Feral Devotion

The cabin smelled of pine and snow, a sharp, clean scent that did little to mask the metallic tang of blood still clinging to their clothes. Bucky slammed the door shut with a growl, his vibranium hand leaving dents in the wood. Pietro was a blur of silver, already stripping off his jacket, his eyes wild and bright. Peter stood in the center of the room, still trembling from the adrenaline of the fight, his suit torn and his hair a mess.

"You almost got yourself killed," Bucky snarled, stalking toward him. His metal fingers wrapped around Peter's jaw, tilting his face up. "I could smell them on you. All those Hydra bastards."

"I had it under control," Peter breathed, but his body leaned into Bucky's touch, craving the heat, the possessiveness.

"Liar," Pietro hissed, appearing at Peter's side. His fingers traced the tear in the spandex over Peter's ribs. "You're hurt. He's hurt, Barnes."

Bucky's eyes darkened. He pulled Peter's shirt over his head, revealing a blooming bruise across his side. A feral noise rumbled in Bucky's chest. "Mine. They touched what's mine."

"Ours," Pietro corrected, his accent thickening. He pressed a kiss to Peter's shoulder, then licked a stripe up his neck. "We'll make it better, malysh."

Peter shivered, his head falling back. "Please."

They didn't need to ask twice. Bucky lifted him onto the edge of the rough-hewn table, his hands rough and reverent. Pietro knelt between Peter's legs, working at his belt. Everything was teeth and tongue, worship and demand. Bucky bit into Peter's throat, soothing the mark with a kiss. Pietro swallowed him down, and Peter cried out, fisting his hands in Bucky's hair.

"So good," Bucky murmured against his ear. "Taking us so well."

When they finally moved together, it was a tangle of limbs and desperate need. Bucky took him from behind while Pietro kissed him, their bodies a cage of devotion. Peter came with a sob, and they followed, snarling, marking, claiming.

After, they lay tangled on the worn rug before the fire. Bucky draped his arm possessively over Peter's waist. Pietro rested his head on Peter's chest, tracing lazy patterns over his skin.

"Never again," Bucky said, his voice still rough. "We don't let you go alone."

"We protect you," Pietro added, pressing a kiss to Peter's sternum. "Always."

Peter smiled, sleepy and sated. "I know. I'm yours."

And they held him tighter, feral and devoted, as the fire crackled and the snow fell silent outside.