Chapter Text
It takes Bucky a good bit longer than it should for him to pinpoint exactly why it is that Steve smells so damn good.
But—in Bucky’s defense—he’s never actually smelled the scent of Steve in pre-heat before.
Steve never had heats, back in the forties. Sure, he’d looked and smelled to Bucky every bit like the omega that Steve is, but his little body was just too damn sick to support something like a heat. Still, tiny and bird-boned and heat-less as he’d been then, Bucky Barnes has been in love with Steve Rogers since 1934. And he’s in love with Steve Rogers now, seventy years later.
But he hadn’t told Steve then. He hasn’t told Steve now.
The pre-heat scent is definitely different than Steve’s normal scent, but it’s really not until Bucky notices his own behavior— hovering around Steve, keeping an eye on him to make sure he’s eating plenty, taking mental stock of every other alpha in every room that Steve walks into – that Bucky finally puts two and two together and realizes what’s about to happen.
The knowledge flips a switch inside Bucky. He begins trying to avoid Steve; he really, really does. He doesn’t want to overstep, or get too close, or make Steve uncomfortable with his obvious pining and what probably smells like an alpha about ten seconds from jumping him.
But then Bucky’s in their kitchen one day soon after that, making himself a protein smoothie, when Steve walks in. Steve says he wants to ask him something.
From the smell of him, Bucky gives Steve maybe twenty-four hours before he’s in full heat. He wonders if he should make himself scarce for a few days or if Steve is going to be the one to go, go find whatever heat partner he’s got and get fucked for a week straight, take another alpha’s knot one or two dozen times, and—and Bucky has to put his coffee mug down before he crushes the ceramic handle to dust.
“Bucky, I…”
Steve looks down nervously as he speaks, and Bucky thinks that the way Steve’s lashes kiss against the flushed tops of his cheeks should be illegal.
“What is it, Stevie?”
Steve’s anxious, clearly. Very anxious; he can’t quite meet Bucky’s eyes. Bucky doesn’t like things that make Steve anxious.
Steve finally gets to talking but he stutters, is flustered. “I was wondering if—and it’s okay if you don’t want to! I know everything must still be really weird for you, and—”
Bucky can’t stop himself from reaching a hand out and cupping the side of Steve’s neck like he does sometimes, wrist against Steve’s scent gland.
“It’s okay, Stevie. Just tell me, you can tell me, yeah? Ask what you wanna ask.”
Steve lets out a shaky breath and visibly steels himself, anxious, still, but brave enough to meet Bucky’s eyes.
“I wanted to know if you might wanna, um.” His bottom lip is so damn pink where he’s biting down on it. “If you might wanna help me through my heat?” And it’s mumbled, and fast, but Bucky can hear every word—even though he can’t believe a damn one of them.
Bucky’s awestruck. He’s awestruck, but he’s gotta say something, can’t leave Stevie hanging.
“Stevie, oh, you... fuck, you perfect little doll.”
And that’s… not something he’s called his best friend before. He brushes Steve’s smooth jawline with one thumb and looks at the omega with such fondness that it makes the room feel a little sticky.
“Of course I do.”
A surprised smile lights up Steve’s face, like he wasn’t expecting Bucky to actually say yes. and Bucky… well, Bucky can’t stop talking.
“Of course I want that. I’m so happy you asked, baby.” Another endearment he’s never used for Steve. “So happy.”
But some things still itch at Bucky’s brain. There are some things he needs to know—information.
“Are you… You’re sure about this, Stevie? Why me?” And he doesn’t wanna ask this next question, but he’s gotta. It’s knowledge Bucky needs to be equipped with. “Where’s the alpha—alphas, whoever—that usually stay with you?”
“What?” And Steve – god bless him – looks genuinely confused for a moment before he gets it, understands what Bucky means, and the blush that covers his face looks like it must extend far below the neckline of his thin t-shirt. “Oh! Um, no, there was no…”
Steve’s words trail off. His eyes get all wide like he’s just realized something, and he looks even more nervous than before. He’s breathing harder, and the anxiety in his scent is back. He shakes his head.
“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers. He’s diverting his eyes, shrinking his massive form to make his whole body somehow look smaller.
“Sorry?” Bucky repeats, “why? What you got to be sorry about, baby?”
The endearment slips out again but it does something to the omega this time, makes his eyelashes flutter and his anxious scent mellow a bit. Still, Steve’s nervous, and Bucky still does not like things that make Steve nervous, and he gives into the protective urge to crowd Steve in against the kitchen island with his body—hands on either side of him, holding onto the countertops.
Steve suddenly lets out a little whine at the movement, and Bucky’s not prepared for it. It makes his hips press into Steve’s before he can stop them. The contact isn’t actually sexual; Bucky’s just pinning him, keeping him grounded. But still, Steve moans a little, tries to breathe through it.
“I—I’ve always… just.”
And that’s when it clicks with Bucky, that—despite the incredible pain it would have certainly caused—Steve has always toughed out his heats alone.
Steve might be a virgin, he realizes.
Steve might be a virgin, and here he is – asking Bucky to fuck him when he goes into heat. The thought alone that, fuck, that Bucky might get to be the very first person to fuck Steve (and the very last, if Bucky had his way) makes Bucky want to groan and grind into Steve right there in the kitchen but he keeps it contained, keeps his focus on what Steve needs from him right now.
Besides, all that is still just a hunch. Bucky needs to hear it, needs to confirm some things with Steve first and hear Steve really say it. He strokes a hand over Steve’s cheek.
“Stevie,” he begins, imploringly, “tell me you want this with me. With me. And please, baby… don’t say it if it isn’t completely true.”
He doesn’t expect that way that Steve’s demeanor gets a little frantic at the question. “Yes—yes, Buck. I want it. So much. Please.” And Bucky has to stroke his sides to calm his nerves.
“Okay, yeah, s’okay,” he shushes, tries to calm him, “thank you. I want it too, and I’m so happy you asked, sweetheart.” Another sweet name, and Bucky just can’t seem to hold them in anymore. “But I’m going to ask you a question, okay? And I need you to be honest with me. No matter what you answer, I promise that I’ll still want to do this.”
Steve looks wary and still nervous but also a little curious. He nods, signaling for Bucky to continue.
Bucky draws in a long breath, and lets it out.
“Has anyone ever taken you before?”
(And he says it likes that— taken you— not ‘fucked you”’ not ‘knotted you,’ even, yet. Bucky says it like that because it’s an older way of phrasing it, more polite, something people would have said back in the forties before you could say things like ‘pregnant’ or ‘knot’ on television.)
Steve’s face is – quite visibly – on fire. Bucky watches as he slowly, slowly, shakes his head.
“N-no.”
And oh— Bucky wants to be a good alpha, wants to do what he needs to do to keep his – this omega calm, but it takes every damn thing he’s got to keep his visceral reaction to Steve’s admission contained inside, because…
Because all Bucky can think about is how damn pretty Steve is going to look all spread across the sheets, laid out in the nest that Steve’s gonna build, gonna build just so Bucky to take him in it.
And because Bucky can’t stop planning out how he’s going to do it – how he’s going to slide into Steve that very first time Bucky makes love to him. He can’t decide the way that he’ll do it, not yet, but Bucky knows that he wants to gauge every little movement, hear every little sound that Bucky works out of Steve’s sweet body, see the way his full lips tremble and plea when he’s getting fucked. Bucky wants memorize every detail about Steve the first time he takes a knot—takes Bucky’s knot.
And because Bucky can’t stop thinking about all the many and varied ways he’s going to make Steve wail with pleasure, how many times he’s going to fuck the come out of him before the week is over, and Bucky’s got plans but he’s also got an overwhelming number of lizard brain thoughts—ProtectFuckFeedScentMateBreedBiteKeep. But Bucky keeps it all inside as much as he can because Steve looks anxious about his confession, and that just won’t do.
“Sweetheart.” Bucky leans in even more and presses his forehead against Steve’s, and their lips are a ghost of breath away from touching but he still hasn’t kissed Steve, not yet. “Sweeter than sugar, you are.”
Magically, like the prettiest damn thing Bucky’s ever seen, Steve brightens at the little wash of praise. He smiles, so fucking cute and shy, and he asks, “that— that’s okay? That I haven’t done this before?”
Bucky has to keep himself from laughing in sheer incredulity. “Okay?” Bucky repeats. “It’s more than okay, baby. So amazing, saving yourself for me.”
And then Bucky finally closes the gap between their lips. It’s closed-mouth and chaste and both of their lips are the barest bit chapped, but it’s Bucky’s silent promise to Steve, Bucky’s promise that he’s going to be good to him and careful with him but he’s going to give Steve what Steve needs and fuck him silly; fuck him tender.
Bucky’s going to do everything he can to warrant the amount of trust Steve has already given to him.