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sarahowritesostucky · 3 months

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📖Alpha, Beta (& Omega)

Rated: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3619

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, nobility/royalty au, alternate history, dom/sub elements, beta bucky, anal sex, oral sex, hurt/comfort, first time, age gap (18/29), domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, wedding night, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Senator Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

To read previous parts of this series first, got to the story's masterlist

8. A Fever

This Chapter: "Every triad needs their omega. Every alpha does.” “And you think I’ll just go ahead and pick someone?” “It’s your right as Headship.”

Bucky wakes the next morning to find Steve still asleep.

He spends a moment appreciating his face. Steve looks younger in his sleep—perhaps because the aging set of responsibility is gone from his features, his face absent the stern countenance expected of a Senator and Headship.

For the first time, it occurs to Bucky that Steve may have been through quite a lot already in his life. He is older than Bucky, after all. And on top of being thrust into the Senate at a young age, he’s also been in the military, A captain. And during wartime, too, Bucky realizes belatedly. It’s been over for a couple of years now, but maybe Steve had seen battle, or even horrible things. Bucky swallows and thinks that he actually knows very little about his husband, in the grand scheme of things.

It’s bizarre to be in bed with a near-stranger, to know that he’s married to, and has now been intimate with, a person he doesn’t know. Bucky takes a deep breath and carefully untangles himself from under the alpha’s heavy arm. Steve doesn’t stir, and Bucky goes into the tiny bathroom of their suite. He removes the only item he’s wearing: the marital wristbands that Steve had told him to keep on last night during their … their lovemaking.

He fills the tub and washes himself, blushing as he thinks about what they’d done, and feeling unsure about how vulnerable he’d let himself be. Steve seems like an okay man so far, but that could still turn out to be a facade, and Bucky doesn’t like being at anyone’s mercy. By the very nature of him being Steve’s Beta, he’s exactly that. Steve has absolute authority over him in their marriage, and it rankles Bucky’s nerve every time he thinks of it. Just because Steve hasn’t humiliated him yet doesn’t mean he can’t, or won’t.

A soft knock comes from the door. “Bucky?”

Steve’s voice, of course. “What?” Bucky says.

“Are you alright?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Steve. I’m fine.”

There’s a long pause, and then Steve opens the door the tiniest bit. He peeks in at Bucky.

Bucky scowls. “Hey!”

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I woke up and you were gone.”

“I’m just bathing.” The response isn’t as nice as it could be, but Bucky pushes his guilt away. “I’m allowed to do that, aren’t I?”

“... Yeah.” Steve’s eyes flick up and down his body in the tub, taking him in. “Are you … are you alright? This morning?”

Bucky grunts and nods, unable to help the heat collecting in his face. He knows that Steve is asking about last night, about whether Bucky is physically okay after their lovemaking. “I’m fine,” he says, wishing that Steve would close the door and leave him alone. “Just … I’ll be out in a few, okay?”

Steve looks at him for another minute, then nods. “Okay. Then we’ll get dressed for breakfast.”

“Sure.”

He shuts the door, and Bucky sighs and dunks his head under the water, feeling at odds with … everything.

As they get dressed, Steve reminds him that he should wear his wristbands. Bucky freezes where he’s doing the cufflinks of his shirt. “I—oh.” He hadn’t thought of it. He glances to the bedside table where he’d laid them after his bath. “I forgot,” he says quietly. He doesn’t want to wear them, is the thing. Pressing his lips together, he goes back to fumbling with his second cufflink. It’s the right one, so he’s been struggling to get it on, the damage to his left hand making the task difficult.

Steve notices and comes over to help, deft fingers closing it with little trouble. Bucky peeks upwards at him as he finishes and smoothes out the sleeve’s cuff. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“You’re welcome.” Steve goes and gets the wristbands, brings them back and slides them on, one and then the other. He clicks them shut in the back, the tiny ‘snick’ of the clasps somehow intimate between them. Bucky stares at them.

They’re simple: matte black, metal, about an inch wide. When Steve had first put them on him at their wedding, Bucky had been surprised that someone as rich and as prominent in Society as Steve would choose bands so simple. Bucky licks his lips and says, “Gold is more in fashion.” It comes out sounding like a question rather than a statement, and Steve chuckles quietly.

“Yes, it is. But I didn’t peg you as a gold sort of guy, or a trend-follower.” He raises an eyebrow at Bucky. “You don’t like them?”

“No, it’s not that. I … I do like them,” Bucky hedges. It’s not that he doesn’t like the way they look. He does. They’re simple and sleek, attractive, even something that Bucky might have chosen for himself one day. But it’s the “one day” part that matters. The bands feel heavier than they really are, weighing his wrists down with the ownership they represent. He knows he has to wear them. Being seen in public with bare wrists would be a huge impropriety on Bucky’s part—and shameful on Steve’s. “They’re fine,” he mutters, not wanting to talk about it anymore.

Steve seems to sense this, as he gives Bucky’s hands a squeeze and lets him go. “Come on,” he says, “Let’s get to breakfast. I’m famished.”

The ship serves first class passengers their breakfast in a different dining room than dinner. It’s on a higher deck, in a room that has lots of windows to let in the light. Bucky likes the room, but he’s felt mildly queasy ever since he got out of the hot bathwater that morning. He’s hopeful that a good meal will fix it. This time, when the server comes to take their order, Bucky doesn’t bother speaking up for himself. Steve orders for the both of them, as is expected.

Henry and Senator Mills are seated at a table not too far away. Bucky nods when Henry smiles at him in greeting. The server arrives and sets food out on the table, and Bucky reaches for the toast rack. It’s as he’s spreading butter and jam that he looks up and catches Steve looking across the room. He follows his gaze and frowns: Steve is looking at a young man who’s seated several tables away.

Bucky deduces the fellow must be an unmarried omega, if his size and attire are anything to go by. There is no collar around his throat, the neckline of his shirt high and modest instead. He’s sitting with a triad who are most likely his parents. Bucky bites his lip, glancing back to Steve, then back to the omega. The young man is … very attractive. He’s delicate, fine boned and sweet-cheeked, blond with blue eyes. Bucky himself would have noticed him in any ballroom, likely asked for space on his card, even.

But something about catching Steve looking at the omega has his stomach tying into knots. Steve’s looked at Bucky with obvious interest like that before. It’s disquieting to see him regard another in the same way. Bucky huffs and goes back to buttering his toast. He can’t keep himself from glancing over to Henry Mills and his husband again, watching the obvious love between the two. An alpha and his happy, pregnant omega.

He averts his eyes. “So, when do you think you’ll start looking for our Third?” he asks, completely aware of how this makes Steve’s attention shoot back to their table and to him.

“What?” He looks surprised. “Our … our Third?”

“Yeah.” Bucky chews a bite of toast, trying to ignore the queasiness in his stomach as he swallows. “That fellow over there is pretty.”

Steve follows his gaze back over to the omega sitting with his parents. He sighs and turns back to Bucky. “I suppose,” he says.

“Well? Are we going to socialize with that in mind while we’re on our trip?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. We just got married.”

Bucky shrugs. “So? Every triad needs their omega. Every alpha does.”

“And you think I’ll just go ahead and pick someone?”

“It’s your right as Headship.”

Steve groans. “Bucky, stop. I’ve got no intention of marrying anyone else any time soon, least of all a European, and certainly not without your consent.” He reaches across the table and takes Bucky’s hand—his lame one. Bucky’s eyes flick up. Steve is smiling wryly at him. “We’ll complete our marriage later,” he drawls. “You’re about all I can handle for right now.”

Bucky scowls and pulls his hand back. “If you say so.”

Steve’s smile slips away, his eyes losing their playfulness. “I do say so,” he says sternly, then sets into eating his breakfast. Bucky forces himself not to say anything else and instead focuses on choking down some fruit and eggs.

Choking down anything turns out to be a mistake. Bucky upchucks all across the breakfast spread not thirty minutes later, and a mortified Steve has to make apologies to the waitstaff before helping Bucky back to their stateroom. Bucky collapses on the drawing room’s settee once they’re alone, feeling cold sweat beading on his brow. “Shit,” he curses. “Do you think it was the smoked salmon? I think it was the salmon.” He’s never eating cold fish for breakfast again.

Steve is coming over from the door and seating himself on a chair near Bucky. He looks concerned. “You barely ate, so no, I don’t. I think you’re seasick, Sweetheart.” He looks him up and down. “You need to rest. I’ll have the servants bring Dramamine.”

“I thought this sort of thing happened on the first day,” Bucky complains. “Shouldn’t I have my sea legs by now?”

Steve laughs. He gets up and walks over to the room’s sideboard and pours a glass of water, bringing it back over for Bucky. “As someone who’s spent more than his fair share of time on naval ships, I can tell you that that is absolutely not true. I think I spent half of my first commission throwing up.”

“Never mind that this is a luxury liner and not some pirate ship.”

The edges of Steve’s mouth twitch up. “I’ve never been called a pirate before.” Bucky scowls and looks away, focusing on drinking the water Steve’s given him. He hadn’t been trying to make him laugh. “Don’t drink it too fast,” Steve warns. Bucky rolls his eyes. He does drink the water more slowly, though.

The fact that it’s a luxury liner they’re traveling on obviously doesn’t make any difference. Despite the fact that Bucky can’t actually feel any waves or motion of the ship, he still spends the next two days being sick as a dog. Hardly anything sounds appealing to eat, and he certainly can’t bring himself to leave the cabin.

It’s as he’s flushing the toilet from his latest bout of sickness that Steve returns to their quarters. He knocks on the doorframe and peeks into the bathroom. Bucky catches his gaze in the mirror where he’s turning on the faucet to splash water on his face. “M’fine,” he mumbles, knowing from the tight, pinched look on Steve’s face that he’s worried. “I’ll be right out.”

When he comes back out into the bedroom, he smells the sour tinge of Steve’s concern filling the room. Bucky wrinkles his nose. “I said I’m fine,” he repeats, though he doesn’t fight it as Steve takes him by the shoulders and leads him back to bed. “Ugh,” he huffs, feeling tired and pathetic. “Some trip this is turning out to be.”

“Sit,” Steve says. He helps him get propped up with some pillows before going to retrieve a steaming bowl of broth that he’s brought into the room.

Bucky eyes it warily. “M’not hungry.”

“The ship’s cook said this should be very easy to keep down. You need to eat something.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. Steve is bringing the bowl over anyway. “I just need to lie down,” he says. The next thing he knows, the bed is dipping and a spoon touches his lips. Bucky inhales and opens his eyes.

Steve is sitting on the edge of the bed, the bowl in his hands and an expectant look aimed at Bucky. “You need to eat,” he says firmly. It’s not his Voice, but it could be. God, it could be. “Buck,” he says, looking plaintively at him. “You’re weak. Just take a few sips for me, alright? Just a bit. I need you to.” Bucky clenches his jaw in obstinance, but then Steve adds quietly, “Please don’t make me make it an order.” Bucky’s eyes must widen, because Steve nods. “Yeah, I know you don’t want that. So do it on your own, okay?” He nudges the spoon forward again. “Just a few sips at a time, c’mon.”

Slowly, Bucky parts his lips. Steve’s shoulders sink in relief and he smiles gratefully as he delivers the spoon to his mouth. “There you go. Good boy.” Bucky flushes, but parts his lips again for the next spoonful, and the next, eyes locked on Steve’s as he feeds him. “How is it?” Steve checks.

“Fine.” Meekly, Bucky asks, “Would you really order me to?”

Steve inhales slowly. “Yes. I would have.”

“You’d use your Voice? Threaten to punish me?”

“Yes.” Steve cants his head. “Does that bother you?”

“Of course it does!” Bucky scoffs. “So, what? Are you just gonna order me around for our whole married life?”

Steve frowns. “Well I hadn’t planned on it, but you know as well as I do that it’s my right as Headship. I have authority in this marriage.” He watches Bucky’s reaction carefully, then adds, “I’ll only ever use it over you if I feel like your well-being is in danger, if you’re going to hurt yourself or someone else, or if you get sick, if I feel that you’re being disrespectful to our union in public, or that you’re making poor decisions for yourself."

"Oh is that all?"

"But I’ll always try to give you leeway. I know you’re coming into your majority, and I know you want independence for yourself.”

Bucky huffs, though he can’t argue against anything Steve’s said. Most Headships would be much stricter, would feel free to structure their spouses’ entire lives. Bucky’s lucky Steve isn’t like that, but he still hates the authority the alpha has over him. “I guess I don’t have any choice,” he mutters.

Steve just looks sad that that’s his response. “It’s my responsibility, Bucky. Don’t hold that against me.” Bucky grunts and says nothing. He meets Steve’s eyes again, opening his mouth for more soup. Steve sighs, and delivers it.

After the second day of his illness, Bucky spikes a fever and Steve sends for a physician. Bucky isn’t quite delirious, but he’s definitely not in his right mind when the doctor arrives and examines him. He informs them that Bucky isn’t merely seasick, but actually sick, and he prescribes a tonic and strict bed rest until they reach England.

“Nothing worse than sickness spreading on a ship,” he tells Steve seriously. He’s spoken only to Steve since arriving in their staterooms, dismissing Bucky as subordinate, an invalid, or both. “No exertions for him. If he needs anything, get it yourself or have it delivered. You have servants?”

Steve nods. “Yes.”

“Good.” The physician nods politely at Bucky where he’s lying in the bed. “Get some rest, your Lordship.”

Bucky hums a response at him, his feverish state making him much less annoyed by the doctor’s dismissive attitude than he otherwise would be. “Kay,” he says. He watches as Steve bids the man goodbye, then returns to the bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed and lays a hand atop Bucky’s.

“I’m sure it’s just a bug,” he says. “Nothing to worry about. We’ll do just as the doctor says. I’ll take care of you.”

Bucky smiles, thinking muzzily that Steve is so sweet. He’s so handsome, and yet he’s kind and cares about Bucky, as if he has no idea that Bucky’s socially inferior and so badly damaged. “Thanks,” Bucky whispers, body shivering in another bout of feverishness. “S’cold,” he complains, trying to sink further into the bed.

Steve snaps to attention and is immediately pulling the blankets up higher to better cover him. He puts a hand to his forehead, frowning as he feels his temperature. “You’re burning up,” he says. “What you really need is ice water.”

Bucky moans pitifully at that idea. “No, Steve. Oh please don’ do that. M’so cold.”

Steve pets his face. “I know, Honey, I know. But we’ve got to get your body temperature down.” When Bucky whimpers, Steve hushes him, promising him treats for his good behavior. “I’ll have Sharon bring you up a piece of cake, after,” he says. “Would you like that?”

Bucky shakes his head, still worried about the prospect of ice water, but he says, “I guess,” after a long minute. “… Chocolate?” he adds hopefully.

Steve smiles. “Of course. Here, let me go ring for what we need.” He leaves the bedroom to ring the little bell that will summon one of their servants. Sharon arrives only moments later. Bucky can hear their conversation through the open doorway.

“Sir?”

“James’ fever has worsened.”

“How can I help?”

“Fetch a basin of cold water and cloths. Fresh sheets as well. And Sharon?”

“Yes?”

“See if you can find a piece of chocolate cake? … It’s important.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Their conversation stops, and Bucky hears the door of the suite snick open and shut as Sharon leaves. The next thing he knows, Steve is returning to the bedside. “Alright,” he says. “Sharon's getting what we need.” He looks Bucky over, frowning at how out of it he seems. “Bucky?”

“Hey,” Bucky slurs, thinking about the conversation he just heard and how Steve had said the cake was ‘important’. The thought makes him smile muzzily. “You’re nice,” he says. “Takin care a’ me.”

Steve smiles down at him, pinched, and reaches to swipe the sweaty hair away from his face. “That’s how I know you’re out of it,” he murmurs. “If you’re saying sweet things like that.”

Bucky whines and presses his cheek into Steve’s palm. “Nn. You’re a’good Alpha,” he slurs, eyes slipping closed. He feels so fuzzy. Having his eyes closed is better. “Hm. You get cake, too.”

Steve chuckles, and the sound is very nice, making Bucky smile with his eyes closed. “Okay,” Steve says tenderly. “Okay Buck, we’ll both have cake. Keep your eyes closed now, okay? Get some rest until Sharon comes back.” His hand is stroking Bucky’s face. It feels nice.

Bucky hums tiredly. “M’kay.” He drifts off, feeling shivery, and sick … and safe.

Steve cares for him for the rest of the trip, and by the time they’re one day from arriving in port, Bucky is feeling much better.

He also feels strange around Steve. His fevered memories aren’t the clearest, but he knows that he was open with Steve in a way he normally wouldn’t have been, when he was in the midst of it. And he remembers how tender Steve had been, taking care of him, bathing him and feeding him and fetching him everything he needed. He feels torn. He’d liked how close they’d been, is the thing. And now that he’s almost back to normal, he doesn’t know how to express his gratitude to Steve, especially since the last coherent thing he'd done to the poor guy was be nasty to him over breakfast. He doesn’t know what to do, now.

“Thank you,” he winds up saying, on their last night on the ship, when he’s lying in the bed and Steve is changing into his night clothes.

His hands pause on the buttons of his shirt and he turns. He looks surprised that Bucky is thanking him. They haven’t spoken much since Bucky’s fever waned and he regained lucidity. “You’re welcome,” he says, smiling a little. “It was hardly a burden to care for you.”

The way that he says it makes Bucky feel warm inside. He lets his eyes draw up and down Steve’s form, admiring the way his body looks in the fine clothes that he’s taking off, the bowtie that’s loose about his collar and the glimpse of his chest that’s already bared from where he’s gotten his shirt half-undone. Bucky licks his lips, feeling another type of heat start to stir in him. “You’re a, um, a very good nursemaid.”

Steve chuckles. “I’m glad you approve. And I’m glad you’re feeling better. … You are, aren’t you?”

“Yes, very.”

“Good, that’s good.” He’s still undressing, undoing the last of his buttons and pushing his suspenders off his shoulders. They hang from his waist as he slides off his shirt, all of the muscles in his back moving enticingly as he twists to drape the shirt on the valet stand. “I was worried there for a moment,” he’s still saying lightheartedly. “Knew it might be serious when you started complimenting me and offering me cake.”

Bucky’s eyes are glued to him when he turns back around, and the alpha pauses, noticing his flushed cheeks and parted lips. He stills with his hands on his trousers. “Bucky?” His mouth curls knowingly. “What are you thinking?”

“Just …” Bucky licks his lips, eyes dragging over Steve’s chest. “That you look good.”

“Oh you think so?”

“Yes.”

“Hm." Steve takes a step closer to the bed. “Still giving compliments," he murmurs, amused. "Might have to check to make sure that fever’s really gone.”

"Yeah," Bucky breathes. "Yeah maybe you should."

Holding his gaze, Steve undoes his pants and steps out of them, pulling his underwear off as well. He straightens and stands there naked, his eyes going heavy-lidded with interest. “How much better are you feeling?”

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