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sarahowritesostucky · 14 days

Text

📖"Alpha, Beta (& Omega)"

Rated: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5652

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, nobility/royalty au, alternate history, dom/sub elements, beta bucky, anal sex, oral sex, hurt/comfort, first time, age gap (18/29), domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, wedding night, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Senator Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

To read previous parts of this series first, go to the story's masterlist

14. A Tour of the Continent

This Chapter: “Don’t have’ta fight me anymore, Buck. I’m not gonna leave you. I’m your Headship and I’m gonna take care’a you. Just gotta trust me to do that for you, Baby.” TW: [dub-con sex at the end of this one.]

They leave for the continent the next day.

Sharon and Pietro spend the morning packing up, and when they drive to the channel harbor, Bucky seizes the first opportunity he sees to misbehave. Steve has gone off to purchase ferry tickets and left him in the first-class lounge, when Bucky spots his chance in the form of three reporters.

Society page writers are easily distinguishable from the general public. They tend to congregate in small groups in places like this, always seeming to have a low, eager chatter about them as they wait. They dress common but sharp, wear press badges on their lapels, and almost always have notepads and pens in hand, an assistant one step behind with a camera box tucked under their arm. Bucky could spot them a mile away.

They haven’t taken notice of him yet, but he quickly walks up and makes himself obvious. In the States, they would’ve jumped at the sight of him, but now it takes the senior most reporter giving Bucky a double take before anything happens. “Your … Your Lordship?” the man hedges, eyeing Bucky carefully. “Oh! Young Lord Barnes, is that you?”

Bucky acts marginally bothered at being noticed. “Yes,” he confirms. “Good day.” The other reporters perk up and act more enthused at the confirmation of who Bucky is. Eager to have discovered someone of importance, they crowd closer and start asking him about his marriage to Steve and his trip to Europe. Bucky answers their questions politely, if somewhat haughtily. He’s waiting for just the right chance to say something utterly outrageous, when the senior reporter surprises him by asking,

“And what about your father’s expulsion from the Senate? Have you spoken with your family since the ruling came down?”

Bucky freezes. “What?” he says. “His … his what?” He feels his heart thud faster in his chest. He hadn’t known the news had broken yet, hadn’t thought the inditement was supposed be made public until—

“The Senate voted to impeach days ago.” The reporter looks at him expectantly. “Don’t you have anything to say about your husband’s vote? Were you surprised?”

“Are you angry with him?” another of the reporters asks.

Bucky gapes. “His … his vote?” He knows he sounds like a stammering idiot, but he was completely unprepared for this. “My husband?” A feeling of dread is overtaking him as he begins to make sense of the reporters’ questions. Oh no, he thinks. It can’t be. Steve couldn’t … he wouldn’t have …

“What was your reaction when you heard that your husband voted ‘Yea’ for the motion to impeach?”

Bucky feels sick. “What?!”

The reporters all pause, looking taken aback at Bucky’s response. They seem to realize that this is news to him, and that just gets them more excited. They jump into another round of hasty questions: How could he not know? Hasn’t he been paying attention to the news? Has his new Alpha been isolating him?

Bucky gapes at them stupidly for another moment, before finally shouting at them to “Shut up! Be quiet!” He’s breathing heavily, face flushed with embarrassment and nerves. His mind is reeling, and all he can think about is that Steve voted ‘Yea’ for his father’s impeachment. Bucky can’t believe it! When would he even have had the time to …

Oh. He thinks of that morning several days ago, when he’d woken and Steve hadn’t been in the apartment. How Sharon had said Steve was called away to a meeting, how Steve had come home and said himself that there’d been a motion called, that he’d had to go send a telegram instructing ‘how he wanted his vote to go’.

The sick feeling in Bucky’s gut turns sour and acidic, churning itself from horror to fury in an instant. He grits his teeth and fumes over it: Steve had been out sending his vote to ruin Bucky’s family, strip them of their title and their place in Society! And all the while Bucky's been touring London with the bastard! Sleeping with him! Bucky swears he sees red.

He whirls back to face the reporters. “My husband voted the way he was expected to,” he snaps. “He followed along after his peers in the Senate, toed the party line, because that’s all he’s capable of doing. I know for a fact that he didn’t even read the indictment. I’ve seen the way he works. He inherited his family’s Seat before he was ready for the position. His aides basically do his job for him. It’s pathetic.”

The reporters’ eyes have gone huge at Bucky’s scathing remarks. They’re scribbling down his words as fast as their hands can manage, squawking out more intrusive questions like, “Some are saying that your marriage was hastily arranged in anticipation of your House’s scandal. Is this true??”

Bucky sees Steve coming over. He’s looking at the reporters and Bucky, eyes narrowed as he notices that Bucky’s giving an interview. He’ll be in earshot within seconds, and Bucky hurries to say, “Of course it’s true. I only married him for the money he promised my family. I had no idea he’d be so weak as to vote against my father, but I really shouldn’t be surprised. His character is wanting, to say the very least.”

“So it’s not a happy marriage?”

“Are you kidding me?! I can’t stand him.”

“Bucky!” Steve has arrived. He looks utterly alarmed. “What are you doing?” Bucky just glares at him. The reporters start asking Steve questions about all of the things Bucky has just said, but Steve throws up a hand and silences them, snapping, “This is over. I didn’t give permission for my Spouse to be interviewed.”

“But Senator! He—”

“Enough,” Steve growls. He takes Bucky by the arm and begins moving him away. “I’m his Headship, I didn’t authorize this. You know the law. If any of you print a word of what he just said, I’ll have you prosecuted and your publications run into the mud.”

The reporters all start complaining at that, and then when the complaining doesn’t work, they switch to begging Steve to reconsider and grant his permission after all, but it’s too late: He’s already dragging Bucky away from the lounge.

“Turn around and put your hands on the wall,” Steve commands. He doesn’t shout, but it’s still his Voice and it’s absolutely no-nonsense. He’s dragged Bucky into their passenger cabin on the ferry, affording them enough privacy for discipline—and for Bucky to pitch a fit. Bucky snarls at him and jerks away, but Steve recaptures his wrists and shakes him. “Don’t make me hold you.”

“You voted against my father!” Bucky yells. He’s so mad he can practically taste it. “How could you do that, Steve?!”

“I had no choice in the matter and you know it,” Steve says lowly. “The evidence was overwhelming. Weapons smuggling, Bucky. He put our national security at risk just to pad his own purse.”

“It’s my family!”

Steve glares at him. “Put. your hands. on the wall.” When Bucky hesitates, he threatens, “If you don’t do it on your own, I’m tripling the punishment.”

Bucky swallows heavily, some of his anger replaced by trepidation. He’s never seen Steve look so mad. Doubt flashes through him and he worries that maybe he went too far with what he said to the reporters. But no, he thinks, squashing that down. Steve deserves it and more. “I hate you,” he hisses. Slowly, he turns to face the cabin’s wall. He raises both hands up to the level of his shoulders and places his palms flat against the wood paneling.

Steve steps up against his side, close enough that he can murmur in his ear, “You are never to give unauthorized comments to the Society pages, do you understand me?”

Bucky clenches his teeth together. “Whatever,” he grits out. He’s startled into a yelp when Steve’s hand comes down unexpectedly, spanking him over the fabric of his trousers. “Ow!”

“You are never to give unauthorized comments to the Society pages,” he repeats. “Do you understand me?” He hits him again, making Bucky gasp,

“Yes!”

Steve's hand comes down once more, which is almost more than Bucky can take—not physically but mentally. He’s so mad at Steve he can hardly stand it, and now he’s burning with the humiliation of being disciplined as well. When Steve steps away and tells him he can bring his hands down, Bucky whirls around with a glare. “Get away from me,” he hisses. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Steve seals his lips tight together and says nothing. He just shakes his head in frustration at Bucky and goes to sit down on one of the cabin’s couches. “I can’t believe you,” he huffs. “Utterly disgraceful.”

Bucky feels humiliated tears prick at the edges of his eyes. He swipes at them hastily, hoping that Steve doesn’t notice. “You can say that again," he mumbles. They sit in obstinate silence for a long time. Neither one of them willing to break the stalemate as the horns blare and the ferry's engines shudders into motion.

Eventually, Steve sighs and says somberly, “Come on, Buck. You’re not stupid. You knew what they had on your father. You know how politics work.”

“Still doesn’t mean you couldn’tve—”

“He was wrong, Bucky. What he did was wrong. He deserved to be ousted.”

Bucky clenches his mouth shut, unwilling to admit that Steve’s right. It hurts too much. “My family—”

“Will be fine,” Steve finishes for him. “I’ve seen to it.” Bucky continues to fume and Steve shakes his head. “Just stop it,” he chides. “Sit down and relax.”

“Relax? You just spanked me!”

“A grand total of three times. You deserved it, and you’re fine,” Steve says. “I went easy on you.”

Bucky can’t argue that, because really? he knows that Steve did. It still infuriates him that he had to take it, though. “I hate you,” he mutters again, sitting down on the couch opposite of Steve’s. “And I hope they print every word I said.”

“It was all lies.”

“I don’t care.”

Steve inhales deeply and lets it out slowly, like he’s trying to keep his patience with Bucky. When he speaks next, his voice is surprisingly soft. “Bucky?” he says.

“What?”

“Look at me.”

Bucky glances up, meeting Steve’s eyes a little nervously at his eerily quiet tone. “What?”

“I don’t want to hit you, ever.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“But it’s becoming very clear to me that I’ll have to. You’re out of line.” Bucky’s eyes widen, and before he can formulate a response Steve adds, “So let me make this perfectly clear to you: The next time you act up like this, you won’t be getting off with three smacks over your clothes. Disrespecting me in public? Slandering our House?” He shakes his head. “Not happening anymore.”

“Says you.”

“Hey. I’ve never been anything but nice to you,” Steve snaps, losing his composure. “There’s no good reason for you to behave like this!”

(There’s one, Bucky thinks sorely. Though Steve doesn’t know it, yet.)

“From now on, if you insist on stepping out of your place, I’ll put you back in it.” Bucky’s nostrils flare, ready to throw out a nasty retort, but Steve beats him to the chase, Voicing, “Say: ‘yes, Husband’.”

“You do know I’m not omega, right? I don’t actually have to—”

“Bucky.”

“Fine!” Bucky snaps. “Fine, Steve. You win. I won’t talk to the press.” He already knows he shouldn’t have done it, knows he’s being outrageously disobedient and disrespectful and immature. He also knows that he’ll have to soldier on with doing just that, if he ever wants this marriage to end. After today, though, that prospect seems much more daunting than it originally had. He isn’t looking forward to it.

After the episode with the reporters, Bucky is careful to choose slightly less extreme ways to act up. He needs to drive Steve away, but figures that slow and steady disobedience will win the race. No need to push Steve so hard that the alpha takes it out on his hide. So, Bucky refrains from the whole public disrespect tactic and takes a more subtle approach.

“Subtle” translates to the following:

1. Leaning too far over the edge of the Eiffel tower restaurant’s deck, even after Steve repeatedly tells him not to. Then spitting escargot into his napkin in plain sight of their waiter with an immature “Ew! Snails, seriously? French people are nuts.”

2. Touching artifacts in Venice that he very well knows he’s not supposed to be touching, in full view of their displeased tour guide. (“Sir! Please, control your Spouse!”)

3. Removing his swim trunks at the beach in Mykonos before Steve can stop him. (“It’s a nude beach, Steve. They’re used to it here. It’s no big deal!”)

That last one results in a rather flustered Steve dragging him back into their whitewashed villa and shoving him down on the bed. Bucky gasps, bouncing once on the mattress and watching with wide eyes as Steve shucks off his own swim trunks, grabs something from the bedside table and tosses it to the blankets. He climbs up over Bucky.

“What’re you—”

“Shut up.” He pushes him down by the shoulders and kisses him hotly.

Bucky moans despite himself, Steve’s sun-warmed skin feeling so good up against his own. His hands fly to Steve’s body without thought, running over the hard muscles of his back. Bucky feels his cock taking interest and he makes a questioning noise when Steve pulls back from the kiss. “I thought you were mad?” he breathes.

“I am,” Steve says, but he just goes back to kissing him hotly, running his hands all over him and rubbing their bodies together. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he tells him, flipping him over and reaching into the bedcovers for the jar of—

Oh. Bucky inhales sharply when he feels the wet swipe of fingers over his entrance. They haven’t been intimate since the night of his nightmare, back in London. “Steve,” he breathes.

“Tell me no,” Steve says quietly, voice right by his ear. “Or else spread your legs.”

Heat pools low in Bucky's gut at hearing that, and he instinctively parts his legs, wanting to please his Alpha, wanting more of that quiet, domineering tone directed at him. Steve makes a rumbling sound of approval and slots a thigh between his legs, keeping them apart. He rubs the slick around his hole, presses and works the muscle without pushing inside. He waits until Bucky starts to react, then works him open on one, two, three; fingering him until he’s gasping and humping against the bed and pleading for more. “Steve,” he whines. “Come on.”

“Come on what?” he goads. “What do you want, hm? Want me inside you?”

“Yes!” Bucky hisses, frustrated. After stripping on the beach, he thought Steve was dragging him back here to discipline him. Now that he knows he’s getting fucked, he can hardly stand waiting for it. It suddenly occurs to Bucky that he’s terribly horny, and has been for days. “Come on,” he grunts, impatient.

Steve grips him by the hair to bend his neck, weighing him down with his body and scraping his teeth over the faint mark of where he’d bitten him that night.

Bucky shivers at the possessive gesture. He so does not regret having shed his swim trunks now. “You don’t like other people seeing me naked,” he says breathily, delighting at the idea of it.

“No, I don’t.” Steve nips him again. “Your body’s for me, not anybody else.” He plants his knees outside of Bucky’s and shoves his legs together, holding him still that way. He fits his cock against his entrance, the head of it blunt and intimidating. “Say it,” he commands.

Against the covers, Bucky's mouth curls and his cock throbs. “No.”

“Say it.”

He groans, both at Steve’s Voice and at the way he’s rubbing the head of his dick against his rim—pressing but not penetrating, not quite. “Fine,” Bucky huffs, giving in because he just wants it so bad. “'My body’s not for anybody else'.” His cheeks burn hot as he admits it, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t aroused by the way Steve's pushing him around and demanding things of him. "Happy?" he snarks.

Steve's fingers tighten warningly in his hair, but he rewards him for the submission by pressing in, firm and slow, and they both groan in tandem as he's filled. Steve doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated, hips flush to Bucky's ass, his heavy body weighing him into the sheets.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes. Steve is just holding still, his cock big and throbbing inside of him. “Ugh, move,” Bucky urges, trying to wiggle under his weight. “Steve, fuck, you gotta—Ah!” Steve snaps his hips back and fucks into him sharply, punching the breath right out of Bucky's lungs.

“Mine,” he growls.

“Fuck, yeah okay, whatever,” Bucky says, not really caring if Steve wants to say bossy shit right now. Just so long as he keeps moving, keeps fucking into him real firm and good. He’s so heavy behind Bucky, keeping him flat to the bed as he ruts into him. Bucky’s cock is absolutely trapped, rubbing deliciously against the sheets in a way that feels amazing, and pretty soon he feels himself ramping up towards orgasm from the stimulation. “C-close,” he gasps, wanting Steve to know how goddamn good he’s fucking him. “Oh, God.”

Steve growls and pulls them both back, pulls Bucky’s hips up off the bed and loops his forearm under his waist, holding him close. He fucks him harder and faster, his chest sealed to Bucky's back, their balls knocking together with every thrust. His hand closes around Bucky’s cock and Bucky shouts. “Yes,” Steve growls, jerking him off roughly. “Come on.”

It only takes a good few pulls until Bucky starts to come, moaning and shooting his load all over the sheets. Steve really lets himself go to town after that, dropping Bucky’s spent dick and grabbing his hips instead, pistoning his hips at a brutal pace. His hot, panting breaths collect against Bucky’s sweaty neck and their skin slaps together as he fucks into him hard. Finally, he stutters, moans turning guttural as he reaches down. Bucky feels his hand back there: the ever-familiar motion of Steve desperately squeezing his knot, milking the orgasm out of himself and into Bucky’s ass.

The mental image of it makes Bucky's balls throb and his cock twitch in a delicious aftershock. He groans against the bed, hardly caring as he collapses into his own sticky mess. “Ugh.”

4. He wanders off and gets lost in the biggest city in Turkey.

In all fairness, he doesn’t really mean to. He sneaks off from Steve, intending to remain close by and only make the other man think that he’s lost him. But he winds up losing track of Steve and then, well … then he gets all turned around.

He tries to remember the places he and Steve said that they would see in the city that day, thinking that maybe if he can make his way to one of those places, he might meet up with him. But going anywhere on his own proves to be quite the mistake. The roads and shop signs are all in Turkish, after all, and nobody speaks English.

Bucky gets increasingly embarrassed as he realizes that he has no clue how he’s going to find his way back to Steve or to their hotel. He’s been trying to figure out a solution by himself for over two hours and is just starting to contemplate taking himself to the nearest police station for help, when Steve shows up.

“Bucky! Thank God!”

Bucky whirls around, heart leaping at the sound of Steve’s voice, then at the sight of him. He heaves a sigh, full body, so relieved that he could laugh. He feels like he almost does. “Oh, God,” he says. “Steve!” He rushes forward, prepared to … he doesn’t know, maybe hug him out of sheer relief, but comes up short when he sees the look on Steve’s face. “Steve?” he asks. The alpha looks like he’s halfway ready to be sick, or scream. “Steve, I—”

“Did you do it on purpose?” Steve asks, tone unnaturally stiff. It’s like he’s trying with all his might to keep his voice neutral, waiting on Bucky’s answer.

Bucky gulps, wanting to lie but knowing he needs to tell the truth. That’s what’ll piss Steve off, after all. This feels dangerous though, like maybe he’s reaching a tipping point with Steve. He has to tread carefully. “I … yes,” he admits. “But I was just going to pretend! Then tail you. I didn’t mean to actually get—”

“Goddammit Bucky!” Steve hisses, hands flying up to rake through his hair. “Why do you keep doing this?! Why?!” When Bucky’s mouth opens and closes a few times, too nervous to answer, Steve says, “I don’t get you. It wasn’t like this in the beginning. You weren’t like this. What changed?”

Bucky stares at him, guts twisting in guilt at Steve’s words. “I … I just …”

“What?” Steve throws up his hands. “Ever since England it’s like you’re a different person. What are you trying to do, make me hate you?”

Bucky inhales, tensing up. His eyes flick nervously around and he instantly knows his face gives him away. He curses himself for not being able to school his expression faster. Steve’s eyes widen in understanding, and Bucky’s insides twist harder. “I didn’t—”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Steve stares at him, slack-jawed. “That’s what you’ve been doing. Trying to get me mad enough to what? Divorce you?” Again, Bucky knows he gives himself away just by the way he stands there frozen in place, mortification coloring his cheeks. Steve’s face collapses into a scowl. “Fuck, are you serious?”

Bucky finally manages to scrounge up some sort of answer. He juts his chin out. “I never wanted this marriage and neither did you. If you just divorced me, I could have the life I wanted, my family would still have the money and you … you could marry somebody else.”

“Somebody else? Who?”

Bucky shrugs, thinking of Peggy Carter and her pretty face. “I dunno. Someone who wants this life. Someone you love.”

Steve squints at him. “Bucky … That’s so stupid.”

“It is not!”

“I want to be married to you!” Steve snaps, and the veracity with which he says it takes Bucky by surprise.

“You … you do?”

“Yes!” Steve stalks over and grabs him by the back of the neck and scruffs him, bearing his teeth at Bucky when he gasps. “Do you have any idea how worried I was when I couldn’t find you? In a city like this?!”

Bucky cringes. “I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t think.” Steve scruffs him again. “Look around you! We’re in freaking Istanbul, Bucky! Do you know how many Western betas and omegas are kidnapped out here? Sold into slavery?” He glares at him. “You could’ve been taken. With a pedigree like yours you’re practically a walking target!”

“Okay!” Bucky yells, jerking angrily in Steve’s hold. “Jesus. I’m sorry!”

Steve stares at him, and his face goes from angry to stony in only a few short seconds. It’s like he’s drawing into himself, gearing up for battle. It’s awful. “No,” he growls. “Not yet you’re not.” He tugs Bucky by the grip on his neck. “Come on.”

“W-where are we going?”

“Back to the hotel.”

In their room, Steve points at the bed. “Sit down.”

Bucky obeys, dread curling in his gut because this is different from the time he spoke to the press, or mouthed off at that priest. Steve isn’t livid now like he was then. Oh, he’s angry all right, but this time it’s a different sort of anger. It feels quieter, more dangerous, like a storm that’s about to break. “Steve,” he tries, worried. “I’m—”

“Be quiet,” Steve says. He stands in front of him, arms crossed, face pinched. “You put yourself in real danger today, do you understand that?”

Bucky flushes and looks down. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you remember what I told you I’d do, if you ever put yourself in danger?”

Bucky’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t say anything. He remembers. In front of him, Steve nods like he’s made up his mind. Bucky has a bad feeling about this. “Steve, please—”

“Get up,” he says quietly. “I want you to stand up and take off your clothes. All of them.” His tone is calm, but it leaves no room for argument. Bucky’s either going to have to fight, or else obey.

He swallows heavily, not sure his pride can handle a struggle where he winds up losing to Steve anyway. Inhaling shakily, he stands up. “I didn’t mean to get lost,” he mumbles, hands already moving to take off his clothes.

“I know,” Steve says. “You’re not being disciplined for getting lost. You’re being disciplined for making stupid and selfish choices that wound up putting you in unnecessary danger.”

Bucky has to grind his teeth together to keep himself from talking back. If Steve’s about to spank him, he doesn’t want to make it any worse for himself. He strips down to his underwear, and with one last questioning glance at Steve, pulls those off as well. Steve looks him over dispassionately, which only makes it more humiliating.

“I want you to bend over the edge of the mattress,” he says quietly. “Grab one of the pillows and put it beneath your hips.”

Bucky flushes and glares at Steve, but he does as told, positioning himself with slow, awkward movements. Once he’s bent over and just about as embarrassed as he’s ever been in his life, Steve’s hand appears on his back. Bucky inhales in surprise, and Steve shushes him.

“I’m going to give you a choice,” he says.

“… What?”

He rubs up and down the center of Bucky’s back, eliciting goosebumps. “You can take thirty with my hand, or ten with my belt. It’s up to you.”

Bucky’s guts clench in trepidation. Both options sound horrible. “Th-thirty?” he stammers.

“Mmhm, or ten with the belt.”

Bucky’s eyes fall shut in defeat. Thirty sounds unbearable. He’s never been hit with a belt, but if it’s only ten times … He licks his lips and somehow manages to croak out, “Ten.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, he just removes his hand and stands back. It’s quiet except for the light ‘clink’ of metal and ‘whiff’ of a belt being pulled from its loops. Something strange and confusing swirls low Bucky’s belly at those sounds, at the feeling of Steve touching the folded-over length of leather against his bare ass. “I want you to count them,” he says, voice still so terribly quiet.

Bucky shivers. “Okay.”

One is such a shock that the pain isn’t even fully appreciated. He gasps and jerks where he lies, all the breath knocked out of him. “Oh!”

Steve doesn’t hit him again right away. He puts his hand on him again, large and warm in the middle of his back. “Count it,” he says.

Bucky swallows past his dry mouth and whispers, “One.”

“Good,” Steve says. “Now hold still.”

Each lash after that first one is terrible. It hurts so much that it makes Bucky feel panicked, convinced that he can’t bear it. He yells out each time, and each time Steve waits for him to calm down, strokes his back or his hair, murmuring soft reassurances. It’s intimate, awful, and mortifying—but Bucky thinks silent and distant would almost be worse. By the time the ninth strike lands, Steve is petting the backs of his fingers against Bucky’s cheek and telling him he’s good, that he can do this. And after the tenth, Bucky is crying.

“Count it, Honey,” Steve reminds him, when Bucky’s last shout has dissolved into soft sobs. “Come on.”

Bucky gulps in air and gasps, “Ten!” He’s never felt more unmoored in his life. He feels devastated. “Ten, ten, ten.”

Distantly, he registers the sound of Steve’s belt dropping to the floor, feels him moving. Steve takes the jar of lubricant from the bedside table, and Bucky’s breath catches in a tiny whimper when he sees it. He’s horrified as he feels blood pulse low in his groin, his cock awakening as if he could possibly have any interest in Steve touching him right now. “What?” he starts to ask, sniffling and wiping his messy face against the bedsheets. He tries to move, to get up, but Steve’s hand pushes down between his shoulder blades. The other slides down between his cheeks. Bucky cries out at the first touch of slick fingers at his entrance, but the sound morphs into a moan as his cock meets the soft pressure of the pillow that’s still trapped beneath his hips. “S-steve …”

“Shhh,” Steve soothes, holding him down as he wets him up and eases the tip of a finger inside. Bucky gasps and whimpers, embarrassment searing through him in a way it never has before. He shakes his head in denial, but between his legs, his cock is hardening rapidly. “Just let me do this,” Steve says. And it’s not bossy, is the thing: The way he says it is tender, almost hopeful in its assuredness. The hand that’s been holding Bucky down lets up and starts rubbing his back, up and down his spine, like he’s some skittish animal that needs to be calmed. Bucky exhales a long, shuddery breath and hears Steve’s pleased hum. “Good.” He works his finger for a long time before easing in another. “You did good, Bucky. Took your punishment just fine. It’s all over.” He works him open, curling on each drag out, humming when he hears Bucky’s gasps of pleasure. “There you go. Just relax now.”

Bucky keens miserably and scrubs his burning face against the bedcovers. He can’t stand it, hearing Steve talk to him like this, praising him and being sweet to him after he’s just humiliated him so badly. He feels like an open wound, oversensitive and raw and vulnerable. Even the pleasure that Steve’s giving him is overwhelming, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. When Steve removes his fingers and starts pressing in with his cock, Bucky lets out a tortured sob. “Oh! Steve.” The ache from the belt flares to life in his ass and his cock pulses against the pillow. He thrashes, upset. “Nngh …”

Steve folds over him, heavy and warm, pressing them together full-body as he bottoms out. “Shhh,” he soothes, holding still inside, letting Bucky feel where they’re connected. “You’re good, Buck. It’s all gonna be okay.”

Bucky shakes his head, so confused by everything that he’s feeling. He’s so embarrassed, so humiliated and ashamed, angry at Steve for hurting him like this. But he’s desperate for comfort and now Steve’s providing it and he can’t stop himself from liking it. His ass may ache, but inside it feels good: Being covered by Steve’s heavy body and held by his arms feels good, knowing that his Alpha isn't mad at him anymore feels good. “Nnuh,” he grunts again, fighting it. “Mnn, no.”

Steve starts to roll his hips, smooth, easy movements that drag his cock over Bucky’s inner walls in just the right way. Bucky moans, unable to stop the jagged little pants that escape him with every thrust in. He turns his face the other way, trying to escape Steve’s attention, but the alpha follows him, planting his forearm on the bed and dipping in close. He kisses the edge of his mouth and whispers, “Open your eyes, Sweetheart.”

Bucky whines but obeys. He blinks at Steve through tear-clogged lashes and whimpers confusedly. Steve somehow understands, and kisses him again. “S’okay, Buck,” he says, hips moving smooth and easy, keeping their bodies close, like he knows it’s what Bucky needs to keep from shattering apart. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart. I’m not mad. You’re good. You did so good.”

Bucky’s face burns and his cock jerks each time he fails to contain a moan or whimper at what Steve’s doing to him and how good it feels to submit, the humiliation and pleasure warring in his gut only driving him closer to orgasm. Steve just keeps whispering gentle things to him as he fucks him softly: “Don’t have’ta fight me anymore, Buck. I’m not gonna leave you. I’m your Headship and I’m gonna take care’a you. Just gotta trust me to do that for you, Baby.”

Mortifyingly, he can feel himself getting close the more Steve says, the coil of pleasure in his belly tightening with every humiliating promise, and his hips rutting with increasing desperation against the pillow beneath them. He moans and jerks miserably, tears still pricking at his eyes because he’s been scraped raw by this, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He just holds him down and kisses the tears away.

When one of his hands slides overtop of Bucky’s on the bed and laces their fingers together, Bucky cries out and goes tense, right on the edge. “Oh!” … And then Steve’s other hand slips under, wedging between Bucky and the pillow, finding his cock and wrapping around it and stroking. Bucky’s breath punches out of him in a warbled, broken sob as he starts to come.

It’s the most confusing orgasm he’s ever had.

After that night in Istanbul, things are different between them. There’s a fragile peace between them as they travel back across the continent by train, as though they’ve drawn a tentative truce without speaking a word. Bucky is uncharacteristically meek, as the memory of the things Steve did to him lingers in his mind, making him blush and draw into himself whenever he thinks about it. He doesn’t know exactly how to feel. He’s baffled that he’s feeling anything other than anger and indignity, but it’s like Steve fucked those emotions right out of him, and Bucky hasn’t yet figured out what they’ve been replaced with.

The welts from Steve’s belt take two days to fade, and by the time they board the ship that’ll take them back to America, the soreness is completely gone as well.

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