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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."
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.