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“Buck, don’t do this. Not that guy.”
“Pshhhht,” Bucky flaps at her, making grabby hands across the desk, “it’ll be fine, give me the packet.”
Carol sighs, leaning back in her desk chair to hold the file even further out of reach, “Barnes, the guy is extremely high protocol, you won’t be off your knees for the whole forty eight hours unless you’re taking a piss or on your back, you’re gonna’ hate it.”
“Car, come on. I can hold it together for one weekend. How bad can it be? Besides, I’ve already seen how much this weekend pays out, and I could really, really fucking use that right now.”
She rolls her eyes before letting him have the file.
“Well now, thank you!” Bucky grins, flipping the thing open only to find that the first page is...a menu. What in the actual fuck.
“He specifies what he wants you know. Male Omega. Big, male Omega. I heard from Cassie that there are agencies who can’t supply him any more.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” Bucky asks absently, still reading…the menu looks amazing, four options for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with tick boxes and instructions to make two choices in each category. Plus options for snacks, and Bucky can tick as many as he likes in that category.
“Both. Either. You know there’s only so many male Omega, and then to find the beefy ones on top of that? Clive says he’s not gonna go back.”
“Yeah well, Clive’s a-”
“Do not finish that sentence Barnes.”
“No Ma’am, wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky smirks over the top of the second page which is...allergies and health issues. Any medication. Please attach recent proof of health check, clear STI panel, and birth control.
Polite way of asking if Bucky’s riddled with STI’s or not...which...fair. Also a solid indicator that the guy wants to bareback him, which is fine too, usual, even, considering the next page is a four day old clean bill of health from the other guy. Fair enough. Name and date of birth suspicious in their absence, but Bucky can over look a lot for an amount that’ll pay six months rent plus groceries.
“So why did Clive say he’s not going back? There a problem with this guy?” There’s a list of fetishes that the sub has to be okay with; blindfolds, over stimulation, restraints, total power exchange, impact play, penetration. It’s a pretty tame, short list, from what what Bucky was expecting. ‘The Omega will use the traffic light system, (yellow and red) to indicate any issues.’ Not open for discussion then.
“Not...not exactly anything he could define as a problem. Said the food was great, wasn’t asked to do anything too out there, or anything. Conditions were good. After care was fine.” She shrugs, “like I said, high protocol, Clive said he spent the whole weekend naked and blindfolded and it was...a lot.”
“Blindfolded the whole time?”
“Yeah, he never saw the client.”
That does give Bucky pause for a second. Feeling that exposed for such a protracted amount of time would be...intense. A lot to ask of an Omega. Okay, he kinda’ gets now why Clive doesn’t want to go through that again, but what the hell, one time, give it a bash, take the nice pay out, then say thanks but no thanks. Bucky can still work with that.
“He also said the guy wears some real high quality blockers, like, off the market quality, couldn’t get a read on the guy, like, at all. And that’s not everything, Clive was definitely hedging. There’s something else up with this guy, but he wouldn’t say anymore.”
That is kind of unsettling. Especially for an Omega. Even more for an Omega filling the role of sub for an Alpha. Having no reassurance that your Alpha is pleased, and no warning as to when you might be getting something wrong...even with real good quality blockers, usually something bleeds through. Little, subdued hints. Bucky dismisses the rest though, Clive’s a wet fucking blanket of a human being, no need to read any more into this than there actually is.
Some hella rich Alpha on a power trip, that’s all this is. A kinky fucking power trip. Looking for something that he probably isn’t getting any where else. An Alpha specifically asking for big male Omega? Talk about a fucking fetish. The guy probably goes right home to his dainty female Omega wife and their pack of perfect pups, then gets what he really needs one weekend of the month.
Probably tells the poor bitch it’s a business trip or some shit.
There’s a good chance that this whole thing could suck epic balls. Bucky makes a dismissive ‘pfffffft’ sound anyway, “it’ll be fine Cazza, don’t you worry your pretty head about little old me-”
Carol practically growls at him, “Bucky, I know I’m not going to change your mind but just...you being sassy and bratty will not charm this guy, you understand? What you get away with with literally every one else is absolutely not gonna’ fly with him. That is not what he wants.”
“Meh. It’ll be fine. ‘Sides, look at all them zeroes. How fuckin’ bad can it be?”
So, penthouse sweet. Real nice. Swanky, and Bucky hasn’t even got to the door yet. He got handed a key card and an envelope at reception. James Buchanan Barnes printed on it. Not hand written. Printed, like from a computer, directly onto the envelope. Which means the guy probably works in an office with a mail department all of its own. The thought of the guy abusing company resources to print an envelope for this purpose makes Bucky snort a laugh. Maybe he’s brazen enough to get his secretary to do it.
No, this kind of money, probably a PA.
Bucky opens the envelope as he elbows the door open. After what Clive said to him, he hasn’t bothered to bring anything with him, just his phone and wallet. No point in a change of clothes if he’s not gonna be able to wear it, right?
Bucky scans the letter, also computer typed, standing right there in the foyer of the apartment, mumbling to himself as the door swings shut on it’s fancy silent soft close hinges behind him, “use toiletries provided...en suite...yadda yadda...master bedroom...wear what’s on the bed.” Bucky frowns, the first little prickle of unease skittering up his spine, “switch off ALL electronics and place ALL personal items in box provided on bed. Huh. Kneel at foot of the bed...” Bucky snorts, he can’t help it, “Sir will arrive at 10:30 AM sharp. Yeah, yeah, I bet he will.”
Bucky huffs, running his fingers through his hair and checking the time on his phone. He’s got an hour, no problem. And this isn’t really even tipping the weird scale. Not really. Not yet, anyway.
Taking his first look around the apartment to check he really is alone, he then takes a few minutes to poke around. It’s nice. Really nice. Everything quality and top end and subtly stylish. Not in your face at all, just soft muted tones and sleek surfaces and some massive fucking windows with a pretty epic view. But no one lives here. No way does anyone live here. There's nothing anywhere, no post, nothing in any of the drawers except for the cutlery one, nothing in the hall closet but empty hangers. Nothing, anywhere.
Bucky goes back t the amazing view, lamenting the fact that it's kind of wasted and huffs on the glass, drawing a heart in the condensation before watching it evaporate away, the New York skyline fading back into clear view. Fucking impressive really; whoever this is has some major fucking money backing him up.
Ah. Hence the secrecy, the masks and stuff. The Nameless Sir; this Alpha is someone that Bucky would recognize. Fair enough, each to their own. At least he’ll be able to say he’s sat on a famous dick, even if he doesn’t know who that dick happens to be attached to.
There’s some real nice looking stuff in the fridge; Bucky goes to drink a mouthful of orange juice from the carton but finds the cap still sealed. Brand new. He doesn’t think he will get away with that so puts it back, contenting himself with taking a couple of grapes and a loose cherry tomato from the crisper drawer.
As per the typed instructions, the master bedroom is the only door on the left as Bucky rounds the other side of the kitchen, and it’s standing half open just in case the instructions weren’t enough. Bucky heads’ to the bed first, and yeah, there’s an empty box. Next to it sit four cuffs, a blindfold, and an anal plug.
That’s it. Bucky snorts a laugh at the remembered instruction to ‘wear’ what was on the bed. He scrunches up the letter and corner shots it into the box. Next he pulls out his phone, and messages Carol, ‘see you on the flip side,’ and grins to himself. Next he messages Becca, ‘working until Monday AM, speak then, love you,’ then he powers down his phone and drops it into the box.
Next he empties his pockets, wallet, keys, half a pack of gum. Folds his jacket and puts that in, before thinking ‘fuck it’ and stripping everything and putting it in before putting the lid on. It’s more of a crate, light, but definitely metal.
The bedroom’s just as spectacular as the open plan kitchen and lounge, and the bed’s fucking huge and might be made out of actual fucking clouds. Even the carpeting feels amazing under Bucky’s toes.
The bathroom though, the bathroom is actually something else and Bucky might actually sigh out loud at the sight of it. He doesn’t have time to fill and get into the tub, but fucking hell he wishes he did. It’s massive. And it’s got those water jet thingies, like a hot tub...and, Jesus, are those lights?? Fuck.
Bucky uses the toilet before he deals with the shower, not that it’s a chore, what with the massive waterfall head thingy and all the extra spray things that can all be controlled independently and yeah… he could totally get used to this. All the toiletries are epically high end too, plain white bottles with branding so minimal Bucky has to turn the bottle and squint to figure out what it even is. Doesn't smell of anything at all really, either, and that fucks up Bucky’s senses for a full thirty seconds before he gets on with washing his hair and scrubbing himself down. Paying real special attention to all the important bits, obviously.
Like all Omega, Bucky ain’t really got much body hair to speak of, but for a moment whilst he’s toweling himself down he wonders if he should have gotten that little bit waxed. Feels like whoever this Alpha is, they’ve got some high fucking standards they like to maintain.
Too late to do anything now, and Bucky very thoroughly brushes his teeth with the brand new in box toothbrush and toothpaste that had been left out for him.
The cuffs are, unsurprisingly, good quality, buttery leather, super soft lining. Bucky does them up, ankles and wrists, just tight enough so that they won’t slide, but not too tight. He slips a finger into the little D-rings to pull them straight, rings pointing out from his inner wrists, turned just so on the inside of his ankles.
Bucky examines the bed...and even with Liz’s words running in his head, Bucky retrieves a pillow. It’s a huge, super soft thing. Nothing in the letter explicitly said he couldn’t do this...so Bucky drops the pillow on the floor, grabbing the plug and then the blindfold. The plug is silicone, a slim, curved base, surprisingly weighty. He hasn’t been provided with anything else, so Bucky has to finger himself a little, closing his eyes and imaging the hunkiest Alpha he can think of to get the juices flowing a little bit. Just enough to start teasing himself with the plug. He loosens up and slips it in pretty fast, before getting up and going to the bathroom to wash his hands again, clearly able to smell his own slick on two of his fingers.
Despite its weight and size, the plug is real comfortable for moving around in, and Bucky has no complaints.
The mask on the other hand, is something else. It’s form fitted, molded from soft foam or something, before being covered in soft black material, so the bridge of the nose and half spheres for the eyes stand out. Breathable, probably some really high end cotton. Like, four billion thread count, or something, much like the over the top weighty bed pillow under Bucky’s knees. It covers Bucky from half way down his nose, across his cheek bones, and up most of his forehead. It does up easily enough by a thick Velcro strap, and that’s it.
With nothing left to do, Bucky kneels on his soft pillow and waits. And yeah, the darkness is kind of disconcerting, it can’t have been more than a couple of minutes and Bucky can feel that his muscles are tensing, that he’s straining to hear something. Anything.
He forces himself to relax, straightening his spine, spreading his knees a little, hands resting palms up on his thighs, head tipped down. Position wasn’t dictated, just kneeling, so this will do well enough until he gets told different. See Carol? High Protocol what? Bucky’s gonna’ fucking nail this.
It’s strange just how unsettling it really is. Bucky nearly jumps out of his fucking skin at the first noise he hears, but the Alpha moves quietly, disconcertingly so, and even that is enough to have Bucky feeling unbalanced. He desperately, desperately wants to move his head in an attempt to track the sound, but he forces himself not too.
A little power disparity between an Alpha and Omega is totally normal, expected even. Healthy. Both sides of the relationship feeding on it to a certain extent. But this has taken that and boosted it by a million, and Bucky’s skin prickles with perceived threat.
And they haven't even done anything yet.
The Alpha walks a slow lap around Bucky, movements behind him, a soft noise, moving the box, maybe? And then he leaves again. If anything, the absence riles Bucky even more. That he’s been viewed, inspected even, and then left again. Bucky full body shivers, and it certainly wasn’t from the cold.
There’s a trickle of real unease. Maybe that simpering dickhead Clive was actually onto something this time.
There’s noises from the other room. Absolutely nothing Bucky can place, and it feels like it goes on for a while. No, he’s being stupid. That was the clink of a plate. The hum of the extractor hood. He was so busy looking for something completely nefarious that Bucky overlooked the totally fucking obvious answer.
The Alpha’s cooking something.
And time has already gone funny without being able to see, because it feels like it goes on forever and yet the Alpha’s back in what could be just a few minutes. There’s a noise right in front of Bucky, a light thud, the creak of furniture.
“Open,” the voice has Bucky startling a little bit. Deep and rumbly. All Alpha, but the abruptness of it unsettles Bucky all over again, and it takes him nearly a minute to lift his head and open his mouth. If the Alpha thinks his compliance was slow, he doesn’t say anything about it.
The tines of a fork. Soft, fluffy scrambled eggs. Delicate smoked salmon. Torn pieces of toasted bagel, thick with cream cheese. Bucky did hella good ticking those boxes. He also regrets eating breakfast, but this ain’t gonna’ hurt to add to it. When he starts to feel full though, he keeps his mouth closed and dips his head. Doesn’t speak without permission.
He is so nailing this.
“Drink,” so Bucky does, sips water carefully from the bottle when the Alpha presses it to his lips. It tastes faintly fruity. He takes his time drinking the whole bottle before it’s taken away. More quiet movement.
“Stand,” so Bucky does. Carefully unfolding himself. He hasn’t been kneeling for that long, not really, so nothing’s gone dead yet, but still he tenses his calves then thighs to get the blood moving again. He has to fight the urge to lean down and rub at his knees and shins. He can sense the Alpha near by. Close. And he is tall. His presence feels like he’s looming over Bucky and...yeah. Alright, shut up Clive, you little shit, the lack of any scent at all is beyond unsettling. A presence. A ghost.
It’s fucking weird and Bucky does not fucking like it.
Bucky’s probably not much more than an hour in and he’s suddenly realizing just how tough this is going to be. He takes a breath. Just got to make it to Monday morning. Just the rest of today, and tomorrow really. That’s it.
It suddenly occurs to Bucky that he’s naked. It’s a shocking realization. He’s comfortable in his own skin, works out a little, runs three or four times a week, likes the way he looks, even, for a bigger than average Omega. But it’s strange, because he can’t see, it’s only just occurred to him that he’s naked and there’s an Alpha, a complete stranger of an Alpha, presumably, looking at him. He has to force himself to keep his hands hanging loosely at his sides and not instinctively cover his dick.
“Lie in the middle of the bed, on your back.”
Again, it takes a long second before Bucky moves. He feels slow and stupid, unbalanced. The Alpha offers no help, and Bucky shuffles with hands outstretched so he doesn't walk right into the bed. It’s unsettling, Alpha’s are fucking hardwired to help Omega’s, for this one to just watch him like this, struggling and uncertain is...yeah. Weird. Shut up Clive.
Bucky makes it, crawls up onto the bed and carefully moves onto his back when he feels like he’s close to the middle. He wants to just flop over, but he doesn’t. It feels like it would be disrespectful, and although he wouldn’t hesitate to do it with anyone else...he’s not pulling that shit right now, so he does his best to move quietly and neatly.
He’s also disorientated enough with the blindfold that he feels like he might topple off the edge of the bed at any moment, and carefully feels around before he turns over.
There’s movement, then a rattle, metal, “hands above your head.” Spreader bar, okay, that’s fine, fairly tame Bucky thinks, as he’s attached to it by the cuffs, and then, “spread your legs,” another spreader bar.
Christ, Bucky can’t get a read on this guy at all, but he obeys, feeling small and nervous in a way he literally never has before. The bed dips, and there are massive fucking hands on Bucky’s thighs, pressing his legs even further apart, bending Bucky by the knees a little, like a dead frog waiting to be sliced open. Warm, really warm those hands, really fucking big and really fucking firm. Then a mouth, hot and wet on Bucky’s cock. No preamble what soever and Bucky nearly fucking folds in half, only stops himself from speaking, swearing aloud, in the last second, the noise coming out as a choked exhale instead.
Jesus, but he’s never had an Alpha suck his cock before. No Alpha would; they always go straight for the asshole, which is fine, you know, whatever, gets the job done, but some Alphas almost use it like a power thing and...yeah. This is new. And it gets Bucky so hard so fast it boarders on painful.
New and fucking awesome, the guy doesn’t seem to have any sort of gag reflex or a need for air. Bucky’s big for an Omega, big all over, and this guy does not have a problem with it at all, but there’s not much space in Bucky’s head to think about that because his whole universe has narrowed down to the searing hot tongue lathing at the underside of his cock as the Alpha does his level best to suck Bucky dry.
And as Bucky just about gathers together the brain cells to try and decide if he should warn the guy or not, Bucky comes, and in any other circumstances Bucky might be a little sheepish about how little effort that took, just how fast that Alpha took him apart, but there’s no room for that really because the Alpha keeps on swallowing, drinking Bucky’s thin Omega come down like it’s nectar.
Jesus. Christ.
Bucky lies there, panting and sweaty, when a gentle hand cups the back of his head, tilting as a bottle appears at his lips. Bucky sips carefully before the bottle is removed, “you remember your words?”
Bucky has to think for a second, his brain a little fluffy with happy chemicals and his hole still twitching and clenching on the plug post orgasm, but he gets there, “yellow. Red. Sir.”
“Good.”
And that’s all the conversation Bucky gets before the guy is crawling back down between Bucky’s legs, the way the bed dips and moves telling Bucky just how big this guy is, just how solid, and Bucky has to bite his lip when the guy swallows his half hard cock down again. Bucky’s an Omega, the refractory period is damn fast, multiple orgasms are definitely a thing, but he was not expecting another suck job. Kinda’ thought he’d a little bit seen the face of God or some shit and that’s a once in a lifetime deal. Usually.
But no. Guy suckles a little this time, really getting to know Bucky’s dick. Making friends. Probably on first name terms by now. And then he finds his stride and his rhythm, and Bucky ends up chewing his own tongue and trying to twist his wrists in the restraints so that he can scrabble at the bed covers to try and keep quiet. The restraints clink a little as Bucky moves. His legs pulling up involuntarily, Bucky squirming, and he doesn’t really know if he’s trying to spread them wider or pull his knees up. He tries to keep quiet, tries to stay still.
He fails pretty dismally, but Alpha Dyson down there doesn’t seem to give a shit, and when Bucky comes a second time, he doesn’t bother to try and keep in the surprised cry. A cry that, embarrassingly enough, turns into a little wail when the guy swallows the last of Bucky’s spend and just...keeps going.
Bucky starts to bring his knees up reflexively, can’t stop himself, but the Alpha’s massive, hot, strong hands shift a little and pin him easily. So easily. It’s such a turn on Bucky pushes against it instinctively, wants to know just how strong this Alpha is, but Bucky’s strong runners legs don’t move so much as a millimeter and Bucky has his answer.
Much, much stronger than Bucky.
It sends a little frisson of fear and excitement dancing along Bucky’s spine, right before his abs curl and he comes again, sweating and crying and biting down on a ‘yellow’ as the guy keeps swallowing and swallowing and licking his way up and down Bucky’s dick.
Over stimulation was on the list, and like the guy has already somehow read the Bucky Barnes playbook, one hand slides down between Bucky’s thighs, thick fingers pressing against the base of the plug, tracing Bucky’s fluttering rim around the base of it, sopping wet already with so many orgasms, despite not having been touched there yet.
He tickles and teases, traces the edge of Bucky with soft and sure fingers, rubbing the slick around, building Bucky up and up again with his mouth, hot and wet and determined before pressing a knuckle harshly against Bucky’s taint, up behind his balls, coupled with maintaining a brutal, sucking rhythm, forcing Bucky goes over the edge again.
Bucky hisses when the Alpha’s tongue investigates his slit for the last of his come, what was gentle cleaning licks rapidly becoming inquisitive sucks again and Bucky hisses, can’t help it, it feels good still but it’s tinged with pain and Bucky’s not sure how much more of this he can take, even as hot warmth envelopes his cock all over again.
How many is this now? Four? Five? Bucky can’t even tell any more, but he knows one thing for certain, he will think twice about fantasies involving an Alpha sucking his dick in the future.
Over stimulation was right there on the list. Bucky signed up for this shit. And like hell is he tapping out because of too many orgasms.
That’s just dumb.
He fell asleep. He must have. And Bucky’s groggy brain is only putting that together because he’s blinking awake. Confused by the total darkness right until he turns his head and feels the mask and it all comes rushing back – that Alpha made him come so many times he passed out.
Jesus. H. Christ.
And fucking hell it’s hot. Like sweat gathering at the back of Bucky’s knees kind of hot. Bucky tries to move, and fails, but then he can move when the weight behind him shifts. And there it is, Alpha Dyson also runs like a furnace- “do you need the bathroom?”
It takes Bucky a couple of seconds to asses himself, and then another to make his mouth work and get his brain in gear, “yes, sir.”
He only does a bit, he could wait, but five minutes of alone time sounds great. The bed shifts a little, the Alpha getting out and moving around, and then the covers are being shifted and Bucky is being fucking lifted out the bed. He lets out a little yip of surprise that he will deny until his dying fucking day, and before he can even get his bearings he’s being carefully deposited on the tiled floor of the bathroom, “you can take the mask off when I close the door, put it back on before you open it, don’t move, I’ll come and get you.”
“Yes sir,” there had been a lot of muscle going on there, and Bucky barely had time to appreciate it before he’d been put down again.
The door closes behind him, so Bucky pulls the mask off. He has to squint for a while, blinking in the light of the bathroom as his eyes adjust again.
For some reason, he expected to look different in the mirror, like it had been weeks and not hours since he’s last seen himself. Of course that isn’t the case, and he looks exactly the same as he did before. Maybe a little pink around his cheeks and nose through, from where the mask had been sitting.
Bucky uses the toilet, suddenly realizing that the plug is still in there. He pauses for a moment, no number two right now, so he leaves it where it is and just goes for a piss. Jeez, Bucky gives himself a little exploratory feel, and his dick feels a little sensitive even now, kind of like it’s a bit swollen or a tiny bit bruised. He takes a minute after to wash his hands, careful of the fancy cuffs, and splash water on his face. Then he runs a finger around the inside of each cuff, they still feel fine, he’s just delaying the inevitable really.
Nothing bad has happened, nothing at all, and yet he still does not want to put that thing back on.
But he does. And then he carefully opens the door, shuffling out of the way, it would be just his luck if he fucking brained himself with the door.
It takes a minute before the Alpha retrieves him, carefully taking Bucky’s hand before leading him forward a few steps, “kneel.”
To Bucky’s absolute delight, the pillow is still there.
The Alpha leaves, then comes back, and something smells real good, “open.”
Bucky does, no hesitation this time. It’s the pesto chicken salad thing, Bucky’s sure, and it is fucking delicious. It’s followed by another bottle of water and then some green grapes.
He’s left alone again for what could be a minute or four hours, who knows at this point, before Alpha comes back, “kneel on the edge of the bed.”
Showtime.
Bucky stands, feeling for the bed again so he doesn’t walk into it. He clambers up, kneeling on the edge of the bed, ass to his heels, feet hanging off the edge.
He knows what the Alpha wants, but he’s technically followed the request. Some part of Bucky just straight up likes being difficult, but maybe, just maybe, he wants to hear him say it.
The Alpha’s voice is deep and commanding, and does not disappoint, “present.”
Bucky does, goosebumps raised all over his arms from the sheer authority in the Alpha’s tone, but Bucky forces himself to be calm, makes himself move slowly. The last thing he wants to do is snap into position like he can’t help himself. No, he moves slowly, thinks about settling his chest to the bed, walking his knees apart a little before he finally raises his ass. He keeps the tiniest bit of control that he can for himself.
He can sense the Alpha shifting about behind him, the presence is almost weighty in the air, and with no scent to go on, it’s hugely disconcerting. Shut up, Clive, just because you were right. Asshole.
The Alpha palms at Bucky’s cheeks with this huge fucking hands. The height of the bed probably means Bucky’s at just the right height for him now. Surprisingly gentle fingers tug at the plug, some slick from the earlier bout of orgasms trickles free and drips down the back of Bucky’s balls, making him shiver. It happens again when the Alpha parts Bucky’s cheeks and blows cool air across his wet hole, Bucky’s whole body twitching.
The blunt head of a dick next, and he’s a big fella’, Bucky can feel that immediately. He forces himself to stay calm, the Alpha hasn’t fingered him at all, but between the plug and the abundance of slick he should be able to take it. Should.
Bucky takes a deep breath. Forces himself to relax, actively concentrates on it, and the head of the dudes dick finally pops in. Yeah, he’s big. Fucking girthy. The kind of dick that Bucky would be thrilled to come across in the wild. Another little movement and...oh, the Alpha’s wearing a condom. Bucky hadn’t even heard that happen.
He’s seen the health check, and shared his own, they’re both clean. The whole point for most Alpha’s is that they get to come in the Omega. Fills all their weird breeding kinks or whatever. Scent marking and all that. But not with this guy. And there’s no scent marking, because there’s no scent.
Now? In the silence? With no communication as to what's about to happen, no indication from scent of how rough this might be likely to get? Bucky’s unsettled.
But he’s also a pro, and he thinks about Scrooge McDucking into his dollar dollar bills after this weekend. He forces himself to breath, long and even, as the Alpha sinks deeper into him.
Yeap. That is a monster dong. Bucky is about to have his guts rearranged. He grips at the comforter and waits.
The Alpha pulls out, long and slow, giving Bucky time to adjust, which Bucky is eternally grateful for. He doesn’t realize, has never thought about, just how much he relies on scent. Even with top notch blockers you at least get a hint, but there’s nothing from this guy. Nada. Bucky is flying blind, literally and figuratively. He feels like he’s completely down two senses. He doesn’t know what this Alpha’s intentions are, doesn’t know how wound up he is, if his aggression and arousal are spiking. He absolutely cannot read the room right now, and it’s leaving him feeling helpless.
The Alpha’s got big fucking paws on him too, and that’s making Bucky feel pinned. He whines, he can’t help it.
The Alpha rumbles out a noise, shushes Bucky softly. It kind of helps. What helps more is that he builds slow, long deep thrusts, clearly having no intention of hurting Bucky, and that makes him relax a little more, the edge of panic that had started to form melting away again.
A deep, horrible thought had been festering, the possibility that the pay out was so high because the Alpha was one of those guys. One of those men that got off on it, on forcing an Omega to submit, got off on making it hurt a little. Choosing big male Omegas and making them present, the bigger they are, the harder they fall, and all that jazz.
He should have just fucking asked Clive outright. Fucking Clive.
It’s slow, but it gets slicker, hotter. The Alpha’s cock is so large he’s hitting all Bucky’s sweet spots without even really trying, and Bucky finds himself melting into the bed. Relaxing. Releasing his death grip on the bed covers and...startling himself with a moan. The fear goes away, the worry, and it feels good. Bucky’s fully hard now, everything slow to catch on with Bucky’s stupid hind brain voice crashing about in there, but he’s definitely getting there now.
The Alpha behind him is silent, and Bucky tries his best to ignore that. He can’t even hear the guy breathing hard. He finds himself fixating on that for a second, the hot hands, the slow even thrusts, the precisely measured movements. He’s aware of the hips that are pressing against his ass again and again. But Bucky’s body gets distracted, nature takes it’s course, and the pleasure pulls him out of his head again. Because it is good. Size isn’t absolutely everything, and this guy knows what he’s doing, clearly. It isn’t long before Bucky is shamelessly rocking back into it, the drag inside him becoming hot and delicious, pleasure building in his gut, from the base of his spine and deep between his legs. The guy doesn’t change it up, just builds and builds, rocking Bucky in those massive hands of his until Bucky is moaning into the covers, slick leaking down the back of his thighs and pre come splatting against his stomach from the head of his swinging dick.
The Alpha leans over, presses his chest to Bucky’s back, clearly thick and muscled and it’s the weight on his back that does it, pins Bucky properly and then he’s coming, coming on a choked out moan, ass clenching on the hard flesh of the Alphas cock, instinctively pushing back for more, riding out his own pleasure.
The Alpha lifts off suddenly, gets a hand between them, Bucky feels him do it, feels the Alpha grinding against his own fingers as the cock inside Bucky gives a kick hard enough for Bucky to feel it, and the Alpha starts to come. Bucky almost whines for it, almost begs, but the Alpha doesn’t knot him, has his own fingers pressed between them instead, stopping it from happening, his cock being fed through the gap between his index and pointer finger.
He doesn’t knot Bucky. He stops himself with his hand in the way.
It’s all Bucky can think about for long minutes, even as he’s slumped forward and can feel the slick leaking back out of himself with no Alpha knot to stop it.
He didn’t knot him. He stopped himself from knotting. All Alpha’s ever want is to knot. That’s the goal. But he didn’t knot Bucky. He didn’t even come in him.
Bucky doesn’t even really react as the Alpha slips the plug back in. No resistance now, goes in easy. Bucky is lifted out of the wet spot and moved up the bed, a blanket put over him, wet ass and damp thighs and messy stomach all ignored.
The Alpha didn’t knot him. It’s a more intrusive thought than Bucky would like. It’s certainly not a logical one. It doesn’t matter a shit to Bucky if the Alpha knots him or not. It doesn’t! It shouldn't!
But it does. It’s a gnawing, horrible feeling.
It’s a feeling that doesn’t make any sense, the guy is paying Bucky a huge amount of money for the privileged of doing whatever the fuck he wants for one weekend. It shouldn’t matter if the guy doesn’t want to knot him.
But in the back of Bucky’s head he’s wondering if he’s done something wrong, if he’s good enough, stupid Omega hind brain, why didn’t the Alpha knot him? There’s a flare of irritation, Bucky Barnes is god damn good enough for anyone, and this Alpha would be fucking lucky to knot Bucky.
He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t even notice the dip in the bed, the movement, until the Alpha’s practically repositioning Bucky into being the little spoon.
And then the Alpha snuggles up, throwing a big, heavy arm across Bucky’s middle, nuzzling into his hair before he settles at Bucky’s back. Well then.
It’s not weird. It isn’t. Plenty of Alphas want to snuggle after sex. This is totally normal...except most Alphas want to snuggle because they have an Omega stuck on their knot. This is...Bucky doesn’t know what the fuck this is. Actual cuddling or some shit.
Bucky lies there, breathing evenly, forcing himself to stay relaxed. He doesn’t think about what a bell end Clive is, or how fucking insufferable Clive’s going to be when Bucky has to tell him he was fucking right about this. He doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t. No wonder Clive wouldn’t come clean about what bothered him. No Omega wants to admit out loud that the Alpha didn’t bother to knot them. Clive was probably thinking the same things as Bucky, isn’t he good enough? Did he do something wrong? No wonder Clive wouldn’t say...poor fucker probably thought it was his own fault. Wouldn’t have realized that it’s just the guys M.O.
Bucky will tell him. As much of a dick Clive is, Bucky will tell him that he didn’t get the knot either. Bucky might not like Clive much, but he isn’t cruel, he isn’t going to leave the guy questioning himself like that. He’s probably been stewing on it this whole time.
For gods sake, Carol. He’s gonna’ have to tell Carol that Clive was right, fuck, that’s even worse. What kind of Alpha doesn’t come in their Omega? Even if it is just a rental? What kind of Alpha doesn’t knot? And why oh why is Bucky so fucking unsettled by it all?
The Alpha rumbles a comforting sound behind him, a low, deep vibration, “rest,” he says, like it’s that simple.
So Bucky tries too.
He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he’s only half awake when he’s being shifted, rolled a little, his leg being lifted a little, bent at the knee. Even with the plug being gently pulled free, he still makes a choked out noise when the Alpha’s cock slides home, despite the fact that he’s almost alert enough to expect it. Bucky’s body gives easily, wet and open from earlier, and the Alpha gets right to it.
He rocks into Bucky, takes his time, mouthing at Bucky’s shoulder but not going anywhere near Bucky’s scent gland. He doesn’t bite, there’s no hint of teeth, but he sucks a little. Nothing harsh enough to leave a mark though, and Bucky is super, acutely, aware of that fact.
It’s a slow build the same as before, and by the time the Alpha is slamming home hard enough for his hips to make a noise against Bucky’s ass, Bucky has already come once and is well on his way to a second.
He’s never come so many times in a day in his life, and he half hysterically worries if the Alpha is going to break him. He looses track of time. The Alpha is a hard cock, a hot mouth, and the pressure of fingertips on Bucky’s hip. There’s no noises but for the ones that they are making, no light to see by, just the eternal darkness of the mask.
Every touch to Bucky’s skin feels intensified, like he can even feel the movement of the air on the sparse, almost invisible, hairs on his arms. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from speaking, begging, he wants a knot. He wants this knot. Wants it with a burning intensity. Doesn’t know if that's because he’s so close to coming, or simply because he’s already been denied it once.
He wants to touch himself, wants to get there, even if it feels like he might be coming dry at this point, but the Alpha gets him there. The big hand moving on his hip, changing up the angle a little is all it takes in the end, and Bucky’s body locks up. Awash with pleasure, Bucky doesn’t notice the Alphas knuckles against his ass until he’s panting and coming down the other side.
No knot. The Alpha carefully withdraws, shielding his knot with his fingers, making a cage to keep Bucky off of it, carefully pulling back with the condom. The plug slides back in, the bed dips, soft footfalls as the Alpha pads off across the soft carpet.
Running water, the click of the light, the bathroom door, he leaves the room.
Fridge door, off in the other room, Bucky thinks. A long minute of silence.
The bed dips, “I have some water.”
Bucky moves, tilts his head, takes the drink from the bottle of water.
“Bathroom?”
Bucky thinks for a moment, “yes, sir.”
“Hungry?”
Bucky thinks again, he doesn’t want a meal after that, but he is hungry. He remains just as unsettled, and the thought of heavy food makes his stomach churn, “a little? Sir?” Bucky tacks on the sir just in time and just in case.
“Okay,” and he’s being lifted again, carried, everything so effortless it makes Bucky feel small, helpless, and fucks with his head even further, “don’t shower,” the Alpha tells him just before the bathroom door closes and Bucky pulls off the mask.
There’s no windows in the bathroom and Bucky has never been so disorientated in time. Could be the middle of the fucking night for all he knows. He repeats what he did earlier, has a piss and washes his face. Fiddles with the cuffs. Resists the urge to clean up the mess on his thighs, spreading between his cheeks as he moves, the crust on his stomach.
He brushes his teeth, as much to eke out a couple more minutes than for any other reason. Washes his hands again. Thinks fuck it, takes the cuffs off, washes his hands and up to his forearms, splashes his face again but with the wild abandon of someone in a face soap advert.
He dries up carefully before putting the cuffs back on. Takes a moment to glare at the mask, “sack up Barnes,” and he moves closer to the door before he pictures what his bank balance is going to be by breakfast time on Tuesday morning and forcing himself to shove the mask back on.
He’s carried back to bed, nestled comfortably in amongst some pillows, half reclined, “open.”
Something meaty, peppery. Melt in the mouth. A cube of creamy cheese. Fruit, pineapple, strawberry. More meat, more cheese. Something softer, herby, bread. Bucky eats until he’s comfortable, then keeps his mouth closed.
He feels all janky, sleeping in what feels like short amounts of time. Eating randomly. Sleeping more. Not aware of the time. He feels a little disconnected from everything. It’s a strange feeling, the constant vulnerability wearing on him until he’s forced to just let it be. Let it be the new truth, the new reality. He’s dependent on the Alpha for food, for water, for being carried to the Bathroom. That is the truth of his existence right now.
He can do this.
He’s repositioned, and he thinks it’s for more sleep, but it isn’t. Questing fingers find the plug, and gently remove it.
Bucky wonders briefly if the Alpha is in rut, because this is a lot. The words ‘refractory period’ don’t seem to mean much to this guy, and Bucky’s getting sore enough that his concerned about even lasting another day.
Or however long there is left. The guy keeps waking Bucky up to fuck like it’s nothing.
He never knots Bucky, always wears a condom, and always slides the plug straight back in after.
And Bucky’s tired, the broken sleep starting to get to him. At least all he has to do is lie here and take it. Six months rent Bucky thinks on repeat. Ignores the little voice that’s telling him that he’s not a good enough Omega to get a knot. Even worse, not even the Alpha's come. The slick is making him sore like he’s in heat.
He absolutely should have gotten everything waxed, little hairs irritating his perpetually damp skin.
The Alpha comes again, Bucky might have even missed it if it wasn’t for the hand that’s thrust between them, a sure sign that the big guys done again. Bucky’s not even sure if he came this time. Isn’t even sure if he could. It feels good. No matter what else is going on, it feels so good. The Alpha knew what he was doing the first time, but since then has leaned Bucky’s sweet spots and can now get him off with almost tactical precision.
Bucky almost mourns that he won’t be getting this again. If only he’d knot him. Bucky would come back for free if he could just have that knot.
Maybe.
Actually, probably not.
There’s a vibration, a regular pattern, quite loud, and it takes more time then Bucky would like to admit to work out that it’s a phone. The vibration of a phone ringing, the Alpha answers with a curt, “yes.” Bucky can’t hear a thing from the phone despite straining to hear, maybe that thing about having your other senses get better to compensate or something is just bullshit, “ETA?” The Alpha asks, all business now.
Serious shit, Bucky thinks, before the Alpha rests a hand on his hip, “I’m sorry,” he says firmly, no nonsense now, the authority in his tone showing that he’s clearly used to being listened to, “I have to go.”
And he does. Bucky doesn’t dare move, listens as the Alpha moves around, “count to two hundred, and then you can go.”
Bucky nods, and then thinks twice of that, the Alpha might not be looking his way, and speaks instead, “yes, sir.”
He listens for the Alpha leaving, pulls the mask straight off and throws it across the room with extreme prejudiced. He doesn’t bother counting, just stretches his muscles in a long languid movement and then lies there, appreciating the comfort of the fancy mattress. He slowly blinks, letting his eyes adjust again, rubbing at them gently, considering what to do. The Alpha pulled out (ha!), not Bucky, so there’s no question of him being paid for the full weekend anyway.
Bucky lets himself lie there for a little bit, maybe snoozes for a little bit, allowing himself to just come down after the time he’s spent with the mystery Alpha, before he drags himself out of the bed and into the bathroom.
Bucky eyes the bath and thinks, ‘fuck it’, before setting the thing to fill up. Goes and finds the box of his stuff, it’s been left over in the corner. Had been there this whole time and Bucky hadn’t known because he hasn’t been able to see for hours or days and it strikes him as so strange for some reason, just not knowing even that, that his stuff was right there.
Makes his stomach do a funny turn, the power this Alpha has had over him this whole time. He digs out his phone. Is shocked to find it’s seven thirty on Sunday morning. It hasn’t even been twenty four hours yet, and so much had happened. Jesus Christ that Alpha was a fucking machine to go as many times as he did.
Ha! Bucky thinks to himself, fucking machine. Ha Ha. And then he laughs out loud at his own shit joke, and won’t admit to the world that the sound is a bit wobbly and a bit wet.
He experiences a strange pang of regret. Misses the Alpha. Feels suddenly like he needs him there in order to function. Just needs the Alpha right there right now to just do it for Bucky. It’s illogical and downright weird and Bucky instantly dismisses it as as some sort of weird and temporary Stockholm Syndrome bullshit.
Jesus Christ, fucking Clive. Bucky wonders if the guy is alright. It’s just supposed to be fucking, not psychological warfare.
He forcibly pulls himself together, then in a rash act of rebellion, pulls the plug out and throws it on the bed. Instant regret when there’s a mess of slick dripping down his ball sack and the back of his thighs. Another shuddering breath, and the sound of the water filling the bath has Bucky doing the quickest waddle of shame he’s ever done. He doesn’t want to actually flood the place. He takes off all the cuffs and leaves them lined up neatly on the vanity, retrieves the fancy toiletries from the massive shower stall, turns off the bathwater, brushes his teeth thoroughly, and then climbs into the warm bath water.
He soaks for a while, letting himself find his equilibrium. It’s kind of meditative, listening to the quiet rumble of the jets and sweeping his hands through the water. The thoughts sneak up on him though. Appearing sharp and fully formed in the middle of his brain.
One second he’s thinking about picking up breakfast on his way home, deciding what to have, and then it occurs to him that the Alpha didn’t have Bucky suck him, not at all, not even a little. He didn’t even get a hand on the guys dick, and does that mean that there’s something else wrong with Bucky? Something else he wasn’t good enough for? it's irrational, totally illogical. Stupid subservient Omega hind brain. Stupid stupid stupid.
Thinks about going into work to see Carol, and that the guy didn’t knot him.
Thinks about when he can meet up with Becca, and those big hands on his hips.
Bucky scrubs himself, slick and crust and old sweat being washed away by the warm water and then, after, the warm water being dried up with big fluffy towels.
And Bucky uses them all. Just because he can. One on the floor, one for his hair, one around his body and another across his shoulders. He leaves them where they fall on his way to get dressed.
Thinks that he could help himself to breakfast from that well stocked fridge, and for some reason doesn’t. Doesn’t think too closely about why he doesn’t. About why it feels wrong to not have the Alpha feed him.
Bucky emerges from the subway into what feels like a different world. He’s jogged up the steps, cursing the lack of signal in the subway, only to find he still didn’t have any as he made his way up the steps and only then looked up to find minor chaos all around him. Diversions all over the place and people in high vis directing people from behind cordons.
Bucky manages to get close enough to flag one, “what’s going on?”
“Aliens!” The guy shouts back.
There’s a lot of panic in the air, worry, fear, people moving away, some calmly, some not so much.
“Aliens,” Bucky replies, deadpan, pulling his phone out again. No fucking service at all, no internet, nothing.
Great.
Why is it always fucking aliens.
Well, there’s no going home from the looks of it, so he turns away, heading for the office instead. It’s closest, and he doesn’t really want to be bothering people in this confusion. Maybe he will be able to use the landline there, call his Ma’ and Becca, let them know he’s okay. There’s a rumble off in the distance, maybe an explosion, something that sounds like distant thunder.
There’s a light in the sky.
Fucking aliens again.
When Bucky makes it in, there’s only a few people there, and they are all gathered around Carol who is sat dead center in front of the little portable office TV, watching the news, “what’s happening?”
Carol doesn’t look away when she answers, “think it’s all over, they said they’ve neutralized the ship, whatever that means. Yeah, look, Captain America’s coming over to talk to the press.”
And sure enough, so he is, he looks all sweaty and dirty and fucking delicious in a way Bucky’s not gonna’ admit, because he’s not a fourteen year old with a crush, no he is not.
On screen Steve Rogers pulls off that stupid plastic looking hat thing and there’s a nice shot of him running his hands through his sweaty hair. Oh yeah, if Bucky wasn’t exhausted and hadn’t been wrung dry over the last day he might have been doing something about that, he puts it in the spank bank for later anyway, just in case.
The press is all in a frenzy, waving microphones and shouting at the poor guy, “the incursion was minimal and has been dealt with efficiently. The Stark foundation is already moving on repairs. Several injured, but so far no deaths-”
He’s cut off by another flurry of questions, and Bucky watches as he frowns, putting a finger up to his ear like he’s listening to comms or something. Maybe he’s pulling a fast one, Bucky thinks, pretending so he doesn’t have to deal with all this bullshit. Bucky wouldn’t blame him at all.
“I’m sorry,” Steve Rogers, Captain America says, while staring dead at the camera, “I have to go.”
And oh, Bucky thinks. Oh, shit.
He might not have worked it out if he hadn’t heard those exact words less than two hours ago...but...holy shit.
So that’s who’s attached to the famous dick.