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Blood and Honey

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The mask clatters on the ground, and the Soldier turns on the balls of his feet, graceful and deadly.

The face is familiar, looking at him across the short distance and all the decades in between.


His nostrils flare, face pinched.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

Horror and fear heavy in his belly, a weight he isn’t sure he can shift. Then the scent hits, familiar, forgotten, overwhelming and Steve’s body clenches.

It happens in an instant the Winter Soldier, Bucky, is on him. The heavy metal arm wrapping around the back of his neck, the grip strangely gentle and the cool metal soothing on his heated skin. He pulls Steve to him, nosing the hinge of his jaw.


A growl. It makes Steve’s knees turn into jelly and his body clench again. With dawning horror, Steve realizes what is about to happen.

He sees Natasha from the corner of his eye, weakened and leaning against one of the wrecked cars, but the rocket launcher is steady in her hands. Sam, his wings still open, gun pointing straight at them, too scared to take the shot with their bodies so close. Sirens in the air.

The cars surround them and the Strike team rush out, forming a perimeter. Rumlow swaggers out of the car, Rollins not far behind. The Alpha smell of them acrid and hostile. Steve can feel the Soldier tensing, the slight movement he makes to position himself in between Steve and the approaching men. His nostrils flare.

“Good work Asset.”

The Soldier shoots Rumlow in the face. Then Rollins, before anyone else can move. The rest of the strike team tries to engage, but Sam has already taken out two of them. The impact of the rocket launcher takes out the remaining, leaving them alone in the silence of the street, smoke and fire in the air.

The soldier hauls him into one the Strike cars and Steve doesn’t really resist at first, too dazed. He opens the passenger side door, pushing Steve in, but he starts to fight against the pressure on his neck. The Soldier growls but surprisingly doesn’t push or tighten his hold.

“No. Not without Sam and Natasha.”

The Soldier looks at him eyes flat and hard, but Steve is not moving, nor getting into the car, his hands braced on the chassis. The Soldier huffs, clearly a sound of annoyance, but he nods and walks to collect the shield from the road and shoves it to the back seat at the same time as Sam and Natasha clamper in.

The Soldier, Bucky, drives aggressively, veering through traffic with the sirens and lights on. No one tries to stop them and they make it past all the police blockades easily.

Steve’s legs are shaking, the rush of adrenaline and hormones making him unsteady. He knows what is coming, has felt this before. After Azzano, a furtive mating in the freezing woods with Bucky’s hand over his mouth.

He knows that he doesn’t have much time.


The Soldier growls at him, and Steve fights the urge to bare his throat. He wraps his hand around the door handle instead, pulling his body against the door, tight to the leather of the seat.

“Natasha, I’m going into heat.”

“What the hell Steve.”

Her voice is slightly slurred and marred by pain. He leans back against the headrest, looking at her, pleading for her to understand. Sam is putting pressure on the wound on Natasha’s shoulder, but it’s not enough. Steve can smell the blood.

“Natasha. It’s Bucky.”

Her eyes widen a fraction, and Steve feels grateful that she is letting him see her surprise, letting him see her when he himself is so vulnerable.

“He’s Bucky.”

The Soldier growls again and this time, Steve does bare his throat, grounding his ass against the seat of the car, not fighting the brutal wanting working its way through his body. He feels the touch of the Soldier’s flesh hand though the cotton his t-shirt, damp from sweat. He isn’t looking at Steve, his focus on the road, but his hand is gentle against Steve’s chest, grounding.

Steve whines deep from his belly, an instinctual Omega sound.

He can hear Natasha pull a breath through her teeth and the car swerves off the lane as the Soldier turns to bare his teeth at her.

“He’s going into a rut too, from what I can smell from here.”

There is a note of distaste in Sam’s voice, Betas preferring to avoid rutting Alphas where possible. Steve can understand how overpowering the smell must be to them in the close quarters of the car, no matter how much it smells like Coney Island, and summer sand between his toes, security to him.

“It’s disgusting.”

Natasha is grimacing, Steve can hear it in her voice. The smell of another Alpha’s rut is antagonistic, a challenge, and Steve is grateful for the veneer of her professionalism.

They change cars at a long term airport parking lot. The soldier easily breaks into and starts a large grey SUV with tinted windows. Pacing restlessly and growling as Sam helps Natasha into the back of the car again.

When they reach the interstate Steve starts to feel the slick. He grits his teeth, but he can’t help spreading his legs and grinding down against the seat.


The word is nearly a moan and he can see the Soldier tensing on the driver’s seat, his thighs tight and flexing within the confines of his combat trousers. Steve fights the urge to climb over him, slide Bucky’s cock and his fat knot out of his pants and slot it into his body, where it belongs.

His breathing is erratic, the a ghost of a long ago asthma in his chest.

“Shit. I need to get to somewhere secure.”


There is a timber to Natasha’s voice that he hasn’t heard before. It’s not her Alpha voice but has a hint of military, something familiar. The Soldier stiffens.

“Я знаю безопасное место.”

The Soldier turns to look at Natasha again as she speaks, Steve can see the metal fingers indenting the steering wheel. His voice is gravelly and tense when he finally speaks.


Natasha is leaning against Sam, her body purposefully open and non-threatening.


The Soldier steers around another car at a speed which is breaking most of the traffic laws in the state. Steve breathes hard through his nose, eyes closed until the Soldier speaks again. An order. A plea.


He looks straight at Steve, his pupils are blown and mouth a thin line. Steve knows the look, recognizes the emotion flickering across the Soldier’s face from that night after Azzano. Natasha speaks again but Steve barely hears her.


Her voice is softer now, filled with gentle and terrible understanding.

“Он будет в безопасности.”

Natasha directs them to a derelict industrial estate. They hide the car inside a metal shipping container.

The door is hidden by rubble and a set of old corrugated iron sheets. The stairs lead down into a narrow hall with rooms spreading out like a maze. Natasha directs them into the third room on the left. The light of the fluorescent bulb overhead makes her look pale and worn.

The room has a stainless steel table and a set of chairs. The walls lined with shelves and cupboards, filled with weapons, clothing, medical supplies.

Natasha chucks an injector-pen, still in its plastic wrapping, from the shelf to him and Steve catches it with shaking fingers. Emergency contraception. He rips the pack open and shoves the needle into his thigh through his trousers, grimaces as the drug is released.

The Soldier is growling, a low hum that seems to echo inside Steve’s body. The slick is wet and hot between his legs.

“Steve, there is a room in the back. Take him there. Four doors down on the right.”

Steve isn’t sure which of them moves first in their haste to get out of the room and into the hallway.

The room Natasha sent them to is barren, but not filthy. The mattress in the corner looks clean enough, and a few pillows and blankets piled on top in an orderly tower. Two plastic wrapped cases of water rest in the corner.

Bucky paces, agitated in the small space, his nostrils flared and his breathing is uneven. And it is Bucky, the set of his shoulders and the way he presses his lips together is so achingly familiar. Steve can feel the heat coiling in him, Bucky’s scent setting his body off like a stream of firecrackers under his skin.

Finally Bucky stills, looking at him, dark, bottomless eyes keeping Steve captive.


It’s a release, a relief.

“Yes. Yours.”

And he tries not to cry. Instead, he captures Bucky’s hand and the metal plates whirr and click in the cloistered silence of the room. Steve guides it again to the back of his neck, the metal is cool and now familiar. He moves closer to Bucky, pushing his nose against the pulse point of his neck and offering his own.

He whines low and deep, like in the car, and then it all happens at once. He’s on his back on the mattress, legs pushed to his chest and Bucky’s nose pressing into the skin of his stomach where his t-shirt has ridden up.

Their hands tangle on Steve’s belt and zipper. Bucky rips his trousers and underwear down his legs, throwing Steve’s shoes against the wall as he goes. They leave dark oil stains on the paintwork.

Then Bucky’s face is pressed against Steve’s spread out ass cheeks, tongue leaving over the trembling muscle of his asshole. Steve sighs in relief, his fingers pushing into Bucky’s matted hair. Bucky grunts and growls against Steve’s flesh, his mouth continues to slowly and surely work into Steve’s body, tongue pushing past the initial resistance of the muscles, lapping the slick that flows out of his body.

He’s still wearing his t-shirt and jacket and Bucky is still in his full combat gear, the buckles press into the back of his calves where they rest over Bucky’s shoulders. His left sock still clings on, and Steve would laugh if he wasn’t so busy moaning.

This is not what he had expected. The way Bucky had moved and behaved, Steve had been expecting fast and brutal. He had expected the Soldier. Instead, Bucky’s mouth works him open with patience and gentleness he had never possessed in the war or even back in Brooklyn.

Steve wraps his fingers around his straining cock. He needs to come, needs to take the edge off before Bucky knots him. Bucky’s dark eyes watch him over his stomach and chest, his tongue still inside Steve’s aching hole. He brings his human hand to join Steve’s, interlacing their fingers, working over the hardened flesh.

Steve can feel his ass clenching around Bucky’s tongue, the slick pushing out as he comes. Bucky moves up and over him, rubbing his face and neck in Steve’s spunk, licking and grunting as he goes. Shoving Steve’s t-shirt to his armpits, leaving his tongue over Steve’s tender nipples, biting gently on the hardened flesh until Steve is crying, begging, his cock already hard and leaking again.

He flips Steve onto his stomach with ease, the metal arm clicking as the plates move his weight. Steve breathes in the smell of the musty mattress and stale sheets, easing himself onto his knees, offering himself up.

He hears the pop of a button and the zipper of Bucky’s combat trousers, the rustle of heavy fabric. He whines at the feel of Bucky’s hot, fat cock sliding into the cleft of his ass, grazing over the tender edges of his hole.


He is begging now, whining and curving his back, presenting. Bucky pushes into him with surprising control, filling him slowly. It’s terrible and wonderful and Steve gasps for breath against the mattress like he’s still a 90-pound asthmatic.

Bucky holds on to the back of his jacket as he fucks into him, Steve’s arms still trapped in the sleeves, forcing him down into the mattress, his sensitive nipples scraping into the sheets and springs below.

The knot pops past the rim, stretching him so sweetly and Steve screams. Bucky tightens his hold on the jacket, pulling up, forcing Steve’s back to curve as he pulls out, the knot popping back out. Steve sobs at the feeling of being stretched, of being claimed and taken. He’s so wet, dripping down his trembling thighs.

“Please, Bucky.”

He must be wide open now, indecent and wanton for his Alpha’s cock. Bucky pushes in again, fucking the knot against the tender rim of his hole, growling low in his chest.

He comes, clenched tightly around Bucky’s knot. The feeling and memory of it wash through Steve’s body, leaving him boneless and cleansed. Bucky doesn’t pull out again, grinding himself against the sensitive flesh of Steve’s entrance as he comes, yelling something in a language Steve can’t understand.

He is grateful of Bucky’s metal arm around his middle as otherwise he would collapse. Bucky keeps him firmly ass against hips. Locked in together.

Dreamily he listens to the click and flap of the straps and bindings of Bucky’s combat jacket and flak vest. Then his back is covered by a warm body, his own jacket and shirt pressed to his neck, as high as they will go. Bucky noses into his hairline, scenting the sweat gathered there and he licks the scent glands on Steve’s neck possessively.

Steve’s not entirely sure how long they fuck. He thinks that Bucky knots him twice after the first time. Time feels hazy, like a dream.

He remembers baring his neck, the white, almost washed out scar of the bond mark. Remembers Bucky biting and sucking on it until an angry bruise bloomed over it, marking him again.

Bucky has him pressed into the corner, all the blankets, and pillows wrapped around them like a tiny fort. Like a nest.

The door creaks and Bucky lets out a warning snarl. Natasha hovers on the doorway, not intimidated but not moving closer either. She holds her left arm close to her chest but otherwise she shows no sign of the injury.

“Gentlemen, I hope that you are over the worst of it because we have the world to save.”

Bucky growls, trying to bundle Steve into the corner, more inside the blankets. Steve is still wearing his left sock. It has managed to cling to the ball of his foot throughout. It peeks out from under the blankets.

“Hill is here.”

Steve is looking at her owlishly as Bucky continues to glower.

“So’s Fury.”

Steve sits up, shaking the blankets off his shoulders. The image of the Director getting shot plays over and over in his head.


Natasha raises her eyebrows at the numerous lovebites adoring Steve’s torso, but wisely remains silent on them.

“Yeah. He’s alive. Apparently.”

She turns on her heel, shouting over her shoulder before she slams the door:

“Please make use of the decontamination showers, you two smell like a sewer.”

The showers are a wide, white, tiled room. Bucky stands at the door, tense and unmoving, his eyes darting around the room. He seems to shake from the stupor when steam starts to pillow from the showers, filling the room.

He plasters himself to Steve’s naked back, easily pushing back into Steve’s body, his hole still slack and wet. The metal arm holds him in place against Bucky’s chest. Steve leans against the now warm tiles and lets Bucky fuck him into bliss again.

Natasha is at the door again too soon, framed by the billowing steam.

“Jesus fucking christ, guys! World! Saving! Now!”

The helicarriers don’t even manage a take off from the bays.

Bucky dispatches the Hydra flight crews with frightening precision, stopping at regular intervals to check where Steve is, and making sure that he is watching as Bucky takes down a number of enemies. He makes a special show of taking out some of the larger Alphas.

Afterwards they all go to Sam’s house. Fury had tried to take the Winter Soldier in for debriefing but had given up the notion as soon as Steve had pushed Bucky behind him, shield in hand, growling territorially.

They lock themselves into the bathroom and fuck in Sam’s bathtub. Steve figures out several inventive ways of using the shower head.

Sam orders a dozen large pizza’s, playing the Troubleman soundtrack at an unsociably high volume to cover the sounds.

At night Bucky raids Sam’s linen closet, piling every free duvet, blanket, throw pillow and sheet in the house on the guest bed. He pulls Steve into the nest and licks a proprietary stripe over the scent glands on his neck.

Steve sleeps better than he has since Brooklyn.