Chapter Text
There's an alpha in their house.
There's never an alpha in their house.
But here he is, sitting at their dinner table, like it's the most normal thing in the world. And smelling of...something, deep and musky, like cedar and pine and bonfires. Bucky tries to mask how deeply he's breathing to take in the scent as much as he can. His initial fear was that an alpha's scent would make the house reek for days, but now he hopes it will linger.
His dad warned him beforehand, of course, that he was having one of his alpha friends over for dinner. He's told Bucky so many times that they're unpredictable, but now he assures him that he trusts Mr. Rogers, that he's nothing but kind. And so far, aside from the smell, he doesn't act any different from Sam's beta or omega friends. He laughs a little louder, but that ain't a bad thing.
There's also the fact that Bucky can't stop staring at him. Steve Rogers is built like an ox, probably as strong as one too, and the swell of his pecs and biceps are not at all hidden by the v-neck he wears. Whenever Mr. Rogers catches him looking and meets his eye, it makes his stomach swoop, and his gaze falls to his plate. Mr. Rogers just gives him a small, knowing smile, like he has any idea the weird shit he's making Bucky feel.
"Kiddo, tell Mr. Rogers about the book you're writing," his dad says, after he and Steve have finished having the obligatory conversation about their work at the VA. Sam is a beta, and doesn't have a scent – not that Bucky has ever been able to pick up, anyway. Mr. Rogers sets down his fork and gives Bucky his full attention almost immediately, like he's suddenly become the most important thing in the room.
"Uh...i-it's not a book," Bucky manages after a moment of trying to get his thoughts in order. The way the alpha doesn't look away from him makes is heart pound loud in his ears, but Bucky doesn't make eye contact with him. He addresses his dad, because talking directly to the alpha is more than he can handle. "It's a dissertation. On World War II," he mumbles.
"Bit young to be writing a dissertation, aren't you?" Mr. Rogers asks, but he sounds impressed rather than patronizing. He still hasn't picked up his fork, his elbows propped on the table and his chin resting on his folded hands. Bucky shifts in his chair. "Is it for a school assignment?"
"No, sir, I'm homeschooled." He uses the honorific without thinking about it, and the corner of the alpha's mouth turns up in a small smile. "I just wanted to write it. And Dad says it's a good idea to get ahead."
"A very good idea," Mr. Rogers agrees. "You seem like a really bright kid, Bucky."
"Thank you, sir," he says politely, proud of himself for not stumbling over his words despite the way the alpha is smiling at him.
"Bucky, honey, you've got red sauce on your shirt," Sam says quietly, nodding down at Bucky's chest and shattering his pride. His face heats up instantly, embarrassment flooding through him, amplifying to horror when his dad reaches over with his napkin and tries to wipe away the red stain on his grey t-shirt.
"Dad, stop, I got it," he hisses, mortified and squirming away from the beta's touch. Mr. Rogers has gone back to eating his own lasagna, politely pretending he isn't aware of what's going on, and Bucky takes the opportunity to get up from the table. "I'll go wash it off in the bathroom, it's fine."
It takes all of his effort not to look like he's storming out when he leaves the dining room. He doesn't want to make even more of an ass of himself, not after he's already made it look like he can't eat like a normal person. This never happens to him, why fucking now, of all times?
The privacy of the bathroom is welcome, at least, and a once he's there, Bucky lets out a quiet growl of frustration. He's an omega, so it's not a proper growl – a puppy growl, his dad calls it, which drives him nuts even if it is a pretty good description. He wets one of the washcloths on the counter and starts scrubbing furiously at the stain, staring at his own reflection and wishing that his hair would cooperate more, that his muscles were a little more defined. From outside the closed door, he can hear Sam and Steve talking quietly, someone laughing, the scrape of a chair shifting across the wood floor.
He's about to give up and even has his fingers on the door handle, planning to go to his room and change his shirt, when someone else opens the door from the other side. It's Steve, suddenly right in front of him and much, much taller than him, but it's his scent that hits Bucky like a train. It fills the small space of the bathroom, more intense up close, and there's an undertone to it that he didn't detect earlier. It makes him dizzy almost instantly.
"Thought I should come give you a hand," Mr. Rogers says in a calm voice, and Bucky instantly hones in on it, looking up at his face with a slightly dazed expression. Steve's eyes dart down to the stain still on his shirt. "Looks like you need a little help." He's smiling, and Bucky doesn't know what to do. Never has he been this close to an alpha before, and he's certainly never been alone with one. Sam has kept him protected, maybe even sheltered, from alphas all his life, telling Bucky that when he's old enough he'll meet a nice alpha who will take care of him.
Before he can come up with a response, Mr. Rogers puts big, warm hands on Bucky's shoulders, gently guiding him back into the bathroom so he can shut the door and leave them enclosed in the small space. Bucky doesn't even think to protest, going along easily with the alpha's guidance and never taking his eyes off his face. For once, his mind is blissfully quiet. Mr. Rogers is going to help him.
"Sit up on the counter," the alpha instructs, the understanding smile still on his face, and Bucky obeys without a thought. It puts him a little higher, closer to eye level with Steve but not quite. The alpha is at least six foot, and Bucky is still holding out for a growth spurt at five-four.
Even sitting still, Bucky's heart thuds hard in his chest, so loud he's sure Steve can hear it while the alpha soaps up one corner of the washcloth. And when the alpha gently spreads Bucky's legs so he can stand between them, his heart rate skyrockets. Somehow the new position makes him feel more exposed, which is ridiculous, because he's still wearing jeans.
Mr. Rogers dabs at the stain with the utmost care, gently coaxing it out of the fabric, but Bucky's eyes are on his face which is inches from his own. Steve isn't looking at him, his brow furrowed in concentration, and his scent is so heavy in the air that Bucky's eyelids start to droop, but his focus remains unwaveringly on the alpha. Does he smell this good to Mr. Rogers, too? Has his scent changed from that of a pup to a mature omega? He hasn't had his first heat yet, but he did just turn fifteen. That's almost old enough.
"There you go," Steve says quietly, his deep voice cutting through the haze of Bucky's thoughts, clear as a bell. He finally looks up at Bucky again and smiles, and Bucky's smiling too before he even realizes what he means. There's a wet patch on his shirt where the fabric clings to his skin, but the stain is gone.
"Thanks," he breathes, and when Mr. Rogers steps back, he hops off the counter, like there's a tether tying them together. Between his legs feels strange, warm and almost pulsing, and he shifts slightly. He's waiting for Mr. Rogers to tell him what to do next, he realizes dimly, his eyelids heavy and his lips parted. He feels hypnotized, drawn deep into the dark blue of Steve's gaze, intense as he looks at Bucky. Something tells him that the alpha knows exactly the effect he's having on him, and God, Sam warned him that alphas could influence omegas, but he had no fucking clue it was this strong.
He's not sure how he got there, but a moment later he feels the bathroom wall against his back, and the hard, hot press of Steve's body against his front. Steve's like a wall himself, completely immovable, not that Bucky's trying to move him. As soon as he registers that he's completely trapped between the two solid objects, Bucky's body goes limp and his mind blanks out, spiraling off somewhere blissful and dark and quiet. The only thing he can hear is Steve's breathing, even and steady.
Steve's strong hands are pinning his own to the wall on either side of him, his hold secure but painless, and the alpha's lips are at his ear. At some point, Bucky must have closed his eyes.
"Liked it when you called me 'sir', earlier," Mr. Rogers whispers, his breath warm. But he's not saying it as an explanation, merely remarking on it. He was planning to do this anyway. The thought makes Bucky whine sharply, the high sound surprising him. Steve's head slowly turns, and warm lips press a soft kiss to his jaw. "Say it again," he instructs, still speaking so quietly, just for Bucky. It takes a moment for the omega to find his voice, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.
"S-sir," he mewls, without even a thought in his head questioning whether or not he should say it. The alpha lets out a satisfied growl, quiet but so deep that Bucky feels it rumbling through Steve's chest and in his own. The sound does things to him, makes him feel so goddamn helpless, with so much solid muscle keeping him pinned to the wall. It's like a high, and without his permission, Bucky's chin tilts up and exposes his neck for the alpha, his narrow chest heaving because every breath he takes is laced with the alpha's scent and he needs more.
"Look at you...such a good boy," Steve croons, and ducks his head to kiss along Bucky's neck, but not where he wants it. Not where he needs it.
"Please," he whimpers, his expression pinched and desperate. Mr. Rogers' legs shift, one of his knees forcing Bucky's apart until he presses a muscled thigh to the boy's crotch. A reward, Bucky thinks dimly, because at some point he got hard as a rock in his pants, and the pressure feels like absolute heaven. He's also slick, which hasn't happened before, isn't supposed to happen until his first heat, but he wouldn't be surprised if he's soaked straight through his jeans. He whines again, and Steve shushes him gently.
"Gotta keep quiet, or your daddy might hear," the alpha chastises, nosing at Bucky's scent glands and breathing deeply. "You wouldn't want him to come investigate, would you? He might see his innocent little puppy, reeking of slick like a bitch in heat."
As soon as he's finished speaking, Steve bites down on the muscle where Bucky's neck and shoulder meet, on his bonding gland. Not hard enough to break the skin, or mark him as a mate would, but it makes Bucky seize up and come instantly. His hips spasm as much as they can while pinned, and the alpha presses his thigh almost painfully hard against him, letting Bucky rub up on him and ride out his orgasm. He nearly blacks out, but he obeys the alpha, not making a sound except for a soft, startled whimper.
Once the pleasure passes, Steve releases his wrists, easing the pressure off his body until there's a little space between them. Bucky forces his eyes to open, blinking up at the alpha and trying to get his vision to focus. A strong hand cups his jaw and helps him, until the image of Steve's face resolves in front of him.
"Get yourself cleaned up," the alpha says gently, but it's clearly an order. Bucky barely manages a nod before Steve's moving away, out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
...
He did soak through his jeans. He has to change his entire outfit before he can return to the dining room, and it doesn't help that his legs don't want to support his weight and his head is so fuzzy he can barely think. It gets a little easier once he tugs on a new shirt, one that doesn't reek of alpha, and the scent is no longer sending him into a daze.
Bucky's still stumbling though, when he comes down the hallway to rejoin dinner, his legs wobbling terribly. His eyes immediately seek out Steve, who's sitting down and eating and talking with Sam like nothing ever happened. His hair and clothes don't look the least bit ruffled. There's a blush high on Bucky's cheeks as he takes his seat, his ass still feeling strange even though he cleaned himself well, just like Steve told him to. If his dad gives him a weird look about the whole new outfit he's put on, he doesn't notice.
He's quiet for the rest of dinner – submissive, an annoying voice in the back of his mind says – and still can't stop glancing at Steve. The place he bit throbs pleasantly on Bucky's neck, a reminder.
It's childish of him to hope that Steve liked what happened as much as Bucky did. He hopes anyway.
When they say their goodbyes at the end of the night, Steve putting on his shoes and jacket and telling Sam he'll see him at work Monday, Bucky hangs back a bit. It's not normal for him to be shy; he doesn't get out of the house much, because his dad doesn't want him around strangers, but he's always very talkative with his dad's friends, and their kids, who are Bucky's friends. Sam seems to notice, and urges Bucky forward to say a proper goodbye to Mr. Rogers.
Steve gives him a warm smile when he steps closer, and Bucky can't help but mirror it, his anxiety melting away just like that.
"Pleasure to meet you, Bucky," he says genuinely, and the double meaning doesn't escape his notice. His words good boy from earlier echo in Bucky's mind, and he feels a bit of the blissful haziness from earlier returning. Steve seems to deliberate for a moment. "Y'know, I majored in military history in college. If you'd like to pick my brain for your dissertation, I'd be happy to help out."
Bucky's eyes widen and he feels his dad's hands on his shoulders when Sam comes to stand behind him.
"He would love that," Sam answers, translating Bucky's silence when it becomes clear he's not going to speak. "You wanna come over again on Sunday, so you two can geek out?"
"Sounds perfect." Steve gives them each one last smile, his gaze lingering on Bucky, before he heads out the door.
...
It hits Bucky later that night, when he's brushing his teeth in the same bathroom where an alpha had him pinned against the wall earlier that evening. His hands start shaking and the rest of him follows, until it gets so bad that he has to brace himself against the sink. The first alpha he's ever had a close interaction with, and he completely submitted to him. Without even a thought. An alpha who's at least twice his age.
It's not his fault, he tells himself, and believes it. Steve clearly knew what he was doing, the way he was affecting him. He was using it to his advantage, doing it on purpose, and...and....
And it felt so good. Fuck, it felt so damn good.
It really is just nerves making him tremble the way he is now, there's no doubt in Bucky's mind. Not a trace of fear or regret. As much power as Steve had over him, not once did he feel scared or threatened, or even in pain. Cared for, if anything. And so fucking horny. He'd bared his neck and gotten off on being bitten and humping the alpha's leg, like some feral dog, because something about Steve made him forget any sort of worries or inhibitions he had.
Like the fact that Steve is his father's age. And that if Bucky's dad knew any detail of what had happened in this bathroom, he would have Steve arrested in a heartbeat. That it would break Sam's heart to know that his son, who he tried so hard to teach the danger of alphas to, submitted to one so willingly. Bucky's seeing Steve again in two days. Does he want to repeat what happened earlier today, and go behind his dad's back again? Ignore every moral he's ever been taught?
Yes, God yes he does, he's already biting his lip and getting hard just thinking about it. About that hypnotic daze Steve put him in just by being close, and how he's never come that hard in his life. He wants to feel like that again, more than anything.
When he goes back to his bedroom, he roots around through the clothes on his floor until he finds the grey t-shirt he was wearing, the one Steve got the stain out of. He lifts the soft fabric to his nose and inhales, and his legs nearly give out. It smells like alpha, like Steve – he wants to kneel on the floor, wants to drop his shoulders to the carpet and present, spread his legs—
Bucky shakes his head and holds the shirt away from his face, the room spinning around him. He feels so sleepy all of a sudden, when minutes ago he was shaking with adrenaline. He was feeling like this earlier too, but the alpha had held his focus, keeping him alert only to what Steve was doing, what Steve was telling him. Without the alpha there, he just wants to sleep.
He crawls into bed holding the t-shirt, only breathing in the scent again once he's laying down. By the time he's deeply inhaled twice, he's not only asleep, but his underwear is soaked through with slick.