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Heats were never a problem before. As much as his mother hated it, he took suppressants and did his best to keep anyone from finding out that he was an omega in the first place. He doesn't hate being an omega, but others have opinions on what he can or cannot do.
He doesn't even look like an omega. Sure, he might still have a babyface, but he's plenty strong. He's thick compared to any other omega boy. He'll never pass as an alpha, but he doesn't want to, doesn't have to. As long as his boss assumes he's a beta, he has a job that keeps him and Steve off the streets.
But even omega boys got drafted when the war began. Men go to war, women stay home.
He joked to Steve that the next generation was gonna have an awful lot of lesbian mothers. That was while they were still waiting on the train platform.
Steve huffed at him and rolled his eyes.
He was jealous. Somehow the dingbat found it in him to be jealous that Bucky was going to an active warzone, and he had to stay home. He's sure Steve must have been an alpha in another life. He never presented, and he was angry about that as well. The only emotions Steve feels are anger and rage. Bucky's never even seen an alpha that was so aggressive.
It was probably the asthma, and the heart problems, the bad back, the bad eyes, the bad joints, and everything else-- it makes you angry. Steve stood on the platform waving at him as the train left. Bucky had no doubt that Steve would find some kind of trouble.
The army took well enough care of him. He got suppressants, food, a place to sleep. His brothers in arms teased him for his babyface and welcomed him easily.
But of course that was before a bunch of nazis came down out of the hills with crazy weapons that just vaporized people . No bullets. They shot blue, cracking rays of energy like some kind of sci-fi novel and the men shot weren't just burned, they burned up .
He was pissed with how quickly they were forced to surrender. But once they did, they were rounded up like animals, forced to walk up the mountain to some kind of base. An old factory, where they were forced to work.
And they didn't offer food, shelter, or medicine. If a soldier stopped working, he was taken away and presumably shot. They kept everyone in cages . They slept on top of each other, huddling together out of fear and freezing temperatures.
Then, every now and then they'd take some poor soul at random. Usually someone that was still fit, they wouldn't take anyone that seemed to be at their end.
The cage door squealed and clanged when it opened, and Bucky didn't fight when they swiped him up off the ground. He had already seen what happens to men who fight back. He bit his tongue until it bled, and they led him up the stairs, bound at the wrists.
He was counting the days that he was in this hell. How many days he lasted, how many days before help would arrive. Though he quickly gave up on the idea of being saved. He lasted just over a week.
They put him on a table and bound him down with thick leather belts and that is roughly the time that he finally decided to check out of reality. There were plenty of horror stories of what the krauts did to prisoners.
It was a short, piggish little man that entered the room. He conducted his work as if Bucky was merely there for a checkup. He smiled, he asked questions, and Bucky shut his mouth. He only gave rank and number.
They took blood, they cut on him, and they gratefully gave him some kind of drug that made the world slip away and start blurring with his dreams. It was blue, and felt like burning ice in his veins. It was like having menthol injected into him, and it wasn't just the one shot, it was multiple. It suffocated, like his lungs couldn't pull oxygen from the air anymore. But then at the same time, he felt adrenaline forcing him to cling to life, forcing him to keep breathing and mumbling his rank and number each time they spoke to him, asking him if he was still with them.
They left. Suddenly. As if there was an emergency in another room, another patient had broken their bonds and was running madly through the halls.
And he was boiling . The burning didn't stop, it just continued. There was the tiniest worry in his mind as he struggled to get a hold on himself. The worry that he was going to die and his family wouldn't even get to bury him. He was going to have some kind of heart attack or heat stroke and he was going to die, strapped down to a metal table in a lab, and when those wretched scientists returned they would just dump his body into the mass graves out back or maybe even just burn it to see if the gasoline they injected him with would light.
It was the uncomfortable, sticky, slippery feeling in his pants that further pushed him to just let the damn poison take him. If they were making drugs to take advantage of omegas, then he hopes he dies. He hopes he's another failure in their testing.
He can hear distantly, running footsteps, gunshots, yelling.
Someone that looks like Steve hovers over him, and he can't help but smile. Even though this must be one of God's angels, he smiles because even in his last moments, of course it's his little Stevie that comes to save him.
He's shaken, though, and the leather that held him down loosens. He's pulled bodily up, not just his soul. The man that looks like Steve pulls him from the table and incredibly, he can stand.
He can stand and he isn't even weak in the knees. He's wobbly, but it's not weakness, it's a sudden strength and surety behind each step that feels off. It's adrenaline. Adrenaline and other endorphins, triggered by whatever it was they injected him with. The slick that leaks from between his legs mixes with sweat and he knows that if he wasn't running for his life he would be pissed . He would feel disgusting, sweaty and wet, he would want to throw himself into the nearest river to freeze himself and preferably die. There's no way the men around him can't smell it.
And he smells them, of course. It doesn't matter until the factory is left smoldering and they're a mile into the snow that he finally gets the shockwave of lust that makes his eyes roll back.
Steve. Steve is different . He noticed, of course, he's big now. He shallowly remembers Steve saying something about it, and him replying something stupid .
But it isn't just that Steve is big , or that Steve, his Steve , is here at all. It's that he smells different . Smells heavy, heady, he has a musk that pulls Bucky to him as he's standing watch, far into the trees away from their first camp.
Steve doesn't smile, instead he immediately gets a look of worry on his face instead that makes Bucky wanna snap.
"God, Buck," he puts a hand over his mouth and nose, "Go back, lay down." He touches Bucky on the shoulder and it stings, it feels like a heavenly, wonderful burn. Makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he shivers. Finally, a gentle touch.
"What did they do to you? You're different." He speaks and his voice is low. It's breathy, husky, it's the same voice he put on when he was flirting with girls back home and keeping up a charade. He leans close and Steve doesn't push him away, just holds him as if he's worried that Bucky may fall. "You smell different."
Steve looks guilty. "It's just the serum. It's a long story. I mean, I guess I’m an alpha-- I always was, I just had delayed-- wh--" He holds Bucky away from him, shaking. "No no no, no, Buck, you were drugged, you're in heat."
"I'm fine." He reaches out, his fists grabbing onto Steve's heavy jacket. "Fuck, I just, I thought I was dying? I thought you were an angel-- You are an angel, goddamn." His eyes slide over Steve's body and he has to bite his lip, swallow the dry lump that was in his throat. "Look at you…"
He's big, he's strong, he's not a sick little twerp anymore. His hands are firm on Bucky's shoulders, he could toss him around so easy. He could push Bucky down into the snow without even having to wrestle him, but that'd partially be because Bucky would let him.
Steve seems to search his face, worry clouding his own, but Bucky could see that he was affected. He knew Steve could smell him. He knew what Bucky wanted, needed, but he restrained himself and kept him from getting too close.
"Buck, you gotta go. Go lay down and it'll pass, we'll have help as soon as we get back--"
"You think the other guys are just gonna let me lay down and rest?" Bucky gives him a sardonic smile.
And Steve's grip on his shoulders tightens just a little, and he shuts his mouth.
"They'd get me and I wouldn't even stand a chance, Stevie." He tries to advance but Steve keeps him at arm's length. "I'm safe, out here with you."
Steve seems to lose his breath, shakes his head quickly. "N-no. No you're not."
"Oh?"
"Buck, I, I can't-- I'm not used to… feeling this way. You're driving me crazy, and I don't wanna hurt you or--or--"
Bucky pushes forward again and Steve's back hits a tree.
"You're heat-drunk, you don't know what you're doing."
"I'm not stupid , Steve. I'm not 'heat-drunk' I'm horny and I need you to fuck me ."
"You're heat-drunk." Steve nods, shakes his head, denial. "You're not-- We'd never--"
" Steve." He leans close again and this time Steve's arms buckle for a moment but he pushes him away yet again. "Steve, please, God I need you so damn bad ."
"You need suppressants and rest." Steve answers, struggling to stand. He leans back on the tree but he bends, sinking lower. "I can't, not right now, it wouldn't be right-- you can't."
"I can. I want this. I want you, I want you to fuck me, I want you to knot me and--"
Steve makes a broken sound, a long, wounded whine. "God, Buck, No, No, we can't."
"We can. We can, it's fine, I want you."
Steve slid down under Bucky’s weight, and Bucky quickly moved to straddle him. Steve let him move in, let him bury his face into his shoulder, let him scent and rub himself all over, rolling his hips down into him languidly, slowly, thoughtlessly. But he didn't put his hands on Bucky, didn't touch him. So Bucky whined, pulling at the straps of his uniform.
"Please." He asks, already begging. "Please, Christ, I can feel you, you're fucken' huge, God I need that in me."
Steve whimpered, trying to still him but his hands just laid gently, tightly, on Bucky's hips.
"Fuck me, please. You gotta, Steve, I need you to." He sighs, moans into Steve's ear as he continues to rub up onto him, fucks into Steve's lap but Steve remains frozen. Bucky's voice cracks when he speaks again, desperate. "God, please."
Steve breathes heavily, unevenly. He shakes, trying to resist but his hands tighten around Bucky's waist, pulling him closer, pushing him to keep moving. "You… God, Buck, you're making me go crazy. Shit."
He cries, moaning. It isn't enough. Won't be enough until Steve is ripping their clothes off, "Please,"
"It's not…" He breathes again, pressing his face into Bucky’s neck. "I shouldn't. You're not…oh, Jesus Christ, Buck ," Steve inhales his scent, pulling him tighter against him and he moves, his hips cant upwards.
And Bucky shakes with the friction between them, his prick twitching as he nearly comes in his pants. “ Yes, yes, yes--”
Steve turned, rolled so Bucky was on his back and he landed with a thump. “ Quiet.” He hissed, his lips grazing over the shell of Bucky’s ear.
Bucky shuts his mouth immediately.
“You’re gonna get us caught.” He tugs at Bucky’s pants and Bucky fervently wiggles to free himself of them faster, though Steve tries to hold him down. “I don’t want to share you, so keep quiet.”
Bucky nods. He bites his lips but he still moans when Steve touches him. He writhes, pressing himself into the touch.
“Jesus, you’re…soaked.”
He nods, “Yeah, and it’s all just cause of you.”
Steve glares at him. A playful, challenging look. He works fast, brisk, almost cursory . He finds that he can quickly fit three fingers in him and he curses. “You must really want it, huh?”
He lays there, trying to not make noise even as Steve fucks him with his fingers, though his moans bubble over. His hips twitch, trying to get him deeper as if he isn’t already about to come, as if he didn’t almost come twice already. And when Steve presses just right, he does. He comes with a strangled yelp that Steve scrambles to silence by putting a hand over his mouth.
He’s taut, still wound up tight, and Steve swears once Bucky stops sobbing. He removes his hand and kisses him softly on the cheek.
“Are you still hard--?”
“It doesn’t go away.” He says, reaching down. He pushes just so he can get his hands on the belt of Steve's pants, though Steve stops him, and pushes him back down. “Fuck me. Fuck me, I need you, I want your cock in me so bad, please--” He whines, writhing against him and Steve doesn’t move until Bucky gets a handle on himself again.
He undoes his pants, doesn’t bother undressing entirely, just pulls his cock out and Bucky has to glance down to see and--
“Holy shit. I w--I want you in my mouth.”
“No. No, lay back down.” he puts a firm hand on Bucky’s shoulder, keeping him pinned while the other hand that was wet from fingering him slicks his cock. “Look at me.”
He does. He looks up at Steve with lust-clouded eyes and drool at the corners of his lips.
“Once. Will that be enough?”
He starts to complain, but Steve shushes him.
“Will that be enough for now?”
There’s no such thing as enough when it comes to heats. Steve should know, they’ve lived together for years. But Steve always gave him his privacy, and Bucky’s never had to handle a heat without suppressants. He might be a stupid animal for the next week , he’ll be weak in the knees to get it in every second of their march back to camp.
He nods. He can be good. If he’s good now, if he can get a grip, Steve will fuck him again later.
Steve slides in easy but the burn, the stretch makes Bucky choke on a sudden moan. He slaps his hands over his mouth when Steve gives him a look. He’s still shaking. Even though he’s wet with snow, slick, sweat, blood, he’s still hot. He shivers not from the cold but from the repressed nerves that instinctually want to move, want to keep him going until he’s been filled up and bred.
Steve holds him up, positions him so that he isn’t quite laying but he’s not upright. He can’t shiver when Steve holds him like this; when his hot breath ghosts over his throat and the deep hum of his voice soothes him.
When Steve thrusts, it feels like he leaves his goddamn body for a moment. It makes him gasp and shake, rush to grab onto Steve’s shoulders before he somehow falls. Once Steve establishes a rhythm, he can’t stop himself from making noise. He loses himself instantaneously as Steve pounds into him. His eyes flutter shut and each thrust knocks the wind out of him, forcing a moan to slip from him even though he tries so hard to be good.
But Steve doesn’t seem to notice now. He thrusts wildly, quickly, his hands tight around Bucky’s waist, leaving bruises the shape of fingerprints that blend in with bruises that were already present. He loses himself for a moment, pushing Bucky back into the ground and rearranging just so he could fuck him deeper, harder.
He can't speak; his head feeling wonderfully fuzzy. Now he's heat-drunk. Now he doesn't have the sense to shut his damn mouth, he babbles and tries to say how good he feels. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes. He holds on tight, shaking, trembling with ecstasy.
Steve kisses him. It's sudden and right after he tells him once again to be quiet. It's messy, it pushes him back down into the snow and Steve bites his lip almost as if in warning. His tongue slips between his already open lips and Bucky moans again but it's muffled. He melts into it, sighs, his eyes roll backwards with the lightheaded glee that fills him.
"Can't believe… God , Buck I can't believe you." Steve mumbles, rolling his hips slower, in longer thrusts and Bucky can feel each inch slide into him. Steve inside him, around him, pinning him down and growling in his ear. His cock stretching him open, burning just enough to add to the dizzying euphoria.
Steve makes a noise, desperate, a cry that slips from his throat and seems to bounce off the trees around them. Then he bites his lip and whines, his rhythm faulting and he starts shaking with the tension of trying to hold on.
" Please." Bucky chokes out, realizing Steve is at his wits end. He's burying his face into Bucky’s shoulder again, nuzzling, rubbing his scent off on him and inhaling him as well. "Please, please, please, Jesus, Stevie--"
Steve comes in him, impulsively, instinctually. Without thought nor care as to where they were. And Bucky locks his ankles around him, to keep him there, to pull him closer and deeper into him. He feels Steve's knot swell and pull on the rim of his hole and he keens, rutting himself down onto it. And Steve huffs, groans and continues onto kissing him, kissing his throat and mumbling absently,
"Mine."
Bucky feels himself shiver, distantly, like he is only partially present in his body.
"Mine," Steve's voice vibrates against his skin, and he feels Steve's hand between them. He takes Bucky in hand and it's too quick, Bucky comes again with a hoarse, cracked cry. And he can hardly catch his breath afterwards.
He still feels Steve's shallow thrusting, like he can't get enough. Still mumbling mine while Bucky’s mind clears just slightly.
"Steve," he pushes. "Steve, sit up." And for a moment he feels the shame. Wet . Snow, dirt, blood, slick, spit, and Steve came in him, it's going to leak out of him.
" Fuck ," Steve just holds him tighter. "You're gonna be the end of me, Buck, Jesus fucking Christ." He breathes heavily, pulling Bucky with him when he sits up.
Bucky holds on while Steve tries to situate them, with Steve leaning back against the tree and Bucky in his lap.
"I'm… exhausted."
"Good." Steve seems to snap at him, but he's kissing him again. "Try to…Try to sleep. We're gonna have to keep moving in only an hour or so." He's still catching his breath, but he brushes his fingers through Bucky's messy hair, flattening it. "Are you… done?"
It feels like his soul is leaving his body with how quickly he's falling asleep. "No, but… I can handle it."
Steve bites his lip in a way that Bucky is only just conscious enough to appreciate. His head lays on Steve’s shoulder and he still feels Steve's knot in him, only just waning. He doesn't want to move. Irrationally, he already wants Steve to fuck him again, even though he’s quickly slipping.
He registers Steve's hand in his hair again, holding his head against his shoulder. Then he's asleep before he can finish the thought.