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Barnes' den is outside of the city, somewhere deep in the forest. Sam has no way of knowing how far they travel or how long it takes. Barnes drives evasively, looping and circling back to throw off a possible tail. He positioned Sam in the footwell of the backseat, covered by a blanket and completely hidden from view, so Sam only knows they've left Belgrade because the ride gets exponentially bumpier once they switch to dirt roads. Sam resigns himself to the rattling and tries not to bruise anything too sensitive.
Sam thinks, darkly, that all the evasive driving also prevents Sam from knowing how to get to the den by himself. Or how to leave. This is like something out of those ripped-from-the-headlines Lifetime movies: gruff, handsome alpha lures hapless beta into his car, beta is never heard from again.
Steve, Sam reminds himself. Steve is at the den. Sam needs to get to Steve. He can figure the rest out later.
They finally roll to a stop after at least a couple hours of driving. Sam flips the blanket off of his head and takes a deep breath of relatively fresh air.
“Please tell me we’re there.” Sam props himself up on an elbow and sneaks a look out through the back window. “I can’t feel my legs, and it smells like gym socks down here.”
Barnes turns around and actually smiles at him. It’s a weirdly sweet expression for a huge beefy dude wearing a kevlar-lined jacket and carrying at least a dozen knives. “We’re here. Come look.”
Barnes climbs out, opens the back door, and grabs Sam’s forearm to help lever him up from the footwell. Sam’s knees lock immediately, his legs stiff and aching after being folded in one position for so long. He leans on Barnes and gapes at the cabin.
“Cabin” is an understatement. The wood frame house is two stories, with a stone foundation and chimney and a wrap-around porch. Sam was expecting something closer to a dank, windowless basement than a luxury summer retreat, but that wouldn’t be much of a den for a budding pack to call home, and apparently even semi-feral alphas have standards.
Steve opens the front door and sucks in a breath at the sight of them. Sam is indescribably relieved to see him standing there, unharmed and nonplussed, right where Barnes said he would be. “Sam?”
“Steve,” Barnes says happily. He lets go of Sam, watches for a second to see if Sam’s going to fall over--which Sam refuses to do, no matter how pins-and-needles wobbly his legs have gotten; he has some dignity left, okay?--then intercepts Steve as he jogs down the cabin steps. Barnes wraps an arm around Steve and noses his temple briefly, then nudges him towards Sam.
Steve takes hold of Sam’s shoulders and sniffs him all over, forehead wrinkling in concern. Sam knows he must smell like adrenaline and stale fear. "You okay?"
"Yeah, you?"
"I'm fine. Sorry for disappearing like that. You sure you’re okay?"
There's a fresh bonding bite on Steve's neck, overlapping the silver scar he's had for as long as Sam's known him. Unsurprisingly, Steve smells like sex and Barnes. They'd talked about this after D.C., about whether Steve would renew his bond with Barnes if the opportunity came up. Sam had given Steve his blessing. He's not such an asshole that he'd prevent Steve from reuniting with his bonded alpha, especially when it's obvious he's still in love with the guy.
It's Sam’s own mark that's unexpected. Sam had assumed that he and Barnes would learn to share, or if they couldn't, that Steve would choose between them. He hadn't counted on Barnes deciding to claim Sam, too.
"You know that relationship conversation about Bucky we had a while back?" Sam says. He tilts his head so Steve can see the bruise Barnes’ bite left over his scent gland. Steve's jaw drops. "We need to have another one."
"Oh, wow," Steve breathes. Then his eyes narrow as he puts two and two together. He puffs up, puts his hands on his hips, and glares at Barnes, who’s unloading supplies from the car.
"Bucky!" Steve snaps. Barnes, one hand on the cabin door, freezes in place like a kid caught raiding the cookie jar. "You colossal knothead, did you even ask Sam what he wanted to do, or did you just mark him up and haul him back to your den?"
Barnes' eyes flick from side to side, as if he'll find the right answer hidden somewhere in the pine trees. Eventually he just hunches his shoulders and slinks into the cabin like an embarrassed panther.
Steve groans and rubs his hands over his face. "I can't believe him. Sorry, Sam. He was just supposed to pick up my stuff and leave a note and a burner phone for you. I was going to call you and explain, let you decide what you wanted to do next. Now that you're here, though..." His voice trails off as he brushes gentle fingers over the mark Barnes left on Sam's neck.
Steve looks so hopeful, almost reverent. It occurs to Sam that just because they never talked about the possibility of Barnes claiming Sam doesn't mean Steve didn't think about it.
"You wanted this, didn't you? All three of us together?"
"Doesn't matter what I want," Steve says. It's a very Steve thing to say, but he can't hide his feelings for shit, and Sam knows the answer to his question is yes. “What do you want?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
Steve pulls him into a hug, which Sam didn’t know he needed until Steve’s strong arms wrap around him and he suddenly feels like crying. It’s been a long goddamn day.
“We’ll figure it out,” Steve says firmly. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. Did you get dinner? Why don’t you take a shower while I fix something to eat?”
“Best boyfriend,” Sam mutters, rubbing his jaw against Steve’s and nuzzling into his neck. Steve smells comforting, familiar, even with the fresh overlay of Barnes’ alpha scent. Honey and apples, now with a trace of salt and woodsmoke.
“No, you,” Steve says automatically.
“Sap.” Barnes has recovered enough from Steve’s scolding to come back out to the porch. He’s leaning against the doorway, arms folded, watching Sam and Steve with a tolerant expression.
“Fuck off,” Steve retorts. “You got anything to eat in this rat trap?”
The inside of the cabin reveals some features Sam wouldn’t expect to find in an ordinary vacation home. The windows have heavy-duty metal shutters, and all the door and windows have reinforced steel frames. Sam flicks a window with a fingernail and listens to the dull ting.
“Are these made of bulletproof glass?”
“Yes.” Barnes looks smug. He closes the door behind them and slides a thick metal bar across it. It would take a team of six and a battering ram to force their way through it. “See? Safe.”
Sam wonders how the hell Barnes acquired this fortress disguised as a cabin, but he decides not to ask. He’s afraid Barnes might actually answer.
“What’s your fire safety plan?” Sam asks, half joking.
Barnes is entirely serious when he points at the network of pipes on the ceiling. “Roof cistern. Sprinkler system.”
“Very nice,” Steve says, and Barnes preens. “Where’s the pantry?”
Barnes lights up even more. His alpha brain must be swimming in endorphins as he shows his packmates how strong and safe and well-stocked his den is. He leads them to a side room off the kitchen and opens the door with a flourish.
“Food,” Barnes says proudly.
“Wow,” Sam says. The room is filled, floor to ceiling, with row after row of shelf-stable food. Canned soup, instant noodles, MREs, even bulk boxes of instant mac & cheese. It reminds Sam of a doomsday prepper’s bunker, which, taken with the rest of Barnes’ cabin fortifications, is pretty on the money. “That sure is something.”
“Good job, Buck.” Steve looks genuinely pleased. Dude grew up in the Great Depression; it’s not surprising that he approves of hoarding food. Add in their supersoldier metabolisms, and stockpiling five hundred cans of kidney beans almost seems like completely reasonable behavior.
Sam is getting a headache.
“Go shower.” Steve turns him away from the pantry and walks him through the house, rubbing Sam’s tense shoulders as he steers him to the bathroom. “Take your time. I’ll find you something clean to wear.”
“Best boyfriend,” Sam sighs, and this time Steve doesn’t argue, just presses a kiss to the nape of Sam’s neck and leaves him to it.
The shower is excellent. Good water pressure, plenty of hot water, simple unscented bar soap. Sam stays in long enough for every muscle in his body to unclench, the tension of his frankly bizarre day dissolving and leaving him limp as a noodle. He turns the water off and grabs the slightly damp towel hanging on the rack. Steve must have showered earlier.
Sam buries his face in the towel and inhales a lungful of happy, horny omega. The scent is a physical reminder that Steve is here, and safe, and it’s okay for Sam to relax. Even after he’s dressed, he leaves the towel around his shoulders.
Steve hands him a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches and a huge bowl of soup as soon as Sam steps out of the bedroom. They take the food into the living room and concentrate on just eating for a while; Sam knows better than to try to have important conversations before he’s warded off low blood sugar. Barnes hovers while Steve and Sam get settled, only slipping away to take his own shower once he’s sure his packmates have plenty to eat.
The living room is mostly clear of furniture, stocked instead with heaps of cushions and pillows all over the floor. Sam wonders if Barnes pulled them together, or if the cabin came pre-decorated. Based on the tasteful pastel mats mixed in with huge squashy pillows with loud, colorful covers, he suspects it was a combination of both.
The meal leaves Sam feeling clear-headed for the first time since he ran into Barnes that morning, and by the time he’s swept the last crumbs off his shirt he’s feeling ready for a serious talk. A triad bond is a serious commitment, and he, Steve, and Barnes are going to have a lot to work out before Sam feels ready for that. It’s going to be a long, awkward discussion, but that’s the kind of clear communication a good relationship is built on. Steve wants this; that’s enough of a reason for Sam to give it his best effort.
Barnes derails all Sam’s good intentions the second he walks out of the bedroom. He’s freshly showered, clean and smelling only of content alpha. The muscles in his broad shoulders flex and stretch as he leisurely rubs a towel over his wet hair.
He’s also naked.
“Jesus Christ.” Sam tries not to look at his dick. He fails. Jesus Christ. “Forget something?”
Barnes stops moving the towel. He takes a moment to consider. “No.”
“Clothes, Bucky,” Steve says, a blush starting high on his cheeks. “You’re not wearing any clothes.”
Barnes just looks baffled, like he has no idea why that would be a problem.
“Dude, at least put on some underwear.” Sam covers his eyes (not that it stops him from knowing what Barnes’ dick looks like; that horse is well and truly out of the barn, and hey, it turns out alpha porn wasn’t exaggerating, at least not when the alpha is Barnes).
Barnes gives them both an I’m only doing this to humor you look, but he disappears into the bedroom and comes out in a pair of silky black boxers that fit him to perfection and strike a dramatic contrast with his pale skin. It’s almost worse than when he was just naked.
Barnes settles down behind where Steve is sitting and pulls him into his lap.
"Comfy?" Steve asks dryly.
"Yes."
Sam isn't sure if Barnes didn’t pick up on the sarcasm, or if he just doesn't care. He looks completely serene. His mate is in his arms, he’s safe in his den with his packmates; why should he give a shit about anything else?
Steve clears his throat. “So. Sam and I thought it would be a good idea to start by talking about our boundaries and expectations. Once we figure out what we’re all comfortable with, we can--" Steve interrupts himself with a high-pitched squeak as Barnes casually slides a hand under Steve's shirt and tweaks a nipple. "Bucky!"
Barnes hums against his neck and slides his hand lower.
"Jesus, Buck." Steve is bright red. And, Sam can't help but notice, he's starting to smell really good, his honey omega scent layering over Barnes’ alpha musk. He must be getting slick already just from Barnes’ proximity and obvious interest. "Sam's right there."
Barnes looks up at Sam and licks his lips. "Pretty."
The bolt of heat that one word sends through him is completely unexpected. His hormones must spike hard enough for the other two to smell, because Barnes' eyes go wide and Steve inhales sharply.
Sam's as shocked as they are. He doesn't know if it's the word (no one's ever called him pretty, is that an alpha thing?), the open desire on Barnes' face, or just the way he and Steve are twined together, their scents ramping up and spreading through the den.
"Pretty," Barnes says again, purring it this time. He holds out his free hand. "Sam. C'mere, gorgeous."
Oh fuck, that's just what Steve sounds like when Sam's got him riled up enough to forget his stage training and slip back into his real accent. Sam squirms in place, caught between arousal and wariness.
"You shy?" Barnes says, with a sly little smile. He turns back to Steve and noses into his hair. "Wanna show him, babe? How good you feel?"
"Bucky," Steve says, plaintive. He leans into Barnes' arm around his side, baring his neck. "We were...we were supposed to talk."
"So talk." Barnes sucks Steve's earlobe in between his teeth and Steve whines.
"How'm I supposed to concentrate when you're ohhhhh, do that again, come on, yes right there--" Steve nearly knocks them both over in his haste to turn around and plaster himself against Barnes' chest. Steve grinds his hips down, and Barnes thrusts up to meet him.
"Holy shit," Sam says. This is already the hottest thing he's ever seen in his life, and nobody's even naked yet.
“Yeah, sweetheart.” Barnes hums with pleasure as he pulls Steve’s t-shirt over his head. He grabs Steve’s hips and rocks them together, licking along Steve’s collarbones.
“Sam,” Steve says, voice thready. Barnes starts sucking a ring of hickeys into the pale skin of his throat. “Is this okay? We can take this into the bedroom, if you--”
“Yeah, no, I’m good.” Sam’s own voice sounds pretty strained, too. He gives up on playing it cool and palms his hardening dick through his sweatpants. “Don’t stop on my account.”
Barnes grins at him, a hint of alpha challenge to it, and unceremoniously yanks down Steve’s pants and underwear. Sam has a perfect view of Barnes’ fingers dipping between the cheeks of Steve’s ass.
“Mmm,” Steve sighs. He rocks back into the pressure, his scent going caramel sweet.
“That’s it,” Barnes croons. Steve is already taking two fingers, and Barnes has barely gotten started. Barnes catches Sam’s gaze and adds another. “All good?”
“So good.” Steve pushes back, impatient and unabashed. “Still loose from before. C’mon Buck, get going already.”
Barnes sends Sam a look so long-suffering that Sam has to laugh.
“So he was always like this?” Sam asks, genuinely fascinated. “‘Stronger, harder, more’?”
“Always,” Barnes says, shaking his head. Steve growls and bears down harder. “Okay, okay. I got you, Stevie.”
Barnes pulls his hand free, ignoring Steve’s frustrated whine, and turns Steve around to face Sam. Giving him a good view, Sam realizes, and has to press down harder on his dick.
Steve’s eyes go heavy-lidded and unfocused as Barnes sinks into him, slow and careful at first, only speeding up when Steve starts pushing back, wordlessly egging him on. Sam knows just how that is--seeing Steve lose his careful restraint and demand what he wants is breathtaking every time.
Once Steve gets close he starts whining a little, impatient huffs that make Barnes pepper the back of his neck with kisses. “Knot me, Bucky, c’mon.”
"Did already.” Barnes smoothes his hands, flesh and metal, over Steve’s back. Steve arches into the pressure. “You’ll be sore."
"Not made'a glass, Buck."
"Wanna take care of you," Barnes says stubbornly. He slows the motion of his hips, as if to make a point.
Steve pouts for a second--Sam will never admit it, but he finds Steve’s pouting kind of adorable--then switches tactics. “Wanna fuck you.”
Barnes groans and thrusts harder, reaching down to play with Steve’s nipples. “Yeah, babe.”
“Open you up real slow.” Steve is flushed right down his chest, his face slack and totally blissed out. Sam’s never seen him get this far gone so quickly. “Get you nice and wet for me. Can I, Buck?”
“Later. Promise. Steve.” Barnes lips along his shoulder and then bites down with a growl, body going rigid as his knot blows. His thrusts start up again after a few seconds, faster and shallower now that his knot is locked outside Steve. The second Barnes wraps his hand--the metal one, Sam notices, and imagining what that cool, unyielding touch must feel like on hot skin is almost enough to tip him over the edge--around Steve’s cock, Steve cries out and comes in white ribbons all over the cushions. Some distant part of Sam that isn’t about to have a lust-fueled heart attack notes that they’re going to have a hell of a lot of laundry to do after this.
Barnes slides out and soothes Steve through the aftershocks, stroking along his sides and whispering endearments into his hair. His cock is mostly hard above his knot, ready for another round or two (or six, if his stamina is anything like Steve’s, but that thought is frankly too alarming for Sam to contemplate right now).
Sam gets to soak in the sight of dreamy post-coital Steve for about five seconds before Steve’s situational awareness snaps back online. Steve picks his head up off Barnes’ chest, looks at Sam, and smiles sweet and dirty. “Your turn.”
Sam has made a terrible mistake.
He was so caught up in watching the show that he didn’t realize the inevitable outcome: two supersoldiers, both temporarily sated, ready to focus all their attention on Sam. For a second he doesn’t know whether to give into nerves and retreat, or to roll over and beg them to touch him. His dick throbs when Barnes looks at him, making its own vote clear.
“Sam,” Barnes says, and waits until Sam locks eyes with him before extending his hand again. “Come here.”
This time, he does. Sam doesn’t crawl, he’s not that far gone, he just--scoots, shuffling over a few feet at a time and almost tripping over the ends of his sweatpants. It’s not any more dignified than crawling would’ve been, but hey, it’s the symbolism that counts. He stops just out of reach.
"No biting," Sam says, as sternly as he can given how wrecked he feels already. "That's a hard limit until I say otherwise. No biting, no bonding. You understand?"
"Yes," Barnes says, and then the cheeky asshole pretends to lock his lips shut and throw away the imaginary key. Sam snorts a startled laugh.
When Sam finally moves within reach, Barnes smooths a warm hand over his arm, then tugs the hem of his shirt. “Steve.”
Steve gives Sam a huge smile and pulls the shirt off, stroking bare skin with his fingertips the whole way up. They kiss for a few minutes, lazy and unhurried despite Sam’s aching dick, and it’s perfect. Soothing, familiar.
When Steve shifts onto his knees and rubs Sam’s hard-on through his pants, that’s familiar, too, but it’s anything but soothing. Sam groans and shoves his pants down. The second his dick is free, Steve is stroking it with a slick hand. He’s been ignoring his arousal for so long that the sudden pleasure hits Sam like a freight train.
It only gets better when Barnes' hand wraps around the back of Sam’s neck, thumb stroking across his scent gland. Sam startles at the unexpected rush of sensation and tugs against his grip, which tightens in response.
"Sam," Barnes hums. He winds his metal arm around Sam’s torso and drags Sam into his lap, his wet cock rubbing against Sam's back. Steve follows the movement, his hand keeping a steady pace on Sam’s dick. "Sam."
“Jesus, Barnes, warn a guy.” Sam kicks his pants all the way off and grabs onto Steve’s shoulders for balance. “We haven’t even kissed yet.”
Sam should’ve known Barnes would take that as an invitation. Barnes’ metal hand slides up to Sam’s jaw and coaxes his head into a turn. Warm lips cover his in a soft, oddly delicate kiss. The light, teasing pressure is a stark contrast to the firm warmth of Barnes’ body and the cool strength of the arm cradling Sam’s chest.
"Oh, fuck." Sam groans as Barnes starts rocking under him, his slick knot sliding against the cleft of Sam’s ass. Steve drops down to hands and knees and takes Sam’s cock into his mouth. “Oh fuck.” He winds his fingers into Steve’s hair and holds on for dear life.
Barnes squeezes his knot and comes again, spurting hot and wet over Sam’s back. Sam feels a light touch as Barnes trails his fingers through the mess. His hand glides upwards, rubbing alpha come with an undercurrent of omega slick into the scent glands at Sam’s throat.
Sneaky bastard, Sam thinks. Of course Barnes would find a way to mark Sam even under orders to keep his mouth to himself. Sam knows he won’t be happy once it dries and starts itching, but for now the smell of sated alpha just kicks his own arousal higher. Now he smells like Barnes and Steve, like he belongs, and his pack instincts are singing with pleasure.
"Now," Barnes says, his breath hot against Sam's ear. Sam would say something snarky about Barnes not being his Sergeant if he could speak, which he can't, and if Steve's mouth hadn't sucked all the sarcasm right out of him, which it has. Instead he comes right on command, filling Steve's mouth and jerking in Barnes' firm hold as they wring out the most powerful orgasm of Sam’s life.
Steve swallows greedily around him before pulling off. He sits back on his heels, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
Barnes presses a kiss to Sam's temple and hauls Steve up onto his knees. His hand fists in Steve's hair to hold him still while Barnes kisses him, licking deep into his mouth, chasing the taste of Sam's come.
"Holy fuck," Sam whispers. If he had a refractory period like Steve's, that sight alone might be enough to get him hard again, but his body is down for the count. Barnes breaks the kiss, looks at Sam, and smiles slow and satisfied.
"Good," Barnes says. He pushes Steve down onto his back on the cushions, rolls Sam over onto Steve's chest, and crawls on top of both of them (ignoring Sam's muffled protest--supersoldiers are goddamn heavy). His chest starts rumbling with happy little purrs.
"Mine," Barnes says.
"Yeah, buddy," Sam pants, patting his back. Steve just snuggles in closer, nosing the back of Sam’s neck. He licks the spots Barnes marked and Sam feels a helpless wave of affection rush through him. Sam’s whole body goes lax, the limp filling in a supersoldier sandwich.
Barnes rumbles again, then rolls off to rummage through one of the cupboards. He comes back with a bottle of water, a clean towel, and an armful of blankets. Sam musters the strength to roll over and towel off his groin, but that’s it, he’s done. He might never move again. Barnes is the one who wipes off his back and cajoles him into drinking a few sips of water.
Once everyone is clean, Barnes nudges Sam up against Steve's back and starts spooning them both aggressively, cuddling up to Steve's chest and hooking his leg around the back of Sam's knee. He’s purring again, radiating smug delight.
Right before he drops off to sleep, Sam decides he should probably start thinking of Barnes as Bucky.