch lightly at Tony’s scalp, the lazy rhythm as soothing as it is disarming. “You always get that little crease right here—” His thumb grazes Tony’s forehead, just above his brow. “—when your brain’s spinnin’ too fast. Relax, sweetheart. Stop panicking. You don’t gotta figure it all out right now.”

“I’m not panicking,” Tony says stupidly, though Bucky's solid, delectable torso muffles his words. The resulting small puffs of air cause the Alpha’s abdominal muscles to jump and twitch beneath him.

Bucky doesn’t push, just keeps threading his fingers through Tony’s hair like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he’s not purposefully lulling Tony back into a soft, pliant headspace. “You don’t have to think so hard about last night, either,” he says after a beat, softer now, almost raspy. “We were good, weren’t we? You and me? That’s all that matters.”

Tony’s mind feels woolly, slow to piece itself together, and his body aches faintly in the way it always does at the tail end of his heat. He doesn’t answer, not right away, his chest tight with the weight of his chaotic, spiraling thoughts. He rests against the smooth expanse of Bucky’s bare skin, his cheek pressed close enough to feel the steady rise and fall of the Alpha’s breathing.

“Yeah, we were good,” Tony says quietly.

His voice is small and still raspy from sleep, but there’s a lingering edge to it that betrays his unease.

Even now, when Bucky’s hands are gentle and unhurried. Even now, when everything is quiet and safe, and the thought of what happened still twists his gut in a way he can’t quite shake off.

Bucky’s hand drifts from Tony’s hair, fingertips trailing lightly down his neck to rest at the base of his skull.

The contact is gentle, deliberate, like Bucky’s trying to coax him into something, though Tony’s sluggish brain hasn’t quite figured out what.

Either way, it’s grounding. Like always.

Tony sinks into the steady warmth of Bucky’s hand on the back of his neck, and he feels a jolt of tension dissipate as Bucky’s thumb starts to massage small circles there, just above his shoulder blades. He swallows down his moan.

Tony doesn’t know how long he stays there, pressed against Bucky’s body, but it feels like a small eternity. His heart is still racing, his body a live wire, and he’s hyper-aware of every shift of muscle beneath him.

But then Bucky’s hand slides up and down his back, broad and sure, his thumb brushing in soothing arcs along Tony’s spine.

“You know,” Bucky says, low and easy, “if you keep fidgetin’ like that, a fella’s gonna get the wrong idea.”

Tony lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a strangled laugh, burying his face into Bucky’s toned stomach. “Don’t encourage me,” he mumbles.

“Encouragin’ you is my favorite thing,” Bucky counters smoothly. His fingers drift back to Tony’s neck, tracing idle patterns that somehow make Tony feel lightheaded and more flustered all at once.

Bucky’s still in his underwear. Tony is too, if the familiar touch of damp fabric clinging to his thighs is any indication. The thin white cotton of Bucky’s boxers does little to conceal his erection—not having softened once since dragging a heat-fueled Tony into his bedroom after supper last night.

Tony peers down at the tented fabric—erect, imposing, a small wet patch where the tip strains against cotton—and conspicuously squirms under the blanket. He licks his lips and rubs his own thighs together.

That warm, tight feeling still lingers. Unmistakable as it pulses low in his belly,

Sure, it’s noticeably muted compared to the inferno that had consumed him just days ago. His skin doesn’t feel like it’s on fire, and he’s not choking on the overwhelming sweetness of his own scent. This isn’t the all-consuming demand for an Alpha’s presence that had left him clinging to his bed sheets, dizzy and desperate.

But still, it’s heightened in a way that makes his breath hitch and his pulse stutter. There’s a new edge to his constant state of fluctuating arousal—something sharper, more focused.

It’s not just his heat. It’s heat and Bucky.

A spark in his veins that only exists after experiencing the press of strong hands against his hips. After shuddering under the low rasp of Bucky’s voice, coaxing his body through mind-blowing relief at an Alpha’s hands for the very first time.

Tony's chest hitches slightly, the flutter in his belly spreading outward, warmth pooling deep in his core. It’s a slow flare, but it’s there, building as Bucky’s fingers continue to work at the sensitive spot on the back of his neck, sending electricity down his spine.

He shifts slightly, trying to ease the ache blooming low in his stomach, and the friction sends a small, unbidden whine tumbling from his lips. He swallows hard, feeling his flush creep down his neck, his body betraying him in the most inconvenient fucking way possible.

He was just starting to find a sliver of calm, too, but his blood spikes and reacts to Bucky’s touch like it’s still in the crux of his heat. To his scent, thick and earthy in the air around them; to his voice, still rough with sleep as it curls into Tony’s ear; to the way his hands never stop their soothing rhythm, even though Tony knows he can feel the minute shift in pressure as Tony’s scent swells.

Bucky stiffens beneath him, the hand in Tony’s hair faltering for the briefest second before resuming its slow, soothing rhythm.

“Tony,” Bucky says carefully.

Tony doesn’t answer immediately, too busy trying to breathe through the sudden, searing cramp in his lower abdomen. The sharp tang of his own scent—sweet and ripe—tickles his nose, and the realization hits him like a freight train.

“Oh, no,” Tony moans.

Bucky hums low in his throat—a sound that might have been reassurance if it weren’t for the way his other hand comes to rest on Tony’s lower back, fingers flexing slightly. Like he’s grounding himself as much as Tony.

“You still feeling it?” Bucky asks gently. His own scent deepens. Cedar and smoke, rich and heady, curling around Tony like a protective cocoon.

Tony shakes his head against Bucky’s abdomen, his breath hitching as another wave of heat surges through him, leaving his skin flushed and damp. “It’s… manageable,” he grits through his teeth, though the way he squirms against Bucky betrays the truth.

Bucky lets out a deep, rumbling chuckle. “It’s got a funny way of sneakin’ back up on you.” His thumb on Tony’s spine moves in slow, grounding circles. “You’re okay, Tony. I’ve got you.”

The Alpha’s scent has sharpened, his body impossibly warm beneath Tony’s, and there’s a tension in his muscles now. Coiled and ready.

But he doesn’t move, doesn’t press, just keeps stroking Tony’s skin like he’s got all the time in the world.

“You with me?” Bucky asks quietly. The question is a low rumble, reverberating in his stomach and vibrating against Tony’s temple.

Tony nods jerkily, though he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

He’s with Bucky. He hasn’t stopped being with Bucky since last night, when he sobbed and spilled into the Alpha’s fist.

Historically, Tony has coaxed himself to a—frankly countless—number of orgasms.

Since presenting at sixteen, he’s undergone a handful of heats. Entirely alone, except for the company of his own hand. Enough to get the job done, maybe, but never enough to fully extinguish the flames licking at his veins. Never enough to dull the throbbing, empty ache between his legs. Never enough to satisfy his body’s biological urge to bask in Alpha pheromones and succumb.

So after years of unfulfilling self-gratification, Bucky’s hand on his dick felt almost synonymous with the closest thing Tony had ever experienced to a religious experience.

Warm. Tight. The Alpha’s scent glands occasionally brushing against the sensitive underside of delicate skin. Tony’s face pressed to his neck, gulping down lungfuls of a scent tailor-made to light up his nerve endings.

Bucky’s molten praises caressing his ear. His own stiff, clothed, pulsing erection pushing against the bare skin of Tony’s thigh.

It wasn’t sex, not fully. It wasn’t the stretch of a knot in his ass; it wasn’t a complete claiming where his body ached for it most. But it was enough.

Enough to convince his body that he was being cared for, that he was being guided through his hormonal frenzy by an Alpha.

You know. Finally.

Tony doesn’t remember much after the first orgasm. The immediate, toe-curling relief had been staggering—almost debilitating—and the quick surge of hormones that flooded his body had rendered him useless.

He can vaguely recall fragments of Bucky’s fingers gliding through his hair. Soft, soothing praise whispered against his temple. Gentle hands coaxing between his legs with a warm washcloth.

He remembers being poured into Bucky’s bed, drifting into a deep and immediate sleep. And Bucky joining him later—damp from his shower, strong arms pulling Tony back against his bare chest and curling around him. Nosing at his scent gland.

He was satisfied. Satiated. Blissful.

Until he wasn’t.

Until he awoke a few short hours later to a bedroom cloaked in darkness, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting soft silver streaks across the walls. Eyes flying open, lungs hitching sharply as the heat in his body clawed its way to the surface. Sharp and pulsing.

12:14 A.M.

Tony can’t stop the small, choked whimper that escapes his throat as he pushes himself up on his elbows. His skin is feverish, a sheen of sweat prickling along his brow, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He curls in on himself, trying to ride out the sudden wave of tremors coursing through his veins, but the ache—the need—is sharp. It gnaws at him from the inside out.

His skin feels too tight, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated as he rotates against Bucky’s chest. He moans—a strangled, needy sound that rushes out of his throat as he buries his face against the Alpha’s skin, desperate for the comfort of his scent.

“Tony?”

Bucky’s voice is low, thick with sleep, but instantly alert. His hand finds Tony’s neck, warm and steady, its weight grounding in a way that cuts through the worst of the haze.“Hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Tony quivers under the gentle press of Bucky’s palm, his throat too tight to answer. He tries to take a deep breath, but it breaks halfway through, trembling.

“’M fine,” he croaks.

Bucky huffs. “Yeah, and I’m the Pope.”

He slides closer. The mattress dips under his weight and a second hand joins the first, this one grabbing Tony’s hip. Bucky’s thumb brushes against his skin in soothing arcs, his touch careful, deliberate. He pulls Tony closer into his neck, coaxing the Omega to breathe in where Bucky’s scent bleeds strong.“You’re burnin’ up again.”

Tony nods jerkily, his eyes squeezing shut as he wills his body to calm down. “I—I don’t know why it’s worse now,” he mumbles. “It was getting better, wasn’t it? Thought it was over.”

Bucky laughs into his hair. “It’s just a spike. Bound to happen. Your body’s still sorting itself out. Doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.”

“I didn’t want t’wake you,” Tony slurs. Still, he clings tighter to Bucky. His hips shift instinctively, chasing relief he can’t name. Slick leaks into his clean underwear. “Hurts.”

That makes Bucky’s hand pause, his fingers pressing into Tony’s hip just firm enough to draw his attention. “Yeah,” he drawls, rich and warm, “because it’s such a chore, takin’ care of you.”

Tony doesn’t know what he needs. His dick throbs, and the pressure in his stomach coils tight. Clenching and unclenching.

But Bucky does.

“You’re okay,” Bucky coos. He shifts them, suddenly. Kicks the blanket off their legs. Pulls Tony up by his armpits until he’s seated between Bucky’s thighs, his back flush with Bucky’s chest. The Alpha leans against the headboard and spreads Tony’s knees with his own. Tony shudders, legs parting like water, arching into Bucky’s hold. “I’ve got you. Sweet boy, I’ve got you.”

Tony melts back against him, his head lolling onto Bucky’s shoulder. Every nerve in his body feels frayed, exposed, and he can’t help the way his hips shift, seeking relief from the ache that’s consuming him. Bucky’s cock is hard against his back, straining against the fabric of his boxers, and the Alpha hisses when Tony pushes against it. His hands drop to grip Tony’s waist, steadying him.

“Bucky,” he whines. His hands grip weakly at Bucky’s thighs, trying to hold onto something solid. “I— I don’t—” The words stick in his throat, his mind too foggy to string them together.

Bucky’s arm lifts to wrap securely around Tony’s shoulders, his chest warm and solid against Tony’s back. His other hand grazes the bare skin of Tony’s thigh.“You don’t have to know, sweetheart,” he says, raspy. “That’s what I’m here for. Let me do the thinkin’ for you.”

The scent of Bucky is everywhere now, heavy and potent, and Tony can’t breathe without it, can’t think past the burn building deep in his gut.

And then Bucky’s hand skims past his stomach and finally dips past the waistband of his briefs.

“God, Tony,” Bucky chokes, his voice thick with approval as he feels the wetness gathering at the inside of Tony’s thighs. His fingertips glide over the slickness, and Tony shakes, feeling a jolt of electricity shoot through him at the light touch to such a sensitive spot.

Bucky’s breath hitches, and Tony can feel the low growl in his chest, the shift in his scent deepening. Pine and smoke fill the air, mingling with the sharp sweetness of Tony’s own, creating a heady, intoxicating blend. Bucky can’t help himself. “You’re so wet for me, baby. So fucking perfect.” His voice is rough, hungry, and when his strong, callused palm finally wraps around Tony’s leaking cock, Tony keens.

They both moan. Tony’s dick, now forty-eight hours past a comfortable soreness, is approaching painful after days of unfulfilling stimulation instigated by Tony’s own hand. Bucky’s touch burns hot, like a brand, and Tony exhales a hiss through his teeth.

Bucky’s movements falters immediately, feeling the tension coil tighter in Tony’s body.

“Tony…” His voice is low, rough with an edge of worry and something headier. His fingers spasm from their grip on Tony’s shoulder. Still, he doesn’t fully let go. Keeps his grip on Tony gentle but firm.“You’re sore, aren’t you?”

Tony’s own fingers tighten their grip on Bucky’s thighs, pulling himself closer as if trying to push through the discomfort. His mind is clouded, thoughts scattered, but the aching pull in his core is the only thing that keeps him tethered to the moment.

“Don’ stop," Tony’s voice breaks, a quiet, ragged whisper as he presses himself closer to Bucky. His hips thrust up of their own volition, seeking more, and Bucky’s grip tightens imperceptibly. He doesn’t care if it’s messy, doesn’t care if it’s too much—he needs it, needs him.“Please.”

The plea is raw and desperate, and it doesn’t even feel his own. It comes from a place deeper than logic, from the heart of the heat that scorches through his veins.

But Bucky’s fist—steady, grounding—tightens, just enough to make Tony feel every tiny nuance of touch.

Tony sags, collapsing back into Bucky’s embrace. The breath leaves his lungs in a whine.

“You sure, sweetheart? You don’t have to take more than you can handle.” His words are soft, almost reverent, but there’s something underneath it—something darker. Intoxicating.

“So sure,” Tony exhales. “Fuck, don’t stop. Bucky. Alpha.” His voice falters but then steadies, the desperation in it clear. “Don’t care. I can take it. Just—don’t stop.” The pleasure will outlive the pain, he’s certain. And he craves it. Craves Bucky’s touch like he’s drowning in it.

He shivers as Bucky shifts behind him. The Alpha’s hand moves again, his grip on Tony’s cock slow but sure, and Tony’s resounding moan is so loud that Bucky’s hand shoots up to cover his mouth. Gripping Tony’s jaw.

“Oh, you sweet thing. I’ll give you exactly what you need. But we don’t wanna wake Stevie, do we?” Bucky murmurs into his ear, pure gravel.

Tony freezes, eyes wide, his hot breath huffing against Bucky’s hand. His body stills for a moment, processing the words. And then, in the next breath, the sound of his desperation is muffled, but still there—caught in his throat, vibrating through Bucky’s palm. His eyes roll back into his head.

“Good boy,” Bucky praises roughly. “I’ll help you, baby. I’ll take away the ache. Just need you to keep it quiet, yeah? Just be good and take it.”

Tony’s breath hitches in response, a wail escaping his muffled lips before he can stop it. The pressure in his core flares again, sharper, more intense, and his fingers dig into Bucky’s skin as if trying to anchor himself.

“Fuck, Tony...” Bucky murmurs, his voice thick with a hunger that makes Tony’s fuzzy, syrupy head spin.

Tony’s always drippy during heats. He’s practically leaking into Bucky’s hand, aided by pre-cum and the slick pooling between his thighs, and the only sounds in the room are the wet, squelching noises of Bucky jacking Tony off and their combined belabored breathing.

Tony squirms. He moans. His hands shoot up to grip Bucky’s arm, back bowing, and Bucky has to wrap his ankles around Tony’s to keep the Omega’s hips anchored where he needs them.

Bucky starts babbling. The rise and fall of his chest echoes against Tony’s back. He can feel the Alpha’s strained breaths. The words tumble out of his mouth, seemingly unwittingly.

"You’re so fucking soaked, doll,” he husks. His words are low, dragged from somewhere deep in his chest as he feels the slickness on Tony’s skin. As Tony drips shamelessly into his lap. “All this for me? You can't even help it, can you?”

His thumb brushes over Tony’s cockhead, smearing pre-cum against Tony’s sensitive slit, and Tony sobs and bites down on the flesh of Bucky’s palm. “So fucking needy," Bucky continues, reverent, his lips brushing the side of Tony’s neck. Tasting his pulsing scent gland. ”Can’t even stand it, huh? Need your Alpha to fix you. I’m the only one who can, Tony. You know that, don’t you?”

Tony’s response is a low, strangled groan, stifled by Bucky’s hand, but it’s enough for Bucky. He feels the way Tony’s body arches, the way he shifts under him, dizzy and desperate for more.

“Look at you,” Bucky whispers. “You can’t even control yourself. Just a fucking mess for me, aren’t you? So perfect, so beautiful like this.”

There’s pain—pressure, oversensitivity, the sharp sting of contact against Tony’s delicate flesh. But the pleasure is blinding, and the combination of sensations has Tony writhing. Panting and pleading.

Bucky alternates pace and pressure, gauging all of Tony’s smallest, most subtle tells—the slightest hitch of his lungs, the barest flex of his fingers around Bucky’s forearm—to work his body like a finely tuned instrument.

He speeds his hand when Tony’s hips stutter, arching to chase the delectable heat pooling in his belly. He eases up when Tony’s pleasure bleeds into something sharp, something a little more pointed, subduing the Omega and bringing him back to that sweet spot that has him moaning unabashedly like a feral animal.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” Tony warbles. He pumps his hips to meet Bucky’s thrusts, and when Bucky grinds his own cock against the small of Tony’s back, seeking friction, it pulls a shocked, helpless noise from his lungs.

Bucky chuckles darkly, rolling his hips in time with his hand. A crude imitation of Tony’s deepest, headiest desire.

“Sweetheart,” he croons. His pace quickens, hand stripping Tony’s cock with barely-restrained urgency. The obscene sound of wet skin echoes through the room. He lets out another laugh when Tony quakes, this one tinged with disbelief. Awe. “You can feel it, can’t you? How much I want you? How much I need you?”

Bucky’s breathing is becoming heavier, more labored, and Tony feels it like a pulse in the air, like the rhythm of a storm about to break. Each exhale from Bucky is a low, brutal sound that vibrates against Tony’s back, and he can feel the slight tremor in Bucky’s muscles as his hand strokes firmly over Tony’s weeping dick, as his arm tightens across Tony’s chest, fingers flexing against his mouth. Holding himself back, trying to give Tony exactly what he needs without breaking.

“I could—fuck—I could come like this. Just from this, you rockin’ in my lap like a goddamn dream. Whimperin’ and cryin’, lettin’ you Alpha know how good he makes you feel.”

Tony’s hands tear Bucky’s palm from his mouth. He sucks in a gasping breath, lungs burning.

“Please,” he begs. His voice cracks. He doesn’t care. “Please, please—want it. Oh—my, fu—Alpha.”

Bucky curses. His hand travels to Tony’s throat. Not gripping, but holding. Tony’s brain immediately goes a little woozy, a little lightheaded.

“But this ain’t about me,” Bucky grits. “I want you. I wanna be inside you more than I want my next breath. It’s all I think about. You’re mine, Tony. You fucking belong to me.”

The words are magic to Tony’s heat-fogged existence. His spine bows, ribs expanding. He feels like he’s floating.

With the hand to his throat, Bucky tilts Tony’s head back, just far enough to press a kiss to Tony’s temple. Tony moves like a puppet. Bucky lingers there for a moment, lips pressed to Tony’s damp skin.

A sweet, striking contrast to the filthy reactions he’s pulling from Tony’s body.

“B–Bucky,” Tony chokes. Sobs, really. “M’gonna, I’m so… ohhh. You’re—”

“Yours,” Bucky interrupts, his tone rough and sure. “Every piece of me, Tony. Yours. Come for me, doll.”

Tony’s body sings at the command, his submissive instincts surging in a way he so desperately works to suppress when he’s clear-headed. He comes so hard his scream breaks off halfway through it. He finds himself once again choking on Bucky’s palm.

“There you go, honey. That’s right, let it go. Let your Alpha have it.” Bucky can’t seem to shut up as he works Tony through the aftershocks, Tony trembling and shaking in his lap with the force of his release. It lasts forever, his thighs vibrating with released tension as he wets up his stomach with come, coating his dick and Bucky’s hand.

“Baby doll. Pretty Omega. Fuck. That’s it.” He strokes Tony through it until Tony is crying out from the overstimulation, squirming against his grip. It’s perfect, it’s endless—the release floods his veins like euphoria. His spine goes soft.

“C’mere”, Bucky breathes once Tony is left a limp, wheezing shell of an Omega. He pulls Tony back into his arms, tucking his head under his chin. He’s still hard underneath Tony, pulsing hot enough for Tony to feel between their thin layers of clothing. Tony whines, dropping his check to Bucky’s chest. Wet with his own spit. He shudders, and Bucky’s arms tighten.

“Feel better?” Bucky asks, and Tony—despite everything—snorts.

Bucky grins against the crown of his head. “There he is.”

“I think you killed me,” Tony says. He rubs at his nose, his limbs leaden.“I might be dead.” He can hardly move his tongue to form the words. The base of his spine thrums pleasantly. He’s pliant and sweaty in Bucky’s arms, overwhelmed with the aftershocks of his pleasure.

“You’ll live,” Bucky replies, lips twitching. “Now, shut up and let me hold you.”

As the fog of need clears, Tony sinks into something warmer. Something safer. With Bucky’s erection pressing into the small of his back, he slips back into unconsciousness, covered in his own spend.

3:46 A.M.

“Jesus Christ. It’s been over three days. I should be… ugh. Done.”

Bucky laughs, his body curved toward Tony’s. His chest is flushed down to his stomach, heated from the steady, blooming aroma of Tony’s growing arousal. Even in the dark, Tony can make out the size of his pupils. Glittering, blown.

“It’s not a race, doll. There’s no prize for getting to the finish line faster. You’re finally just gettin’ the attention you deserve. You know it; your body knows it.”

“Yeah, well, my dick knows it, too,” Tony grouses. “And I think if anyone touches it again, it might fall off.”

The tight, coiling feeling is back. Softer, less urgent than before, but no less persistent. Every flicker of warmth in Bucky’s gaze draws attention to the need pooling at his spine, every pull of desire amplified in ways that make Tony feel like he’s coming apart at the seams.

He fights through the fog. Tries to ground his syrupy, sluggish brain to the present.

“What do you need, baby?”

Tony rolls onto his back, swallowing thickly. He brings his palms to his eyes and exhales toward the ceiling.

“Dunno,” he admits. His voice sounds small, even to his own ears. Feeble. “Might just wait for this wave to pass.”

Something he used to do often, after his body had been wrecked by overstimulation. Now—familiar with the touch of Bucky’s hands on his body, familiar with an Alpha’s presence guiding him through his pleasure—it sounds like torture.

Bucky makes a low, thoughtful sound.

“Or,” he says,“we can get creative.”

Tony tenses. “I thought we weren’t… you said you weren’t going to—” he trails off, the unspoken ‘fuck me’ forming on the tip of his tongue.

Bucky’s lip twitch again, infuriating. Perfect. Tony wants to kiss him.

“There are plenty of things we can do,” Bucky says easily, “that don’t involve me getting my cock inside you, sweetheart.”

Tony’s feeling a little bratty. A little petulant—his skin is too warm, his body teetering somewhere on the confusing precipice of agitation, arousal, and exhaustion. His perpetual state of desire evokes a vulnerability that summons endless frustration, both physically and mentally. His dick aches, despite its constant persistence. It rubs against his underwear in a way that has him gritting his teeth.

And still, none of this negates the side effects of his lingering heat. It clouds his judgment, clinging stubbornly as Tony tosses and turns in the arms of his Alpha. In sheets that smell like his Alpha. As he inhales lungfuls of Bucky’s glorious, rich scent, as Bucky trails his hands along all of Tony’s most sensitive spots, fingers constantly sweeping across his glands, his neck, his hips.

Turns out he drops pretty easy, under the right circumstances.

Especially when he’s half-naked in his Alpha’s bed, dragging through his heat, listening to said Alpha drawl about fucking Tony on his cock.

Like clockwork, Tony’s brain goes a little soft. A little spacey. The fight zaps out of his bones.

The orgasms are nice. Perfect. The pleasure that Bucky so easily pulls out of his body is intense enough to instill immense amounts of humility inside a teenage boy overly familiar with jerking off. He’s starting to think there may never have been pleasure before Bucky—true pleasure, the kind that seeps into his bones and renders him useless. Needy. Complete.

It’s a type of relief he’s never been able to provide for himself, not truly. Not the way his body and his biology require.

But even this—coming with a hand on his cock (however perfect Bucky’s grip, no matter how unwaveringly devoted his attention to Tony’s body may be)—merely begins to scratch the itch of his repressed, earth-shattering craving to be knotted.

It’s easier to hunger for it, when he’s like this. Fucked out, soft and loose and pliant in the grip of his heat-addled submission. When his deep-seated fears and insecurities seem to be nothing more than mindless afterthoughts; memories of a past self.

Still on his back, still staring at the ceiling, his heart pounds against his ribs as he chews on his lip, suppressing the innate whine crawling up the tunnel of his throat.

He’s too busy knuckling at the corners of his eyes, caught in the undertow of sensation, to catch the Alpha’s expression. It shifts from something smug to something softer, like worship, and his scent morphs with it, washing over Tony like the tide.

Bucky’s hands roam with a practiced ease, pulling Tony’s hands from his face by his wrists and hovering over him like he was made to fit there. Slotting his thigh seamlessly between Tony’s legs. “Don’t hide from me. You’ve got no idea what you do to me, do you?” he continues, quiet. He pushes Tony’s wrists up above his head, and Tony goes willingly. Easily. Fingers flexing in his Alpha’s grip.“The way you look at me when you’re all dazed like this... makes me wanna wreck you and put you back together a hundred times over. Make sure you never forget how good you can have it, now that you’re with me.”

Tony pushes out a rushed laugh. He feels manic.

With his free hand, Bucky tilts Tony’s head back slightly, just enough to press a firm kiss to the hinge of his jaw. “I’ve got you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. I’d move heaven and earth for you. Hell, I’d rip ‘em both apart if it’d make you feel even an ounce better.”

It’s nonsense. It’s indulgence. Ridiculous and perfect. The exact kind of absurd sweet-talking that sends Tony under, as quick as anything.

Bucky’s lips find Tony’s jaw again, lingering this time, the press of his mouth deliberate and firm.

He doesn’t rush, doesn’t let the heat of the moment pull him out of his rhythm. His lips are slightly chapped, but warm, leaving a trail of kisses down the curve of Tony’s jawline. Each touch feels heavier than the last, sinking into Tony’s skin like a brand.

When Bucky kisses just beneath Tony’s ear, Tony shudders and gasps, his fingers clenching weakly at nothing. His wrists still pressed firmly into the mattress. “Right here,” Bucky murmurs. He tilts Tony’s head slightly, angling him so that he can press his mouth more firmly against the soft curve of Tony’s throat. Teasing the edge of his mating gland.“Can’t get enough of you, gorgeous. Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

He kisses down the column of Tony’s throat, slow and savoring. His lips mold perfectly to each dip and curve, the slight scrape of his teeth dragging just enough to make Tony arch against him. Bucky hums low in his chest, the sound vibrating through both of them as he presses a firmer kiss just above Tony’s collarbone, lingering there like he doesn’t want to leave.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes, the words barely audible against Tony’s skin. He pulls back just far enough to cradle Tony’s cheek in his hand, tilting him up, their foreheads almost touching. “You feel it too, don’t you? How good this is?”

He doesn’t let Tony answer. He just kisses him again, this time on the mouth.

It’s slower than Tony expects, like Bucky’s savoring every second. He presses in close, coaxing Tony’s lips apart with gentle insistence, his tongue brushing softly against Tony’s lower lip. The kiss deepens naturally, their mouths sliding together with an ease that makes Tony’s head spin.

Tony feels a frantic, kinetic energy pulsing inside him. He whimpers and tries to deepen the kiss, trembling against the bed, but Bucky gentles it each time Tony’s urgency bleeds through. Unhurried and deliberate. Coaxing Tony into a dizzying, boneless headspace.

When Bucky pulls away, Tony’s vision feels spotty.

“Look at me.” Bucky’s hands move to frame Tony’s face, propping himself up on his elbows. Tony’s arms obediently stay stretched up by his ears. He blinks rapidly into focus. Bucky’s lips brush Tony’s temple, then his cheek, soft and grounding. The faint rasp of stubble catches on Tony’s overheated skin, the sensation somehow soothing. Bucky's voice, low and deliberate, breaks through the haze.

“Everything we do is supposed to feel good, Tony,” he says, the words careful but firm, like he’s staking a claim against some ghost of doubt. “That’s how it’s meant to be. If it doesn’t feel good, we stop. Doesn’t matter how close you are or what you think you’re supposed to do. Got it?”

Tony blinks sluggishly, the fog in his mind too thick to navigate. Bucky’s words swirl in his head, heavy and meaningful, familiar, but they don’t quite land.

He glances up at Bucky, his brow furrowed. “Was this… is this about Arnie?”

Bucky stills for a moment. His lips part and he exhales slowly, choosing his next words carefully.

“You don’t have to think about that right now, doll,” he says, his voice laced with a kind of tenderness that only makes Tony more confused. “Everything I’m doin’ is to make you feel nice. Nothing else matters. Not me, not anyone else—just you. So if it… hurts, if it feels like too much, you tell me. No one gets to tell you what’s normal except you.

Tony huffs, the sound more desperate than frustrated. “No, I—” He shakes his head, trying to find clarity in the haze of heat and exhaustion. “I remember… what he said. And you got mad?” His words tumble out in fragments, disjointed and uncertain, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle that’s missing half the pieces.

And then he tenses.

“Oh. He… he said I lied to him,” Tony whispers. “That I told him it wouldn’t hurt.”

Bucky’s jaw ticks. “He was upset,” he says carefully, tone measured. “And maybe he had a right to be, in his own way. But that doesn’t mean he was right to put that on you.”

Tony frowns, the weight of Arnie’s words pressing down on him again, mingling with the persistent heat thrumming in his veins. “But I did tell him that. And I knew—” He swallows, his throat tight. “I knew I was lying.”

Bucky’s hands spasm, the smallest movement, and Tony watches the Alpha’s chin raise, his lips brushing Tony’s hairline. “You weren’t, baby,” Bucky says gently, but there’s a firmness in his voice that leaves no room for argument. “You told him what you thought was true. What you wanted to believe for him—and for yourself.”

His mind is still too clouded with need to form a coherent response, but Bucky doesn’t give him the chance to speak.

“Listen to me,” Bucky says, his voice low and unyielding, and Tony feels it vibrate through his chest. “It’s only ever supposed to feel good. Every damn time. No matter what. I know you’ve been through shit, Tony. I know you’ve got these scars inside of you,” Each word is clipped, each syllable dripping with intensity. “But that ain’t your fault. And I’m not gonna let you forget that this?” He pushes his own hard, straining cock against Tony’s hipbone. “It’s supposed to be good, sweet boy. So good—every damn moment of it. You hear me? If it doesn’t feel good, we’re doin’ it wrong.”

Tony stares up at him, a little wet around the eyes. Stunned and speechless.

“You don’t owe anyone anything. Not Arnie, not anyone. You deserve to feel good. To feel safe. And I will always take care of you, Tony. Always.” Bucky presses a kiss to the side of his head. “You trust me?”

Tony nods before he can stop himself. The haze is still there, dense and thick, but Bucky’s warmth cuts through it. His touch grounds him.

“Say it,” Bucky urges, his voice a little rougher now. “Tell me you trust me.”

“Yeah, always,” Tony finally whispers, his voice barely a breath. “Always, Buck. I trust you.”

Bucky’s entire demeanor shifts. The tension in his shoulders eases, and the edge in his voice softens, though a hint of raw vulnerability lurks behind it. He lets out a deep, rumbling breath, like a weight has been lifted, and he moves his hands gently over Tony’s body, brushing the stray strands of hair from his forehead.

“Good,” he says.“That’s all I needed to hear.” He kisses Tony’s nose. “Now that we’re on the same page,” he flashes Tony that same roguish smile, the one that always makes Tony’s heart skip in his chest. “I wanna try somethin’. I think you’ll like it.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, feeling a thrill of uncertainty roll through him. “What are you—” he starts, but the words die in his throat as he yelps, Bucky’s deft hands flipping him onto his stomach.

“Oof.”

Bucky presses his smile into Tony’s shoulder blade. He grazes his teeth along the skin when Tony shivers beneath him.

“Relax for me, baby.”

“Easier said than done,” Tony grumbles into his pillow. His heart is beating in his throat.

Bucky’s hand slides over Tony’s back, tracing the curve of his spine with gentle fingers. Just like that, Tony sinks into the mattress.

“That’s it,” Bucky croons. “Still with me, doll?”

Tony, eyes half-lidded, nods, but the haze of arousal makes it hard for him to form any coherent thoughts. “Yeah, m’fine,” he mumbles, voice hoarse.

Bucky’s thumb brushes against the back of Tony’s neck before he leans in, kissing the back of Tony’s ear softly. “Say the word, and we stop. Got it?”

“Which word?”

“Go ahead, honey, crack all the jokes you want. I’ve got you pegged. Smart mouth and all.”

Tony is Tony, and he tries for a clever retort, but all that escapes is a high, shocked sound as Bucky tugs his briefs over the curve of his ass, down to his knees.

He can’t move, can’t speak as Bucky shifts behind him, fingers tracing up the inside of his thighs. Gliding through rivulets of slick.

“Still burning for me,” Bucky muses. “Even after I’ve made you come twice. You don’t know how much I love seeing you like this, darlin’. So needy. Trusting me to take care of you.” He nudges Tony’s hips up, urging a pillow between him and the mattress, and Tony moves easily. Boneless.

“I think about this a lot,” the Alpha continues. Easy, casual. As if he and Tony are discussing the weather. He palms the flesh of Tony’s ass, and Tony moans, scrubbing his forehead into the mattress below. His fingers fist the sheets on either side of his head. “Oh, darlin’. Have you ever touched yourself here?”

Tony nods, more than a bit desperate. His skin is flushed from his hairline to his toes.

“Uh, huh,” he admits. “In heat.”

Bucky makes a cooing, sympathetic sound behind him. His thumb presses into the give of his flesh, barely brushing along the rim of Tony’s wet, aching hole. Tony’s lungs collapse into his ribs. The whine he releases is loud, unhinged.

He truly, desperately hopes Steve Rogers is a heavy sleeper.

“Poor Omega. You touched yourself here this weekend, didn’t you? When you were all alone? Cryin’ for something bigger? Something to fill you up?”

Tony’s shocked laugh morphs into a choked hiccup. “Jesus, Buck.” He squirms against the Alpha’s touch. “Yeah. Yeah.”

He might die like this, he thinks.

“Did you think about me?”

Correction, he will die like this.

“Bucky,” he gasps. Color floods his cheeks. If he grips the sheets any harder in anticipation, he’ll tear them.

“Tell me, Tony.” Bucky’s voice has a sharper edge, now. Something darker, richer. “Did you think about me when you were fucking yourself with your fingers? When you were achin’ and wigglin’ to reach that soft spot inside you? Did you imagine it was me?” Bucky’s thumb hooks into the rim of his hole, and a gush of slick pours out. The Alpha’s scent blooms. “My fingers inside of you? My cock? My knot?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Tony wails. He pushes his hips back to meet Bucky’s touch, desperate, but Bucky’s hand on his hip stills him. “Thought about you. Always—oh!—Always thinking ‘bout you.”

Bucky makes a low, pleased noise, leans over to kiss the dip of Tony’s spine, and then sinks his pointer finger inside Tony to the second knuckle.

Both boys curse.

Despite his nerves, Tony’s body is warm, willing. Pliant and softened by his heat. Bucky’s finger sinks into him like a stone in water, aided by the copious slick gushing out of his body.

“Baby doll. Jesus. So tight, so perfect.” Bucky sounds like he’s speaking through clenched teeth. Tony can’t do anything but bite down on his pillow and take it.

Bucky works his finger into Tony slowly, praises spilling from his lips as Tony adjusts to the stretch of the unfamiliar digit. Longer and thicker than his own. Pushing into him at an unfamiliar, dizzying angle. Tony clenches around it greedily, his body adjusting so easily to the stretch that it craves.

It’s everything.

His resilient dick is rock hard against his stomach, grinding lazily into the mattress with each careful thrust of Bucky’s hand, but Tony doesn’t even register it. All of his focus, his entire existence is narrowed down to a fine point—to Bucky’s dexterous, practiced finger dragging in and out of him, his hole sucking in the intrusion greedily.

Tony can feel every nerve ending in his body. When Bucky’s finger finally pushes in all the way, nudging past the easy resistance of tight muscle up to the third knuckle, stars explode behind his eyelids.

“Ohhh,” Tony groans. “Oh my God. More. Alpha, More.”

Bucky laughs behind him, the sound tinged with disbelief. “How many have you had before, baby?”

The slow-moving cogs in Tony’s brain work to dissect Bucky’s question.

“Two,” Tony gasps. “Jus’ two.”

Bucky rewards him with a curl of his finger, and Tony’s back arches so much that Bucky has to use his own hips to hold Tony to the bed.

Tony can hear Bucky’s smug triumph. It pours into his scent.

“Two’s perfect. Two’s all we need.”

A second finger begins toying at his rim. Tony cries out in ecstasy.

“Easy. Easy. Just like that. Nice and relaxed for me, doll.”

Time becomes fluid, ebbing and flowing. Tony doesn’t know how long Bucky pumps a lone finger into him—unhurried, unrushed, letting the mewling Omega underneath him squirm and shake under the sensation as he continues to whisper filth into his mouth.

“I fucked my fist in the shower, thinking about this.” Bucky licks the sweat-dampened shell of Tony’s ear. “You were asleep, poor thing, all worn out from spilling all over my hand. I got myself off with you still on me, drippin’ all over my fingers. So fucking beautiful, sweetheart. I closed my eyes and pictured this—stretching out this poor, aching hole on my fingers. Making you come again, just from strokin’ inside you, all nice-like.”

Tony’s nodding frantically. He might be crying. He can’t tell if his face is wet from tears or drool.

“You’re better than a dream. So good for me like this, Tony. So sweet and perfect. You ready for another?”

“Please,” Tony begs. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

“Good boy,” Bucky husks, and then he’s biting into the skin at the crook of Tony’s shoulder the exact moment a second finger breaches Tony’s body. Tony jolts, and then lets out a keening wail.

“Fuck, Tony. You’re tight.”

He is, he knows it. But the stretch is wonderful; it’s exactly what he needs, exactly what he’s never able to give himself.

What his body is made for. Just for Bucky.

Desperate pleas spill from Tony’s lips—a warbled mixture of “Bucky” and “Alpha”—as Bucky works diligently to scissor his fingers inside of Tony as much as the tight space allows. Tony can only hear his breathing, can only feel the press of Bucky’s chest against his own sweat-slick back, but his Alpha sounds wrecked.

“Feelin’ good, honey?”

Tony makes an unintelligible noise, but thrusts his arm out beside him. Gives the Alpha a thumbs up.

Bucky barks out a laugh. Fond.

“Atta boy,” he praises. “Hang tight, doll.” He twists his wrist and thrusts deep. Crooks his fingers downward.

“Fuck!”

And then Bucky is cooing something about a sweet spot, assaulting it with the pads of his fingers with practiced aim and flawless pressure until Tony is writhing and sobbing and vibrating against the bed.

“Oh my god, Alpha, oh my god…”

“You sweet fucking thing, bet you didn’t even know how much you’d enjoy that.”

Tony is a man of science. He knows biology. He knows, in theory, about the existence of his prostate.

It doesn’t stop Tony from screaming out as Bucky fucks his fingers in and out, aiming for that soft spot each time and building Tony’s pleasure up to a speeding, frenzied crest.

He’s never been able to reach it himself. Has never known any pleasure as overwhelming that hasn’t derived from a hand on dick.

But this—Bucky’s fingers inside him, buried in the most intimate part of his body—he can’t help but preen. Revel. Succumb to the nature of his body, his designation. He ruts against the mattress and grinds subconsciously back into the force of Bucky’s fingers, making quiet “unh, unh, unh” sounds as the warm, indulgent feeling in his belly drags him further into that fuzzy headspace.

And Bucky gives it to him. The grip on his hip is ironclad as Bucky pumps his fingers with purpose, pulling choked-off, pathetic noises from Tony’s throat with each wet slide. And Bucky keeps cooing and murmuring sweet nonsense into the pheromone-rich air while he watches it all.

“Right there, right there. That’s it, that’s perfect. So good, so good for me. My gorgeous boy.”

Bucky tugs Tony’s hips upward and reaches underneath with his hand, presumably to assist in stroking Tony over the edge, but Tony whines and pulls away.

“Don’ need it,” he grits out. “Can—just like this.” He’s so, so close.

Bucky groans like he’s been shot. 

“Fuck. Yeah, okay. Just like this, baby. You’ll feel so much better when you come on your Alpha’s fingers. Come on, sweetheart, give it to me.”

And Tony is nothing if not obedient in heat. He listens to his Alpha.

A few more well-aimed thrusts and the whisper of a hand on the nape of his neck and he’s falling apart, coming untouched as the pressure in his gut snaps. Dick spitting white onto the sheets beneath him. Whimpering and mewling pathetically into the mattress, mouth gaping, tears spilling out of his eyes.

“Christ,” Bucky whispers, fucking him through it. His resolve sounds shaky. “Fucking hell, Tony.”

It just keeps going. Bucky rubs and rubs and rubs over that spot inside him that lights his nerve endings on fire, and Tony’s hole flutters greedily around his fingers, clenching like a vice. Luxuriating in the indulgence his body was made for. His orgasm drags out of him, come dribbling out the tip of his cockhead one last time as Bucky pushes his fingers in and presses.

Tony blacks out, after that.

6:11 A.M.

“What do you need?” Bucky asks, selfless and perfect. Dragging his hand through Tony’s curls.

Ready to provide again at the drop of a hat. Sounding genuinely pleased—God bless him—at the very notion, no less.

The echo of Bucky’s touch lingers everywhere. Tony glances up at his Alpha.

He’s leaning back against the headboard, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. Entirely at odds with the visible tension thrumming through his body.

The hand not touching Tony rests on his thigh, clenched into a tight fist. Like he’s willing himself into control.

Tony’s gaze drifts lower again, back to the unmistakable strain in Bucky’s boxers, the sharp curve of arousal that makes Tony’s mouth go dry.

The Alpha hasn’t let Tony touch him once.

A new kind of yearning pulls at the thread in Tony’s stomach.

“Enough about me. What do you need?” Tony asks, his voice hoarse but tinged with something light. “You’re killing yourself over here, pal.”

Bucky’s lips twitch into the faintest of smiles, but he shakes his head. “I’ll live,” he murmurs, his voice steady but noticeably rough around the edges.

Tony props himself up on his elbows, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, but will you? Because, uh—” He gestures vaguely toward Bucky’s lap, his tone turning shy. “You look like you’re one stiff breeze from a happy ending.”

Bucky snorts, shaking his head again, but he doesn’t move.

Tony’s brow furrows. The teasing edge in his voice gives way to something quieter, a little more uncertain. “I can help. Why won’t you let me… you know, return the favor?” His cheeks blaze red at the thought.

Realistically, Tony wouldn’t even know where to start. He’s never seen Bucky’s cock, not unclothed, but he’s felt it. He’s pressed and moaned and writhed against it. He knows there’s a lot to work with—perhaps, even, close to double what Tony has to work with.

In length and girth.

He swallows thickly.

Bucky exhales slowly, his head tipping back against the headboard. “It’s not about that.”

Tony sits up fully now, the blanket pooling around his waist. He crosses his legs beneath him, momentarily forgetting his own roiling, turbulent need. “Okay. Then what’s it about?”

Bucky’s gaze flicks to him, his eyes flickering with something unidentifiable as he reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Tony’s face. “It’s about you,” he says simply.

Tony’s stomach twists, the warmth from moments ago giving way to something colder, heavier.

“Me,” he echoes dully. “Yeah. Alright.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, his hand shifting to cup Tony’s cheek, his thumb stroking over the delicate, paper-thin skin beneath his eye. “Don’t do that. Don’t twist it into something it’s not.”

Tony huffs a laugh, but it’s brittle. “I’m not twisting anything, Eagle Scout. Just seems pretty clear you don’t want—”

“I want,” Bucky interrupts, his voice sharp enough to make Tony stop mid-sentence. “Jesus, Tony, I want so bad it hurts.”

Tony blinks, caught off guard by the rawness in Bucky’s voice.

Bucky lets out a slow breath, his arm lifting to prop behind his head. “But this isn’t about what I want. It’s about you. You’re still coming down from your heat, still raw, still figuring out how to let someone be here for you without feeling like you have to give something back.”

Tony’s lips part, but no words come out. He chokes on air.

Bucky’s gaze holds his, steady and unrelenting. “You’re not a transaction, sweetheart. You don’t have to earn this. You don’t have to earn me.”

Tony deflates.

“Stupid, noble Alphas,” he grouses, and before he can second-guess himself, he’s pushing the rest of the blanket away to clamor into Bucky’s lap.

Bucky lifts a brow but doesn’t say anything as Tony situates himself on top of him, ass pressing firmly into the intimidating splendor of his stubborn erection. Only separated by thin layers of flannel and cotton. He catches Tony easily, strong hands settling instinctively at his slim waist as if they were made to hold him.

“Tony, what are you—”

“Just… shut up for a second,” Tony says with no bite. He tucks himself into the Alpha’s chest, inhaling. Centering himself. He doesn’t say anything for several moments, just burrowing closer, his forehead resting against the curve of Bucky’s neck. The scent of him is stabilizing, and Tony lets himself get lost in it for a moment.

Bucky trails his fingers along his spine, patient.

“I know you just want me to feel good, baby,” Bucky whispers into the crown of his head, breaking the silence after a few short minutes. “And I do. I swear it. Helping you makes me feel good.”

Tony rolls his eyes and nips at Bucky’s collarbone. “You’re allowed to want an orgasm. It won’t traumatize me.”

“Honey, I have no clue what’s goin’ to traumatize you on any given day.”

“Fair.” Tony wiggles in his lap, prompting a hiss from Bucky. His fingers tighten around Tony’s waist. Tony grins, close-mouthed and sheepish. “I want to watch.”

Bucky freezes.

“Tony,” he says slowly. A warning.

“M’serious. Your steadfast virtue is duly noted. But I’ve come three times since getting dragged into your bedroom. If you try to get me off again, I might slip into a hormonally-induced coma.”

“Doubt it,” Bucky retorts. He’s smirking again. “You’re easy, honey. All I need to do is whisper a couple a’ sweet things at you and you’re putty in my hands. You’re forgettin’ that I can smell how much you need me. Bet I could get you over the edge again in two minutes, flat.”

Tony knows, albeit reluctantly, that this is likely true.

“Not the point,” he says diplomatically. He clears his throat.“As an Omega, I’m essentially biologically wired to want to please my Alpha. It’s basic science, actually.”

Bucky scoffs. “Yeah, that’s you alright. Textbook Omega.”

“I’m vulnerable right now. Super sensitive. If you deny me this, I might weep.”

Bucky tilts his head back, a bemused expression on his face. “You’re definitely something, ya brat.”

Tony grins, unabashed. “I prefer ‘resolute’. Emphasizes my convictions. S’much more flattering.”

“It’s not.” Bucky gives him a pointed look. “This is… a bad idea, Tony.”

“Oh, come on,” Tony says, swatting lightly at Bucky’s warm, olive-toned arm. “You’re acting like I’m gonna collect your sperm and sell it to the highest bidder. I just want to watch.”

Bucky snorts, his hands tightening on Tony’s waist. Composing himself. “You don’t see how this might be... unnecessary?” His voice lowers, his brow furrowing. “I don’t need this, Tony. You’ve already given me everything.”

Tony shrugs, all faux nonchalance. Inside, he’s buzzing. “We’re way past necessary, Buck. You laid siege to my prostate until I passed out. Watching is, like, a logical next step.”

Bucky’s jaw works, the conflict flickering in his eyes as he searches for the right words. “It’s not about whether I want it or not,” he finally says. “’Cause believe me doll, I do. God, I do. But this… chasing my own pleasure like that, when you’re still—” He cuts himself off, his throat bobbing. “It’s different for me. It’s… instinct. It’s raw. And I never want you to think that’s all I’m after.”

Tony’s teasing expression dissolves completely, but he doesn’t drop the subject. Instead, he leans forward, his nose nuzzling the hollow of Bucky’s throat. “I know that, Bucky,” he says quietly. “I do. But this? This isn’t about proving anything. It’s about… I dunno, being close to you. Letting me see you. Knowing I’m the one who makes you feel like that.”

His own honesty shocks him. He attributes it to pheromones and post-orgasmic glow. Making his tongue loose and aiding substantially in vocalizing his desires.

Bucky tips his head forward to rest against Tony’s shoulder. “You’re impossible, y’know that?”

“Impossible and curious,” Tony quips. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a mock-serious whisper. “Come on, Sergeant. Show me what you’re working with. Purely for science.”

Bucky groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine. You win. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Tony’s beam is wicked. “I’ll make it worth your while. Pose all pretty.” He twists gracefully out of Bucky’s lap and launches himself back onto the Alpha’s pillow, feeling entirely too pleased with himself. “And I promise to be very professional about this.”

Bucky huffs. “That’s one word for it.”

As the quiet moment stretches between them, Tony feels a tiny flicker of unease creep into his chest. He replays the conversation in his mind, wondering if he pushed too hard—if Bucky’s softening isn’t him giving in, but him giving up. The thought makes his stomach churn, a sudden pang of guilt knotting his insides.

“I—” Tony starts, bravado dissipating, the words tangling in his throat. He doesn’t even know what he’s about to say, just that he feels the sudden need to backpedal, to give Bucky an out, a way to say no.

But then Bucky is shifting, pushing up from his reclined position, and before Tony can blink, the Alpha is looming over him. The bed dips under his weight as Bucky settles his broad frame over Tony, bracketing him between solid arms. The heat of him is overwhelming, and Tony freezes beneath the intensity of his presence.

“Hey,” Bucky says, nudging Tony’s nose with his own. His steel grey eyes find Tony’s, and everything Tony sees in them makes his panic dissolve like mist under the sun. Bucky’s gaze isn’t strained or reluctant. It isn’t even hesitant.

It’s burning.

There’s a hunger there, deep and consuming, but tempered with the same steady warmth and vigilance the Alpha constantly radiates. There isn’t a single ounce of reluctance in the way Bucky looks at him, only need and affection so strong it almost steals Tony’s breath.

“Hey,” Tony says back. Barely a whisper.

Bucky’s breathing is heavy, shallow, but Tony can see the gleam in his pupils—the edge of something dangerous and beautiful.

He doesn’t have time to say anything, to question or analyze. Bucky’s mouth drops to his, deep and bruising and urgent, lacking the usual tenderness Tony’s come to expect. His lips press into Tony’s with the same force that radiates from every inch of him—muscles tense, chest heaving, the heat of his body engulfing Tony’s. It’s the kind of kiss that consumes, leaving no space for anything else in the world but the two of them.

Tony melts into it and moans.

His lungs spasm as Bucky's hand tangles in his hair, tugging him to the right angle, and Tony’s legs part instinctively. The bed creaks beneath them as Bucky shifts, the weight of him settling over Tony like a furnace.

“Open,” Bucky commands roughly, dragging his thumb across Tony’s bottom lip. He dives back in and Tony succumbs easily, shivering as he feels Bucky’s tongue plunge deep and take. He can’t fight the way his own body responds with an instinctive desperation that mirrors Bucky’s. Every touch feels like it’s been building for days, every movement between them drenched in the heavy, suffocating pressure of desire.

Through all of it, Bucky’s eyes—when they finally break away—glitter with something unspoken.

“Gonna touch myself, sweetheart,” Bucky says against Tony’s lips, voice ragged and raw. “Gonna show you what you do to me. How you make me feel, every damn minute of the day.”

Tony nods eagerly, chasing Bucky’s lips. Bright, cherry red and shiny with spit. Bucky pulls away, and he whines.

Bucky smiles, but it’s almost feral, a flash of teeth that sends a thrill coursing through Tony’s veins. “Desperate for it, huh?” His fingers run along Tony’s jawline, tracing the outline of his lips before brushing back through his hair to hold him still, a reminder of how easily he can take control. “To see your Alpha’s cock? His knot?”

If anyone knew just how desperate Tony was, they’d probably have him committed to the nearest mental institution.

“Tell me you want it, Tony,” Bucky breathes, pulling back just enough to look into Tony’s eyes. “Tell me you want this.”

Tony’s heart thunders in his chest, and it’s impossible to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, Buck. Yeah, God, I want it.”

Bucky groans. “Good.” He pulls back, sitting back on his heels. He’s painfully hard, a noticeable wet patch staining the fabric of his boxers where his cockhead strains. His hair falls into his eyes and his chest heaves, perfect expanses of smooth, sweetly tanned skin.

Tony’s never wanted anything more than he wants him.

He wets his lips. Drags his eyes to his Alpha’s crotch and clenches his thighs together.

And then waves a hand in the air for loose emphasis.

“Proceed,” he says, though it comes out like a wheeze.

Bucky gazes at him from under his eyelashes, the corners of his mouth twitching into a crooked smile. Tony’s favorite smile. He places his left hand on Tony’s knee, thumb caressing the skin, and dips the other hand into his boxers.

“This is what you do to me, Tony,” he rasps. He pushes the fabric past his hips, down to his knees, and Tony suddenly wishes the sunlight dipping through the window was softer. His eyes go wide, wide, his jaw dropping open to suck in a strong gasp.

He knew Bucky was going to be large. He’s felt it by now—straining through layers of fabric, mostly—but clearly imposing, nonetheless.

And it’s not like Tony has endless frames of reference. He’s seen his own dick, obviously—normal, average, if not a little on the smaller side due to his presentation. He hasn’t had time to be insecure about it, not with Bucky’s hands sending him to orbit every time he gets a decent grip on it.

He’s seen crude drawings in textbooks.

But Bucky’s cock is massive. Frames of reference be damned.

It curves against his stomach, shining at the tip, and when Bucky drags his fist down the length of it, the Alpha’s own long fingers hardly wrap around the circumference.

“Bucky,” he whispers, reverent. He squirms against the bed, and Bucky’s fingers tighten on his knee.

Be good.

Bucky doesn’t seem shocked by Tony’s stunned, awestruck gaze. Instead, his chin falls to his chest, hiding his smile. He gives himself another long, smooth stroke, and the tension bleeds from his shoulders.

Tony gapes. He wants to touch him. He wants to lick him.

Bucky’s cock is red. Angry from hours of neglect without release. Pre-cum gathers at the tip and Bucky swipes his thumb over the mess to ease the slide of his fist, shuddering at the sensation. His eyes, when they peer down at Tony, are black.

Tony lays immobile. Raptured.

Bucky lets go of Tony’s knee to press a thumb under Tony’s chin. Urging his mouth closed.

Something dark flashes across the Alpha’s weighted gaze, then. Something predatory.

His hand doesn’t drop. Instead, he cups Tony’s face near his jaw. Presses his thumb to Tony’s bottom lip until it gives.

The digit slips into his mouth. Bucky growls.

Tony knows they’re on the cusp of something dangerous. The air in the room, a mixture of their combined pheromones, suddenly feels electric. Charged.

“Before you, I hadn’t popped a knot since my last rut.” Bucky speaks in an octave Tony didn’t know he was capable of. A deep, throaty baritone. His fingers flex around himself as he increases the speed of his strokes, the tip of his cock leaking as it pushes past the ring of his fingers. Clear fluid gathers and spills down his knuckles.

Tony says nothing. Inhibited by the warm, salty pressure of Bucky’s thumb on his tongue.

“Then I met you. The most beautiful boy. Smelling—fuck—like a goddamn dream. I was done for, after that. I’ve popped a knot every time I’ve thought about you with my hand on my dick since.”

Tony’s own dick stirs in his underwear. He ignores it.

“Never knew I could do that before. Had only popped a knot when I—” The Alpha breaks off, hissing through his teeth as he squeezes around the base of his length. He tips his head up toward the ceiling, mouth parting in pleasure. Breaths ragged.

The implication is clear—Bucky had only been able to produce a knot during sex.

For whatever reason, this particular revelation doesn’t sour Tony’s snug and cozy headspace. Doesn’t pull him out of his rapt mesmerization.

His eyes widen, his breathing becoming shallow around Bucky’s thumb as Bucky groans and trembles, the Alpha’s lip tucking into his teeth as the skin of his flushed, leaking cock starts to swell at the base.

It’s obscene. Decadent. Bucky ignores the rapidly expanding knot, fingers gliding up and down the slick shaft as lewd noises fill the space between them. Bucky’s eyes snap to Tony’s, gaze ravenous, and Tony quakes when Bucky edges his thumb further into Tony’s mouth.

He doesn’t choke, but it’s a close thing. It takes superhuman levels of restraint to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head, Bucky’s thumb pressing heavily onto the back of his tongue. His hand gripping Tony’s jaw and keeping his mouth pried open.

If Tony drools a little, well. That’s between him and his salivary glands.

Bucky’s knot swells at the base, the size of a small fist, and the fleeting expression of panic that reveals itself in Tony’s expression (for the sake of his asshole, truly,) has Bucky smirking. He pulls his thumb out of Tony’s mouth, a line of spit dragging from Tony’s lip.

“You’re gonna break me in half,” Tony coughs out once his mouth is free.

Bucky laughs. Hoarse and rough. He wraps his fingers around the engorged flesh and moans, louder than Tony’s heard him so far, and the sound of it rattles something inside Tony’s bones.

“It’ll—oh—it’ll fit, doll. We’ll make it fit. You’ll take me so good, sweetheart. Fuck. I know it.”

And, well. Tony, with his mile-wide competitive streak, has certainly never shied away from a challenge.

So he nods, and whines, and sinks blissfully under the delicious weight of Bucky’s filthy assurances. “Want you to come,” he whispers, a little shy and still a little heat-stunned.

Bucky’s responding exhale is slow, controlled. His tongue darts out to wet his lip and his brow furrows. If Tony could move his limbs, he would smooth out the wrinkle with his thumb.

The Alpha leans down, his face so close that Tony can feel the heat of his breath. His knuckles drag across Tony’s belly as he drags his fist up and down. “Oh, you want me to come, huh?” His voice is a low, gravelly purr, and the sound sends a shiver down Tony’s spine. “Sweetheart, you gotta know—every time I come now, it’s for you. Always for you.”

Tony gulps. His face burns, but he doesn’t look away. He couldn’t even if he wanted to.

“You have no idea, do you?” Bucky continues, his thumb circling the swollen knot, a strangled sound breaking from his throat. “This—God—this is yours, Tony. Everything I am, everything I got, it’s yours. You’re the only one who gets me like this.”

Tony’s lips part, but no sound comes out. He can only watch, utterly captivated as Bucky moves, deltoids flexing, dragging out his own pleasure like he’s savoring it.

The Alpha’s breath hitches, and he swears under his breath, his free hand bracing against the bed next to Tony’s head. “Christ, you’re so fucking pretty,” he rasps. “Just layin’ there, lookin’ at me like that. You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me, do you?”

Tony swallows hard, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. “Not my fault you’re a sucker for a pretty face,” he says shakily.

Bucky’s smirk widens, lazy and confident. The only sign of his dissolving composure is the flush on his cheeks, the steady increase of his breathing as he works his cock harder. Faster. “Pretty face, gorgeous everything else. I’ve told you, baby, you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

Tony’s stomach does a weird little twist at the words. It’s a fluttery, almost nauseating feeling, and for a moment, he has to fight the urge to deflect with a quip. He’s saved from having to respond when Bucky’s moving again, sitting back, his fingers brushing against Tony’s thigh as he fucks his fist, slow and deliberate.

“God,” Bucky murmurs, his head tipping back just slightly, exposing the column of his throat. “You’re so good to me, you know that? Just sittin’ there, bein’ mine, lookin’ at me like you’re starvin’ for it. You make it so easy, Tony. So damn easy to lose my mind over you.”

The confession hits Tony like a lightning bolt, his breath catching in his throat as the raw, unfiltered emotion in Bucky’s voice wraps around him and holds him tight. There’s a flicker of something in Bucky’s tone—something unspoken, something neither of them is quite ready to say.

Tony simply squirms, his hands finding their way to Bucky’s thighs, grounding himself in the solid warmth beneath his fingers.

“Alpha” he manages, begging a little, though his voice cracks on the word.

Bucky chuckles, low and warm. “Patience, doll. You’ll get your show. Can’t blame me for wantin’ to drag it out a little.” He bites his bottom lip, groaning as he picks up his pace, his hips jerking slightly in time with his hand.

The sight has Tony’s head spinning. Bucky, all broad shoulders and rippling muscles, flushed and wrecked in the best way. And all for him. The thought sends an electrifying shiver through him.

“You like watchin’ me, darlin’?” Bucky rasps, his voice thick with heat and amusement. His eyes, half-lidded but still sharp, find Tony’s. The intensity in them is magnetic, pulling Tony further into the spell of the moment.

Tony swallows hard. “Uh-huh.”

Bucky’s laugh is low and guttural. “Uh-huh,” he mimics, teasing. “Look at you, sweetheart. Always so eager for me. Even when you’re too wrecked to move.”

Tony nods faster. Eager, near-delirious.

Bucky must be able to see it, clear as day in his spellbound expression. His lips curve into a softer smile, and he lets out a shaky exhale. “That’s my boy,” he murmurs, more to himself than to Tony. And then he’s leaning back. Basking fully in his own pleasure.

He’s… ethereal. Lean muscle and a shimmering sheen of sweat. Bathed in the soft morning sunlight, he resembles something carved by Michelangelo himself.

He shudders, his entire frame taut and trembling like a bowstring pulled to its limit. His hand moves faster now, more insistent, the slick sound of his strokes drowning out his ragged breathing. His pupils are blown wide, the stormy grey of his eyes swallowed by a darkness that burns with desire, and his flushed skin glistens.

“Fuck, Tony,” Bucky groans, his voice guttural and broken, every syllable drenched in raw need. His gaze remains locked on Tony’s as if he’s drawing every ounce of strength and urgency from the Omega sprawled beneath him. “You do this to me. Every—fuckin’—time.”

Tony’s breath punches out of his lungs, utterly transfixed. He can feel the heat rolling off Bucky in waves, each one igniting something deep and primal in his chest. Every flex of Bucky’s forearm, every roll of his hips, every hitch in his breath—it’s all for him. Because of him.

Bucky’s movements become erratic, his chest rising and falling in desperate, uneven rhythms. His head tilts back again, exposing the thick line of his throat, and Tony can see his pulse thrumming wildly beneath the skin. His jaw clenches as a sharp, savage moan tears free, and his entire body tenses, muscles locking in place like he’s bracing for impact.

And then it hits.

“Shit—Tony—”

Bucky’s hips jerk forward, his breath catching in a low, broken sound as the first thick pulse of his release hits his chin. His hand slows but doesn’t stop, purposefully avoiding his knot, dragging every ounce of sensation from his body as his chest heaves with the force of it. The flush on his skin deepens, spreading across his neck and up to his cheeks as he groans Tony’s name, reverent and wrecked.

Tony’s eyes widen as he takes it all in, his gaze flickering between the blissed-out expression on Bucky’s face and the way his muscles ripple with every aftershock. It’s mesmerizing, watching the Alpha unravel like this, so open and unguarded in a way that feels almost sacred.

Bucky’s free hand digs into Tony’s thigh, his grip bruising as he comes, and comes, and it goes on seemingly forever as copious amounts of release jet across his chest, his stomach, dripping down past his navel and pooling to his thighs. He rides it out, moaning Tony’s name like a prayer.

When his hand finally falls away after what feels like minutes, his body sags slightly as he catches his breath. His eyes flutter open, and the warmth in his gaze when it meets Tony’s is enough to send a fresh wave of heat pooling in Tony’s chest.

“Fuck, baby, look at that,” he slurs, glancing down at the mess he’s made of himself. “All for you.”

Tony doesn’t think, doesn’t pause, doesn’t wait for the haze of the moment to clear. Scorching, he just reaches out, his palms sliding up Bucky’s bare chest, the muscles still shuddering with aftershocks, and hooks his arms around the Alpha’s neck. With a tug that feels more instinct than thought, he pulls Bucky down.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, and Bucky barely has time to brace himself before Tony’s lips are on his.

The kiss is messy, heated, and entirely uncoordinated. Tony can still taste the ragged breaths Bucky is fighting to catch, can still feel the lingering tremor in his Alpha’s frame as their mouths move together. It’s not perfect—Bucky is too unsteady, too drained—but there’s a raw, open tenderness in the way his lips slide against Tony’s, a kind of devotion that makes Tony feel like he’s being lit on fire from the inside out.

Bucky groans into it, low and throaty, his weight settling over Tony in a way that’s almost overwhelming. His chest presses against Tony’s, warm and sticky from the aftermath, but Tony doesn’t care. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck, holding him there, deepening the kiss until it feels like the only thing tethering him to reality.

“Doll,” Bucky rasps, breaking away just long enough to catch his breath, his forehead dropping against Tony’s. His hands, broad and steady, cup Tony’s jaw, his thumbs brushing reverently over his cheekbones. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Pretty sure you’ve got it backwards, after that performance art.”

Bucky chuckles, a low, satisfied sound that vibrates through his whole body. His head dips, and he presses a softer kiss to the corner of Tony’s mouth, lingering. There’s something unbearably gentle in the way his lips move there, as if he’s savoring every second, every inch of skin.

“You make me crazy,” Bucky murmurs, quieter now, as if the words aren’t meant to fill the space between them. His forehead presses against Tony’s, the bridge of his nose brushing Tony’s in a fleeting, tender gesture.

Tony swallows hard, his fingers threading through the damp strands of hair at Bucky’s nape, holding him close. The heat between them is still electric, still charged, but there’s something softer now, something that makes Tony’s chest ache. “Yeah,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I know.”

For a moment, they just stay like that—Bucky above him, Tony wrapped around him, the Alpha’s spend cooling between them as their breaths mingle in the heavy quiet of the room. It feels grounding, like the world has narrowed down to just this—just them. When Bucky finally tilts his head and kisses him again, slow and deep and consuming, it feels like a promise neither of them is quite ready to say out loud.

Bucky has to go to work.

It’s almost seven in the morning, and Tony would quite literally rather die than untangle himself from the Alpha.

Bucky shifts above him, his weight easing off slightly, and Tony tightens his arms around his neck in protest.

“Nope,” Tony says, muffled against the crook of Bucky’s shoulder. “You’re staying right here. Work’s canceled. World’s canceled. It’s you, me, and this bed until further notice.”

Bucky chuckles, his hand smoothing down Tony’s side in a slow, deliberate sweep. “Wish it worked like that, kid. Believe me, I do.”

“It does,” Tony argues, leaning back just enough to shoot Bucky a pointed look. “I’ve decided. Executive heat decision.”

“Is that right?” Bucky grins, his thumb tracing lazy circles against Tony’s hip. “Well, hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but my boss doesn’t exactly take orders from Omegas. Not even ones as cute as you.”

Tony groans, tucking his face back into the Alpha’s neck. “I’m devastatingly cute. I could charm a rock. Your boss wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Tony doesn’t need to return to school until Tuesday, officially, so it doesn’t require much arm-twisting from Bucky to convince him to remain in the apartment while he and Steve are gone.

Bucky sneaks out into the kitchen and returns with a warm washcloth, and Tony blushes profusely when the Alpha gently wipes them both clean.

“Don’t go gettin’ all shy on me now, gorgeous.”

Tony’s body feels heavy in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant, like he’s been melted down and poured into the mattress. Every limb hums faintly, the echoes of his heat simmering just beneath the surface, but the overwhelming fire has cooled to something manageable. He feels warm, almost boneless, as if he’s finally surfacing from days spent at the mercy of his own biology.

The ache is still there—a dull, persistent reminder that his body’s instincts haven’t fully let go yet—but it’s bearable now. His muscles are tired, stretched in ways they haven’t been in a long time, but they feel used in the best way. Thorough. Satisfied.

His skin tingles faintly where Bucky’s hands had lingered—his jaw, his waist, his thighs—like the Alpha’s touch has left a permanent mark on him. Even now, with Bucky moving around the room, gathering his things, Tony feels the absence of his warmth like a chill he can’t quite shake.

He watches Bucky with half-lidded eyes, too lazy to move but too entranced to look away. The Alpha is dressed from the waist down now, but his shirtless torso gleams faintly in the early morning light. His movements are efficient but reluctant, his jaw tight as he sets a glass of water down on the nightstand. Tony can see it in the set of his shoulders, in the way his hands linger over every task: Bucky doesn’t want to go.

The thought makes Tony’s chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with his heat.

“You sure you’re okay?” Bucky’s asks, rough with hesitation. He’s standing at the edge of the bed now, his cool-grey eyes scanning Tony like he might fall apart any second.

Tony snorts, letting his head loll to the side as he gives Bucky an easy smile. “I’m good, Buck. Seriously. Just tired. Go to work, contribute to society.”

The words are true—he is okay. The worst of it is over, and he’s coherent enough to take care of himself for a few hours. But there’s a part of him, buried deep, that wishes he wasn’t okay. That wishes he could use his lingering heat as an excuse to make Bucky stay, to keep him here just a little longer.

Tony doesn’t voice it, though. He knows Bucky would stay if he asked. Knows the Alpha would drop everything without hesitation to keep him company, to see him through every last second of this.

Still, when Bucky fusses—fills the glass after making Tony drink the whole thing, sets him up with a (third) pair of clean underwear—Tony doesn’t stop him. It’s sweet, in that achingly Bucky way, and Tony lets it happen because he likes it. Likes knowing that even when Bucky has to leave, he’s leaving a part of himself behind, a little piece of care that Tony can hold onto.

“You eat something while I’m gone, yeah? Kitchen is yours. Try not to set anything on fire.”

“Is that supposed t’be a joke about my cooking?”

Bucky lingers, his hands twitching like they don’t know where to go, and for a moment, Tony almost calls him back. Almost asks him to crawl into bed, to wrap his arms around him, to hold him just a little longer.

Instead, he reaches out, fingers brushing Bucky’s wrist as the Alpha turns to leave. “I’m fine, Buck,” he says, his voice gentler now. “I’ll go bother Steve until he has to leave. Go, I’ll be here when you get back.”

Bucky kisses him as he’s heading out the door. “Be good.”

“Sure. Always.”

Steve finds Tony shortly after that, sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in Bucky’s clothes and Bucky’s quilt.

Screwdriver in hand. Fixing the toaster.