Chapter Text
It’s been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, Steve thinks as he washes the soot off his face.
The hot summer sun had just climbed to its highest point in the sky when the call had come in - a house fire, a family of three living on the premises.
They’d jumped into their gear and had raced to the address. By the time they got there, the family had been safely outside, thankfully. But no matter how hard they’d tried, the house couldn’t be saved. The family dog, trapped inside, had died from smoke inhalation by the time they could get to it.
It had taken hours for Steve and his team to contain the fire. The house was beyond salvation, and losing everything and a beloved pet was a traumatic event for the family involved. As the others went back to the fire station, Steve’d stayed behind with two of his men to make sure the fire was really out. His gear was heavy, making his shirt underneath cling to his back. His eyes and nose were blackened with soot and he couldn’t get the taste of fire and smoke out of his mouth even though he’d worn a protective mask the whole time.
It was past midnight by the time they left the scene and got back to the station. Steve was surprised when he found out that the rest of the team had waited for them, just to check if they were okay.
Now, in the shower at the station, he tries to let the hot water wash the day away. He’s still drying off his hair, planning to change back into civilian clothes, go home and crash, when the others announce they’re going to have a few drinks at the bar down the street.
“You should come,” Sam says. His big, soulful eyes are tired but he looks earnest as always. “We all could use a drink to forget about today.”
Steve thinks about it and concedes. Every time he closes his eyes he sees the family standing outside on their lawn, the beta parents looking at the smoking ruins of what used to be their house. Their little boy, inconsolable at having lost his dog. They’d lost everything in just one afternoon.
“They still have each other,” Sam says, understanding right away what Steve is thinking. Steve never knew his father and lost his mother aged eight - he knows full well that things can be replaced. Family can’t.
Sam squeezes Steve’s shoulder. “C’mon, let me buy you a drink.”
The team trail out into the warm night, heading for the bar down the street. Steve takes the rear with Sam and watches his men as they talk and laugh, trying to get rid of the day’s events. Brock’s in front, the cocky Alpha as always in the lead. Steve’s butted heads with him more than once, but in the end Steve is not only the team captain, he is simply more dominant than Brock. Still, the other Alpha apparently can’t stop himself from posturing from time to time. Thor is the third Alpha on the team, a surprisingly soft spoken man for a guy his size. Sam’s the levelheaded beta. He serves as a diffuser from time to time, especially when Brock acts up. Their other beta, Sharon, didn’t join them for drinks. The woman keeps to herself. Steve knows her last name and knows she’s unmated, but apart from that he knows preciously little about her private life. Clint, their newest member, is an omega but if you don’t know it, it’s hard to tell. The guy is so big he puts some Alphas to shame when it comes to strength and determination.
Brock had been adamantly against Clint joining the team, but Steve had refused to be cowed. Clint was a valuable team member, fearless but not taking unnecessary risks, levelheaded and strong. Steve had worried at first that Clint’s scent might be distracting, but the omega was very good at hiding his pheromones. It only came out when they were on a scene like today, when the temperature inside their suits felt as high as the fire they were fighting, but then the Alphas stank to high heaven too and Clint never showed any indication that it bothered him in any way.
So, Steve had decided that his men could very well learn to deal with Clint like Clint dealt with them. The only concession was that Clint used the communal showers after the Alphas were done. And so far, fingers crossed, not a single incident had taken place.
“Aw man,” Brock exclaims suddenly. “Fuck!”
They’ve reached the bar, but it must be later than any of them apparently realized, because the bar closed for the night. Steve checks his watch. Two am. No wonder.
“I know a club,” Brock announces, turning back to the crew. “It’s a few minutes from here. It comes with a view,” he says pointedly, looking at Clint. “But at least we can get us a beer there.”
“I think I’ll just go home,” Steve says. He’s not fond of strip clubs and he doesn’t like the crowds there.
“Nah, come have a drink,” Sam coaxes. “I know you hate those places but you need to unwind before you go to bed. Your dreams will thank you for it.”
Steve sighs and hangs his head. “Fine, but I’m not watching.”
“We can sit in the back,” Sam says placatingly.
“One drink,” Steve stipulates. He knows Sam is right. Doesn’t mean he has to like it.
Brock, who’s been listening in, lets out a whoop and leads the way to the club he’s been talking about.
Thor bows out gracefully and wishes them a good weekend. His mate Jane is waiting at home for him. Steve doesn’t blame them for it.
So it’s the four of them that walk to the club. The entrance is down an alley, and Steve already regrets letting himself be talked into going. Sam likewise looks dubious.
Clint just seems happy to tag along like usual.
A bouncer looks them over and greets Brock by name. “Show’s almost over, I can let you in no charge.”
They murmur a thanks, trekking down the narrow hall and up some stairs that lead to the main floor of the club.
“You’re a regular huh,” Sam says casually as they walk into the big room. It’s a little seedy, the predictable red velvet everywhere and low lighting hiding the things that cannot stand the light of day.
They walk into a wall of scents; pheromones, sweat and bleach all muddling together into a murky current that’s so unpleasant it makes the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck on end. He tries to take shallow breaths and follows the others deeper into the club. It’s quite crowded, and signs tell Steve some special show is going on tonight.
A woman is dancing on the stage, her act nearly finished. She moves sensually, swinging out a high heeled foot and showing her flexibility in easy movements. Her long, fiery red hair seems to glow in the spotlight, forming a halo as she throws her head back and makes her hair fan out.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Brock says as he secures them a corner booth. It’s not very crowded, the audience consisting mostly of male Alphas. There’s a rowdy bunch sitting right in front of the stage, probably a stag do. They whistle for the red haired dancer to get closer so they can slide some paper into her panties. She winks at them and continues her routine.
She really is very pretty.
Clint can’t seem to keep his eyes off her, either.
“First round’s on me,” Brock says as he flags down a waitress. “What do you guys want?”
Steve orders a beer, as does Clint. Sam opts for a soda. He never drinks, and simply rolls his eyes at Brock’s cajoling.
The waitress takes their orders, and Steve notes she stands just outside of Brock’s arms’ reach. She’s in a bustier and glossy briefs. The sturdy boots she wears underneath clash with the rest of her style, but Steve can imagine how much high heels can hurt if you’re on your feet all night. Like many of the other omegas working in this place, she’s wearing a collar and sleeves that cover her lower arms, keeping her scent glands away from patrons.
He makes eye contact with the girl, just to reassure himself that she’s doing okay. Her big eyes are almost doe-like. Her name tag reads Wanda. He wonders if it’s her real name. She smiles warmly at Clint though, which he reads as reassuring.
On the stage, the song changes and the red haired woman invites the groom from the stag party up on the stage for a lap dance. She puts the guy in a chair and dances around him, her movements sensual and practiced. Her hands trail along his jaw and through his hair. The guy tilts his head but Steve doubts he can smell anything but the leather sleeves that cover her forearms down to her wrists. The audience hoots when the dancer swings her leg up high, over the guy’s head to sit down into his lap. She places his hands on her hips and moves her pelvis, the curve of her back downright sensual. The audience roars as she arches, throwing her head back in a posture of ecstasy.
She tilts all the way back, wrapping her legs around the guy’s waist for leverage and displaying her body upside down to the roaring audience. Steve looks on and marvels at how strong the dancer has to be to pull off her movements like they are effortless.
“Hot, no?” Brock says. He sips his beer. “Wouldn’t kick that out of my bed, for sure.”
“Hmm,” Steve hums, noncommittal. As gorgeous as the woman is, he doesn’t feel any lust when he watches her. But then again, although Steve likes all people, his preference has always been with men.
“I like her,” Clint announces.
Brock looks over at him. “Didn’t know you were into omegas.”
Clint raises his brows. “My man, she is not an omega.”
Steve looks over at the dancer again. He’d have pegged her as an omega but that’s him assuming most dancers must be omega. Clint, being an omega himself, probably has a better read on who has the same designation as he does.
The dance ends and the woman kisses the Alpha’s cheek before she sends him on his merry way and saunters off the stage.
“That was the ever lovely Natalia,” the emcee announces as he walks onto the stage. He’s dressed as a gentleman, looking almost middle aged. His broad shoulders betray his designation as Alpha. “She’ll be back later and you can book a private booth with her. It’ll be an experience to never forget!” The voice pauses and the music changes. “And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for. Some say he’s a ghost. Others claim he’s a failed government experiment. But he’s here for you tonight for your entertainment. Give it up for... The Asset!”
The crowd roars as the lights go dark, a stroboscope flashing on. Steve squints against the aggressive light and listens to the bass that rumbles out of the speakers. A wave of anticipation goes through the audience when a figure stalks onto the stage.
In a perfect symphony between lights and music, suddenly there’s a male dancer standing in the center of the stage, his stance wide and aggressive. He’s wearing tac gear, his face partially covered by a mask that Steve can only describe as a muzzle.
A low bass morphs into a hard version of a song he vaguely recognizes and the guy starts moving.
For some reason, Steve can’t look away. The guy’s movements are sinuous, his strength showing in the ease in which he moves, crawling over the stage like he’s gliding on ice.
He makes eye contact with the audience, looking at them like he doesn’t care if they like what they’re seeing or not. He gets up in the face of one of the Alphas of the stag do, his posture intimidating even though Steve’s pretty sure this dancer’s an omega.
A damn near perfect one, at that.
Then the shirt goes off, revealing a lithe body with lean muscles and cut abs. Steve watches, mesmerized, as the skin moves over those muscles as the guy twists and gyrates his torso, tilting his pelvis to the beat of the music. His hands drag down his waist, drawing attention to his abs and the v of his hips. A faint happy trail disappears into low slung pants. When Steve’s eyes travel back up, he notices that the guy is looking directly at him.
The guy, The Asset, jumps off the stage and stalks through the audience. He pays attention to random men and women, dragging his hand through a woman’s hair and allowing one of the Alphas from the stag party to squeeze his pec, guiding the Alpha’s hand down his body in a grip that looks gentle, but Steve can see the strength needed to keep the Alphas hands where the dancer wants them.
He is absolutely gorgeous, Steve thinks. It’s only when he notices Sam looking up, brow raised, that he realizes he said that out loud.
The guy comes over to their booth, a murder strut that shouldn’t be so damned erotic, dark eyes burning over his mask. He kneels before Brock, twisting his hips with his knees wide while he goes down, the movement obscene and erotic, and he pushes Brock’s knees apart so he can slide in between them, crawling back up Brock’s body without actually touching him.
Brock sits back, salacious grin on his face, and watches the dancer with heated eyes. When his hand comes up to touch, the dancer, The Asset , Steve thinks, grips Brock’s wrist with one hand to hold it down. The other hand comes up to wag his finger while he shakes his head slowly: ‘no.’
When Brock tries again, much to Steve’s dismay, The Asset moves away fluidly, still keeping to the beat of the music. He looks over his mask at Steve and throws him a wink before he saunters back to the stage.
The guy knows how to play his audience, Steve thinks. He knows when to move slow and when to pop into the beat of the music, and Steve can’t tear his eyes away from the dancer’s beautiful form.
As the song draws to an end, The Asset does a final sweep of the audience, dodging groping hands with practised ease, moving around like he owns the place. It drives the crowd wild.
As he goes back to the stage, Steve can see what a fantastic ass is hidden inside those tac pants.
Then the music morphs into something new and the red-haired dancer comes back up the stage, as well as two others. The four of them do a routine, moving their bodies in sync, sometimes even dancing together in displays so erotic Steve can’t help the tightening in his jeans. Even though no body parts are in sight, it’s a damn lush show. The Asset is paired with the red-haired woman, Natalia, and he stands behind her, head close to her neck in a dominant display.
Which is ironic since Steve’s pretty sure The Asset is omega and Natalia is not.
But still. You know. Hot as fuck.
Steve swallows dryly and picks up his beer just to have something else to focus on. And then the four dancers proceed to walk into the audience and invite people from the crowd up on the stage. The world stops for a moment when The Asset stalks over to Steve like he’s on a mission and holds out his hand in invitation.
Steve looks at the dancer, at his eyes that glitter just above the mask. The dancer leans in close, like he’s about to scent Steve, and it shouldn’t be so hot but Steve’s only human, after all.
“If you want out at any point, just say so,” the dancer says. His voice is surprisingly clear behind the mask.
Steve desperately wants to catch a whiff of the man’s scent, but he’s wearing a collar and he must be on a crapload of scent blockers to boot.
“You good to come up with me?”
Steve nods and lets himself be pulled to his feet. He has a good six inches on the dancer but he follows like an eager puppy when the guy leads the way up on the stage. Chairs have been placed there and Steve is brought to the leftmost one. He glances over to Clint, Sam and Brock, and wonders if he’s ever going to live down the endless tormenting that will definitely ensue after this night.
Steve lets himself be pushed down onto the chair. The crowd goes wild, and Steve’s pretty sure the fact that he’s an obvious Alpha letting himself be led by someone else, probably an omega, is fuel to their fire. He sits back and watches as the dancer circles him. He feels stalked in the most delicious way and even though the dancer’s body is gorgeous beyond description, it’s the eyes Steve can’t look away from.
When the dancer is behind him, doing something that makes the audience roar, Steve can only smile a little awkwardly like he can tell the other members of the audience pulled up on the stage are doing. Then suddenly, the dancer is leaning in again.
“What’s your name?”
“Steve,” he says honestly.
“Steve,” the dancer repeats into his ear, like it’s a prayer. Goosebumps raise on Steve’s skin, showing on his bare arms. “Can I touch you?”
Steve inhales, considering. It’s been literal years since he’s had sex, preferring to even spend his ruts alone instead of with an anonymous fuck. He’s touch-starved, as Sam calls it, and while he longs for a human connection, he doesn’t want it to be meaningless.
“If you get something out of it, too,” Steve concedes. He senses it makes the dancer pause, but then he’s moving again so that he’s in front of Steve, crowding into his space. Again he can’t look away from the dancer’s eyes, even as he does something with his hips that elicits hoots from the audience.
“Can I scent you?”
Steve huffs a laugh. He didn’t bother to put on his neutralizing cologne after his shower at the fire station, thinking he’d be home soon anyway. It’s been so long since someone scented him the thought actually pleases him. “Have at it.”
The dancer’s eyes crinkle, indicating a smile, and then he moves away again for an intermezzo with Natasha. They twirl around each other sensuously, and from their movements Steve can tell how well they know each other, moving like one being instead of two.
And then the mask comes off.
The crowd roars as the dancer turns his back to them, and Steve fights himself to crane his neck and see the guy’s face. When he finally looks at Steve, everything goes quiet inside the Alpha’s mind. The man is, simply put, stupidly handsome. His features are close to perfection, with strong cheekbones and full lips that curve down in a natural, sulky pout. A subtly cleft chin is framed by a strong jawline and Steve already aches to draw these features.
His entire body clenches at the sight of The Assett’s face, and with the tight shirt he’s wearing, he knows there’s no way to hide his reaction. Judging from the way the dancer’s eyes flick down to his abs and then back up, he noticed it, too.
The dancer saunters over, hips moving fluently, and sits down on Steve’s lap. Steve’s grateful it hides his crotch from the audience’s view, because having The Asset this close is starting to make things really tight in the jean department.
The dancer grabs Steve’s wrists and guides his hands up to his neck, where his long fingers frame the collar for a moment before they’re being dragged down his torso. His skin is covered in a sheen of sweat and Steve stupidly makes a point to keep his touch as gentle as possible. He’s not sure if The Asset wants to be touched at all and if what he’s doing is just for show.
He tries not to read into how the Asset’s nipples seem to tighten when Steve’s fingers brush down his lithe body. When Steve tears his gaze away from where his hands are touching, he can see that the dancer is biting his lower lip. He presses Steve’s hands on his hips and leans in then, doing something obscene that Steve would kill to repeat with them both naked, and drags his nose up the side of Steve’s neck.
If he weren’t that close, Steve doesn’ think he’d have noticed how the dancer tenses for just a moment, his nose lingering for longer than Steve would expect in the context of a public lap dance.
His steadily growing erection kicks wildly when a tongue darts out and tastes his scent gland. The hands on his shoulders tighten.
“Sorry,” is whispered into his ear immediately after.
“It’s okay,” Steve reassures him quickly. “Wish I could smell you, too.” Because surely a guy this gorgeous would have a scent to match.
At that, the dancer moves away abruptly, climbing into the pillar that’s at the back of the stage and thrusting his hips like he means it. It gives Steve a moment to gather his bearings and he looks over at the other people on the stage. The dancer called Natasha has taken a woman on the stage with her, and the girl seems to be having the time of her life as Natasha leans in close like they’ll kiss and then pulls away at the last possible moment.
And then The Asset is back, pulling Steve up to his feet and shoving the chair back with his foot without even looking where it ends up. He places Steve flat on the floor, supporting his back with surprising strength as he guides him down.
“This okay? Not all Alphas like it,” the dancer checks as he hovers over Steve at all fours.
“‘s Fine,” Steve murmurs. He kind of wishes they were alone.
He kind of hates his brain for reading more into this than is actually happening.
The guy is at work, for fuck’s sake. Steve’s just a faceless john who will be forgotten before the night’s over.
But then the dancer crawls up Steve’s body in such an intimate and erotic way that Steve has to squeeze his eyes shut for just a moment against the onslaught of arousal that floods his body.
The dancer leans in and bumps his nose against Steve’s, the gesture so unexpectedly familial that his eyes open in shock. The dancer grins and leans in, hovering just above Steve, and tilts his head in such a way that the collar gives a little, allowing some of his scent to escape.
The pheromones hit Steve like a freight train and his hands come up to cup the dancer’s waist before he can stop himself. The dancer moves away to keep out of reach, winking at Steve like he knows what his scent is doing to him, and then he’s gone completely, dancing with Natasha some more.
Steve looks at the ceiling as his frantic brain tries to make sense of what he just smelled. It’s not something that happened to him before. Which is unsurprising, because this tends to happen just once in a lifetime, if it happens at all. But his brain is as sure of this as he’s sure the earth is round.
Mate , his Alpha brain whispers. Matemateminemate .
It can’t be possible. It just can’t be. But his instinct tells him it’s true and he’s chaotically wondering how the hell he’s doing to deal with this when suddenly the dancer is back as the music reaches a climax.
The Asset, who is absolutely omega, lets himself fall over Steve when the lights go out completely and the music stops, the only sound in the room the cheering of the crowd.
He can’t see in the sudden dark but the omega’s body is lying fully on his, face buried in Steve’s neck. He’s holding his collar away from his skin so that more of his scent leaks out and Steve can’t help but inhale deeply, knees coming up to cradle the omega’s hips and arms wrapping around his back to keep him close. In the next moment, the omega presses his lips to Steve’s, the kiss instantly, instinctually deepening.
It’s over in a flash and the omega is gone at the same moment the lights come up. Steve stares up at him, dazed, and he can tell their brief encounter hasn’t left the omega unmoved either. His lips are reddened from their quick kiss, his pupils blown. Steve’s sure he’s not doing much better.
He’s trying to find a way to get alone with this dancer, his mate , when the emcee walks back on the stage and the red-haired dancer lends him a hand to pull him back to his feet. The omega is already gone from the stage, and it takes an immense amount of will power for Steve not to stalk after him and stake his claim.
Mates after all, always are mutual. So the omega must have realized this, too.
Steve stumbles back to his seat, ignoring Brock’s low whistle. He drinks the last of his beer, looking at the side of the stage where the omega disappeared. The audience’s applause lingers as the show is over, voices calling out for more.
Clint gets up to use the restroom and Brock has disappeared to the bar where the red-haired dancer is now getting a drink.
“That was… something,” Sam offers once they’re alone.
“You can say that again,” Steve huffs. He shifts in his seat, willing his erection to go down. His shoulders are tense, muscles puffed up in a display of dominance. Same notices and keeps his distance, his posture open and relaxed.
His Alpha hindbrain is screaming at him to follow that dancer into the catacombs behind the stage, but he knows he’ll be kicked out before he even gets near the door. He can only hope that the dancer has come to the same conclusion and will come out for him.
Steve will wait at the back exit until he comes out if he doesn’t see him beforehand, that’s for sure. There is no way he is going home without him tonight.
He drags a hand through his too long hair and scrubs his beard. He can smell his own pheromones, for crying out loud. He must be stinking up the place. He glances at Sam, who raises his brows in a very Sam-like way, then looks down in a gesture of submission. He’s not going to challenge Steve like this, and Steve’s grateful for that.
Goddammit, where is his omega?
He’s craning his neck to see if he can glance down the side exit of the stage, but then suddenly Brock steps into his line of vision.
“Since you seemed to enjoy yourself up there, I bought you a lap dance from the redhead,” he says. “Booth number 3, I’ve been told.”
“Not interested,” Steve grunts. He shifts to the side so he can look past Brock.
“C’mon Steve, just let go a little. I know you haven’t gotten laid in months. I’m sure she’s up for more if you ask nicely.”
The only reason Steve gives in is because he hopes that the private booths in the back will give him a way to sneak behind the stage and find his omega. He gets up sullenly and stalks off.
“You can thank me later!” Brock calls after him.
Steve tries the door that he thinks leads backstage, but finds it locked. He turns back to the booth and sits down, fuming, brooding. He’s willing to break down that door but the two brain cells that are still capable of logical thought tell him that might not be a good idea.
The best way to go, probably, is to wait for the red-haired dancer, decline her dance and ask her about the omega he met on the stage.
He’s alarmed when, suddenly, the overhead light goes out, leaving him in shadows. He tenses, getting ready to get up and leave, when he senses a presence sliding into the booth with him. It’s not difficult to know who it is - the scent steamrolls over him and leaves him breathless. It’s dark chocolate and cinnamon spice combined, and it’s absolutely fucking glorious.
The omega slides onto his lap and then the music starts and the lights come on, the red glow making the omega’s cheekbones stand out. Steve’s eyes dart to his neck to see the omega has removed the collar.
Oh happy day.
The omega leans in, hiding his deep inhale of Steve’s scent in a sensuous move. “We’re being watched,” he whispers lowly so as not to be heard above the music. “If you move your hands from where I place them, I lose my job and you lose some teeth. Understood?”
“Yes,” Steave breathes.
He wants to say more but the omega has moved back again, turning his back to Steve and moving sensuously to the slow beat of the music. He’s still wearing the tac pants and the sleeves. His hair is shorter in the back and Seve’s mouth waters when the omega tilts his chin down, baring his neck to Steve’s gaze.
He moves backward, sitting on Steve’s lap leaning back against Steve’s chest. He takes Steve’s hands and laces their fingers together as he drags Steve’s palms down his chest. The omega’s nipples go tight under his touch - Steve’s definitely noticing it this time. The omega tilts his head, baring his neck in a submissive gesture so sweet Steve hopes it’s for him and not a normal part of his act. He doesn’t even hide the fact that he’s taking deep breaths of the omega’s scent. He seems to expand inside his own skin at the smell and he wants to roll around in it and stay there forever.
He wants to bite down and claim, but he refrains.
Barely.
He’s not quite sure from where they’re being watched, but he pitches his voice low and keeps his mouth of sight as he speaks. “What’s your name?”
The omega arches his back, rubbing against Steve’s chest in the most erotic way and then he’s away again, dipping down while keeping his knees spread and coming up ass first. Steve swallows and has to shove his hands under his thighs to make sure he doesn’t grab at the dancer like he so desperately wants to.
His own scent is coming off him in droves, a warning for others as much as it is an invitation for his mate to come closer. He knows the omega must smell it on him, can see it in the measured breaths the dancer takes.
The dancer walks behind Steve and leans in, hands pushing down his chest. Steve surges into the movement, unable to stop himself. “Bucky,” the dancer whispers, so softly Steve’s not even sure he heard it right.
Bucky comes back to the front and kneels before Steve, pushing his thighs wide so he can crawl in between them. Steve clenches his teeth, forcing himself to stay still and not claim what he’s being offered so blatantly.
His hand moves of his own volition though, ignoring the warning he’s been given. Bucky’s eyes flit over to his palm and he grabs Steve’s wrist, guiding his fingers into the omega’s soft, silken hair, masking Steve’s mistake. Steve cups Bucky’s head like it’s something precious, and, well, it is.
His jeans are uncomfortably tight, his erection burning at his zipper. Bucky leans in close and moves his face over Steve’s crotch, barely an inch away from touching. He’s definitely scenting Steve. Steve’s grip tightens in Bucky’s hair, wishing for all the world they were alone right now and there were no clothes between them.
Bucky climbs back up, still keeping to the slow beat of the music and he straddles Steve’s lap, placing Steve’s hands on his hips. He squeezes firmly, warning him to keep his hands there, and then he starts moving his upper body in sensuous waves, making his muscles ripple under his skin. He’s panting now, taking deep gulps of Steve-scented air. Steve’s not better off, chest expanding with every breath he takes.
He sneakily moves his hands so that his thumbs are outstretched, rubbing into the crease of Bucky’s thighs. It’s just as erotic as Bucky’s sensual movements and Bucky’s breath shudders as he leans in close again, leaning his forearms on Steve’s shoulders so he can push to his feet over Steve’s legs and move his hips.
“Come home with me,” Steve breathes. “Please.”
“Yes,” Bucky whispers back. “Back exit, ten minutes.”
He leans back and grins at Steve, his eyes sparkling and Steve knows this genuine smile is not part of the act. Bucky gets up, kisses Steve’s cheek and saunters away, blowing him a kiss over his shoulder as he exits the booth.
Steve needs a few moments to let his racing heart settle. He glances down at his lap and gingerly readjusts himself. He’s going to have to accept that his dick isn’t going to go down anytime soon. He’s lucky his knot hasn’t popped yet. His entire body is geared up for a mating.
He gets up as soon as he has directed some blood back from his cock into his legs.
Brock whoops when Steve comes back in sight, a wide grin ons his face.
“You look thoroughly ruffled,” he says, obviously hoping for some details.
“I’m leaving,” Steve says curtly. He ignores the way all three of his team respond to his scent. “I’m not coming in tomorrow.”
“No, man, it’s my day off,” Brock protests. “I’m not coming in so you can get laid.”
“Then stay home for all I care,” Steve snaps. He can’t fucking deal with another Alpha right now. He turns and stalks off, pushing through the now dancing crowd and out the front door.
The bouncer makes some sort of remark on his scent, but Steve doesn’t care. He walks around the building, scanning the wall for the alley that will contain the back exit. Bucky’s not there when he finds it, and Steve forces himself to take even breaths, calm his shit down.
He’s always prided himself on being levelheaded, not led by his hindbrain, but right now his instincts are on fire and they demand to be followed. Steve’s going to fuck Bucky in this goddamned alley if he doesn’t manage to get himself together.
And then the reinforced door swings open and out steps Bucky, in gray sweats and a wife beater, looking positively edible. His eyes latch on to Steve’s immediately and he drops his backpack without looking where it ends up, letting himself all but fall into Steve’s embrace.
There is little finesse to their kiss, both of them simply trying to get as much of the other’s taste into their mouths as possible. Steve presses his tongue in deep while Bucky slots his body against Steve’s so that they’re touching shoulder to knee. When Steve lifts him up off the ground, Bucky wraps his legs around Steve’s waist easy as pie, letting himself be held while they kiss like they’re drowning.
Bucky’s scent is overwhelming up close and Steve takes gulping breaths. He can hold Bucky up easily with his Alpha strength, and if he’s gripping too tightly in his desperation to get closer, Bucky doesn’t let on.
It’s only when they’re both panting, Bucky’s erection pushing against Steve’s belly through the loose sweats, that the omega finally pulls back to look Steve in the eye.
“Hi,” he says. His smile is blinding.
Goosebumps race down Steve’s spine just at the sound of Bucky’s voice. “Hi.”
Bucky’s smile widens, a toothy grin that squeezes his eyes. “I think you’re my mate.”
“I think so too.”
Bucky leans in to kiss Steve some more and Steve obliges happily, nipping on Bucky’s lower lip before he dives back in. He groans quietly at the omega’s taste. His cock is going to be bruised it’s pressing against his fly so hard.
Steve trails wet kisses along Bucky’s cheek, down his jawline and to his neck. Bucky tilts his head so sweetly, making space so that Steve can nuzzle at his gland, take in that glorious scent right at the source. He growls as his tongue darts out for a taste, his grip tightening so hard that Bucky makes a sound. Steve wants to bite down and claim, but not here, not now. Not in this filthy alley with other Alpha’s scents still vaguely clinging to Bucky’s hair and skin.
“Take me home,” Bucky breathes in his ear. “Please?”
How can Steve resist a request when it’s asked so sweetly?
“Yes,” Steve growls. He lets Bucky go, reluctantly, and picks up his bag from the floor. “Do you need to pick up stuff from your place first?”
Bucky shakes his head. “You have a spare toothbrush, right?”
Steve nods, kisses Bucky again in case he’s forgotten what Bucky tastes like in the last 10 seconds, and threads his fingers through the omega’s. “Come on,” he says. “let’s go home.”