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Steve catches the wrong end of a fledgling mutant’s razor sharp claws in Illinois -- fangs in her mouth and fur on every visible part of her body -- and a few days later he’s running a fever high enough that even Bucky begins to doubt the limits of the serum’s healing. He’s had just about enough of the Steve Rogers walk-it-off approach to mortal injury, so on the second day Bucky drives them both to the nearest safehouse; a good twelve hours in the car and ten miles on foot after that.
Steve’s still muttering about turning around and hitting the newest case in Tucson -- something about a fifth grader shooting laser beams out of his eyes -- and Bucky thinksfuck, no.
“Fuck, no,” Bucky says the third time Steve mentions it. He reaches back and hauls Steve closer, even one-armed as Bucky is, their strides wide, feet sinking into the freshly fallen snow. It’s deep winter, and so cold Bucky thinks if they fall they might both end up in matching icy tombs. They’ve each had just about enough of that. So onwards it is, shoving at Steve when he needs the reminder.
The cabin is a single, lonely dwelling, secluded in the frozen hinterland. About five miles out Bucky feels the hair at the back of his neck raise, sensing without any reason he can pinpoint the biometric scanners wedged somewhere in the landscape, noting their arrival. It’s more intuition than any actual stimulus, but that’s how Bucky is now, all sorts of instincts he can’t explain.
The interior consists of two rooms, a massive bed that looks out of place in the otherwise compact interior, heavy furnishings, a single fireplace, a wood-burning stove, and obsolete telecom panels from a good twenty years back.
Well they’d been promised shelter, not state of the art tech wherever they landed and Bucky has a bigger problem on his hands than the inability to open a Skype call. Like Steve’s flushed cheeks and glassy eyes and absolute refusal to admit to any illness.
“Come on then,” Bucky says, swallowing down around the ball of anxiety climbing its way up his throat. He tugs Steve inward and shuts the door behind them with his foot.
*
Steve’s fever breaks before dawn, and Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. He brings him a towel dipped in icy water and helps him bathe, change into a fresh set of sweats. They both get back in bed and Steve wraps his arms around Bucky from behind, with a little wriggling from them both and a hasty pause to prep, then gets himself out and Bucky’s ass uncovered enough to fuck him; slow and deep. Steve rucks Bucky’s top up after and rubs at his uncovered chest and at his nipples in lazy motions. Bucky hums, soft with relief and lax from getting fucked, twisting in Steve’s hold and turning his head back for Steve’s kisses.
“Missed you,” Steve murmurs against Buck’s lips.
“You were with me the whole time, you dumb lug,” Bucky mutters back, snorting.
“Kinda outta my mind with that fever.”
“Oh, so now you’ll admit you were sick?”
“Twas but a scratch,” Steve replies, only half joking. Probably.
“Pfffft,” Bucky lets out, and he shoves at Steve.
Steve laughs, then coughs.
“Ugh, gonna hit the head,” he says, twisting to get out of bed. He dresses haphazardly, picking clothes out of their daypacks at random. He takes the single comm they have left out with him, muttering something about testing reception.
Bucky has a full minute of respite before everything turns to shit.
*
It’s like something from a waking nightmare. Bucky hears a dull thump from outside first, like Steve’s fallen against the outer wall. Then he hears a low, inhuman sound that sets his heart racing and jolts him out of bed, scrabbling for his clothes and rushing out the door.
At first all Bucky sees is Steve curled down, body heaving like he’s throwing up, and Bucky blinks because he’s sure he’s seeing things - the light is strong and blindingly white outside, freezing air like miniscule knives prickling his lungs as he breathes, snow wetting his inadequate clothing - it’s like the entirety of Steve’s back expands and he falls forward, and Bucky can hear the sound of joints creaking, snapping, the wet, sickening pull of viscera molding into a new shape.
“Holy shit, oh my god, Steve,” Bucky gasps out, stumbling forward. He takes a step towards him like -- he might be able to -- but Steve’s entire body folds like origami, skin splitting and breaking, dense white fur sprouting as Bucky looks on in horror and shock. A terrifying snarl emerges from a distended muzzle, massive head turning Bucky’s way, sharp, glinting teeth descending as long as Bucky’s fingers.
The creature that stands where Steve once was, is unlike any wolf Bucky’s ever seen or heard of, giant as a bear in size, the massive barrel of its chest almost at shoulder height. It only takes one bounding leap towards Bucky for Bucky to fall back, pulse leaping in his throat as he stumbles up the frozen path.
He scrambles for the cabin, heart jumping like it might break through his ribcage, sweat at his temples. He hears a growl behind him that seems to rattle the earth underfoot, barely managing to scramble inside the cabin and jam the door shut.
With his metal arm Bucky could have had a fighting chance. As it is, he shuts the door a split second before a mighty weight hits the other side with a resounding fwump, splintering the frame. In desperation, Bucky slams his body against it, eyes roaming the small space for anything to wedge in his place.
The force of the second blow sends him flying into the living space. He knocks his head against something sharp with a dull thump and sees stars. The dizzying pain and sudden thudding rush of his own heartbeat overwhelm him for a moment, and when it dials back down Bucky registers a sound like bellows expanding, the whoosh of air entering the wolf’s lungs as it breathes.
When he opens his bleary eyes it's to bright, searing light streaming in through the open doorway. The wolf’s hulking form is silhouetted against in contrast, massive paws and long legs and the great bulk of its body. It shakes its head slightly with a snuff and dips its nose to the ground. Bucky swallows a low groan as he pushes up on his arm. It has Steve’s eyes, he thinks wildly; except intensified, reflective. Bucky tries to make as little sound as possible, watching as the wolf smells its way around the tiny living area, thinking maybe he can crawl his way to the door, find the comm Steve had left outside and --
Bucky makes a single, aborted move before the wolf’s on him. He’s even more terrifyingly enormous up close. Bucky can feel the heat of him through the air, smell the musk of his coat, feel the hot ghost of his breath as he leans down to sniff at Bucky’s face. Bucky braces for a blow.
But all he feels is a tickle of breath along his side, his back. He turns ever so slowly and finds the wolf sniffing down his body, intent but nonviolent. He seems interested in Bucky’s scent, and other than his snuffling there’s barely any sound in the room. The faint rush of wind outside, and the beat of Bucky’s pulse at his temples. He tenses as the wolf moves his way down further. He doesn’t anticipate the sudden, persistent sniffing at his ass, then the jolt of the wolf’s nose nudging right between Bucky’s cheeks through the fabric of his sweats.
“Uh -- ” Bucky lets out in surprise. What the fuck. He tries to crawl up into a sitting position, which earns him an instant, heart-rattling growl.
Bucky freezes in place instantly. He turns around ever so slowly, hoping he can hold a hand out, make some eye contact, or maybe that wouldn’t be such a good idea. A sudden yank of his sweats sends Bucky’s heart racing again, fear mingling with a nameless question, form still indistinct in his mind.
Then it’s like a switch flips and the wolf is growling again, low in his throat, and he’s got his teeth snagged in Bucky’s sweats and he’s tugging at it, yanking Bucky closer, tearing into the fabric with his fangs. He butts at Bucky with his nose again, visibly frustrated, and Bucky can’t -- it can’t be the way it’s taking shape in his brain but then -- another powerful yank and Bucky’s scraped against the harsh wooden flooring, instant bruises up the uncovered skin of his stomach and the palm of his hand.
“Steve. Goddamit. Steve,” Bucky hisses in a pained gasp, scrabbling at the floor to get away. He kicks back with his free leg and twists his whole body around trying to escape, but he might as well be a ragdoll in its maw. “Snap out of it, Steve, please, it’s me, it’s Bucky, uh -- ”
The wolf tugs Bucky down with a rough snatch of its head and bounds up so its standing directly over him. Bucky tries to turn over, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, only that if he could make it -- make Steve look him in the face, reason with it -- but wolf-Steve only growls, low and violent in his throat and clamps his jaw on Bucky’s shoulder. He gives him a rough shake, then bites down hard, the sharp points of his teeth digging into Bucky’s flesh in a warning that freezes Bucky in primal, instinctual fear.
“Okay. Okay, okay,” Bucky whispers quickly, heart hammering in his ribcage. Fear crawls its way up his spine, settling in his guts like a block of ice. “I’m not gonna -- I’m not moving. Steve. I’m not moving.”
Another warning growl, deep in Steve’s massive chest. Bucky shuts up immediately. Steve stays like that, gripping him for a good second before he slowly lets go. The wet tip of his nose dips to touch at Bucky’s neck. Bucky flinches then just as quickly tries to control his response. It might be better to just go limp -- let him -- do whatever it is he’s going to do.
Which is to rip Bucky’s sweats to shreds in one vicious snap of his head, teeth sunk in the fabric, baring Bucky’s naked backside and setting terror surging through Bucky. He glances back to see the black curl of Steve’s lip as he growls and lower still -- the red tip of his cock, emerging from its sheath. Horror prickles in a cold sweat from Bucky’s scalp downwards, raising every hair on his body, the implication fully emerging, sending him into a stupid kind of shock.
“Jesus,” Bucky says, twisting to get away again, this can’t be happening this is just -- a weird, vivid nightmare, he’d nodded off waiting for Steve and he needs to wake up and --
Bucky’s movement seems to enrage Steve again. He snarls and leaps at Bucky, jaws so tight on his shoulder that this time Bucky feels real pain, feels them sink into his skin and draw blood. He cries out and immediately goes limp, shaking in Steve’s jaws, whispering I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay. I won’t go. I promise, until Steve lets him go. Steve makes a little warning growl in his throat, an and don’t even think about it at Bucky before he moves off. He sniffs at Bucky’s legs and ass again. The cold air of the now freezing cabin sets Bucky shaking. His pants are shreds around his ankles. He flinches when Steve’s jaws settle at his shoulder but this time they’re much gentler -- just -- keeping him there. Steve’s big paws shift on either side of Bucky and then there’s -- Steve’s furnace-hot body settling overhead.
“Uh -- ” Bucky startles as a long, wet tongue licks at the side of his face. He jerks his head to the side then stops. Let’s it happen. Steve sticks his muzzle against Bucky’s face and the back of his neck, his giant wolf body pressing Bucky down against the floor, warming him from head to toe. The soft, dense fur of his coat brushes all over Bucky’s backside, his cheek where his face is turned, his neck. Bucky lies as still as possible, breathing into the crook of his arm, until Steve’s shifting against him, hemming Bucky between his four legs, then biting down again on Bucky’s shoulder as if to steady him.
Steve crouches down. For a second Bucky thinks Steve is going to drag him around some more, except he doesn’t. He holds Bucky in his jaws, hot breath whooshing out of his open mouth against Bucky’s shoulder, then he juts down with his hips and something hot and slick ruts its way against Bucky’s ass, finding no purchase.
“Oh shit -- ” Bucky jolts in Steve’s hold, he can’t help it, his brain’s scrambling again and his pulse is hammering at his throat. Steve gives a warning growl and shakes Bucky in his grip and Bucky’s helpless -- he has to go limp again or he might die, and it would be Steve who killed him and no one would be around to know what happened or to help Steve, to get him back to himself. And it’s Steve after all, it’s his Steve, Bucky can handle this, he tells himself wildly, even as his eyes go hot and wet.
“Oh god, oh god,” Bucky whispers as Steve ruts down, once, twice, changes position and ruts down again and his cock finds purchase, sliding between Bucky’s cheeks. Once he finds the angle Steve tries again and this time the tip of his dick jams into Bucky’s hole, finally fucking inside Bucky with one, long thrust that sends a low, throaty groan heaving out of Bucky’s open mouth.
“Ohh god, ohhh, uhhh --” Bucky lets out, eyes open in shock. Steve’s impossibly thicker, and longer, fucking proportionate of course, Bucky thinks hysterically, as Steve begins to fuck him in rabbit-fast thrusts, jolting Bucky against the floor. He has the brief, hysterical thought of being thankful his ass was still greased from the morning, from when human-Steve had fucked him -- oh god, he’s being fucked by wolf-Steve , he’s getting fucked by a thick, wolf-dick, plunging impossibly wide in his still slick ass.
The sounds Bucky makes are uncontrollable, shocked and shoved out of him with every rut of Steve’s powerful hips against him. He’s saved from any serious pain by the fact he’d prepped beforehand but its still brutal at first, and he’s only held in place by the way Steve’s jaw has still got a grip on him, and isn’t letting go. Steve’s mostly silent while he fucks him, growling a little when Bucky cries out rather loudly, quickly silenced into tiny whimpers huffed into the meat of his forearm.
Bucky’s face and chest are smashed against the floor, knees wide and aching against the hard wood. He can’t help noticing, God help him but his brain is automatically cataloguing it, that Steve’s dick feels -- wetter. Narrower at the tip and blood-hot, and as he fucks Bucky, wider and wider at the bottom. What was first discomfort edging on pain has quieted down with every thrust to a near-nothing of pressure and sensation, now to the deep edges of something more, the beginnings of a spark as Bucky’s ass gets wetter from Steve's dick and more accommodating, the fire in his belly stoked and stimulated.
“Unhh, oh god,” Bucky grunts out, as the bulge at the bottom of Steve’s cock starts popping in and out of his ass, Steve plunging so deep inside Bucky’s gut Bucky thinks he might feel it in the back of his throat as he swallows. He sees stars as it pushes out at all the aching spots inside him, his cock suddenly fat and heavy between his legs, swinging and dripping down helplessly as Steve works his ass. Please, please, please, Bucky thinks nonsensically, the fire in his belly flushing him all over, racing hot through his veins.
Then it ends as suddenly as it began; Steve jams his dick down with one last solid shove, the bottom so thick now it stretches Bucky wide and startles a cry out of him. It swells even further once it's crammed inside of him, impossibly wide, and he groans deep and low into the flooring oh God, ohhhh, as Steve’s cock sprays up his insides, over and over again, going off like a firehose and Bucky's own fat dick jerks wildly, shooting off untouched as his orgasm is pushed out of him. How the fuck, Bucky thinks. It’s so much come, slopping inside his hole and making Steve’s cock move looser at his stretched entrance.
Steve just crouches over Bucky, silent, panting a little in the air as his balls unload. His front paw shifts as he leans down and sniffs at Bucky’s face. Bucky moans, low and helpless, then whimpers as the movement jerks Steve’s knot inside him, setting off a series of electric sparks in his hole. Steve nuzzles at Bucky’s face, whining a little, his long, hot tongue lapping at the wet on Bucky’s face -- he’s been crying, tears from the shock and exertion. He’d come on a wolf dick inside him -- a wolf knot -- and harder than he’d ever come in his life. Bucky groans and hides his face in the crook of his arm. He tries to think of nothing at all, tries to breathe around the knot lodged in his ass, tries to tell himself it hasn’t happened. He waits and waits for an interminable, unbearable time, and somewhere between shock and his crashing adrenaline a black wave of exhaustion overtakes him.
*
Once his mate is asleep Steve heaves himself off the floor and orients himself with their den again. It smells strongly of his mate and of himself, though his own scent is different, the scent he wore when he walked on two legs and thought too many things than his brain could process now. Trying to remember felt like dunking his head into a roaring river, drowning in memories and thoughts he couldn’t handle -- too complicated and intense. It didn’t matter anyway, only the now, and right now he needed to claim his territory, familiarize himself with the landscape, bring food home for his mate.
And what a mate he had. Steve felt a swell of pride in his chest, intermingled with a thread of anxiety that made him whine. His mate was soft and shockingly vulnerable. No fur to keep him warm despite the depths of winter outside! No claws or fangs to protect himself! He whined again remembering how his mate had struggled under him instead of readily welcoming Steve’s claim, until Steve had shown him the proper way to submit. He brushed the concern aside. Steve could smell himself on his mate, could smell his seed inside him, could remember mounting him amidst the jumble of memories from when he was two-legged like his mate. The righteousness of it sang in his bones. He was sure of it.
He bounded determinedly through the snow-covered earth surrounding their wooden den. The area grew heavily forested as he moved away, towards where he could smell running water. He let the powerful stride of his body and the crisp, cold air rushing into his lungs overwhelm his senses. Soon he found a river, burbling quietly under a thin layer of ice. He sniffed along the banks, and covered a good few miles more, power rushing through his veins with every leap and stride.
He found that the river eventually curved gently around the radius of their den. He circled back and deeper into the woods on the far opposite side, towards the setting sun. Every so often he would stop and lift his hind leg over a broad tree, a craggy boulder, a moss covered trunk, and urinate to mark his domain. It felt right, deep in his bones and in his beating heart. This was his territory. His companion. He opened his mouth in a panting smile as he loped back through the snow. He had a mate to feed, to breed through the long, dark nights and ready their den for spring.
*
Bucky wakes up with a groan. Every muscle in his body aches. His internal temperature is high, which means his body is busy knitting itself back together.
He walks around in a daze for a good half hour before everything kicks into gear. Whatever happened to Steve was definitely linked to that kid who’d clawed him up, some sort of werewolf thing, except there was no full moon in sight and Steve didn’t seem to be turning back anytime soon.
Bucky searches the cabin high and low for their comm, then after a heart-sinking moment of realization, finds it outside with the remnants of Steve’s clothing, frozen solid, crushed to pieces in the snow. He collects every scrap he finds anyways, wrapping it in a cloth and stuffing it under the mattress, saving it for later, unsure of when Steve will return. This is gonna need one hell of an explanation, and as soon as he thinks that Bucky’s brow is furrowing, teeth gritting as he realizes the horror and guilt that will storm through Steve. It’s still him, it was still him even though -- conservation of matter or whatever, all of Steve’s atoms rearranged into a different form. His cheeks heat up thinking of how this Steve had taken him, held him down and forced the most mind-blowing orgasm Bucky had ever felt in his life. And even after that, even now that it had only been a number of hours since, he still ached inside like he did when he was hot for it and hadn’t had that restless itch fucked out of him yet.
Bucky brushes the thought aside quickly, swallowing around his embarrassment and shame. It was Steve and Bucky had to get him back. That was all that mattered.
*
Bucky spends the two days afterwards striding over every inch of the cabin space. He’d made it a total of five feet beyond the front door before Steve was bounding after him and growling loud enough to shake Bucky to his bones. The second time he’d tried, Steve had bodily knocked him down, grasped at the back of Bucky’s coat with his teeth and dragged him back, throwing him against an interior wall so hard Bucky’s head had spun.
Bucky opened cans of beans and Spam and got a fire going in the hearth of their single fireplace and cursed Steve out six ways to Sunday. Steve was gone for long hours both days, doing God knows what, Bucky thought, and somehow still had the wherewithal and speed to intercept Bucky before he could get more than a mile out beyond the cabin. More than that, and Bucky burns with the thought, Steve’s claim on him didn’t end after the first time. He’d given Bucky all of a minute to anticipate his intent and prep himself before he fucked him again that first night, and another time the next morning. And every time Bucky’d grit his teeth and try to stave it off, try to let it just happen, pass over him like a shallow wave, only to be betrayed by his body. He was losing himself more each time, giving way to the intense pleasure Steve bred in him quicker and quicker, luxuriating in the gut-deep satisfaction, the way everything dwindled down to the insanely thick, wet cock working his ass, wringing Bucky loose and mindless with pleasure.
Steve returns towards the middle of the third day with something bulky and bloody grasped between his jaws and answers Bucky’s silent question as to the events of his day.
It’s a deer carcass, freshly killed and only lightly mauled. Steve snuffed at the door and rattled it with his paws until Bucky opened it. Then he dragged the carcass closer as Bucky gaped on, and dropped it with surprising gentleness at Bucky’s feet. He sat back on his hind legs and panted happily into the cold air, breath emerging in visible cloudy bursts.
“What the fuck is this?” Bucky asks, and he’s almost startled into a laugh as Steve’s expression visibly drops. He cocks his massive head in confusion. Now Bucky really laughs. He’d already figured Steve’s comprehension was abnormally high, for a wolf anyway, though no amount of explanation seemed to deter him from his one wolf mission to breed Bucky’s ass like he could transcend the rules of nature and biology himself. But he’d understood Bucky the other day when he’d grumped about the cold and gotten his breath knocked out of him as Steve smothered him like a bone-crushing boulder wrapped in fur. Then he’d heard Bucky bitching about beans and mystery meat just that morning...et voila .
“I’m not eating that. How the fuck am I even gonna cut it up with one hand?” Bucky asks, loudly, angrily, shaking his hand in Steve’s face and feeling like an A-grade fool. Well no one was around to judge him, he could talk to his life-partner turned monstrous demon-wolf like he could understand if he wanted to.
What follows then really does set Bucky into a fit of laughter. At Bucky’s failure to dive teeth first into the frozen carcass, Steve begins nudging Bucky towards it with his giant wolf head, whining a little when Bucky resists.
“Jesus, hold on. What the hell am I supposed to eat it with, dumbass?” Bucky asks, sticking a palm out before him to resist the persistent nudging. “Look.”
Bucky pulls at his upper lip, revealing his relatively dull teeth. Steve stops pushing at Bucky and sits back. He tilts his head curiously, eyeing Bucky’s mouth.
“No ridiculous monster-sized canines, okay?”
This earns a soft whine. Then a huff of determined breath as Steve bounds forward again, this time towards the carcass. He clamps his teeth around a spindly deer leg, slowly, eyes on Bucky as he does it, and mimes pulling it off, like maybe Bucky’s just a very big, dumb cub and if Steve shows him enough times he’ll know how to eat.
“Jesus Christ,” Bucky mutters, then louder, “okay, just. Stay here. Sit? You know how to sit?”
If Steve hadn’t already demonstrated his understanding of simple words and phrases, Bucky might start believing he really has lost it because he could swear wolf-Steve gives him the single most Steve expression, the classic I am going to indulge your stupidity for the moment dead-eyed look. Steve sits back down on his hind legs, the picture of superior knowledge and borrowed patience, and gives Bucky a very slow, patronizing blink.
Bucky laughs, disbelievingly. “Oh alright, I’ll show you, buddy. Let it never be said James Buchanan Barnes doesn’t know how to dismember a fucking deer, got that?”
*
As it turns out, the one-arm situation makes it a little more difficult than Bucky foresaw. He has to skin it first, and cut its belly open to scoop out its innards, and cajole wolf-Steve into holding one end in his enormous jaws as Bucky chops the rest into pieces he could store in the icebox. If he’s going crazy he’ll go full crazy, Bucky decides, so he continues talking to Steve the whole while, whenever he feels like it, like Steve’s really listening and understanding everything and like maybe if he does it enough, says the right words, Bucky can just draw him out.
*
Bucky’s bone-deep exhausted by end of day, and almost manages to forget what else Steve will demand of him until he’s getting ready for bed. Steve had left an hour before to do whatever wolf things he was doing out in the world at this time of the evening, probably being a neighborhood terror to all the poor woodland creatures within a thirty mile radius. Bucky determinedly doesn’t think about it as Steve finally returns, the front door banging in its hold as he bats at it with his paws. It seems like any form of Steve has made mortal enemies with blocked entries.
“Hold your fucking horses,” Bucky mutters. Steve bounds in the second he cracks the door open, spraying melting snow onto the floorboards as he shakes his head. He circles Bucky excitedly, nearly knocking him over every time, sniffing at him from head to toe, letting out great big huffs of wolf-breath in Bucky’s face as he licks at him.
“Ugh,” Bucky says, but he lets Steve do it, doesn’t resist, and soon Steve’s satisfied enough with Bucky’s state to circle the perimeter of the cabin, nose to the ground and floorboards creaking under his weight, disappearing into the adjacent room.
*
Bucky has a moment of frozen indecision as Steve returns, like he’s got a fighting chance to stave it off now, like if he holds off until he sees the curl of Steve’s lips in the beginning of a snarl when he isn’t ready and waiting then he can excuse the hastily shoved lube inside his hole, the way he gives it up anyways, the way he ends up grunting and moaning and whispering encouragement as he's pounded swollen and sloppy. He’s hot just thinking about it, and determinedly takes the lube from under the pillow where he’d left it that morning, strips naked and lies on his back on the bed. Who’s going to stop him? Who’s here to see? Bucky thinks wildly, slicking his fingers up reaching between his legs, rubbing them at his hole and sliding them in, two at a time. He moans a little, anticipation crawling up his throat and tightening his stomach. Steve pads back in at the sound. He walks slowly to the bedside, luminous eyes drawn to the motion of Bucky’s fingers dipping into his ass, and it’s like his presence alone, the smell of him, the vivid sense memory of his dripping cock stretching Bucky’s hot hole open, enough to set a needy pulse throbbing deep in Bucky’s core.
Steve leaps onto the bed and begins sniffing around Bucky, trying to delve between his legs and lick at his fingers.
“Hold on -- uh --” Bucky says, pulse ratcheting. “Oh there’s a good boy. Oh. Give me a second.”
Steve moves off, shifting a little in impatience, but understanding enough to wait. Bucky moans as his fingers brush against that spot inside him just right. This Steve was so big. Thick and so, so wet. He whimpers before he can help it, and Steve’s ears perk forward in concern. He moves again, shoving forward, and Bucky’s eyes make their way down the broad, dense fur of Steve’s chest to between his hind legs where his red cock has slipped out of its sheath. He lets himself stare there, anticipatory, daring. His next thought is cut off as Steve starts nudging at his hip, done waiting, jolting Bucky bodily to turn him around.
“Alright, okay,” Bucky says, heart in his throat as Steve gives a warning growl. He thinks about it for all of a second before spreading his knees wide on the mattress and pushing his ass up in the air, presenting himself for Steve. He stuffs his hot face in a pillow as Steve gives a wuff of breath against Bucky’s wet hole. The mattress jostles precipitously as he settles over Bucky’s back. The first thrust down misses, glancing off of Bucky’s slick entrance and sliding up his crack and Bucky, goddam him, he feels the first clench of his ass, wanting Steve’s wolf-cock in him. His cheeks flush so hot he thinks he might burn a face-shaped hole in the sheet. His chest is mashed against the mattress, like it was the first time against the floor, but now the cushioning and the pillow make it a lot easier.
Steve slides in on the third try, and then he’s off like a piston, rabbit-fucking Bucky in fast, powerful thrusts. Bucky heaves out a deep, open-mouthed groan. Oh jesus, oh fuck, he thinks feverishly, grunting throatily as Steve humps his hungry hole. It’s the hardest he’s ever gotten fucked. Regular supersoldier Steve had blown his mind, but wolf-Steve is stronger, bigger, his cock so wet and impossibly blood-hot, the narrow tip managing to curve just right up in Bucky, tickling up in his needy ass. Sensation builds fast, sparks of pleasure in his hole with every plunge of Steve’s dick inside.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Bucky lets out helpless, words loose and slurring. He clutches hard at the bedsheets as Steve keeps rutting against him, and it’s beyond filthy, his mind’s blown with how dirty it is, that he’s wanting it, taking it from a wolf, letting a wild dog dick in him and getting off on it. But no one’s around to see for miles and miles and there’s no one Bucky can call. There’s no one to ever find out and in the moment Bucky gives it up entirely. He lets go, bares down and widens his legs, opening his ass up for Steve to breed him well.
“Uh, uh, uh,” Bucky gasps out, eyes wet as Steve’s knot begins to pop in and out of him, every pass sending fireworks shooting to his dick and throbbing through his heavy groin, centered in his ass and radiating outwards. He barely registers his own leaking dick and swollen balls, swinging heavily between his legs.
“Ohh, uh, oh shit,” Bucky grits out as Steve gives a final, perfunctory thrust in and stops, wedging his giant knot as deep as he can in Bucky’s ass. Bucky’s entire body convulses as his ass clamps down tight and he comes, his dick shooting and balls drawing up. Great gusts of hot breath hit the back of Bucky’s neck as Steve pants, leans down and licks at Bucky’s face, whining a little as Bucky shakes mindlessly, muscle control gone as his whole body curls up and convulses, eyes rolled up in his head.
He’s gone for a long, bright moment, registering nothing, all worry wiped from his mind. When Bucky finally returns to his senses Steve is nudging him gently with his nose, trying to get him to turn to his side. He’s still coming in delayed spurts inside Bucky, and Bucky knows it’ll be like this for a while longer, Steve’s wolf-dick breeding him deep and well.
It takes some maneuvering. Bucky’s limbs have gone to jello, and trying to get both himself and Steve’s wolf body comfortably settled jostles the knot still stuffed in his ass and sets Bucky off again, crying and curling over as he comes again on Steve’s knot. Steve waits him out, licking at Bucky’s naked chest and face until Bucky winds down and he can settle his massive body around Bucky from behind, covering him like a very furry, slightly slobbery blanket.
*
With no means of escape or communication, Bucky’s days take on a predictable rhythm. A routine, him and his wolf-Steve, who doesn’t seem to be changing back anytime soon. He has enough frozen meat to last him for a good couple months, and although Steve’s appetites in all regards seems to be ravenous, he manages just fine catching his own fresh prey for his meals.
Steve leaves for hours at time. He starts taking Bucky out with him, bringing him more layers to bundle up than Bucky would need in the Arctic probably, tugging him out the door and loping in long strides before him and back, herding him towards a freshly caught deer, or a melting bend of icy river water, or just to explore together and back.
His appetite for Bucky remains just as insatiable as his appetite for the hunt. On Steve’s busy days he fucks Bucky first thing in the morning and again at night. On the mornings Bucky wakes to a dark cabin and a raging storm outside Bucky begins to feel his body respond before he does, knowing it’s in for hours of fucking, sweating and grunting under Steve as he breeds him through the dark, cold day and into the night, then curling up together to sleep in a warm tangle of limbs.
He’s done something to him, and maybe it’s whatever magic that made Steve this way is somehow seeping through Bucky’s pores, bred into the fabric of his being every time Steve’s unloaded inside him, because Bucky craves it now, an empty, ravenous hunger inside him that needs more and needs it constantly. He thinks at times that he’ll never be able to come on a human dick again, because Steve’s wolf-dick and knot have ruined Bucky for anything else. He finds himself twisting back after Steve’s knotted him, opening his mouth for Steve’s long wolf-tongue to lick inside and give him sloppy kisses. He eyes Steve’s cock every time it drops from its sheath until one day he’s touching it, pushing at the barrel of Steve’s chest so he sits back on his hind legs, red cock glistening above his massive, furry balls. Finds himself stroking it as Steve blinks at him and pants, finds himself curling down to lick tentatively at the wet, narrow tip, giving himself completely over in every way.
Then he’s hungry for it in a different way, nudging Steve’s nose towards his ass after Steve’s knotted him. That seems to thoroughly confuse Steve, who only shakes his head and bounds up to curl up at Bucky’s side, oblivious to his frustration.
Bucky finds his stroke of genius in the pantry, so that one night he grabs a half-eaten jar of peanut butter and strips, settles down in their bed and starts coaxing Steve from his near slumber at the hearth.
Bucky doesn’t really feel it until he’s doing it, on his back with a dollop of peanut butter on two fingers. And then his body’s flushing hot and cold, mind blank in a sort of shock. He can’t think around the flood of need intermingling with shame, making his hard cock bob and jerk in the air as he curls his knees to his chest.
“Steve,” Bucky says. He whistles low between his teeth. Steve’s ears cock forward curiously, but he doesn’t move an inch. Of course now would be the one moment he isn’t ready to go at the scent of Bucky ten miles off.
“Come on, come on, there’s a good boy,” Bucky keeps coaxing, until Steve’s up on his feet and lazily stepping forward, eyeing Bucky curiously. Bucky rubs his fingers at his hole quickly, smearing the peanut butter there, cajoling Steve closer all the while, heartbeat picking up in his throat. He wipes the vestiges against his taint. Steve sniffs closer, obviously hesitant to reconsider this thing that hadn’t made sense before, but was now smelling much more tempting. Bucky grabs his knee and hauls his leg up, folding his body in half as best he can with only one arm to aid him, and jutting his smeared hole up for Steve. It clenches and opens a little as he breathes, anticipatory. If both dogs and regular human-Steve loved peanut butter there was no reason wolf-Steve wouldn’t be going crazy for it.
“Come on big boy, you can’t be that different can you?” Bucky whispers encouragingly as Steve nears. “Give it a lick.”
Steve sniffs one more time right at Bucky’s hole, then the long ribbon of his wolf-tongue slips out and Bucky gives a low, fervent moan as he watches it lick a stripe right up his crack, sliding against his pulsing hole, hot and wet.
“Oh god, oh yeah, there you go,” Bucky whispers quickly, rocking his ass up again. Steve gives it another long, hot lick. “Uhh. Oh yeah. Do it again baby, lick me out.” Bucky’s thighs tremble as he tries to keep his knees up at his chest. He curls his head forward to watch his hole pucker and clench and groans out again as Steve immediately delves into it, the first magical taste quickly convincing him he had to have more, his long red tongue licking up and around Bucky’s hole, at all the delicious peanut butter smeared there. Steve’s wet nose bumps against Bucky’s sac, jostling his swollen balls around as moves his head. Bucky lets out a whimper, rocks with his whole body curled up tight to push his ass up for Steve’s tongue.
“Reach in there -- unh -- reach inside me baby,” Bucky says, ass pulsing greedily. He wants more, he needs so much more. He wants it in him, filth that he is, dog fucker, breeding bitch, Bucky lets himself think, lets himself feel that voice of judgement and thinks then yes, yes, that’s what he is. He almost doesn’t believe it would come to this but it’s his Steve and Bucky can do this, can allow himself to be devoured in every way.
Bucky reaches for the jar with shaking hands and dips two fingers in, heedless of ruining it for any actual future food purposes. Fuck it. He has a feeling that he will soon happily allocate the entire jar for this purpose alone, if the feeling right now is any indication. He curves his fingers inside himself this time, wedging a glob of peanut butter into his hole, then clutching at his leg again, holding it up even tighter, spreading himself wide. He’s sweating, breathing hard, hair damp at his temples as Steve delves in, tongue slurping out in long, hot stripes. This time he really sticks his nose in there and the long ribbon of his tongue licks inside Bucky, all the way up and in, longer than any human tongue could ever manage. It’s hot and wet and slightly raspy. Bucky lets out a deep, full groan, mouth falling open in ecstasy as Steve’s tongue curls inside him. The sounds escaping him seem to encourage Steve, the unnatural blue of his eyes flicking up as he seems to connect the motion of his tongue to Bucky’s red, sweating face and murmured praise, the way he’s gotten hard like he does when Steve breeds him. He takes up a rhythm, licking inside Bucky in deep thrusts.
“Uh, uh, uhhh, oh yeah, oh lick it up baby, oh god,” Bucky lets out, groaning out shamelessly in time with Steve’s tongue. The peanut butter’s long gone by now but Steve seems to understand enough to keep going. Bucky rocks into it with his whole body, cradling his knee to his chest and grunting as his sloppy, swollen hole is licked out, as the clever wet line of Steve’s tongue fucks him. Bucky’s orgasm hits him suddenly, Steve’s nose bumping against his heavy balls, and he punches out a heavy, breathless sound as his cock shoots off and his hips seize.
Afterwards, he’s too far gone to hold at himself any longer, limbs going slack and heavy. Steve licks at Bucky’s come as well, moving from his hole up his sensitive, shooting cock, batting it around with his tongue and then to the flat of Bucky’s belly and along his chest where he’s sprayed himself.
“Oh, uh,” Bucky grunts weakly, twitching as Steve finishes cleaning him up. Steve pants happily when he’s done, mouth open in a grin. He huffs at Bucky and gives a final lick to his face.
“Unh,” Bucky lets out, jerking his head to the side. Peanut butter and come and dog breath all mixed together. Who would have thought that would be a scent he’d ever register, Bucky thinks surreally, breathing out a tired, exhausted laugh. Then Bucky’s next breath is pushed out of him as Steve ever so carefully settles over top, covering him with his massive body. He’s smart enough to keep most of his weight off so he isn’t crushing Bucky.
“Mmm,” Bucky hums pleasantly, drunk on the aftermath. “That feels good.” The underside of Steve’s silken coat against his bare skin and the weight of his body pressing Bucky down makes him sigh out a satisfied groan. He sinks his hands into the fur of Steve’s scruff and digs in, massaging his fingers through the dense fur.
“There’s a good boy. Yeah, baby. What a good stud you are, huh?” Bucky murmurs. He scratches behind Steve’s ears and watches his eyes scrunch up in pleasure, tongue lolling out of his open mouth. Bucky pets at Steve for a while, rubbing slower as his eyelids begin to droop with sleep, until Steve gently pushes Bucky’s hands away, sliding off slightly so he’s only half blanketing Bucky. Bucky turns in his sleep, curling up and cuddling to Steve’s side, reaching a lax arm around Steve’s wide back, his hand barely reaching the other side, stuffing his face into the fur at Steve’s fore chest. Steve stretches his paws out in front of him then settles his head on his forearms, eyes on his slumbering mate until his eyelids slip shut and he joins him in slumber.
*
The days blend together, moving deeper into the clutch of Winter. Steve breeds Bucky first thing in the morning, so early sometimes that all Bucky can bare to do is grumble a little and scoot his ass back, letting Steve rock him back into sleep. And Steve’s gotten good about it, learns quick, seems eager in all his wolfish delight to learn the new things Bucky’s taught him, like how his mate likes it much slower than the way Steve’s first instinct was to breed him, how his mate especially likes Steve’s tongue licking inside him, which Steve is still baffled by because licking doesn’t lead to pups. But his mate makes the sweetest sounds when he does it, and seems to always be in a good mood afterwards. So Steve indulges him.
He finds his mate’s still flat belly worrisome, needling at him more and more as the weeks pass, and he takes to nudging at Bucky’s stomach and smelling him more often, checking to see if his mate’s scent has changed in that deep, ripe way that will let Steve be satisfied that their den will be full of tiny yelps and furry bundles come Spring.
He still has the snatches of the other-him in his brain, and at night the memories overtake him, have him whining awake in terror, growling at the ghosts that won’t leave him be. He feels real human fear in those dreams, unmasked by the hold of his wolf-mind, thinks in the rapid, staccato sounds that his mate makes and which Steve only understands in parts. But when he wakes his mate is always there, sinking his hands into Steve’s coat and murmuring soothingly at him, letting him cover his naked, soft body with his own, comforted back into sleep by the low murmur of his mate’s voice and the steady beat of his heart.
His ears sometimes flick about just as he’s slipping back under. That’s when he feels that vague itch right under his skin the most, an unsteadiness in his bones, like the rush of clouds heavy with rain miles away from where Steve can scent it.
But that worry remains distant, obscured. Not for a few more months to come. It slips readily from Steve’s mind.
*