Brock Rumlow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
infligere) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
spaces_between2015-03-13 08:06 pm
infligere) wrote in spaces_between2015-03-13 08:06 pm
We're all going to Hell
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."
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."
no subject
- which then roamed appreciative as a growl built in his chest at the sight Rumlow presented, spread and mused, fucked once but clearly wanting it again with his neck bared just offering-
He pulled off the other boot, socks going with and went to claim. It felt like his cock barely got soft at all he felt himself stiffening up all over again, hard, jutting out, rolling against Rumlow's hip once he deposited them both on the slab that wanted to call itself a bed. At least it didn't have everyone's boot-treads over it and they could collapse more comfortable, together and snug (because it was not set to house two men, even if one was omega) between one round and the next until Rumlow's heat banked enough for them to relocate.
Setting to that and giving them what they both need Sam pushed Rumlow onto his stomach, using his weight to keep him there and thrust to slide himself back in which felt like bliss all over again. “There,” he growled, biting the meat of Rumlow's right shoulder as he started to move. “Am I too slow now?”
no subject
It was the first time in thirty years he could appreciate the power of his status, rather than either loathe it or be indifferent to it. As Sam came forward to crowd him on the floor, he stroked a hand once up the thickness of the man's erection, tipping his chin back further in a rare show of respect even as he was lifted away from the floor and settled on the cold slab that made up his bed.
He hissed at the cold against his burning skin, but he didn't put up more than a snarl when he was flipped onto his stomach. Instead, he set his elbows and elevated his hips, rocking them in invitation that was entirely unnecessary as a moment later Wilson was filling him again. He let out a ragged shout as everything in life just slid into place perfectly.
His shout changed to a groan as teeth flared pain in his shoulder, and he rocked and rolled under Wilson's weight. "Like a goddamn grandmother," he hissed back, trying to balance himself on the slab and ended up with one leg dangling off, but he felt so damn good that he could care less. "Come on, Wilson... mate me as if you actually know how."
no subject
Rumlow's goading was exactly that but it worked in spurring Sam into moving hard enough that he'd wring the words right out of Rumlow's throat, give him more of the pure sounds and curses, evidence that he was mating him just right. Sam braced himself with an arm locked around and under his omega's to keep them from sliding right off the slab of metal. The other twined around, finding Rumlow's cock and claiming that in his grasp, stroking when the rocking of their bodies didn't have Rumlow rolling into the curl of his fingers. It was fucking. Mating. Mind-fuzzingly good as the first round and not enough, not until Rumlow was thick with his knot again.
Teeth worried and dug until the spot he'd claimed on the other man's shoulder was a brutal furious red but it still felt off. Seeking as Sam felt himself start to swell at his base all over again, he pushing into the bond which was snapping, cracking an echoing pleasure that revealed in their closeness. He needed more. Wanted more with a need now overriding the few shreds of his logic that he'd clung to. Bond-starved and mate-less after all this time, finally allowed to rut-
He pulled on the bond, dragging it closer like his hands, like the join oft heir bodies.
no subject
His hips and ass flexed up and back, impaling himself on his mate as hard as he could so that moans and curses were wrung from him, as close to words as he could manage. The bond was hot and heavy in his mind, pressing a security that he had never wanted and thought he had never needed across him. The hot weight of Wilson's chest against his back helped too, the slide of their sweat-slick skin against each other even as he hissed in both wordless pleasure and frustration at the flare of pain on his shoulder. He tipped his head to the side, exposing the side of his neck again and not even caring that the offer was once again being made. In that moment, he simply felt like he needed it.
"Wilson... come on..." he half-snarled, half-howled.
The bond was growing rapidly, but it felt like it was missing something vital. He didn't and couldn't fathom it. He just rammed back, hoping and needing it to feel complete.
no subject
Only more.
Only his mate tipping his head in clear invitation for at least the third time now, voice harsh in his beckoning with the same need that sang through the bond and kicked the roughness in his
If he didn't that'd leave all of this unfinished. Someone else could mark him, take him though he knew his mate would likely kill anyone who tried. He could lose him and the overwhelming grasp of instinct latched on his mind so much like teeth on its own couldn't stomach the idea.
Sam lifted his mouth away from Rumlow's shoulder, raw and red and clearly claimed there. He shoved his face into his mate's neck, groaning harsh and open those something in the back of his clamored to get him to stop.
More of him gathered at how right it felt. Breeding his mate, giving everything that the ruthless demand of his heat impressed on them. Sam felt that missing part of the bond as well, like claws digging out something hollow and cold against the other warmth.
He buried himself once more, mouth opening over the slightly swollen fragrance of his scent glands.
And he bit.
no subject
The hot pull of the bond had his attention fixated entirely on Wilson behind him, and he found himself getting to know a man he barely knew anything about. It was warm, secure, and welcoming with the undertone of desperate vicious need. It threatened to overwhelm him separately, to loosen his very grip on himself and wash them away.
And then Sam's teeth sunk into his skin and forced the hardened, swollen gland in his neck to contract under the pressure. Bonding endorphins and hormones flooded his system immediately, ripping a sound that no human throat normally made in any other situation, a cross between a yelp and a trill.
His world shifted instantly. Aspects and parts of himself that had never seemed out of place before suddenly aligned, old fears of bonding were washed aside, and there was a sudden pleasure filled peace that he had never known even existed. A part of him that had played the part of alpha so long rebelled and had their positions been different, he probably would have bitten right back. Instead, he let out a low moan as he experienced the sensation of being welcomed like never before, a safe place, a chance at a life that had never existed until that moment.
Rumlow came as the bond alighted through every nerve in his body, spilling himself over his mate's hand as he drove back onto Wilson's erection and clamped with a desperate unrelenting grip. His muscles and body rolled silently, begging and making every effort to make up for lost time, wasted time now that they were together for the first time.
no subject
Rumlow's low moan was echoed and he felt the tension suddenly build and release as his mate came. Through it Sam continued to hold onto him, move in him while his knot swelled to follow in suit. He all but whined as Rumlow's body clamped around him and the swell at the base, pushing forward into one last one of Rumlow's matching undulations before he was set deep in him and tied, coming with harsh groans spilling out between the merciless sink of his teeth. This is mine. No one was going to be able to deny that with how deep the mark he was going to leave would go. He tasted omega and Rumlow and traces of blood from broken worried skin but it was exactly how it should be.
Sam kept rocking even after the first aching pulses through his cock ebbed into something shorter and Rumlow was filled again. He reached around, hitching the other man closer to him to keep him from falling and between to stroke Rumlow's cock through the last bit of his while finally releasing the near-brutal hold in his neck and licking over the wound. There his own nature and not harsh instinct filtered back in. He lapped and laved, pausing to pant and to nuzzle against the back of Rumlow's sweat-damp hair.
Sam held him tight both in the bond and in the flesh, shuddering at the open floor between them and the parts of Rumlow he'd never been able to feel. It felt nearly as intense as it'd been in the truck but on the complete opposite end of the spectrum because this -
This felt right.
no subject
Slowly, he reached back with a hand to set it to the back of Wilson's head, fingers trembling slightly with the continued rock and waves of pleasure that left him reeling and cast out like they were at sea. He braced on his one forearm, probably only maintaining his position because there was the warm brace of arms around his middle holding him from just slipping off the bed even if it could never break the knot and tie of their bodies.
He shuddered when those pressure on his neck lifted, the warm slide of blood on his flesh not something that he paid attention to. It was expected in a bonding process, and his fingers just half touched, half clung to the back of Wilson's head as he worked on just breathing and rubbing his back into Sam's chest as his eyes half-closed with the nuzzling. He rolled his hips just to feel to tug of the knot, the inescapable fact that the pair of them were so in trouble and he doubted either of them cared one bit about it.
"...Wilson, you gonna make it?"
no subject
Was he going to make it? Sure. What was this on top of everything else he'd been through. And some part of him was still open and hopeful, feeling Rumlow's acceptance of the bond in the current moment, feeling him a riot of loyalty, determination, fearlessness, discipline.
Loss.
Old wounds, scars healed up hard.
Sam outright moans at the roll of Rumlow's hips, unable to stop the answering buck of his hips into snug warmth moving against him. His cock pulsed, offering up a small spurt of come as he humped shallowly.
"God- don't," Groaned.
"Don't do that. Swear, I won't ever stop."
The demand of his rut certainly wanted to keep going.
Sam swallowed thickly and took another breath to even out, settling back thick inside with a little less movement. "But yeah, I'll make it just fine. You?" Honest concern filtered through the bond as Sam scented along the back of Rumlow's neck.
no subject
Rumlow shuddered at the answering buck of hips, the shift of the knot stimulating his body to roll and nestle deeper into Wilson's chest. If he had been posing as an alpha, the width of his shoulders would have made it impossible to tuck in, but he had lost that muscle and became far more lean as an omega so he fit like a glove against his mate's chest.
"Don't want you to stop," he murmured huskily, too deep in heat and stimulated by Wilson's rut to care about the need for anything but what they were currently doing. The electrifying throb of the bond wasn't helping in making him resistant either.
Slowly, he settled and tipped his head forward so the back of his neck was a gentle curved line. "I've survived worse," he murmured, which was definitely true. Survival was what he knew best, and right now, everything was too perfect to see passed the euphoria of the new bond and mating to recognize that he might not be so fine once he could use his brain and not his hormones for thinking. "You feel good. You smell good. Everything is just the way it should be."
no subject
“No more surviving.”
Not with him. They could figure out how to live with this and each other. The rightness between them now provide this wasn't wrong, right? Sam's hand shifted down, searching to find what state Rumlow's cock was in, wrapping around it to play with idly since they were stuck together for the immediate future.
“We need a real bed. Gonna move us soon as we can." With the knowledge that whatever room they were put up in wouldn't be mic'd as completely as Rumlow's current observation cell.
no subject
"What else is there? It's what I do," he reminded, even in heat unwilling that things were better for the long-term. The bond warmed him in the same way his body was warm and comfortable, but nothing good lasted. It was the way of the world; he'd just enjoy it now until it was gone.
He groaned and parted his knees to Sam's hand, rolling his hips towards the contact even if he was only half-hard thanks to being in heat. He still moved in the limited space he could, stimulating the drag and press of the knot and his muscles rhythmically clenched around it and was reduced to making all manner of sounds that had no words. It was a struggle to form the sentence, "let's just get out of here."
no subject
“I can show you,” Sam replied once he broke away, licking over the new red imprint in Rumlow's skin with satisfaction. The clench and press of his body around him kept him in thick of his rut, a haze of pleasure only amplified by their new whole bond. He'd probably promise the moon if Rumlow asked for it, swear to almost anything he asked, breed him until his primed body truly got with child. “Stay, just stay near me. Trust me and I'll show you.”
He stroked Rumlow, memorizing the feel of his cock in his hand while his mate shifted, writhing with those minute shifts while issuing more sounds that kept him hungry, kept him wanting. Honestly, it wasn't the best plan if he wanted the swell of his knot to go down sooner rather than later but he couldn't help it. He needed to touch. Make his mate feel good. Take care of his heat.
“Can you trust me?”
no subject
"Nothing good lasts unless you covet it yourself," he murmured softly, the entirely jaded part of him by long years of let downs was talking. He had long ago learned to do things for himself and with his own strength, which made this an inopportune time to talk. At the same time, he couldn't think of a better time either, what with the pleasure and hormones soaking them to their cores. It kept them honest. "Right now, I won't be more than five feet from you."
There was nothing more to it as Wilson stimulated him, and his hips rocked with the motions of that hand and his own. He was soon fully hard again, arching and rolling his body as he tipped his head to one side, exposing the bloody teeth imprint on his main scent gland.
"...maybe," he huskily groaned. He didn't trust easily.
no subject
The mark he left still bled where it wasn't scabbed over completely but it was deep and he could already tell it was going to be one of those bold scarrings that some omegas wore that would be left behind.
Nothing really could be done to take that back.
Sam tightened his grip and sped the pace of his fist, driving to push his mate into another release. ...unless you covet it yourself. He wasn't bothered by the maybe either because the honesty of that could be felt. 'No' would have slammed the door shut, 'yes' would have been a placating lie as much as it would have been nice to hear. He hitched tighter against Rumlow's body and leaned to lap at blood and skin, sweat and scabbing which was his. His and made himself Rumlow's just as much.
Maybe, he could work with.
He pressed down just under the plush head of Rumlow's cock, bucking with the swell of his knot still keeping Rumlow stretched and full. “ I can live with 'maybe'. C'mon, one more. One more like this.”
no subject
Yet, he shuddered and made a surprised whine when Wilson's tongue ran over the overly sensitive wound on his scent gland. It contracted in response, and the bond opened wider within his mind as Wilson's warmth, steadiness, and needs passed through him as if they were both locked into the same two-way connection.
Maybe, just maybe in time he could trust this guy like he had come to trust his STRIKE team.
His hands stretched back over his head to slide around the back of Wilson's neck as he moved within the confines of the knot, letting Sam's hand work him to that spot that was both painful and pleasurable, so close, so near to where they both wanted him to be. It was perhaps the second, maybe third time, they had shown that they could be united in purpose and while small now, it could translate over to greater and bigger things.
He groaned loud and throaty as he came, his teeth clenching as he drove himself back down harder on Wilson's knot and released himself over his stomach and Wilson's hand. He breathed hard, allowed the full wave of his pleasure to wash down the bond between them.