Nice and Toasty

BY : Omnicat
Category: Marvel Verse Movies > Captain America
Dragon prints: 6302
Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel's Captain America, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Nice and Toasty

When Peggy checks herself into medical, one of the beta nurses at attendance assigns her a bed, brings her a tray of sterilized paraphernalia and a large pitcher of water, and asks her if she wants them to fetch her any of the potential partners listed in her file.

Direct, kindly blithe, and easy as you please. Half of the rooms they’d passed are occupied. The air in the building is thick with the scents of rut and heat and sex, and the walls are thin. As with many things, wartime mating cycle maintenance is a bit lacking in the usual polite feigning of ignorance. But they make do. Nothing phases these nurses anymore.

"I want Steve Rogers here," Peggy tells the nurse, which phases her quite a bit.

"Captain America?"

"Yes. I want him."

"He’s..." The beta takes a quick, startled peek at the clipboard in her hands, as if she can’t believe the name is really there. "He’s a beta, ma’am."

Of course the entire medical staff would know Captain America’s alignment by heart.

Peggy takes off her shoes to keep from rubbing her thighs together. She was already on edge when she arrived – she’d waited as long as she felt she responsibly could – and the heady air is starting to make it exponentially worse. "I know. He won’t mind."

The nurse hesitates. "He’s also an officer."

A terrible choice for a peak partner regardless of alignment, in other words, because if he were called upon in the middle of her heat, his duties would take priority over her needs. The only reason she’d gotten away with filling in Steve’s name is that he cannot be indisposed by popping a knot and getting irrevocably stuck to her at the nethers for hours on end.

"I don’t care," Peggy says, with as much authority as she can muster. Which is not much, because her voice cracks on, "I want him."

And that brings them neatly back to all the things that don’t phase the mating ward nurses.

"Alright," she says gently. "I’ll see what I can do."

She leaves at a promisingly brisk pace, and Peggy blows out a breath of relief. She wouldn’t want to be anything other than the omega she is – neither a pendulum that swings in the opposite direction nor the way a beta’s hormones cancel each other out and prevent any fertility fluctuations at all sounds appealing to her, or any less fraught with awkwardness and inconvenience – but she could do without the visceral anxiety of going into a heat before she’s sure she can satisfy it.

Two light, military-issue robes hang from hooks on the back of the door, and there is a shelf for occupants’ clothing on the wall beside it. Peggy undresses, folds up her uniform, sticks her hairpins in the breast pocket, rubs away her lipstick on her handkerchief, and slips on the robe. It hangs to her knees and closes with a sash.

Aside from the narrow two-person bed with its standard issue scratchy sheets, the room has a little table doubling as a night stand, a basin with two towels and wash cloths and two tin cups in it, two fold-up chairs, and a bare metal toilet. The windows are covered by plain gauze curtains and wooden blinds. If you bolted down the furniture, it could double as a prison cell. Hardly romantic, but there’s a war on. They make do.

At least the military’s generous with the pillows.

With trembling hands, Peggy pours herself half a cup of water before plugging the clunky vibrator from the tray into a socket. The mattress and pillows, when she climbs onto the bed and arranges it to her liking, make faint, rubbery squeaking sounds beneath the layers of wool and cotton. Another relief; they won’t be rolling in their predecessors’ juices. She clicks on the vibrator. It’s more powerful than she usually prefers – and a lot noisier than the one she has at home. It sounds like it’s on the verge of mechanical death.

Finally, she thinks with a shaky laugh, something to drown out the squealing of the bedsprings from across the hall.

Spreading her thighs, Peggy lets the robe part, snugs the bulbous head of the vibrator between her lips, and holds it there. And holds it. And when the first spasm of pleasure ripples through her, she holds the relentless vibrations to her a little more firmly. Her knees draw up almost of their own accord, opening herself up further to the source of it. Her stomach tightens and her thighs twitch, her toes curl and her spine arches, and as she presses herself ruthlessly to the ball and nudges it closer to her clit by barely bearable increments, her breath gets deeper and more labored, and she throws her head back and –

– and –

oh, oh, oh-oh-oh ooooooh

She tears the vibrator away with a gasp and sags, trembling and panting, into the pillows, the strength in her legs fading faster than the aftershocks of pleasure.

Alright, she thinks, eyelids fluttering shut as the need buzzing under her skin recedes for a bit. That’s good. It’ll get me through. This would do until she could get Steve, get his knot – his lovely, five-fingered knot, coated thickly with pheromone cream... and maybe they could even sneak in...

Best not to get too carried away, though.

Nothing will ever feel enough during a heat, but they make do. She wastes no time catching her breath: just rolls onto her side, plucks a sleekly stylized dildo from the tray, and starts again.

Another orgasm and half of a third later, there’s a knock on the door.

Peggy jumps and clenches around the inflexible fake cock with a strangled whimper. It takes all her willpower not to buck up her hips and shout "Finally!", to get Steve and the nurse both into the room and get their hands on her everywhere and –

Hissing, she slips the dildo from her body and sticks it under a pillow, sits up and tugs the robe in place, and says, "Come in!"

The nurse enters – alone, and with an apologetic expression.

Peggy’s face falls.

"I’m very sorry, ma’am, Captain Rogers is away with Colonel Phillips for a strategy meeting. They’re not expected to return until Tuesday. Is there anyone else I can invite for you?"

"No," Peggy says, digging her nails into her palms to try and quell the wave of irrational dread and dismay flooding her gut. "No, I – I think I’ll manage on my own, then."

She has a good list. Good friends – Bletchley and SOE friends, a handful of others she’s come to trust and respect over the course of her work. At least two of them have got to be on base and have time to help her, she’s sure of it. Last time – Maura’s rut – had gone off without a hitch. No fuss during, no awkwardness after; just nature taking its course, and civilization smoothly taking back the reigns after.

Now, though, because of Steve, she can’t bear the thought of any of them. Even now – or perhaps especially now – her heart is more powerful than any other instinct. It has all but imprinted on him, and the rest of her body follows suit by rejecting everybody else.

But she’s throbbing and hungering and empty, and the thought of really going it alone is just as intolerable.

"– if there’s anything I can do for you," the nurse was saying, the door already halfway closed...

"Wait!" Peggy exclaims, reeling with the abruptness of her realization.

The nurse turns back.

"James Barnes. Sergeant. Same unit." She can’t believe the heat has made her so single-minded she could have forgotten him, even for a moment. "Has he gone too?"

"No, ma’am, I just spoke with him."

This is either the best or worst idea she’s ever had. They could get into so much trouble for unauthorized fraternization.

"Ask him to come. Please. But – discreetly."

The nurse does not protest that Barnes is not on her list of approved potentials.

"This only works as long as you guys don’t advertize it too much, but what happens in this ward, stays in this ward," she promises with a wry smile.

When the door closes, Peggy starts to pace. When the door opens again, she’s still pacing – her thighs soaked slick all the way to her knees, her body achingly empty, her mind a fever haze of lust and frustration and anticipation, of pure, animal need.

There’s not a cell in her body that rejects the prospect of Bucky.

He is barely inside before Peggy has him pinned to the wall, her mouth hot and hard against his. She can feel every button and buckle on his uniform through her thin robe. Their legs tangle clumsily as she pulls and shoves him along the wall towards the bed, and even the scratch of his slacks against her knees is enough to bring out goose bumps on her skin and butterflies in her stomach. He yields easily at this stage, lets her manhandle him to her heart’s content. Peggy likes that about him.

Peggy does not like the way he takes her by the shoulders and puts distance between them.

"Are you sure about this?" Bucky asks, meeting her eyes.

Are you sure about this, he asks!

"We should’ve added each other long before this happened," Peggy groans, sinking her hands into his hair and pressing back in. His back thuds into the wall again. "We’re going to make it official the moment we’re done here, alright?"

"We’ll have to ask Steve," Bucky says around a gasp, conscientious to a fault. Where does he get off being like that at a time like this?

"He’ll say yes," Peggy says impatiently. "But of course we’ll ask Steve."

She surges in for another kiss. She presses her breasts to his chest, grinds her hips against his. He moans, bends his knees until they’re at a height, and parts his lips for her, letting her lick into his mouth. Peggy hates pulling away, but he’s reminded her of the responsible course of action now, damn him.

"You’re sure you’re not fertile too, are you?"

"Of course. You think they’d let me be here if I was?" He shakes his head and starts on his tie. "I had mine over three months ago."

"And you didn’t invite me?" Peggy teases, her voice a little brittle just from the images he’s conjured in her mind.

"A lot’s changed in three months."

That it has.

They’ve fucked before, the two of them – off-peak, with Steve and like Steve. The beta way. Sex without the biological imperative is one of the joys of being human, but this is different. This is an instinct, a need, and even though they know it’s not, it feels unstoppable.

Bucky removes and folds his uniform, and when he turns to her and crowds in close, naked and half hard, Peggy drags a hand up her glistening-wet thigh and smears her slick all over his face. His cock instantly jumps to attention against her belly. His eyelids flutter and his pupils blow wide, until she can barely tell what color his eyes are anymore. He nuzzles into her hand, presses it to his face and licks the slick from her palm, sucks her thumb into his mouth. The thrill of it bursts through her entire body.

His scent changes and rises. The smell of a hundred soldiers’ peaking fertility permeates the building, filling them both with every breath, but Peggy’s scent is the only one meant just for him – and it’s the only thing his body needs to descend into its own sympathetic pseudo-rut. Peggy noses under his jaw and licks the answer to her need from his skin, and she can feel the slow ooze of her slick increase to practically a trickle right then and there.

"There’s more where that came from," she whispers to Bucky, pulling her fingers from his greedy mouth with a pop and wrapping her arms around his neck. Grinning and making a delighted, guttural sound in the back of his throat, Bucky lifts her up with his hands under her arse, and carries her, kissing and squeezing, to the bed. She wraps her legs around his waist so he can’t drop her.

He drops himself on top of her on the bed instead. Oof! But also, thank god. She can’t stand another second without his hands on her, or her hands on him.

With his weight pressing down on her, solid and warm and surrounding her in a heady haze of alpha, he slips his tongue into her mouth and his hands under her knees. Saving the planes of his back for another time, Peggy digs her nails straight into his arse, pulling him in towards where she wants him. She breaks the kiss to mutter "come on, come on" in his ear, and in answer, Bucky leans back and slides two fingers into her cunt straight to the knuckle – then, meeting no resistance to speak of, three, while his thumb finds the nub of her clit.

It’s not enough, she thinks for one wild, terrible second. She needs more. She needs him everywhere. She needs his cock, his knot, in her cunt, in her arse, in her mouth, in her mind, in her soul.

Luckily, Bucky is on exactly the same page.

He withdraws his fingers, lines up his cock, and in one smooth stroke, pushes into her to the hilt. Peggy’s body opens for him and a breath like a sob shudders from her throat. She’s so, so wet, slick slick slick slick, but the stretch to accommodate the width and length of him is what ecstasy is made of. Bucky sucks in air through his teeth.

"No biting," Peggy warns him with the last of her restraint.

"No biting," Bucky promises, with the last of his.

He pulls out, waits for her to clench around nothing, and then pushes back in in a rush – once, twice – before settling into a rhythm of steadier, shallower, fast thrusts.

And then there’s nothing but the pounding of his hips, of his cock inside her.

She’s been working herself up to this for almost an hour, and he has the evidence of it slathered all over his face, coating his tongue and filling his lungs with her need, and without a rubber, the first round never lasts long anyway; his cock swells to its full size to fill her, and her walls swell shut to milk him, and it takes barely twenty strokes before she’s coming, and he fucks her through it, through squealing and jerking and so over-sensitized it hurts so good for maybe five more before she feels the hot spray of his seed inside her for the first time that night.

Bucky collapses on top of her, shuddering and panting. For a while they just lay there. They catch their breath, Bucky growing slowly softer inside of Peggy. Her contentment won’t last once she no longer has to stretch to accommodate him, but for now, it’s good. So, so good.

Drunk with heat and delight, Peggy laughs and nuzzles Bucky’s cheek. "Well, there we go."

"Here we go," he agrees with a dopey smile. "God, I always forget how good it feels on a peak."

"I think if we remembered it any better than we already do, nobody would ever do anything else."

He laughs – "Probably not." – and kisses her.

Her scent is heavy on his skin, his face and sides and stomach all covered in her fragrant, pheromone-packed slick. She’s his for the taking and he’s hers to keep, to mark with her juices until they never wash off and he never has to stop fucking her.

Eventually, he says apologetically, "I’m only half on the bed," and slips out of her. She feels predictably empty and melodramatically bereft. They turn down the itchy woollen blanket and rearrange the pillows a bit, and then Peggy’s had enough, stuffs two under her hips, and pulls Bucky down to her dripping cunt by the hair.

Groaning, he drags his face across one thigh and licks broad, urgent strokes all up and down the other. Her slick glistens in his eyebrows and on his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, but there’s nothing inside her, so she snaps "Hands, Barnes!". He gives her two fingers and his lips around her clit, sucking hard and sudden enough to make her yelp.

He needs no prompting to add a third finger, one tucked overtop the other two. She’s had heat and rut partners who never seemed to trust her body or their own hands, who tried to insist on taking it one finger at a time and test her, like they were both off-peak and her body wasn’t absolutely sopping for it. Bucky, it seems, is not the kind of fool alpha who shacks up with a beta for years and then forgets what an omega alignment means – or needs.

Peggy could cry for joy.

"That better?" he asks without a hint of mockery, crooking his fingers firmly against the walls of her passage.

She keens unintelligibly in answer.

He’s doesn’t look away from her face when he presses a tiny kiss to the inside of her thigh, or when he licks along the stretch of his fingers inside her. His eyes are grey, and keen, and possessive, and all hers. Pumping his long fingers in and out of her, he slowly unfolds them from their tucked-in triangle, until she’s taking three fingers straight in a row – and he starts spreading them apart to boot.

"And how about that?" he asks. This time, he’s teasing.

"More," is all she says.

Bucky turns his wrist and resumes making scooping motions inside of her, alternating tonguing and sucking at her clit with lapping up the slow but steady gush of slick running down his wrist. Because of the way her hips hang off of the pile of pillows, she can look at him without lifting her head or having to prop herself up on her elbows. Her juices are dripping down his chin. He looks like a bear with his paw in a pot of honey, trying to claim every drop she spills. She can smell the havoc all of those pheromones of hers are wreaking in his body.

Watching him fingerfuck her is almost as good as the fingerfucking itself. And from the looks he sends her back, he knows it.

"I bet you tasted even better before I got here," he rasps.

Peggy shakes her head – gasping as he rubs along a particularly sensitive stretch inside her. "I want to taste like you. Ah!" He’s thumbed hard across her clit. "I want you to – oh – come in me until there’s – oh – no telling us apart anymore. I need you – hng –" – her voice hitches; he’s tucked his fingers together again and added his pinky finger on the last push, sliding in past his tightly curled knuckles. "– inside me, yeah, oh yeah, Bucky, that’s it, I need it."

"I think you could already take a knot," Bucky says wonderingly. "I’m nowhere close yet, but you –"

"Do it," Peggy demands. "Give me it," she begs.

His voice is hoarse. "I kept you waiting, huh?"

And then he somehow makes his hand another tiny bit narrower, and he pushes, and like it’s nothing, like his fists were made to fill her cunt or maybe her cunt was made to fit his fists, he slips past her body’s resistance and she’s encasing him right up to the wrist. Peggy breathes harshly, over and over, unstoppable sounds on every breath. The stretch burns. Sharp and painful at first, a muscle on the edge of a sprain, but almost immediately the feeling mellows and deepens, becomes a tense, smouldering heat, a tipping point of sensation overload just waiting to –

– Peggy can feel Bucky’s big, long-fingered paw of a hand ease open deep inside her, his fingers spreading like the petals of a hungry flower, his fingertips pushing into every nook and cranny of her, filling her completely –

– and then his fingers curl into a proper fist, and he pulls back, and the width of it catches on the rim of her cunt and the pleasure doesn’t spread, it just ignites between her legs and turns her entire body into a white-hot live wire of pleasure everywhere at once.

She screams, and writhes, and short-circuits.

Her senses take leave of her for a bit. When her mind remembers how to process things again, it tunes back in to the sensation of Bucky gently but firmly tugging his once again narrowed fist from her cunt. Somehow, her overcharged nerves still manage to process it as pleasure. Peggy keens and spasms, control of her limbs lost completely as Bucky inches out of her by increments.

It wasn’t a real knot oozing alpha pheromones into her spongy tissues, so she hasn’t swollen shut around him and trapped him completely, but her passage is still clutching his wrist tightly enough to make extricating himself difficult. Ultimately, he succeeds with a squelching pop! and a second orgasm – aftershocks, less blinding than the last, dull yet overpowering ripples of pleasure that cancel out every other impulse in her body.

"Time for a break, I think," she hears Bucky say, as if from far away.

Peggy is too wrung out to answer. She just groans and lets her limbs flop where they will, boneless and askew, as her eyes slip closed.

Draping her arm over her ribs to make some room for himself, Bucky crawls over and snuggles up against her side.

"You did so well," he murmurs, nuzzling her cheek. "Took my knot like a champ. Take a breather now, sweetheart. Later, I’m gonna give you the real deal and plug you for hours, but not yet."

"You’re slow, Barnes," Peggy croaks with a tiny smile.

He snorts. "You’re just heat-greedy."

"Old man."

"Only because you and Steve keep taking years off my life, you crazy broad."

He presses a kiss to her jaw, and below it, scraping his teeth against the scent gland there. It makes her purr. Then he presses two sticky fingers to her lips and, when she parts them, feeds them into her mouth.

"Tasty, greedy omega," he says as she sucks. "Wonder what Steve would say if he knew how you keep trying to eat me."

"To leave some for him, no doubt," Peggy warbles around his fingers.

Bucky laughs and pulls his hand back. Peggy looks down to watch him wrap it around himself, every inch but those two fingers still shining and messy with her slick. His cock is hard and flushed and oozing precome, arched up towards his belly. She could take it, again, already, she thinks. But her body doesn’t need to right now, and watching is its own reward, so she wrestles the pillows out from under her and settles on her side to enjoy the show. Bucky meets her eye, and smiles wickedly, and makes sure it’s worth seeing.

"You should bottle your slick and sell it," he says while stroking his cock.


"Charge a hundred bucks a bottle for it, I don’t care, I’d buy a milk jug’s worth every week and be indebted to you forever. If I can’t be inside you I want to be covered in you, and if I can’t have that there’s no point in ever touching my dick anymore."

"Really now," Peggy says, doing a poor job holding back her laughter.

"Definitely," he sighs happily, rolling onto his back and arching his spine, fingers tight and fast around himself. "Right now."

"Nobody would ever do anything else anymore," she reminds him teasingly.

"You’d rule the world." He palms his balls in one hand while pumping his shaft with the other. "Have the whole damn globe on a leash between your legs. We’d do anything for you, we’d belong to you, every last one of us. But you would only belong to me –"

And Steve, she opens her mouth to say.

"– and Steve," Bucky finishes without a hitch.

God, she loves him.

She wraps her hand around his, and together they finish him off, squeezing until he freezes and pumping until he erupts in spurts – in clear ropes of come, seedless and sterile, easily distinguishable from the milky-white semen of a rut.

"Good boy," Peggy murmurs. "Darling man."

She cups his jaw and kisses his cheek, and then she slithers down his side and starts lapping up the trails of come on his chest. Just like she had been, he’s all but boneless, his only movement a lazy, gentle arm thrown over her shoulders. The stream of his come has slowed to a trickle, and eventually stops altogether. Already it’s like a faucet stubbornly refusing to stop dripping. Peggy can’t wait until he’s ready to knot. Then there will truly be no stopping it.

She still hasn’t let go of Bucky’s cock. She fondles it idly, rolling it between her slippery fingers while she mouths at his stomach, until he lifts his arm from her shoulders and bats her hand away.

"Enough, enough. I need a minute."

"I’ll give you ten," Peggy says. "Any more than that, I make no promises."

Bucky snorts. "I guess that’ll have to do."

Peggy swipes a last dollop of come from his abs and settles beside him again.

"Have a nice snack?" he asks.

"Perhaps not quite world-domination grade cuisine, but not to worry. You don’t taste so bad yourself."

"That’s good. I don’t know how we’d stop the people from starting another war on our behalf if we were both benevolent overlords."

She has to appreciate his dedication to his nonsense dirty talk.

He blows out a breath and turns on his side with a contented smile, one arm pillowed beneath his head and the other coming around her waist. "So, honey, how was your day today? Other than hot and bothersomely bothered."

"Oh, you know, the usual. Mostly classified."

"Any progress with the you know –?"

"Not today. Or yesterday. Or the day before that."

"Has it been that long? Tell me you at least saw Steve before today."

Peggy shakes her head fondly. "Steve’s been away, remember? It’s the reason you’re here now at all."

"Right. Oh well," he says. "You kept yourself busy."

"I did," Peggy confirms. "We’ll find the bastards eventually. They’re running out of places to hide."

"We had drills," Bucky says. "In the rain. You know, the usual. And then we tried to teach Dernier how to call someone a donkey-sucking cheat at poker."

"You realize Dernier understands English just fine, don’t you?"

"Of course. Now we just have to get him to speak it back to us."

Peggy scoffs. "Forget it, Barnes, he’s French."

"Ma’am, we’re Americans," he counters, his accent laid on thick. "We never quit."

"I don’t know how I put up with you Yankee boys."

"I, on the other hand, know exactly why we keep coming back to you, Limey girl," he says, and kisses her.

For a while they just lie there, necking and trading inane quips and small talk. Eventually they get up for a stretch and a drink of water, and as if on cue, a knock comes at the door and a nurse hands them a covered dinner tray for two and a second pitcher of water. Peggy catches the eyes of the similarly robe-clad and ruffled omega in the room right across from them. They exchange polite nods, and then he and she go back to resolutely ignoring each other and pretending that they can’t hear a thing of what’s going on in each other’s rooms.

The food is the same rations as usual, but it’s warm and filling and exactly what they need. More than they need, really. They’re almost all the way into peak state by now. They’re not going to spend the next three days in a lockdown of fucking and fasting, but they could. Her assigned rations may not have satisfied Peggy’s increased pre-peak appetite for the past two weeks, but clearly her body thought it had been enough, or she wouldn’t have proceeded into her heat. And Bucky has been eating just as well. So they could.

This is something even the war hasn’t taken from them yet, though: they don’t have to.

Peggy and Bucky are barely halfway through their meals when a piercing wail resounds from across the hall. Their heads snap towards the door in unison. A protracted moment of silence... and then they can make out a lower whine, longer, sustained, hitching to an obvious rhythm of thrusts.

The sound goes straight to Peggy’s gut.

"Sounds like someone just took a knot," she says tremulously. Then, steadier, because she is inordinately bothered: "They can’t have finished their meals that quickly."

"Guess they’re saving it for later," Bucky says. He nudges her foot with his and looks at her from beneath his eyelashes. "That’s gonna be us by the time they hand out the late-night snacks."

Peggy gushes slick so hard, fast, and sudden, it’s almost uncomfortable. Bucky takes a deep breath through his nose and his pupils dilate. He can tell.

"Not before you clean your plate," Peggy tells him without breaking eye contact; a challenge to herself as much as it is to him.

Bucky begins shoveling food into his mouth at twice his previous rate. Peggy doesn’t even remember finishing hers. One moment she’s in her own fold-up chair with her fork in her mouth, and the next, her patience has snapped and her lips are crashing against Bucky’s as she straddles him, his chair creaking ominously. His hands make an abortive motion through the ruined curls of her hair before he wraps them under her thighs and carries her back to the sturdy safety of the bed.

When he makes to deposit her on her back, she says, "No, you lie down."

He turns obediently and sits, bedsprings and rubber sheets squeaking.

Peggy growls and digs her nails into his nape. "Lie down, I said."

"Hey, that’s my tone," Bucky rumbles. But he drags them both toward the center of the bed on her command, and bares his throat to her teeth at only the slightest pressure of her hand around his windpipe. Better, but he’s still not inside her and he’s still not reading her mind, and it’s all completely unacceptable. So she doesn’t let up the pressure as she fumbles for his cock with her free hand – nor when she gives it a few unnecessary, and unnecessarily rough, tugs. His breath hisses between his teeth; his eyes are bright; his body is tautly still.

Peggy sinks down on his cock slowly. He’s hot and thick, stretching her open wide and deep and smooth, and every inch is a mile of pleasure and a little bit more of heaven on earth, all’s right with the world, natural order restored – and blimey, she’s farther gone than she’d realized. Her demands met, the blinding aggression of her need ebbs away just as fast as it had filled her – leaving behind the choice to either pretend like nothing is out of the ordinary, or feel very embarrassed indeed – though it does nothing to quell the urgency of her desire.

Peggy does feel a blush rising to her cheeks, but Bucky is trembling beneath her so prettily, caught between the hungry mouth of her cunt and the blood-red laquer of her fingernails, that she leaves her hand right where it is.

Restraint amidst the throes of passion is a beautiful thing.

God knows Peggy doesn’t have any.

"Put your hands under your arse," she orders.

Bucky puts his hands under his arse.

"Good boy," she breathes, captivated, and starts undulating her hips. "Don’t move. Don’t speak. Let me – oh, you darling man."

She takes her time feeling out their position. His thick, firm presence inside of her is wonderfully apparent like this; she’s spread open and stuffed full, and his cock is in the way. Stuck between one set of muscles and the next, every clench of her thighs – every movement – is a titillating reminder of his intrusion. She wishes he could stay in her forever. She wishes there was more of him.

When she finds the best way to rub him into her, she sets a rhythm, and when she’s set a rhythm, she sets a pace, and by this time she’s supporting herself with her hands on Bucky’s biceps and his hands have found their way to her breasts, and Peggy doesn’t mind one bit. She leans down to nip at his bottom lip the once, and then focuses on nothing else than the movement of her hips up and down his cock, and the movement of his up into her, and the pleasure in her belly and on his face, and his warm, skillful hands caressing her breasts.

After a while, Peggy throws her head back and closes her eyes. After a while, Bucky leans up on his elbows and she moves her hands to his shoulders while he sucks kisses all up and down her chest, and circles her nipples with his tongue, and sucks them into his mouth, gently and with teeth and everything in between. After a while, he breaks away, one hand moving to squeeze her arse and guide her movements as he presses his face to her collarbone and breathes a long, drawn-out "ooooooooooh" into her skin and comes.

By this time, she’s noticed his knot starting to swell, slowly but unmistakably. She can feel him squirting too, only just; warm and hard and fast in those first few moments and then slower, steadier, the throbbing of his cock accompanied by a sedate creep of the tingling heat of his seed through her entire cunt. The noises they make are obscene. Every movement makes him gasp and flinch now.

Peggy fucks him harder.

Bucky’s hand on her arse does nothing but encourage her.

Eventually, when he throws himself back into the sheets and covers his face with his hands, when the delicious little sounds wrenching from his throat turn to sobs and the relentless stimulation becomes too much for her as well – only then does Peggy shift the angle of her hips and clench with all her might, and find her clit.

It takes her literally three seconds to come.

She collapses on top of him with a satisfied groan.

His entire body is wracked by tremors, which pulls her up short. When she slips a hand between them, the quivering of his belly, usually so firm, is fascinating.

"Are you alright?" Peggy asks, turning her face up to his.

He nods, eyes shut tight, and croaks, "Yeah."

"Truly?" The pleasure is overwhelming and intoxicating, but she’s never made someone cry quite like this before, she doesn’t think.

"That was perfect," he says emphatically, his eyes meeting hers. His lashes are clumped together with tears. "Just – god, I need a minute."

"Of course. As long you’re not expecting me to move. I am not leaving this... exact... place."

She bears down on his cock a little to make her point. But she needn’t have worried. His arms, when he wraps them around her back, are weak and shaky, but the message is clear: she’s staying right where she is.

His knot is barely setting yet, but he’s not letting her go anywhere anymore. Heat flares in her gut, and Peggy isn’t sure whether it’s her body or his that causes it.

She leisurely kisses the salt from his cheeks as he recovers. She can’t help but wriggle her hips a bit from time to time, chasing more of that persistent, nagging, low-key pleasure of having to stretch to fit around every inch of him. For his sake, though, she keeps it to a minimum – until the moment when he bucks his hips up into her. Just once.

Peggy sits up and raises an eyebrow.

"Let’s just take it easy for a while, okay?" Bucky says.

So they do.

"Are you still coming?" Peggy asks.

"Just barely. Just a little while more and I’ll pop for you, sweetheart, I promise."

"There’s no need to rush," she lies. "It really looked like it hurt just now."

"I wasn’t rushing," he says with a grin. "And it hurt better than I ever remember it hurting."

"Oh, I see why you and Steve get along so well. Gluttons for punishment, both of you."

He laughs and caresses her thigh. "Guess you got my number. But it’s not about punishment – just gluttony. I want it until I can’t take it anymore, and then I wanna take more."

"Oh," Peggy sighs delightedly, rolling her hips. "Now that sounds promising..."

"Hey, I’ve never asked..." Bucky says, his hand sliding up her thigh and around her buttock. "Do you get slick...?"

Peggy nods. "I am very, very omega."

That causes him to grin. "So – hypothetically speaking – Steve and I could have you both at the same time?"

"It’s the twentieth century, Bucky, slick comes in all sorts of little tubs and tubes nowadays. I could take you both at once either way."

His hands clench around her flesh, one on her behind and one on her thigh. "Oh. That’s nice."

"What about you?" she asks.

"No. I am very, very alpha," Bucky says with a hint of regret. But then he arches up to lean in close, and whispers in her ear: "But I’ve been known to like it dry."

A shiver runs down her spine and through all her ribs, tightening her nipples.

That should not sound as delightfully filthy as it does.

Bucky’s fingers chase the goose bumps up her vertebrae, pitter-pattering like tiny, tickly feet.

"All you really need to ease the way is a coating of Vaseline, did you know that?" he tells her lowly, as if she’d never heard of such a thing. She’s upper middle class, not some princess locked away from the world in an ivory tower. But Bucky likes to tease her for her posh accent and mannerisms almost as much as she likes to needle him about his Americanisms, so she lets him. "So much cheaper. It’s nothing like proper peak cream, but it works, if you want it to. Just a little coating of it, a little dollop. Just enough to take the chafe off, but not enough that you can really tell unless you look real close. Nothing like the real deal."

The fingers on her behind slip all the way between her cheeks, and he pops one into her arse just like that, so abruptly it makes her gasp. She is a woman, so that entrance to her womb is merely vestigial. But it’s there, and it’s wet, and during her heats it’s as sensitive as everything else.

He pulls out that first finger, inserts another, and then pulls back entirely and shows them to her, rubbing his fingertips together; covered in her slick, a shining thin sheen and thick, opaque, stringy globs. When he parts his thumb from his forefinger, a thread of it stretches between them.

"Actually, that’s a lie," he muses, studying his hand. "You don’t even need Vaseline. If you really want it, all you need is a handful of spit." Bucky reaches behind Peggy again and, meeting her eyes, pushes two fingers past the rim of her anus. "That’s the way I like it."

She comes with a full-body thrill.

Time loses its meaning. They fuck, and they fuck, and they fuck. They pause for a drink of water; they fuck again. They tell the nurse at the door to leave the food outside, finish fucking, eat the food, and start fucking anew. Bucky’s knot swells, slowly, slowly, sloooowly. If this had been his own rut and not one piggybacking off of Peggy’s peaking pheromones, he would’ve filled to completion hours ago. But this is not his, so they substitute length for frequency and fuck over and over and over again. He gives her everything she needs, everything she wants, and everything she asks for. She comes, he comes, he rolls off, she climbs back on; he comes, she comes, she flops on her back, he pulls her arse up and pushes her head down. There’s no telling apart her slick from his semen anymore, and their scents are indistinguishable and inextricable.

The need should wear off, but that’s the terrible thing about the heat; it doesn’t. It should get old, painful, monotonous, but that’s the beauty of the heat; it doesn’t. Peggy loves it and needs it and takes it and takes it and takes it, and she never wants to do anything else than be filled in every hole by Bucky’s cock.

Well – almost. There is one other thing she craves more.

"Your knot, Bucky, your knot," Peggy sobs into the crumpled sheets. She’s bent over the edge of the bed, he kneeling between her thighs, holding her hips steady as he pounds into her beyond either of them at this point. "God, just give me it, fill me up please –"

"I can’t plug you if you won’t – keep – hold –" With a grunt and an obscene, squelching pop!, the thick, hard, pheromone-sweating bulge of his knot squeezes past the tightly swollen, puffy rim of her pussy, accompanied by a squirt of seed – moves out of her. "– of me."

She lets out a hoarse cry of release and then keens with her need, pushing her hips back into him, searching, needing his knot back inside her, all regard for off-peak dignities discarded after hour upon hour of skin and friction and fluids and unquenchable lust. He instantly meets her movements with a thrust of his own hips, the width of his knot pushing back against her too-tight entrance and causing her breathless vocalizations to rise by an octave.

The tip of his cock had never left her cunt.

Peggy’s flesh is too tender and used for this, and Bucky’s member cannot be feeling any less thoroughly fucked out. His knot is too full and her cunt too swollen for this. It’s like playing Russian roulette: like the last straw, the last micrometer of give, will either irrevocably lock him inside or outside of her. It wouldn’t really be the end of it – within minutes one of them would deflate enough to let the other in, and then they wouldn’t so stupid again – but the danger feels real and terrible and urgent, making every passage of his knot in and out of her feel like the real deal. Like the end, the big finale, the answer of ecstacy they’ve been looking for for so long at last, and then past it.

They’d agreed to this game in a moment that was both far more lucent than the current one and not nearly lucid enough, and it might be the best idea they’ve ever had.

The resistance of Peggy’s body gives, and Bucky’s knot pops back in again. Peggy comes with her eyes screwed shut and her voice broken, her face pressed into the sheets. Bucky pushes in as far as he can go and then gently eases back, the shallow little thrusts and undulations being knotted permits. Perhaps this time he’ll stay inside. Perhaps he’ll wriggle out again. She has no way of knowing. The overstimulation might kill her and deliver her straight to heaven if he does it again.

He does it again.

Out; in. Out; in. Out...

"No, stay, no, no, no, again," she begs, babbles, and he fists his hand in her hair and pushes her facedown into the mattress to shut her up, pounding hard into her until she’s out of breath and can’t draw back in through the cotton-over-rubber of the mattress before easing out of her again, out by increments, the stretch so oversensitized she couldn’t have breathed even if she could –


The wave of pleasure shakes her to the marrow and leaves her limp.

Bucky slips all the way from her body. As he yanks her head up by her hair and her waist and pulls her entire body to his chest, she feels his erection slide between her cheeks, feels him coming in hot spurts all over her arse, the small of her back, seed going to waste.

"Peggy," he pants, breathless and urgent, into her neck. "Peggy, no more. Last time, okay? I’m gonna knot you now. For real. Not coming out until morning light, alright?"

"Please," Peggy slurs. "Please..."

With inhuman effort, Bucky drags them both onto the bed, and Peggy wills her trembling muscles to let her present herself for the taking. Arse up, head down. "Please." Thighs spread, hole dripping – her fluids and his both. Her labia flutter to a rhythm like a heartbeat, to the way her hole clenches around nothing, to her sobs. "Please..." She feels empty and gaping.

Until he takes hold of her hips, and his cockhead spreads and passes between her pussy lips with pleasurable ease. He feeds the shaft into her; her thighs quake. And, finally, like it’s the first time all over again, the swell of his knot opens her up further. More, until she can be opened no further. Then he gives her pressure – pressure enough to push past the point her body feels like it can stretch, past the point where ecstacy should keep feeling good...

Peggy doesn’t realize she’s been making any noises until her orgasm washes her away to the distance sound of her own wailing.

She passes out for a while.

The next thing she becomes aware of is Bucky’s fingers, brushing her hair from her face, and wiping away her tears, and caressing her face just because he loves her. They’re on their sides on the bed, spooning beneath the blankets. His hips make the tiniest motions against her; no more than an instinctive synchronisation to the rhythm of his throbbing balls emptying into her.

They are well and truly knotted, and finally, Peggy is at peace.

"One day," Bucky murmurs in her ear. "When the war’s over, and we’re living together, our cycles will fall in synch. And then every time you and I peak, me and Steve are going to take our turns fucking you. One after another, over and over, just blowing our loads in you again and again until you’re full. And then we’re gonna keep fucking you. We’re gonna put it in you every which way, your mouth, your pussy, your ass. We’re gonna fill you with our seed and it won’t matter if we’re fucking out more than we’re putting back in, because you’re gonna take it all. And we’ll be so hot for each other our peak lasts for weeks."

It should be ridiculous; it should be arousing. And sure, it’s both of those things. But most of all, Peggy thinks, it’s sweet.

"You’re gonna be fat with us before the pups even start growing. Because that’s what we’ll be doing – no pills, no potions, no blockers. Me and Steve, we’re gonna fuck a baby into you. Not just two or three at a time – four, five, six at a time. We’re gonna fuck a litter into you. A litter of our pups. And nobody will be able to tell if they’re mine or Steve’s. They’ll probably be both at once. Both of our seeds fucking into the same egg, just like we’ll both be fucking into you at the same time. We’ll fuck you so, so pregnant."

Peggy can’t breathe.

"And we’ll keep fucking you when the pups are growing in your belly. Over, and over, and over. They’ll have brothers and sisters only a month older than them, because Steve and I keep fucking you so much and you’ll be so full of our seed it’ll have no place to go but where the eggs are waiting. Your body won’t have any other choice but to let our seed into your eggs. And I’ll still be so hot for you, I rut again. And you’re still in synch with me, so you’ll go into heat again too, six months pregnant, and I’ll plug you up for days."

"Mother of bloody Christ, Bucky," Peggy groans, clenching around him and turning her face away to hide in her pillow.

Bucky giggles. Giggles. "Well, it’s true."

"Yes, yes, we’ll see. ...I didn’t say you should stop," Peggy clarifies, glad not to have to look at him. "I was just... saying."

"Nah, sorry, I’m out of it now."

Peggy waits a beat. And another.

"What, you’re serious?" she asks indignantly, twisting around a bit to get a look at him.

He’s blushing, but determinedly unrepentant. "Yep. Sorry."

He kisses her chastely, and then turns away to yawn until his jaw cracks.

Peggy promptly yawns too.

"Don’t blame just yourself, I’m pretty beat," Bucky says.

"Me too," she admits.

And if she wakes up a few times in the middle of the night to him pumping into her in his sleep, his shrunken knot threatening to slip out – well, she needs only to grind her arse back into him and enjoy herself until they are once again secure enough to go back to sleep.

Tomorrow will be another long, heated day.

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