Work Text:
Despite what many may say, scenting is the most important aspect among the different subgenders. Everything else, from mating bites to knotting, feeds back into the ability to smell and scent others. Omegas will tend to have mild to strong scents, but in return, they also have stronger, more sensitive noses than the other subgenders. Alphas have the inverse, strong scents and somewhat weak noses. Betas, betas have both negatives. The idea is that an omega will find the perfect mate, preferably an alpha, with their nose, and the alpha's weak nose will be attuned to only them. It’s not all that researched, for a variety of reasons, but all this to say, an alpha should not have their nose attuned to a beta’s scent.
Bucky Barnes, an alpha, has once again broken these rules.
In a home with three alphas and a beta, you’d think there’d be more arguing between them. You’d be wrong, of course, considering that out of these alphas, Bucky was the most volatile of them, and he preferred to self-isolate from them. When he is with them, he’s staring. Like right now. He’s been staring at Sam Wilson since he met him; it’s a habit that’s only gotten worse, being stuck in an enclosed space with him. He can’t be blamed for this, though, not when he’s being teased by Sam’s scent.
Sam is a beta, so really, when surrounded by two other, much stronger scents, Bucky never should’ve picked up on it. But rules have never truly applied to Bucky, so for the past few months, he has been teased and taunted by Sam’s scent. It’s faint and haunting, wafting in the air, waiting for you to notice it before it dissipates into nothing.
Oranges, cinnamon, and there's something else Bucky just can't name. It rides the undercurrent of Sam's scent, sharp, but it's always gone whenever Bucky tries to identify it. The spicy sweetness of it has led Bucky to stare down Sam, even while he does the most mundane of tasks.
"Either Sam doesn't notice," Natasha starts, leaning into Bucky as they sit on the couch, "or he's letting you stare at him like... that." Her voice is teasing, forcing Bucky’s eyes away from Sam’s back and how his muscles shift beneath his cotton shirt.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, you're staring like you wanna eat him, so excuse me for being a little concerned." It’s hard to meet Natasha’s eyes, Sam’s scent haunting as he takes a deep breath. His eyes close without his permission, another bad habit he’s gotten in his time here. He can hardly close them without catching the faintest hint of oranges on his tongue.
Oranges on his tongue and mind free to wander, he sees Sam. Sam’s under him, sweaty and wet, covered in a slick sheen that makes him glow in the sheets of Bucky’s bed. Bucky can see himself pressing his face into the curve of Sam’s neck, licking right against his scent gland, tasting oranges and cinnamon on his tongue. He imagines how Sam would feel in his hands, mismatched palms running up and down the curves of Sam’s body as Sam pants under him.
But the best part of this fantasy is always the aftermath. Where they lie together on Bucky’s bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, blanketed in the scent of spiced oranges and frosted plums. Sam’s scent is autumn wrapped in a wool jacket, warm against the chill of the world. He takes another deep breath, groaning as he does. The scent of oranges is stronger now, and opening his eyes, he can see why.
Sam and Natasha are talking, or at least they were. Currently, they’re staring at Bucky with matching expressions. He feels pinned to the seat under Sam’s gaze, feeling his eyes wander over his body. He sees Natasha cringe next to him, so his scent is probably potent enough for even Sam to smell, but he doesn't react. Dark eyes catch the light, lips falling into a slight frown. Their staring contest doesn’t last long, not with Natasha nudging him and tilting her head toward Sam.
“He asked a question, Barnes.”
“Oh,” Bucky’s mouth feels dry, looking away as he swallows down his own arousal. “I don’t care, do what you want,” Bucky says quickly. He bristles when the faint scent of oranges turns sour. He watches Sam leave, disappearing down the hall as he mumbles to himself. He’s not thinking when he follows Sam, following the trail of oranges and spices towards the bathroom.
He catches Sam just as he exits the bathroom, laundry basket in hand and towel wrapped around his waist, and Bucky’s brain just… stops. Sam’s scent is clearer, stronger, and it takes everything in Bucky to not start sniffing Sam. Their eyes meet, and Sam just sighs, holding out the laundry basket to Bucky.
He canted his hips, free hand holding up the towel. “Hey, can you take these to the washer since you’re here?” Bucky’s running on autopilot, nodding stiffly as he avoids dropping his gaze down to Sam’s chest or worse, his V-line.
Now, Bucky knows Steve has come up with some bullshit excuse for his staring habit, but not even Steve could find one that would reasonably explain what he’s about to do. It would’ve been smarter and easier just to dump the clothes into the washer. It’s what Sam would’ve done, what Steve or Natasha would’ve done. Instead, he puts each piece of dirty laundry in by hand, only hesitating when his hand takes hold of boxers that smell so strongly of oranges, it burns his hand.
Still, his mind is screaming at him. Sam’s scent is right there, at its most potent, and unless he puts his face directly into Sam’s neck, he’ll never know what the third part of Sam’s scent is. He hears the shower running, the pitter-patter of water against skin. Hears the muffled sounds of Steve and Nat, talking lowly, collecting their things. Hears so much and in the midst of it all, he’s standing alone in the laundry room, holding Sam’s sweaty boxers in his metal fist.
He brings it up to his nose, mouth parted as he inhales deeply, taking in as much of the scent as he can and… It’s star anise.
The third thing is star anise. Oranges, cinnamon, and star anise. It’s a blend of spicy sweet that has him panting into the fabric, and Bucky is obsessed. Retreating to his room feels like the smart thing to do; he can’t be caught in the laundry room like this. Stuffing the boxers into his pillowcase and pressing his face into the pillow is decidedly more questionable. Not that he can find it in him to care all that much. Sam’s scent is warm like tea on a winter’s day. It pairs so well with the frosty scent Bucky’s attached to his bed.
He can see it all so perfectly, Sam under him, blunt nails digging into his back as Sam’s legs wrap around his waist. Bucky mouthing and biting at Sam’s neck, bonding the pair together for life. He knows he’d drown in everything that is Sam, his scent, his eyes; he’d be putty in Sam’s hands if he so much as suggested it.
His hips rock into the bed, panting as he smushes his face into the pillow. It’s not enough, this would never be enough, but right now, it’s pretty damn close to what he needs. He’s been teased and taunted, surrounded by this scent for months. How Steve and Natasha weren’t at their limit as well, Bucky would never understand. He feels insane, insatiable, as he grinds harder into the mattress, drooling into the pillow and Sam’s boxers. A low groan escapes him, his own boxers growing damp as rocks harder. He needs to touch himself, needs something more, anything. He’s biting at the pillow, unable to keep himself quiet as he imagines Sam. Imagines knotting him, locking them together in their most intimate spot, knowing Sam would probably let out breathy sighs and moans, and he’s desperate to hear more.
A steady knock on his door breaks the haze. A stab of clarity tells him that the scent is too faint to be Steve or Natasha, so he knows it’s Sam. He’s mindful enough to sit up as Sam walks in, knowing he looks like a mess. The faint, teasing scent of Sam oozes into the room, stronger and cleaner thanks to the shower. The oranges take center stage with the spices acting as their backup dancers.
Looking at Sam makes him dizzy. His shirt is too tight, stretching across his broad chest and wrapping tightly around his muscled arms. His sweats hang low and loose on his hips, slivers of dark skin catching Bucky’s attention like an angler fish’s glow lure. It’s enough to drive a man mad. Sam stands by the door, looking at anything that isn’t Bucky, willfully ignorant of the situation Bucky’s in. Uncaring of how his breathing shifts every time Sam’s eyes wash over him.
“Congrats, you got your libido back,” he laughs, closing the distance between them. He moves like he owns the room, but then again, that’s always how Sam acted, isn’t it? Moving with confidence and grace, claiming the room and its inhabitants' attention by merely being there. “Nat and Steve left on a mission, told me to tell you they’ll be gone for a week or so.”
He’s standing in front of Bucky, far enough that Bucky has to reach out to touch him, but close enough he can smell the star anise hiding behind spiced oranges. He has half a mind to do just that, but Sam is speaking about lunch and dinner, and what to do for the upcoming days. Talking so casually, it feels purposeful, like he’s distracting himself from Bucky. Like, he knows what he’s doing to Bucky.
His hands find Sam’s waist, thumbs coasting carefully over the exposed skin as he stares up into Sam’s eyes. Brown eyes dilate slightly as Sam’s palms rest easily on Bucky’s shoulders. A small smile takes over his features, the tip of his tongue swiping over his lips. Their scents spike, sweet like a fruity cocktail, and Bucky feels drunk off it.
“Star anise…” Bucky mumbles, closing his eyes as his forehead kisses Sam’s stomach. He’s nowhere near any of Sam’s scent glands, but he’s dizzy just thinking about licking the smooth expanse of skin in front of him. A shuddering sigh escapes him, Sam’s hand wandering up toward his hair, fingering the strands as he smiles.
“What’s that, Bucky?” He asks softly.
“You got star anise in your scent. Oranges, cinnamon, and star anise.”
“Huh,” he says, fingers lightly tugging on the dark strands, “Never noticed. Sounds like it’d taste good…”
Before Bucky can think of an appropriate response, one that would be respectable between two somewhat friends, his mouth is on Sam’s hip. Pushing the fabric of his shirt up so he can suck bruises onto his skin. The gasp that follows has him pulling Sam closer into the gap between his thighs. Sam’s hand tightened in his hair, pushing Bucky back and allowing him to stare up into the starry sky that were Sam’s eyes. Sam’s scent grows syrupy, sticky sweet like someone added honey to it, the spices bite back, the spiced cocktail of Sam making his cock twitch in his pants. It’s so overwhelming, flooding his senses, and Bucky wants more.
—----------
Sam knows that regardless of your subgender, the aftermath of traumatic events can kill your libido and, in turn, your ability to experience heats or ruts, or even arousal in general.
Bucky Barnes does not have that issue. At least, not anymore.
For as long as he’s known the guy post brainwashing, he’s displayed the behavior Sam’s seen a thousand times over from the alphas in his life. Barnes stares a lot, and Sam may not have the superhearing or a strong nose, but he’s not blind. Two tours in the military and a good bundle of years working and living in D.C. put him in rather close proximity with alphas who were recovering from their time in the line of fire.
Hell, even his own libido had died for a little while after he came out the other side. All that to say, he knows what a wound-up alpha looks like. He’s used to the stares that came with being the closest thing to an omega around an alpha on waning rut suppressants. The heated, almost perverse stare, but the difference between those guys and Barnes is that they look away when Sam looks at them.
Barnes? He stares harder, like he’s trying to challenge Sam or like there’s something about Sam he just can’t understand. And until recently, Sam didn’t know what Barnes could’ve been looking for, but after that little interaction in Bucky’s room and the fact that he's missing a pair of boxers, Sam knows what’s happening now.
Barnes is just going through a rut, and once again, Sam’s the closest thing to an omega in the house they’re sharing. Feels oddly reminiscent of his Air Force days, if he’s being honest. But hey, at least he knows what to do now. So, like a good friend, he helps out in the only way he knows how.
Offering clothes and keeping his distance. Despite the sappy way Bucky spoke to him that day or the fact that he’s taken note of every aspect of Sam’s scent, he knows better. Bucky just likes the scent because he’s been around it so long, and with his rut, he should be around scents he likes, so he can ride it out easier. It's when he’s passing Bucky’s room does that line of thinking change somewhat.
He can hear Bucky panting; whines and groans one would usually chalk to rut issues loud through the door. But then, mixed into the near animalistic noises, Sam hears it.
“Sam…” A punched-out moan that joins the litany of sounds tumbling out of Bucky’s mouth. Sam knocks, listening to how Bucky goes quiet before letting him in. He looks wrecked. Sweaty and shirtless, the smell of ripe plums sticks to Sam’s skin before he’s even entered the room. He’s got Sam’s running shorts in his metal hand, and his dick in the other. Flushed a pretty pink, he avoids looking at Sam, embarrassed by the way his scent grows sweeter.
“You good over there? Or is it just rut brain getting to you?”
Bucky doesn’t respond immediately, no snarky quip on his lips or annoyed insult. He tightens his fist around his dick as he inhales hard and lets out a shuddering breath. “Not in a rut, I’ve told you this already,” he grumbles. He doesn’t stop stroking himself, hand moving up and down as he holds the shorts tighter. It’s a little addictive to watch.
“Sure,” Sam says, swallowing as he focuses his attention on Bucky’s face. “You just get off to the smell of me ‘cuz ya like that much, ain’t that right?” Bucky’s hand doesn’t stop; if anything, it moves faster as his breathing grows more labored.
“Are you just here to make fun of me?” He huffs. The dirty shorts, sweat-stained from years of running laps in them, are brought closer to his nose. His eyes fall shut as he breathes them in, lighting a quiet fire between Sam’s thighs as he groans.
“You want me to leave?”
“No.” The response is so quick it makes Sam raise a brow. Anyone who wasn’t an asshole probably wouldn’t have pushed any further, but if Sam weren’t an asshole, he wouldn’t be here, now would he? He sits on the edge of Bucky’s bed, torso turned to meet Bucky’s eyes, the steely blue of them overtaken by the blown-out black of his pupils. He feels those eyes trace along his body, up from his thighs, over his chest, before settling on his neck, right where one would place a mating bond.
"Well, I'm here. So what do you want?" Bucky doesn't speak, biting his lip as the blue of his eyes darkens. The plum scent grows sweeter, the room feels hot, but all Sam can think of are the chilled plums he'd eat during the summer. "Bucky?"
“Can…” He starts, pausing as a shiver rocks his body. He lets go of himself, both hands grounding him through their hold on Sam’s shorts. “Can you touch me?
“Are you sure?” It comes out just barely above a whisper, and Bucky’s eyes water as he bites back a whine. He nods, dark hair curtaining his face as his hips rock up into some imaginary heat. “Words, Bucky. Need you to say it.”
“Please, Sam… Fuck , please, I need-” He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, Sam’s hand wrapping around his dick while his other pressed against Bucky’s cheek. Bucky turned his face into the touch, inhaling the spiced scent off his wrists. He licks at the scent gland on his wrist, teeth teasing the idea of biting as he rocks his hips up into Sam’s hand. “Sammy, please…”
“Aw, don’t cry,” he rubs his thumb over the leaking slit, leaning in close to Bucky. Mismatched hands hold his waist as Bucky presses his face into Sam’s neck. Wet pants and chaste kisses are left in the wake of his mouth. Bucky’s hands slip under his clothes as he whines, and Sam knows Bucky can probably smell the arousal on him. Nails dig into his skin, and Sam can’t do anything but focus on the heat in the palm of his hand. Bucky’s hip jerks upwards, and for a brief second, his teeth graze against his mating gland.
Sharp canines tease the gland, the idea of them piercing it, bonding them together for life. His boxers feel damp, growing wetter as Bucky’s wandering hands fondle and grope at his chest. Bucky pulls Sam into his lap, firm thighs straddling him as Sam keeps his pace. Bucky’s breathing grows more frantic, hands holding his ass as if they could get any closer. Sam ignores the way his brain tells him they can be, that Sam just needs to take off his pants and sit on Bucky’s lap, and then, they’ll be as close as physically possible.
Of course, he doesn’t humor the thought; one of them needs to be reasonable after all. His free hand holds Bucky by the chin, forcing him to look at Sam. The shudder that rocks Bucky’s body makes the heat in his stomach burn just that much hotter. Dark eyes glazed over, he’s drooling, whining, and hushed pleas for more, making Sam dizzy to the point his hand stutters on Bucky’s dick. Sam sticks two fingers into Bucky’s mouth, and immediately, his mouth closes around the digits, sucking and licking them as Sam fingerfucks his mouth.
“Sam– Sammy please, please…” It’s muffled and broken, Bucky’s trying to talk while bobbing his head on Sam’s fingers. It takes everything in him not to imagine what that tongue would feel like on his clit. “Sam, I’m close, please, I need-”
“What do you need?” Tears spill over the apple of his cheeks as he whines loudly. Sam can feel the beginnings of his knot brushing against his hand. His dick looks almost angry, like he’s forcing himself not cum yet. Sam has to close his eyes and take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of frosted plums so his mind doesn’t wander. “C’mon, Buck. I’m not a mind reader, you want somethin’, say it.”
“Wanna knot you.” He says, drooling around Sam’s fingers as his blush spreads further down his chest and his eyes grow dazed. “Want it- Need it. Been imagin’ it for so long. Please, Sammy, I’ll make you feel good, I promise. Please, Sammy, baby–!”
Sam interrupts his begging with his tightening around the knot at the base of his dick. Bucky bites down on Sam’s fingers, hips thrusting up as he cums. The pain of Bucky’s teeth forces a whimper out of Sam’s mouth as he grinds down on Bucky’s lap. He keeps his palm wrapped around Bucky’s dick, tightening his grip as the alpha rides out the aftershocks, spurts of cum spilling over his hand. The other hand is removed from Bucky’s mouth, and before Sam can say anything, Bucky’s lips are pressed against his.
Hands hold his head in place as Bucky’s tongue makes its way into his mouth. He swallows the moan Sam lets out, his metal hand moving down the length of Sam’s body to settle on his ass. Slipping under his shorts and boxers, fondling the globes of his ass, and teasing his hole. Breaking away from the kiss, he feels breathless and dizzy. To the point, he doesn’t immediately notice Bucky shifting down on the bed. Hands guide him until his clothed cunt is settled right on top of Bucky’s dick. He’s still hard under Sam, rocking his hips up as he stares with a single-minded focus.
“I want you.” It’s so abrupt that Sam’s eyes drop down to Bucky’s face, and wow, what a sight he is. A deep flush has taken over his face, his blue eyes blown black, full of love and lust. He’s drooling, his lips red and swollen from kisses and bites. Tear stains and watery eyes, he looks like he’s going to cry again. Sam holds eye contact as he licks his hand clean, listening to how Bucky’s breath catches and watching how he sucks in a shuddering breath. “Christ, Sam. Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”
Rocking his hips, Sam smiles, feeling Bucky’s cock twitch under him. “Yeah, yeah, I could take a guess…” His hands find purchase on Bucky’s chest, his thumbs brushing over the pert nipples, pulling a whine out of Bucky. “Is that why you’ve been starin’ at me like that?” He asks, leaning in closer and pressing kisses along the edge of Bucky’s jaw.
Bucky sighs, leaning into the touch. His heart is pounding in his ears, the syrupy sweet scent of spiced oranges clouding all rational thought. His mouth moves before his brain can. Rambling out every thought he’s ever had about Sam, how he wants– needs to knot him. Needs to bite the mating gland. His arms wrap around Sam, pressing them together chest to chest, as his face settles into Sam’s scent gland.
“Please, Sammy? Please, I promise I can be a good alpha for you.” His words are slurred as he licks at the gland, oranges and cinnamon bursting on his tongue. “I’ll take care of you, knot you ‘til you’re pregnant with our pups, we can even get married beforehand if that’s important to you.”
“Ah, Buck, rut brain really getting to you, huh?” He preens under the delicate attention, his hands pushing dark, sweat-slick strands out of his face. Sam’s fingers dance along his skin, featherlight. Drawing nonsensical shapes and leaving burning trails in their wake. “Yeah, you’re out of it, aren’t you? Rut brain tellin’ ya to knot me, right?”
“Yes, yes, please, Sam–”
“Exactly why I can’t let you do that.” Bucky whines, and Sam clicks his tongue, frowning as he looks down at Bucky. Those featherlight fingers turn firm, slapping his face lightly as he sighs. “You’ve been so good, Buck. Don’t ruin it now, ‘kay?”
“I can be good. I can be so good for you.” Sam pulling away feels so wrong; he can’t help but tighten his arms around him, planting his feet on the bed to thrust up against Sam. Sam buries his face in Bucky’s neck, muffled soft moans, and leaves spit-slick kisses along his skin. He wants so badly for Sam to claim him, wants to be Sam’s, needs it. “I promise I’m not in a rut, Sam. I promise, please just let me,” his teeth graze against Sam’s mating gland, making Sam shiver in his arms.
Blunt nails dig into his skin, and Bucky can feel the way Sam’s pants grow damper with every thrust. The room is sweet and heavy, a mead made of oranges and plums that Bucky thinks he’s gotten addicted to. And Sam’s no better. It takes a lot for a beta to be able to smell the scents of others, even more to smell their own, and Sam was wading through the cloyingly sweet scents in a daze.
His mouth, fuck his mouth, on his Bucky’s neck, licking at his mating gland. Bucky can feel Sam shift, the slick trail his lips leave as he bites down on his shoulder. Sparks fly in Bucky’s brain as he feels Sam grind down harder on his cock. Sam is clinging to him, needs him even if only temporarily. His teeth and nails are digging into his skin, marking up pale skin as he uses Bucky to get off. It’s perfect, everything was so perfect. There’s a mess of precum and slick on his dick, surrounded by the wet heat of Sam’s cunt, his knot hadn’t been given the chance to deflate, and yet, Bucky’s standing on the edge of an orgasm again.
Sam shudders on top of him, thighs tightening around his waist as he bites down harder. Bucky’s right behind, ecstasy teasing him, but then Sam is moving. Sitting up and sliding off of Bucky to stand on shaky legs. A pitiful whine escapes him, needy and desperate as he stares at Sam. The amused laugh does little to settle him, and he can see Sam talking, but the words fall on deaf ears because Sam is leaving.
He’s beyond dizzy, almost a little sick, as he sinks into his bed, the smell of spiced oranges clouding his brain. Evidence of Sam clings to everything: his bed, his sheets, his skin. Bucky swears he can feel those long fingers in his mouth still.
The few days of having the house to themselves go somewhat similarly. Sam checking up on Bucky and giving in to his own whims, but always leaving before things can go too far. It’s not that he didn’t want to fuck Bucky, after all, he’d always end up fingering himself in his room after leaving. No, it’s more so he just didn’t want to sleep with him while he’s in a rut. Everything he’s done so far could theoretically just be him helping a friend through a rut. Hell, he’s done worse in the name of helping a friend through a rut/heat. Whole reason why he can’t sleep with Bucky right now. The idea of letting him knot Sam after saying all of that, only for the rut fog to fade, and it all be meaningless was more than a little sickening.
So waking up to Bucky watching him from the threshold of the door is only slightly concerning. He looks more like himself, straight-faced, brows furrowed, no longer pink and sweaty in clean clothes. Looks refreshed even.
“Feeling better, I’m guessing,” Sam says, tossing the blanket as he stands. Blue eyes track him as he wanders his room, silent and attentive. “How long have you been up?”
“Long enough to make breakfast,” he says. He turns away, walking down to the kitchen as Sam follows behind him. “There’s… there’s some more if you’re hungry. Think I made too much…” Sam can’t see his face, but the tips of his ears are pink, and Sam can’t help but think it’s cute. Usually, breakfast has them sitting in separate rooms while they eat with either Steve and Nat as buffers or them sitting in their own little bubbles. Bucky sits in the seat next to him, leaning on his hand as he watches Sam.
It’s not like his usual stare. None of the prying or searching, he looks content to just stare, a slight flush dusting his cheeks when Sam meets his eyes with an easy smile. His hand rests on the table next to Bucky’s, and oh so carefully, their pinkies lock together in the silence. In the stillness of the empty house, it’s so easy for them to lean into each other.
Hands find their perch on waists, and heads rest on shoulders. It’s so sickeningly domestic that Sam wants to question Bucky. Wants to pester him with questions about why he’s acting like this and if he’s still horny out of his mind. But lying on the couch, his head on Bucky’s chest and Bucky’s arms around his waist, makes him hesitate.
Sam dozes off, quiet snoring filling Bucky’s ears. His right hand cradles Sam’s head, and even fast asleep, he leans into the touch. He sleeps even through Steve and Natasha coming back, the pair of them wearing knowing grins when they see them. At a later date, he and Sam will sit down and talk about everything. Bond themselves to each other. Become proper mates like they were supposed to.
A quick kiss is left on the top of Sam’s head, and soon, sleep takes Bucky too. Dreams of chilled plums in the Louisiana sun and spiced orange cocktails during a New York night are shared between them.