We're all going to Hell

[infligere]

Who: Brock Rumlow & Sam Wilson
When: 6+ months post-TWS
What: Tans knows. I know. Yet another reason we have poor life choices because of conversations with each other.
Warnings: Rumlow, dubious science, sex no doubt.


Time was a slippery mistress to chase when one hadn't seen the outside world in a long time. The Hive was a facility that was designed to be both a prison and a feast of scientific advancement, buried in the ground and having little need to have any come to the top three prison levels for any more than resupplying. It was a revolving door of fresh faces and experimentation, hidden within plain sight and maintained by an apparent good standing in a functioning if hard penal system.

Rumlow hadn't had a chance to look at the date when he was stolen from the hospital room, not exactly his first priority. He knew upon awakening and being told he was at the Hive that he had been traded to another division to use up what was left of him. That was fine by him as all previous estimations were that he would never been fully functional as an agent again with the extent of damage that he had suffered. He was fine living out the rest of his life being of service.

Except he didn't die.

HYDRA was always on some advancement, and it seemed interested in the relative youth of the super-soldiers and the limited youth effects of Centipede. It had a good serum made up that was in test phase, and who better to test the effects on then the washed out remains of soldiers from the Washington D.C. failure. It began slowly at first and earnestly when responses were recorded. Alphas, fueled by testosterone and aggression and dominance, showed little production and response, though there was some age-stopping effects noted. Betas, the middle ground that swayed between nature and nurture, were moderately successful and lost a few apparent years and maladies that were associated with age. Omegas, nurturing and estrogen based and designed to take all manner of punishment, responded better than anyone expected. Years bled away (literally), they returned to prime 'breeding' years as it was called and they were suddenly on great interest.

Brock had healed well, his scarring bleeding away with the years that reversed him. Aches, pains and old injures sorted themselves out. He was a rarity. Among the omega population, only twenty percent were born male and the rest were all female, who had a more nurturing nature. His rarity had been a curse for most of his life, only HYDRA saving him from life in the underbelly. He had joined first because he had been guaranteed heavy duty and very experimental suppressants; as one of the few male omegas, he had first crack at them and disregarded any danger associated with them. It was better to be on them than risk heats every three months in his prime.

Now with the experimentation at its peak, he was back to where he had started when he was twelve and showed his nature. He hadn't been on suppressants since the Triskelion had fallen on him, and his highly regarded and coveted 'maleness' fell away. His hips ached constantly, the scent glands on his neck had developed out of forced dormancy, a considerable amount of his old musculature had not returned despite his aggressive attempts, and looking every bit like the man he had been when he was twenty-five or so, even his facial hair, once so prized by him and always left somewhat rugged, struggled to grow.

Worse, his second heat in twenty-five years had come and gone, leaving him in isolation so as not to send all the other omegas (all female but one other) into heats of their own.

The worst of it was the itch that he had spent most of his time ignoring getting stronger. At first, he thought little of it until the noises of doctors and guards alike giving orders and hurried moving equipment and paperwork. Within hours, the itch grew and Rumlow knew. The Hive had been discovered and was being taken down by whatever remained of SHIELD or the Avengers or whatever organization was giving HYDRA the chase around at this point. He had hoped that he wouldn't come, but the thin thread of bond that was still so new and foreign was searching and crawling through his mind. It was deep already.

Wilson.

Rumlow remained at the back of his cell, his knees pulled up and his arms resting across them as he stared at the door. The prison jumpsuit was almost threadbare and at least see-through in more than a few places, an indication of the time that had passed. It was probably too much to ask that he would be passed over in the raid, and he huffed softly at the sound of gunfire and the invasion. Perhaps Wilson would consider him a lost cause and let him go, but no... even with only thirty minutes of contact, his near death and then disappearance, the bond remained unbroken. Who would leave their bond behind? Him maybe.

Maybe not with his hormones running on full, and while he certainly wasn't a typical omega, he still was one. Certain rules of his nature applied even after thirty years of neglect of them and the same amount of time hating them. He had learned long ago how to manipulate with his hormones; he could do so again as long as his bond didn't step in. Chances? Slim to none.

"Don't do it. You'll regret every single moment of it," he whispered at the closed door. "I'll make you regret."

Comments

[airfoil]

Finding your bondmate was always talked about as one of those rare, golden moments of your life that should be celebrated with friends and family. He'd gone to enough vow ceremonies in his life, for both his friends and his family to want the same. I twas supposed to be that moment everything clicked.

It was supposed to be good.

Sam told no one for six months and quietly, horribly, hoped his bondmate would have the good sense to die. If they didn't come across one another again then maybe it wouldn't wind any deeper than it had in the few brutal moments it took to forge. The whole thing didn't make sense in the first place. How the hell he was intended for Brock Rumlow, he couldn't figure out. Seemed more like biology and nature making some gross error and maybe with enough time the bond would break or the forces that be would realize their mistake.

Not that lucky, though.

He busied himself with following Steve and his own desperate, headlong chase after his bondmate who seemed more set on a long game of cat-and-mouse rather than turning around and facing the tie between them. They got close only for Steve to look up and realize that Bucky was moving away it was that strong between the two of them that he had a pinpoint better than any sort of tracking system but even then it wasn't flawless. Every time Bucky pulled away he watched a new line of pain etch itself into Steve's face.

Eventually though, Bucky came around. Sam heard what parts Steve deigned to share though he didn't come back with Barnes, he came back easier with the frequent distant looks that said he was speaking to his bondmate as a new addition. And Sam was happy for him. He was even if he doubted that he'd even have that sort of easy thing. Happy to be packing it up after traveling cross-country and jumping continents (their European tour had been nice, the bond in the back of his head no more than a odd, distant tickle only in his most unguarded moments in his sleep).

He failed miserably at settling back into work at the VA. Failed in ignoring the louder itch and thrum in his head and he told Steve when something felt like it clicked when he mentioned the raid the remnants of SHIELD was planning. The look on his face...

Hell of a thing having Captain America look at you with something akin to pity under the confusion. Shouldn't have been possible. If it was he would have bonded long, long ago.

They let him on and Steve at least kept it between the two of them who Sam was really there for while they raided what was frequently described as the Hive in HYDRA's recovered files. Smooth as the raid was going Sam still felt a gross tightness in his stomach and up his throat which wasn't helped by the failed experiments – twisted bodies, god- sometimes just limbs- they'd come across in the block before.

Steve was off providing cover, having tossed the fancy all-access pass coded once they'd broken in over for use. Sam didn't have to consult the chart hanging at the front of the hallway, neatly listing the names or numbers of the cells residences. He went right to the fifth one down, an urgent tugging pulling him along. The bond a strong dark cord-

Simple cell. Stark, cold, plain with the florescent lighting bright. HYDRA wasn't treating their former operatives with much grace, but he'd already read as much.

When his eyes fell on his bondmate from over the train of his gun they widened. Not what he expected. He looked-

His gun lowered.

What the hell did they do to you?

“You tired of staring at this box yet?”

[infligere]

It was getting closer, little-by-little, step-by-step. Months ago, he had learned quickly to ignore the thread that tied him to another man, shut Wilson out so only his existence as being 'alive' could be found. Even in his deepest hatred that mingled with the isolation and agony of change, he had not reached down the limited link that had formed. Now, despite his best efforts, he was aware of it like a splinter festering in his mind, tugging at him in a way that had previously been impossible.

Brock Rumlow had lived twenty-five years of his life hormone neutral, a state frequently used by alphas so as not to be reduced to in-fighting in stressful jobs and situations. They worked better that way, and it allowed him to hide his identity as something he was not. He knew from pathetic smell back then that Sam was an alpha, but ironically not as broad shouldered or muscled as he had been when he was in his prime physical state as a neutral.

Now his sense of smell was back, and he wished for any kind suppressant to ruin it again. Instead, his nostrils flared as the door opened and his bond stepped into the room, training a gun on him like he was some kind of threat, like HYDRA hadn't shot him in here to isolation to relish his own patheticness. His fingers twitched where they dangled just beyond his knees, watching the man he hated beyond anyone else, even that bastard of an old man.

Wilson looked good if worn at the edges. Combat ready, sure-footed, and ready to put a bullet in his brain if he made a wrong move.

Perfect.

Rumlow slowly uncurled from his position and rose to his bare feet, the full scope of his change evident even as he lifted his chin in familiar alpha-like challenge. "You tired of being a pathetic excuse of a SHIELD agent? All pseudo and bullshit," he replied, his young face darkening. "A single bullet is all it takes to be free. It would hurt for a little while, but you'd heal."

He tapped the middle of his forehead with a finger. "Right there, yeah?"

[airfoil]

One shot, point blank.

Easy.

Only then he'd have to live with himself for the rest of his life knowing that was the sort of person he was.

“Wouldn't be free.” Sam muttered, shaking his head and holstering his gun. Maybe he would have healed, not end up dragged down for a slow pending sort of death from a severed bond. “You'd still be right there, man. You're worse than a rash.”

He looked Rumlow over now that he was standing, the physical changes flaring a sort of protective instinct he felt better elbowing away. Soft and young (how, how was he so young when the guy had to be pushing an amazing looking forty at least last spring?) maybe it was a compliment that Sam didn't immediately trust his back to him or treat him like the defensive omega his stature, his hips and his scent all but shouted.

“Did they do this to you? Did they make you an omega?”

There wasn't a lot of time, especially since they were going to hustle Rumlow out of here with as minimal contact with the rest of the operation as necessary. Steve knew, Hill knew and he'd been informed that Director Coulson knew- which was all probably a working list of Rumlow's least favor people in the world with him right on there too. Still, he had questions he wanted answered before they moved out.

And considering the amount of things he'd read and seen, it wouldn't be the most outrageous conclusion to make – somehow HYDRA had figured a way to mess with a person's biology enough to switch their entire nature. It'd explain the bond, why Rumlow hadn't smelled like anything but blank while walking, talking, barking and punching like a true weight alpha. Far more than he came off personally, though Sam used being sometimes mistaken for a beta first glance, not scent, to his advantage.

[infligere]

His gaze flicked to the handgun as it disappeared, and there was a brief flare of disappointment. If Wilson was here, then HYDRA was overrun or evacuated, and that put him in the position of being a prisoner in this sham of a bond and whatever else SHIELD could come up for him. That bullet was his ticket to freedom.

Except if he was given opportunity to thrive, assault and break out. He had his old digs back after all, the kind of body that men his age spent years wishing for again. The experience he had in a young body, back in his prime when he could make the most of the information and his skills.

"I'm sure you could fill the hole somehow," he drawled and ran a hand through his admittedly too long hair. He needed to get it cut badly.

Rumlow snorted softly at the line of questioning, and he had a feeling that it was going to be asked of him again and again. He crossed his arms over his chest and just stared at Wilson for a long time before he smirked. "Yeah, they did this to me, one more service to HYDRA. Shed the years like a second skin, painful... but worthwhile."

He began to walk forward, closing the distance between them despite his better judgement to keep a distance between them. He was not going to be triggered, he told himself. He wanted to make one thing very clear, though he slowed as the musky scent that was entirely Sam filled his nose when he got too close. Unlike their last battle when his sense of smell had been the shits, he now drank it in easily and snorted, as if surprised to have access to it again. "Suppressants... you don't give me that bullet, then I want suppressants."

[airfoil]

That's what he can't imagine, being in a situation where someone not putting a bullet right in your brain is a source of disappointment. It's just a flicker but Sam sees it and some of that overwhelming protective anger filters back in. He keeps trying to remind himself this was the man that near gleefully pummeled him months ago, easily betrayed Steve and aligned himself whole-heatedly to an organization that thought nothing about killing a couple hundred-million for their tyranical cause.

But his very bones and his nerves and his teeth kept saying that he's his.

When Rumlow moved forward it broke the freeze on him that kept him blocking the door. He took a deep breath, mimicking Rumlow's scenting only to be absolutely assulted by the heavy dredges of a thick heat recently passed, traces that clung to Rumlow- Sam doubted they'd let him out since then.

He heard his growling demand but he was moving automatically, yanked by the bond and the scent and months and months of not having what his body and mind craved. So close that their foreheads pressed together, Rumlow just an inch or so shorter than him he breathed all of it in and felt a rippling shudder slide down his back. "You'll get them."

After all, it was deemed as pretty cruel to deny omegas those when they we wanted. Laws got passed making them available, easier to buy with minimal medical evaluation.

But he wanted this before the suppressants ruined Rumlow's scent- messed up an engineered as he believed it was. God, it almost felt natural.

[infligere]

While he was aware his disappointment had filtered, though he couldn't figure out why because they had been in one another's presence no more than half an hour before, he was forced to endure the tingle of protective anger. He curled a lip in the face of it, not needing the protection of anyone because he was strong enough to do for himself what had never been done for him in the past. He was on his own regardless of the damn bond.

His nostrils continued to flare with each breath, drinking in the scent that he mentally tagged as 'Wilson'. It was rich and fresh, like the air on a clear day after the fog had gotten burnt off, but just a touch of dirty, gunpowder, and something warm. He spent time considering it, rolling it over in his mind, since the last time he had actually scented an alpha he had probably been about seventeen and rebelling full force against his nature but still desperate for connection.

He froze when Sam stepped in, clearly scenting him, and he stiffened at the feel of warm skin against his forehead. He momentarily bristled before tiredly sighed and nodded. It had been a rough heat. He hadn't slept much.

Sam's scent and the warm radiating from the man fogged him momentarily. In a gesture he would be caught dead doing or admitting to, his left arm rose between them to pull away Sam's uniform collar so his right arm crossed to rub the scent gland on his wrist over the one on Sam's neck. His head tipped, nudging noses before realizing what was happening and immediately moving to back off.

"Good, that's the only quarter, I want. Everything else doesn't matter. CIA still tortures people, right?"

[airfoil]

The last thing he expected was acquiescence bu t it came without a fight and his agreement to provide causing Sam to let out the breath he'd been holding and drink in the hot metal tinge, like wood and iron, flesh that very clearly needed a wash but still satisfying to his nose. Comforting when it had no right to be.

Sam realized his eyes had closed at the contact and with the thread of their bond humming strong. When Rumlow moved they opened, dark brown eyeing Rumlow's face as his collar was pulled down and their scents were mixed. A gesture he allowed, allowed with a low crawling sound from his chest all approval.

"Pretty sure even Steve frowning at them won't stop that."

Candid as his reply had been, he wasn't going to let them torture him and how the thought made his hackles rise sang through the bond. Sam's hand napped to keep, hand blurring up to clasp around Rumlow's wrist and press it back to his own scent gland. This could escalate. They needed to part but- "Can we- "

What? Make this work? Talk about it? They needed to talk about it. Preferably not here in this cell with HYDRA's stink the only think that could turn sterile putrid. But as soon as they left there was going to be the whole deal of processing, debriefing and plying for the information Rumlow carried.

The sound of footsteps- Steve's - snapped him out of whatever it was and he pulled back, eyes focusing again. He switched to breathing through his mouth and hoped he hadn't started pumping out hormones that'd induce heat.

"Any others?" By the time Steve peered in Sam had let go. And by the Steve's grim face it was clear Rumlow was the only one remaining in the ward alive and present.

[infligere]

This wasn't like their first confrontation at all, which had been rough and violent and fighting against themselves and the bond that sought to ruin their conflict. He had been so heavily dosed on suppressants at the same, so worked up that he hadn't thought a bond could take, and it certainly hadn't stopped him from waging war on Wilson. The bond was never something he wanted because he hated dependency. He wanted his own strength, and he damn well wasn't giving it up for someone else.

Except just like that, he did. Tension bled from him at the mingling of their scents, and he felt the bond he had under strict control flare and needle at his mind. He tried to stamp it out, but it wiggled beyond his attempts, lodging harder and deeper than before.

"Ah well, hopefully they know what they're doing. I'd have to be bored with lame attempts," he drawled, though there was an undertone of challenge that was all 'do your worst'.

He froze again at the sudden fingers around his wrist, and under normal circumstances, he would have punched the other in the throat. However, the warmth of that grip held him only to clenching his hands into fists, and the question provoked a growl from him. This wasn't even supposed to be happening as it was! He didn't bond, and yet the vulnerability ate at him.

He turned his head and surged in those short seconds between Sam releasing his wrist and his lips and nose butting the scent gland under Wilson's wrist. The first hit is free; you'll pay dearly for all the others. He still flared his nostrils once, flicked the tip of his tongue against the skin and was gone within five seconds, distancing himself from the other man.

The expression was enough that he knew; in the hurry to escape and take everything, he was the only one left. Ah well, he'd faced bad odds before. "Does that mean we can go now since I've got no roommates in my cell block? Isolation is such a bore," he drawled, but his eyes darted back to Sam too often to hide the faint neediness clawing internally at him.

All omega. Bond and hormone withdrawal for far, far too long.

[airfoil]

Sam was about as thankful for Steve's presence as he is chafing against it because it served as a damn good reminder of who he was, who Rumlow was and where they where. Three key points that scattered, just dissolved at touch of Rumlow's tongue to his wrist. He was glad because there was something preventing him from just losing it after months of keeping it together under a strain he had never truly recognized until now, shoving Rumlow with all his allure and the scent of him he needed against the wall and having him there. No one had taken care of him through his heat and not even in the sense of relieving it. He hadn't been there to deal with it and part of himself paced angry, incensed by that knowledge.

It wasn't who he wanted to be and he didn't know if he liked it at all, despite how right it'd felt a few moments ago.

Steve was looking between them, already having done his double-take at Rumlow's appearance and now Sam felt the weight of both of their eyes (Rumlow's flicking away too often) on him. Steve's more questioning, checking and to that he could only shake his head, reaching up and turning back on his comm link.

"West ward clear. Only one recovered. Heading back to the drop off with them."

Then wordlessly he snagged the zipper to his jacket and pulled it down, shrugging out of it to hand to Rumlow without another word. The need was bleeding through and since they couldn't do anything about that he could at least offer that for the both of their sanities.

Besides, desert nights were cold and that uniform was threadbare at best.

[infligere]

Rumlow liked to think that once he was out of this room full of his own old stink that he would be clear-headed again and working to salvage himself. He was used to people glancing at him a lot because of the way that he looked, especially with the sheer success that he was for the experimentation. No one would know that he was in fact close to forty-five than the twenty-five that he appeared to be.

Both Sam and Steve's reactions to him were not unexpected. Men who know what he looked like, the broad-shouldered muscular appearance with the carefully careless rugged appearance was completely different from the almost fresh-faced young man who stood before them. He had been told that his eyes gave him away, older, shrewd and cunning in a way that serum couldn't detract.

He rubbed his face with a hand to prevent himself from continually looking at Sam, and he had long ago stopped looking at his thread-bare uniform. There are holes in the back and the knees and elbows, something he was also long used to.

He was surprised when Sam gave up a jacket to him, and he made a show of taking it reluctantly. He draped it over his shoulders rather than putting it on completely, and that was that as Steve stepped in to cuff his wrists together. Ah, they'd gotten upgrades, had they? Too bad that, since he was used to dislocating his thumbs but these made it impossible.

Sam's scent rising from the jacket filled his head, and he went without a fuss through the hallways between the two men. His eyes flicked around to take stock of the man power and if he would be able to get a weapon easily. A few people stopped to stare at him, some might have even recognized him.

Ah, so this must have been what the Asset had felt like on the walk between cryostasis and maintenance, huh? He tucked his nose briefly into the jacket collar to breathe deeply before returning his attention to the long walk, and slowly his usual confident swagger began to bleed into his gait, his shoulders setting in that lax powerful set that had maintained, but it was all wrong with his current size and musculature.

[airfoil]

People were milling and sweeping as they made their way out, tracking through the main open level of the open Hive and then down to were a veritable fleet of cars waited. Apparently the other two teams had finished up as well and about half of them were waiting while the other half went about clean-up and recovery. There was no threat but he still felt on-edge with the number of alphas around and their casting gazes though he knew, they weren't attempting to contend...for the most part.

The ones that stopped to obviously gawk got a pointed look with Sam eventually giving in and closing the gap that between him and Rumlow as they crossed towards the vans. It felt like a longer walk than it was and the whole time he was either casting about for potential threats or fixated on the man in front of him, catching him breathing into the collar of his jacket and the gradual shift of his stride.

It was all wrong with those hips and the too long hair. That sort of aggressive sway begged for a crew-cut, for broader shoulders. A lot of bravado for an omega, which caught the looks of the people that didn't appear to immediately recognize Rumlow.

Steve opened up the back of the furthest van up, quipping something to Rumlow before tilting his head to gesture for him to get in. -not personal, was all he caught over the sudden fire of chatter over his comm. He followed after Rumlow's scent and form more than anything else, sitting next to him on the padded benches. Steve climbed in on the other side, closing the door before it opened a few seconds later.

Maria Hill peered her way in, reeling back at the combination of scents before her eyes settled on Rumlow. "Huh."

She held a laptop, open still as her eyes shifted over to Cap. "Well, one's better tha none, right? We'll see you boys back at base."

The door slammed again, echoed by the back of Sam's head hitting the metal wall of the van.

This was going to be a long two hour ride.

[infligere]

Most of the team that had been put together were either alphas or betas, but most of the alphas. He was used to the sight having served as much as he had on STRIKE where tough bastards always rose to the top; there had been a theory that omegas had no place challenging the domain of that kind of aggression and need for manliness. He wasn't the first to change that theory, but he had also not told anyone what he was. He had built himself up before he joined.

He stared down the other gawkers all his own, the corner of his lip rising in a smirk of challenge, arrogant and certain despite his reduced size. He ignored the fact that he hadn't been given an opportunity to bathe since his heat began, and his scent clung to him like a belated advertisement. As if Wilson would let anyone get close enough, protective act and all.

Rumlow didn't put up a fuss in climbing into the back of the van and flopping down on the padded seat which was far more comfortable than anything he had sat on for a long time. He used both hands to tug the collar of Sam's jacket around his neck a little more tightly as he was soon joined by his protective bond and Rogers.

He tilted his head at the appearance of Hill. He immediately smirked at her. "Wow Hill, you're looking old. I still owe you a bullet to your pretty little forehead," he said, spreading his legs as he would have as an alpha. "Don't think I've forgotten."

Of course, the door was shut and he was alone with Sam and Steve. "Ah, it's good to be among friends again."

[airfoil]

Rumlow at least got a lip curl for his efforts before the door was shut.

Sam huffed in the pause between that and the engine starting up and Rumlow starting his mouth up right afterwards. He wished absently that there were actually windows in the back part of the van, something to give a little air to the coiling iron-sweetness coming from the man next to him.

"Man, don't start..."

A long-suffering plea. He remembered enough of their brief conversation (most of it snarling, yelling) at the Triskelion to not want his snark for two hours. "When's the last time you ate?"

Apparently, Steve was going to let him handle most of this.

[infligere]

Rumlow was warm and comfortable, more so now than he had ever been in his life. There was a hum to his flesh that had never been inside of it before, the calming waves of satisfaction from a productive heat, a sleep of a few hours, and the gentle wash of bond through his sleepy mind as it slowly pulled free of the hazy dreamless state he had found himself in. A part of him didn't want to wake, just wanted to stay just like that in the warm loosen confines under the blanket and nestled into the mattress with Wilson's body, bond and breath washing all over him.

They had moved at some point. He couldn't pinpoint much of time aside from when they were having sex or knotted together and when they were settled close or dozing for the next time to repeat the first two options. Somehow, Wilson had convinced the people running the joint to let them out of the interrogation room that he had originally put in, abandoning their ruined clothing and the equipment. He remembered gluing himself to Wilson, all snarls and alpha-like challenges to everything from the walls to any cameras that they passed. He didn't know or care of the facility enough to even track the path that they had taken. All he knew was that they had ended up in a place that was livable with a big bed with clean sheets and smelled fresh and clean.

It didn't stay that way long, not once they had found the bed anyway. Now, his heat was over, the hormones a low pleasant simmer and his limbs that pleasant kind of heavy. He stretched his legs out, curling his toes and making a soft sleepy noise as he gradually came awake and aware. He nestled into Wilson's firm chest, his alpha's scent all familiar and comforting even as his eyes blinked opened and he became aware of the dried pull of their mixed cum between his legs, on his hips and along his ass. He made a soft humming noise as he drew a hand over his flat muscular belly and realized a moment later what he was doing.

He lifted his head to peer around, laid out on his stomach and nestled close to sleeping Wilson next to him. The motion of jerking his head up cracked open the scabbing on his neck where the bond was scarring quickly to announce his state of bonded. He reached up with fingers to poke at the thick mat of scabbing, feeling the bond surge with that motion, all still so new and raw.

Rumlow issued several soft huffing grunts as he shifted to crawl away, assurances to a sleeping mate to not be alarmed by his distance. He only had to take a piss after all. He moved up and walked with little of his usual balance, more of a sashay to the bathroom where he did what he set out the do and regarded the flecks of dried semen and slick with growing disdain. He felt so damn good, but he was covered inside and out with the stuff. Now that he could think clearer, he understood that being bond-starved and then suddenly bonding and mating had been a bit... more than most pairs accomplished.

He flushed the toilet and approached the mirror, smoothing his fingers through the overly long hair and disliking it. He'd get Wilson to cut it, he decided. He was forced to tuck some of it behind his ears, and he leaned forward to examine his appearance before his eyes dropped to the obvious bond bite scabbing his neck. Forty-five years old, reduced to twenty-five... and bonded fast and hard, everything he had never wanted to do. The worst part as he ran his fingers over the scabbing was that he had wanted it, that he had offered over and over for it, desperately seeking that connection so long denied to him through everyone.

Now he had it.

His fist impacted with the wall all the same, aware that smashing the mirror would make too much noise. A bonded omega. He hated most that he wasn't as upset as he thought he should be. His knuckles throbbing, he moved to return to the bed.

[airfoil]

Couldn't say they did not make up for all the lost time.

It broke like a fever after one last hard roll. Once Rumlow's heat tapered off he stopped pumping out so much of the hormones that had been throwing Sam into full-rut and the exhaustion of how long they'd been going at it, careless about the outside world and only breaking to slip or when they were trapped together by his knot. Even then they hadn't really stopped because Sam kept touching, mapping every inch of his mate with a clamoring desire to have him, keep him, take care of his needs. Sam sprawled with Rumlow close until his mate started moving, those short grunts placating but not enough to keep him from slipping all the way back to sleep.

No, the fact he was starving, sweaty and streaked with his own pattern of their releases, muscles burning from all their fucking got in the way of that And now that his head was clearer the fact that he could taste Rumlow in his mouth and their bond was singing strong and whole truly registered. He remembered now all the times that Rumlow had bared his neck until Sam finally took it and how perfect it'd felt - still felt.

There was a low ache of discontent that'd been with him for so long which wasn't there anymore. He'd wanted someone and now he had someone.

That was about the time that Rumlow's fist found the wall.

Sam was clearly awake when the other man returned, shaggy hair a complete mess, his body soft from where HYDRA's serum bleed away the years and the lack of black-market suppressant nursed. It was his eyes that Sam flicked up to look at, pushing up to sit.

Rumlow's primary scenting gland was a brutal bruise of reds and molting purples on the side of his neck. Undeniable.

"You want a turn at the shower, you can have first dibs." Which seemed easier to address than the vast expanse of their twined futures. Plus he wanted to see just where Rumlow was at towards him, what he felt through the bond was a chaotic mix. "Maybe see if we can get some room service in here." Ruts could be so damn brutal. He never remembered to eat though he recalled keeping enough sense in him to keep pushing water on Rumlow when they had lulls.

[infligere]

He flexed his hand as he returned to the bed, his knuckles reddened but otherwise just aching from what he had done. There was no point drawing attention to it, and he was equally pleased that Wilson made no fuss over his antics in the bathroom either. He wasn't an omega that wanted to be coddled under any circumstances that he presently knew about and their continual and frequent rolls in the sheets had never been anything like that.

Lifting one leg, he set his knee on the edge of the bed, and it was his turn to allow his eyes to rake over Wilson, the various love bites standing out to him and the scent of his alpha a pleasant smell that invaded his head but no longer overwhelmed him. There was a calm wash of sensation and acceptance that moved between them it seemed but otherwise the rest of the sensations jumbled together too tightly to pick apart. He still reached out to scratch his fingers against Wilson's scalp.

"I guess I'm a bit of a mess," he agreed and found himself softened towards the alpha, though he figured it was post-heat bonding sensations and would fade. "You get food, I'll get clean. I might even leave you some food after you shower after me," he said before stretching his achy sore body. "Unless you plan on joining me in the shower?"

[airfoil]

Sam's eyes slipped closed at the contact and he crawled closer, rolling with the sort of welcoming threaded back through towards him. His hand skirted over Rumlow's side, knowing just how to fit now and where resting felt most comfortable.

He eased back as Rumlow stretched, following the lines of their body. Instinct said Rumlow needed as much food as he wanted. Sam? Nah,no as unfailingly generous when his stomach was gnawing.

"You better," he huffed, scratching light over that patch of skin he'd been palming a second ago. Now he recognized this as what Steve mentioned a few times once they found BUcky again. Rogers had shrugged his shoulders and simply explained he just felt content, though that was after the two weeks he disappeared with his mate and they obviously spent that time 'catching up'.

"...actually," Sam considered that for a moment. Likelihood the heat room shower was bugged? Significantly lower. "Yeah."

[infligere]

The shower was freely available and yet here he was still lingering by the bed, letting their new closeness be an excuse to stay. Wilson was warm and all smooth lines with a softness that wasn't always present in the throes of rut. They had been rather determined to get everything they could during that but now, here, there was a subtle softness he liked to ignore before they had opened up the bond completely.

It was probably the first thing he noted as being a 'comfort' to him when it came to just being close to Wilson.

He made a soft humming noise at the back of his throat at the contact, his own hand returning to curve and stroke the back of Wilson's neck. He raised an eyebrow, sensing something in the bond that was not required in words, and he had played the shady game enough for years to know when it was happening. He kept his voice the same level though so as not to alert attention.

"You get someone to get us food, and I'll go turn on the shower and get it to an acceptable temperature. Then we'll get clean before we get dirty again," he said, though he would be just fine with faking the motions and sounds to know whatever it was Wilson wanted to say. "Now, off you go and off I go."

He did, with great reluctance, pull away from his alpha and moved back to the bathroom, but he continually turned his head to catch sight of his bond until there was no choice but to disappear from sight. Only then was he productive enough to do what he said that he would and that was to check the towels and do a quick sweep of the bathroom looking for microphones as he turned on the water. He only found one and disabled it.

[airfoil]

Sam almost laughed at the chipper way Rumlow went about their designations and the next short course of action. He wanted to hold on, keep near; just about as much as it was apparent that Rumlow wanted to but let him draw away from the bed in the sake of getting something done. He stayed easily in sight until Rumlow had moved into the bathroom completely and they couldn't keep looking at each other like bond-drunk, pair-mates.

Though, wasn't that what they were right now?

Moving was a chore he hadn't felt in a while, like a hard marathon or mission. Sam hobbled his way to the speaker by the door, smacked his palm on it and wanted for someone to answer. He didn't recognize the voice but they were amiable enough, taking down his plea for an excess of food. Before he signed off with the disembodied agent voice through the speaker he asked just how long they'd been holed away in this room.

"Oh."

Was his simple response to that answer. Sam let them know that at least 30 minutes would be good before bringing the food by and signed off, hobbling his way over to the shower which he heard running. Something hot and consistent on his muscles sounded like it'd be a godsend, honestly.

"Three days."

That's what he said in announcing his presence as he joined Rumlow.

[infligere]

Rumlow had never been bond-drunk before, had no idea what it was about until he realized that he really, really didn't want to be out of Wilson's presence for too long. He hated the sheer idea of being needy in such a way, but at the same time, it was a strange kind of refreshing as well. He had never been attached to anyone on such a level before, so he could see why people fell into it and wandered around for days just cuddled close and being all couple-cute. He and STRIKE had so often made disparaging comments, since those who had bonded had been that way for a while and the 'bachelors' had no plans on bonding ever.

So here he was standing in the bathroom checking the water temperature with awareness of his state of being. He was no longer a bachelor, the longest running one of STRIKE anyway. He had lost everything that he had gained back then, his physique, his pride as a pretend alpha, his rank, even his stupid title. Now look at him? Small, de-aged, a prisoner of SHIELD, and who know the state of his insides at this point. Enough sex for guarantees, but maybe his body was retarded and had no idea what to do.

He sighed heavily and was about to step into the shower when he felt more than saw Wilson entering the bathroom. He glanced over his shoulder immediately. "Plus the one in my original cell," he added. "So four days total; that's... unfortunately typical." He slipped into the shower now that Wilson was there in the bathroom, sliding under the water that was almost scorching hot. It almost immediately raised the blood to his skin, causing him to look flush and rosy.

"Hurry up, the water's just fine."

[airfoil]

Part of Sam wondered if he'd done that on purpose- the pinkness rising on his skin only set out to compliment that well-fucked look slicked up by the shower's spray. Sam looked with something more deeply set than just lust pulling in him. He wasn't going to just subscribe to lust because he wasn't quite sure if his dick would survive another round so soon after some three days nonstop.

He forced himself to move, grunting shortly in his throat at the hot sting of the water on his skin. It was adjusted automatically, just a hair down so it wasn't scalding. "That's 'just fine' for you?" Incredulity laced his voice.

Sam crowded close, his hands finding placement against Rumlow's sides while his head tucked down with their temples pressing together. "Do you just take your coffee on fire or something?"

[infligere]

Goddamn it was good to feel like he was going to be clean, feeling the hot tendrils of water wash away old sweat grime and semen from his skin. He was keenly aware of Wilson without having to look, and he was just pleased to have the guy in the same room as him again.

He narrowed his eyes when his water was adjusted down, shivering as if cold pointedly. "Yes, and now it's cold. Why would you want a cold shower?" He shifted a foot to not-so-subtly turn it back up and the steam that rose was significant even as his arms curled around Wilson's waist and draw his alpha in.

"You gonna light my cup of coffee on fire for me?" He nuzzled to side of Wilson's neck. "I can put ice cubes in yours if you like."

[airfoil]

"It wasn't cold." Sam insisted as he eyed Rumlow adjusting the temperature back up with the frank debate over the fight being worth it or not. The water climbed back to heated at an incline he could actually tolerate for now so he let it go, further swayed by Rumlow drawing in closer.

"If that's how you like it," He murmured it back, half-laughing before there was a sigh at the sluice of water, the contact and Rumlow nuzzling. "I do go for a good iced coffee every once in a while." The black swill they had overseas on tour was enough to last a lifetime. Being back home and all on paper as a civilian? He let himself indulge. Got something close if he grabbed a cup at the VA anyway.

Sam tugged on the Rumlow's ear with his teeth, hands slipping around to rest fingertips at the small of his back.

"You find any company?"

[infligere]

It was colder than how he had it, which in his mind, made it cold. He was pleased that his alpha decided not to bicker about the temperature and he settled into the flow of water and ignored the fact that they should be getting clean and not nuzzling and touching each other. This was all on SHIELD's dime and time, so he admitted that having a shower with Wilson was highly pleasant. Damn his alpha looked handsome all wet.

"Do you? I've never had a good one, so clearly when we get out of this place, you're obligated to show me," he mused. He leaned into the tug on his ear, following it with a slide of his hand up the center of Wilson's back and scratching his nails lightly back down again.

"I've got you for company," he replied. "Other than that, I haven't found anyone to cheat on you with." Meaning he hadn't found any bugs or microphones. "You gonna whisper sweet nothings at me?"

[airfoil]

Bond-drunk. They could, if they needed to, chalk it all up to that. It was definitely a factor considering how Sam couldn't stop touching Rumlow with a fine edge of marveling at the sensation of just his skin alone. Maybe after a few days the hormones would bleed out and it'd be a little less dizzying. They did go one from one end of the spectrum all the way to the other.

But it was nice to touch without the claws of heat or being starved for that contact an overwhelming force.

"Deal." Said with a hiss, a light nip pressed against Rumlow's jaw at that drag of nails, light scratches to join the score already etched deeper into his backs. They'd do Starbucks if they had to. Shame they couldn't immediately go to the shop by his place.

He rumbled approval, skipping right over even thinking about Rumlow with anyone else in the abstract. "Only reason we're working with SHIELD was to get you out. Steve...wanted to at least look over what they're doing now that they're regrouping but my mission was you. Now that that's done, I think all of us are ready to split. Might be a day or two but they're not going to keep you here permanently."

Undermining large semi-secret agencies: something like sweet nothings? Sam nudged, bumping their hips and turning Rumlow around before grabbing some shampoo from the automatic dispensers to lather up.