the devil went down to georgia

Bucky is sipping a glass of fine Pinot Noir, absently petting the head of one of his hounds, and enjoying the live performance from the Sydney Opera House on the radio behind him while the fire in front of him crackles and warms his slippered feet. He has his feet resting on a plush footstool with the hound’s head resting on his knee, his head reclining against his armchair. The hound rumbles in contentment. Bucky pets over his ears and takes another appreciative sip of his wine.

The fire turns a deep red. Bucky sighs and turns down the radio, then sets his wine aside to pay attention.

“Greetings, goblins and ghouls!” Wade Wilson’s voice and face appeared in the flames. “I bring you tonight’s edition of the Dead Pool! Your favorite market of human souls, bringing you top quality servants and toys since nine hundred and seven!”

Bucky sighs, conjuring his To-Do list and adding Unsubscribe from the Dead Pool to it.

“Tonight, I have twenty-three new contracts, all ripe for the plucking! These humans were at rock bottom, and as a last-ditch resort to cling to their pathetic existences, they reached out to me, your favorite soul-broker! From a pro-athlete who was facing a career-ending injury to an artist nearly dead of cancer, here is this week’s Dead Pool!”

A pamphlet flies out of the fire. Bucky catches it and dismisses his To-Do list, sighing as he looks over the front cover.

“As always, if any of you beasties is interested in purchasing one of these souls, you know where to find me! First come, first serve, kiddies! Sayonara!”

The fire returns to orange. Bucky turns the opera music back up and opens the pamphlet. He hasn’t bought one of Wilson’s souls in centuries, but it’s so easy to forget that the Dead Pool mailing list exists when it only interrupts his evenings once every solstice. Honestly, who could blame him? 

The list of souls for sale is as bland as usual. Bucky looks at the humans available, sucking on his teeth absently, then flips to the last page.

Wait.

The very last soul available somehow catches his eye. Bucky narrows his gaze and purses his lips, reading the human’s description. Petite. Male Omega. The artist who’d been dying of cancer. He’d made his deal with Wade seven years ago, and in the seven years since, become well-known and well respected. Steven Grant Rogers.  

Bucky mouths the name, brushing a finger across his beard. He hums thoughtfully.

Wilson’s suggestions for this human are asinine, as usual. He doesn’t recommend eating him, since he’s failed to gain weight since his miraculous recovery from whatever sort of cancer, Bucky doesn’t care to know human illnesses. He’s too skinny is the point. He’s stubborn as well, apparently, so wouldn’t make a good slave. Wilson suggests using him for his artistic ability.

Bucky thinks this Steve has the perfect lips for cock-sucking. He rips the page out of the pamphlet and discards the rest, then summons a powder and flings it into the fire. The flames turn red and surge, licking the marble containing them. The hellhound at his feet looks curiously.

“Hello, valued customer!” Wade Wilson’s voice greets. “I am currently speaking with someone already, or am just ignoring my fire! I’ll be with you in a moment, but would you like to leave a message?”

“It’s Barnes,” Bucky says in a bored tone. “Hurry up.”

“Message noted!”

Bucky checks his watch, giving Wilson thirty seconds before he considers something drastic. Then the fire chimes at him and Wilson’s face appears.

“Ah, Lord Barnes!” Wilson greets. “A pleasure to be of service, my Liege, what can I do for you?”

Bucky tosses the page with Steve’s name and photo into the fire. “I want him,” he says. 

“I do happen to have two other interested parties,” Wilson starts.

“Tell them they’re too late,” Bucky answers. “I’ll give you a section of the Ninth Circle for the next ninety-nine years.”

Wilson’s eyes widens. Bucky can see him salivating.

“The Ninth?” Wilson says. “My lord, I would love nothing more than to please you! Consider it done!”

A scroll appears in front of Bucky, then unrolls itself. Bucky leans in, glancing over the basic contract, then finds the human and Wilson’s signatures at the bottom. Wilson’s signature glows and fizzles out. Bucky conjures a pen and signs in that spot, then summons a schedule for the 82nd section of the 9th Circle and puts Wilson’s name in for the next hundred years after the end of the current rotation. He then tosses the schedule into the fire. Wilson’s eyes gleam.

“Pleasure doing business with you, my lord,” he says.

Bucky dismisses the call and stands. He examines the contract in his hands with a smirk.

“This will be fun,” he says, snapping his fingers and vanishing from the mansion.

*

Steve is shaking a little as he enters his apartment. He’d just finished a gallery opening, and even his agent asked if he was okay. Steve had somehow managed to smile and say he was, but now that he’s alone, he’s not so sure.

Tomorrow’s date on his calendar is circled in red ink. Steve hadn't circled it. He’d hung it up in January, then flipped to October and realized that the 18th was circled. The 18th is the 7th anniversary of his deal with the demon.

Steve doesn’t really know what’s going to happen tomorrow. He thinks his cancer might come back. Or he might just go to sleep and not wake up. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen to his soul starting tomorrow, and he’s scared.

He doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do, so he makes a cup of tea and just goes to bed. He sits there in the dark, sipping the tea, and staring at nothing. 

Steve does think that he’s taking the end of his life rather calmly, considering that he’s been anticipating it all his life.

He finishes his tea. He takes his meds, but he’s not sure if there’s a point. He takes a CBD gummy because he’s not sure he’s going to fall asleep otherwise and just lays down. He stares at his ceiling and listens to his neighbor upstairs getting railed. 

Steve falls asleep, assuming that he won’t really wake up.

He opens his eyes to a soft glow of daylight. He squints and sees the light coming through some sort of gauzy curtain. Steve tries to find his glasses but has no idea where they are.

Or where he is.

Steve sits up fast, blinking hard, but all he can see is the canopy draped around the massive, round bed he’s in. He’s covered by what looks like, when he squints, fur blankets. The sheets feel like fucking silk or something. The curtains are a deep blue, a little turquoise, and he swears that there are pearls for beads along the gold tassels. Steve looks around and can see the shadow of some sort of nightstand through one of the sheer curtains, so he opens it and finds his glasses resting on a white and gold vanity by a lamp. Steve puts them on, pushes the curtain open more, and looks around the room in absolute confusion.

Is he dead? Is this his afterlife? The most bougie fucking bedroom he’s ever seen?

The room is massive. Steve’s bed is on a fucking platform. The curtains are attached to the ceiling, which is some gold crown molding nonsense that continues for the rest of the high ceiling. There’s a bench at the end of the bed in velvet and gold and yes, there are pearls everywhere. Steve taps one cautiously. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. It’s a fucking pearl the size of his fingernail.

“What the fuck,” Steve whispers.

He’s in his ratty tank top and old boxers and barefoot on the softest fucking rug he’s ever put his toes on. Steve doesn’t know what the fuck is happening. He’s standing there in his ratty pajamas in the most bougie fucking bedroom covered in gold leaf and pearls and velvet, and he does not know what the fuck is happening.

“Good morning, my dear.”

Steve jolts around at the voice, whipping around to see a man entering the bedroom. His eyes widened, fixing immediately on the fucking horns growing from this man’s forehead. 

“Uh,” he says.

This horned man walks up to Steve and takes his hand, then bends over it and plants a delicate fucking kiss on his knuckles. Steve feels himself blushing from his hairline to his toes. This man is fucking gorgeous. He smirks up at Steve when he lifts his lips from his hand and he doesn’t let go of Steve when he stands. Steve feels so fucking out of place in this bougie ass bedroom next to this gorgeous fucking man with horns and wearing what looks like a velvet smoking jacket and Gucci loafers and other expensive nonsense.

“How did you sleep?” he asks.

“I –” Steve stammers.

The man just smiles at him. Steve wonders if he’s having a nightmare.

“Was the bed alright?” the man continues. “Was it comfortable?”

Steve glances at it and realizes he has no comprehension of how the night was, he couldn’t remember anything past closing his eyes. He looks back at this person and raises his eyebrows.

“Where the fuck am I?” he asks softly.

“Your new home,” the man answers, squeezing Steve’s hand.

“Who are you? ” Steve demands. “How did I get here?”

The man waves a hand and a scroll just appears in mid-air; Steve jolts again. It unrolls and Steve recognizes his signature at the bottom.

“Remember this, sweetheart?” the man asks. “You signed this seven years ago.”

“Uh,” Steve says. “What – But –”

The man waves his hand and it vanishes. Steve is staring at nothing. The man then is way too close and he cups Steve’s chin with a warm hand. Steve swallows nothing.

“You’re mine now, darlin’,” he purrs.

“I don’t even know you,” Steve whispers.

He gets another smirk. Steve bites his lip.

“You can call me Bucky, dear,” the man answers. “Or Alpha. Whatever you’d like.”

Steve swallows again. Bucky just smirks down at him.

“I…” Steve says weakly.

“Yes, sugar?” Bucky purrs.

Steve shuts his mouth with a click. He looks around the room, at the expensive bed, the pearls, the gold. He feels Bucky watching him.

“I didn’t make that contract with you, ” Steve whispers.

“No, sweetheart,” Bucky answers simply. “See, the thing is, the little beast you did sell your soul to is, quite literally, a merchant of souls. He makes contracts and sells them to the highest bidder. I bought yours. I, darling, am the Lord of the Ninth Circle of Hell.”

Steve shoots him a nervous look. Bucky just smiles.

“I expect you’re hungry,” he says. “Why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll have someone escort you to breakfast. Then we can talk.”

“But –” Steve starts.

Bucky taps his cheek with a gentle finger, despite it ending in a thick black claw. He smirks, trails his finger down Steve’s cheek to his chin, then taps his lower lip before turning and walking out. Steve stands rooted to the spot as Bucky leaves the room, the vast double doors swinging shut with a dull thud behind him.

Steve groans, sinking onto the bench by his bed.

“Master Steven!” a high-pitched voice interrupts his doom.

Steve yelps. A ghostly little figure with wild eyebrows and massive teeth comes through the floor and stops about a foot above it, then bows to him.

“I am your chamber servant,” the little thing says. “The Lord Barnes wishes me to show you your lavatory and closet. He hopes you find the clothes pleasing and comfortable. This way!”

The thing, Steve thinks it's an imp, bounces in the air to two adjoining doors. Steve follows cautiously. The imp opens both with a wave of his hand, showing a bathroom and a massive closet. Steve glances at the closet but goes into the bathroom first.

It’s bigger than his bedroom from his apartment. There’s a bathtub made of turquoise cut stone set in the floor, spanning the size of a personal fitness pool. The floor is marble with gold in it, the counter is turquoise like the tub, so is the toilet for Christ’s sake. There are cabinets filled with glittering bottles and jars, skincare products with high-end labels and names, fluffy towels, deep pile rugs by the sink, tub, and toilet. Steve blinks at it all.

“If Master would like, the bath can be drawn later,” the imp pipes up. “You may perform any morning ritual you are used to with these products; they are all yours.”

“Right,” Steve mutters, looking for toothpaste.

He brushes his teeth and because it’s all there, does skincare shit. He washes his face, applies toner, some softening serum, and moisturizer with SPF. It is very nice. He coughs until the imp zips out, then shuts the door and gives himself a quick rub-down with a warm washcloth, then puts on some fancy-looking body lotion, which smells like it should complement his natural Omega scent. Steve is beginning to see the hidden nature of this bougie suite and the demon lord whatever that bought his soul. He doesn’t know how to feel about it, though.

Steve puts his pajamas in a hamper and wraps up in a deep blue silk bathrobe. He leaves the bathroom and the imp is still there. It squeaks at him and bounces into the closet.

“Please, feel free to choose whatever you like, Master Steven,” it says, before bowing out.

Steve looks around. There are suits, slacks, sweaters, shirts, dresses, skirts, an array of shoes, and even more nonsense in drawers. He finds a pair of comfortable looking cotton pants, a plain shirt, and tops it with a heavy sweater to combat the chill. He puts on thick socks, which wonderfully cushion his sore feet and hug his tired ankles, then house slippers. There’s a selection of glasses by a mirror and Steve tries one for the hell of it but discovers they are all his prescription. That’s a step too far for him, and he keeps his own glasses. 

Stuffing his hands into the pocket of his sweater, Steve steps out of the closet to find the imp waiting.

“To breakfast!” it cheers, before bouncing off.

Steve shakes his head and follows it.

They go down a long hallway, with the same gold marble as the bathroom, more crown moldings with more gold leaf, paintings and sculpture lining the walls. Steve doesn’t really notice the art until a pastel painting of a pond and bridge catches his eye, and when he looks properly, he sees that it’s a fucking Monet.

“This –” he gasps, “this is supposed to be in a museum!”

“Lord Barnes has the original, the museum has a conjured copy,” the imp informs him. “As with all the other unique art pieces Lord Barnes owns.”

“That’s…” Steve whispers.

The imp zips around him. “Breakfast, onto breakfast!” it nags.

Steve hurries on. He keeps an eye out for the art, though, and is startled by every masterpiece he lays eyes on.

“I can’t believe this,” he whispers.

They come to a massive staircase. There’s a portrait of Bucky hanging over it, one a good fifteen feet tall. Steve can’t imagine working on a canvas that large. There’s a foyer, through which the imp takes Steve to a long hallway, then into a large dining room with massive windows, illuminating a long table covered in a blue cloth and set for two. Bucky is waiting. He rises, lifting a glass, and seemingly toasts Steve before sipping.

“Please, sit,” he says.

Steve sits down cautiously. Bucky sits as well, putting his glass down again.

“How did you find the room?” he asks.

“It’s huge,” Steve blurts. “Um, but it’s nice.”

“Excellent,” Bucky answers. “That room is your private abode. This is the only key.”

Bucky doesn’t pick a key up, he waves a hand and a key appears in front of Steve’s eyes. Steve blinks, then takes it. He feels a sudden flash of heat and a shiver, then instinctively holds the key close.

“It will always return to your pocket, no matter what,” Bucky says. “And only you can use it. If at any point you need privacy, you may enter that room and find peace.”

“Okay,” Steve says quietly.

“I imagine you’re curious as to why I purchased your contract,” Bucky starts

“You want sex,” Steve retorts bluntly.

Bucky leans back with a grin. “Obvious, aren’t I?” he chuckles. “Yes, I find you delightful. You’re beautiful, full of fire, very clever. Of course, my circle of Hell punishes monsters who take without asking, I will not be using your contract to compel you into my bed.”

Steve eyes him suspiciously. Bucky just smiles at him.

“I’ll let my charming personality accomplish that,” he says.

“That’s it, huh?” Steve says. “I’m stuck here now and you’re gonna, what, woo me?”

“Oh, you’re not stuck,” Bucky replies, leaning forward. “You’re not dead, sweetheart, you still have your life to live. Further, you won’t be dying anytime soon.”

Steve squints. “What does that mean?”

“Now that your soul belongs to me, you won’t age or get sick until I release you,” Bucky says. “Even if you’re injured, you won’t die.”

“Wow,” Steve mutters. “You really are a charmer.”

Bucky flicks his eyebrows up, then he points to the covered plate in front of Steve. “Go ahead,” he says. “Eat. I hope you enjoy it.”

Steve raises his own eyebrows, but lifts the silver cover on his plate. There are two bagels with lox, cream cheese, onions, and capers, as well as two fried eggs, with soft yolks that look perfectly runny. There’s also a fresh cup of steaming coffee and Bucky pushes a small tray with cream and sugar towards him.

“That’s fair trade everything, guaranteed,” Bucky tells him. “I have human staff that see to the ethical and sustainable sourcing of the food provided here. Try the coffee, it’s delicious.”

Steve is loathe to admit it, but the sound of guaranteed ethically sourced food actually has him softening. He takes the coffee and adds cream, but no sugar, then sips. He almost moans with the rich, earthy flavor, the soft undertones of chocolate, and the rich fattiness of the cream.

“Good, yes?” Bucky asks with a smirk.

Steve swallows cautiously. “Yeah,” he says.

“We have a garden,” Bucky adds. “I’ll take you after you eat. A small farm, some animals for milk, eggs. My staff run a restaurant nearby, actually.”

“Yeah?” Steve says carefully. “You set this up to help woo me?”

“No, it’s been running for a few years now,” Bucky answers. “The restaurant head chef and manager’s souls belong to my sister. My land is perfect for the farm. It’s a wonderful arrangement.”

“You get your staff through contracts like mine?” Steve asks.

“Pretty much,” Bucky says. “If you dislike the place I have set for you, I’d like you to continue your work as an artist, as well as maintaining my collection.”

“ Place? ” Steve counters, narrowing his eyes.

Bucky just smiles. “You guessed it,” he says. “I want you to be my Omega.”

“You want a wife, huh?” Steve asks. “That’s it? You pulled the contract on a petite male Omega, cancer patient in remission, so you could have yourself a little wife?”

Bucky just smiles at him. Steve works his jaw, then picks up a fork and pops the yolk on one of his eggs. It runs beautifully.

“I’ll walk you around, show you the garden, the art,” Bucky says. “We’ll have lunch at noon, tea at four, supper at six. Tomorrow, you have a doctor’s appointment, I’ll drive you there, take you for an afternoon on the town.”

“How long do I have to decide if I’m not okay sleeping with you?” Steve asks, picking up his bagel.

Bucky shrugs. “Sweetheart, I’m older than Europe. I have all the time in the world.”

Steve bites into the bagel. It’s the best fucking lox bagel he’s ever eaten.

*

It turns out Steve’s moved to Georgia. Georgia. Bucky doesn’t even acknowledge the irony. But when he stresses about getting back to his doctor in New York, Bucky just smiles and walks him through a door, and they’re outside a townhouse in Manhattan.

“What?” Steve gasps.

“I have powers, honey,” Bucky says with a smile.

When they stepped out of the house, Bucky’s demonic features vanished. He was just devilishly handsome at that point. Bucky has a Mercedes outside the townhouse, just waiting. They drive to Steve’s oncology lab. He gets his blood drawn, sits for an hour. Bucky doesn’t go in with him. Steve’s doctor reassures him that there’s no sign of his cancer still, congratulates him. He goes downstairs and Bucky is waiting in the lobby. Bucky smiles and tucks a pair of sunglasses onto his face.

“Interested in seeing a play?” he asks.

Steve puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “Sure,” he says.

They pull up to a crowded theater. As they’re going in, Steve realizes they’re seeing Hamilton.

“How did you get tickets for this?” he asks with a gasp.

Bucky smiles. “Oh, I had a few souls to barter.”

Steve looks at him, his eyes wide. Bucky just smirks.

The next day is similar. Steve has work to do, but Bucky offers to take him out for coffee in the morning, and when they do, they walk out the door in Rome, Italy. They get lattes and Bucky takes him around the city, pointing out things that were from the original Rome.

“My favorite brothel was here,” he says with a fond smile. “I negotiated the purchase of most of their souls when they were close to death, ensured them a pleasant afterlife.”

“Wait,” Steve starts. “Isn’t prostitution a sin? Wouldn’t they be in hell?”

Bucky scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “Hell is for people who actually hurt people, not people who had sex outside marriage. Besides, time in Hell is rarely permanent. I have the worst circle, and I have only a handful of people who are doomed to more than ten thousand years there. One of them is John Wayne Gacy, another’s Donald Trump.”

Steve shivers. “Right,” he mutters. “What about me?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. “Well, you’re mine,” he says. “Unless I release you, this is your afterlife.”

Steve looks away, his cheeks warming. “It’s not so bad,” he says, sipping his coffee.

Bucky nudges his shoulder. “‘Course not,” he answers with a smirk.

Steve’s new art studio is fully stocked with supplies far beyond the quality he’d been able to afford, even after his deal with the demon Deadpool and his rise in popularity. The studio overlooks the gardens, and on the third day, Steve decides he wants to paint outside. He starts to pack up a kit and two imps pop up out of nowhere.

“Hello, Master Steven!” they say together.

“Oh, Jesus!” Steve gasps, grabbing his chest and trying to calm his now pounding heart. “Warn a fella next time, alright?”

“Yes, Master Steven!” they reply, still in unison. “Would you like assistance, Master Steven?”

“Sure,” Steve sighs, just to humor them.

They carry his painting supplies outside. Steve sets up near a plot of peppers and spends some time doing sketches, then starts a 24 by 24 painting. Most of them aren’t quite ripe, some green, and the reds and oranges and greens are beautiful. Bucky appears at his shoulder eventually.

“Shall we have lunch here?” he asks.

Steve sits back and nods. “That would be nice.”

Bucky just claps his hands. Real people appear, a man and a woman, carrying trays and baskets. Steve watches them carefully. They smile and nod, but don’t make eye contact with him or Bucky. They don’t speak either.

“They’re very old souls,” Bucky tells him. “Shy, too. Don’t mind it if they don’t talk to you.”

“Are they allowed to?” Steve asks.

“Sure,” Bucky says, sitting down on the grass. “They don’t like to, is all. How would you feel after seven hundred years of dealing with an ever-changing world?”

“Oh,” Steve said. “I guess.”

Bucky just smiles. “They make fantastic cheese, though,” he says, spreading brie on a cracker. “Here.”

Bucky’s staff are a lot like that first couple. Most of them are quiet, but Steve hears them humming to one another in the kitchen. A few speak, but it’s rarely in English – or at least, not an English he recognizes. He catches snippets of Gaelic and regrets that he didn’t pay more attention to his mother’s first language growing up.

Steve paints more of the garden. His agent loves the fruits and vegetables, though comments that they’re outside of his usual style. Steve just shrugs. He has a new gallery show after two months with Bucky, and the paintings sell for up to $7,000. 

Bucky appears at the show. He smiles and touches Steve’s cheek, and Steve blushes under his touch.

“Would you paint something for me?” he asks softly.

“I s’pose,” Steve murmurs. “Like what?”

“A self-portrait,” Bucky tells him. “A large one. For my bedroom.”

Steve glances at him and flushes again. He licks his lips. Bucky’s gaze drops to his mouth, then lift back to his eyes.

“I want it to be the first thing I see waking up and the last thing at night,” he purrs.

Steve breaks eye contact. He shrugs.

“My self-portraits are shit,” he says softly. “I could try something else?”

Bucky just hums. “We’ll see,” he says.

Later, Steve’s walking the halls, just basking in the presence of the art, and spots his own painting of peppers hanging next to a Van Gogh. His jaw drops. Bucky just appears.

“I did buy that one,” he says. “I didn’t steal it.”

“I would have given it to you,” Steve splutters.

Bucky shrugs, turning back to see it. “I like knowing my garden inspired you,” he says. “But I am still waiting on that portrait.”

Steve looks away, his face hot. Bucky slips a hand under his chin, tipping his face up.

“We’re going out for dinner tonight,” he murmurs. “Wear something pretty, sweetheart.”

Then he releases Steve’s face and walks away. Steve touches his chin, still blushing. He hates how easily he’s being wooed. He never liked Alphas trying to flirt with him before Bucky. He preferred to keep them distant, maintain his independence.

Well. Steve supposes he’s never going to be independent again, really. Bucky does own his soul.

But, god, the way his skin feels like it’s on fire when Bucky touches his cheek.

Steve spends nearly three hours getting ready for dinner. He’s nervous, for some fucking reason. He fusses over shaving. He shaves his legs, even, and he hadn't done that since he broke up with his last boyfriend ten years ago. The feeling is fantastic, and his legs look fucking delicious. Steve doesn’t even know what he’s trying to accomplish. He tries on over a dozen outfits, but settles on a shiny red suit, a three-piece thing with ivory accents and brocade on his vest. He combs his hair, slips his feet into loafers that show off his ankles, and leaves his bedroom.

Bucky’s waiting outside, dressed in a black and silver suit. He smiles, his eyes go up and down Steve, and then his smile becomes a smirk.

“You look ravishing,” he purrs, taking Steve’s hand and kissing it.

“Thanks,” Steve mumbles. “Uh, you, too.”

Bucky chuckles. He tucks Steve’s hand under his arm and walks him down the hall. It’s quiet in the house, the hum of the staff subdued for the evening. They step out of the front door onto a busy street, gentle snow dusting the air. Steve is now wearing a thick fur trenchcoat, his head covered by a warm hat, his hands gloved. Bucky is wearing a leather coat, his slicked-back hair covered by a wide-brimmed hat. The street around them is bright with artificial lights, and when Steve looks around, he sees words that look like Chinese or Japanese.

“Where are we?” he asks.

“Tokyo,” Bucky says, pulling Steve along. “And that’s faux fur, before you get upset.”

Steve glances down at his coat and shrugs. “I figured,” he says.

Bucky smiles.

They go to a sushi place. Bucky speaks fluent Japanese, apparently, which flusters Steve. They sit on cushions on the floor with a low table and eat a variety of fish, including fugu, paired with sake. Steve gets a bit tipsy, not enough to be really affected by it, but enough to feel pleasant.

After, they wander the city. Steve leans into Bucky’s side, feeling warm there. They get milk tea and ice cream. Steve’s is cardamom, it’s wonderful.

“Do you like it?” Bucky asks, smiling at him.

Steve shrugs and nods. “It’s great,” he says.

Bucky nudges his shoulder, leaning close to him. “Good,” he says. “I like to get treats like this quite regularly.”

“I’ve noticed,” Steve chuckles. “We got tacos from a truck in Sao Paulo and gold leaf caviar in New York last week, Buck.”

Bucky grins. “And it was good,” he says.

“It’s great,” Steve repeats softly.

Bucky leans closer again, his nose close to Steve’s hairline. “Good,” he murmurs.

Steve sighs and closes the gap. Bucky purrs at once and nuzzles against Steve’s temple, then kisses his forehead. Steve shivers and presses closer. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve, kissing his hair and forehead again.

“I would like to give you a present,” he says softly.

“What kind?” Steve asks. “You’ve given me a lot already.”

Bucky nuzzles Steve’s cheek, then kisses his jaw. “How about something pretty? ” he asks.

Steve lifts his gaze a little. “What sort of pretty?”

“Lace,” Bucky purrs, his lips brushing Steve’s jaw. “Satin, silk. Whatever you’d like.”

Steve inhales sharply, looking down at the dregs of his tea. “Lingerie,” he says.

“Mhm,” Bucky murmurs. “Or not. Or just clothes.”

“I like lingerie,” Steve whispers.

Bucky kisses his jaw. “Would you paint yourself for me? In the gifts I buy you?”

Steve bites his lip, then lifts a shoulder. “I could just… Wear it for you.”

“Oh, I want that, too, sweetheart,” Bucky chuckles. “And I want a portrait of you in it.”

Steve blushes, looking down. Bucky cups his chin, tilting it up.

“Would you like a present tonight?” he asks softly.

Steve feels heat flare down his spine. He takes a breath. He thinks for a moment, but his thoughts circulate back to the idea of wearing lingerie, and Bucky looking at him.

He wants that. Goddammit, it took two months for him to crack.

“Yeah,” Steve confesses. “Fine. I’ll be your wife.”

Bucky chuckles, tapping Steve’s cheek with a gentle hand. “Your words, sweetheart,” he purrs. “Your words.”

Steve blushes again. He hides his face against Bucky’s shoulder, embarrassed. Bucky cups his chin again, tilts it up, then leans in. Steve shuts his eyes at the last second.

Bucky’s lips are incredibly soft. He tastes like matcha. Steve shivers again. Bucky spreads a hand over the small of his back, slanting their lips. Steve shivers again, drawing in a sharp breath, and Bucky rumbles softly as he pulls Steve into his lap. Steve settles against his chest, breathing hard, and Bucky kisses his hair.

“Good boy,” Bucky murmurs.

Steve just about creams his pants. He whimpers, turning his face into Bucky’s neck. Bucky cups his face and kisses him again, chuckling.

“My sweet boy,” he purrs. “Alpha’s adorable pet. You would like to be my little wife, wouldn’t you?”

Steve finds it hard to deny. He nods, hiding his face.

“My sweet bride,” Bucky murmurs. “I should give you a wedding, then, shouldn’t I?”

Steve bites his lip. “I guess,” he mumbles.

“Then you work on that painting and I’ll arrange our wedding,” Bucky tells him. “Would you like to help?”

Steve shakes his head. “I hate planning events,” he says. “When will it be?”

“When do you want it?” Bucky asks with a chuckle.

Steve shrugs. “I don’t have a lot of friends,” he admits. “I… I cut a lot of people out, after my cancer. I haven’t talked to any of them in years.”

“Would you like to invite them?”

Steve shakes his head. Bucky cups Steve’s chin again, lifting it.

“Then it can be next week,” Bucky says. “And I would like that painting as a wedding present, sweetheart.”

Steve nods, breathing deep.

“Seven days,” Bucky murmurs. “Is that enough time?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Bucky kisses his lips softly again. “Then it’s settled,” he murmurs. “A wedding in seven days for my sweet little bride. We’ll be chaste, too. So my wife feels it, hm?”

Steve flushes hard. He nods. Bucky kisses his cheek.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says, “let’s go home.”

When Steve reenters his bedroom, there’s a box with a bow waiting on his bed. Steve bites his lip as he opens it. The tissue paper inside is delicate white and a card lays on top of the lace in it, with the logo for La Perla.

There’s a very delicate babydoll slip, made of tulle and lace, in powder blue. It’s embroidered at the front of the bodice and around the bottom hem with rose vines, flowers blooming and some closed. The thin straps at the shoulders have tufts of tulle attached, meant to lie over the upper arms, Steve guesses. There’s a matching powder blue thong, thigh highs, and garter belt beneath it, plus small house slippers in the same color.

Steve bites at his nails. His skin buzzes with excitement. A full-length mirror sits by a chaise lounge, waiting for him with his painting supplies. Steve undresses, leaving his clothes by the bathroom to be gathered by the spectral servants. Then he slides the stockings up his legs. They glide effortlessly on his smooth skin. He adds the garter belt next, then the panties, even though he knows there’s no reason for that order. He slips into the babydoll, laying the tulle around him delicately. Steve steps in front of the mirror and blushes at once.

Steve takes a bunch of reference photos. He starts a sketch, then, very late, puts it all away and removes the delicate lingerie, returning it to its box. He gets into bed wearing soft cotton boxers and a shirt, then spends a while sliding his smooth legs around the silk sheets. God, it’s wonderful. He loves it.

*

The wedding will be small, with Bucky’s staff and some of his friends. Deadpool, the demon who sold Steve’s soul to Bucky, will be there. Steve isn’t sure how demon weddings work. He doesn’t know if there will be a minister, or if that would be ridiculous for demons to think of.

Steve has Bucky’s money now, apparently. Bucky gives him a credit card the day before and sends him to a spa. Steve is met there by a pair of women who introduce themselves as Wanda and Darcy.

“Your groom sent us,” Wanda says, her eyes flashing black.

Darcy smiles. Steve sees fangs for a moment.

They accompany him through the spa, getting some of the same treatments. It’s a fucking delight. Steve gets his whole body waxed, a soak in a sensory deprivation chamber, a CBD massage, a facial that takes nearly two hours, and a nap in an oxygen chamber. They stay the night, and Steve sleeps like a baby, feeling like the years he spent with cancer had been extracted out of him like his blackheads. 

He and the girls chat. Wanda was human like him, but she’d been burned at the stake for being a witch during the 14th century, and apparently, the powers that were in the afterlife granted her powers as a lesser demon to apologize for the managerial screw-up. Darcy was a vampire. Just a vampire. Steve was actually surprised that was real.

In the morning, Darcy and Wanda sit with him for brunch, then they get more massages, mani-pedis, and facials. They leave the spa and Steve definitely feels like the past 12 or so hours made him ten years younger. Maybe even fifteen. They get into a car in Manhattan and Steve gets out again outside Bucky’s mansion in Georgia.

“This way, hun,” Darcy says, taking Steve’s arm.

Steve can see an arch set up in the gardens, but Wanda and Darcy take him to a tent set up nearby. There are imps waiting and with their help, Steve gets into a fancy ivory and black tuxedo, complete with top hat, gloves, and tailcoat. 

“I feel like a Victorian,” Steve chuckles.

“Victorian Omegas never wore suits,” Darcy informs him, adjusting his bow tie. “Even the men. I’d say he’s perfect.”

“Agreed,” Wanda says, squeezing Steve’s hand. “Are you ready to become the Lord of the Ninth Circle’s consort?”

Steve shrugs. “I guess,” he says with a smile.

“You’ll love it,” Darcy whispers. “I’ve been trying to become a consort for two hundred years.”

“And this little beast manages it in two months,” Wanda adds with a sigh. “I hope you know, you’ll have power in our world akin to the Royal Family in England.”

“I just wanna keep painting,” Steve says.

“Well, we know you’re not becoming the Lord’s mate for his power,” Darcy chuckles. “C’mon.”

Steve’s heart is beating fast as he leaves the tent. Music kickstarts, Wagner’s Here Comes the Bride. Darcy and Wanda leave him to join the crowd, who just stand around the arch. Steve walks cautiously nearer and the crowd parts for him, bowing their heads as he passes. There are a lot more people there than he’d anticipated. Steve focuses on Bucky. He’s wearing a matching tuxedo to Steve’s, but with the color palette inverted. Steve stops in front of Bucky and smiles. Bucky takes his hands, then slips off his left glove and kisses his palm.

“Hello, lovely,” Bucky murmurs.

“Hey,” Steve whispers.

There isn’t a minister. Bucky takes his own left glove off and laces their bare hands together, then turns them to face the crowd. He also takes off Steve’s hat and sets it aside. He puts Steve in front of him, positioning them back to front, then wraps his gloved right hand around Steve’s throat. Steve inhales sharply, tipping his head back into Bucky.

“I have called you all here to state my claim on this boy,” Bucky announces to the crowd. “Let it be known, across the Nine Realms, to all who will listen, this Omega is mine, and I his. Do you hear? Answer!”

“We hear!” the crowd bellows.

“Do you hear?” Bucky shouts again.

“We hear!” the crowd calls back a second time.

“You hear!” Bucky yells, suddenly taking his hand off Steve’s throat to raise a fist to the air.

“We hear!” the crowd answers a third time.

Bucky grasps Steve’s throat again, pulls his chin back, and lays their mouths together in a harsh, claiming kiss. Steve falls back against him, his knees nearly buckling. The kiss is searing, sending a buzz through his blood that leaves him trembling. Bucky’s hand squeezes his jaw.

The crowd cheers, shaking Steve nearly as much as the kiss. Bucky pulls back, then wraps his arms around Steve and just holds him against his body. Bucky kisses his ear, growls low near it, and Steve again shivers.

“Mine,” Bucky murmurs.

Steve nods quickly.

There’s a feast afterward. It’s massive, in a huge dining hall. He and Bucky sit at a table with high-backed chairs on a raised part at the head of the hall, with their guests at long tables in front of them. Each guest brings them a gift, each coming to their table with it and bowing before offering it. Most, Bucky thanks and dismisses. The gifts are taken by Bucky’s staff, who set them on another table to the side. 

They’re not the typical wedding gifts; no china or food processor or new towels. One is a potion that will induce a thousand years’ sleep. Another is the heart of a dragon. One guest brings an entire live boar that’s the size of a small sedan.

“Jesus,” Steve mutters. “What are we gonna do with that thing?”

“Roast it,” Bucky says with glee. 

Steve eyes the way it huffs as the staff takes it away. He shrugs.

The party continues. Steve fills his belly with warm food, good wine, and grows sleepy from the cheering and singing. Bucky pulls their chairs closer and wraps his arm around Steve, letting him lean into him as the party continues. 

As daylight fades from the windows, a group moves towards Steve and Bucky’s table. Bucky stands, then takes Steve’s hand and pulls him up.

“Come,” he says, “meet my family.”

Steve leans into Bucky. They walk off, leaving the hall with the group, going down a corridor, then into a drawing-room. Bucky sits in a large armchair and pulls Steve into his lap. The others gather around, sitting in chairs and couches.

“Congratulations, brother,” a pale redhead says; Darcy sits at her feet. “He seems a satisfactory mate.”

“This is Natasha,” Bucky introduces. “Lady of the Ninth Circle. She is not really my sister; they’re my sisters, Betty, Becca, Benny.”

Three girls wave. Benny looks much like a teenager, concealed pimples and all.

“I didn’t know demons had sisters,” Steve murmurs.

The group laughs. Steve flushes, feeling embarrassed, and covers his mouth. Bucky touches his jaw and kisses his cheek with a smile.

“We’re not that different, honey,” he says. “With Natasha are her mates, Clint, Darcy, whom you’ve met, and Maria.”

Steve looks at the three sitting with Natasha, eyes wide. 

“We do not all take multiple mates,” Natasha says, as if sensing his distress. “Our Bucky here is quite devoted.”

Bucky taps Steve’s cheek again. “Don’t fuss, pet.”

“Some of us are just needy little bitches that are too much of a handful for one person,” Darcy jokes.

Steve softens and smiles. “I guess that tracks.”

There’s another ripple of laughter. Bucky kisses Steve’s hand.

He has other people he calls family; Thor, Brunnhilde, Bruce, Wanda and her twin brother Pietro, Tony, Rhodey, Pepper. They talk, making merry and telling stories, and Steve settles deeper in Bucky’s arms.

A clock chimes. Steve startles at the sound, bleary and confused by his unexpected sleep. Bucky puts a hand on the back of his head, pulling him back in, and the clock finishes dolling the time.

“I think it’s time we retire,” Bucky says, cutting into the conversation. “Your rooms are all ready, the spirits will show you to them. Good night.”

“Good night!” Steve hears many people call.

“Have fun!” someone shouts.

Steve blushes and hides his face. Bucky chuckles as he stands, Steve still in his arms. Steve grabs onto him, holding tight. 

“It’s time, darling,” Bucky says softly as they leave the room. “Are you ready?”

“Don’t be spooky and vague about it,” Steve scolds. “You’re going to rail me within an inch of my life. I’m probably going to cry and you’re gonna coo about how I’m a good boy. Yes?”

Bucky lifts his eyebrows, then shrugs. “Yes, that’s exactly it.”

Steve grins, but still hides his face. They go down the corridor, then up. Not to the bedroom Steve had been using for the past few months, but lower into the mansion.

They go down a long, spiral staircase. Torches line the walls, not electric lights. The fire flickers, creates shadows that Steve swears move more than they should. 

At the top of the tower is another lavish sitting room. When they enter, candles and the fireplace burst into light. Everything is a deep red, paired with silver and brown. Candles sit on tables, on chests of drawers, reflected in mirrors across the walls and ceiling. Bucky stops in the middle of the room, then lowers Steve onto his feet.

“There,” he murmurs. “There’s a gift for you, my bride. Why don’t you step aside and put it on?”

Steve nods quickly, sitting up. There is a box sitting on a low table near a room divider. Steve takes it and steps behind it. 

His own gift, he expects, will be delivered by the imps momentarily. Steve removes his coat first, stripping down to his skin. He doesn’t know what Bucky is doing across the divider. His heart is pounding. Steve opens the box, pulling aside the paper.

He finds red silk inside; first, he pulls out a long robe, the back panel and sleeves made of black lace roses on the red silk. The collar and cuffs of the robe are still silk, but the lace goes all the way down the back, which will conceal little. Beneath that is a nightdress of the same length, also red with black lace. Its front is a V-neck trimmed in lace, the thin shoulder straps connect to a panel of lace in the back, and the sides are split on both sides at the waist, with lace covering the sides to the hips. 

Steve puts on the nightgown, then goes looking for underwear, but finds none in the box. There are slippers that match the red silk and black lace, but nothing else. Blushing, Steve slips the dressing gown over his nightgown and steps into the slippers.

Steve fixes his hair, then steps out from behind the room divider.

Bucky waits in an armchair, in just slacks and his dress shirt. He’s removed his shoes, too. Steve’s painting stands in the middle of the room, covered by a sheet.

“Look at you,” Bucky murmurs, his eyes drifting from Steve’s slippers to his collar. “It fits you wonderfully.”

Steve glances down at himself, smoothing the silk over. He shrugs, smiling. 

“Do a spin, honey,” Bucky says.

Steve grins and shuffles around on the spot. Bucky chuckles. He rises from his position and takes Steve’s arm, pulling him closer.

“Let’s see my gift, then,” Bucky says, taking ahold of the sheet.

He pulls it off. Steve had left it in his room to cure and had worried it would still be wet by the wedding, but when Bucky unveils it, it’s completely dry and mounted in a gold, gilded frame.

“Magnificent,” Bucky murmurs.

Steve blushes, embarrassed by the compliment to his talent and appearance. He’d painted himself on the chaise lounge, and he didn’t think it was anything special, but Bucky takes it in with reverence. He lifts a hand and it picks itself up, then perches itself on the wall over the fire.

“There,” Bucky says with a grin. “I’ll look at it every day.”

“God, I have to look at it,” Steve chuckles, feeling even more embarrassed.

“Don’t fuss, baby,” Bucky tells him, turning him around. “Now, I believe somebody said something about a railing?”

Steve turns red and covers his face with a hand. “Christ,” he mutters. “I can’t believe I said that.”

“Through here, pet,” Bucky says with a chuckle.

Steve takes his hand. Bucky takes him through a set of doors and they enter a grotto. Steve is surprised, having expected a bedroom. The natural cave is warm, the vast expanse of water setting off steam. Something beneath the water glows a soft teal, setting dancing lights across the ceiling. Steve shivers at the temperature change, the silk warming to his skin. By where they’ve entered, the floor is cut and polished, showing natural veins of gold that reflect light. There’s a large fire in a round pit, connected to the fire from the sitting room, and before it is a massive bed, big enough for ten people, with curtains and posts. Another door is set in a cut wall, ajar and showing a bathroom. A railing lines the edge of the water, benches by it.

Bucky’s hands close on Steve’s shoulders. His lips brush his ear.

“Would you like a dip, darling?” he asks. “Or do you want to get straight to it?”

Steve looks back up at him. “I’m too impatient for much more foreplay,” he admits.

Bucky smiles. His teeth glint in the light.

“Come, darling,” he says, leading Steve to the vast bed.

Steps lead up to it. Steve toes off his slippers and climbs up, then sits down. Bucky leans over him and kisses him, Steve hears him snap his fingers, then Bucky pulls back and gets onto the bed with Steve. Steve feels his bare skin against his and shivers.

“I’m going to devour you,” Bucky murmurs near his ear. “We’ll have our honeymoon right here.”

Steve leans his head back. Bucky slides a hand around his throat, their lips pressing again. Steve sinks into him, into the bed, which feels like a warm cloud under him. Bucky unties his robe, then slides it off his shoulders. Steve lifts his legs from the slits in the side, and Bucky runs a hand up his leg, into the lace of the nightgown to grip his hip. 

[]

“Bucky,” Steve whispers excitedly.

“I want to breed you,” Bucky purrs. 

“Is that possible?” Steve asks, blinking up at him in a daze. “A human and a demon?”

Bucky just grins, his sharp fangs glinting again. “Sure it is, sweetheart,” he says. “It won’t be like you’re used to, now. But you’ll be beautiful.”

“What does that mean?” Steve asks.

Bucky pushes him down and climbs over him. Steve shivers, the silk clinging to his cock and balls delightfully. Bucky’s eyes flash dark, he licks his lips as he looks up and down Steve.

“You’ll be pregnant a long while,” Bucky says. “And it’ll take fast. You’ll start showing right away. You won’t get much bigger than any normal human pregnancy, don’t fret about that.”

He pauses. Bucky licks his lips again, then grins, the smile a little wider than it should have been.

“You’ll be irresistible,” he murmurs. “I’ll want to pump you full of my seed at every opportunity.”

“I don’t mind that at all,” Steve whispers.

“Good,” Bucky purrs, his hand pushing Steve’s nightgown up again.

Steve lets out a sharp breath as Bucky pulls the silk up, dragging it over his cock. The steam has settled in the fabric, making it warm, wet, and heavy. Steve’s cock is harder than it’s ever been, he swears, just as Bucky drags the hot, damp silk across his skin. Steve’s heart is pounding.

“Come,” Bucky growls.

Steve’s eyes roll back as an orgasm explodes in his belly. He splatters the silk, making it wetter and heavier and hotter. Steve feels hot, sticky ropes grab at his wrists and ankles, pulling his legs open and arms up. Steve glances around and sees that the ropes are really tentacles. His gut flips with pleasure again, twisted want curling along his spine. Bucky kisses his neck, growls again, as more tentacles slide up Steve’s legs. Suckers pluck at his inner thighs. More curl around his stomach, lifting him a little from the bed. Steve rolls his hips, his ass slicking up, and tentacles wrap around the cut of his inner thigh and ass, pulling his cheeks apart. 

“Glad you don’t mind them,” Bucky says, kissing Steve’s neck with an open mind.

“I bet you knew,” Steve pants. “You were looking at my porn history.”

Bucky chuckles, the sound echoing throughout the cave. “Not at all, sweetheart,” he said.

Steve catches his mouth in a kiss. He squeezes the tentacles in his palms, enjoying the shiver from them he gets in response. Bucky’s cock presses against his hip, hot and heavy. Steve lifts his head to look and licks his lips hungrily. It’s thick and as long as Steve’s forearm, two rows of suckers lining the base beyond where his knot will be. The tip is wider, triangular, the slit flared. The suckers excite Steve the most.

“That thing’s fuckin’ beautiful, ” Steve says. “Can you stretch me with the tentacles? Please?”

“Fuck yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “I wanna see you squirm with them writhing in you.”

“Yes, yes,” Steve answers eagerly, rolling his hips against Bucky’s cockhead. “Please, Buck, please?”

“Sweet thing,” Bucky purrs, kissing him again.

Steve moans as the first tentacle pushes past his rim. It’s so thin, there’s nothing he can do to keep it out. It slides in, coils on itself, then squirms deeper. Steve squeezes his hole, whining as the tentacle wriggles. Bucky growls, nipping at his throat. Bucky suddenly grabs the front of his nightdress and yanks; it rips down the front, leaving Steve in shreds of designer silk. 

“Buck!” Steve gasps.

“I can buy you the whole fuckin’ brand,” Bucky murmurs into his neck. “I’ll get more.”

Steve can’t argue with that. A second tentacle squirms into him and Steve groans, toes curling as more tentacles wrap around his limbs and torso, suckers pulling at his skin. The air is thick with steam, leaving Steve sweating. The tentacles are wet themselves, leaving his skin sticky and damp. Steve has no idea where the tentacles are coming from, how they’re connected to Bucky, and he does not fucking care. 

“More!” he begs. “More, harder, deeper, Buck, please!”

“Whatever you want, baby,” Bucky promises, mouth on his jaw.

A third and fourth tentacle enters Steve’s ass. Steve whines as the suckers pluck at his prostate, his cock trembles under the scraps of lace still covering it. Bucky pulls the silk off his chest and wraps a mouth around his nipple, fingers tweaking and teasing the other. Steve groans, pushing his chest into Bucky’s mouth and hips into his tentacles. 

More tentacles slide over his thighs and ass, around his cock, trapping the silk in place, wet and warm and all with a million little mouths sucking and kissing his skin. Steve trembles, another orgasm nearing already. He wouldn’t put it past Bucky to have some sort of aphrodisiac in the secretions from his tentacles. He doesn’t care. He squirms, tugging and pushing his legs into the tentacles gripping him. Bucky bites his chest, then kisses back up his neck to claim his mouth.

“Buck,” Steve pants against his lips.

“Stevie,” Bucky growls.

More tentacles enter Steve’s ass. He can’t count how many anymore. They writhe around, just like Bucky promised, pressing over his prostate and suckers plucking at it. A tentacle wraps around Steve’s cock, the wet silk still between it and his skin. Steve comes, gasping into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky purrs, the sound rattling Steve’s bones.

“I’ll bite you,” Bucky promises.

“Please,” Steve begs.

Bucky’s mouth moves to his neck again. He licks across Steve’s scent gland, scrapes it with his teeth. A tentacle pushes beneath the silk on Steve’s cock, wrapping around it. Suckers pluck at his balls, bringing blood to his taint and thighs. The tentacles in his ass pull at his rim, slowly thickening and stretching it. Steve pushes his heels into the grips of the tentacles, rolls his ass against them. 

A tentacle wraps around his throat, the tip brushes the corner of his mouth and Steve catches it with his lips, slurping at the thick, sticky coating on it. It’s sweet and salty together, some exotic flavor he can’t quite identify. He thinks it could be some sort of Asian or Middle Eastern ice cream. The tentacle slides deeper into his mouth, like a kiss but sweeter and wetter. Bucky growls and the tentacle yanks out of his mouth, replaced by Bucky’s tongue.

“Fuckin’ delicious,” Bucky growls into his mouth. “ Mine. ”

Steve shivers all over, gasping softly. Bucky rolls his hips, his cock sliding along the lines of Steve’s stomach. Steve reaches to touch it, but the tentacles along his arms hold him in place. Steve tugs at them, whines, and they release. Steve reaches between them and grips Bucky’s cock, pressing his thumb into the flared slit at its tip. Bucky hisses and his cock flutters in Steve’s grip. Bucky fucks into his fist, panting against his mouth. The tentacles in Steve’s ass swell again, stretching his rim wider. Steve groans as he slides his hand down the shaft and finds he can’t even cover half of it with his fist.

“God, I’m gonna pump you so full,” Bucky growls.

“How full?” Steve asks breathlessly.

“Swell you up,” Bucky promises. “Give you that pregnant glow in just a few loads.”

“Can you come more than once in a row?” Steve asks eagerly. “Can you come in me more than once?”

Bucky grins, licking his teeth. “I’ll give you nine orgasms,” he purrs.

Steve feels weak from pleasure. He groans, squeezing Bucky’s cock. Bucky grabs his hip, squeezes, then sits back. The tentacles slide from Steve’s ass, slipping out one by one, and Steve groans at the shiver he gets from each leaving him. His hole is left fluttering, milking nothing. Bucky pushes his thighs apart with his hands, tentacles sliding around them to hold them up and out of the way, and he uses his fist to steady the tip of his cock as he presses it against Steve’s hole. Even he can’t wrap his fist around it fully. Steve whimpers.

“There you go, baby,” Bucky whispers as he starts to push in.

Steve moans, his eyes rolling back. Bucky’s cock stretches him, just enough to feel good and not hurt. Suckers pull at his walls and the flared head scrapes across his prostate. Steve’s legs jerk, his cock swelling a little more. A tentacle wraps around the head and a sucker plucks at his urethra. Steve cries out, another orgasm swelling in his gut. Bucky grabs his throat with a hand, thumb pushing up under his jaw, and his teeth scrape his scent gland.

“You’re gonna come from my cock pushin’ in?” he growls.

Steve nods. Bucky’s hips slam into him. The tentacle around Steve’s cock swirls around it, suckers pluck at the base and the bottom and along his slit and under the head. Steve screams as he comes. Bucky’s teeth sink into his scent gland so fast, Steve hardly even feels it.

“Fuck!” Steve gasps.

A wave rolls over him. His orgasm suddenly feels like ten. Bucky growls, teeth locked in his scent gland, and he starts to piston his hips. Steve sobs, because he’s still coming, and it’s not stopping or sloping down in pleasure, it’s only getting better.  

Bucky snarls against his throat. There’s a feeling inside him like Bucky’s cock constricted, getting fatter and pressing the flared slit right against his womb, then Steve feels the hot splash of cum inside him. His belly warms with it. Steve’s still orgasming, somehow, and as Bucky comes, it starts all over.

“That’s it, Stevie,” Bucky pants.

“Buck,” Steve whimpers. “I – I can’t stop –”

“Fuck, yeah,” Bucky laughs. “Yeah, honey, you’re just gonna keep feelin’ that. You like it?”

“Yeah!” Steve sobs. “It’s s–so much! A–a–alpha, please!”

Bucky licks at his cheeks, then groans. Steve blinks and realizes he’s crying. He’s still orgasming. His cock isn’t even spurting, he just feels the swell of pleasure like he’s about to shoot off, and it isn’t stopping.

“It’ll get better every time I come in you,” Bucky purrs. “You’re just going to feel better and better, babydoll.”

“Ohmygod,” Steve pants. “Fuck, fuck, fuck –!”

Bucky laughs darkly. He came a second ago, but he hasn’t stopped fucking into Steve. In fact, as he slams his hips, Steve feels other tentacles pulling at his rim. Steve cries out, not sure what if he’s even speaking, but the tentacles slide inside beside Bucky’s cock. Steve feels like he’s going to be turned inside out and it’s so fucking good.  

Steve’s dabbled in marijuana before. Once, his dealer sold him something he called Demon Jizz, and the high he got from that had him feeling like he was in the womb again. He’d also let himself hook up with a stranger that weekend, and he’d had about 12 orgasms in about 48 hours. Steve usually compares sex to that one weekend, conked out of his head on Demon Jizz flower and getting railed by whatever jock he’d picked out on Grindr. It was the best sex he’d ever had.

Bucky’s cock, right then, with little tentacles sliding alongside it and suckers pulling at his cock, prostate, scent gland, and nipples, makes that weekend with his Grindr hookup and Demon Jizz flower-like just sitting on an old dryer. 

“Buck!” Steve screams. “Harder, harder, please, fUCK!”

Bucky snarls. His cock slams into Steve, the flared head hits Steve’s prostate, and then Steve feels his extended orgasm start over yet again. His cock splutters weakly, but the sensation has him screaming aloud again. Bucky both laughs and snarls and the pace of his hips shifts, somehow hitting Steve’s prostate on every upstroke. Steve pants open-mouthed, his eyes rolled in and up in his perpetual orgasm, then he feels Bucky’s cock shiver and constrict again. 

There’s another rush of hot fluid inside him. Bucky snarls and bites into Steve’s scent gland, sending Steve’s orgasm spinning around to its start again. Steve starts to wash away in the endless hedonism, his brain too fucked up on coming, coming, coming, again and again and not stopping, while Bucky’s cum feels like it’s filling his womb up already.

And maybe it is. Maybe that’s what Bucky meant. Steve can hear his dick squelching obscenely every time he moves, and Bucky is still not slowing down, his cock is still hard as a rod inside Steve, each ridge and bump rolling over his walls in ecstasy while yet more tentacles play directly with his prostate and cock. There are tentacles wrapped over his hips, sucking on his balls and taint, stimulating him there, also. Two tentacles wrap around his throat, gently putting his head in mind of being choked. Steve whines for more, his legs trembling where they’re being held up by tentacles. Bucky chuckles, the sound downright demonic.

“I love you,” Steve whispers. “I love you.”

Bucky’s mouth slams into his. “My sweet,” he purrs. “I love you, too.”

Steve comes again. He never stopped, but it happens all over again. He feels Bucky come again, too, his belly is stretching with the weight of the seed pumped into him, and Bucky angles Steve’s hips up so it pools deep in him. Steve is boneless, helpless but for the constant orgasm, sending hot pleasure down to the tips of his toes and fingers. He whines. Bucky kisses him, coos against his throat. Bucky’s teeth scrape over his pulse and Steve’s orgasm starts over. He can barely tell now, but it’s still so fucking good. Bucky chuckles and Steve comes. Bucky kisses him and Steve comes. Bucky comes, snarls, and Steve comes.

Steve loses track of how many times either of them orgasm. Steve is a wet fucking mess, the tentacle’s secretions covering his body, the hot steam from the grotto, their combined sweat, his own jizz covering his stomach and chest, the slick and cum leaking out of his ass. Steve shivers and whines every time Bucky comes in him, his belly swelling obscenely with the sheer volume of spunk inside him. Steve’s obsessed. 

“Last one,” Bucky pants in his ear.

Steve nods weakly, exhausted. Bucky bites at his ear, growls low, and Steve shivers as he comes all over again. Bucky then snarls and his cock constricts, fattened and shortened, and then again, Steve jolts as he feels the spurt of cum inside him. He whimpers.

Bucky slows. His knot fills and locks them together. The tentacles retreat from Steve’s body, and finally, Steve’s orgasm levels off and ends. Steve lets out a shaky breath. Bucky scoops Steve up and sits up with him. Steve groans as he sinks a little further on Bucky’s dick, shivers, but his cock only twitches with aftershocks. Bucky carries him from the bed, then Steve feels water brush at his toes. 

[]

They enter the pool. Tentacles wrap around Steve again, but this time just balancing him. Bucky’s legs tuck close and they float. Steve nuzzles into Bucky’s sweaty neck, sighing happily. Bucky lifts his chin with a finger and kisses him.

“Beautiful,” Bucky murmurs.

Steve smiles. “Handsome,” he mumbles back, bumping his nose against a line in Bucky’s neck.

Bucky kisses his forehead. Steve slides into a doze as they wash. Bucky wets his hair, lathers it with soap, conditioner, and rinses it. Bucky’s knot stays inflated. Steve feels a little loopy from it being inside him. He loves it. It’s better than any knot he’s ever had. It’s so satisfying.

Bucky carries him out. Steve shivers as water drips from his skin, then Bucky snaps his fingers and the water wicks itself away. Bucky sits on the bed again, which has clean sheets somehow, and they lay down. Steve looks down at himself and blushes at the sight of his swollen belly. He does look pregnant already. Bucky kisses his scent gland and purrs.

Steve hadn't really noticed the bond until now, but as Bucky purrs, he feels delight swelling in his chest. It’s pure joy, enough to make his nose sting and eyes water with emotion. Steve touches Bucky’s face.

“I love you, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs, kissing his palm. “You’re so perfect.”

“I love you,” Steve whispers back.

They kiss slowly. Steve doesn’t even think about needing to brush his teeth. He falls asleep, wholly content, in Bucky’s arms, and still on his knot. His last conscious thought is that it feels so wonderful to have Bucky’s knot in him, that he’ll have to insist on having it every night before bed from now on.

~the end~