Archive of Our Own ^beta

Rumlow can smell it on him long before the Soldier is aware of it, but he doesn’t say anything. The asset is not used to having heats; he never knows what is happening to him or what to do about it, and Rumlow takes a certain pleasure in watching him grow desperate first. The Winter Soldier might not feel fear, but neither does he know what to do when his pants soak through with his own slick, his body burning with need in a way that’s utterly foreign to him.

He cuffs the Soldier on the shoulder, steering him back towards the van. Rumlow can practically see the tension radiating through his body, the strain of tendons in his neck as he swallows hard at the contact. The scent of his arousal flairs up, and even if the Soldier wouldn’t recognize that for what it is, Rumlow sure does. He’s tempted to push the Soldier to his hands and knees right there on the street, asphalt digging into his skin as Rumlow takes his fill and then some, leaving marks that will be impossible to mistake. It’s more enticing than he would have thought to imagine the asset as the slut with grass stains all over her back - but by the time they make it back to base his heat will be in full effect, and it is so much more satisfying to watch the famed Winter Soldier squirm.

His scent fills up the van not long after the doors are slammed shut behind them. The air is hot and stale, no air conditioning to speak of, but for once Rumlow does not mind in the slightest. The Soldier sits at his feet, ostentatiously because there is no where else to sit in the back of the crowded van, but he stays closer than usual. The other members of the Strike team alternate between watching him hungrily and leering at Rumlow, not even bothering to hide their jealousy. If that wasn’t a big enough ego trip on its own, the Soldier looks up at him frequently, as if seeking assurance. There is discomfort written all across his face and though the Soldier doesn’t fidget, he begins to shift more and more frequently.

“Still.” Rumlow commands him. The asset settles unwillingly, no longer brushing up against Rumlow’s pantlegs for any cause but the movement of the van. A few of the Strike team grin. He is completely tensed at Rumlow’s feet, and Rumlow can see sweat trickling down the side of his neck, long hair plastered to his skin already. The Soldier’s heats always come on fast and hard, probably a side effect of how infrequently he is allowed them. Rumlow is rock hard at just the scent of him, has been since he caught it back on the bridge, but it’s impossible to ignore now. His team seems to be faring similarly, but they won’t be allowed to have their way with the Soldier.

“God, just fuck him here, Brock, this is unbearable.” Smith pipes up, “Pull the bitch onto your lap and make him squeal.” A few others mutter their agreement. Rumlow just smirks. The Soldier knows they are talking about him, and Rumlow likes to pretend he could be made ashamed by it.

“And waste this?” He points out smugly. The Soldier’s scent hangs heavy in the air of the van, enthralling and addictive. Immediate gratification might be tempting, but it’d be too quick. They’re almost back to base, and then Rumlow can pull the Soldier aside for as long as he’d like, take full advantage of this.

“Fuck, I’m as hard as he is,” Someone complains, and the Soldier drops his head. He’s panting audibly, fingers digging into his thighs on either side. Rumlow reaches down and strokes a hand through his hair, unsticking the wet strands from his neck momentarily. The Soldier whimpers. His skin is burning to the touch.

“Is something wrong, Winter Soldier?” Rumlow asks, smirking to himself because he already knows the answer to that.

“I,” His voice is so quiet it can barely be heard over the various sounds the van makes, strained with more than simple disuse, “I don’t know.” Many of the Strike team laugh at his naevity.

Rumlow leans down until he can brush his lips over the shell of the Soldier’s ear, but he speaks loud enough for everyone to hear him. “You need a nice fat cock in your ass, don’t you?” The shudder that ripples through his body is instantaneous, and the Soldier bares his neck further even as his breathing picks up. Perfect submission.

“Please,” He begs, louder this time, unthinkingly needy. It’s met with more laughter, but Rumlow knows that every single one of them wishes they were in his place. They all want to fuck his prize within an inch of its life. He considers ordering the Winter Soldier to blow him right here in full view of his men, just to rub it in, but the van is already slowing. It’s a good thing too, because as desperate as the Soldier is, Rumlow doesn’t think he can bear to wait much longer either.

When they stop in the underground parking garage, Rumlow gestures for the Soldier to get out before him. Despite the dim lighting, he can see the wetness soaking through the back of the Soldier’s pants, the black material darkened ever so slightly in patches. His scent carries even without the advantage of a closed space, so potent Rumlow can almost see the swirling cloud of pheromones rolling off of his sweat-streaked skin.

The asset stands like he is uncomfortable, thighs squeezed together and a tightness around his eyes that speaks of nothing but feral need warring with his programming. Rulow drops a hand to his own cock and palms himself roughly before he follows. He can barely wait to have the Soldier coming apart beneath him, his own personal, living, breathing sex doll for a few hours before the mission once again takes precedent.

“Come,” He directs the asset, not sparing him another glance as he heads in the opposite direction of the elevator with the rest of the Strike team. It’s a temptation to look - to watch the confusion and hurt spilling across the Soldier’s face at his alpha’s dismissal of his current predicament - but still more enjoyable to keep the asset off-balance. Rumlow can feel the Soldier at his heels, trailing behind obediently without question. The timing between his footsteps is shorter than usual, like he’s still holding his legs in close, his breathing ragged.

Rumlow leads him to a deserted office towards the end of the level, once probably used for security but now functionally obsolete. He punches in the passcode on the little number pad above the handle, and the Winter Soldier shuffles in behind him, trailing heat and omega-stench. He’s sweating more heavily now, cheeks flushed fever pink.

“Have you made a mess of yourself?” Rumlow asks him, patronizing, when the Soldier looks hesitantly at the chair opposite the desk and declines to sit. “You should have informed me.” He doesn’t speak without being spoken to, and Rumlow knows that. The Soldier drops his head.

“Yes sir.”

Rumlow draws closer, circles around behind the asset. He presses himself against the Soldier’s back, pulling him in closer and gripping his ass through the wet fabric of his pants without warning. The Soldier gasps, low and rough and strained. His skin is burning hot to the touch, even his arms covered in a generous layer of sweat. It soaks through his shirt where he’s pressed against his alpha. Rumlow chuckles. “How long has it been since you’ve been in heat?”

The Soldier arches his back, clearly aching for more contact, grinding his ass into Rumlow’s palm. “I’ve - never.”

Only Rumlow knows that’s a lie. He grins, cocky and self-assured. The omega doesn’t even think to wonder how they were bound. “Well I’m going to take care of it,” He assures his mate, and pulls away again. “Drop your pants.”

He does it without question, choked off moan caught in his throat from the loss of contact. Rumlow watches his nimble metal fingers - normally so steady - tear open his belt and shove the offending fabric down onto his thighs, where it catches. As long as they’re not in his way, Rumlow doesn’t care. He’s certainly not going to wait on the Soldier to remove his various holsters and guards and padding. “Good enough. Bend over the desk, and make sure you get a good grip.”

Rumlow advances on him again, tracing the wet shine of slick up what little of the Soldier’s thighs are bared. He runs a pair of fingers up through it, gathering up the wetness to taste for himself. The Soldier flinches at the smack of his lips, and Rumlow snorts a laugh around his own fingers. “Impatient?” He asks. The asset’s pucker clenches up in answer enough. “I’ll keep you waiting all night if I feel like it.”

The Soldier answers with what sounds like a sob, hips swaying slightly. His skin is flushed a pretty color all over - Rumlow deals a smack to his ass to see it deepen further, and he keens. “Quiet,” Rumlow admonishes him, “Get your ass up.”

Rumlow rewards him with a gentle squeeze when the asset does as he’s told before moving to undo his own pants. The zipper is pulled tight against his own erection and he has to tug at it a few times until it yields; it’s possible he’s as eager to fuck the Soldier as he is to be fucked. “Good boy,” Rumlow praises him. He closes in, running a hand up the Soldier’s back and rucking his shirt up, out of the way, and when his fingers reach the back of his omega’s neck, Rumlow grips hard.

He guides his cock with his other hand, pressing the head against the Soldier’s sloppy, wet hole for a long moment meant to tease them both before he can’t hold back any longer and snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one satisfying motion. He moans almost as loud as the asset. “Fuck, that’s good.” The Soldier is already pushing back against him, greedy and eager for it beyond any pretense of control, programming overridden by the inferno coursing through his veins.

Rumlow slaps him again, this time on the sensitive skin of his upper thigh, but he doesn’t order the asset to stop. He doesn’t need to. Not when he can grab the Soldier’s waist bruisingly hard and fuck him so roughly he’s forced to cling to the desk and focus on remaining in place as he takes it. Rumlow can hear him whimpering, the Soldier’s hipbones colliding with the desk with every thrust. If it wasn’t bolted to the floor, Rumlow has no doubt they’d have forced it across the room by now.

The Soldier is hot and tight, clenching rhythmically around Rumlow’s length until it feels like the world has narrowed down to just this. His fingers tighten around the Soldier’s neck a bit harder, and Rumlow uses his leverage to force the asset’s head down. “That’s right, just like that,” He coaxes breathlessly, “Gonna give you what you need.”

The asset’s eyes flick up at him around the hand holding him in place, cheek pressed into the desk. His pupils are big and dark, lips swollen like he’s bitten down more than once. His tongue flicks out between them briefly as Rumlow watches - in time with the snap of his hips - before he’s gasping again. It goes straight to his cock; the Soldier might look good in the field, ruthless and deadly, but it’s nothing compared to this.

Splinters are beginning to form where his bionic hand is digging into the edge of the desk, clenched tighter than he probably realizes, and he’s struggling for breath beneath Rumlow’s weight on his throat. Rumlow leans back a bit, gives the Soldier a little more leeway, but doesn’t let up. He can feel his cock starting to swell minutely, the need to cum becoming more and more pressing. But Rumlow wants to see the Soldier better - gets a sick pleasure of his own watching the Soldier panic and struggle to take his knot.

“Get on the desk,” He commands, pulling out before he’s tempted to spill into the Soldier just like this. He’s close to the edge, and Rumlow finds himself panting with the loss of contact, stroking his cock slowly to keep himself right there as the Soldier hurries to do what he’s told. “On your back.”

Rumlow grips the Soldier behind his knees, bending him in half until he can fuck into the Soldier again. There’s no finesse to it - the asset clutches the desk top like a lifeline to keep himself in place, further hobbled by his pants now, and Rumlow drills into him hard and fast and unrelenting. Heat spreads over his skin until he can no longer tell the difference where he’s pressed against the Soldier, so close - until his knot begins swelling up in earnest.

The Soldier makes a sound very close to a squeak, his eyes going almost comically wide. He shifts his hips - and oh, that’s good - sucking in breath after breath like he doesn’t quite remember how to breathe. Rumlow forces his eyes to stay open, watching this new discomfort flit across the Soldier’s face as he squirms and clenches in a way that has Rumlow coming hard enough to make him lightheaded. “Fuck,” He moans, rocking his hips through the aftershocks and forcing the knot even deeper.

Tears well up in the Soldier’s eyes. He’s whining deep in his throat, unable to stop moving, grinding and pulling back in turns like that might help somehow. His whole body is pulled in tight, muscles straining, bearing down on Rumlow’s knot in a way that regains his attention in an instant.

Rumlow runs a hand down his side in a mockery of comfort. “The more you clench up,” He warns, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice, “the more it’s going to hurt.” The Soldier whimpers, trying and failing to force himself to remain still. His metal hand lets go of the desk and flutters uselessly over his pelvis for a moment, no way to ease the pain he’s in.

He settles for gripping his own side, fingers digging into the skin hard enough that Rumlow can see it being stained pink around the gleaming silver edges of his fingers. “Relax,” he orders, as if the Soldier is being irrational. “You’ll be enjoying this before you know it.” He pushes in a bit further, letting the asset’s legs down onto his shoulders so Rumlow can grip his hips and hold him still.

That doesn’t stop the rough clench of his muscles in reaction, sending shuddery little aftershocks through Rumlow each time he tenses anew. “I don’t understand,” The Soldier pleads, biting at his lip like he might give in to tears. He’s as bad as a virgin being raped for the first time. Rumlow snaps his hips forward roughly, and it’s worth the rough jolt of pleasure that sends shivers up his spine when the Soldier cries out like he’s been gutted.

“You’ve got plenty of time to wrap your pretty, empty little head around it,” Rumlow assures him, going back to a slow, gentle drag of hips. His knot should be pressing against the Soldier’s prostate - as soon as he gives himself over to it, he’ll be reconsidering. “This can feel good, or you can keep fighting it. Let it feel good, Winter Soldier.”

The Soldier goes limp, clearly taking Rumlow’s words to heart. He shuts his eyes, and the moisture that was collecting in them drips down the sides of his face, but there’s no further protest. Little by little, Rumlow feels him start to ease up around his knot. “Good,” He praises the Soldier again, reaching forward to brush his hair back from his face.

It’s wet to the touch, soaked through with sweat, but his skin no longer burns Rumlow’s fingers with heat. “Isn’t this better?” He asks. The Soldier gives him a jerky nod, swallowing hard. Still having trouble then. Rumlow will never cease to enjoy how pitifully he takes to being knotted. “Come now,” Rumlow tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, wipes some of the sweat from his forehead. “Embrace the pain the way you were designed to.”

The Soldier nods again, more slowly this time. It’s measured, as carefully calculated as his breathing. Now they’re making progress. Rumlow presses a hand down on his cock - still hard, through all of this - trapping it against his stomach, and the Soldier’s hips hitch up against his before he’s thought it through. His eyes roll back as he gasps, body clenching around Rumlow again, but his whole demeanor has changed. “That’s right. It adds to the pleasure, doesn’t it?” Rumlow thrusts shallowly, his knot tugging on the Soldier’s insides, rubbing against his prostate with every movement. He presses down on the asset’s cock a bit harder - let him feel the rub of Rumlow’s knot beneath his skin, make him feel that much fuller with it.

The Soldier squirms up against him, teeth digging into his lower lip and eyebrows drawn together as if this really takes that much concentration, but it’s clear he’s finally starting to get used to the stretch of the knot. About time, Rumlow thinks. He grins down at the asset and curls his fingers to give him a bit more sensation - encouragement to keep him moving, to work him to some sort of climax before Rumlow’s knot goes down - and resumes his shallow thrusting until the asset is panting for an entirely different reason. He’s so easy, and yet the Soldier still looks surprised at how simple it is falling apart at the feel of a knot in him. Rumlow snorts a laugh; as if he wasn’t born for this, hasn’t done it a hundred times before.

The delicious grip of the Soldier’s muscles around his cock starts up again in earnest. It’s slower and softer at first, but only increases as Rumlow keeps pulling the asset through his paces. “You’re going to cum for me,” Rumlow warns him, peeling the Soldier’s shirt back up out of the way and fisting his cock a little tighter. The Soldier nuzzles the back of Rumlow’s hand with his cheek, lips parted on yet another little whimper. He’s so incredibly close, and it’s oddly endearing no matter how many times Rumlow sees this. He lets his hand linger, turning his palm to cup the Soldier’s jaw and letting the shirt slip back down. It’s a mess anyway; a little cum won’t hurt.

Two more slow, smooth thrusts, and the Soldier cums all over his chest and Rumlow’s fist, long ropes splattering against his damp skin. Rumlow stills, letting him catching his breath for a moment before he orders the asset to lick up the mess he’s made.

He lifts his hand and the Soldier cranes his neck obediently, suckling his release from Rumlow’s fingers without hesitation as they wait for his knot to grow smaller.

And if Rumlow takes pride in tugging the Winter Soldier’s pants back up before his own cum has finished trickling out of the asset’s sore, puffy hole, slapping him on the ass, and watching him struggle to walk in his wet clothing - that’s no one else’s business but his.