Chapter Text
The first time Bucky meets his new partner, he’s shackled to the wall of a filthy torture chamber.
Located in one of the tunnels under Vatican City, it’s one of the many S.H.I.E.L.D. (Strategic Holy Investigations Executions & Logistics Division) cells that house the “undesirables”, such as Bucky Barnes. As a succubus, he’s hard to torture- he can get off on pain, twist it into something new and oh-so-pleasurable. Drowning is out too- he doesn’t need air to live, just needs to feed. So they stuck him in a room and threw away the key, leaving him to starve to death. It’s a slow way to go.
It’s been 15 days.
Bucky should have known something was wrong when that gorgeous redhead fell into his lap. Literally fell. As in, she tripped and landed right on his crotch, sprawled and startled but inviting with her plush lips and smooth curves. Bucky had thought she was easy prey, had smiled and charmingly offered to find her a more comfortable position. She’d giggled and said she knew a place, then lured him into a dark alleyway where she’d promptly lifted her legs around his head and thrown him to the floor.
She’d been quick, deadly, and expertly trained. Plus she had an archer with her, one that shot Bucky several times with some kind of venom-tipped arrows before he went down. He’d woken up here, where he’d assumed S.H.I.E.L.D. sent all it’s nasty creatures to disappear.
What a pity. She’d been a real looker. Still, there were worse ways to go than being tricked by a stunning woman.
Such as starving. Which he was currently doing. Goddamit, he thought the 1500’s was going to be a great century.
The cell door opens suddenly, and Bucky looks up in shock. No one has come to see him, and he hasn’t heard one sound the entire time he’s been in confinement. The brief glance he’s given to the outside hallway explains why- there are more magic runes inscribed on the stone than Bucky’s ever seen in one place.
His quickly forgets the stone hallway when a living Greek statue walks into the cell, carrying a torch and wearing a priest’s robe. Which has to be a joke, because there is no way a man with that bone structure has taken a vow of celibacy. He’s as big as a house, with broad shoulders and Bucky just knows that under that loose robe there is a tapered waist, muscled thighs and arms that could easily pick him up and fuck him against any vertical surface.
Bucky’s seen a lot of naked bodies throughout his 100 year existence, but he knows without a doubt this man would be the most divine figure he’d ever worship.
The man fixes his blue eyes upon Bucky’s face, and his expression is stern. It makes Bucky want to beg, but he doesn’t know for what. Forgiveness? No, Bucky’s never asked for that. What he wants from this man is much darker than absolution.
“Well, our funny Valentine is still with us. What a relief, you lot are becoming harder and harder to find. Gotta search under all sorts of dirty rocks.”
Bucky scowls at that voice. Bishop Nicholas Fury, the one-eyed man of God who’s leadership at S.H.I.E.L.D has succeeded in all but wiping out his kind. Not that Bucky minds, as it’s less competition for him. But he does resent being hunted. He’s a creature of luxury, and it’s difficult to enjoy one’s hard-fucked lifestyle when one is constantly on the run.
“Nick, to what do I owe the pleasure? I’d offer you a drink, but the staff here is useless.”
“Let me kill him, Director.” Oh, his mystery priest speaks. His voice is higher than Bucky anticipated, but the blonde is exuding the zeal of a man on God’s mission. If he’s calling Fury “Director”, then he’s one of the infamous “Avengers”, a team of elite underworld assassins who hunt things like Bucky for the church. Rumor has it that they have powers themselves, though whether or not those powers are from God is a matter of pure speculation.
Eyeing the man up, Bucky can tell there’s something not quite wholly natural about him. He holds himself like he’s not used to his body, and if Bucky were to guess the priest’s fighting style would be brutal, full of smashing fists and vicious kicks. This edginess, not to mention the way the man holds himself like a soldier, has Bucky curious and standing at attention.
It could be the hunger talking, but Bucky has never wanted anyone more. It curls in his gut like a fire, and Bucky finds himself bearing his neck, sinking to his knees before the priest as far as his shackled wrists will allow. He allows the chains to pull his shoulders back, making his collar bone stick out as an invitation.
The priest doesn’t move, and Bucky smirks and asks,
“There are other mercies you could show me, priest.”
“Stop flirting with my top assassin, it’s not going to work.”
Bucky frowns, because he has enough juice in him to have sent out a wave of pheromones that would have brought any human forward and into his clutches. Normally he wouldn’t use his pheromones, as he considers it almost cheating. After all, he didn’t work on his seduction skills for decades just to essentially roofie someone into a state of sexual frenzy. There’s too much pleasure to be found in the chase. Besides, once he kisses someone or makes physical contact in any way, the pheromones sink in through touch and that being is well on their way to the happiest petite morte they’ve ever had. Bucky gets to go home fed, they get to leave with what was probably the best orgasm they’ve ever had, minus a few years off their life.
But those are the years when they’ll be old and fragile. Really, Bucky’s doing them a favor. His own justifications aside, he can’t figure out how the blonde is resisting him.
“Runes, motherfucker. Didn’t think we’d not get him tatted up before coming to talk to your smooth-talking ass?”
Ah, yes. He’s heard of this. The “Avengers” will tattoo protection runes that ward off the magic of the creatures they are sent to fight. Bucky’s tricks will be useless here, and if he had more time he would be delighted with the prospect of a long, slow seduction.
“And no, Rogers, you may not kill him. He’s going to be your new partner.”
The priest, Rogers, finally shows some emotion. He’s shocked, then furious.
“Language, Director!”
Bucky laughs a bit at that, then sinks back on his heels. He folds his legs so he’s sitting Indian style, then waits for the two men to stop bickering. Things are looking up.
“I’m not working with the prostitute equivalent of the underworld, Director. He’ll be unreliable and an unrelenting source of damage control. I work best alone.”
“Jesus worked with prostitutes. You saying you’re better than Jesus, Steve?”
“NO! No, of course our Lord is the most…look, I can’t trust a succubus. And I can’t work with beings I can’t trust.”
“You can trust this one. This one’s got a personal stake in your mission.”
Bucky quirks a brow at that, as he seriously doubts the accuracy of that statement. He goes through life making people happy, leaves with no hard feelings, a wink and NO attachments.
(Falling in love is the other way to kill an incubus. They become dependent on that person to feed, and unless you happen to fall in love with an immortal being, you’re shit out of luck and with a human lifespan.
Bucky intends to live much longer than that.)
“I assure you, I don’t hold grudges. I take my prey willing, and there’s always another one lining up to get some satisfaction. What do you do to scratch your itches, Steve?”
“I kill things like you.”
“Must get you into all sorts of trouble, and not the good kind.”
“Something tells me you are the bad kind.”
“Baby, I can be bad if you want me to be.”
“Will you two please stop?!? You can flirt on your own time, I don’t give a fuck. And Mr. James Buchanon Barnes, trust me you’ll want to help.”
Bucky is on high alert. Everyone who knew his full name was dead, or-
“It’s H.Y.D.R.A.”
Fucking H.Y.D.R.A. No one even knew what that stood for, all anyone knew was that it was a cult, consisting of all manner of foul creatures devoted to either enslaving the world or ending it. They weren’t picky like that.
They’d also captured a young Bucky Barnes some 100 years ago and turned him into an incubus when he’d refused to take part in some fertility ritual that involved him, a goat, and a lot of chanting.
They were big on irony, and after Bucky had escaped he’d slowly been feeding off HYDRA agents for the remaining decades. Except for them, he didn’t stop with a few years- he drained them dry. Left their brittle husks of skin as a “Fuck You” where he’d fed off them, and did his level best to interfere in their operations as much as a lone incubus could.
- Maybe he did hold a grudge or two.
“Yeah, now that I have your attention. Captain Rogers, Mr. Barnes here was a simple soldier before some druid liked his handsome face, tried to make him a fertility sacrifice. After Mr. Barnes told them to fuck the goat instead, they turned him into an incubus and loosened him on humanity. He’s spent the last 80 or so years feeding off their agents.”
Steve’s eyes seemed to have softened towards him a little, and good. Bucky can work with that, he can play the victim. Maybe Steve will feel sorry for him, let him cry on his shoulder, then let him whisper his desires in his ear, about how Bucky tries so hard to be good but Steve gives him such urges-
- For now, Bucky just gives his best wounded eyes and tries to look like someone who needs protecting. Rogers doesn’t move, but Bucky knows when a warm body is warming towards him.
“Can you do it, Rogers? Because the two of you will make a great team. You need someone who’s able to work outside the box a bit, and he needs someone to give him direction.”
Steve considers, and Bucky tries to look innocent. It’s been so long, he forgets how. But he has the world’s best inspiration before him. He knows Rogers is a virgin, can sense it from his aura. He wonders what fantasies Steve’s ever had, what he touches himself to (and of course he touches himself, he’s a human after all). He wonders if Steve could cum just from a little kissing and petting, would gasp into Bucky’s mouth as Bucky would feed from him slowly, gently. He wonders if Steve would be able to stand being inside Bucky, whether he’d lose control and just start fucking him like an animal, all that strength and years of sexual frustration finally unleashed.
There are worse times to get an erection than when your potential partner is trying to decide if you two can work together. There are worse times, but Bucky can’t think of any right now.
Steve narrows his eyes and flicks his head dismissively towards Bucky’s cock.
“I won’t be responsible for him feeding on innocents. If we can fix that, then I see no reason why we should not be able to work together professionally. As long as he can follow my orders.”
Bucky nods enthusiastically at this. A chance to really stick it to H.Y.D.R.A., a sexy new partner and guaranteed food? This could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
Fury seems pleased too, and surprised at Steve’s quick decision.
“Always seeing the best in people, huh Steve? Well fine, go and get Barnes a meal from one of the other cells. When he’s no longer a danger towards the populace, pull him out for debriefing. Oh, and Barnes?”
Bucky groans and looks back at Fury. Why can’t he just be alone with Steve?
“Fuck with me, boy, and I’ll drop your smooth-talking ass into a volcano. Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D.”
And with that Fury exits the room with Steve, who leaves the door open as he strides to the cell across the hall. Bucky watches the way the fabric clings to Steve’s ass when he takes a step forward, and salivates over the plush bounce of the flesh underneath. He needs to feed, and soon.
Steve drags a struggling vampire out of the cell, one-handed and barely exerting any effort. Bucky has never wanted anything to hold him down and fuck him as badly as this new priest, and he knows without a doubt now that Steve’s not quite organic. Vampires are strong, but Steve holds this one like she’s nothing. Bucky focuses his frustrations on the struggling vampire, who responds immediately to the horny incubus pheromones Bucky is sure are oozing out of his pores. The vampire goes limp, and she starts to moan and writhe in Steve’s touch. Steve walks her over to where Bucky is now standing, and places her roughly in Bucky’s arms.
“Take as much as you like. I’ll bring you more whenever you need it.”
“Going to provide for me, Captain? I do like a big, strong man to take care of me.”
“Feed, before I change my mind.”
“Why don’t you watch me and see what you’re missing?”
Bucky doesn’t wait for Steve to respond, just presses his lips to the struggling vampiress in his arms kisses her. It’s filthier than a feeding kiss normally is, but Bucky wants to put on a show for Steve. Soon though he has to break eye-contact, the searing pleasure of feeding giving him a rush and satiating the need inside him for the first time in weeks.
It’s not quite sexual pleasure, though it is intertwined. It’s the pleasure of a predator capturing it’s prey, the innate joy of feeding, combined with the surge of victory in battle. It’s better than sex, and the only thing better than feeding is feeding in the midst of sex. It’s every pleasure you’ve ever known, ever felt, and all the ones you’ve never experienced before.
It’d taken years and too many innocent people for Bucky to learn how to control it. They’d succeeded in making him a monster, but he always refused to completely become one. He prides himself on his control, on his hard-won independence from H.Y.D.R.A. and their clutches.
Still, Bucky nearly takes too much from the vampiress thinking of feeding off Steve right as he climaxes, absorbing some of his pure and strong energy into his own being, letting it make him better, make him complete.
Bucky pulls away, panting and satisfied while purposefully not dwelling on the strange thought that came at the end of his feeding. When he looks up Steve is flushed, hands folded over what Bucky knows is a massive erection. His face betrays nothing though, and he simply reaches out and takes the vampire from Bucky’s arms, who’s aged about 70 years in the last few minutes but whose features are morphed in ecstasy. She was a nice ride.
Steve whips out a stake from his robe and stabs her through the heart. She dies smiling.
Steve breathes in and out through his nose, calming himself. His eyes are burning in fury, and Bucky’s almost gasps as he realizes that Steve isn’t furious at him, he’s furious at the vampire who’s at ashes by their feet. Bucky stands in awe, frozen by how turned on he is by his pure, virginal priest killing before his eyes.
Killing for Bucky. Because he was jealous.
Steve eventually moves first, and unlocks the cuffs off of Bucky’s wrists. He’s careful not to touch Bucky, and Bucky finds he must make a concentrated effort not to throw himself at Steve’s feet and spread his legs in blatant invitation. He settles for his patented smirk and saunters out of the cell first, calling to the frustrated priest behind him,
“Don’t be envious, darling. I’ll think of you every time I feed.”