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“When we mated all those years ago, did you ever imagine needing help to figure out how to have sex?”
Bucky asks the question in that distant, neutral way he’s developed, staring off into the distance, not particularly bothered, just curious.
Steve hums noncommittally, half-amused, half-ambivalent. They’re sitting quietly in their living room, waiting. It’s nearly noon, the sun high in the sky, warm streams of light shining into the apartment, a few dust motes dancing in the golden beams. Artie Shaw is playing softly on the vintage record player Sam snagged from a consignment shop for Steve’s birthday last year. Bucky’s tucked at one end of the couch, feet pulled up onto the cushion, chin propped on his knees, making him seem smaller, younger, less dangerous than Steve knows him to be, the sugary scent of imminent heat wafting tantalizingly from him. Steve’s on the other end, trying to project an air of calmness like a good alpha should, even as he gives off his own woodsy campfire smell of impending rut. He reaches over and tugs at Bucky’s arm until his omega gives in and slides closer. Bucky presses close, snuggling under the crook of Steve’s arm, his head resting against Steve’s shoulder. They'd been working on touch for months. The doctors encouraged it, warning of the dangers of touch-starvation and Bucky falling further feral. Steve was still one of the few people who could touch Bucky without consequence so he did so as often as possible and he'd embraced the excuse with the desperation of a drowning man spotting driftwood.
Finally, Steve shrugs sheepishly.
“Honestly, sickly as I was, I was more worried the doctor would eventually tell us we couldn’t have sex any more or it'd kill me," he says answering the question that had hung so long it nearly winked from existence.
"'Specially with the way we used to go at it,” he adds with a wistful huff.
Bucky’s lips tilt in a rueful grimace that the unwary might call a smirk. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
Steve frowns, touches a thumb to Bucky’s lips as though he can wipe Bucky’s scorn away with a swipe of his finger. Bucky’s always too hard on himself, too critical of his own efforts. Wanting to recover faster, to be perfect even though no one’s asking him to be. It's the indelible scar tissues of seventy years where anything less than optimal performance was brutally punished.
“There’s nothing wrong with needing help with… stuff.”
Bucky scoffs. “Nothing wrong, huh? You can’t even say it.”
Steve rolls his eyes, shifting to pull Bucky tighter in his arms, pressing a kiss to his omega’s temple.
“There’s nothing wrong with needing help with sex,” Steve says firmly, emphasizing each word. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”
Despite the self-deprecating tone, Steve’s actually grateful for the back and forth. It’s light years away from the silent, broken shell he and Sam had hauled back to the tattered but loyal remains of SHIELD’s psych department a little over three months ago. The fact that he’s verbalizing his annoyance means he feels safe from reprisal, a victory after hundreds of hours of debriefing and deprogramming. Bucky’s doing well enough that the therapists felt comfortable transitioning into ‘quality of life’ issues.
Part of that quality is stabilizing the bond between Steve and Bucky. Their first mutual heat/ rut cycle triggered within a week of Bucky’s return, but trying to mate when his omega was still more Winter Soldier than Bucky… Not even Steve is that reckless. First were the obvious consent issues. The Soldier responded to every form of contact with either extreme violence or spine-chillingly unquestioning obedience.
“He barely even recognizes me,” Steve remembers telling the doctors the first time Bucky had shown signs of cycling, feeling a little sick to his stomach to think about where heat sex would likely fall on that spectrum of reaction. “In his mind, I’d just be another random alpha handler sent to mount him while he’s in heat.”
Even with rut brain trying to set in, Steve craved the mental connection maybe even more than the physical connection. So, until Bucky could remember himself, could remember Steve and their past, could actively choose to participate or not, mating was a secondary concern. Their connection had survived seven decades, however tenuously. Steve had chosen to believe it could hold out a little bit longer.
“We’ll wait,” he insisted. “Until he’s better. Until he’s Bucky again.”
So, they’d both been given suppressants to allow more time for recovery.
Now, he’s doing much better. He and Steve spend a lot of time together and he’s shown signs of being physically interested. At first, Steve was concerned Bucky simply behaved in a way that he thought would please Steve as an alpha, but the therapists say as long as Steve’s careful not to issue directives and they establish boundaries before things get hot and heavy, they should be fine. Furthermore, they insisted, the sudden spike in libido is logical. Bucky is of age and in constant, close proximity to his bonded mate. Sexual interest is not outside of the bounds of expected behavior now that mere survival isn’t his constant primary concern.
So, with the doctors’ blessings, they’ve fooled around a little, with mixed results. Bucky’s sexuality is just as scarred as the rest of him from his time in captivity. With a little experimentation, however, they did realize he responds well to simple kissing and scenting. He also takes a real shining to being on top of Steve.
“They woulda never allowed it. Not in a million years,” Bucky explained one day as they were trying to catch their breaths after grinding off together. “Makes it’s easy to remember where I am, who I’m with.”
Using that as a starting point, he and Bucky have jerked each other off and dry humped their way to at least a dozen orgasms, a satisfying victory in and of itself and more than either could've expected even a few short months ago. But as their bodies push for a proper cycle, that's not enough. The major obstacle they discover is Bucky's aversion to having Steve at his back. Penetration is also dicey. So far, they've only used Steve’s fingers or a few small, slim toys designed for young male omegas who get their first heat before their bodies have had time to physically mature enough for normal heat aids. With a lot of stop and start, they eventually get Bucky relaxed enough to get off.
After a great deal of discussion, Steve and Bucky decide to go off the suppressants in spite of their continued struggles. After all, it’s not as though they don’t want to go through their cycle together. But they immediately start working to find ways to accommodate Bucky's special consideration. Rut is the one time where mating hormones refuse to allow the compromises Steve otherwise gladly embraces, but bonding is about meeting the needs of both partners.
“If you’re both really set on going through your cycles together this quarter, then I’d strongly recommend inviting a beta to join you,” their therapist suggested. “His or her beta pheromones can help keep Bucky grounded and make it an overall safer, more pleasurable experience for everyone involved.”
That takes a while to process. First, Steve needs time to get over how blunt and open everyone is about quarterlies. In the 40s, when he and Bucky were living together but unbonded, they’d had to develop very thick skins. Now, a sweet lady who is probably younger than Steve and Bucky’s chronological ages but looks old enough to be their grandmother is unabashedly encouraging them to find a third partner.
They discuss it ad nauseam. Between the two of them, they only know a handful of people of cycling age in the twenty-first century, almost all of them Avengers or Avenger-adjacent. That small group got even smaller when non-betas were automatically dropped from consideration, leaving only a few contenders. Bucky has really taken to Clint, perhaps a shared kinship in their sniping abilities, the time they both spent involuntarily under the control of others, or the inherent goofball nature both had in spades before their respective traumas and still shows hints of now.
“He probably would be a good fit,” Steve says, “but Clint has a bond mate who might not take kindly to being asked to share.”
Steve personally wouldn’t mind asking Sam, admiring his friend’s laidback, steady nature and ability to de-escalate tense situations, but for whatever reason Sam and Bucky have a weird, ongoing, love-hate frenemy-ship that might not be conducive in getting Bucky to relax. Just the mention of Sam's name makes Bucky's mouth press into a flatline.
Then Bucky suggests Natasha.
Steve mulls it over in his head. They both like her. She’s discrete. And in another life, where Steve wasn’t already madly in love with Bucky and HYDRA and the Red Room didn’t exist to destroy minds and souls, she and Steve might’ve really hit it off. The one kiss they’d shared was really nice, even if it was under pretense. He’d be lying if he pretended not to find her physically attractive...
Plus, Bucky has a history with her as well. He doesn’t remember details, but has the strong impression they were close somehow. He doesn’t recall, however, if it was physically or just emotionally. The one undebatable fact is that unless he’s triggered into Soldier mode, she doesn’t provoke a negative reaction in him. Quite the opposite, actually.
Still, Steve is Steve and he hems and haws, too shy and conservative to come straight out and proposition her. Bucky, on the other hand, long-stripped of any sense of modesty, feels no such hesitation. He blurts it out when she walks into the common area kitchen while they’re making sandwiches.
“The docs think we need a beta for our first heat/ rut cycle together, to help keep everything moving smoothly. We’d like it to be you,” Bucky says while pouring chips onto their plates.
Natasha barely shrugs, no more shocked than if they’d informed her they’d decided to put Sriracha mayo on their sandwiches instead of spicy mustard.
“Okay. What are the rules?” she asks as she pulls a bottle of water out of the fridge.
They decide kissing and comfort scenting is fine, but scent marking is a no go on Natasha’s end, giving or receiving. Everybody’s free to touch but the only penetration will be between Bucky and Steve unless otherwise mutually agreed. Steve blushes furiously while doing so but requests Natasha refrain from touching his knot should the opportunity present itself. Bucky also thinks to warn her about his sensitivity to dirty talk or overly mushy compliments.
And just like that, they’d gone their separate ways agreeing to meet at Steve and Bucky’s apartment a week later.
A knock on the door interrupts his musings.
“I got it,” he says, sliding out from under Bucky. He crosses the living room to the front door and opens it. Natasha is standing there in in black yoga pants and a thin-white pullover hoodie. A green canvas smaller than her usual go bag is slung over her right soldier. Steve steps back to let her in. As she passes by the cinnamon spice of her beta pheromones without the normal suppression mute wafts up and teases his senses.
She sniffs delicately as she enters, the slightest indication that she can smell the unmistakable combined scent of their burgeoning cycle. She flicks an appreciative look head to toe over Steve who’s bare-chested wearing only a pair of black pajama bottoms. He fights the heat burning the shells of his ears, well aware he’s visibly erect because of the rising rut hormones. This close to starting combined with the heightened sensitivity because of the serum, this is almost more clothing than he can stand. Besides, it’s not like he’s dressed inappropriately for what they plan to do. If anything, he’s overdressed.
“Hi. Thanks for coming,” Steve says for lack of anything better floating around in his head.
Natasha smirks. “My pleasure.”
A few awkward seconds pass.
“Umm… Can I get you something to drink? Tea maybe?”
“Steve, the longer we wait to start the more awkward it gets,” she says straightforward but not unsympathetically. “How about we just head to your bedroom?”
“Uh…yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Steve leads the way, steadfastly refusing to look back over his shoulder when Bucky and Natasha’s preternatural ability to move silently stokes his self-conscious fear that maybe they’ve stayed behind in the living room to laugh at his naivety.
He pushes the bedroom door open and he and Bucky move to stand beside their king-sized bed. Natasha heel-toes out of her moccasin-like shoes, leaving them by the bedroom door as she enters. As she pulls her arms from her sleeves, her eyes roam around the room, taking it all in. Steve looks around as well, tries to see the room through her eyes. Warm nature tones intended to soothe and calm, dark furniture, lofted and plush, that you can hide away in for hours, maybe days.
“It’s very… you,” she says as she pulls the hoodie up and over her head.
“Is that a bad thing?” Steve asks as he watches her hands travel to her waist band and push the yoga pants down and off with a small shimmy of hips with just the slightest hint of softness rounding them, leaving her in silky-looking, low cut panties and a thin strappy tank top that makes it plain she’s not wearing a brassiere underneath.
She hums noncommittally and crosses over to the bed, folding the comforter to the foot of the bed slides. She climbs on, gracefully, before settling near the pillows, surprisingly prim for someone in their scanties.
“Not that I mind putting on a show, fellas, but this whole deal’s supposed to be about you two,” she says, her voice husky as she settles against the headboard, one leg extended fully, the other bent at the knee. “Do what you’d do if I wasn’t here.”
Steve looks towards Bucky, unsure where to start. Fortunately, for all his hang ups, Bucky doesn’t share Steve’s stage fright. With a shrug, he pulls Steve into a kiss. It starts as a gentle press of lips but grows into something far more aggressive that quickly has Steve’s blood racing with interest. Every time Steve’s even tempted to turn away to look at Natasha, gauge her reaction, Bucky pulls him back in. With each press of lips, each glide of tongues, the pheromones get stronger and stronger, until the rut taking hold of Steve’s brain couldn’t care less about Natasha or any judgments she might make.
Bucky leans Steve backwards until he collapses against the bed and has to push up onto the mattress to keep from sliding down onto the floor. When they’re sprawled across the sheets, Bucky’s hand slips down the front of Steve’s pants, kneading and caressing the hard length of his cock, a firm rub and squeeze that quickly has Steve whining for more. Steve slips his own hands down into Bucky’s boxer briefs, gripping his ass, massaging each cheek in round motions that lift and separate, exposing Bucky’s entrance just the slightest bit, his fingers dipping down to gather the rivulets of slick trickling out of his omega. They get so into it, Steve barely has enough awareness to even startle when they manage to roll far enough up the bed to collide against Natasha’s curled up legs. She gives them an impish smile that Steve’s helpless not to return even as his face flushes.
Bucky shoves at Steve, pushing him over onto his back, then swings a leg so he’s sitting astride Steve’s hips. A slow grind that rubs their still-clothed cocks together with spine-tingling friction pulls a soft alpha growl from Steve. Bucky leans down, kissing first at Steve’s mouth then his chin then drops a soft sucking kiss at the scent gland on Steve’s neck. Steve groans and his hips jerk at the soft, warm heat in such a sensitive place. He slides his hand down the muscled length of Bucky’s upper back down past the point where the muscles taper off, pushing a careful finger into Bucky’s slick entrance, pulling a groaning mewl from his omega. A few more long minutes of the single finger, then a second and Bucky’s writhing.
“Steve, I… I think I’m ready…” he whispers, his normal sugary scent now morphing into a strong syrupy caramel as his heat over takes him, beckoning Steve to join.
Long past ready himself, Steve slips his fingers from Bucky’s wet heat and worms out from under him.
“Okay, Buck,” he says, his voice husky with tightly restrained want. “We do this at your pace.”
He shucks out of his own pants first then slides Bucky’s shorts down, inhaling deeply, savoring the mixture of his own woodsy scent, Bucky’s sweet omega smell, and heavy strains of aroused beta. Steve’s mouth waters in anticipation.
But the second he goes to turn Bucky onto his stomach, he feels his mate tense. Then, the first sour hint of apprehension leaking into the previously decadent bouquet of smells.
Steve shushes him, trying to calm his fears, damning the primal instincts that won’t let them do this face to face or while lying on their sides.
“Keep going,” Bucky slurs softly, even as he seems to be shrinking away from the touch.
“Are you sure?” Steve asks, uncertain. The last thing he wants to do is force his omega to do something.
Bucky nods.
“Yeah. Steve, please. I want… I want this. With you,” he says drawing his legs up, pulling his hips into the classic omega presentation, head down, hips up. It’s so fucking hot it starts to burn away Steve’s hesitation.
“I would never do anything to hurt you,” Steve says softly between kisses to Bucky’s shoulders. “I promise.”
But the kisses land against stiff muscles, the smell of fear growing stronger.
“Bring him here,” Natasha says softly, startling Steve who’s so focused he nearly forgot she was there.
He gives her an uncertain look but she simply lies there patiently, arms extended. He tips Bucky, tense and unresponsive, eyes glazing over, into her arms.
“Yasha,” she calls softly, the warm, pastry-like smell of her beta pheromones rising to swirl around the room. “Otkroy svoi glaza, Yasha.”
She pushes her wrist directly under his nose and continues her soothing murmur.
After a long moment, Bucky’s eyelashes flutter, his gaze once again aware albeit a bit confused. “Natalia?”
“Da.”
“Chto ty zdes' delayesh'?”
“Helping two of my favorite people,” she answers with a chaste kiss to his cheek, to his forehead, and pulls him into a hug, cradled against her chest, pressing his face against her neck. “Relax, lyubov.”
She gives him a deeper kiss, one that nearly makes Steve look away, feeling a small sting of irrational jealousy. They kiss until Bucky gives a small moan.
“Do you remember where you are?”
Bucky nods. “In our bedroom. Me and Stevie’s.”
“Do you remember what you wanted? Why I’m here?”
He pauses for a brief moment before the answer comes to him. “We wanted to… you’re here so me and Stevie can quarter together. So we can do it safe.”
Natasha nods. “Good, Yasha. Do you still want that or do you want to wait ‘til next time?”
“No!” He yelps. “I don’t wanna… I want to… Now, Natalia. Now.”
She shushes him. “Okay. I’m here and I’ll help.”
Natasha pulls one of his legs up and over her hip, so he’s straddling her much like he’d done to Steve earlier. She adjusts one knee higher, exposing his entrance to Steve.
“Bucky, I’m here, too,” Steve says not wanting to startle his mate with unexpected touch. “You ready?”
He waits until Bucky nods.
He pushes a finger in, slowly pressing, nudging, thrusting. Bucky tightens and releases around him, moaning, whimpering. Natasha continues to whisper to him, to soothe him, releasing pheromones so steadily that even Steve is starting to get a bit light-headed. They continue until Bucky can easily accept three fingers. Then Steve plants his knees in the space between her thighs. He lifts Bucky’s hips, encouraging him back into omega presentation. Bucky whines.
Steve hesitates once again. “Buck, if you don’t want this, use your word. We’d never make you do anything you don’t want to. We just want this to be good for you.”
Bucky shivers, his breath hitching. He takes several, long breaths. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m scared, but I do… I want this so bad… Alpha. Please, alpha…”
Bucky buries his face against Natasha’s neck and wraps his arms around her in a tight hug. She rubs his back and they murmur to each other, so softly Steve can’t hear, not even with his enhanced senses. Finally, Natasha makes eye contact with Steve and nods.
Trusting Bucky to know what he wants, Steve finally pushes in, slow and deep, and is finally back inside his mate for the first time in seventy years. His inner alpha roars and Steve can feel his eyes stinging, watering. A shaky inhale and he pulls out. It’s all he can do to ignore his urge to get lost in the rut, to pound into his omega, bury himself so deep they can never be separated.
Bucky is keening and shivering with each thrust and withdrawal.
“Bolye,” he moans.
“More,” Nat translates.
Steve gives him more. He fucks into Bucky until they’re both grunting with it. He rubs his hands everywhere he can reach, marking Bucky as his. He angles his hips trying to hit that spot inside Bucky that makes his omega hiss and writhe with pleasure. Soon, he himself needs more and pulls Bucky upright. Bucky moans as the angle of penetration changes, goes deeper. Steve’s eyes open for just a moment and he can see Natasha watching them. Her cheeks are flushed, her pupils dilated, her breathing elevated just enough to be visibly noticeable, her nipples hard points against her soft tee. But that’s not his focus right now. He’s finally fucking Bucky the way he’s wanted since they last parted in 1945.
When his spine starts to tingle and his knot gives the first warning thrill, Steve pushes Bucky forward, back into Natasha’s embrace. He stretches, fumbles for the lube on the night stand, squeezes a handful into his palm and leans forward to drape over Bucky. He slides a hand between Bucky and Natasha and grips Bucky’s cock. He works Bucky in quick, firm strokes. In the back of his mind, he can feel Natasha’s skin against the back of his hand, the elastic band of her panties catch against his hand on every upstroke, the teasingly soft skin at the very top of her mons on the downstroke, the glide against her skin where Bucky’s pre-cum and natural lubrication have made the skin at her lower belly slick.
“Please, Steve. Please,” Bucky pleads, his voice breaking with every syllable, as he leans his head to the side, all but inviting Steve to bite him. It’s that final spark that pushes Steve over.
He presses his mouth to Bucky’s scent gland and bites down, reveling in the groan that sets off in his omega, surrenders to the pleasure, his body spilling, his knot plumping to lock inside his mate. Bucky howls, his body rippling around Steve’s knot with each pulse of his own orgasm, his body spasming as Steve rocks him through the waves of pleasure. When he finally settles with a weak, gasping sigh, Steve carefully shifts them to the side so they can rest without their combined weight crushing Natasha, but close enough so that Natasha can easily use her pheromones if Bucky starts to freak out and fight against their tie. It takes ten minutes for his knot to recede and by the time Steve pulls out, Bucky is out like a light.
“I think you did it,” Natasha says with a small grin.
“Yeah, we did.”
Steve stretches and fondly rubs his cheek against Bucky’s shoulder. When he wakes, Steve’ll run him a bath. Maybe with one of those smelly, glittery bath bombs Bucky’s so fascinated by. And there’s waffle mix…
“I guess I’ll get out of your way,” Natasha says, shifting to swing her legs over the edge of the bed.
Steve blinks. “You don’t have to go.”
Natasha frowns. “You think he’ll need another round?”
Steve hadn’t thought about it, but probably. With the serum being what it is, they’ll both probably need a few more rounds to get through the cycle completely. But that wasn’t the only reason he wanted her to stay.
“Well, yeah, but…” he paused trying to think of what to say. With the way she’s sitting, he can see the gleams arousal slicking the vee of her thighs, could still smell it.
“Let me…” he murmurs with heat stinging across his cheeks. He slides a big hand across her inner thigh.
She lifts an eyebrow. “You don’t have to. I didn’t come here expecting tit for tat.”
Steve answers her eyebrow with one of his own. “I know. Bucky’s rules apply to everyone. No one does anything they don’t want to.”
She stares at him for a second before coming to some internal decision, lying back and letting her legs fall open. With an eager grin, he shifts to kneel between her legs, slides the sodden panties off, and slips two fingers inside, the way he’d learned a long time ago. Nat groans, her hips lifting off the bed just a little. Her body squeezes tight around his body with the movement.
He does a few unsure thrusts. Although willing, he has very limited experience with women.
“Curl your fingers,” she imitates the gesture.
He does and he must have absolutely nailed it.
She moans, a full-throated sound that has his already-spent body trying to fight its own limitations. She’s beautiful, different from Bucky, but alluring in her own way. He wants more.
Slowly, giving her time to object, he leans down until his mouth is even with her mound. He gives a lick to her exposed clit. It doesn’t taste much different than the dozens of memories he has of rimming Bucky when he’s slick. If anything, the taste is lighter, less earthy. He pulls the nub into his mouth, sucking and licking.
Steve loses himself in the sensuality of it all, his fingers thrusting, his mouth suckling until she tenses tighter and tighter then freezes. Her thighs press in against his ears and her inner walls ripple around his fingers. Wetness gushes around his fingers as her hips rolls against his hand.
Her orgasm is every bit as quiet as he’d expect from a world-class spy.
Bucky, who drifted back to wakefulness at some point, tugs him into a kiss before he even has time to tug his fingers free, licking Natasha’s flavor out of his mouth almost jealously. When he’s had his fill of Steve, he switches to Natasha.
“Eto bylo prekrasno,” he murmurs when he finally pulls back.
“It definitely felt beautiful,” she responds, reclining flat against the bed as she tries to get her breath back.
Several hours and a handful of orgasms later, the fever of their quarterly fades. They’re lounging in a sloppy pile enjoying the skin contact and comfort scenting until finally Natasha pulls away. She heads into the bathroom and water runs for a while. She comes out with her green duffle on her shoulder, looking much more put together than she has any right to when Steve and Bucky are still naked and all but boneless on the bed.
“If you need me again, let me know.”
She seems to think about it for a moment then leans and presses a kiss against each of their foreheads.
“Even if we don’t, the door’s always open, if everybody agrees…” Steve trails off with a shrug.
Natasha smiles and leaves.
Then they’re alone, Bucky’s scent is content and happy, his body lax. Bucky is actively scent marking him, the first proactive display of affection he’s shown since retrieval. They’ve taken one more step to reclaim what they’d loss, what’d been stolen from them.
“Stevie, this was… You are amazing. Is there anything you wouldn’t do for me?” Bucky asks with a yawn.
“Well, I’ve already took experimental drugs, fought a world war, fought Nazis, accidentally time hopped, brought down a governmental agency…” Steve says ticks off mentally as they both fade to sleep. “A heat/ rut triad pretty small potatoes after that...”