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cap_ironman2013-01-12 08:04 pm
cap_ironman_fe) wrote in cap_ironman2013-01-12 08:04 pm
Entry tags:
A Gift of Fic for agardenafter!
Title: Courting in Reverse (1/2)
Recipiant: agardenafter
Author: tsukinofaerii
Universe: Marvel Ultimates (Earth-1610)
Pairings/Characters: Steve/Tony, hints of past Steve/Gail, current Bucky/Gail, Jan/Wanda.
Rating: PG13.
Warnings: Werewolves,
Word Count: ~12k
Beta Reader: waterofthemoon
Summary: Every thirty years, the treaty between the werewolf pack of Volkaublary and the humans of Acheflow requires an exchange of mates for the current or incoming leaders. Tony's determined to make the best of it, but nothing is how he expected, and settling into a werewolf pack isn't easy.
For Prompt #3: Tony and Steve, arranged marriage or marriage of convenience
Steve straddled a tree limb that had been dubbed Alpha's Lookout by a good portion of the pack, looking down at the city as wolves and humans went about their business in the twilight. Children and cubs scuttled around the edges, staying close to doors and places to hide.
The reminder in his hand wasn't much to look at. It was a calendar date a month in the future, marked down in ink on actual paper. Steve wasn't sure where someone had found paper. No one used it since screens were so much easier. But it had shown up with his dinner, impossible to miss.
A branch below him shuddered, its budding leaves rustling. "I'll never get what it is with you and trees," Bucky complained. He had his claws out, dug into the pale bark for balance. "It's unnatural."
"Only to someone born with four feet." He shifted sideways on the branch, making room for Bucky to plop down near the trunk. It rattled the branch they were sharing, but not badly; the forest was old, and the trees sturdy. "What's wrong?"
"I was going to ask you that." Bucky jerked his head at the paper in Steve's hand, then huffed to blow a lock of his brown hair out of his eyes without letting go of the tree. "The treaty?"
"What else?"
Bucky's hands tightened even more. "Sam must have done it," he said. "I didn't. I'd rather this whole thing was forgotten. It's been a hundred years. We shouldn't have to do this."
Paper crinkled in Steve's hand. Maybe that was why Sam had chosen paper over something else; he knew Steve did better with tactile things. "It having been a hundred years is more reason to do it. It's kept the bloodshed down for too long to risk it now. Besides." He glanced over at Bucky. "Wanda's already done it. I can't ask of her anything I wouldn't be willing to do myself."
There was no response to that, and Steve hadn't expected one. Then, quietly, "If you'd mated with Gail, this wouldn't be happening."
A sharp stab went through Steve's heart. He remembered dancing with her, playing together after the moons had risen. It had been years since that had ended, and while the pain had faded, it never seemed to actually go away. "Gail knew that the alpha can't have a mate outside the treaty, and I knew it when I challenged Johann. It's better this way."
One of Bucky's knees legs stretched out, knee pressing into Steve's for silent comfort. Together, they watched the sun finish setting behind the trees and the lights of the den come on below.
"I am not marrying a werewolf." Tony planted his feet and glared at his twin brother. "Now that that's settled, please see yourself out.
Lights overhead glared down so bright that they nearly burned, casting everything about the work table into sharp shadow. Lit displays on the tools seemed faded and barely legible under them, and the vacuum sealed grain of the wood table looked oddly textured. It made it easier for Tony to work, but it risked leaving him with headaches every time he went from the stark light to the softer ones used elsewhere.
The two Starks were standing around the scattered pieces of what would, with any luck, be a working prototype for a mechanical homing pigeon, once Tony got the knots out. He almost had the plasma coolant to the point where it didn't explode too much, and that was definitely progress.
Greg, of course, didn't care that he was interrupting important work. "It has to be one of us," he insisted, which, of course, Tony already knew. No one sane would voluntarily go to live with the wolves in the woods, and as the Leader's sons they had close enough ties to the Establishment that they actually made reasonably acceptable trades.
That didn't mean Tony was going to do it. "Which is why it's going to be you, brother dear," he said, ducking his head down to focus on his work. "As my elder brother, you have precedence. Your extra twenty minutes of life make you prime for being an alpha werewolf's husband. They set a lot by relative status, you know."
No response came.
Tony kept working, waiting for Greg to fire off a few more volleys before storming off. That was how arguments between them usually went when it was a matter of sheer stubbornness. One of them would press, they would go a few rounds, and the other would go speak to their parents. In the end, any decision would be made by other people, which those around them had learned was the safest way to keep the peace.
Warily, Tony glanced up from his work. Greg was watching him, a small, content smile on his face.
There was something very wrong with the world if Greg was smiling. "Look at it this way, Greg; you'll get a chance to experience being tied." There were rumors about werewolf sex. Vivid ones.
"And I'll get a chance to lead a pack. A small price to pay," Gregory replied, almost pleasantly. Reaching down, he picked up a screw driver and offered it. "You might want to give that a few more twists. It's loose."
"Lead a pack?" Tony's hand closed around the head of the screwdriver, but he didn't do anything with it. "You won't be the alpha."
"Van Dyne was already elected to replace father when he retires."
And Tony wished her the best of it. It had been the highlight of his life, watching Greg's star fall in that election. "Yes, I noticed. You wouldn't let anyone forget. You still won't be an alpha werewolf."
"Werewolves have two alphas, a mated pair. So in a sense, I will be." When Tony didn't make a move to tighten down the supposedly faulty screw—it wasn't faulty, he was still working on it—Greg took the screw driver back and tried to do it himself. "You can train a dog. A werewolf won't be too hard."
Tony swatted his hand back, yanking the tool from Greg's grip. "And why would you want to lead a pack?" he asked, keeping his voice casual. "Werewolves are mangy, dirty beasts, I think you've said. Practically barbarians. They live in caves."
"But they're powerful," Greg said, with a wistful tone in his voice that rocketed through Tony's stomach and up into his throat to lodge there tasting of bile. Brothers or not, Tony didn't trust Gregory with a loose hair. It was too easy to see what Greg might do with an alpha werewolf wrapped around his finger and a whole pack at his heel.
"Have fun rolling over," Tony said, knowing the comeback was weak. "I'll send you a care package with some soap."
Greg actually laughed, and really, that was even more terrifying than seeing him smile. He left Tony to his work, a cheerful roll in his step.
After dinner that evening, Tony approached their father to volunteer as the trade.
Steve held his chin up as he strode up the steps to the entry of the Meeting Hall. Steps was, maybe, not being generous enough; they were four feet deep each, forcing Steve to measure his paces as he walked them. For the occasion, he'd put on a blue silk tunic that came down to mid-thigh, alpha status denoted in the knot work at his throat. Two steps behind his seconds, Bucky and Sam, trailed him with a small selection of the rest of his pack behind them.
The Meeting Hall was a fantastic structure, a tall platform of gold-veined white marble that must have been shipped in from off-planet, back when the shipping lines were still open; neither gold nor marble were mined on Amalur. It was used only rarely, but the combined forces of wolf- and wyr-kind kept it in order in the intervening years between Treaty renewals. The statues that filled the spaces between columns stood fifteen feet tall, figures of legend and history staring down, and flowering vines crept up the columns from carefully tended plots at their base. Soft white clouds dotted the purple sky overhead, just thick enough to soften the glare of the noontime sun enough that he didn't need to squint.
Waiting for the pack at the top was the wyr delegation, headed by their elderly Leader and his mate—spouse, in wyr terms, though Maria was as much a wolf as Steve, flanked by a pair of senior cabinet members. Behind them stood two young men who looked like twins, exactly identical other than their coloring and expressions. Even their clothing was at odds—white and black, solid, plain colors to mark them out in the rainbow of robes worn by everyone else. The family was surrounded by brown-robed guards. They all watched the wolves approach, wary. As they should have been; one wolf was easily a match for any ten wyr, and tradition had the numbers much closer than that.
Of the wyr delegation, only one person was at ease. Wanda stood to the back with her human mate Jan, eyes bright with excitement. She was dressed like all the others, in open robes and a tight bodysuit, done in her preferred pink and red. The style looked odd on her, but Steve had never much liked wyr fashions. She had been the last Exchange, the Season before; Steve had been worried that she wouldn't take it well, even though she'd volunteered. He was glad to see that he'd been mistaken.
Her brother, on the other hand, looked like he might put on fur and rip into someone on general feeling. Pietro stood behind Wanda's shoulder, frowning as if the whole world were against him. He'd insisted on following Wanda to live with the wyr. It didn't look like it suited him at all.
Steve brought his pack to a stop at the approved place, four meters away from the wyr; close enough to speak, not close enough for any convenient accidents. In the two centuries since the Treaty had been adopted, both sides had learned caution. Alpha and Leader might have agreed to peace, but hatred ran deep.
"Alpha Rogers, well-met." The wyr leader, Howard Stark, stepped forward, offering his hand palm up.
Steve met him at the exact halfway point—there was even a line scored in the marble to mark it. He covered Stark's hand with his, their palms pressing together. The old man's bones felt fragile against his, his hand shaking slightly from being held out for the greeting. Robotic braces kept him upright, but they couldn't do anything for the weakness of muscle age brought. "Leader Stark," he said quietly. "You look well."
"I look old, you mean." Stark smiled wanly. It was true; his white hair was thinning, and thick lines had grown around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. He smelled of sharp medicines and the thick, rotting scent of age. It was another thing about wyr that Steve would never quite become accustomed to; they aged. Stark was only a few years older than Steve, but Steve could have been mistaken for his grandson. "You should know that this will be my last season as Leader. I'm stepping down for Wanda in spring."
"More reason to do this now." Steve let his hand fall, though technically it was supposed to stay up for the entire discussion. The trembling in Stark's hand had already grown sharp; he wasn't cruel enough to force the matter. "You've been a fair man to work with; you're welcome in my pack, if you decide to come to us."
A bitter smile curved Stark's thin lips. "Maria and I have discussed it, and I think I will let the dust take me. To be human is a gift too often squandered."
All Steve could do was nod, though he didn't understand the sentiment. He'd been born wyr in the pack—sickly, weak, frail, the way they sometimes were. If it hadn't been for the bite, he'd have died long ago. "How is Maria?"
The deflection was a little too obvious, and he knew Stark spotted it by the look in his eyes, but it was allowed. "As well as can be expected, under the circumstances. Will she have a place in the pack, after her vows have ended?"
"Of course." Steve glanced over at Maria, getting a nod to show that she was listening. Thirty years before, she'd been the Exchange, back when Stark had been younger and before Steve's rise to alpha. It wouldn't have been unusual for an alpha to reject the beta of his predecessor, but Steve saw no reason to toss away a wolf who had been doing her duty faithfully, no matter who had set her to it or when. "She has a place in my pack."
Behind Stark, the members of his cabinet and guard were starting to get restless. Their frustration was sharp and bitter in Steve's nose. He could hear one of his wolves take a deep breath of it, followed by a soft growl. It sounded like Bucky, but it could have been any one of them; two hundred years, and there was still no love lost between the species.
Stark heard it. His heartbeat picked up, and a sharp hint of annoyance touched his natural scent. "We'd best get on with it, I suppose. Before these idiots decide to start the war up again."
He stepped back, gesturing at someone behind him with a sharp, two-fingered wave. The darker-headed of the wyr twins took a single step forward, head tipped down to protect his vulnerable throat before the gathered wolves. "Alpha Rogers, I give to you and yours my youngest son, Antonio," Stark recited, "in hopes that the union of our peoples will foster the continued peace between them."
Steve held himself still as Antonio approached; he'd only done this once, when Wanda had gone to Jan, and then it had seemed awkward and uncomfortable. He couldn't imagine how Wanda had managed to get through an entire wyr wedding without clawing something open. Among wolves, such ceremonies were a private matter. Though Steve had been wyr long enough to have attended no few weddings, it had been decades ago, long enough that going through the motions with an audience felt oddly exposing.
At least he was handsome. Under the robes wyr wore, it was hard to be certain, but he looked fit enough, and his face was pleasantly chiseled, with a sharp nose and kind eyes.
He had to count his breaths to stay calm as Antonio tilted his head back, leaving his throat bare for Steve to sniff. Antonio smelled like metal and oil, sweet alcohol, a buzz of electricity that tickled Steve's nose and, under all that, the musk of wyr. It was an odd smell—too sharp, too metallic, but when Steve paused to sift through the layers of it he heard his pack shifting restlessly. They'd noticed his hesitation and were ready to take offense on his behalf. Quickly, Steve dragged his cheek along the length of Antonio's neck, scent-marking him.
The return gesture didn't mean much for a wyr nose, but for formality's sake, Antonio did it anyway. His carefully trimmed beard tickled the sensitive skin along the edge of Steve's neck. When he took his place at Steve's shoulder, his lips twitched in a near smile. With slow deliberation, Steve leaned into his shoulder, accepting the addition to the pack.
Behind Stark's shoulder, Antonio's twin looked like he was barely restraining a triumphant smile. The exact same eyes that on Antonio were warm looked like chips of ice on his brother; he looked like the kind of person Steve would have had to keep an eye on if he were pack. Maria's expression was unreadable, but Steve thought she seemed pleased. It was hard to tell; she'd been in wyrlands long enough that her body language wasn't fully wolf anymore.
"Try not to make too much trouble," Stark warned his son, expression resigned. "This is too important for you to ruin."
"Who, me?" Antonio's smile stretched wide, and his weight shifted forward, though he didn't make the mistake of crossing the halfway mark. In a year or so, he'd be able to, but his scent wasn't pack yet. Getting wyr-scent all over him would be undiplomatic at best, a rejection at worst. Steve wondered if Antonio understood why or not; there were parts of the treaty that laid out the rules of the Exchange, but he couldn't recall if it explained the reasoning. "You should have more faith in me."
A series of expressions crossed Stark's face too quickly for Steve to decipher. "We'll see. You've surprised me before. Just don't be the first one ever sent back." Shaking his head, Stark looked at Steve. "Safe travels," he said, taking a long step back to stand by Maria. Since the wolves had arrived last, they were left to stand as the wyr left. Maria helped Stark down the stairs and to the hackney that was waiting for them. It hovered lower to the ground than most vehicles did, no doubt to compensate for Stark's age and infirmity.
They watched as the wyr left, the unease that had ridden the pack finally settling once the threat was on its way. Antonio was a buzzing riot of nervous energy. He fidgeted, hands shoving into his pockets, then running through his hair, straightening his robes, and then back to his pockets for another round. One by one, the wyr took off, some of their paths arching into the sky, while others stayed low. Only one vehicle was left; a hoverbike done up in red and gold paint, packed heavy with bags.
No one moved from the Hall until all trace of the wyr was gone and not even the dust of their passage was visible. Then, as one, the pack surged forward, running down the steps in great leaps, stripping off their clothes as they did. Their forms shifted and blurred; by the time they reached the bottom, they were all on four feet rather than two.
Steve turned his head to look back at his seconds, who had stayed in place. "Bucky, go play round up," he ordered. "We've got a long run ahead of us. Sam, I want you to take point. Antonio—"
"Tony," Steve's mate corrected. His voice was strong, only faintly edged with the nerves his body had been betraying. Smile lines crinkled the corners of his eyes; he was someone who'd done of a lot of it. "No one calls me Antonio except my brother."
A smile tugged Steve's mouth. "And I'm Steve. That's your bike?" He got a nod in answer. "Good. Let's see how fast it can move."
Let's see how fast it can move.
The answer was: very.
Tony crouched over the controls of his bike, leaning to keep on the odd, curving path the pack set. Its engine hummed between his knees, every now and then letting out a soft whine when he pressed it a little too much. He had to ride the steering hard to keep up, especially when they crossed rivers; hoverbikes weren't good over water.
It was amazing.
Their route took them through dense woodlands and along paths that weren't more than buck-trails. Trees spread glassy leaves that were as large as a man, their colors ranging from dark blue to brilliant red, turning the forest floor into a parade of rainbows. The weather was good for a long ride, too, warm without yet being hot, and the breeze created by their speed kept at bay even the slightest chance at overheating.
The alpha—his husband, that was going to take some getting used to—ran beside him in the form of a giant golden wolf, easily keeping up with the bike's top speed. Other wolves were scattered around them, running in a roughly organized group. A dark one with a white splash across his muzzle led the way, while a lighter brown one stayed along the edges, nipping at the heels of anyone who started getting too far away. It reminded Tony of racing down at Pallaston by the harbor, being boxed in by other people, dancing around them to maintain his position.
Taking a pack of wolves to the races was probably a terrible idea. He committed it to memory to ask about later.
They only had to run for a couple of hours, one point seven by Tony's clock, before spotting Volkaublary, the wolves' main city. It was impossible to miss, dug into hills and the massive hollows between tree roots, low-profile compared to the freestanding towers that Tony had grown up in. Crystalline glints of rock and dark cut metal formed towers that spiraled around the thick white trunks of trees, ending in platforms and bridges that connected each one. Where stairs existed, they were widely built; he spied the reason as he saw one of the wolves bound up a set on four feet. There didn't seemed to be any single building in the whole place; it all interwove together into a network that Tony could only assume the denizens knew the logic behind.
So much for barbarians living in caves, he thought, caught between staring and keeping an eye on the wolves running around him. Gregory would have had a fit.
He slowed as the pack slowed, eventually reduced to a pace that was only a little slower than a walk. Wolves split off from the pack in ones and twos, presumably to return to their own families. Eyes watched from behind windows and atop platforms, but there wasn't any parade or reception. Some of them nodded at him; children were likely to point, and there were definitely some tail wags from the ones wearing fur. Though, Tony couldn't help but notice, the ones in skin were only slightly less than absolutely naked; their clothes tended to be brief, no more than skirts or briefs in some cases.
Steve slowed them to a stop by what looked to be the central structure. The tree was bigger than any of the others, and the door at its base was wide enough to fit four men standing shoulder to shoulder. A courtyard surrounded it, paved with pale stone that glimmered like opals and cut across with what seemed like a natural creek. Someone had built a low, arching bridge over it, rather than divert the thing.
What few wolves were still with them vanished into the hollow, leaving Tony alone with the alpha. He didn't doubt wolves were watching, but when he looked around there wasn't a sign of them. Animals ran through the branches overhead, calling to each other in musical squawks and crackles.
The alpha dropped down on his haunches and huffed at him, blue eyes bright and disconcertingly intelligent. Sitting, his head came up almost to Tony's shoulder. It was a little disconcerting.
"So, this is my new home, I take it?" Tony swung off the bike, patting his packed bags. There hadn't been much he'd wanted to take, but most of it would be difficult to acquire in Volkaublary. The tools especially would be difficult. Some of them he'd had to make by hand in order to get them right. More to the point, Gregory would have wanted them if he'd left them behind, and that just wasn't happening.
Steve cocked his head. His shape did something complicated, flowing like liquid being poured into a mold. In less than a minute, he stood in front of Tony looking almost human and very naked. Before Tony could get more than an eyeful, he pulled his tunic from its little pouch around his shoulders and shrugged it on. "This is your new home," he agreed, jerking his chin in a clear follow me motion.
Tony hesitated a second, glancing back at his bags before scrambling to follow. Either someone would get them, or they'd be left for him to take care of later; somehow he didn't think the alpha's husband—spouse? mate?—was in much danger from petty thieves.
Under the tree didn't at all fit Tony's half-conceived notion of what to expect. His mother hadn't talked about it much, and imagination had sketched in rough-hewn halls and dim tunnels. The reality was much, much better. The floors were tiled with the same glittering rock that had marked the courtyard, and the walls were done in intricate tiles of stone. There was no picture depicted, but the shades of silver and gray flowed in waves, each tile its own unique shape that somehow fit into the structure so smoothly there were barely any seams. Overhead had been left to the tree roots, which twined around one another in a tangle of polished wood. Light came by way of small units set in the ceiling, hidden so neatly that they looked like nothing so much as holes in the roof allowing in sunshine.
Like the courtyard, there was no one in sight. Feet padded against tile in the distance, and he swore he could make out the click of claws, but no one was in sight. He craned his head, trying to catch a glimpse of their watchers, to no avail.
They passed rows and rows of doors, all done in simple wood, with no sign of any sort of locking mechanism. He followed Steve through a winding, twisting route, until they finally came to what seemed to Tony to be a door like any other. Steve pushed the door open, swinging it wide and gesturing Tony through. "You've a bedroom to yourself, if you want to use it. It's the door to the left at the end of the hall. Make yourself comfortable."
"You're not staying?" Tony shoved his hands into his pockets and lingered in the doorway. "Not that I've done this marriage thing before, but I thought we could talk." Or kiss. Steve looked like an excellent kisser, and Tony hadn't gone and gotten himself wolf-married just so he could sit in his room and pine. Besides, there were rumors about the talents that came with being an alpha; he'd teased Greg about it, but it was worth remembering. Not that Tony bought for one second that werewolves based their leader on sexual prowess, but there were worse ways, in his view. Democracy could have easily resulted in Gregory taking over from their father, and that would have been terrible.
Steve watched him like he knew every salacious thought that was running through Tony's head. As a test run, Tony thought of a couple really filthy ones. It didn't change Steve's expression at all, which was a little disappointing. He'd thought the one with the rimming had been rather good.
"I have to see to something," Steve finally said, after much too long of a pause.
"You're going to leave me to fend for myself?" Tony frowned a little. That seemed especially rude, even for werewolves. "Surrounded by strangers in a strange place, with no one to turn to for help if something happens?"
The corner of Steve's mouth quirked upward. "I'm sure you'll find something to keep yourself busy with." He touched Tony's shoulder, hand rubbing oddly across the ball joint and down to the elbow as he turned and strode away.
Tony watched him go. The tunic he was in wasn't very flattering to his ass, but Steve's legs more than made up for the loss. Thick and muscular, they looked like the kind of legs that were seriously in need of spreading. Gregory would have been green with envy.
Or he would have been pleased that he'd managed to trick Tony into taking the spot for himself. In retrospect, it had been an obvious ploy, and Tony had fallen for it.
Sighing to himself, Tony turned to his new abode. It was simply furnished, mostly in shades of brown, but there were touches of blue here and there. All the furniture was heavy wood and thicker cushions, crafted on the large side. More pillows littered the floor at strategic points, like little mattresses. Gold fur was caught in the weft of their coverings, so it wasn't hard to guess what their purpose was.
There weren't any electronics in easy view, though Tony knew they had to be there. There was clearly some sort of climate control regulating the tunnels, and the lights couldn't be natural. But there was no entertainment units, no computers, no screens; it was like he'd been dropped back into the early colonial age.
Investigating deeper, he found both of the bedrooms, along with a few smaller ones and what was clearly a nursery. Brightly colored wolves had been painted onto the walls, and glittering crystals dangled from the ceiling like little stars. Its furniture had been covered up, and the air was stuffy with disuse; clearly Steve either didn't have children or they'd grown up. With wolves, it was hard to tell.
"Hello?" someone called from the front. "Stark?"
Giving the nursery one last eye, Tony closed it up behind him and followed the voice. It was the dark-skinned man who had stood beside Steve at the Meeting Hall. He had a bird on his shoulder, which watched Tony disdainfully, like he was the species that really didn't belong in the middle of a pack of wolves.
"Hi," Tony said, glancing around to make sure there was no one else lurking. Wolves didn't use locks, he supposed. "Are you looking for Steve? He said he had do something."
The man nodded. "Sharing your scent," he agreed, like that meant anything to Tony. "My name's Sam. I brought you dinner, since you can't go to the hall yourself yet."
Indeed, a tray had been set on one of the tables. It looked essentially like what Tony was used to eating. Maybe there was more meat, but there really wasn't much special that could be done with slices off a roast, bread, and some vegetables. Simple, but it looked good. And it definitely wasn't raw, which he knew from his mother wolves could eat without problem. "Thanks," Tony said. "Why can't I go to the hall yet?"
Sam looked at him in thinly veiled amusement. "Your scent," he explained, without actually explaining anything. "Didn't the alpha explain anything?"
"No, he just dumped me in here and ran off to do whatever." Tony flicked his fingers toward the furniture that seemed most human. "Have a seat. I don't bite. And you brought me food. That means we're friends now."
A laugh burst out of Sam's throat. He accidentally jostled his hawk, which made a grumble of complaint before settling higher on his shoulder. "You're going to do just fine, but I need to get going. I shouldn't spend too much time here before you've settled."
Great. Tony hadn't exactly expected a wedding reception, but it seemed like everyone was running away from him as fast as they possibly could. He hoped it was just a new member of the pack thing; he didn't think he could handle it if the rest of his life was going to be the same. "Thank you for the food, then."
"I'll come by later, when it's safe." Sam raised his hand like he'd touch Tony, but he didn't quite, only brushing his fingers over the air before leaving.
"Wolves," Tony sighed to the empty room. They didn't make any sense, even when they were trying to. When it's safe didn't sound ominous at all.
By the time Steve returned to his rooms, two of the three moons were high in the sky. The lights had been dimmed to keep from blinding anyone on their way back in from a hunt, leaving the halls soft and comfortable. Most of the pack, he was fairly certain, had gone on one of those hunts. After having their alpha and seconds gone for the day, with the addition of a new wyr packmate, they were keyed up.
He let himself in, looking around for signs of Tony. The air was heavy with Tony's new presence, and lingering traces of scent from his former home, all of it touched by a hint of Sam. It itched at Steve, smelling other people in his den, with his mate, even if it was one of his seconds. Fortunately, the traces weren't strong, but it still rankled. His teeth ached.
It's Sam, he reminded himself. Sam won't take your mate. It was hard to make himself believe it, though. He hadn't expected how fast it would hit. It should have been gradual, since there'd been no courting to build it up.
Keeping Tony hidden for a while was definitely a good idea.
A bare foot rubbed against the carpet. "If you're coming to bed like that, maybe I'll sleep in my own bed." Tony leaned against the doorway to his bedroom, arms crossed. He was wearing a pair of Steve's trousers, the loose gray set he hadn't needed since winter had let go of its grip on the woods. Their scents mixed pleasingly, a hint of fur and wild things over Tony's more mechanical smell.
Steve shook it off. "Sam was here," he said, giving the air a pointed sniff.
Tony shrugged, like it wasn't anything important, but his expression tightened. "Someone had to bring my dinner, since apparently I'm not allowed outside yet."
Nodding, Steve brushed past him to go bathe, fingers trailing Tony's wrist on the way. Instead of that, however, Tony grabbed his wrist.
"Why aren't I allowed outside?" Tony demanded, annoyance coloring his face. "And where are my things? This wasn't in the agreement."
Steve frowned, flexing his wrist. Breaking free would have been easy; wyr weren't nearly as strong as wolves. Which was, in the end, why he left it there. "Your scent," he started to say, but a scoff cut him off.
"That's what Sam said." Tony let go of Steve's wrist to cross his arms and stand up straighter, meeting Steve's eyes. "Break it down for the human, please."
The challenge made Steve stand a little straighter. "The pack won't recognize your smell," he said after a minute, edging around the full truth. "And you don't smell like pack on your own. We don't want accidents to happen, so until you smell right, you shouldn't go out."
The half-explanation didn't seem to set well. Tony shook his head, still not looking away from Steve's eyes. His pulse was up, loud in Steve's ears, and he smelled like annoyance and confusion. "You're werewolves, not monsters. There's something else."
Damn it. "I don't know how to put it in wyr terms."
"Try."
Stepping back, Steve put some space between them, hoping an extra step or two would help his control. The lingering hint of someone else on the air was getting to him. "Normally, by the time a pair are mated, they would already smell like each other, and other suitors would know not to interfere. We don't. It's... a problem."
One Steve was going to have to deal with. Betas could get away with starting petty fights, but he was supposed to be better than that.
"A problem." The words trailed out slowly, as if Tony were waiting for the rest. Steve nodded sharply. "You know, it would have been nice to be told all of this. Maybe given a primer in bright colors. Puppets. Something. Is there anything else I should know?"
"Don't touch anyone. Don't leave unless I tell you it's safe." Steve shrugged. "Simple. It should only be for a few days." By then, Steve would have calmed down, and maybe Tony would have started to smell more like him without the assistance of borrowed clothing.
"Simple," Tony snorted. He ran a hand through his hair, gripping the longer ones and tugging in annoyance. "Maybe for someone with your nose. And what about my things? Or do they smell wrong too?"
Steve's jaw clenched, guilt twisting through him like a slime trail. He'd hoped Tony wouldn't notice that right away. "They'll be fine. You have clothes here that you can wear."
Blue eyes blinked at him, then widened. Suddenly, Tony laughed. "They do. They smell wrong. Are you jealous?" Batting his eyes, he stepped in closer, flashing a grin. "Tell me you aren't jealous because my clothes smell wrong and you're worried they'll make me smell wrong."
"It's not that simple!" Steve insisted, baring his teeth.
"Yes, it is." Taking another step forward, Tony edged into Steve's personal space, brushing their chests together. His hand splayed over Steve's waist, calluses catching on the smooth fabric of his tunic. "You know," Tony said slowly, leaning in, "if scent is what all this is about, there's an easy way to fix that."
One of Steve's hand's settled on Tony's forearm, thumb brushing the tender skin on the inside. "We don't have to," he said, but his voice wavered. Legally, it was true. The treaty had specified that monogamy was expected, but not necessarily consummation. With artificial incubators that even the wolves used, there was no need. But that didn't stop anyone from wanting to have sex. "You don't have to."
"Maybe I want to." Tony was warm against him, strong muscles and smooth golden skin. His hand dipped down to Steve's thigh, fingers curling up to brush over skin. When he stood up straight, Tony was only a few inches shorter than Steve, a rarity for someone as tall as Steve was. "No maybe, actually. I want to. Call me old-fashioned."
Running his tongue over his teeth to make sure they were wyr-dull, Steve risked leaning down to press a kiss to Tony's mouth. It was quick, but Tony made a disappointed noise when it ended.
"What? That's it?" he whined, hooking one arm around Steve's neck to drag him down again. The second kiss was much longer, Tony working Steve's lips open and quickly taking advantage of the chance. He still smelled like other, like places with not enough trees and too much metal. But under it was the mark Steve had left earlier, and something like warm spice and fresh things that he couldn't quite place. They smelled good, though.
A pleased rumble escaped Steve's throat as he pulled Tony in against him. The cloth of the borrowed trousers was thick, but not thick enough to hide the growing erection in them.
Tony tried to match the noise but he couldn't quite; it came out smoother without the extra vocal chords to color it. Keeping his arm around Steve's neck, he used his weight to press them backward, toward the other bedroom. "Your bed," he mumbled, barely breaking the kiss. "Need to smell like you, right?"
They stumbled together, Steve's shoulder knocking against the frame of the other door before he managed to twist them in and pin Tony against the wall. "Yeah. You do."
- Part One - Part Two -
Recipiant: agardenafter
Author: tsukinofaerii
Universe: Marvel Ultimates (Earth-1610)
Pairings/Characters: Steve/Tony, hints of past Steve/Gail, current Bucky/Gail, Jan/Wanda.
Rating: PG13.
Warnings: Werewolves,
Word Count: ~12k
Beta Reader: waterofthemoon
Summary: Every thirty years, the treaty between the werewolf pack of Volkaublary and the humans of Acheflow requires an exchange of mates for the current or incoming leaders. Tony's determined to make the best of it, but nothing is how he expected, and settling into a werewolf pack isn't easy.
For Prompt #3: Tony and Steve, arranged marriage or marriage of convenience
Steve straddled a tree limb that had been dubbed Alpha's Lookout by a good portion of the pack, looking down at the city as wolves and humans went about their business in the twilight. Children and cubs scuttled around the edges, staying close to doors and places to hide.
The reminder in his hand wasn't much to look at. It was a calendar date a month in the future, marked down in ink on actual paper. Steve wasn't sure where someone had found paper. No one used it since screens were so much easier. But it had shown up with his dinner, impossible to miss.
A branch below him shuddered, its budding leaves rustling. "I'll never get what it is with you and trees," Bucky complained. He had his claws out, dug into the pale bark for balance. "It's unnatural."
"Only to someone born with four feet." He shifted sideways on the branch, making room for Bucky to plop down near the trunk. It rattled the branch they were sharing, but not badly; the forest was old, and the trees sturdy. "What's wrong?"
"I was going to ask you that." Bucky jerked his head at the paper in Steve's hand, then huffed to blow a lock of his brown hair out of his eyes without letting go of the tree. "The treaty?"
"What else?"
Bucky's hands tightened even more. "Sam must have done it," he said. "I didn't. I'd rather this whole thing was forgotten. It's been a hundred years. We shouldn't have to do this."
Paper crinkled in Steve's hand. Maybe that was why Sam had chosen paper over something else; he knew Steve did better with tactile things. "It having been a hundred years is more reason to do it. It's kept the bloodshed down for too long to risk it now. Besides." He glanced over at Bucky. "Wanda's already done it. I can't ask of her anything I wouldn't be willing to do myself."
There was no response to that, and Steve hadn't expected one. Then, quietly, "If you'd mated with Gail, this wouldn't be happening."
A sharp stab went through Steve's heart. He remembered dancing with her, playing together after the moons had risen. It had been years since that had ended, and while the pain had faded, it never seemed to actually go away. "Gail knew that the alpha can't have a mate outside the treaty, and I knew it when I challenged Johann. It's better this way."
One of Bucky's knees legs stretched out, knee pressing into Steve's for silent comfort. Together, they watched the sun finish setting behind the trees and the lights of the den come on below.
"I am not marrying a werewolf." Tony planted his feet and glared at his twin brother. "Now that that's settled, please see yourself out.
Lights overhead glared down so bright that they nearly burned, casting everything about the work table into sharp shadow. Lit displays on the tools seemed faded and barely legible under them, and the vacuum sealed grain of the wood table looked oddly textured. It made it easier for Tony to work, but it risked leaving him with headaches every time he went from the stark light to the softer ones used elsewhere.
The two Starks were standing around the scattered pieces of what would, with any luck, be a working prototype for a mechanical homing pigeon, once Tony got the knots out. He almost had the plasma coolant to the point where it didn't explode too much, and that was definitely progress.
Greg, of course, didn't care that he was interrupting important work. "It has to be one of us," he insisted, which, of course, Tony already knew. No one sane would voluntarily go to live with the wolves in the woods, and as the Leader's sons they had close enough ties to the Establishment that they actually made reasonably acceptable trades.
That didn't mean Tony was going to do it. "Which is why it's going to be you, brother dear," he said, ducking his head down to focus on his work. "As my elder brother, you have precedence. Your extra twenty minutes of life make you prime for being an alpha werewolf's husband. They set a lot by relative status, you know."
No response came.
Tony kept working, waiting for Greg to fire off a few more volleys before storming off. That was how arguments between them usually went when it was a matter of sheer stubbornness. One of them would press, they would go a few rounds, and the other would go speak to their parents. In the end, any decision would be made by other people, which those around them had learned was the safest way to keep the peace.
Warily, Tony glanced up from his work. Greg was watching him, a small, content smile on his face.
There was something very wrong with the world if Greg was smiling. "Look at it this way, Greg; you'll get a chance to experience being tied." There were rumors about werewolf sex. Vivid ones.
"And I'll get a chance to lead a pack. A small price to pay," Gregory replied, almost pleasantly. Reaching down, he picked up a screw driver and offered it. "You might want to give that a few more twists. It's loose."
"Lead a pack?" Tony's hand closed around the head of the screwdriver, but he didn't do anything with it. "You won't be the alpha."
"Van Dyne was already elected to replace father when he retires."
And Tony wished her the best of it. It had been the highlight of his life, watching Greg's star fall in that election. "Yes, I noticed. You wouldn't let anyone forget. You still won't be an alpha werewolf."
"Werewolves have two alphas, a mated pair. So in a sense, I will be." When Tony didn't make a move to tighten down the supposedly faulty screw—it wasn't faulty, he was still working on it—Greg took the screw driver back and tried to do it himself. "You can train a dog. A werewolf won't be too hard."
Tony swatted his hand back, yanking the tool from Greg's grip. "And why would you want to lead a pack?" he asked, keeping his voice casual. "Werewolves are mangy, dirty beasts, I think you've said. Practically barbarians. They live in caves."
"But they're powerful," Greg said, with a wistful tone in his voice that rocketed through Tony's stomach and up into his throat to lodge there tasting of bile. Brothers or not, Tony didn't trust Gregory with a loose hair. It was too easy to see what Greg might do with an alpha werewolf wrapped around his finger and a whole pack at his heel.
"Have fun rolling over," Tony said, knowing the comeback was weak. "I'll send you a care package with some soap."
Greg actually laughed, and really, that was even more terrifying than seeing him smile. He left Tony to his work, a cheerful roll in his step.
After dinner that evening, Tony approached their father to volunteer as the trade.
Steve held his chin up as he strode up the steps to the entry of the Meeting Hall. Steps was, maybe, not being generous enough; they were four feet deep each, forcing Steve to measure his paces as he walked them. For the occasion, he'd put on a blue silk tunic that came down to mid-thigh, alpha status denoted in the knot work at his throat. Two steps behind his seconds, Bucky and Sam, trailed him with a small selection of the rest of his pack behind them.
The Meeting Hall was a fantastic structure, a tall platform of gold-veined white marble that must have been shipped in from off-planet, back when the shipping lines were still open; neither gold nor marble were mined on Amalur. It was used only rarely, but the combined forces of wolf- and wyr-kind kept it in order in the intervening years between Treaty renewals. The statues that filled the spaces between columns stood fifteen feet tall, figures of legend and history staring down, and flowering vines crept up the columns from carefully tended plots at their base. Soft white clouds dotted the purple sky overhead, just thick enough to soften the glare of the noontime sun enough that he didn't need to squint.
Waiting for the pack at the top was the wyr delegation, headed by their elderly Leader and his mate—spouse, in wyr terms, though Maria was as much a wolf as Steve, flanked by a pair of senior cabinet members. Behind them stood two young men who looked like twins, exactly identical other than their coloring and expressions. Even their clothing was at odds—white and black, solid, plain colors to mark them out in the rainbow of robes worn by everyone else. The family was surrounded by brown-robed guards. They all watched the wolves approach, wary. As they should have been; one wolf was easily a match for any ten wyr, and tradition had the numbers much closer than that.
Of the wyr delegation, only one person was at ease. Wanda stood to the back with her human mate Jan, eyes bright with excitement. She was dressed like all the others, in open robes and a tight bodysuit, done in her preferred pink and red. The style looked odd on her, but Steve had never much liked wyr fashions. She had been the last Exchange, the Season before; Steve had been worried that she wouldn't take it well, even though she'd volunteered. He was glad to see that he'd been mistaken.
Her brother, on the other hand, looked like he might put on fur and rip into someone on general feeling. Pietro stood behind Wanda's shoulder, frowning as if the whole world were against him. He'd insisted on following Wanda to live with the wyr. It didn't look like it suited him at all.
Steve brought his pack to a stop at the approved place, four meters away from the wyr; close enough to speak, not close enough for any convenient accidents. In the two centuries since the Treaty had been adopted, both sides had learned caution. Alpha and Leader might have agreed to peace, but hatred ran deep.
"Alpha Rogers, well-met." The wyr leader, Howard Stark, stepped forward, offering his hand palm up.
Steve met him at the exact halfway point—there was even a line scored in the marble to mark it. He covered Stark's hand with his, their palms pressing together. The old man's bones felt fragile against his, his hand shaking slightly from being held out for the greeting. Robotic braces kept him upright, but they couldn't do anything for the weakness of muscle age brought. "Leader Stark," he said quietly. "You look well."
"I look old, you mean." Stark smiled wanly. It was true; his white hair was thinning, and thick lines had grown around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. He smelled of sharp medicines and the thick, rotting scent of age. It was another thing about wyr that Steve would never quite become accustomed to; they aged. Stark was only a few years older than Steve, but Steve could have been mistaken for his grandson. "You should know that this will be my last season as Leader. I'm stepping down for Wanda in spring."
"More reason to do this now." Steve let his hand fall, though technically it was supposed to stay up for the entire discussion. The trembling in Stark's hand had already grown sharp; he wasn't cruel enough to force the matter. "You've been a fair man to work with; you're welcome in my pack, if you decide to come to us."
A bitter smile curved Stark's thin lips. "Maria and I have discussed it, and I think I will let the dust take me. To be human is a gift too often squandered."
All Steve could do was nod, though he didn't understand the sentiment. He'd been born wyr in the pack—sickly, weak, frail, the way they sometimes were. If it hadn't been for the bite, he'd have died long ago. "How is Maria?"
The deflection was a little too obvious, and he knew Stark spotted it by the look in his eyes, but it was allowed. "As well as can be expected, under the circumstances. Will she have a place in the pack, after her vows have ended?"
"Of course." Steve glanced over at Maria, getting a nod to show that she was listening. Thirty years before, she'd been the Exchange, back when Stark had been younger and before Steve's rise to alpha. It wouldn't have been unusual for an alpha to reject the beta of his predecessor, but Steve saw no reason to toss away a wolf who had been doing her duty faithfully, no matter who had set her to it or when. "She has a place in my pack."
Behind Stark, the members of his cabinet and guard were starting to get restless. Their frustration was sharp and bitter in Steve's nose. He could hear one of his wolves take a deep breath of it, followed by a soft growl. It sounded like Bucky, but it could have been any one of them; two hundred years, and there was still no love lost between the species.
Stark heard it. His heartbeat picked up, and a sharp hint of annoyance touched his natural scent. "We'd best get on with it, I suppose. Before these idiots decide to start the war up again."
He stepped back, gesturing at someone behind him with a sharp, two-fingered wave. The darker-headed of the wyr twins took a single step forward, head tipped down to protect his vulnerable throat before the gathered wolves. "Alpha Rogers, I give to you and yours my youngest son, Antonio," Stark recited, "in hopes that the union of our peoples will foster the continued peace between them."
Steve held himself still as Antonio approached; he'd only done this once, when Wanda had gone to Jan, and then it had seemed awkward and uncomfortable. He couldn't imagine how Wanda had managed to get through an entire wyr wedding without clawing something open. Among wolves, such ceremonies were a private matter. Though Steve had been wyr long enough to have attended no few weddings, it had been decades ago, long enough that going through the motions with an audience felt oddly exposing.
At least he was handsome. Under the robes wyr wore, it was hard to be certain, but he looked fit enough, and his face was pleasantly chiseled, with a sharp nose and kind eyes.
He had to count his breaths to stay calm as Antonio tilted his head back, leaving his throat bare for Steve to sniff. Antonio smelled like metal and oil, sweet alcohol, a buzz of electricity that tickled Steve's nose and, under all that, the musk of wyr. It was an odd smell—too sharp, too metallic, but when Steve paused to sift through the layers of it he heard his pack shifting restlessly. They'd noticed his hesitation and were ready to take offense on his behalf. Quickly, Steve dragged his cheek along the length of Antonio's neck, scent-marking him.
The return gesture didn't mean much for a wyr nose, but for formality's sake, Antonio did it anyway. His carefully trimmed beard tickled the sensitive skin along the edge of Steve's neck. When he took his place at Steve's shoulder, his lips twitched in a near smile. With slow deliberation, Steve leaned into his shoulder, accepting the addition to the pack.
Behind Stark's shoulder, Antonio's twin looked like he was barely restraining a triumphant smile. The exact same eyes that on Antonio were warm looked like chips of ice on his brother; he looked like the kind of person Steve would have had to keep an eye on if he were pack. Maria's expression was unreadable, but Steve thought she seemed pleased. It was hard to tell; she'd been in wyrlands long enough that her body language wasn't fully wolf anymore.
"Try not to make too much trouble," Stark warned his son, expression resigned. "This is too important for you to ruin."
"Who, me?" Antonio's smile stretched wide, and his weight shifted forward, though he didn't make the mistake of crossing the halfway mark. In a year or so, he'd be able to, but his scent wasn't pack yet. Getting wyr-scent all over him would be undiplomatic at best, a rejection at worst. Steve wondered if Antonio understood why or not; there were parts of the treaty that laid out the rules of the Exchange, but he couldn't recall if it explained the reasoning. "You should have more faith in me."
A series of expressions crossed Stark's face too quickly for Steve to decipher. "We'll see. You've surprised me before. Just don't be the first one ever sent back." Shaking his head, Stark looked at Steve. "Safe travels," he said, taking a long step back to stand by Maria. Since the wolves had arrived last, they were left to stand as the wyr left. Maria helped Stark down the stairs and to the hackney that was waiting for them. It hovered lower to the ground than most vehicles did, no doubt to compensate for Stark's age and infirmity.
They watched as the wyr left, the unease that had ridden the pack finally settling once the threat was on its way. Antonio was a buzzing riot of nervous energy. He fidgeted, hands shoving into his pockets, then running through his hair, straightening his robes, and then back to his pockets for another round. One by one, the wyr took off, some of their paths arching into the sky, while others stayed low. Only one vehicle was left; a hoverbike done up in red and gold paint, packed heavy with bags.
No one moved from the Hall until all trace of the wyr was gone and not even the dust of their passage was visible. Then, as one, the pack surged forward, running down the steps in great leaps, stripping off their clothes as they did. Their forms shifted and blurred; by the time they reached the bottom, they were all on four feet rather than two.
Steve turned his head to look back at his seconds, who had stayed in place. "Bucky, go play round up," he ordered. "We've got a long run ahead of us. Sam, I want you to take point. Antonio—"
"Tony," Steve's mate corrected. His voice was strong, only faintly edged with the nerves his body had been betraying. Smile lines crinkled the corners of his eyes; he was someone who'd done of a lot of it. "No one calls me Antonio except my brother."
A smile tugged Steve's mouth. "And I'm Steve. That's your bike?" He got a nod in answer. "Good. Let's see how fast it can move."
Let's see how fast it can move.
The answer was: very.
Tony crouched over the controls of his bike, leaning to keep on the odd, curving path the pack set. Its engine hummed between his knees, every now and then letting out a soft whine when he pressed it a little too much. He had to ride the steering hard to keep up, especially when they crossed rivers; hoverbikes weren't good over water.
It was amazing.
Their route took them through dense woodlands and along paths that weren't more than buck-trails. Trees spread glassy leaves that were as large as a man, their colors ranging from dark blue to brilliant red, turning the forest floor into a parade of rainbows. The weather was good for a long ride, too, warm without yet being hot, and the breeze created by their speed kept at bay even the slightest chance at overheating.
The alpha—his husband, that was going to take some getting used to—ran beside him in the form of a giant golden wolf, easily keeping up with the bike's top speed. Other wolves were scattered around them, running in a roughly organized group. A dark one with a white splash across his muzzle led the way, while a lighter brown one stayed along the edges, nipping at the heels of anyone who started getting too far away. It reminded Tony of racing down at Pallaston by the harbor, being boxed in by other people, dancing around them to maintain his position.
Taking a pack of wolves to the races was probably a terrible idea. He committed it to memory to ask about later.
They only had to run for a couple of hours, one point seven by Tony's clock, before spotting Volkaublary, the wolves' main city. It was impossible to miss, dug into hills and the massive hollows between tree roots, low-profile compared to the freestanding towers that Tony had grown up in. Crystalline glints of rock and dark cut metal formed towers that spiraled around the thick white trunks of trees, ending in platforms and bridges that connected each one. Where stairs existed, they were widely built; he spied the reason as he saw one of the wolves bound up a set on four feet. There didn't seemed to be any single building in the whole place; it all interwove together into a network that Tony could only assume the denizens knew the logic behind.
So much for barbarians living in caves, he thought, caught between staring and keeping an eye on the wolves running around him. Gregory would have had a fit.
He slowed as the pack slowed, eventually reduced to a pace that was only a little slower than a walk. Wolves split off from the pack in ones and twos, presumably to return to their own families. Eyes watched from behind windows and atop platforms, but there wasn't any parade or reception. Some of them nodded at him; children were likely to point, and there were definitely some tail wags from the ones wearing fur. Though, Tony couldn't help but notice, the ones in skin were only slightly less than absolutely naked; their clothes tended to be brief, no more than skirts or briefs in some cases.
Steve slowed them to a stop by what looked to be the central structure. The tree was bigger than any of the others, and the door at its base was wide enough to fit four men standing shoulder to shoulder. A courtyard surrounded it, paved with pale stone that glimmered like opals and cut across with what seemed like a natural creek. Someone had built a low, arching bridge over it, rather than divert the thing.
What few wolves were still with them vanished into the hollow, leaving Tony alone with the alpha. He didn't doubt wolves were watching, but when he looked around there wasn't a sign of them. Animals ran through the branches overhead, calling to each other in musical squawks and crackles.
The alpha dropped down on his haunches and huffed at him, blue eyes bright and disconcertingly intelligent. Sitting, his head came up almost to Tony's shoulder. It was a little disconcerting.
"So, this is my new home, I take it?" Tony swung off the bike, patting his packed bags. There hadn't been much he'd wanted to take, but most of it would be difficult to acquire in Volkaublary. The tools especially would be difficult. Some of them he'd had to make by hand in order to get them right. More to the point, Gregory would have wanted them if he'd left them behind, and that just wasn't happening.
Steve cocked his head. His shape did something complicated, flowing like liquid being poured into a mold. In less than a minute, he stood in front of Tony looking almost human and very naked. Before Tony could get more than an eyeful, he pulled his tunic from its little pouch around his shoulders and shrugged it on. "This is your new home," he agreed, jerking his chin in a clear follow me motion.
Tony hesitated a second, glancing back at his bags before scrambling to follow. Either someone would get them, or they'd be left for him to take care of later; somehow he didn't think the alpha's husband—spouse? mate?—was in much danger from petty thieves.
Under the tree didn't at all fit Tony's half-conceived notion of what to expect. His mother hadn't talked about it much, and imagination had sketched in rough-hewn halls and dim tunnels. The reality was much, much better. The floors were tiled with the same glittering rock that had marked the courtyard, and the walls were done in intricate tiles of stone. There was no picture depicted, but the shades of silver and gray flowed in waves, each tile its own unique shape that somehow fit into the structure so smoothly there were barely any seams. Overhead had been left to the tree roots, which twined around one another in a tangle of polished wood. Light came by way of small units set in the ceiling, hidden so neatly that they looked like nothing so much as holes in the roof allowing in sunshine.
Like the courtyard, there was no one in sight. Feet padded against tile in the distance, and he swore he could make out the click of claws, but no one was in sight. He craned his head, trying to catch a glimpse of their watchers, to no avail.
They passed rows and rows of doors, all done in simple wood, with no sign of any sort of locking mechanism. He followed Steve through a winding, twisting route, until they finally came to what seemed to Tony to be a door like any other. Steve pushed the door open, swinging it wide and gesturing Tony through. "You've a bedroom to yourself, if you want to use it. It's the door to the left at the end of the hall. Make yourself comfortable."
"You're not staying?" Tony shoved his hands into his pockets and lingered in the doorway. "Not that I've done this marriage thing before, but I thought we could talk." Or kiss. Steve looked like an excellent kisser, and Tony hadn't gone and gotten himself wolf-married just so he could sit in his room and pine. Besides, there were rumors about the talents that came with being an alpha; he'd teased Greg about it, but it was worth remembering. Not that Tony bought for one second that werewolves based their leader on sexual prowess, but there were worse ways, in his view. Democracy could have easily resulted in Gregory taking over from their father, and that would have been terrible.
Steve watched him like he knew every salacious thought that was running through Tony's head. As a test run, Tony thought of a couple really filthy ones. It didn't change Steve's expression at all, which was a little disappointing. He'd thought the one with the rimming had been rather good.
"I have to see to something," Steve finally said, after much too long of a pause.
"You're going to leave me to fend for myself?" Tony frowned a little. That seemed especially rude, even for werewolves. "Surrounded by strangers in a strange place, with no one to turn to for help if something happens?"
The corner of Steve's mouth quirked upward. "I'm sure you'll find something to keep yourself busy with." He touched Tony's shoulder, hand rubbing oddly across the ball joint and down to the elbow as he turned and strode away.
Tony watched him go. The tunic he was in wasn't very flattering to his ass, but Steve's legs more than made up for the loss. Thick and muscular, they looked like the kind of legs that were seriously in need of spreading. Gregory would have been green with envy.
Or he would have been pleased that he'd managed to trick Tony into taking the spot for himself. In retrospect, it had been an obvious ploy, and Tony had fallen for it.
Sighing to himself, Tony turned to his new abode. It was simply furnished, mostly in shades of brown, but there were touches of blue here and there. All the furniture was heavy wood and thicker cushions, crafted on the large side. More pillows littered the floor at strategic points, like little mattresses. Gold fur was caught in the weft of their coverings, so it wasn't hard to guess what their purpose was.
There weren't any electronics in easy view, though Tony knew they had to be there. There was clearly some sort of climate control regulating the tunnels, and the lights couldn't be natural. But there was no entertainment units, no computers, no screens; it was like he'd been dropped back into the early colonial age.
Investigating deeper, he found both of the bedrooms, along with a few smaller ones and what was clearly a nursery. Brightly colored wolves had been painted onto the walls, and glittering crystals dangled from the ceiling like little stars. Its furniture had been covered up, and the air was stuffy with disuse; clearly Steve either didn't have children or they'd grown up. With wolves, it was hard to tell.
"Hello?" someone called from the front. "Stark?"
Giving the nursery one last eye, Tony closed it up behind him and followed the voice. It was the dark-skinned man who had stood beside Steve at the Meeting Hall. He had a bird on his shoulder, which watched Tony disdainfully, like he was the species that really didn't belong in the middle of a pack of wolves.
"Hi," Tony said, glancing around to make sure there was no one else lurking. Wolves didn't use locks, he supposed. "Are you looking for Steve? He said he had do something."
The man nodded. "Sharing your scent," he agreed, like that meant anything to Tony. "My name's Sam. I brought you dinner, since you can't go to the hall yourself yet."
Indeed, a tray had been set on one of the tables. It looked essentially like what Tony was used to eating. Maybe there was more meat, but there really wasn't much special that could be done with slices off a roast, bread, and some vegetables. Simple, but it looked good. And it definitely wasn't raw, which he knew from his mother wolves could eat without problem. "Thanks," Tony said. "Why can't I go to the hall yet?"
Sam looked at him in thinly veiled amusement. "Your scent," he explained, without actually explaining anything. "Didn't the alpha explain anything?"
"No, he just dumped me in here and ran off to do whatever." Tony flicked his fingers toward the furniture that seemed most human. "Have a seat. I don't bite. And you brought me food. That means we're friends now."
A laugh burst out of Sam's throat. He accidentally jostled his hawk, which made a grumble of complaint before settling higher on his shoulder. "You're going to do just fine, but I need to get going. I shouldn't spend too much time here before you've settled."
Great. Tony hadn't exactly expected a wedding reception, but it seemed like everyone was running away from him as fast as they possibly could. He hoped it was just a new member of the pack thing; he didn't think he could handle it if the rest of his life was going to be the same. "Thank you for the food, then."
"I'll come by later, when it's safe." Sam raised his hand like he'd touch Tony, but he didn't quite, only brushing his fingers over the air before leaving.
"Wolves," Tony sighed to the empty room. They didn't make any sense, even when they were trying to. When it's safe didn't sound ominous at all.
By the time Steve returned to his rooms, two of the three moons were high in the sky. The lights had been dimmed to keep from blinding anyone on their way back in from a hunt, leaving the halls soft and comfortable. Most of the pack, he was fairly certain, had gone on one of those hunts. After having their alpha and seconds gone for the day, with the addition of a new wyr packmate, they were keyed up.
He let himself in, looking around for signs of Tony. The air was heavy with Tony's new presence, and lingering traces of scent from his former home, all of it touched by a hint of Sam. It itched at Steve, smelling other people in his den, with his mate, even if it was one of his seconds. Fortunately, the traces weren't strong, but it still rankled. His teeth ached.
It's Sam, he reminded himself. Sam won't take your mate. It was hard to make himself believe it, though. He hadn't expected how fast it would hit. It should have been gradual, since there'd been no courting to build it up.
Keeping Tony hidden for a while was definitely a good idea.
A bare foot rubbed against the carpet. "If you're coming to bed like that, maybe I'll sleep in my own bed." Tony leaned against the doorway to his bedroom, arms crossed. He was wearing a pair of Steve's trousers, the loose gray set he hadn't needed since winter had let go of its grip on the woods. Their scents mixed pleasingly, a hint of fur and wild things over Tony's more mechanical smell.
Steve shook it off. "Sam was here," he said, giving the air a pointed sniff.
Tony shrugged, like it wasn't anything important, but his expression tightened. "Someone had to bring my dinner, since apparently I'm not allowed outside yet."
Nodding, Steve brushed past him to go bathe, fingers trailing Tony's wrist on the way. Instead of that, however, Tony grabbed his wrist.
"Why aren't I allowed outside?" Tony demanded, annoyance coloring his face. "And where are my things? This wasn't in the agreement."
Steve frowned, flexing his wrist. Breaking free would have been easy; wyr weren't nearly as strong as wolves. Which was, in the end, why he left it there. "Your scent," he started to say, but a scoff cut him off.
"That's what Sam said." Tony let go of Steve's wrist to cross his arms and stand up straighter, meeting Steve's eyes. "Break it down for the human, please."
The challenge made Steve stand a little straighter. "The pack won't recognize your smell," he said after a minute, edging around the full truth. "And you don't smell like pack on your own. We don't want accidents to happen, so until you smell right, you shouldn't go out."
The half-explanation didn't seem to set well. Tony shook his head, still not looking away from Steve's eyes. His pulse was up, loud in Steve's ears, and he smelled like annoyance and confusion. "You're werewolves, not monsters. There's something else."
Damn it. "I don't know how to put it in wyr terms."
"Try."
Stepping back, Steve put some space between them, hoping an extra step or two would help his control. The lingering hint of someone else on the air was getting to him. "Normally, by the time a pair are mated, they would already smell like each other, and other suitors would know not to interfere. We don't. It's... a problem."
One Steve was going to have to deal with. Betas could get away with starting petty fights, but he was supposed to be better than that.
"A problem." The words trailed out slowly, as if Tony were waiting for the rest. Steve nodded sharply. "You know, it would have been nice to be told all of this. Maybe given a primer in bright colors. Puppets. Something. Is there anything else I should know?"
"Don't touch anyone. Don't leave unless I tell you it's safe." Steve shrugged. "Simple. It should only be for a few days." By then, Steve would have calmed down, and maybe Tony would have started to smell more like him without the assistance of borrowed clothing.
"Simple," Tony snorted. He ran a hand through his hair, gripping the longer ones and tugging in annoyance. "Maybe for someone with your nose. And what about my things? Or do they smell wrong too?"
Steve's jaw clenched, guilt twisting through him like a slime trail. He'd hoped Tony wouldn't notice that right away. "They'll be fine. You have clothes here that you can wear."
Blue eyes blinked at him, then widened. Suddenly, Tony laughed. "They do. They smell wrong. Are you jealous?" Batting his eyes, he stepped in closer, flashing a grin. "Tell me you aren't jealous because my clothes smell wrong and you're worried they'll make me smell wrong."
"It's not that simple!" Steve insisted, baring his teeth.
"Yes, it is." Taking another step forward, Tony edged into Steve's personal space, brushing their chests together. His hand splayed over Steve's waist, calluses catching on the smooth fabric of his tunic. "You know," Tony said slowly, leaning in, "if scent is what all this is about, there's an easy way to fix that."
One of Steve's hand's settled on Tony's forearm, thumb brushing the tender skin on the inside. "We don't have to," he said, but his voice wavered. Legally, it was true. The treaty had specified that monogamy was expected, but not necessarily consummation. With artificial incubators that even the wolves used, there was no need. But that didn't stop anyone from wanting to have sex. "You don't have to."
"Maybe I want to." Tony was warm against him, strong muscles and smooth golden skin. His hand dipped down to Steve's thigh, fingers curling up to brush over skin. When he stood up straight, Tony was only a few inches shorter than Steve, a rarity for someone as tall as Steve was. "No maybe, actually. I want to. Call me old-fashioned."
Running his tongue over his teeth to make sure they were wyr-dull, Steve risked leaning down to press a kiss to Tony's mouth. It was quick, but Tony made a disappointed noise when it ended.
"What? That's it?" he whined, hooking one arm around Steve's neck to drag him down again. The second kiss was much longer, Tony working Steve's lips open and quickly taking advantage of the chance. He still smelled like other, like places with not enough trees and too much metal. But under it was the mark Steve had left earlier, and something like warm spice and fresh things that he couldn't quite place. They smelled good, though.
A pleased rumble escaped Steve's throat as he pulled Tony in against him. The cloth of the borrowed trousers was thick, but not thick enough to hide the growing erection in them.
Tony tried to match the noise but he couldn't quite; it came out smoother without the extra vocal chords to color it. Keeping his arm around Steve's neck, he used his weight to press them backward, toward the other bedroom. "Your bed," he mumbled, barely breaking the kiss. "Need to smell like you, right?"
They stumbled together, Steve's shoulder knocking against the frame of the other door before he managed to twist them in and pin Tony against the wall. "Yeah. You do."
- Part One - Part Two -