#possibleplatypus

So.

The butt wiggle went from a cute, funny thing that Steve would (lovingly) make fun of Bucky for doing on instinct to a sexy thing that Bucky also does on instinct. A different instinct though...

An instinct when he's at the start of his heat and hasn't really lost all of himself quite yet, but he's just beginning to feel the true, ravenous desperation sink its teeth into him. In the period between just feeling a little hot and sweaty, more sensitive than normal as well, and the period he never remembers in the middle of his heat. He never remembers none of the middle, most desperate part of his heat other than the hunger and Steve. Steve satisfying him. Fucking him again and again. With his cock. His fingers. Toys. Steve using his mouth. Sucking his dick. Rimming him. Biting him. Doing anything to sate the hunger gnawing at him; to throw water onto the flames burning inside him, creating steam and smoke for just a brief intermission until the flames build back up into another wave.

But, yeah, he remembers the beginning of his heat well.

He remembers stepping out of the shower, just beginning to towel off, and realizing that while he was washing off his sweat... he started leaking. Bucky feels it between his legs.

Wet.

Hot.

Buckitty leans back to touch himself with gentle fingers but the second he touches his puffy, wet rim, a shiver rockets through him. Igniting him. Oh.

A whine slips out of him. Helpless. He can't choke down the sound.

Need is the first screaming thought he has. Then mate. Then- Heat.Breed.Mate.Steve.Breed.Mount.Mount.Mate.Need.Steve. His thoughts become one calamity, desperate and loud. So loud that he's got to drop to his knees. Right there in the bathroom, water still wet and glistening on his bare yet overheated skin. He drops to his knees.

Moan.

Bucky moans, aching for more as if touching himself to see whether or not he was really already wet activated his heat. A switch flipped. And it leaves him crawling.

Crawling on his hands and knees out to the bedroom from the master bath.

He gets as far as the doorway in from the hallway into the bedroom, not even onto the bed, before he gives up. Gives in. With a feral feline-like sound, he gives in. Needy and almost yowling, he stays there, he will wait for Steve to come and find him. The fire burning through him leaves him too weak to do anything.

Still on all fours, Bucky lets his shaking arms fold- collapse really. Collapsing down until he's got his chest to the floor while his hips stay up. His messy, wet hole clenches around nothing. Ass up and dripping. He's dripping wet, the trails of his slick rushing down his trembling thighs. He's dripping wet and so, so empty.

Bucky has no idea how long he stays there for; kneeling in the doorway to their bedroom, the door shut behind him, ready for Steve to open. Ready to swing out to reveal his desperate kitty. His kitty in heat. Ass pointed up and out, begging for it. Steve could walk right in the door and take him.

Yes, Bucky thinks, lost in his own empty head. He wants Steve to do that already. He wants Steve to open the poor and pounce on him. Take him. Shove his cock into his crying hole and make it all better.

Hazy, whining, and day-dreaming about touching himself but never actually doing so, Bucky stays. He stays, like any good pet would. Still, although whining about staying still.

He's completely helpless; rendered useless by his heat. Poor baby isn't even able to lift a weak hand up to stuff himself with his own fingers or fist his little weeping, throbbing cock, taking off the edge. He can't. Can't. His instincts all scream for him to wait for his mate too. Wait for the first touch. Wait for him like a good pet, a good little sex doll with slick trickling down his inner thighs like rivers and with sweat rolling up his deeply arched spine- sweat is beading in his hairline too. His mouth is lazy-open, panting, making stupid little sounds.

Please. Please. Hurry. Bucky thinks. Steve is out doing... something? Somewhere? Whatever. Bucky knows Steve knows that he's on the edge of heat so... he should be back soon.

Soon.

Over the sound of his own impatient whining, Bucky hears Steve.

"Kitty-?"

He's talking like he's been asking around for him for a while but has yet to receive and answer. Bucky cannot answer. He just mewls softly, clawing the floor and wiggling his hips. Left to right. Right to left. It doesn't matter. He wiggles his hips. His chemical soaked brain tells him to do it, to entice his mate with the vision of his twitching, wet hole makes and with the smell. He smells desperate. Like sex. He smells like he's in heat. Like he needs his mate to take care of him. Now. He needs it now. Please.

Bucky's just about to break out into a yowl, hurting for Steve to find him and Take Him. Take away the ache. The emptiness. The fever. But...

The door opens. Swinging out.

Leaving Bucky exposed to Steve's unsuspecting eyes.

Exposed to Steve and to the cold air, Bucky feels the hallway air rush over his skin. Leaving him shuddering. Goosebumps are all over him. He digs his claws in harder and tips his hips up higher, wiggling more.

Take me. Take me. Take me. Take me; he begs with his body.

He begs and Steve answers, speechless but growling right from his chest, deep and animal. It vibrates through Bucky at just the right frequency, shattering him. "Steve, Steve, oh, Steve-! Please! Need you, need-"

Steve lands with a thump on his knees behind his kitty. Later he'll have bruises on his knees by the sound of his landing but it doesn't matter because Steve's big, huge, hands are on him. Grabbing his hips and ass and scratching at the base of his tail and grabbing his hair and petting his ears and- It feels like he's got a million hands. Touching him. Every time Steve touches him, the flames inside him both grow and cool. At the same time. Growing because he's getting more and more excited, more ready to have Steve's cock inside him and cooled because his mate's touch is soothing him too.

It twists his head. All in the same- more. He wants more.

Yes.

Bucky can't help but purr. It feels so good already.

So good when he wrenches Bucky back by the hair so viciously that a moan is punched out of his chest, his neck arching. Bucky gets held tight against Steve. The bulge in Steve's jeans instantly gets soaked with his slick as he kneels behind his kitty but now he's leaning over him heavily until he can kiss him. Violently. Teeth and tongue and all of their pent up lust. They're so close together. Bucky is whimpering into Steve's mouth, squirming. And Steve's dick slotted between Bucky's round cheeks, separated from his drooling cunt by only two layers of fabric. He wants him to fuck him already, god. He wants it so bad.

Steve knows he wants it too- they both want it. Steve is biting his lower lip, licking into his mouth, and grinding against him. The denim is rough against Bucky's hole but he'll take it. He'll take anything, impossibly more desperate with Steve's first hand in his hair and his other hand at the base of his tail, scratching and making Bucky's hips wiggle even more. Unconscious of it. Just feeling. Just going with it. Drunk on it.

Buckitty edit by @/unclelice

--

I waffled between who would be the first to approach who, but I like the idea of it being the Omega.

The Alpha is a warrior, and a good one. He decides that his best course of action is to proceed with business as usual until he has a better idea of what resistance he’ll face when he finally declares his intent. Gathering as much intel as possible before he decides to ‘attack.’

But then there’s the Omega. This spoiled little thing, too curious for his own good, sneaking around his own pack to get glimpses of the Alpha he isn't supposed to be near.

He’s not as subtle about it as he wants to be, and unfortunately for him, his targets are battle-tested wolves. They know when they’re being watched. He gets caught immediately, pretty much every time.

His antics frustrate his siblings, but amuse the Alpha.

It thrills the Alpha, too, to have his mate hunting him. To have him interested on some level, at least. It means there might be hope.

The Omega, for his part, is confused. He watches as their guest seemingly courts a good number of his siblings, and he scents the Alpha’s arousal more than once. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, and no one will tell him.

So of course, he decides that the only course of action is to ask the Alpha himself.

There are a lot of ways I imagined him doing this--spying on the Alpha when he’s in a library? always a good setting--but then I thought:

The Alpha and his entourage have their own guest house on the pack property. A place that’s just theirs for their stay.

And just imagine one night, long after everyone thinks he’s gone to bed, this little slip of an Omega--probably still in his night clothes, because he was trying to go to sleep, but he couldn’t stop thinking about this current mystery--approaching that house.

There’s a guard on duty, because of course there is. They can’t trust that every pack member is happy about the truce. And this poor guard, they have no clue what to do about what is essentially werewolf royalty showing up in the middle of the night, dressed so scandalously.

While the guard just stares, a little dumbfounded, the Omega stops in front of them and smiles sweetly.

“I’d like to speak to your Alpha, please,” he says, ever polite, because he might be spoiled, but he was raised with manners. “If he isn’t otherwise occupied.”

The door to the house opens before the guard can respond, and there in the doorway is the Alpha in question. He, too, is dressed down. A comfortable pair of sleep pants, and nothing else on.

He heard the Omega’s request, and although a meeting like this--in the dark of night with no chaperones around--is scandalous, he doesn’t plan on refusing. Already, he finds he can’t deny his mate anything. He holds the door open wider.

“Come inside, little one,” he orders gently. “It’s too late for you to be wandering around on your own.”

It takes the Omega a moment to register the words, because he’s too focused on the Alpha’s exposed torso. Not just the broad shoulders and thick muscle, but the scars shaped like claw marks littering his chest, some even criss-crossing over each other.

Heat creeps into the Omega’s cheeks and down his neck, his eyes dropping shyly when he realizes he’s been staring.

“Yes, Alpha,” he says softly, and obeys.

A rumble of pleasure vibrates the Alpha’s chest, the sound too loud in the still of the night. But he can’t help it, not with those words in his ears, his chosen surrendering to his authority so sweetly.

To the Omega’s simultaneous relief and regret, the Alpha dons a shirt as soon as they’re inside. He’s led into a sitting room, where he’s beckoned to make himself comfortable on the couch. To his surprise, the Alpha squats down in front of him once he’s settled. Without a word, he picks up the Omega’s feet, one after the other, and cleans the dirt and grass from them.

Because of course his little mate would traipse around in the dark while barefoot. After the debris is gone, he holds each foot to his chest, covering the Omega’s toes with his broad hand and massaging gently to try and warm them. The other hand glides up the Omega’s calf, idly caressing the smooth skin.

“You asked to see me,” the Alpha says without looking away from his task.

The Omega doesn’t answer immediately, too entranced by the Alpha’s touch. His skin prickles with awareness, shivers of delight raising bumps along his arms and legs. He’s been doted on all his life, but no one has ever touched him quite so reverently--like the opportunity to do so is a privilege, and is being treated as such.

He wants to be touched like this forever. The idea of another moment passing without knowing this sort of care is a thorn in his chest, aching terribly. It only worsens when he remembers that this Alpha is not his own; indeed, if what he’s witnessed is truth, this Alpha will be his brother-in-law.

“You are courting my siblings,” he blurts out.

The Alpha looks up, then, tilting his head just so. “I am,” he agrees.

“Why?”

The Alpha doesn’t expect that question. He knows his little angel to be sheltered, but perhaps he underestimated just how much.

“For peace,” he says carefully.

“But...the fighting has stopped. There is peace already, Mother said so.”

The Alpha nods his agreement.

“We are tired of war, your mother and I,” the Alpha says. “And so are our soldiers. We called a ceasefire, and drafted a treaty, and we intend to live by it. But we both know how the wind might change. It is better for the future of your pack and mine if we do more than just stop fighting. We must become allies. It was decided that the best way to achieve that was through a mating.”

“Whose mating? Your own?”

“Yes.” The Alpha squeezes his toes gently. “I will mate with one of your mother’s children, since she has long been mated. Neither of us desired a forced mating, so she was to give her eligible children the chance to volunteer. I would court all those that did until the best possible match was found.”

The Omega frowns, silently letting this information sink in. He has been kept in the dark about much, and denied much. His siblings are allowed to court this Alpha, allowed to be courted, but he hasn’t even been allowed to be in the same room as him. For the first time in his life, his shelter chafes.

Raised voices from outside draw both of their attention. Before either of them can rise to investigate, the door slings open. His mother and his eldest sister spill into the room, followed hastily by the aggrieved guardsman.

They halt, all three of them, at the sight of the Omega and his Alpha together. It’s innocent, but made less so by the scent of their pheromones rising and mixing together. It isn’t until that moment that the Omega realizes half the reason for the dreamy quality to this moment, and the fog settling over his brain, is the thick scent of the Alpha's arousal. And it wasn’t because of anyone else. None of his siblings were there to provoke such a reaction--only him. It thrills him to realize.

The look on his sister’s face is enough to curb his happiness, though, and his mother’s expression makes him fear a new war.

“Take your hands off of him,” his mother says, slowly and deliberately, all the authority of a pack’s Alpha weighing each word.

No.

The thought surprises the Omega, so much so that he doesn’t move or speak when the Alpha obeys the command. Distantly, he’s aware of the Alpha’s hands slipping away from him. Of the Alpha standing, turning to face his mother and sister.

They argue, but he doesn’t hear the words. Only knows that his Alpha is calm, while his mother and sister are less so.

He’s too focused on that one word; that instinctive reaction to his mother’s order.

No.

He’s never wanted to rebel against his pack Alpha before. He’s never felt that any order or decree was cruel. But this one is. He knows, because his skin already aches with the absence of the Alpha’s touch. His Alpha’s touch.

His Alpha is still close, his hand just inches from the Omega’s face.

The Omega could reach out and touch him if he wanted. He does want to. In fact, ‘wanting’ feels too little a word for what grows inside him, this all-consuming need. He knew he would hate being without that cherishing touch, and he was right.

Reaching out, he takes the Alpha’s index finger in his grip, tugging gently. The room quiets as he guides that rough, broad hand to his face, pressing his cheek into his Alpha’s palm. Calloused fingers curl gently around his jaw, cradling him just as reverently as before.

The Alpha kneels before his little mate again, watching in rapt fascination as the Omega rubs his smooth cheek against his palm. The scent of his pleasure fills the room, and some caveman part of the Alpha wants to roar in triumph that it’s his touch causing such a sweet scent.

“I want you to court me, too,” the Omega says, because he doesn’t know how to be coy.

His sister makes a noise of protest, and his mother voices hers, saying, “Darling--”

But the Omega will hear none of it. He soldiers on, ignoring his beloved family.

“I didn’t know,” he tells the Alpha. “But now that I do, I want you to consider me, too. Would you do that?”

The Alpha brings his other hand up to cradle the Omega’s face.

“Sweet little angel,” he murmurs. “If you would have me, there would be no consideration. I desire no other mate but you.”