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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."
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Yet, he admitted curiosity as to what the hell Steve was doing. He'd never seen the man have an expression like that, there but not. He stiffed at the sheer idea of communicating with a bond rather than who; he knew damn well who it was. "You can do that, huh? Sounds awful... having someone in your head all the time poking around like it's their business."
He took another sip of water from the bottle, watching Steve closely as if maybe he could discover what was passing between the two. Of course, there was that look and he tipped his bottle at Rogers like some kind of salute.
"Makes a piss poor guard that way, you know. I could escape without someone actually guarding me."
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Sam was the one to shake his head.
"Yeah, have fun making it back anywhere on your own." There'd been a brief sweep for trackers before getting into the van, who knew if Rumlow had anything internally that'd let HYDRA know just where he was but he wouldn't put it pass them. Hill still had a scatterer running, enough noise being produced that should throw anything off.
"What do you think I'm doing?" He was probably going to regret that question, wasn't he?
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"I've got a few skills left," he said simply, which was pretty much that he knew how to hide. His clothing, his bound wrists and the fact he had no supplies certainly wouldn't serve him well, but he figured he could take his chances. It was better than a CIA hole as far as he was concerned.
He turned his head to look Sam over, and he nestled his nose into the jacket collar again, breathing deep. His eyes half-closed a moment before he shook himself out of it enough to answer. "Sitting on your ass hoping I fall in a ditch and die. Or sitting on your ass thinking how unlucky you are. One of the two."
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Sam considering himself to be though he had to keep reminding himself he was somewhat compromised right now. Every time Rumlow went to draw in his scent it was obvious. It brought a curling want right back to the front of his mind – one that needed to draw Rumlow closer to him than just at his side, mesh them together and...
“It probably would have been a lot easier if one of us had kicked it, true. I spent the first couple of months figuring you would. It felt...flickering. Then it got stronger.”
Despite the distance. Despite their ages and the brief amount of time around one another. Despite pretty much everything that should have made bonding impossible between them or at least sent the tether fraying and dissolving once they weren't in immediate proximity.
“Likelihood someone's going to come and try and put you down?” HYDRA wasn't so fond of loose ends they could tie up, after all.
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Sam didn't seem to be on guard with him, not in the sense of keeping him in his seat. If anything, the other man seemed intent on watching him as much as he was, and he knew that their proximity made this entire ride (however long it would be) very dangerous. Already, the bond was a blanket of warmth at the edge of his mind, creeping closer to cover him entirely if he wasn't on guard.
He shrugged at the mention of flickering, aware that there had been more than once where his injures had been discussed in a manner that made experimentation dangerous. He wasn't used up entirely, so they went ahead. If he died, he would still have been of brief use.
"Surviving is in my nature, so maybe you should have tried a little harder to get off'd." He sighed and leaned his head back against the truck, watching Steve being all distant across from them. "Maybe, or they'll recapture me. I am a medical miracle."
Slowly, curious as much as tired, he mentally reached for Sam. There was that spot he ignored most of the time in his consciousness, like a string that tugged on him from time-to-time. He mentally touched on it and stiffened at the warmth that flooded his body.
That might have been what coming home felt like. He wouldn't know; he'd never felt it before.
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“I am,” he insisted. He wouldn't let anyone hurt Rumlow and he wasn't going to let Rumlow harm anyone else as much as possible.
But he'd admit, he was too easily distracted now and the moment he felt Rumlow reach for their bond his attention fell solely to that. His eyes shut and he sighed, tension bleeding out from him as he stopped pushing the awareness away and just let it run through. It felt like finally bedding down after a long day, the air cold around but everything cozy and perfect and right underneath the covers.
He knew what home left like and he knew, so acutely, that he hadn't felt it ever since SHIELD came down.
Just this much contact was already strengthening the hungry thread, building it further. Sam reached out without thinking, needing contact along with the wrap of their minds and slid his hand down Rumlow's forearm until their wrists were pressed together, scents mingling just above the line of the cuffs.
It felt right. Resonating all through him. Sam turned his head in and towards his bond, wondering how the hell he could miss someone he barely knew this much.
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The moment of the next combat faded when the bond between them flared mutually, and he felt his chest constrict as the warmth and rightness flooded through him. It made breathing difficult, and his back straighten as he struggled to cope with the so very newness of that kind of sensation. Part of him wanted to surrender and just be washed away, but another part which had dominated his life since he was aware of himself clung to control with every last fingernail.
Rumlow stilled as the brush of skin, the slide of it down his arm until their scent glands were pressed together, mingling their hormones. He shifted his wrist so that the cuff moved down his arm, and it was as shocking and warm as the last time they had done this. He was breathing fast and shallow, caught between being overwhelmed as the bond grew inside of him to a monstrous thing that pushed outwards against his control and realizing he was about to jump from a high cliff.
His head turned to sight Wilson next to him, swallowing hard and twitching across his shoulders and arms as their contact continued.
He was drowning. He couldn't breathe. He was being swallowed up, his control stripped away until he was just a shivering mess of an omega so long starved that it was bridging on painful to have this contact. He made a low desperate sound, his eyes widening, and he looked like he might just be having a heart-attack right there in the truck except that his gaze was fixed on Wilson.
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That wasn't really reducing contact but he found that he was moving automatically, instinct guiding him in what he should do. He wanted to kiss him- feed at his mouth with the brutal intensity ripping at them both but he had the good sense to know that if he started he wouldn't be able to stop. Again, Steve's presence was a godsend and a torment. He wasn't going to get on and start rutting with someone else watching.
But that desperate keen, Rumlow's wide searching eyes made him want and need to do something. God, it was too strong. They shouldn't be like this with HYDRA making Rumlow some sort of engineered omega. Something should be wrong.
He set his face into his omega's neck without thing, nuzzling close to tilt it back. At the same time he took the mass of their bond and dragged it back in his head, shifted the tide so it was flowing towards him more than anything else. Sam grunted at the intensity, a shudder running down his spine but he breathed in Rumlow's scent and found strength in that. “Right here. I'm right here. I've got it. Easy.”
Teeth nipped but didn't bite. They ached too, though. God, did he ever want to mark him.
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He needed air. He tried to drink it in, but his throat closed as the bond swallowed him up. He found corners of himself that he knew existed by often ignored, little places where old hurts had long been buried away. His face reddened and his trembling increased to near-shaking until...
...the bond pulled back, the two-way conduit of them establishing something soul-breaking and grounding turning aside from him. He inhaled sharply a deep breath, and he gripped Wilson's hand in a death-grip as he breathed deep and freely, his eyes darting over to Steve watching them maneuver around each other far more deeply than physical.
He was drawn away and stiffened at the tease of teeth on his neck. He immediately jerked back, sending himself sprawling backwards and ramming his shoulders against the bulkhead of the truck, tearing their grips apart and him ending up rolling to hit the floor on his elbows on and knees. He trembled and gasped there.
"N-no biting... never that..."
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“No biting,” he repeated, promising it with a pained knit over his features as his gaze settled on Rumlow's shaking form. Apology was there, for what it was worth. Guilt washed through him thick enough to echo down the bond.
He'd asked back in Rumlow's cell with hitching hopeful uncertainty if they could-
And he didn't know what he'd been thinking.
“Shit, Steve. Steve. I can't hold all this, how do you shut it down- just- make it less-” There were remnants of something raw and lashing from Rumlow cutting into him. That on top of still pulling the majority of the bond like he'd done was threatening to send him into a similar drowning spiral. He hunched over, head dropping between his knees as Steve put himself directly in front of him, leaning close while he tried to talk him through easing the intensity of their open connection.
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He felt Steve move and stiffened up even if the super-soldier wasn't coming towards him. He grabbed at his long hair, pulling on it until pain flooded him, stilling the chaos and giving him something to grasp onto. He was too exposed, too close to Wilson but couldn't help the soft mantra of 'order through pain' sounding through his being.
Yet, something so very base alpha drew him staggering to his feet, an illusion he had long ago built for himself and mentally hadn't entirely let go. Something of his was in danger, and he turned with a snarl on Steve Rogers.
Wilson was his. Confused but aggressive, he moved to attack the super-soldier because there was nothing he could do about the bond that plucked at him. It became stronger too as his proximity with Wilson closed and despite all disadvantages, he was onto Steve's back and moving to get the chain linking his wrists down and around the man's throat, snarling...
...opening himself and the bond connection flooded him again. Disorienting him, the bond dragged him down as he dragged himself to Wilson.
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“Rumlow” Sam barked it, pushing up to his feet even as the resonate of his voice rounded with alpha tones filled the cabin.
The bond flooded open both ways at the same time and with it Rumlow was already leaving Steve, crawling across the brief space and Sam was there to grab him. He hauled him up against the front of the cabin back up on the bench, pressing close on top of him and caging him in. “You stand down.” It was hissed viciously in Rumlow's ear with the same tones. Attacking Steve was not acceptable.
The van lurched to a halt with that final crash, urging them closer for a second before it settled. He heard the front door open but didn't move, too caught up waiting for Rumlow's submission. His very breathing was ragged against the renewed flare of their bond. It didn't hurt but it did through sheer intensity. If they could just calm down it'd probably start feeling overwhelming good again.
So he radiated calm, pulled on a more controlled set of breathing.
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His hate at the world and everything in it was his armour even as he was hauled up to the bench and caged in while he lay on his back. He used it to try to soften the impact of the bond that was clawing at him again, tightening his chest. He hated it.
Yet, the command was firm and pressed him, and he did in fact stand down, laying almost boneless against the bench, his bound hand clenched tight enough to be painful. He gritted his teeth, trying to master himself and his reactions as the bond shifted to that tantalizing promise of warmth and connection. The calm press eased some of the heart-twisting tightness.
He glared up at Wilson, wishing to savage the alpha with it before his head was lifting and nestling deep into the crook of Sam's neck. He breathed deep the calming scent, his nose butting against the gland there, tongue darting out to taste it and calm returned to him even if he knew that this was all going to be very short lived.
Hill was not going to let this stand. He wouldn't either if he was in her position.
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It sounded hellish, honestly.
Sam stayed where he was hovering over Rumlow's form as he heard the front cabin of the truck open and shut. He had closed his eyes once he started focus on his breathing and soothing the thrashing panic being tossed between both of them. Hill's (probably Hill's, no idea if anyone else was up with her in the front) footsteps tracked around the van, muffled through metal.
He opened his eyes just in time for the full treat of Rumlow's impressive glare from under the tossed spill of his hair.
"Yeah, I know. You hate me." Didn't stop him from taking the line of his neck that Sam offered. He hunched forward, dipping down so Rumlow didn't have to strain to have what he was seeking. The back door open and while he tensed he stayed where he was, shifting through the tides of the bond starting to settle instead if giving his whole attention to Steve's low conversation with Hill behind him. The swipe of Rumlow's tongue was fine distraction. Sam had to swallow down the moan that wanted to bubble up. Shivered instead.
The tone was tense and clipped. Not a happy one.
"Wilson?" Hill questioned at length.
"We're good. It's fine. Just a little excitement." One hell of an understatement but hey, what could you do.
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He breathed deeply the scent that came off of Wilson, letting it fill his head, to wash away the possessive impulse to still go after Steve, to just push away the buzzing need that threatened to pull him down again.
He heard the door open to the back of the van, and his legs jerked, almost considering getting himself up. Hill couldn't see him like this, but there was nothing to do because forcing himself wasn't happening with the warm press of Sam over him, arms caging him in and body so close to his own. He finally and childishly thought that if he didn't have to look at the woman, she wouldn't look at him.
His bound hands caught and grasped the front of Sam's shirt, only then realizing he had lost his bond's jacket to the floor. Calm started to suffuse him regardless.
"Fuck off, you old hag. Wilson is mine," he snarled from his place in Sam's neck. "Take him away, and I won't cooperate with anything."
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“Just...keep them decent for when we get there.” The door slammed shut again leaving all three original occupants. Sam relaxed, blowing out a hard breath of air and burying his face into Rumlow's neck in return. He felt the rumble of the engine starting up again and the van pulling forward.
“You know hating everything is really shitty for your blood pressure.” They were curled up in the middle of a van with Captain America politely trying not to intrude and Sam couldn't keep his hand from threading into Rumlow's hair, scratching his scalp.
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He noted that the space it inhabited in his mind had grown too, no longer just a pinprick to ignore, but larger and steadier than it had ever been. He shifted to accommodate Sam's face in his neck, nuzzling the gland near him as he tried to settle down again and focus on Wilson's word that there would be no biting.
"No, my blood pressure is just fine," he murmured into the warmth of Sam's neck. He inhaled sharply at the hand on his hair, surprised by the boldness but sinking into it as he had the press to his forehead back his cell. When was the last time he let anyone touch him like that? "How's your blood pressure, old man?"
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He pressed his cheek and and his nose into skin, muttered back with a rumble of annoyance too soon smoothed by Rumlow allowing the touch in his hair. Those little intimacies had always been his bread and butter with relationships even if none of them had been the bonded sort.
They rumble along for a few more minutes before Sam eased himself up, pulling Rumlow with him by his bound hands. Strange as it was he hadn't been thinking about mating in the least as they calmed down but the glint of the metal made him catch on a possibility, a want. “I can't stay braced like than for an hour an a half.”
Sam reached down, picking up his fallen jacket. “Scoot. On your side.”
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He grumbled back at Wilson in their own little disapproving language, and he save the question of getting his hair cut the way that he liked it for the time being. However, his grumbling noise of disapproval was back when Sam moved away from him, forcing his face away and he reluctantly followed.
"Is that how long it's going to take to get wherever we're going?" Half an hour wasn't that long. He eyed the jacket and settled down, putting his back to the truck where it was more defensible and folded his bound hands close to his chin. "Don't think you get to order me around all the time."
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He could pet, touch and keep mingling their scents like this which is all he felt like he couldn't get enough of.
“But yeah, about that long.” Sam added to answer the question. “How old are you, anyway?”
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Yet, he huffed and lifted his head until the jacket was under his head, a comfortable enough pillow. He could even give himself the illusion it was safe for a sleep and God knew he was tired enough. He felt the brush of Wilson's arm when he moved his head, eyeing the other man resting close by.
"Haven't read my file yet? It's all kiss and tell in there," he said with a smirk. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm forty-five."
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They'd want to meet him, know him, make him a part of the family and at this immediate moment he's really not sure how to mesh both parts of his life with limited bloodshed.
And he'd honestly kill the man if he did anything to his family. Bond or no bond.
There'd been a hint of a smirk on Sam's lips until that train of thought, by the time Rumlow gave him his age it had faded. He whistled though. Not too far off from what he'd estimated. "People offered to give it to me. Turned them down. Didn't want to get too attached."
For a severe bit of irony.
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He expected that there would be little to no life for him beyond wherever SHIELD threw him. They'd want to test him of course, keep him isolated so that there was no contact to the outside world. The bond might make things complicated at first, but suppressants might shut it down.
Or maybe Wilson was going to have to be stuck on a time table close to him.
"Ah well, that's a good policy to have," he agreed soberly. "It's a good policy to keep especially now. This is... deeper than it should be."
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His world was about to narrow down a whole hell of a lot and not all of him could resent Rumlow for it at the moment. More, he chafed against knowing what was waiting once they climbed out of the van at the end of this little trip.
Sam sighed out, laying his head on his outstretched arm. “No joke, man. This is nuts.” To be perfectly frank.
Can we-? The question still echoed in him. Another one started to form which didn't have the easy answer it should have: if they can get this thing dissolved, would they? He figured Rumlow would in a heartbeat for his own freedom, couldn't blame him. He wanted the same but... “You don't reach and I won't. Can't promise it'll keep things as they are right now but it certainly won't add to the process.”
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He snorted and kept his eyes closed, pretending like he could sleep but unwilling to let his guard down that much. Instead, he slid his arms under the jacket and his head to increase the firmness of his 'pillow.'
"We've survived isolation before," he said simply, as if it were just that easy. His fingers flexed and brushed against Sam's arm on the other side of the jacket. That too was just that easy. "If this doesn't dig any deeper, we'll just... have to avoid contact or something. It can't get worse that way, right?"
He opened one eye and peered at Sam. "Right?" He was showing his ignorance on bonds because he had no idea how to stop or even start the process.
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