Chapter Text
AN: Fun fact: Breukelen is Dutch for “broken land,” and is where Brooklyn gets its name.
Title from the Imagine Dragons Song “Believer.”
PROLOGUE:
Begin:
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away named Breukelen, there lived a great king. Known throughout the land for his both his fairness and his cunning with a sword, King Joseph was the perfect specimen of an alpha and the apple of every young maiden’s eye. All the ladies of nobility dreamed that he would choose her as a bride. Unfortunately, the king had no desire to wed. His only passion was the hunt.
One day, the king was out with his men, hunting a new danger that had cropped up. There was talk that a great beast - a many-headed Hydra - was making the local forest its home. With his subjects too frightened to travel to neighboring kingdoms for trade, King Joseph set about hunting the great beast.
It was during one of these hunts that the king was wounded. A great beast came crashing through the forest, and the men all let their arrows fly. One arrow, and no one knew whose it was – managed to cut its way through the king’s armor, piercing him just above his heart. As none of his men were healers, all feared the young king would die.
It was truly fortunate then that a young maiden of low birth happened onto the king’s party. She had been taught healing at her mother’s knee, and within a short time was able to heal King Joseph.
The king was instantly smitten. The maiden Sarah had fair hair and blue eyes, and the king was certain that she was the loveliest omega in all the land. Their wedding lasted for seven days and seven nights, and just nine months to the day, a prince was born.
Prince Steven had his mother’s fair skin, fair hair, and blue eyes, but he was a sickly child. Many in the king’s household feared he would not live to see his name day, and all were certain he would present as an omega at best, and a beta at worst. Fearing more unrest in the kingdom, the couple swore their household to secrecy while King Joseph sent emissaries far and wide in search of a cure.
One man did come forward. Wizard Erskine’s elixir was not enough to cure the prince, but it did help him recover for a time. It was during these times of wellness that the boy learned to sneak out of the castle to play in the king’s private forest. There was a small brook that ran through it, drawing forest creatures far and wide, and the prince loved nothing more than to sit in the dappled sunlight and put to paper all that he saw.
It became his refuge, and, years later, when the noble king lost his life to the Hydra, the young prince sought out the shady pathways of the forest. It was there that he began to wield a stick as though it were a sword, and there that he truly began to curse his poor health. He would rage against the fates for making his body small and sickly, even as his mind was bright with ideas about the differences between right and wrong.
It was during this time that prince made – and lost – his first true friend. Bucky was a boy his age, who had befriended Prince Steven without ever knowing he was the prince. The pair of them would meet by the shaded brook, sometimes playing rough and tumble games (Bucky never treated Prince Steven as though he was small or sickly), and sometimes only sitting quietly together, talking of their futures as though everything the young boys were dreaming might someday come to pass. Once, they’d even built a small suspension bridge over the deepest part of the creek, Bucky dreaming up the design, and Steve drawing it out, the two of them foraging for saplings and felled branches.
They were very best of friends, the two of them, and nothing could come between them. After all, they’d pinky promised.
“You’re going to be an alpha,” Prince Steven once said. “I can tell.”
Bucky didn’t know much about his friend, but he knew that men built small and frail, as his friend seemed to be, often never presented at all, or if they did, it was almost always as an omega. After all, who’s ever heard of a small, fragile alpha?
So Bucky would hush up talk of designations, and instead, the two would play fighting games, or Bucky would tell his friend tall tales of old, while the little prince drew all that he saw in his mind’s eye. Often, the king’s guards would find the pair of them piled together, dozing in the shade with the brook babbling nearby. Queen Sarah had given the strictest of orders that her son never be disturbed while he was at play.
All in all, it was an idyllic time in the young prince’s life.
Until, that is, the year that the white winter came. With it was the white plague, a coughing illness that seemed to consume its victims from the inside out. Queen Sarah, being kind-hearted, and just as brave as her husband, spent many of her days tending to those who were ill. It was a matter of time, then, before she took ill herself.
The winter was rough on Prince Steven, too. While the plague didn’t come for him, all manner of other illnesses did. It was then that a young wizard named Pierce came to the kingdom. He boasted of an elixir that could cure even the weakest of men, but he had only one dose. Though very ill herself, Queen Sarah insisted that the wizard give the potion to the prince.
Prince Steven, of course, would have none of it. What was the use in living if his mother wouldn’t be there to guide his way? Ultimately, the wizard tricked the young prince into taking the elixir. Watching in horror, Prince Steven grew stronger, as the young queen seemed to waste away.
“Mother,” he’d cried, sobbing at her bedside. “I cannot lead without you. How will I know what is right?”
“My darling boy,” she said. “All that you need is within you. You cannot help but become a great leader, so long as you remain a good man.”
The prince sobbed as his mother passed, and the country was plunged, once again, into mourning.
By the time Prince Steven was strong enough to venture past the palace walls again, he searched far and wide for his friend, Bucky. Unfortunately, while the price struggled with his health and the death of his dear mother, his friend had volunteered to fight against the Hydra. According to all reports, he had died a valiant death.
With no one left that he could trust, the prince turned, in his grief, to the Wizard Pierce. His mother had trusted the wizard, and he had cured Steve of his lifelong illnesses. The young prince didn’t always agree with the wizard, but on the whole, he felt that the wizard wanted what they all did: the destruction of the Hydra and a return to peaceful times.
Like his father before him, the prince became known for his bravery, his skill in fighting, and his fair looks. With the help of Pierce’s elixir, he’d grown to be tall and well-muscled, but like his father before him, he had no desire to wed. What was the purpose of seeking happiness, when it all could be stolen away, in the space of a single, nasty winter?
Instead, the prince focused on fighting the beast and avenging his father’s death, a task he’d sworn to complete before his twenty-fifth name day, when he would be crowned king. Until that time, the kingdom was ruled by a small council, made up of nobility and merchants, and the kingdom’s General, Ser Nicholas Fury.
As far as Prince Steven was concerned, they could rule Breukelen forever. The Hydra had taken Steven’s father, his best friend, and too many good men to count. His thoughts focused only on vengeance.
And that, friends, is where our story begins:
CHAPTER 1
“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but this was a good trip,” Sam says, holding his horse’s reins loose in his hands.
“How can you say that?” Steve asks. “We didn’t find anything!” His horse snuffles, recognizing the path that they’re on as the one that leads home. She’s anxious to get home. Everyone is.
They’ve been hunting the Hydra that lives in the forest of Steve’s kingdom for the last two weeks but found nothing more than an old nest, riddled with the bones of livestock. Everyone in the prince’s party is bone-tired with exhaustion – everyone but the prince, that is.
“Not true,” Sam says, slumping a bit in his saddle. “We know where it isn’t. And we know there’s still only one.” The unspoken fear throughout the kingdom has been that another Hydra would appear and that the pair would breed. Happily, the abandoned nest that they found bore no signs of a mate – or a hatchling.
“We’ll just…have to try again,” the prince says, and Sam gives him a wary eye. “What?”
“Look, I’m not saying we shouldn’t be doing this,” Sam starts, and Steve already knows what’s coming. “I know how much this hunt means to you, and you know I understand how important it is. But Highness, you’re to be crowned in six months’ time. Mayhap you could save some energy for finding a bride…or a groom.”
Steve sighs. It’s always the same conversation, no matter who it’s with: Settle down, find a mate, bond, give the kingdom a reason to celebrate, after so many years of darkness.
“You know I don’t care about that.”
“I know,” Sam answers, and that’s one of the things that Steve loves about him. Regardless of how difficult Steve is being, Sam always finds an easy way to say what’s on his mind.
“You don’t have to come on every hunt, Sam. You have a life – people to take care of. I understand.” The only time Sam had ever missed a hunt was when he was in rut or Riley was in heat. The two had bonded quickly once they met, and Steve was forever in awe of the pair. They blended work and their bond so effortlessly. It reminded Steve of his parents, how they were always in sync with one another.
“Then you understand why I have to do this. Hunting the Hydra - I’m not saying give up. I’m saying that maybe you should work on getting a life of your own.”
Steve nods, but says nothing. What can he say? He has a harem full of men and women, all of whom are trained to service him. Men and women - omegas and betas - from his kingdom and neighboring kingdoms have lined up to present themselves for marriage, and while Steve knows that at some point he’s going to have to choose, he hates the idea of it. Everyone he’s ever loved is gone, and the Hydra is to blame. Their lives are too precarious while the Hydra still haunts their lands.
As they ride on, Steve’s thoughts drift back to when he was a child, back to Bucky.
He’s never gotten over the loss of his first friend. Steve was never sure whether Bucky knew he was the prince, but he’d never treated Steve like anything but his best friend: never bowed and simpered, never held back from telling Steve off when he thought he was wrong, but never shied away from backing the smaller boy up, either.
When Steve’s body finally caught up to his heart, he realized that while he admired Bucky for being brave and strong and good, he also admired him in another way, a decidedly more than friendly way. He never had the chance to find out if Bucky felt the same, but when Steve remembers those long, lazy days by the creek, he thinks that maybe Bucky did. The vicious part of him hopes so, if only because it hones the razor of his regret, keeps it sharp so that he always remembers what he owes to his kingdom, to the world.
By the time they arrive at the castle, Sam has just enough energy to hand off his horse to a stable boy before slouching off to his rooms, exhausted. Steve invites him over for a drink, anything to delay the inevitable, but even he can see that Sam is dead on his feet.
When Steve approaches his rooms, he finds Sitwell dithering in the foyer. His clothes are tailored as though he’s a little lord himself, and not the manager of Steve’s harem.
When Pierce suggested the harem, Steve balked. His grandfather had done away with the practice, and Steve’s own father hadn’t seen fit to resume it.
“You’re unmated, and now that you’re healthy, you’ll have your first rut. The people need to know that their prince is healthy and virile - a real man!”
Steven finally relented, and regretted it nearly every day since, particularly on those days when he had to deal with Jasper Sitwell, a lesser Baron from one of the outer reaches of the kingdom, but one that Pierce had taken quite a liking to. Maybe because of the wizard’s favor, but Sitwell always seemed a bit slimy to Steve. Obsequious, his mother would say. Perhaps it was the way he dressed and acted, as though he good friends with the prince, and not merely the manager of the royal harem.
“Prince Steven!” Jasper says. “The gods bless us that you have returned!”
“I always do seem to manage that, don’t I?”
His dry tone is lost on the older man.
“And thanks be to the gods for that! I imagine after such a long time away, you would like to partake of your princely rights?”
“I...I think I’m good. It was a long, hard trip, and I’d like nothing more than a meal and a bath.”
“Nonsense! Our prince is strong enough to slay a dozen Hydras, and return home to satisfy a hundred partners and then some! Now, who shall I send? March? She was particularly distraught that you’d been gone so long. Or perhaps February? You know how he misses you while you’re away.”
The last thing he wants is to entertain. But, he knows that if he turns Sitwell away, that Pierce will be at his door within the hour, another of his foul-smelling potions in hand, waiting to….
“You know what?” Steve says, “Send up October. I’m still feeling a bit keyed up after all.”
“Very good, Highness. Shall I send the new boy as well? Wizard Pierce found him. We call him Winter. A bit rough around the edges, but Pierce thought you might enjoy a bit of...rough now and then.”
Steve’s blood boils. His proclivities are his and his alone. He would never dream of forcing his more base desires onto an unwilling partner. It’s bad enough he wants these things. He will not have someone like Sitwell gossiping about him.
“Sitwell, you forget yourself,” Steve says, his voice loaded with menace. And...the last thing in the world he wants is yet another member of his harem. Bad enough there are twelve of them - one named for each month of the year, though they arrived at all different times. Now they’ve moved on to the seasons. What’s next? Number fourteen named Summer?
“Of course, Highness,” Sitwell says, affecting a bow as he leaves the room. “I got a bit carried away in my excitement. October will be up shortly.”
As the door closes behind him, Steve can only feel relief. He knows with Peggy he’s bought himself a few hours of peace. She is the companion he’s known the longest, and she knows that he values her more for her sharp mind than her soft body.
Oh, they’d enjoyed each other once upon a time, but that was long before Peggy fell for the omega maiden Angie, who went by the name of March. It wasn’t unheard of for an omega and beta to choose one another. Besides which, Steve always thought Peggy had more than a little alpha in her than her beta nature implied.
He’d long since confided in her his unhappiness with the forced games of the harem, and they’d hatched a plan that when he wasn’t up for pretending with one of the others, he would call for her, and they would spend a lovely evening together, keeping up the facade. When he did face rut, there were a number of omegas in his harem to choose from. February, in particular, seemed to fulfill Steve’s need to own, to possess - to please.
And outside of rut, Peggy helped him keep up pretenses. Now and then he invited Angie along as well, and he would leave the two of them to enjoy an evening to themselves, while he retired to his study, ever plotting the Hydra’s demise.
If he couldn’t have the peace he sought tonight, at least with Peg, he wouldn’t have to lie.
“What is it, darling?” Peggy watches him with bright brown eyes. Her intelligence is what drew him to her, and her manner of treating him not as a prince, but as a decent man. He always aspires to be his best self when her gaze is upon him.
“I’m only frustrated,” he says. “I’d hoped this time….” He doesn’t have the say the rest. The entire kingdom knows that the latest hunt was a failure. “It’s grown nearly twenty heads,” Steve says. “No matter what we do, they keep growing.”
“And you’ve not found a way to pierce it’s hide?”
“No,” Steve shakes his head. “The Starks are working on it. Howard is away, scouring other lands for a metal that might be stronger than our steele, and young Tony persists with his many inventions. I pray they find something that will help.”
Peggy gives a sympathetic hum and pours Steve another glass of wine.
“Anyway, that’s enough of my misery. Tell me about you. How’s Angie? Catch me up on the latest gossip.”
And so Peggy does, filling Steve in on all that he’s missed, including Sitwell’s rather embarrassing attempts at currying favor with the local Marquess. When it was revealed that the man would not be inviting Sitwell to dine at his table, and had only been indulging Sitwell in an attempt to win the approval of the wizard Pierce, well, the entire castle had been in stitches.
“We shouldn’t laugh,” Steve says, trying to swallow a giggle.
“Yes,” Peggy says, her laugh rich and throaty, “we should.”
As their evening draws to a close, Steve checks in with Peggy on the health and well-being of the harem. Some, like February, had eagerly joined the service and were somewhat dismayed that the prince did not call on them regularly. Others, like Angie, had joined as a last resort, and had been thrilled to discover that while the prince did have a healthy appetite, he would never force himself upon any of them. While Prince Steven did enjoy her company, they’d never lain together, and indeed, never would. Not that anyone else needed to know that. To hear Miss March tell it, Prince Steven was the most virile of men. For who else but the most virile of men could take on both March and October, at the same time?
“And…?” Steve says, just as Peggy stifles a yawn. “You’re holding out on me.”
Peggy has the good grace to look abashed. “He’s lovely,” she says, speaking of the newest addition to the harem, Winter. “Tall, well-built, with long dark hair and very pretty eyes. I think you’ll like him. Be careful, there.”
“Oh?”
“You know how much interest Pierce takes in the harem. The word is that he chose Winter, especially for you.”
“What’s he like?”
“I don’t know, really. Keeps to himself. Won’t tell anyone his real name. He...he often has bad dreams, but when Angie or any of the others try to comfort him, he pushes them away. I can’t say I understand it.”
“But you think I need to be wary?”
“I think that Pierce tires of you being your own man. Maybe he thinks Winter will bring you to heel.”
“Then he’s a fool,” Steve says.
“Indeed.”
When Steve walks Peggy to the door, he can’t deny that his curiosity is piqued. “Send him up, would you? I want to take a look at this Winter.”
“Steve,” Peggy says, laying a hand on his arm. “Be careful? Remember all I’ve said?”
“I know, Peg. But Pierce did save my life. And he’s brought much to this kingdom - our wealth is increasing, our fields are at their peak, and our people are content.”
“Humor an old friend, then, would you?”
“I’ll try,” Steve says, and he can see from her face that she knows it’s the best she’ll get.
After she leaves, Steve calls the maid to draw him a bath. Breukelen is peppered with natural hot springs, and Howard Stark figured out a way to pipe the water into the castle. It’s not fit for washing clothes or cooking, but the mineral-rich water is always soothing on Steve’s tired muscles.
Steve’s not planning on touching the new man tonight, but he’s days past a bath, and his skin feels grimy to his touch. He only wants to meet Winter before getting clean and taking to his bed at least until dawn.
When there’s a knock at the door, Steve calls out for the man to come in. He’s taken off the top half of his uniform, wearing only his breeches and boots. Part of him is looking forward to the bath, but the other part of him wants to show off a bit. Pierce’s elixir made his body strong and fast, and he heals more quickly than any man should. He’s wondering if he’ll see admiration in Winter’s eyes.
The man steps in, and he’s clothed in a simple pale robe. Steve can see from the cut of it that Winter is strong, the robe straining across his chest and arms.
“There’s a mask beside the door,” Steve says. “Put it on.” He learned long ago that he enjoys a bit of playacting with his harem. Masks and ropes and even small doses of pain, anything that will heighten the pleasure. Anything that will secure their surrender.
Steve chose a black mask for Winter, one that covers the top half of his face, with a lacey, almost winged effect toward the top. One look at Winter told Steve he’d chosen well. The dark mask combined with Winter’s creamy skin to a stunning effect.
How a new concubine reacts to the mask tells Steve much about how disposed they will be to the other things he enjoys. Some tremble in pleasure, others in fear. Others thrill with the discovery of desires they never knew they had. Steve wonders which one Winter will be.
“Come here,” Steve says as he sits in his favorite chair, the one opposite the big mirror. The man pads over, his bare feet silent on the thick rugs.
“Are you here of your own volition?” Steve asks, watching Winter closely as he answers.
With downcast eyes, he replies, “Yes, Highness.”
“And you wish to be in my service, not because you’re frightened or paying a debt, but for the pleasure of it?”
“Yes, Highness.”
“Why then?” Steve asks. “Why did you choose this?”
“Highness?” The man flicks his eyes up to Steve, just for a moment, before he visibly gets control of himself and casts them down again, but the tick is something Steve wants to examine.
“I...everyone speaks well of you. They say that you - that you’re - they say….”
Steve huffs his exasperation. “ They say a good many things about me, not many of which are true. Aren’t you worried you’ll be disappointed?”
Winter shakes his head no.
“Well, you seem very sure of yourself. I’ll give you that.” Something about the man’s posture makes Steve want to reach out and touch him, lay a gentling hand on his shoulder. The protective alpha in him can’t stand to see an omega in distress, especially one under his protection.
But that means getting close enough to scent him, and Steve would rather not go there just yet.
“I just...I want….” Winter tapers off, and Steve can see a lovely flush at the tips of his ears. The uncertainty doesn’t quite feel right to Steve, natural. There’s something a bit off about Winter, but he’s not quite sure what it is.
He hears Peggy’s admonishment to be careful again, and decides to heed her advice.
“Yes?” he asks, his voice going dry. If Winter is loyal to another master, Steve will have no compunctions releasing him from service and exiling him. He has enough to worry about with the Hydra. He doesn’t need to add treason to the list.
“I’ve never had an alpha before, during heat,” the man says in a small voice. “I thought this would be a good option.” Steve thinks he’s never been more surprised.
“You...how? How have you managed for so long?” It’s typical for an unmated alpha and omega to come to an arrangement. Heat and rut without a partner can be painful; self-pleasure only goes so far.
The man shrugs and looks down, like he’s ashamed, or embarrassed, but says nothing more.
Steve closes his eyes as his entire view of Winter shifts.
It could be a ploy to earn Steve’s trust. Or...it could be that circumstances drove Winter to endure his heats alone. Steve can’t be sure. Either way, Winter is in his service now, and Steve’s intrigued enough to want to test the waters, see how Winter responds. He wasn’t planning on going here yet with Winter, but desire is quickly overwhelming his own good sense.
“Very well,” Steve responds. Maybe if he gives Winter a little test, he’ll learn more. “Pleasure yourself.”
The man startles, and almost raises his eyes to Steve, but then stays himself. “Highness?” he asks.
And at once, Steve is angry. He never wanted the harem, and it’s just one more responsibility in a string of responsibilities. He doesn’t want to have to learn another person again, how to please them, how to keep them satisfied, because above all else, that is his job here.
People think having a harem would be wonderful, the height of self-indulgence, but it’s not. There are five omegas in his care, and he has to see to each of their heats. There are twelve -no, thirteen - people who look to him not just for physical satisfaction, but for affection, too. There’s so much more to it than fucking - something Sitwell and his ilk don’t seem to understand.
Steve leans back in the chair. He’s tired and sore and angry. The last thing he wants is to break in another fucking concubine. He never wanted the damned harem to begin with, and now this.
Sometimes he wishes he would just find a mate already and be done with it. But mates...love...those are things not meant for men like him. The things he wants - craves - they keep him apart from other men. Better men. Men who aren’t selfish to the core.
It’s a shame though: There is something about Winter.
Turning his attention back to Winter, he decides to get on with it. “Would you rather pleasure me?” he asks, and presses a palm against his soft cock.
“That’s why I’m here,” Winter says, and Steve sighs.
“Then what’s stopping you?” He opens his arms wide and shifts in the chair, eyes on the mirror opposite him. His shield, a gift from Howard Stark, is set just beside it, and Steve almost has to close his eyes. It’s a reminder of everything he’s meant to be, and everything that he’s not.
He watches in the mirror as Winter kneels before him. With deft fingers, Winter opens Steve’s breeches and pulls out his cock.
“Sire?” Winter asks, when confronted with Steve’s lack of excitement. “Are you…?”
“I’m bored, is what I am,” he answers, and tries not to sigh again as Winter begins to stroke him to firmness. He feels the touch of something cool, and looks down to see Winters fingers on him, but half of them are metal.
Laying his hand over the metal digits, Steve stares at them in wonder. “What…?” He traces the metal up past Winter’s wrist, to his forearm, and then his elbow. Steve pushes aside Winter’s robe, and barely stops himself from flinching. The metal joins flesh at Winter’s shoulder, a mess of scarring at the joint. It looks painful.
“Are you hurting?” Steve demands, knowing that his tone is harder than it should be. Winter seems to fold in on himself, as though fearing that the prince is judging him, and finding him wanting.
“No, Highness,” he says, keeping his eyes to the ground. “It doesn’t hurt.”
Steve holds Winter by the chin, forcing his face up to look Steve in the eyes. “Don’t lie to me,” he says, his voice low. “Don’t ever lie to me.”
“I...I’m not...sir.” Winter doesn’t look away and Steve sees the truth in his eyes.
His eyes. Oh.
There’s something...they’re the softest blue Steve has ever seen, but cold, icy. No wonder they call him Winter.
“Please,” Winter says, casting his eyes away again. “Let me please you.”
Steve rests against the back of the chair, mind reeling. There’s something about Winter. Something compelling. He doesn’t want Winter to fail, not this first test. With a deep breath, he forces himself to relax.
“I’ll give you a choice,” he says. “You can pleasure me, or you can pleasure yourself. Choose one.”
“Which will please you most?” Winter asks.
“Which do you think?” Steve answers.
Winter looks around the room, and for a moment, Steve gets his hopes up. They’re dashed, however, when Winter’s face becomes determined.
“I choose you,” he says, and returns to his ministrations.
So it’s like that, Steve thinks. Yet another who thinks that the fastest way to Steve’s favor is through his body. He watches in the mirror as Winter brings him to hardness, and then takes Steve in his mouth, licking and sucking in that beautiful, direct way that men have.
He sighs, suddenly eager to get it over with. While Winter’s mouth is warm and lovely, what Steve longs for now is the bath. At least it should be cooled enough by the time Winter is done. As he watches in the mirror, he notices that Winter is giving it his best effort...and that he’s hard.
Looking down, he sees Winter’s face, eyes closed as though in bliss, and Steve wonders if he was wrong after all. Winter pulls off of Steve’s cock, breathes deep, and whines, high and soft in the back of his throat. It’s gorgeous.
“The thing about watching someone pleasure themselves,” Steve says, and Winter does not falter in his movements, returning to suck Steve, strong and steady. “Is that you learn so much. Do they start out slow and easy, letting the pleasure build and crest? Or do they get right to it, diving in and going hard, chasing after a quick, but satisfying orgasm. Do they touch themselves all over? And is it quick or slow? Are they shy with an audience, or do they enjoy another’s eyes on them? Is it all part of a show? If you’d chosen to pleasure yourself, I would know all these lovely little things about you, and the next time we’re together, I would be able to make it that much better. Instead, I suppose we’ll have to stumble along, now won’t we?”
Steve feels his orgasm building, and he can tell already that it isn’t going to be wonderful. It’s not going to be the full body, all-encompassing high he gets from holding someone else’s will in his hands. Instead, it will be perfunctory, serviceable, but -
Winter whines and Steve’s eyes fly to the mirror. He can see Winter’s cock hanging heavy between his legs, leaking to a puddle on the floor. Winter’s scent hits him then, full-on in a way that hits Steve in the gut. It’s warm and dark - burnt sugar and peat. Something about it pulls at his mind, in a heavy, visceral way. His stomach clenches.
“Oh,” Steve says, and in the next breath he comes, hard, and quick, and satisfying in a way he wouldn’t have believed, only a moment ago.
When he opens his eyes and looks down, Winter is licking his lips, a smear of Steve’s spunk on his cheek. He’s breathing hard and looks beautiful, half of his face obscured by the mask, lips ruddy and wet. Steve bends forward and thumbs away the smear on Winter’s cheek, then slides his thumb between Winter’s lips.
“Look at you,” Steve breathes, as Winter fastens onto his thumb, sucking hard and moaning. “Oh, you’re perfect,” Steve says. “You liked that so much, didn’t you?” he asks and Winter only nods his head, breathing fast.
“Show me,” Steve says. “Show me how you come.”
Winter’s metal hand flies to his cock and with only a few quick tugs, he comes, back arched and keening, spurting wet all over his own chest.
As he comes down, he presses his face against Steve’s knee, and Steve watches in the mirror, the way his back heaves as he tries to catch his breath.
“You’re beautiful,” Steve says, scratching his fingers across Winter’s scalp. “Thank you, for showing me.”
“Are you...did I...?” Winter gulps for air and Steve pets a hand across his shoulder. There’s something vaguely pleasing about his uncertainty. His sincerity in wanting to please Steve - it’s not like the others, who try to please him out of obligation...or fear.
As though he would want their fear.
Looking down into Winter’s eyes, he sees that earnestness again, and finds he’s not quite ready to let go. “You were perfect,” he says. “Now come. The bath will go cold.”
He helps Winter to his feet, and the two of them walk to the bath. Steve steps in and lays back, before tugging Winter down with him. That scarred shoulder is bringing out a fierce protectiveness in Steve, and then there’s Winter’s eyes...they remind him of something, but he can’t recall what.
It makes him feel loose and easy, the way he sometimes is with Peggy.
When Winter attempts to wash Steve, Steve stays him.
“Just rest,” Steve says, and presses Winter’s head to his shoulder. “Just...be here, with me.”
Winter lays his head on Steve’s chest, and Steve catches that scent again, only this time it’s not laced with arousal, or even fear. There’s maybe contentment in the scent, and something...hopeful? Steve puts it out of his mind, relaxing in the warm water, Winter’s weight against his chest.
They stay that way until the water cools, and it’s with some regret that Steve finally washes up and sends Winter back to the harem. The prince seldom allows any of them to sleep with him at night.
Winter isn’t the only man in the castle with nightmares.