Brock Rumlow endured. He was a survivor by nature, a spiteful asshole by day and a quiet still man at night. Yet, he always endured, even if the stimulation fried his brain enough to leave him drooling over metal fingers and sucking at them like he was trying to earn himself rent money. The metal fingers tasted better than the first time, less covered in concrete and whatever else, and now they had that clean metallic taste that he had come to expect from them. He knew, distantly, that sucking and licking them would earn him nothing from the Soldier, that it was an act to keep his mouth occupied enough that he might not moan and mewl those embarrassing sounds as much.
And there they were piled together and the Soldier's hips were still giving motion, twitching and little thrusts that set the nerves of his body right back on fire. He was helpless, his orgasm a long draw of mind-blowing sensation that left a mess between his legs and under him where he lay on the concrete waiting the endless minutes for the knot to soften. He was such a trembling wreck, his heat still pounding in his bones but manageable, almost pleasant by this point.
Then there was the awful shift from brutal alpha to softer mate, and Rumlow hated this most of all. He struggled with the usual omega puppy love bullshit that came from haywire hormones for weeks after this, and it left him surly and grumpy with everyone else until he could think about something other than a mate that was frozen and hidden away from him. This softness, the bracketing of knees, the supportive limbs, the teasing licking and nuzzling. He wanted none of it, and yet he was moving his head back for it, bearing his neck and humming around the fingers in his mouth.
This long time between stuck together and being finished was almost unbearable. Yet, he still lifted a hand to tangle his ruined fingers into the Soldier's hair, touching and stroking the alpha where he had previously been denied. This softness made him weak; he should just punch the asshole in the face and scream at him. The position and the fingers in his mouth thwarted any effort to do so.
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And there they were piled together and the Soldier's hips were still giving motion, twitching and little thrusts that set the nerves of his body right back on fire. He was helpless, his orgasm a long draw of mind-blowing sensation that left a mess between his legs and under him where he lay on the concrete waiting the endless minutes for the knot to soften. He was such a trembling wreck, his heat still pounding in his bones but manageable, almost pleasant by this point.
Then there was the awful shift from brutal alpha to softer mate, and Rumlow hated this most of all. He struggled with the usual omega puppy love bullshit that came from haywire hormones for weeks after this, and it left him surly and grumpy with everyone else until he could think about something other than a mate that was frozen and hidden away from him. This softness, the bracketing of knees, the supportive limbs, the teasing licking and nuzzling. He wanted none of it, and yet he was moving his head back for it, bearing his neck and humming around the fingers in his mouth.
This long time between stuck together and being finished was almost unbearable. Yet, he still lifted a hand to tangle his ruined fingers into the Soldier's hair, touching and stroking the alpha where he had previously been denied. This softness made him weak; he should just punch the asshole in the face and scream at him. The position and the fingers in his mouth thwarted any effort to do so.