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Despite it all, it’s the birds that finally rouse Bucky from his sleep.
It’s late August now, and the summer heat has reached unbearable levels of stifling. Leaving the windows open has provided them minimal relief—the noise certainly being a nuisance he could do without—but beggars can’t be choosers and beggars they are. Besides, they’d known when they moved in that the apartment was far from ideal. The faucets leak and the wood creaks but their landlord has yet to say anything about the unmistakable scent of an omega in season that wafts down to his unit once every three months, so they take all the faults in stride.
When Bucky had fallen asleep last night, Steve had been on the far left side of the bed, half hanging off in a last-ditch attempt to cool his body. He tends to run cold, a combination of both his size and his illnesses, so he doesn’t take well to overheating on those rare days when the temperature overpowers his biology. As a result, Bucky had expected to wake up in a relatively similar predicament to that which he’d gone to bed in— his Alpha entirely out of reach.
The birds wake him up first.
Steve’s tongue deep in his cunt gets him second.
“Alpha,” he rasps out, eyes fluttering closed again.
His mate doesn’t say anything, but Bucky can feel his smile—the devil—as he licks harder, nimble fingers snaking their way up from Bucky’s thighs to his nipples. He moans when one of Steve’s hands cups the soft swell of his chest, back arching. The room is thick with their combined scents, burnt sugar and apple mingling to make for a most delectable aroma that only serves to rile Bucky up further. Goosebumps erupt all over his sleep-warm skin despite the heat, and his hips jump unbidden, forcing him to grind down on the tongue currently ravaging him.
“Oh, that’s— Steve.”
Steve’s other hand moves to spread Bucky’s folds, already sticky and soaked with slick. Both of their breaths hitch when his tongue swirls around Bucky’s cock, the latter finally reaching down beneath the thin sheet to grab at the head of blond hair above his abdomen. Steve really moans then, sensual licks becoming furious like those of a man starved. Still disoriented from his slumber, Bucky can only take it, panting wetly into the humid air and praying Mrs. Padilla from next door is still asleep. He’s been known to let his arousal get the best of him, and explaining why noises remarkably similar to pleasured moans are coming out of an apartment shared by two supposed Alphas with one bedroom at the ass crack of dawn is never an easy task. Of course, Steve doesn’t make it any easier.
That boy puts his entire soul into everything he does, whether it be ripping some fat head a new one with just his words or rendering Bucky fuck dumb with just his tongue. His favorite place in the entire universe is between Bucky’s thighs, the sweetness of his mate’s slick the only delicacy he can afford these days. Needless to say, Bucky isn’t complaining. It’s far from the worst thing to wake up to on a lazy Sunday morning, but the weather combined with his arousal has him soaking the sheets in more ways than one. The linen he’d fallen asleep with, the very one concealing Steve from view, sticks to his thighs in a terribly uncomfortable fashion, and suddenly Bucky is overwhelmed. It takes all of his strength to kick it away, revealing Steve’s form—and debauchery—in full.
He’s flushed all the way down his back, hips subtly pressing into the mattress. The sight of his Alpha getting off on making a meal out of him has Bucky growing impossibly harder, the whine that escapes him both unplanned and downright filthy. Despite only just waking up, he’s already close to an orgasm. He has no idea how long Steve’s been at this, and the thought thrills him to no end. He pictures himself in sleep, twitching as Steve whispers sweet nothings against his skin, soothing the involuntary noises pulled from his lips. Oh god, he thinks as he starts to tremble. His boy is going to be the death of him.
“Easy, baby,” Steve rumbles, thumb moving to brush their mating bite on Bucky’s inner thigh. “Just take it, sweetheart.”
“You… animal…” Bucky gasps in between his moans. “I… was—oh! S-Sleeping.”
“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
There’s a bit of a wheeze in his teasing words, and that, coupled with his ragged breaths, briefly carries Bucky’s mind elsewhere.
“D-Don’t work yourself u-up too much, hun,” he manages, always the worrier.
Steve raises his head to capture his gaze dead-on, a wicked grin on his slick-coated lips, “Doll. There ain’t no other way I’d rather go out.”
“Oh god,” Bucky whimpers, yanking Steve back down by his hair.
Despite the roughness of the action, all he gets in response is a laugh—pressed right up against his cunt—that he feels all the way down to his bones. His legs twitch, falling open onto the bedspread. That prompts Steve to then bring one of his fingers to join his tongue, slipping it in beside. Bucky jumps, a deep moan bursting forth.
“Please, oh please,” he babbles, all but humping Steve’s face.
Steve makes a pleasured noise against him, his own body jerking wildly. A burst of his scent erupts in the air, and Bucky is unexpectedly thrown into his orgasm. He tenses, lips parted on a soundless cry as he tips over the edge, syrupy sweet like molasses. Steve, naturally, never once misses a beat, feasting on the excess slick spilling out of him the entire time. His strong nose brushes up against the underside of Bucky’s dick, only prolonging his pleasure. Whether it’s just a minute or ten that passes, Bucky can’t be sure. But Steve only comes to a stop when he lazily bats at him, the oversensitivity too much for him to handle.
They relax against the bed, the only noise beyond that from outside the window being their heavy breathing. Eventually, Bucky sits up.
“What,” he heaves, trying to catch his breath. “What about you?”
“What about me, star?”
“Don’t you want me to, you know—” he flushes a bit. “Return the favor?”
Steve grins bashfully, gesturing towards a new wet spot on the sheets between his legs, “Already handled.”
Bucky blinks before bursting into laughter, head falling back against the pillow. Steve is giggling against his thigh, the sound overpowering that of the birds still chirping outside. Using the last ounce of his energy, Bucky hauls Steve up by his arms, letting him rest on his bare chest. Steve sighs contentedly, running his calloused fingers over the curve of Bucky’s tit. It’s not sexual in the slightest, but that lazy sort of tenderness that characterizes who he is as a person— as an artist. He worships Bucky’s form, his dissonant features that separate him from other men and other omegas, with reverence rather than objectification. With Steve, Bucky feels every bit the beautiful omega he always dreamed of being. He hopes that the same can be said about the reverse.
“I love you, stupid,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into Steve’s sweaty hair.
Steve smiles against his chest, “Mmm. Love you too, jerk.”
“Punk.”
“Oh, say it again, starbaby. I’m close.”
Scoffing, Bucky tweaks his side, “You terror. You absolute degenerate.”
“Your degenerate,” Steve beams, lifting onto his arms so that he can smack a kiss on Bucky’s lips.
“Always mine,” Bucky says softly.
“Forever yours, baby.”
The sun streams in through the open window, setting Steve’s cornsilk locks aglow. Although the summer heat is teetering the line between just barely tolerable and downright unmanageable, Bucky has no intention of moving. Slow mornings are few and far between these days, and he doesn’t want this one to end. Here, tangled between his lover and the sheets, swimming in the scent of their compatibility, Bucky is at peace. So deeply in love, he’s gone dizzy with it.
There’s no other place he’d rather be.