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Sighing as the door slams shut behind him, Bucky surveys the quaint little gas station convenience store he oh-so-gratefully stumbled upon. The interior reminds him of a QuikTrip, but it has a different logo outside. It's been ransacked before, he would be surprised if it hadn't, but it's still relatively clean for a building that has gone through a five-year apocalypse. Rain splatters relentlessly against the roof and windows, and Bucky's boots squeak in the otherwise quiet store. 

 

Remarkably enough, there is a bottle of unopened Pepsi tucked far back into a shelf. Bucky chugs the bottle like any other self respecting teen would, even if it is expired and flat, then he spots what used to be one of the food aisles. He sniffles a little, his nose stuffy from the cold weather as he looks over what hasn't been scavenged, which isn't much. The wound on his arm throbs with discomfort as he reaches out to grab a can of chili. He ignores the throbbing. 

 

He finds a comfy spot towards the back of the store where he lays out a square scarf he had repurposed into a small blanket and slides down the wall to take a seat. He pulls a spork, courtesy of the last store he had holed up in, and pops open his can of dinner. 

 

At least it isn't dog food again: he hates the taste of kibble, and the canned shit is even worse.

 

He doesn't remember finishing his dinner or falling asleep, but the sound of the convenience store's door opening wakes him with a jolt. The strong scent of Alpha assaults his stuffy nose. This scent in particular smells of rotten fruit and cardboard with an underlying tinge of blood and dirt.

 

As quickly and quietly as he can, Bucky packs his bag with his own belongings and a few nearby food items. He waits until the doorway is clear—because the dumbass left it open—before he makes his move. The teen winces as his boots make a loud squeak as he rounds a corner. Stopping in the next safe spot to hide, he clenches his jaw when the intruder speaks.

 

"I know you're in here, little one," the sound of someone scenting the air makes Bucky cringe. "Come out, come out, little lamb."

 

Bucky resents the fact that this Alpha has automatically assumed he is small. He's actually somewhat tall for an Omega, standing at nearly six feet, he's five-ten, thank you very much. Not that he has seen many Omegas to compare himself to. There aren't many left. 

 

The Alpha lurks down one aisle as Bucky makes his way in the opposite direction down the next one after he has patted his shoes dry to prevent squeaking. As he nears the door, he hears the Alpha's elated shout as he spots the Omega, so Bucky leaps up from his crouched position to make haste for the entryway.

 

He slips on a puddle the Alpha had tracked into the store, and tries to scramble away as the stranger pulls at his ankle. Bucky kicks at the man's knees, sending the already bent over Alpha to the ground, but not before he has a firm grip on the teen's ankle that has him flying back down himself, slamming his nose onto the linoleum flooring. The Alpha catches his bearings before him and pushes Bucky onto his back before pawing at him. A heavy scent hits Bucky's nose: rut

 

Bucky's shirt is pushed up while he hits at the Alpha. The lack of sleep, malnutrition, the wound on his left arm, any and all of them weaken his defensive attempts. He lets out a whimper that quickly turns into a pleading scream for someone to help him when the Alpha pulls his jeans down, running a grimy hand from the Omega's ribs down to his boxer-clad thigh. A grimy trail of dirt, rain water and mud is left behind.

 

As quickly as the hand is there, it's gone again. Bucky's eyes are squeezed closed as he braces himself for the inevitable that he's been able to escape for so long, but then there's another scent, and the Alpha's weight is gone altogether. He gasps when he pushes himself up into his elbows, arm and nose throbbing as he catches sight of someone dragging the offending Alpha out of the convenience store. 

 

A second Alpha scent, albeit very faint due to the rain and the fact that he was only inside for several seconds, fills his nose. In the time that it takes the new Alpha hauling the first stranger outside, Bucky pulls up his worn out jeans with haste and wipes at his nose with the hem of his shirt.

 

Outside, the storm rages on, rain slapping against the storefront, but the sun has risen since Bucky had fallen asleep, even if its blocked by the clouds. Fog and mist from the rain make it hard for Bucky to see the Alphas hashing it out outside, but he can hear the low growls and one of them is getting a lot of punches in before—a gunshot

 

Bucky jumps at the noise, mouth open in a silent gasp as he throws a hand over his mouth. His nose aches in protest. The loud, gut wrenching crack is followed by a boom of thunder, and he's suddenly grateful for the storm, because the thunder will confuse the walkers enough that they won't be able to go in any one direction.

 

He stands in the doorway, staring at the new Alpha obtusely as the man wipes a bleeding knuckle across his own, already slightly bloody jeans. The Alpha has probably been wearing them for days already, if not weeks. He's big with broad shoulders covered by a rain drenched red flannel. Blond hair, darkened by the rain, is plastered to his forehead, recently trimmed. He's got a couple weeks worth of darker stubble, growing into a beard. Bucky stares at the man's pink lips as they move. It's not a bad look, in Bucky's opinion, not that anyone would ask.

 

"What?" He asks dumbly, realizing he hadn't heard a word the man said. 

 

The man huffed, his voice gruff as he repeats himself. "Are you alright?" 

 

Bucky shuffles on his feet, looking over his shoulder to where he had been pushed down. One of his backpack straps is ripped from where the Alpha had grabbed him at some point during the struggle. "I'm great, thanks," he mumbles, still looking over his shoulder. He needs a new bag. 

 

The Alpha grunts in reply and steps around the Omega. Bucky watches as he picks through the leftover selection in the convenience store, tossing items into his own open bag, a bag much sturdier than Bucky's own. The man sidesteps around Bucky's bag to get to the last mini can of pringles. The teen watches in unabashed awe as the Alpha then zips his bag back up and leaves the store. 

 

The Alpha is several feet away, already walking down the abandoned road leading away from the tiny neighborhood and into the city when Bucky has an epiphany. Scrambling to grab his back, he runs out of the store.

 

"Hey!" He calls out after the Alpha who doesn't stop. Bucky shifts his backpack higher and jogs after the man. "Hey," he pants as he slows down. 

 

The Alpha doesn't spare him a second glance. "Need something, kid?" 

 

"I was just thinking. . . maybe we should stick together," Bucky says with a hopeful smile. "I'm Bucky," he adds gleefully. 

 

"No." The Alpha doesn't spare even the smallest glance toward him.

 

Bucky's smile falters, but it's still plastered on when laughs awkwardly. "C'mon, man," he says, maybe a little too desperately, "it's bad to travel around the city alone." 

 

"Go home, kid." The Alpha's voice is a borderline growl. 

 

The teen frowns at this, upset. "Bold of you to assume that I have a home." He continues walking with the man, but he's still tired enough that he slows his pace so that he is a few steps behind. 

 

The man doesn't answer him after that, and Bucky hopes it's because he regrets being an asshole. The rain has let up slightly, slowing from a downpour to a light drizzle, and Bucky narrowly avoids puddles that look too deep. He doesn't need wet socks. Wet socks mean gross, smelly feet, and he ran out of soap the week before.

 

The simple and smooth network of roads residing in Raymond, Washington are still discernable despite the overgrowth of grass and the holes and cracks that line them. Occasionally, Bucky hears a wild animal lurking in the surrounding forest. Other than the sounds of these animals, or the intermittent birdsong, the city is eerily silent. The few houses and buildings have all but faced away. Unkempt gardens and rotten wood replaced them. 

 

"Steve," the man says, startling Bucky from his observations. 

 

"Huh?"

 

The man has apparently chosen somewhere to rest: one of the only homes still standing. From the outside, it looks about as warm and cozy as a winter storm, and the Omega looks around to compare it to neighboring homes. Suddenly, as he takes in the sight of crumbled brick and a beehive, the chosen house doesn't seem so bad. 

 

"My name," the man—Steve, it seems—states. He then proceeds to prop his bag up against the stairs of wooden porch, unzipping it to pull out an impressive serrated knife. "Stay out here," he demands before entering the house.

 

Bucky stays. He stays outside, and he waits. He waits so long that he has to sit down on a creaky wooden step next to Steve's bag. He sighs, playing with a stray string on his maroon, fraying hoodie. Winter is near. He thinks it might be November. It's not cold enough to be December yet, but he has been to Washington in October before and it was a bit warmer then. 

 

Of course, there's always the chance that the world has become so fucked up during the apocalypse, that it's actually summertime and his brain is just trying to trick him. 

 

Around him, tall grass sways in the breeze, hiding the secrets of the forest. From his position on the porch, two successive thuds can be heard from inside the house. Then, the sound of a body—because what else would it be?—being dragged, then another. Doors are opened, footsteps march around, and finally, Steve returns. 

 

"Clear."

 

Bucky appreciates the update, even if he doesn't tell the Alpha outright. Steve plucks his bag from the bottom of the steps and Bucky follows him into the house. 

 

The interior is dank from the storm, and it smells musty—not overwhelmingly so, but enough that Bucky comments on it. Steve once again grunts in reply, laying down on the derelict couch and, because his legs are too long, he props his feet up on the arm of the furniture. The Alpha throws one arm over his face, scratching at his stomach with his other hand before letting his arm hang off the couch. 

 

Bucky stares for a minute or two, unsure of what to do. "Wh-," he begins to ask, but Steve's light snoring cuts him off. 

 

While the Alpha sleeps, Bucky explores the house. The downstairs area of the house has a small kitchen and dining room just off of the spacious living room, where Steve's slumber is still audible, a small bedroom with a half bath, and a set of stairs that lead him to the upstairs area. Upstairs are two more bedrooms, one being the master bedroom, and another that makes Bucky's stomach churn. 

 

This bedroom had belonged to a little girl. The walls are a faded pink, likely once a bright bubblegum pink, but that's not what has Bucky uneasy. Another wave of nausea hits him as he looks over the blood streaked along the walls. The small, bloody handprint of a child tapers off at the window, Disney stickers decorating it in such a way that Bucky thinks of his own sister. On the carpet before the window, a large bloodstain sits. 

 

Bucky all but slams the door, moving down the hall, back to the stairs. Once back in the living room, he takes a seat on the armchair across from Steve and closes his eyes, imagining what the house might have looked like, had it been his family living in it. Pure white or grey walls with blue accents instead of the current beige, dark brown furniture instead of the mustard yellow. Wooden flooring instead of carpet. Maybe they're still out there somewhere, he thinks blissfully, allowing the naive thoughts in as a distraction. 

 

When he wakes, it's dark and thunder claps outside. The storm has returned, full force. He panics, just for a second, because Steve is no longer sleeping across from him, but his mind is soothed once he spots the Alpha's bag sitting on the couch. He hears the man moving around in the kitchen. He sits up to investigate, but Steve is already reentering the living room. 

 

The blond passes him a bowl of canned chili. "Sleep well?" He asks in lieu of greeting, digging into his own bowl as the Omega does the same. His voice is rough, likely from a combination of disuse and sleep.

 

For a can of roughly five year old chili, it's pretty good. This could also just be Bucky's body disguising something completely disgusting as something delicious in the valiant hope that he will actually eat some food. It wouldn't be the first time.

 

"Good," Bucky says, about both the chili and his rest. 

 

The house is quiet for a moment, dark until lightning sparks for a second or two. Steve swallows, "the house has a generator in the basement. I wouldn't stay here too long, maybe a week or two." He informs, confusing Bucky. "It should hold up, as long as you don't turn on any lights. The stove is gas, but it sparks a little bit, so I would use the microwave." 

 

Fuck, Bucky thinks. Steve is still trying to get rid of him. The Alpha thinks he'll be able to just leave him at the house.

 

"So we'll leave in a week, then?" He asks innocently, batting his eyes.

 

"Listen, kid." Bucky damn near bristles at Steve's tone, like he's broadcasting his bigger stature through his voice. "I don't have time to watch over some little-." 

 

"I'm eighteen," Bucky hisses. 

 

"—kid," the Alpha finishes with emphasis. "I have enough of my own shit to deal with, I don't need whatever trouble is following you." 

 

"Everyone has enough of their own shit, Steve," Bucky says pointedly. "And nothin' is following me. My nose is clean as a whistle." 

 

"Not all whistles are clean," comes the dry response from Steve. 

 

"Well this one is." Bucky finishes his chili. "I'm not gonna give up, and you aren't leaving me here alone. You're stuck with me now." 

 

Steve, after being quiet for yet another minute as he stared at Bucky, says, "you're like a rash," before he stands, collecting their bowls and utensils, and walks away to the kitchen. 

 

As soon as he's out of sight, Bucky fist pumps the air, counting his win. 

 

Bucky: one, Steve: zero

 

Regardless of the home's level of sturdiness, they leave the next morning. Steve has gathered any light, yet useful, material the house had to offer, packed it into his very spacious bag—and Bucky's—and ushered the teen out after shoving a bigger, less worn hoodie into the boy's arms. After putting it on and pulling the hood over his head to protect him from the ongoing drizzle, he notices that the hoodie smells heavily of Alpha, of Steve. 

 

If he preens a little, well, he won't admit it aloud. 

 

He stays close to Steve as they approach an old, rusted orange pickup truck on the outskirts of the city, only holding back a few feet when the Alpha tells him to keep watch. There's no sign of intelligent or undead life aside from them, so Bucky opts to watch the man as he checks the truck for gas before hot-wiring it. It takes three tries, but the engine sputters to life and Steve nods for Bucky to get in.

 

"So," Bucky says after a couple minutes of on-the-road silence. "Where are we going?" 

 

"Roslyn." 

 

The name of his hometown surprises the Omega. "No shit?" 

 

Steve looks at him with ocean blue eyes, "why would I be joking about that?" 

 

"No reason, just. . ." Bucky takes a moment, thinking on his phrasing. "I grew up there. Why're we going there?" 

 

"It's just a stop along the way." And when Bucky asks what the endgame destination is, all Steve says is, "somewhere better." 

 

Roslyn is a near five hour drive from Raymond if they avoid going through any major cities. Bucky knows the truck doesn't have a five-hour trip in it, so he's not surprised when it breaks down on them after two hours on the road in Elbe. Mount Rainier sits dormant and ominously beautiful in the distance, mostly obscured by the overlay of pale grey clouds. 

 

The Cascades have always been one of Bucky's favorite things about Washington. The science behind volcanoes alone is enough to get him going on a tangent. Before the apocalypse, he had written several essays on volcanoes, all of which had gotten an A. He voices this to Steve as they walk through the cold air. Late November, Bucky confirms to himself as a particularly cold gust of wind nips at his nose. 

 

Steve doesn't express any amount of impress at Bucky's academia, but he does say that he believes they can make the two day walk to Roslyn with no problems. The Omega begs to differ, blinking furiously as more wind attempts to dry his eyes. 

 

"Walk?" He kicks a small rock out of his way as he walks by Steve's side. "To Roslyn, with no problems? I see a lot of problems." 

 

Steve shrugs, like the cold weather and journey haven't bothered him at all. "You don't have to come with me." 

 

They're moving further south, which Bucky doesn't understand, because they would get to Roslyn much quicker if they had taken the northern route. Elbe is, to put it simply, really fucking small, so he's not surprised to find that when he looks over his shoulder he can't see the town at all. They'll be cutting through the mountain, he figures. 

 

The scenery is gorgeous. Deep greens and snow on the peaks of the mountain remind him of the few roadtrips he and his family took. He always begged them to drive closer to Mount Rainier, and they actually did visit once for his thirteenth birthday, right before the outbreak. He spots a doe in the distance. It spooks when Steve's foot lands on a particularly loud and breakable dead branch, trotting away. 

 

He wishes he could be like that deer. A little less aware of the shit-show that has become the world, only having to spend his time grazing. Bucky stumbles over a rock and, after a pointed glance from Steve, forgets about his deer life. 

Chapter Text

Bucky just barely catches himself as he slips on a wet patch of grass. He lands with most of his weight on his right forearm, his left palm scraping forward as he slides against the ground. As Steve's large hand wraps around his left forearm to pull him back up, Bucky lets out a soft, pained gasp. 

 

Once Bucky is firmly on his feet, the Alpha asks, "what's wrong with your arm?" 

 

"Huh?" His eyes flick down to where his arm is covered by the hoodie Steve had given him hours ago. The sun has nearly set again, he thinks. Of course, there are still clouds blocking a majority of the star's natural brightness. 

 

Under the hoodie is a bandaged bite mark from a wild dog he had come across days ago. He thought it was friendly, had beckoned the retriever closer with some scraps of jerky before it seemed to snap out it's food-induced euphoria and latched its razor sharp teeth into Bucky's arm until he threw the entire bag of jerky away and the dog ran chasing after it. That was just before he had found the convenience store. 

 

"It's nothing," the Omega says nonchalantly with the hope that Steve would drop it. He doesn't.

 

Instead, Steve halts. "Didn't sound like nothing." He doesn't wait for Bucky's reply as he tugs the sleeve up to reveal the dirty bandage with a distinctly round patch. "Doesn't look like a scratch," he growls, eyes vibrant and angry in the dim light, "looks more like you were bit." 

 

Bucky yanks his arm from the Alpha's firm grasp, stumbling a foot or two. "I was bit," he holds his arm away from his chest, unwrapping it to reveal a mark that is decidedly not shaped like human teeth, "by a fucking dog, Steve. It was a little traumatizing, so I'm sure you can imagine why I don't want to talk about it." 

 

Steve doesn't verbally apologize, but he does look somewhat remorseful as he turns on his heel and continues his march forward through the town of Packwood. Bucky rewraps his arm with his last clean bandage as he follows slowly behind.

 

Once he spots the third inn, Bucky says, "I think we should stop here for the night." He lets his teeth chatter a bit louder than they normally would have, just so Steve can hear his desperation. 

 

"Why?" 

 

Bucky sputters, "um, are you not tired? We've been walking all day, like, twelve hours at least. My legs hurt, my bones hurt, Steve. I want to sleep, I want to sit down on something that isn't wet grass or a rock." 

 

As he finishes his rant, it's as though Steve has suddenly discovered the secret to everything. "Right, sorry," he mutters something under his breath that Bucky fails to hear. "Yeah, we'll stop." His eyes fall upon the same place that Bucky had been looking at. "Let's check that place out." 

 

That place is an old cabin-style home, and it is completely empty. There are no people with hardly any sign of them, and there is no food. One bedroom, a couch and a very small kitchen. Bucky nearly agrees with Steve that they find somewhere else for them to recuperate, but then he sees the bed. It's massive, and it looks so cozy that he doesn't care what Steve wants, so long as Bucky gets at least half of that bed. 

 

"Sleep on the bed, sleep on the floor," Bucky offers as he drops his bag and sheds the hoodie, leaving him in a thin tee-shirt and jeans before he crawls under the covers. "Sleep outside, if you want, but this feels amazing, and I won't mind sharing, if you want." 

 

Steve glares at the bed, and by proxy, at Bucky, like it has just done the most nefarious thing imaginable. He stares until Bucky is almost asleep before he drops his own bag by the door and slides under the duvet beside the Omega. 

 

"Doesn't this all seem a little strange to you?" He asks, his voice tinged with exhaustion that Bucky hadn't noticed before. "That this place is clean, like no one has ever been inside before?" 

 

The Alpha settles onto his back as Bucky says, "maybe a little, but we're in the middle of nowhere." His words are slurred together as he slowly falls asleep. 

 

"But everything is clean," Steve counters. "There isn't a speck of dust." 

 

Bucky doesn't answer, though he does hear the man, he's just too tired to convince his brain and mouth to work together.

 

 __________

 

He wakes to Steve's soft snoring in his ear, and the uncomfortable feeling of his back being too warm as it remains pressed flush against the man's chest. The Alpha had wrapped himself around Bucky while they slept. Moonlight peaks through the moving clouds in the night sky and seeps through the gap in the curtains by the window. It's not morning, so why did he wake up? 

 

Then, he hears it: a soft scraping of something against the wooden exterior of the cabin, and the doorknob jiggling.

 

The quickening of his breath must have woken Steve, because the man is moving swiftly across the room with the grace of a cat before Bucky can even blink. He motions for Bucky to stay where he is as he pulls his knife out of his bag and stands adjacent to the door. Steve has just held a finger up to his lips when the door busts open. 

 

Steve takes down the first intruder as a second slips past the two fighting men. The second intruder is an Alpha woman, middle aged with a terrifying smile spread across her face as she prowls toward the Omega. He clambers away until he falls off the bed, lamentably on the opposite side of his backpack. He can see it across the floor through the gap between the floor and the bed. The woman's feet are also visible, but he spots Steve's socked feet quickly advancing on her. 

 

She hits the ground, but promptly kicks at Steve's legs until he falls onto his knees. Both of them let out low, threatening growls. 

 

"Fell for the trap," she hisses, her eyes daring Steve to make a move. He doesn't. "Brought a pretty Breeder too. You'll taste good." 

 

Steve growls again, then. It's a resonant, almost territorial sound, "This is your only warning: leave. Now." 

 

Bucky's eyes track what the male Alpha's don't: the gun being pulled from behind the woman's back. His backpack is too far to make a grab for his own gun, and he isn't sure he has any bullets left. At the risk of spooking the woman, he shouts "gun!"

 

Steve lunges at her, knocking her back as he bashes his forehead against her nose and, taking advantage of her vulnerability in that moment, he shoves her against the cabin wall hard enough that her head hits the wall with a sickening crack. She slumps down to the floor. 

 

Neither of them move, staying as still as the two deceased intruders, save for Bucky's shoulders rising heavily with his breathing. After a minute or two of silence, Steve looks away from the woman's body. "We have to move." 

 

The Omega doesn't argue, pushing himself up off the floor and pulling their shared hoodie back over his head. He slips his backpack on and meets Steve by the door with a sigh. 

 

Outside, the air is harsh and biting, and the ground is dusted with snow. The Alpha stops just outside the house, causing Bucky to run into his back with a small umph. He pulls off his jacket and instructs the younger man to put it on. Bucky complies after a moment of surprise, reveling in the extra warmth. 

 

"Aren't you cold?" He asks as they descend the stairs of the cabin toward what used to be the intruders' car. 

 

After giving Bucky his jacket, Steve is left with only a thick flannel and the thin, long sleeved shirt under it. He can see the unfairness in the situation, having the man's two sources of warmth while the Alpha goes around in unsuitable attire for the unforgiving weather. 

 

Steve must have scavenged the car keys at some point, because they jingle in his hand as he opens the car door. "I'm fine," he says as they settle into the car. 

 

The car doesn't start, so they leave Packwood on foot. 

 

Slushy snow splashes under Bucky's converse-clad feet as the sun rising, bringing the temperature high enough to melt the snow a little. Around them, tall trees varying in shades of green, red and orange are coated lightly with the melting snow. It's peaceful, Bucky thinks as a couple of birds chirp, and the resounding peck of woodpeckers becomes more clear as the duo migrate along the road. 

 

Once they've neared the seventh hour, because Bucky has repeatedly been checking his old watch, and haven't stopped for a break in three hours, he starts to complain. Loudly. 

 

"Steve," he whines from a few paces behind the man. The sun is more prominent today, peaking out from behind pale grey-white clouds, but the dark clouds of another incoming storm loom in the distance  

 

Before he can say anything else, Steve glances over his shoulder and says, "we're less than twenty minutes from an old ski resort, we'll stop there." 

 

Bucky groans, but he doesn't complain further. "Maybe there's a working car there," he hopes out loud. 

 

The White Pass Ski Resort has no vehicles for them, but a little ways down the road is the White Pass Village Inn, and it has several to choose from. Steve decides on the biggest vehicle there, a worn down Jeep Wrangler. The jeep's blue paint has faded and they have to siphon some gas into it, but it will definitely do the job better than their last vehicle. 

 

"How 'bout that," Bucky grins as he climbs up into the passenger seat. "We just cut our remaining twenty-three hour walk into a two and a half hour drive." 

 

Steve shoots him a look of both amusement and annoyance, but doesn't take the bait of conversation. 

 

When the rumbling of the jeep starts to annoy him, Bucky begins to shift around with searching hands. He opens the glovebox, then the middle compartment before he makes a small "ah-hah!" sound. 

 

There are only two discs, an old Carrie Underwood album from 2007 and an even older Tim McGraw CD, but Bucky sings along anyway. Carnival Ride was Becca's favorite, she played it on every roadtrip they had together. This is his way of remembering her now, through old songs and imagining her small voice singing in the seat behind him. 

 

After Carnival Ride ends and Bucky is switching CDs, Steve asks, "so, you grew up in Roslyn?" 

 

The Omega peers at the man from the passenger seat. He's made himself comfortable, with the hoodie bunched up in a makeshift pillow under his head as he reclines the seat.

 

"Yeah. I was born in Russia though," he sighs softly, remembering the story. "My parents were on vacation visiting my babushka and I wasn't due for another month but the flight was canceled because there was a fuckin' massive blizzard moving right through the fight path. My mom flipped out because she was gonna miss her last doctor's appointment before the due date and, well, my mom was always a worrier and it sent her into an early labor." Bucky turns to look at Steve and he's pleased to see a faint smile on the man's face before he realizes he's being watched. "They ended up stuck in Russia for the whole month while I was in the NICU." 

 

Steve lets out a short chuckle and it's the most attractive sound he's ever heard from the man, except perhaps the territorial growl from early that morning. "Sounds to me like you've always been a troublemaker." 

 

"Ugh," the Omega groans. "Now you sound like my babushka." He watches the trees pass them as they speed down the road before he continues. "I did grow up in Roslyn though, would'a graduated this year too. Cle Elum-Roslyn High School, class of twenty-eighteen." He finishes with a sardonic laugh. 

 

Steve sucks in a sharp breath, letting it out as he says, "you were just a kid during the Outbreak." 

 

"Yeah," Bucky looks away. "Thirteen years old, wondering why the news anchors kept interrupting my stupid TV time, and why there were cities being evacuated and bombed and quarantined," his voice is bitter and he sighs again, yet another sign that he's grown up far too fast. "I still don't understand what happened." 

 

Steve doesn't answer him after that, but Bucky doesn't blame him. He hates talking about the Outbreak too. He remembers the worst of it like it was yesterday. 

 

APRIL 07, 2013.

"Mom!" Bucky shouted as he entered the house. He saw the ancient Ford truck belonging to his parents in the driveway, so he was positive that they were inside. "They closed the school and sent us all home." 

 

Winifred looked at her son with wet eyes while her husband held nine-year old Becca in his arms. "Come here, honey," she beckons him forward with open arms and pulls him in for a tight hug once he's close enough. 

 

"Are you okay, mom?" He frowned and looked over her shoulder at the television. 

 

Tony Stark was on the screen, the Iron Man faceplate lifted up to reveal his face as he spoke to the news anchor at the scene. He was pleading for them to leave the area.  Behind him, Captain America's shield whooshed by, followed with a loud clanking sound and a distant explosion. 

 

The news headline read: HYDRA RELEASES AIRBORNE CONTAMINANT. ALL MAJOR CITIES TO EVACUATE. Then, it switched to: AVENGERS ARE BATTLING HYDRA FORCES IN PORTLAND. 

 

APRIL 09, 2013

Roslyn was one of the few cities to remain virtually untouched by the "airborne contaminant" which the people had dubbed the Serpent's Virus. Bucky hated the nickname, he thought it was stupid. 

 

The school district did, however, remain closed. No one left their homes, or strayed to far from any device that they could hear the news from. The government had gone silent on the events and hadn't released any statements or spoken publicly for two days. They hadn't directly heard from the president in a week. 

 

Bucky was outside playing with Becca when the Humvees arrived. Three of them, all full of soldiers, parked on different streets and began to urge Roslyn residents to begin the long journey to Tacoma, where a military-based safe camp was established. 

 

They made it all the way to the northern outskirts of Seattle before it was announced that the safe camp was overrun.

 

Three days later, Bucky was separated from his family when a horde of walkers forced them to separate. 

 

He hasn't seen them since. 

Chapter Text

Bucky is halfway through a bag of Cheetos ten miles outside of Roslyn when a voice crackles into the quiet space of the jeep's interior. He had left it on for some background noise, since Steve didn't seem to keen on repeating the two albums. Steve's right hand immediately leaves the wheel, going straight for the radio. He turns the dial until the voice becomes more clear, though they still can't hear everything. 

 

". . . had to move. . . -no idea where-. . . " It takes all of ten seconds to realize two things: one, this is a looped message, and two, this message is likely meant for Steve. "Steve, it's Clint," the message clears up as the get closer to Roslyn. "We had to move, there was a horde on the move. I hope you make it out of Roslyn alright, man. We have no idea where we're going, but we'll try and make contact. Nat found some military guys who have some busted satellite equipment. We're going to try and find Tony. Head east, that's where we're going. These military guys want to stop at the CDC headquarters. Stay safe, man." 

 

He frowns, looking to Steve. The message begins to replay, so he turns the volume down. The Alpha shows no visible emotion except that he appears to be in deep thought. Bucky is almost worried about crashing, he looks so concentrated.

 

"Steve?" 

 

The man's gaze snaps toward him, "what?" Then, he pulls off to the side of the road. The Roslyn welcome sign is just ahead of them. There's a walker a couple yards behind it, trudging around over the light dusting of snow on the ground.

 

Bucky lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He looks away from the walker. "That message was for you, wasn't it?" 

 

Steve nods, turning the radio down. "Can I see your map?" 

 

Bucky reaches for his bag, digging through it until he finds the map at the bottom, buried under what little clothes and food he has left. "It's got some stains on it but. . ." He hands it over, watching as Steve not-so-carefully unfolds it, spreading the map across the steering wheel. 

 

"If we go down to I82 then. . ." Steve starts muttering directions to himself, most of which involve cutting through the midwestern states until they reach Georgia. "Or we could go north first. . . but that adds an extra day or two. . ." He cuts himself off with a prolonged sigh. 

 

Bucky turns his gaze back to the walker. It still hasn't noticed them, but it's getting closer to the jeep. He takes a swig from his water bottle. 

 

A twinge of pain in his arm has him suggesting, "we should stay here for the night. 

 

Steve looks up from the map. "After what happened last time?" 

 

The Omega rolls his eyes, "you can't just assume that everywhere is the same." 

 

"You should learn to be more cautious." 

 

"Well, you," and he can't think of anything, so he says, "you should at least let me drive. You've been driving all day, it's gotta be tiring." The walker is a few feet closer now. "We can stop by my old house, check to see if there's anything useful left, and you can be the navigator when we leave."

 

Finally, something the Alpha can't argue with. Steve lets out another long sigh. "Can you even drive?" 

 

"Of course I can drive." Bucky doesn't mention that his first few tests drives ended in three wrecked cars, all because he had the joyous task of teaching himself. "Come on, my house is, like, three blocks down."

 

Bucky's old home is actually four blocks down, he realizes as they pull into the dirt driveway. There is no sign that anyone has been around in a while, at least not outside the house. Vines and nearby trees have grown up and around the red brick walls, and a few branches even reach into the windows around broken glass. He swallows the tightness growing in his throat, hopping out of the jeep and taking a few steps toward the house.

 

"Wait," Steve says, one of his large hands landing on Bucky's shoulder. "Do you want me to check it out first?"

 

The younger male shakes his head, ignoring the feeling of dread sitting low in his stomach. "No, we'll go in together." 

 

Inside the house, it's quiet. The small kitchen is still intact for the most part, as well as the dining and living room areas. Steve goes down the hall to check the guest bedroom while Bucky ascends the stairs. Upstairs are three bedrooms: his, his parents' and Becca's. He checks her's first, but it's untouched. Everything is exactly as he remembers it being five years prior, oddly enough. 

 

Steve meets him at the master bedroom door and they check the room together. It's been picked at. The room is messier than when he and his family had fled the house, so he knows someone has gone through it. The clothes are all gone, save for his father's old military uniform and his mother's wedding dress that hangs in the closet. The bed has been flipped up onto its side, blocking the window, but other than the broken lamp on the ground, there's not much of a mess.

 

Bucky grabs the dog tags that lay upon the uniform and put them into his pocket. Then, he grabs a knocked over picture frame and pulls the family photo out of it before folding it and slipping that into his pocket as well. 

 

"Is your old room the last one?" Steve asks quietly.

 

Bucky nods, but then says, "I don't want to go in there." 

 

"It needs to be cleared, Bucky."

 

"You do it," the Omega huffs out before going back downstairs. 

 

It only takes Steve a few minutes before he comes down to join Bucky in his rummaging through the kitchen. Clutched in the Alpha's hand is a piece of paper. Bucky's eyes linger on it when Steve holds it out to him.

 

"You should read this," the man says before taking over on the scavenging. 

 

Bucky hadn't left a note when they left the house, so either his family came back here for a brief time, or it's from a stranger. 

 

His eyes well up with tears as he begins to read. 

 

Hi big brother!

It's Becca. Mom and dad are gone . It's been three years. I'm twelve now! That means you're fifteen sixteen! I can't stay here because the group I'm with is headed to Georgia, they have family there, and there's an Army camp. It's a safe place. They're nice, but I wish you were here. There's a nice lady named Maria who helped me after I lost mom and dad. She reminds me of mom. I hope you're okay. If you read this, please come find us. I love you, Bucky! 

-- Love Becca 

 

By the time Bucky has finished reading, he's slumped against the wall, tears streaming down his cheeks. Steve must be making a point to not look at him, because he keeps his back to him, even as a short sob leaves his throat. He sniffles, folding up the letter and stuffing it into his jacket pocket, wiping his face with his sleeves. 

 

He stands, moving to Steve's side. Looking up at the side profile of the Alpha, he's struck by a wave of familiarity, like he's seen the man before all of this. He looks good, handsome, Bucky thinks, and a wave of warmth spreads in his abdomen. It's a strange sensation, one that scares him, so instead of addressing it, he says, "I don't want to stay in town tonight." 

 

Steve looks up from reading the expiration date on a bag of, well, something, and meets Bucky's eyes. "Alright." He puts the bag into their duffel bag of food and asks, "do you still want to drive?" 

 

The Omega nods, inadvertently scenting the man before he stumbles backward, snatching the keys from Steve's outstretched hand. Steve tosses the newly filled duffel into the backseat, and, after a moment of staring at the bag, grabs the Cheetos from the floorboard as he sits in the passenger seat.

 

Bucky has never driven a jeep before, though he's always wanted to. The jeep is a bit different than the 2004 Toyota Corolla that he taught himself with, and Steve might have held his breath every time the Omega hit the brakes for the first fifteen minutes or so, but he catches on pretty quick.

 

Soon enough, they're speeding down the abandoned highways toward Idaho, and Steve is munching on the remaining Cheetos as he guides Bucky down some back roads that will keep them out of any big cities.

 

Something akin to relief settles in Bucky at the knowledge that maybe, just maybe, his baby sister is alright. 

Chapter Text

They're somewhere just north of Salt Lake City when they use up the last of the gas in the jeep. Bucky, who has been driving the full twelve hours, pulls off to the side of the road and looks over to Steve, who had fallen asleep about two hours out of Boise. The man snores softly, unaware of the Omega's reluctance to wake him, and Bucky shifts uncomfortably.

 

Fortunately, it seems that Bucky doesn't have to wake him, because the man jerks awake upon realizing that they are no longer moving.

 

"What's wrong?" He mumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

 

"Outta gas," Bucky replies, leaning back in his seat. "And we were already running low on water in Idaho, but now we're out of that too." Then, for good measure, he says, "you also ate all of my Cheetos." 

 

Steve, grumpy in the brief two minutes that he's been awake, grumbles something about them being his chips as he tucks his gun into the holster on his right hip and exits the jeep. Bucky observes as he walks a few feet back to the last street sign and finds it on the multi-city they had picked up during their last stop. He walks back to the jeep and tells the Omega to grab his stuff as he throws his own bag over his shoulder. 

 

After a few minutes of walking, still a few miles from the store the Alpha has picked, Bucky softly says, "Steve? There's something else, too." 

 

The man, a couple strides ahead, slows his pace to match the Omega's. "What is it?" His voice is gruff, like always, and he sounds like he'd rather be anywhere else, but he usually sounds like this. 

 

"I, uh." Bucky stumbles over his words, shaking his head. He wonders how the Alpha hadn't noticed in the car, but he was asleep or otherwise distracted for most of the trip. "Never mind, doesn't matter." 

 

Less than a minute later, the wind picks up, blowing Bucky's scent toward Steve. The man tenses, his pace slowing even further.

 

"Bucky."

 

"Yeah?"

 

Steve clears his throat as the wind continues. "Are you going into heat?" 

 

"Yeah," once again, his voice is meek and embarrassed. He can feel the slick leaking from him, not too much, but enough to know. Enough for his underwear to feel damp, and enough to put his scent out there for any interested Alphas—and Steve. "'M sorry." 

 

Steve shakes his head and comes to a full stop, looking back at the jeep, then to their surroundings. There are no houses in sight, nowhere safe for them to go. 

 

"Don't apologize for something you can't control," Steve tells him. "Okay, okay. . . Alright, we still need to get gas, and more food and water, and right now the jeep is the safest place to be." Oh no, Bucky knows exactly where he's going with this. The Alpha gives him the keys. "You go sit in the jeep, stay vigilant. I'm going to get what we need, and I'll be back within the hour." 

 

Bucky opens and closes his mouth, quite like a fish, but can't form any argument that doesn't sound completely ridiculous. 

 

"If anything or anyone shows up, or tries to hurt you, lock the doors and get the jeep as far as it'll go on fumes. The convenience store is about four miles up the road. Otherwise, stay in the jeep." As Steve finishes instructing Bucky on the common sense of what to do, he's already stepping back into a jog. "I'll be back," he promises before turning on his heel and breaking out into a fairly quick run. 

 

Once he's back in the jeep, Bucky's nerves spike, both as a result of his impending heat, and the fact that he's alone in an area unknown to him. Every noise spooks him, and the heat fever is causing him to sweat. 

 

It's only his second heat since presenting, and his first had been horrible. He had holed up in an abandoned shack in the outskirts of Olympia, and it was a painful and terrifying experience. He only came twice in the whole six days he was there, and the fact that the heat only lasted six days was a shock in itself, since he was taught that heats typically a ten-to-fourteen day affair, and Barnes Omegas are always closer to fourteen days.

 

A bird squawks somewhere to his left, off the passenger side of the jeep, and he jumps in his seat. The sun hangs low in the sky, providing just enough daylight for Bucky to see about twenty feet away from the vehicle in all directions. He can't help but wonder how Steve is going to find him in the dark, but he remembers his father telling him once that even in the dark, Alphas have fantastic eyesight. Still, Bucky is nervous. 

 

The wet feeling under his bottom increases when he thinks about Steve, he notices, so he does his best to put the Alpha out of his mind. Instead of thinking about Steve, he thinks about—the sound he has just heard from behind the jeep. A hacking cough, continuous and getting closer to him. He slowly shifts in his seat, silently reaffirming that yes, the doors are still locked and yes, he still has his knife in his lap. 

 

The coughing stops briefly, but a hand slams against the driver's side window. Bucky screams, his eyes wide and mouth agape as the bloody hand slides across and reveals a face directly behind it.

 

The stranger's face is just barely visible, but Bucky can tell that he's sick. His face is sunken in, eyes gaunt and cheeks hollow, and his dark skin seems to have a grey hue to it. The Omega has seen these symptoms before, something that came after the walkers.

 

While there's no official name for it, the people of the apocalypse have taken to calling it the Dead Man's Sickness. Everyone he's ever seen with this illness has died, but none of them came back as walkers. The Sickness rots people from the inside out, essentially turning them into a walker while their brain is still functioning. It's a rare occurrence, but Bucky has seen a handful of people with the illness. 

 

The man coughs again, spraying blood against the window. Bucky jerks back, breathing heavily. He hopes Steve was close enough to hear his scream, because the man begins to hit the window and the Omega's hands are shaking so terribly that he drops the keys twice in his frantic attempts to start the jeep, and now he can't seem to get the key in the hole.

 

The window vibrates under the force of the man's fist and Bucky lets out a terrified sob that turns into a sob of relief as the key makes it into the ignition. He slams his foot against the gas pedal, but immediately hits the breaks as he spots Steve just a few yards in front of the jeep, highlighted by the headlights as he runs toward him. The Alpha is carrying a gas can in one hand and a bag, likely from the convenience store, in the other. 

 

The stranger has caught up with the jeep, continuing to slam his hands against the window, and he even croaks out a few words, though Bucky can't understand him past all of his own crying and the utter panic that has settled into his body. 

 

Finally, Bucky gains enough breath to yell "Steve!" once more. The Alpha all but throws the gas can, the convenience store bag and his backpack toward the passenger side of the jeep before yanking the sick man away from the jeep, bringing them both into the light. This only causes Bucky more panic, because now Steve has touched a man with one of the most dangerous diseases he's personally seen. 

 

The man makes to grab at Steve's neck, but the latter sends a swift kick to the man's stomach, sending him down onto his back. Their fight is fairly anticlimactic after Steve draws his gun and puts the man out of his misery. After all, there's no cure for the Dead Man's Sickness. Bucky is still crying though, because in the light of the headlights, he can see the man's likely toxic dark blood on Steve's hands, and his clothes, likely from when he kicked the man. He's never heard of contracting the sickness from just touching, but he can't know for sure that Steve won't get sick.

 

Strangely enough, the Alpha doesn't seem too worried as he motions for Bucky to back the jeep away from the dead man's corpse.  Then, once the Omega and the jeep are a safe distance away from the corpse, Steve approaches the window and washes it off with some of the water he got from the store. The blond beckons for him to get out of the jeep before he begins to rid himself of his clothing, which also dons the stranger's blood.

 

Bucky complies, still shedding tears as he hops down from the vehicle. "Steve. . ." He croaks, sniffling as he takes a step forward. They're in front of the jeep now, in need of the light being emitted from the headlights. The Alpha rids himself of his top two layers of jackets before pulling his shirt over his head. 

 

"It's fine, Buck," his voice has a soothing air to it as he slips out of his jeans. "I need you to pour some water over my hands, okay? Can you do that for me?" 

 

The Omega sniffles again, a sound that seems deafening in the otherwise quiet area. "Uh huh," he nods, picking up a new bottle and breaking the seal with shaky hands. His heat isn't bothering him as much, having been temporarily pushed back due to his instincts taking over. 

 

He trembles as Steve, who is left in only his briefs, washes the blood from his hands under the stream of water. It takes nearly the whole bottle before he deems his hands safe. Bucky is still crying, quiet and infrequent sobs that blend in with the rumble of the jeep's engine. 

 

"Bucky," Steve brings his newly clean hand up to cradle the Omega's jaw. "I'm not gonna get sick. You trust me, don't you?" When Bucky nods, the Alpha smiles faintly, something Bucky wants to see all the time, even in this minuscule way. 

 

"Trust you," he says through another half-sob. Steve's thumb traces the line of his jaw, a soothing motion. This close, Bucky can see the raised goosebumps on his skin. "Y'er cold." 

 

"So are you," Steve says, and he's right. He is cold, but he hadn't noticed until it was pointed out to him. 

 

"I have clothes on, though." The Alpha seems pleased that Bucky can form a full sentence without sobbing, and he moves to take a step back, but the boy drops the capped bottle and latches his hands onto Steve's wrist. "No!"

 

"Bucky," he soothes again. "I need to put on some clothes." 

 

"Please don't leave me!" Bucky shakes his head rapidly, another choked out sob leaving him. 

 

"I'm not leaving," Steve says as he gently tugs at the Omega's grip on his forearm. He sighs, leading Bucky to the passenger side seat before he lifts him up into the jeep. "I'm just going to get dressed and put some gas in the jeep, okay? You'll be able to see me the whole time." 

 

"'Kay," Bucky nods. 

 

He watches as Steve frees a rolled up, light grey tshirt and a pair of jeans from his backpack and pulls them on. As the man uses the last of the almost-empty bottle to wash the blood from his boots, Bucky makes a mental note to find him a new jacket. He must be cold, he thinks as a chill comes over his own body. 

 

After lacing up his boots, Steve picks up the gas can and tips it to empty it into the jeep. It must have been hard, running with a nearly full two gallons of gas and a ten pound backpack on. Steve is strong, the kind of Alpha Bucky's mother would have liked for him, if they set aside the ten-plus years between their ages. 

 

"Steve," Bucky's voice is hoarse from screaming and crying. "When I—. When my heat comes back—I want you to—If you want to. . . Will you take care of me?" 

 

The Alpha's head shoots up, and Bucky can see his eyes darken, even in the faint glow of the headlights. He takes a deep breath before asking, "is that what you want?" 

 

Without hesitation, Bucky's eyes meet Steve's and he says yes. 

Chapter Text

"What do I smell like?" Bucky asks when the jeep slows to a stop in front of an abandoned house—the third one, in fact. The first two had been too wasted away, too dangerous for Bucky to be safe during his heat. All of the houses are spread thin along the street. It's only been half an hour since the sick stranger, and he can feel his heat returning. 

 

As soon as the jeep stops, Steve looks over at him, once curious brow raised. "Huh?" In front of them, the front of the house is lit up by the headlights. Faded brick, vines and overgrowth have made it into something akin to a haunted house.

 

The Omega shrugs. He avoids making eye contact by looking out the window. "Y'know, my scent. What's it smell like?" The heat fever is causing him to sweat again, and apparently, it's impairing his brain-to-mouth filter. Steve's silence causes Bucky to spare a glance at him.

 

Looking mildly uncomfortable with the question, the older man distracts himself by grabbing his gun. Steve ensures that it's loaded before instructing Bucky to stay in the jeep. He's gone for all of three minutes before he's climbing back into the driver's seat with a muted sigh. This house is a no-go as well, it seems.

 

"Apples," the Alpha says as soon as they're back on the main road. "Vanilla and cinnamon. . . It's stronger now, almost spicy."

 

It takes Bucky a minute to realize Steve is answering the question about his scent. Apples, vanilla and cinnamon isn't what he was expecting, but the thought reminds him of his mother's favorite dessert, apple crumble. She and Bucky used to make it every other Sunday.

 

Steve's scent is nearly indescribable. Strong like honey and crisp like the air right before a storm. Sometimes it's soft, clouded by a woodsy, firewood scent. Everything about his scent is musky and soothing and incredibly alluring.

 

The next house they stop at is another five miles up the road, and it's already a step up from the last one. There are some vines, but the one tree near the house is just too far for it to have broken any windows with its large branches. Steve tells him to stay in the jeep before exiting once more. Bucky's eyes trail after the Alpha and linger on the door for a couple minutes before he's back, a minute smile on his lips.

 

"This one's good." He says after opening the back door of the vehicle to grab the grocery bag as well as his duffel. "It's a little dusty, but it's clean for the most part. Doesn't look like anyone's been here in a long time."

 

After their last run in with a suspiciously clean house, it seems that Steve has taken to avoiding any sort of cleanliness. Dust is good, Bucky thinks. Dust means it's safe.

 

The house has two floors, with a master bedroom downstairs, and the remaining two upstairs. Steve drops his duffel onto the ground at the left side of the king sized bed in the master, but leaves the grocery bag on the bed itself before moving to leave the room.

 

When Bucky notices the Alpha's intention, he frowns. "Steve?" 

 

The blond man looks over his shoulder, a reassuring smile just barely gracing his lips. "I'm just checking out the kitchen for any leftover food and water. Then, I'm going to move the jeep to the back of the house. Get settled, I'll be right back."

 

Bucky sits on the bed, the duvet making a brief thump as the covers shift under his weight. Steve had closed the curtains before his exit, so the moonlight remained outside, and the only thing illuminating the room was the utility lantern that the Alpha had left in the room. Bucky takes this moment to search the grocery bag. 

 

Inside the bag is a box of condoms, extra large, he notes with a raised brow, a bottle of lube, and a candy bar. A Payday, his favorite. Steve bought all of this before Bucky had asked him to see him through his heat, so he must like him at least a little bit, right?

 

Extra large, though. Bucky wonders if the man actually needs that size, or if they were simply the last box. 

 

The Omega is holding the candy bar in one hand, and the condom box in the other when Steve comes back. He stops by the door, taking in the scene. 

 

"I thought—." Steve shakes his head. "I hoped you might ask me," he says honestly. "If you didn't, I would've tossed the box the next chance I got, or traded it for supplies if we found a community. And I remember you saying that those were your favorite candy bars. Figured it might help if you had something you like." 

 

I like you, Bucky thinks. He says, "thank you."

 

The Alpha takes a hesitant seat next to him on the bed, then bounces against it as a test. Bucky assumes that Steve comes to the same conclusion he had: the sizable bed is comfortable. 

 

Butterflies flutter in Bucky's stomach, and he relishes in the man's closeness. Their hands are sitting side-by-side between them. The duvet is silky smooth under his palm as he inched his hand closer to Steve's own. Finally, his fingertips brush against the older man's, and their eyes meet. Slowly, as so not startle either of them, Bucky pulls the Alpha's hand up and onto his thigh, never breaking eye contact. 

 

As soon as Steve's hand meets the rough, denim covering Bucky's thigh, he leans forward. They simply breath each other's air for a minute or two, their foreheads resting against each other. The younger man can't help but think about how soft Steve's lips look, or how much he loves the feeling of the Alpha's breath ticking just below his nose. 

 

"Are you sure about this?" Steve asks for what has to be the millionth time. 

 

Bucky nods, and warmth blossoms in his chest as their lips meet tentatively, just a brush at first. He leans further into the kiss as Steve's hand brushes up to his hip. His own hands find their way up, one resting on Steve's shoulder while the other allows him to card his fingers through the man's hair. 

 

He can feel a tingling sensation between his thighs as his slick begins to leak, and he lets out a soft whimper against Steve's lips. The man shifts their position, cradling Bucky's back as he lowers him down onto the bed. He rests between the Omega's legs, leaning over him and he stops their kissing in favor of taking in Bucky's appearance before all but diving back in for more. 

 

This kiss is different from the first. Where their first kiss was sweet and soft, this one is almost hungry and possessive. Steve takes everything Bucky gives him, his tongue slipping into the Omega's mouth as his rough palms sliding up under Bucky's shirt. Their mingling scents fill the room as Steve makes quick work of removing the boy's shirt and jeans, revealing his soft stomach and creamy thighs. He then sheds his own shirt, and Bucky whines as his eyes rake over the man's muscles. 

 

In all honesty, Bucky's first thought upon seeing, well, all of Steve, is that he definitely needs the extra large condoms. His cock is long and thick, and Bucky wonders if his slick will be enough. 

 

Steve sits back on his heels as he helps Bucky pull his briefs down, then gently spreads his legs with his warm hands. Startling at his knee, the Alpha peppers kisses and nibbles softly as he moves closer to Bucky's own hard member. Then, he licks a stripe up the boy's cock before sliding it into his mouth. 

 

The Omega moans, a loud and shameless sound that escapes him before he can even think about it. One of Steve's hands gathers some of Bucky's slick, using it to lube two of his fingers before working one of them into the Omega's hole. His tongue swirls around the head of Bucky's dick before he lifts his head up. 

 

Bucky looks absolutely wrecked. His lips are swollen from their kissing and how much he's been biting them. His eyes close as his head dips back when Steve works another finger into him, curling and spreading them to work the Omega open. 

 

"Oh, fuck," he moans. "More, please, Alpha—." Bucky cuts himself off with another moan when Steve's fingers find his prostate. "Fuck!"

 

After working a third finger into Bucky, Steve seems to deem him ready, because he grabs a condom from the box and rolls it onto his length. 

 

The Alpha's voice is thick with need as he asks, "are you ready?" The tip of his cock is sitting against the boy's stretched hole.

 

Bucky nods emphatically, his legs spread a bit wider to accommodate the man between them. "Please, Alpha, fuck me."

 

The pair groans in unison as Steve's cock slides into Bucky's wet heat. At first, Steve doesn't move, allowing the boy to adjust for his size. Bucky buries his face into the Alpha's neck, nuzzling his scent gland and breathing in as he begins to rock onto the man's dick. 

 

Steve takes this as permission to move, and he steadily thrusts in and out of the Omega, who is panting heavily against his neck with little moans at every other thrust. The Alpha props himself up with his forearm resting beside Bucky's head as his other hand holds one of the boy's thighs.

 

"H-Harder," Bucky says with a groan before his lips meet Steve's neck in a bruising kiss. Once he's sure he's left a mark, he moans, "Fuck me harder, Alpha."

 

The Alpha growls, bending Bucky's knees toward the boy's chest before he begins to pound into him with short, erratic thrusts. The Omega shouts as his prostate is hit in nearly every thrust, and he drags his short nails down the man's back, who slams into Bucky particularly hard in response. 

 

Bucky can feel Steve's knot inflating, and he can feel his own orgasm approaching. He wraps a hand around his cock, squeezing it as he strokes himself. The feeling of Steve's knot filling him up is more than enough to send him spiraling into ecstasy as the Alpha chases his own release with a choked out growl.

 

Once Bucky comes back to himself, there is a shift in the air. Steve is laying on his back beside him, breathing deep, but he isn't sleeping. He catches Bucky peering up at him, and he wraps an arm around him to pull him close, tucking him into his side. His large hand rests on the Omega's exposed hip.

 

"Sleep, Omega." His voice is a soothing rumble, and Bucky lays his head on the man's chest. "I'll still be here."

 

In a bout of restlessness and an inability to fall asleep, Bucky tucks his face up in the Alpha's neck to scent him. A minute later, Steve scents the boy's hair. Only then, does he sleep.