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Hydra Gets Trashed Party

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1938

Being with Steve is exciting in a way Bucky has never felt before. In contrast to his sparky demeanor, Steve is so gentle and soft with him, like he’s the one that’s going to break. He’s attentive to a tee, listens when Bucky speaks, and tries to defend Bucky from Alphas that catcall him on the street. Bucky doesn’t even find it annoying, knowing that Steve was doing it not because he saw Bucky as weak for being an Omega, but because he doesn’t think anyone should disrespected, not matter their designation.

The more people look into it, the more backward it seemed. Bucky had a good job, working as a computer, which was mindlessly boring but decently paying. Bucky would come home from work with stiff shoulders and a tight palm from leaning over a desk doing calculations, and Steve would give him a massage and a smile, causing the tension to leak out of him like a faucet. He would moan and complain about the annoying Alphas that simultaneously hit on him and demeaned him in the same sentence, and Steve would respond with threats to their life, and they would share a meal that Steve had cobbled together as the day grew into night.

In bed they would rut against each other, their cocks more or less the same size, taking turns sucking each other down, or (once they figured it out) sucking each other off at the same time. The best nights were when Steve would lift his hips and lick him open, forcing long, strung out syllables from Bucky’s throat as he leaks into the mattress below. And Steve’s face would be soaking afterwards because Bucky’s a wet one, but he didn’t joke about it, didn’t care about it, he would keep licking and sucking and stroking Bucky’s cock until he came all over himself and the bed underneath him. And Steve would press into his hole, and Bucky would tighten himself back up until Steve finished inside of the condom, his cock trying, and failing, to inflate a knot.

It took months to convince Steve that it was ok he couldn’t do it, that he knew what he was getting into, and that Steve was more important than any perceived sexual deficiency. Secretly, he thinks that Steve still worries, and that secret was confirmed when the first day of Bucky’s heat starts, the first heat he’s spent with Steve, and Bucky turns to his side on the tiny bed and looks to Steve and whispers:

“I need you, Stevie.”

Steve’s shirt is off, revealing every tiny bone in his ribcage. He’s looking at Bucky with lust and sadness and shame.

He takes a deep breath. “Buck, you could have anyone in the whole block, in the whole planet, that can give you a…”

“Stop.” Bucky says shortly. “We ain’t talking about this shit again.”

“Bucky, I can’t! I’m not enough—” Steve insists.

You are enough.” Bucky cuts him off again. “Please, baby.”

“Bucky, I… I heard you. Before.” Steve mutters his face turning a bright red. “When you had Alphas over, before we got together. I heard the disappointment. Time after time.”

Bucky knows exactly what Steve is talking about.

“Bucky, if they weren’t enough, if a regular sized Alpha wasn’t— there’s no way that I can…” Steve’s head tilts down in embarrassment, a look Bucky never wants to see on his face. “If they can’t satisfy you, then…then I can’t. You should just…finda real Alpha, one that can—”

Bucky crowds Steve and holds him closely, tucking him into his neck. “Steve, you are all the Alpha I’ll ever want. I’ll ever need. And there is no possible way that I’d go to someone else, ever.”

“That doesn’t change the fact I can’t pop a fucking knot,” Steve says miserably. “That I’m going to have to leave you unsatisfied, for your whole heat.”

He leans back to look Steve in the eye. “All the other Alphas that could pop a knot couldn’t satisfy me neither.” Bucky says. “So it doesn’t matter on that front. I’ll just go through it like I usually do.”

Bucky usually ends up riding their cock until they cum, then sits, unsatisfied on their knot until it deflates. Most Alpha’s need a break between knots, so Bucky has to drive three fingers up his own ass until his partner is ready again. The process is unsatisfying, but it does in a pinch.

And Bucky’s prepared to do it every day for the rest of his life for the honor of being with Steve.

Steve still looks self-conscious, eyes down, ashamed at failing some instinctual need that he has to be able to provide for Bucky. And despite all of society’s rules they’ve broken being together, Steve still couldn’t get over this one fact, the fact that he was born small all over, no thicker than a couple of fingers.

And then Bucky remembers and idea he had.

“But. There is something you can do for me that no other Alpha could.” Bucky says quietly, his face rapidly coloring.

“Anything Bucky. Anything you need.” Steve looks up at Bucky eagerly, eyes determined, looking like he’d fight the goddamn sun if Bucky had asked.

Bucky carefully takes Steve’s hand in his. “The other Alphas were bigger, yeah. But they weren’t big enough, down there, either. Not during my heat, I just kept begging for more.” Bucky says, slightly self-depreciating. “They kept saying ‘This is all I got to give,’ and acted like it was my fault…”

“They are wrong.” Steve says so firmly that Bucky feels pure wet heat flush through his body at his display of confidence. Bucky fights the urge to lean down and kiss him, having to finish his thought.

“But they were too big in some respects.” And then Bucky takes Steve’s hand and spreads the fingers out, exposing his palm to the ceiling.

Steve blinks at Bucky. “Whaddyu mean?”

“Their hands. They all had such big hands.” Bucky takes his hand and pushes Steve’s fingers, until the tips curl into his palm. He tucks Steve’s thumb on top, completing the formation of the fist.

“But you’re hands… are perfect.” Bucky breathes, and he covers the top of Steve’s fist with his hand, and squeezes.

And then Steve gets it, all at once.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1948

“This thing is fuckin’ useless.” A voice says in German. A huge, dark haired man with a beard throws down an old book on the coffee table in anger. He resumes his agitated pacing on the gray carpet, a relentless back and forth by the fireplace.

“It’s doesn’t say anything? About heats? Try that section in the back, I think—I think that that has it.” Another man, blonde and pale, who would have been just as big had he stood up straight, scrambles to pick it up.

“The whole thing’s in Russian.” The huge man says. “Can you read Russian?” He snarls.

Scheißkerl. Can’t we just give them a call, Weber?”

“Yeah with the callback number Hydra wrote on my hand last night—what the fuck do you think this is, Schmidt?”

Context: The soldier was in a chair in a bedroom in a safehouse in France. He was lent out to a German organization. The mission was to shoot the target. Kill confirmation in thirty-eight hours or less.

This organization had never used him before and gave him too much time; he did it in three.

There were thirty-five hours until extraction.

After twelve, his ass got wet.

“Can’t we just let him… deal with it?” Schmidt says. He’s an Alpha. Allegedly.

“Omegas can’t be left alone in their heat, blödmann. They need an Alpha, or else they go insane. Can’t believe someone let him serve in the military, let alone command a team.” Weber growls into the fire.

Weber is an Alpha in the sense that he has, and is, an enormous dick.

“He seemed to do a pretty good job on mission. For an Omega,” Schmidt says weakly from behind him, “And it doesn’t look like his heat is affecting him too much…”

“It’s providing a distraction for the rest of the team!” Weber turns and spits in Schmidt’s face. “And you probably don’t have the knot to take care of a bitch in heat, hell, you probably haven’t popped a knot in your life, Schmidt. Omegas need Alphas, and it’s an Alphas duty to help. So we need to figure out whether we can help—"

“If you have a question about my operation,” the soldier cuts in without turning his head from the window he is looking out of, “ask me.”

They both jump from his voice. The soldier can’t see them do it. But he can hear it. Feel it.

“Can you—can you read the manual?” Schmidt stutters.

“Yes.” The soldier says.

It is silent. The soldier decides to infer.

“Do you want me to read it.”

“Yeah. Yeah. See what it says about heat.” Weber says, and the book is thrust into his hands.

The soldier scans the manual. It takes up one half of the twenty-three hours left until extraction. Regarding heat, it says about that he is operable up until 86 degrees C. He repeats the information to the two soldiers.

“That’s not what I meant, dumbass!” Weber yells in frustration.

“You have to be specific with him, you know what they said.” Schmidt says, and for the first time since the start of the mission, he straightens up and gives an order.

“Soldier.” He says, forcefully. The soldier reassesses. He might have a knot on him after all. The soldier turns to look at him.

“What do you… uh…” Schmidt falters. The soldier understands why. He has dead eyes. It’s not for everyone.

Schmidt gathers himself. “What do you do when you enter a heat? A heat as in a mating cycle?”

“I do not know what that is.” The soldier says.

“But… How could you not?” Schmidt splutters. “It’s your heat.”

The soldier does not know how to answer that, so he doesn’t.

“Is there someone you can call, maybe?” Schmidt says. “It’s just that we’re… and you’re an… and it’s getting a little hard for us to focus with your scent all over, you know?”

“Go to another room.” The solider says. It seems like an easy solution. He turns back to watching the snow fall on the wilderness outside.

“When an Omega’s in heat, an Alpha is incapable of resisting.” Weber warns from the fire. “Going to another room is impossible. And you’re supposedly commanding our team? I can’t even begin to understand that logic. You enter your heat, become even more emotional, and force all the Alphas to want to fuck.” Weber says. “Worst off, we can’t leave you alone or else you’ll get hysteria, so we have to help. This is your fault.”

The soldier doesn’t feel hysterical. Weber is full of shit.

Suddenly, Weber stops pacing. “Enough of this. Soldier, come over here.”

The soldier stands up and walks to Weber.

“Get on your knees. I’m going to speak to you in a language you understand.” Weber begins to unzip his pants.

Analysis: The mission has been completed. After mission completion, orders are to return to base. Kneeling will not make returning to base happen any faster.

The soldier refuses.

Weber grows red in the face. “Omega! You don’t get to refuse me; you are designed to obey me. Now, I’m not going to ask again, get on your fuckin’ knees!”

Weber said he wasn’t going to ask again, and then he asked again. Dumbass.

The soldier refuses, again.

Weber tries to strike him. The soldier deflects, then neutralizes the threat.

“Damage to Hydra property is not permitted. Do you understand.” The soldier says to Weber, whose face is now centimeters from the flames of the fire. His metal arm is holding two hands behind his back, and the five fingers of his right hand are splayed on the back of Weber’s head, holding him in position.

Weber struggles. The fire crackles. Weber swears.

“Verbal conformation of your understanding is required,” The soldier says.

“Fuckin’ Omega, you can’t—”

The soldier applies incentive by breaking his wrist.

Weber screams. He inhales smoke. Weber chokes.

“I’m not going to ask again,” the soldier says. He doesn’t ask again.

“Confirmed!” Weber shouts between coughs. “Confirmed.”

The soldier releases Weber. “And you?” He says to Schmidt, who was holding his gun shakily, fear sunk deep in his eyes.

“Confirmed,” Schmidt squeaks.

The soldier goes back to his chair.

 

 

“He broke my man’s wrist.” The head of the German organization says in English. He has salt and pepper hair, and looks like someone has inflated a balloon inside of his stomach.

“We are not liable for any damage he may cause.” A young, blonde, well-bodied man in a white coat responds in English with a thick, Russian accent. “That was in the contract you signed.”

“I understand, Arzt Popov, but my man wasn’t trying to hurt him. He was trying to help him through his heat. You don’t have something planned for that?” He crosses two bulky arms over his chest.  

“It has never been an issue before. We will be sure to research this as thoroughly as possible.” Doktar Popov responds, and he reaches for a clipboard on the table.

Context: The soldier is sitting in The Chair in an underground bunker, which is just one, very large, concrete room. Weber and Schmidt and eighteen other German men are here from the organization he was lent out to. There were three technicians, and seventeen Hydra soldiers.

Most were Alphas. Support staff were Betas. Omegas had no place here.

“Have you thought to, perhaps, train him? The benefits of having him also as a method of…stress relief…may be beneficial.” German guy says to Doktar Popov.

Except he was here, so perhaps they were wrong about that. The soldier didn’t realize he was an Omega.

“It’s been proposed, but no one has ever followed through.” Popov says with a sigh. “He’s quite dangerous.”

“If I can say something, sir.” Weber says. “He needs this, okay? I’ve read about this stuff. My sis is one, and when she presented she became an emotional mess. We thought we’d never get her married off, but luckily we found someone just before she turned sixteen. Now she has two pups on the way and I’ve never seen her happier. You have to know that at some point he’s going to lose stability at the wrong time and compromise a mission, and nobody wants that.”

Doktar Popov hums. The soldier hears him writing in his notebook with a fountain pen. “I suppose. Essentially… his programming is based on satisfying instincts, I suppose it’s possible that this could be just as simple as guiding him in the right direction, especially when he’s in heat.”

The heat, the soldier learned, is a period of time in which his asshole expands, leaks, and prepares itself for fucking. It does this for one to two days, once a year. The soldier doesn’t see the issue. It doesn’t get in the way of his mission.

“I suppose it is something we can try.” Popov says, considering. “And I suppose, the soldiers could use a boost in morale.” Popov says this with an odd, almost sneaky, tone. “Would you and your men like to be here for the soldier’s training?” He says, and he has a smile on his face.

“Gladly.” Weber grins. “I’ll ask around.”

 

 

Other things happen. They don’t entail the soldier. Time passes. His ass is still leaking.

 

 

“Soldat, over here.” Doktar Popov calls for him. He is the only one, save Tvorets, with the right to give him orders, and the soldier must, and will, obey him immediately.

“Get on your knees at my feet.” The technician says in Russian. He is standing in the center of a circle of men, a training mat on the floor in front of him.

The soldier walks to him, in the center of the circle that includes Weber, Schmidt, several Germans, and many other members of Hydra, technicians and soldiers alike. He gets on his knees. Around him, the circle of men tighten. They are all Alphas. They look… hungry.

“Fuckin’ Omega.” Weber says in German. “Gonna get what you deserve.”

The Germans in the crowd laugh. Weber seems popular. Good for him.

“New training, Soldat. Let’s begin.” Popov says. Popov, a confident Alpha with an intoxicating smile and a dark look in his eyes, unzips his pants and removes his penis, half erect, uncut.

To his left, a member of Hydra whistles. A few chuckles ring out.

“Open your mouth. Let your tongue hang out.” The tech says in Russian.

The soldier opens his mouth. When he sticks out his tongue, Schmidt laughs.

Hündin.” Weber spits.

The tech strokes, and the soldier watches the skin roll over the head as it grows.

“You want my knot, Omega?” The tech says in Russian.

The soldier doesn’t.

“Don’t worry, you’ll learn that you want it. In fact,” he says the next part in English. “You’ll learn to love my knot.”

More cheers. The air is so charged the soldier can taste it, electric, on his outstreched tongue.

The tech pushes his penis forward into the soldier mouth. The head trails a line of salt and bitterness in his mouth.

The tech slides it out. The soldier doesn’t understand.

The tech slides back in until it hits his throat, and the soldier feels his mouth start to water, feels something start to warm his body. He ignores it—feelings distract from the mission.

The tech slides back out. “Soldat.” The tech says in Russian. He says it conspiratorially, like he’s sharing a secret between just them. “You are going to do something you have never done before. You are going to surrender to feeling. You are going to follow your instincts. You are going to do what comes naturally. Do you understand?”

“Net, ser.” The soldier says.

“You will.” The tech says, and he slides in again.

He is pushing in shallowly. In and out and in and out. The crowd shifts restlessly. Someone shouts for the tech to hurry the fuck up, but the tech only replies with “patience. He wants it, he just has to realize it, first.”

The solider tries to listen to the tech. He tries to feel, as he was ordered.

He feels his blood, rushing underneath his skin. He feels the mat digging into his knees. He feels the weight of the penis on his tongue. He feels his mouth water around it. Eventually, when he’s close to drooling, he closes his mouth and swallows. It tastes salty and bitter and… familiar…

The soldier keeps his mouth closed around the tech’s cock.

What comes naturally.

He sucks.

“Ahhh…! There it is.” The tech says, and one of his hands comes to the back of his head, the other around the base of his knot, aiding in the guide of his cock in and out of the soldiers mouth.

The soldier is…enjoying this. Sucking. It’s simple, easy, and pleasing. Satisfying. His eyes flutter closed.

“Sucking is an instinct all are born with.” Popov announces to his crowd. “But some genders are much more… inclined to it others.”

A laugh ripples through the crowd, ripples through the circle of Alphas, of potential mates, all trying to prove themselves worthy of him.

And the soldier wants… more. This is a dangerous feeling, he notes. But he was ordered to follow his instincts. And his instinct are telling him that the simple slide back and forth of cock in his mouth was no longer enough.

He tries to lean forward when Popov pushes inwards, but Popov’s hand is stopping him from moving his lips down further.

“Eager, huh?” Popov says, teasingly.

His hand on his cock is in the way. The soldier wants it gone.

The soldier pulls back, reaches up, and slaps the tech’s hand away. The crowd, which was starting to get into the activities, freezes. Popov’s eyes widen, and he tries to step back.

The soldier ignores all this. He replaces the tech’s hand with his own, wraps his lips around his cock, and start to suck in earnest.

“Oh, oh fuck!” Popov shouts above him, but the soldier barely hears, focusing on the sensation of his penis on his tongue, the bitter salty flavor filling his mouth, an old muscle memory guiding his actions.

The circle of Alpha’s go wild. Some go to pat the tech on the back, other’s take their own cocks out and begin to stroke. And the soldier, the entertainment, in the center, basks in the attention of so many Alpha’s that want to prove their worth to him, filling him with a strange sort of pride.

The soldier wants to put on a show. He closes his eyes and starts to rotate his head on the way up, moving it in time with his hand. Popov buries a hand in his hair and holds on for the ride, laughing when he says. “Guys, looks like we got a live one on our hands!”

“Guess some things you really never forget, huh?” A soldier from Hydra says condescendingly. They seem to have decided to stick to English.

The soldier sucks Popov in deep, until his lips meet the base of his softened knot. He feels his throat flutter around the intrusion. The tech moans.

“What a fucking slut.”

The soldier feels his blood boiling, feels like his skin is itchy all over, like he can’t get enough of… of something. Something else is taking hold of him, some sort of primal, dangerous sensation. He lets it take hold of him, as he’s ordered.

“He’s really taking it all, isn’t he?”

He shifts his stance on the ground, spreading his legs wider, wanting them to see, and he bobs his head faster, pushing it up against the back of his throat. In and out and in and out.

“Fucking made for this, aren’t you, Omega?”

The feeling of fullness and the stopping of his breath when it enters his throat is almost heavenly. Such a simple act. So good. The soldier can’t remember the last time he’d felt anything this good.

“I want next crack at ‘im” Weber shouts. He’s one of the ones with his hand on his cock.

The tech begins to thrust his hips, throwing off the soldier’s rhythm, and he realizes he’s nearing the end.

“Fuck, I’m, ah—” The tech pulls his penis from the soldier’s mouth and sprays the soldier with semen, all over his face and mouth and nose. The soldier wipes his hand over his face distractedly. He looks at it staining his fingers for a moment, then shakes his hand in a futile effort to get it off. He ends up rubbing it against the mat until his hand comes off mostly clean.

When he looks back up, Weber’s cock is hard and heavy in his face. He licks his lips and reaches for it.

Weber pulls back, and his hand grabs at nothing.

“Look at him!” Schmidt says, emboldened by the sight of the solider on his knees. “He wants it so bad.” Schmidt is a weak man, finding strength in standing over another. A bad mate, something whispers in the soldier’s head.

“Desperate, eager, little whore.” A Hydra soldier says, short and ugly. Not worth the soldier’s attention, it whispers again.

“Soldier, look at me.” Weber growls

The soldier does, even though he doesn’t have to. A strong Alpha. The voice whispers. But a fucking knothead, he thinks.

“Ya want me, soldier? Ya want my knot?” Weber grins cruelly from above him. The soldier can see he has uncharacteristically straight teeth.

“Da.” He says, then switches to German. “Ja, bitte.”

Everyone finds this funny, for some reason.

“Yes, please.” He tries English. “I want it.” He reaches for his cock again, but again Weber takes a step back. The soldier leans so far forward he falls to his hands and knees.

Weber laughs. “You little Omega slut. Beg me for it.”

“I want it. Give it to me.” He demands. The feeling, the heat, shakes itself to his core. It takes over his thoughts, overrides his directives. There is no room for rules here, just wild, unadulterated want.

“Ah, ah, ah, little slut. Ya aren’t going to get it until I hear you beg.” Weber growls.

“No. Give it to me.” The soldier says, because how dare he try to take it away. His tone goes dark. “Now.

“Soldat!” Popov says frantically from the back of the circle, still trying to shake off his afterglow, his eyes wide.

The soldier reaches for him again. Weber pulls back. The wave of fire reaches a peak in his body and his vision goes red. A roar rips from his mouth as he lunges forward and tackles Weber to the ground, slamming his skull into the concrete.

Blood pools from the back of his head. What a weak Alpha, the soldier thinks. The soldier needs someone strong. He looks around at the men with their cocks out, still frozen in shock, and finds no one suitable. He lunges for the nearest Alpha and punches his face in. Weak. And then he slams a knee into the sternum of the next one, and then he gets shot, but he’s can’t even feel it, just moves to the next one, and he’s on his way to the next one when Tvorets voice rings out.

Sputnik.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1949

“What’s that smell?” A deep voiced, heavyset man says in Arabic.

Context: The soldier is in a chair in a bunker under the sand in the middle of Egypt. He was leant out to the Egyptian secret police. His mission was to shoot two men who are challenging the king. Confirm kill in thirteen hours.

Hydra took special interest in this assassination. Tvorets wants them dead because of the peace-loving Islam they plan to spread is not in line with Hydra’s desire to make the world more violent. The king wants them dead so that he can remain king.

The soldier completed his mission in ten hours. He shot them as they waited for a taxi.

The weather is hot, and his team had taken to lounging around the bunker in various states of undress. The bunker is the size of a one bedroom apartment in 1930’s Brooklyn, New York. There is a table in the corner where men are playing cards. There are chairs around the perimeter of the room. The soldier is in one, sitting next to several others.

They had tried to draw him into conversation. They had failed. Mostly ‘cause he doesn’t have much to say.

“Smells like… mint.”

The soldier scents the air.

“No, it’s ginger. Spicy.”

Oh.

“Sandalwood…”

He’s in heat.

“What the fuck is sandalwood?”

“I’m in heat.” The soldier says in Arabic.

All eyes turn to him.

He stands up to exit the room via the ladder in the center.

A hand grasps his wrist. He can pull away, but doesn’t.

“You’re an Omega?” The man that asks this is the one with the hand on his wrist. He has a soft, worn face and kind, dark eyes.

“Yes.” The soldier doesn’t understand people’s obsession with redundant questions.

“And they put you here? In a warzone?”

Again with this shit. “Yes.”

“That’s inhumane.” The Alpha says, shaking his head sadly. “To take away the right for an Omega to be a mother. To take them to a place such as this.”

The soldier does not want children. He goes to pull away.

“Where are you going?”

“My heat is an unnecessary distraction. I will wait for it to pass outside.” The soldier says.

“Well it’s much too hot for that,” The deep voiced, heavyset Alpha says to his right.

“I am operable up to 86 degrees Celsius.” The soldier says automatically. The soldier is not sure how he knows this.

He goes to move towards the ladder, but the hand on his wrist tightens. The mood has shifted in the bunker. “Why don’t you stay in here?” The heavyset Alpha asks.

“We can take care of you, the way you should be,” The kind-eyed Alpha says. “Come, sit down.”

Analysis: “Take care of you” is a turn of phrase implying that these Alphas are interested in fucking him. The mission has been completed. After mission completion, orders are to return to base. Fucking will not make returning to base happen any faster.

But.

Fucking, the soldier thinks, would feel really, really, good.

The soldier is not sure how he knows this.

The soldier is not sure he is supposed to know this.

The soldier, slowly, sits back down.

A hand lands on his thigh and squeezes.

He makes eye contact with the Alpha directly across from him. The Alpha’s mouth is covered but his eyes convey lust. The soldier feels sweat drip down his face and coalesce with the sweat in his mask.

Another hand, on his other thigh. The first hand finds its way to his cock and squeezes. A jolt of fire whips up his spine.

He has rules for when he feels this way. He reaches up to remove his mask.

“Hydra recommends that you do not use the soldier during his heat,” the soldier says in fluent Arabic as he grinds into the hand above him, sparks flying behind his eyes.

“The soldier has not been properly and safely tested for such actions.” He says as he stands. The Alpha to his left pushes him, and he lets himself fall down to his hands and knees on the ground. The Alpha stands above him, working the soldier’s waistband down.

The soldier continues. “It is important that you let him experience his heat alone. If that it not possible, Hydra recommends that you let him be. His functionality will not be hindered.”

It feels natural for him to arch his back and place his forehead on the floor, baring his ass to the world. “Should he become a distraction,” the soldier continues to pant into the concrete, “he can be instructed to wash.”

He hears a couple of chuckles behind his back. “Presenting already?” He hears one of them say.

In front of him, an Alpha stands and unzips his pants. “He must need it badly. He’s not getting the attention he needs an environment such as this.” The kind-eyed Alpha says. A strong Alpha, a voice whispers to him. The soldier spreads his legs shamelessly, showing off for the eleven Alphas in the room, showing off for the Alpha with the kind eyes, all taking an interest in the proceedings.

“If, despite all of Hydra’s warnings, you still decide to use the soldier, do not tease him, and let him do what he wants, or he will kill you.”

The men start unbuckling their own pants, start making their way towards the soldier. Something inside of him purrs at the attention, and he arches back harder, lifting his head and licking his lips, looking up at them underneath his lashes. All but one of them are Alphas, with dark skin and darker eyes, with thick, long cocks hanging between their legs. The soldier drools as he thinks about them filling him, and nearly forgets the last thing he has to say.

“The only other advice Hydra offers is: Good luck.”

The soldier finishes by opening his mouth, which was immediately filled. The soldier sucks eagerly, savagely, cheeks bulging, the heat taking over his body. He feels something primal inside of him rearing to the surface, something as old as time, growing alive at the sweet, simple action of procreation.

A finger goes to tease at his opening, wet with slick and sweat. Fire ripples across the soldier’s skin and engulfs everything, and he can’t help the whine escaping the back of his throat. He tries to spread his legs further but his pants keeps his knees locked. The kind-eyed Alpha laughs, and smacks one of the cheeks of his ass. The fire burns hotter. A finger breaches his entrance, and he nearly sobs in relief around the cock in his mouth.

The finger takes its sweet time, pressing in and out. The soldier feels like he’s been born ready, and thrusts his hips back, harder.

He pulls back. “More.” He says. He needs an Alpha that can take.

“Remember, don’t tease him.” A surprisingly steady voice says to the kind-eyed Alpha. The man nods and immediately slides two in, deep.

The soldier moans so suddenly he chokes on the dick in his mouth, and the Alpha in front of him stutters his hips as he finishes down his throat.

The soldier pulls back and begins thrusting his hips against the fingers in his ass, enjoying the way they seared a path inside of him.

“Another.” He says, and he is given another finger. He shakes his head and growls deep in his chest. He looks to the heavyset Alpha, a massive hand on his massive, Alpha cock. “Another.” He says, and then he opens his mouth, letting his tongue hang out.

The heavyset Alpha grins and pushes the other, satiated Alpha out of the way to take his place in the soldier’s mouth. The soldier’s senses, even more enhanced by the heat, notices that a fight has broken out on the other side of the room. He pays it no mind.

The soldier sighs happily and feels the fire burning higher and higher in his body, want turning into need, and he has the sudden desire to be filled from both ends, filled until he is stuffed much to full, and then fed semen until its bursting out of him, until he leaks all over the ground like a whore.

“Mmm. You are so tight.” The kind-eyed Alpha says, and the soldier responds by pushing back harder, his hole so delightfully stuffed, yet still not quite enough. Each press of his fingers was searing, but, like scratching a persistent itch, not quite hard enough.

The kind eyed Alpha takes his fingers out. The soldier whines, but the sound is cut short when the blunt head of something much larger presses against his ass.

For a brief, glorious moment, the soldier can feel the blunt pressure begin to expand his hole, but suddenly the pressure abates, and pulls back all together.

Immediately the soldier pulls off the cock in front of him. “Put it back.”

But the kind-eyed Alpha behind him is no longer there. He was pushed aside by another Alpha. They were arguing in rapid-fire Arabic, and the soldier growls.

He gets up on his knees, ignoring the Alpha in front of him, and takes a look around the room, letting his senses return. The Alphas are arguing, stinking the air up with their aggression pheromones, and the soldier counts at least three full on fistfights, which is currently turning into a full on brawl with the smallness of the room.

God, fucking Alphas.

The soldier gets off his knees and turns to the kind-eyed Alpha who’s fingers were covered in his slick, still aggressively arguing with another.

“I will not wait!” The soldier snarls. He is a wild animal surrounded by potential mates, mates who are turning out to be failures, to caught up in themselves to pay attention to him.

“You idiots! You have to let me knot him or else he will lose himself!” The kind eyed Alpha says, ignoring him.

“You just want him first!” An Alpha roars at him.

“No, he must be tamed, or else—"

“Will someone fucking knot me?” The soldier yells to the room, but it’s no avail, the Alphas are too caught up on who gets the Omega to take care of the Omega himself.

Fire whips around the soldier’s body, sexual frustration and heat-fury merge behind his eyelids until all he sees is red.

Twelve Alphas in this small a room is a powder keg.

But what about just one? A voice whispers.

The soldier stands up and kicks his pants off and grabs the nearest gun and kills them all.

All except for one, a smart man who stayed back from the fight, who was rapidly speaking to himself in the corner of the room eyes closed, clutching something tightly in his hand.

The soldier stalks to the man, and demands a knot.

“I—I can’t.” The man sputters out.

The soldier bares his teeth and scents the air.

The Beta. The fucking Beta.

No.” The soldier snarls, and he realizes there’s no way he’ll be satisfied today.

“Allah, what are you?” The Beta cries. “You cannot be an Omega. You cannot be a man.

The soldier shoots him.

 

 

He is outside, throwing the last of the bodies in a hole in the ground, when the truck for extraction arrives.

“Soldat.” His handler, a blond and well-bodied Alpha, waves him over.

“Mission success.” He reports.

“Status?”

“I am in heat.” He responds.

His handler pales. “What—what happened to the team?”

The soldier looks over at his hastily dug grave.

“They attempted to assist.” He says, and he steps inside the truck.

 

 

The truck drives to an airplane hangar, where Tvorets sits at a table in the middle of the empty space with the king of Egypt. Around him are servants and guards. To the back of them is a plane.

The soldier stands with his arms behind his back and bows his head in respect. “Mission success.” The soldier reports. He is glad he decided to put on his pants.

The king scents the air. “Your weapon… he is an Omega?” The king says.

“Your highness,” Tvorets says, speaking Arabic with a Russian accent, “would he be anything else? The perfect weapon is one that always obeys.”

The king leans back in his chair. “Very good, very good. Your money.”

A briefcase was exchanged. Several other things occurred. They did not entail the soldier, so he did not care.

It is when they started to board the plane that a guard runs in, shouting. They had found the mass grave.

“What is this! Zola? Popov? Explain at once!” The king shouts as they turn away from the stairway to board the private jet.

“Soldat?” Popov asks.

“They tried to knot me.” The soldier says.

“So you killed them for trying to do something natural, something they had no control over?!” The king shouts.

“No. I killed them because they failed to perform adequately.” The soldier states.

It’s silent for the moment. The soldier reassesses the thought that he will have to kill everyone here.

“Guards!” The king shouts.

Never mind.

“Kill them all, except the king, Soldat.” Tvorets says in Russian. “We must change our relationship with these men.”

“Da, ser.”

 

 

“I though we had fixed this little…issue, Popov.” Tvorets says on the plane a few hours later, after the soldier insured the king would comply.

The soldier is preparing for decommission, cleaning sand from his arm.

“We thought so… it’s been a year since the incident, and he hasn’t had one since, but with all the cryo, there’s no way to know how his biology is going to react, it’s still—the technology is so new.”

“We would have never had this problem had you not drawn his attention to the heat.” Tvorets snaps.

Popov remains quiet.

Tvorets sighs. “What do you know?”

“If he has a heat, it’s within twelve hours of thawing. He doesn’t seem to have two heats within the same year period, but we don’t really know for sure.” Popov lists off. “During his heat he’s perfectly functional, unless an Alpha approaches him and attempts to knot him, then he becomes… wild. Dare I say, feral.”

Popov seems to look frightened of the very word. “The fact that killing twelve men was enough to bring him out of the haze of heat is not a good sign.”

Tvorets shakes his head in disappointment, then heaves out a weary sigh. “Find a way so that he doesn’t get pregnant. I don’t care if you have to rip his uterus out.”

“What about the people that try to use him?”

“Who cares? If they are weak they die, if they are strong enough to knot him then they are clearly Hydra material.”

Popov sighs. “I suppose that…”

The soldier finishes cleaning. He lies down on the bench in the back and goes to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1963

“It says, right here in the manual. What to do if the soldier enters heat.” The woman’s voice says over the radio.

“What’s it say? Can we use him?” The bright, eager voice attached to the bright, eager Alpha says.

“It basically says that ‘the soldier is completely functional during his heats. He has techniques that can mitigate detection… If it becomes a distraction, he can be commanded to wash…’ blah, blah, blah…, oh… oh, okay here. ‘If the soldier enters a heat, it is highly, highly recommended that you do NOT use Alpha personal to assist him through it.’”

“Seriously?” The Alpha pouts.

“I’m not done, hold on!” She says. “But, though it is highly recommended you do not use him, if you would like to, there are rules that you should follow.”

“Ok, read them off for me.”

“Rule 1. Don’t tease him.”

“No teasing, got it. What else?”

“Rule 2. Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“No problem with that one, sweetheart.”

“And then it says… ‘Good luck.’”

“Good luck?”

“I don’t like the way that sounds, Charlie…”

“Don’t worry sweet cheeks, I’ll be safe.” Charlie says before he silences the radio.

“What’d she say?” A strong and tall Alpha with brown hair longer than the soldier’s asks.

“Said he’s easy, Ryan. Don’t tease ‘em, and leave him satisfied.” Charlie paraphrases. He’s a cocky son of a bitch, blonde and eager to move up in the ranks.

“Yes, sir.” A third Alpha says. Across the room, the Beta rolls his eyes.

Context: The soldier is lying flat on his stomach a window in a building in Texas. His mission is to confirm the kill in 24 hours. Earlier, the soldier analyzed the security detail on the target, determined his patterns for the day, and created an opening in his route, forcing him to drive down a street with many windows. A crowd was growing on the sidewalk. His security was easy to take out with the help of the American branch of Hydra.

As the soldier waited, he had entered his heat.

So Charlie made a call to base. Base read the manual, meaning the soldier did not have to verbally recite  the rules, and wished him good luck on fucking the soldier.

The soldier remembers that during his heat, he must not get pregnant at any cost.

The soldier stands and the team stands with him, weary. He walks to his bag, grabs a needle and a syringe, preps it, and stabs it into his thigh, through the fabric of the worker’s uniform he stole to gain entry to the building.

“What, uh. Is that?” Charlie asks.

“Birth control.” The soldier says.

“They have that? Like that? Like in a needle?” The Beta asks curiously.

“I heard they have a pill now…” Ryan says conspiratorially. “Not sure how I feel about that. Babies dying before they even get a chance to get made…”

“Can I bring some of that back to my gal? I’m sick of having to wrap it all the time.” Charlie asks.

“It would kill her.” The soldier says, and he returns to lying on his stomach at the window.

“What the fuck is this guy?” Charlie asks Ryan.

“Hold on, so, you are an Omega?” The Beta asks.

“Yes.” The soldier thought that was obvious.

“Really?”

The soldier doesn’t deign that with a response.

“Right. Right.”

The soldier notices Charlie walking towards him. Ryan and the third Alpha, yet to be named, follow behind him.

“Well, soldier. You’re going through your heat. No chance you’ll get pregnant, so, figured, we could help you with that, yeah?” Ryan says more than asks.

Analysis: The mission is ongoing. The soldier must be in optimal condition. The soldier is completely optimal during his heat without Alpha interference. With Alpha interference, his is no longer optimal. Therefore, Alpha interference will be detrimental to the mission.

“The mission comes first.” The soldier says. “It requires too much attention to detail for distractions.”

The soldier feels a hand on the back of his thigh. “You’re the best assassin on the planet, aren’t you? When the target comes around, take a break, and come back.” Ryan’s voice says.

“It will interfere with the mission.” The soldier says.

“But—”

The soldier applies incentive with the tone of his voice. “Nothing interferes with the mission,” The soldier snarls. The Alphas jump back.

“Understood. After. We can wait ‘til after. Right? Ryan? Lee? After.”

“After.” Lee, the third Alpha, agrees.

Long haired Ryan doesn’t respond. The crowd is growing louder; the target is coming.

The soldier feels a hand on his thigh. It slides up and grabs his ass cheek firmly. The soldier doesn’t react, focusing on lining up and checking windspeed.

“Ryan.” Charlie bites out.

“It’ll be fine. You said he’s easy, right?” Ryan continues feeling the soldier’s ass. “God, his smell…”

The crowd grows louder. On the street, a car turns down the road. It is not the car he needs, but he can be coming, any moment.

Ryan reaches between the crack of the soldier’s ass, and the soldier feels the heat begin to warm its way up his spine. The heat makes his vision blur and his muscles tense and loosen. It brings forward the discomfort from lying on the ground and the annoyance of having a wet-pad in between his legs, pains that he would usually be able to easily ignore.

Quick as lightening, the soldier stands, turns, and grabs Ryan by the neck.

“Hey!” Charlie jumps forward. “Whoa there, let’s all slow down now.”

“You will not interfere with the mission. Do you understand.” The soldier says.

Ryan claws at his neck, struggling.

Charlie raises his gun carefully. “Let’s not do anything rash.”

“Verbal conformation is required.” The soldier says.

“Yes, yes. Understood.” Ryan gasps.

The solider drops him to the ground and returns to his perch. The room breathes again.

Time ticks onwards.

Ryan returns to the soldier’s side.

And grabs the soldier’s ass.

Fucking Alphas.

“Ryan, do you really think that’s the best idea?” The Beta snaps at him.

“You want me not to, Will? He’s right there, smellin’ the way he smells, soaking fucking wet, just asking for it.” Ryan bites out.

Charlie chimes in. “I know Ryan, but there’s one thing about asking for it, and another thing about committing suicide.”

Two motorcycles make their way around the corner. The soldier doesn’t have time to apply more incentive. The target will be in range soon.

Ryan slides his fingers into the soldier’s waistband, easing up under his pad.

Around the corner turns the car. He is with three others, in a convertible, making the soldier’s job easier. His head enters the range. The soldier tightens his grip.

Ryan presses a finger into the soldiers asshole, slick and hot.

The soldier moans, fires, and misses.

Pushy fucking dumbass knotheaded—

The soldier stands and turns and runs. The four team members jump to their feet and scramble.

The target had already driven past the zone for a safe shot. He has to make it to the second site, and do so quickly.

Footsteps follow him. He runs out the back entrance to the building and sprints to the fence behind a grassy knoll, father up the street. People think there has been a car backfire, few are alarmed. The soldier keeps silent as he runs. The street is deserted, everyone focused on the display on the other road. His clothes allow him to blend in, and he keeps his metal palm in the shadows.

Up in the window, the soldier hears more shots ring out. Fucking idiots. This time people react, screaming. The target is damaged, but the kill is not confirmed.

The soldier reaches the secondary site and grabs the rifle from where it is stashed and lines up.

Another shot rings out, striking the driver.

The soldier fires once, and sees the targets head explode.

He heads to the rendezvous.

 

 

He is picked up by a white van. Ryan, Charlie, and Will are inside. The drive is silent. The soldier’s expression is murderous and dark. The mission was a success, but it was not flawless.

They drive to a shitty warehouse in the middle of a street full of several other, shittier, warehouses. The soldier jumps from the van first and passes his weapon off to a Hydra soldier and walks to the Chair. He doesn’t know where the other Alphas go. He doesn’t care. He is angry.

He is met with his primary handler, white haired yet well-bodied for his age, in a white coat. A few scientists start work on his arm. Soldiers mill about, away from him. In front of the chair is a computer screen where a video of Tvorets on a screen was playing. Tvorets cannot leave the hospital.

Tvorets speaks to him. “This mission is very, very important, as I have stressed to you before. Were you successful?”

The soldier does not understand why Tvorets asks. If the soldier fails a mission, he is to return to base and stab himself in the stomach. He has not, therefore, “Mission successful.” He says. “Was forced to resort to site B. Lee has been compromised.”

“Status?” His handler asks.

“I am in heat.” The soldier says. His handler drops his pen.

“And he wouldn’t let us do nothin’ about it.” Ryan grumbles under his breath as he walks by the soldier’s Chair, the remaining members of the team following behind him.

“I bet.” The soldier says, and the team stops at his voice. “You thought I wouldn’t hear that.”

Ryan swallows, but remains firm.

His handler speaks. “Experience has taught us that attempting to help the soldier through his heat is extremely dangerous and detrimental to his operation.” He says. “He turns into an… animal, for lack of a better term. He becomes unstable. His memory breaks down, and…” His handler trails off. He looks like he is remembering something terrifying. “We tried to wipe the instinct out of him, but now that he knows what his heat is, we can’t seem to get him to forget it. It’s one of my greatest regrets.”

“No one’s knotted him? After all these years?” Ryan asks, completely missing the point.

“No one.”

“How bad do his heats get?” Charlie asks, chewing his lip nervously.

“Last time, he killed twelve men.”

“…shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Well it seems like they just weren’t doing it right,” Ryan says.

“Everyone says that,” his handler mutters. “Soldiers, dismissed. Debrief in twenty.”

They must now lay low, due to the problem of Lee.

The soldier is still in heat.

 

 

They debrief, sitting at a table in the center of the large warehouse. The soldier recites exactly what happens, including only pertinent information, to a table of team leads and soldiers and, of course, Tvorets.

Then Ryan had to open his knotheaded dumbass I-know-best-for-you-because-I’m-an-Alpha mouth.

The soldier might be projecting.

“You forgot the part where you went into heat.” Ryan says haughtily, almost immediately after the soldier finishes his recitation.

“The information is not pertinent to the mission.” The soldier says.

“Oh you mean the part where you missed the shot because you were too desperate for it, huh?”

All eyes turn to the soldier. “Is that true, Soldat?” His handler says.

“No.” The soldier says.

“Yes, it is,” Ryan says. “He was moaning like a bitch and his shot went wide! I don’t understand why we have and Omega in such a high position anyways, shit like this happens and then everything goes to hell.”

Will, the Beta jumps in. “That’s not what happened, you were too caught up in his heat to control yourself! He gave you a warning, which you ignored, and you kept trying to fuck him and distracted him so that the shot went wide. Charlie, you saw it!”

Charlies hesitates, torn between doing the right thing and maintaining his friendships with his fellow Alpha soldiers. “I can’t say whose fault it was, definitely,” he starts slowly, “Only that the soldier going into heat did cause a distraction to the Alphas.”

What a shitty, shitty man, Charlie is.

“Then how come you and Lee were able to ignore him, but Ryan wasn’t? If all that ‘Alpha’s can’t control themselves in front of an Omega’ bullshit is really true, then wouldn’t all of you—”

“Enough!” His handler shouts, and the room falls silent. “The argument is useless because the soldier cannot lie. Soldat, what happened.

“I entered my heat. The three Alpha’s expressed their intentions to fuck me. I refused, because it would interfere with the mission. Charlie and Lee took their seats. Ryan did not. He felt my leg, reached under my pants and pushed a finger into my asshole at the time the shot was to occur. I was forced to run to the secondary site in order to confirm the kill.” The soldier recites.

“Then that’s what happened. Ryan, you’ll have to report to your commanding officer when you return.”

“I don’t have to report anywhere. Fuck you Popov, and fuck this Omega, you can’t just let him wander around in heat everywhere!”

Fire rolls in the soldier stomach. “What are you going to do about it, you knotless, chicken-dicked, poor excuse for an Alpha, bitch?” The soldier says.

There is dead silence. Then, several men at the table laugh before they can stifle it. Ryan grows red from anger and embarrassment.

From the computer, a mechanical sigh rings out. “You are going to have to reset him, again, Popov.” Tvorets says. “Too much… personality.”

“What the fuck did you say to me, bitch?” Ryan finally gets out, and he’s blind with Alpha rage.

“You sacrificed the whole mission because you couldn’t control your knot. You’re clearly the bitch here, not me.” The soldier says smoothly.

“Soldat.” Popov says, rubbing the skin between his eyebrows. “Stop.”

The soldier stops speaking.

“We will reset him at the American base. Meeting over.”

 

 

Of course, Ryan doesn’t leave at that. That night, he attempts to put his hand down his pants while he sleeps. The soldier grabs him with the metal arm and chokes him to death, before throwing him across the warehouse floor, pants still pulled down to his knees. No bitch like is going to knot him. No one like that is going to mate him, either. Only a true Alpha will. An Alpha with a heart bigger than his size. An Alpha like—

The soldier’s brain splits in half, and they are forced evacuate him to the base early the next morning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1984

The soldier has rules that he’s is meant to follow.

He is not supposed to have opinions.

He’s not supposed to have personality.

He’s not supposed to have secrets.

The soldier will break all of those rules today.

Context: The solider is sitting in a basement of a house in Denver, Colorado. Surrounding him are white Alphas of various ages. The younger ones were eager to please, the older ones talked about the way things used to be. Earlier today, they wore white hoods and talked about an antiquated way of living.

He was lent out to a neo-Nazi organization in order to kill a man in charge of a radio show. Confirmed kill in 32 hours. He’d done it in five. Tvorets took special interest in this assassination as his death could further the divide between liberals and conservatives in America.

This where the soldier breaks the first rule. The soldier hates them. They are riddled with contradictions, unnecessary and misplaced hatred, and are disrespectful of Omegas, which was the most important thing about all of it.

And it’s interesting, because the soldier knows that many members of Hydra share this belief, but to be forced to listen to the constant, ignorant speech grated on his nerves, and brought back more of the personality Tvorets seeks to suppress.

He’ll report it when he gets back, but until then he still has hours until extraction.

He’s in the basement. They are partying, as if they were the ones that did all the work. He is sitting in the corner, glowering. They try to talk to him. They fail. He hates them so, so much.

Then the soldier goes into heat.

It takes the men a while to notice, so busy with drinking terrible beer and talking about how much they hate everything that’s not them, but when they do, conversation trickles to a stop. They scent the air, searching around for the odd one out.

The soldier sighs, and all eyes snap to him.

“I am in heat,” he says.

The basement is, finally, blissfully, silent. The soldier knows it won’t last.

The soldier can hear the sound of a leaky pipe in the ceiling. He wonders if anyone else can.

“You’re… an Omega?” The clear leader of the group says. He’s the whitest, all the way to his hair, and also the largest, and on his face is a poor excuse for a beard. He’s eyes bug out of his head at this revelation.

“Yes.” The soldier says.

“You’re going into heat.” The leader continues, a small smile growing on his face, revealing a set of crooked, yellow teeth.

The soldier remains quiet.

“Well,” the leader says after a moment, “You know what we have to do, right?”

The soldier decides to cater to the man’s incessant need to spell things out. “No.” He says.

The leader chuckles darkly and strokes his not-beard. “Well we hafta knot you now.”

The room drunkenly cheers.

The soldier should be reading off the rules he has for situations like this. But instead of saying “Hydra recommends that…” The soldier instead breaks his second rule, rolls his eyes, snorts, and says, “I’d like to see you try.”

He’s definitely due to be reset.

The leader growls and barks out some orders to the men in the room. They approach him with dark smiles, which the soldier ignores, bored, as they reach for him.

The soldier lets himself be man-handled to his knees. It makes the Alpha’s feel better to try and hurt him, he realizes, and the soldier is even less impressed by them

Yet, the soldier tolerates it, because the soldier wants to be fucked.

And that’s the third rule he’s broken, and he’s been breaking it for a while, and he’d likely be in serious trouble if they knew. The soldier has a secret. He desires to have sex. He’s not sure where it came from, but it’s been there since he woke up in the chair thirteen hours ago, and it stayed with him, quiet, until his heat starts, where it rears his head and controls his actions and makes him want.

But he doesn’t want just anyone, the soldier qualifies as he’s crowded by the pale, blonde men that call themselves superior. He wants someone to take care of him. That treats him with respect, the values his intelligence.

Also, purrs a voice in his head, someone BIG.

The soldier doesn’t know how to satisfy the first part of his wants. Already, this team has treated him with disrespect, has devalued his intelligence with hate speech about Omegas.

But the second part, the soldier thinks as the leader begins to unzip his pants, he may be able to satisfy. If these Alphas are big enough, then he could finally—

The Alpha isn’t big enough. At all.

 “You gotta be kiddin’ me.” The soldier says. His voice drawls. He’s not sure why.

The Alpha reddens, then purples. He starts shouting at the soldier. The soldier ignores him.

The soldier sighs, then oddly, looks at the Alpha’s hands. The fingers are thick and bulbous, and the nails are long and unkempt. The wrist itself is thick. Too thick. For what? The soldier does not know.

He has a brief image of small, short, knobby fingers, artists fingers, all five of them pushed together, slathered in thick lube and working their way in, in, in…

He’s brought back to reality by a backhand. He looks up at the Alpha disinterestedly, heat not riled up enough to become annoyed.

“I said, I’m going to knot you bitch, and you’re gonna—”

“No.” The soldier stands up. “I’m going to wait outside.”

The Alpha reaches for him, intending to strike. The soldier wonders what it is about Alphas’ ability to misremember his strength when they learn he’s an Omega.

He neutralizes the threat.

“Damage to Hydra property will not be tolerated.” The soldier says tiredly as he holds the Alpha’s head against the concrete, bare ass up to the sky.

As if he could damage him anyways.

“Do you understand?”

“I…understand…” The man gasps out into the ground. He voice sounds clogged. The soldier must have broken his nose.

The soldier stands up and walks outside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1991

“Fuck my life, man.” A nasal voice says.

Context: … … …

“Can’t believe I’m on frost duty. I’ve been here for twenty years, and do I get respect? No.” The voice continues.

The soldier.

“Absolutely none. Ever since Popov died, Lukin, his replacement, has been a fucking asshole to me, just because I scored higher than he did.”

Is fucking.

“A Goddamn Beta all the way that high in the ranks? What, is Hydra doing affirmative action too? Next we’re gonna see women, God.”

Freezing.

“Come on Soldat. Hydra needs you.”

The soldier opens his eyes. He’s in a basement of sorts, that’s how these things usually go, lying on a silver examination table. He is breathing harshly and shivering non-stop. Every wall of the room is glowing an orange-red. Two men are in the room. One has a lab coat, and one is wearing all black.

“Vitals are stabilizing. Core temperature rising.” Johnny says.

“Memory?”

“We’ll see.”

The soldier, fuck, the soldier needs to fucking sit up, that’s what he needs.

A hand meets his chest. “Whoa there, take a second before you get up, still a little frostbite there pal.”

“What…” The soldier says, teeth chattering. “Is happening.” He feels like each of the bones in his body could shatter at any second. The ceiling above him was fuzzy, and he could barely manage to keep his eyes open

No one answers him. Eventually, the shivers stop. Time passes. The soldier doesn’t know how much.  He starts to sweat. The orange walls fade.

“We’re at 98-point-fucking-6.” Johnny sighs.

“Up and at ‘em. Can you walk?” Man in black says. He’s looking at him curiously, calculating.

The soldier turns to sit and puts his feet on the ground. He has ten toes, which is good. He wiggles them. It hurts, the blood rushing to each one, but feels good at the same time.

“Focus, soldier. Stand up.” Johnny says.

The soldier stands. His legs feel like a pile of bricks slipping and sliding all over each other. The soldier takes a step, than another, then walks into a wall. Fucking ow.

“Motor functions are… happening.” Johnny mutters.

“Where am I?” The soldier asks. God he feels like shit. What happened last night?

Johnny frowns. “That seems a little too self-aware, yeah?”

The soldier looks his hands. One is flesh and dull. One is metal and shiny. What the fuck? “Who am I?” He asks.

“Shit.” Johnny says. “Shit.” He snaps his fingers at the man in black. “What’s your name, get him to the Chair, now.”

“My name is—”

“I doesn’t matter dipshit, because we’re about to be pudding on the walls if we don’t get him wiped right the fuck now. Go!” Johnny’s voice is panicking. The soldier looks back and forth between the two men until he feels dizzy. He falls backwards, leaning against the wall.

The man in black turns to him, and places a hand on his shoulder to help steady him. The soldier looks at the hand. “Let’s get you to the Chair, soldier, how’s that sound?” He says. The soldier doesn’t look at him as he speaks. Why does the man in black have two hands? He wants two fucking hands.

“Why?” The soldier asks. What happened last night?

“Fuck this shit, I’m not dying like this.” Johnny says, then he runs out the room.

The soldier looks at the man in black. His hair is buzzed short, and his face is young. Is he an enlisted?

“Because that’s the orders soldier.” He sounds easy-going, and the soldier wants to listen to him.

“Am I in the military?” The soldier asks. It seems to make sense.

“Yep, and the Sarge wants you in the Chair. Come on, I’ll show you how to get there.” He gently presses against his back. The soldier starts stumbling steps forward.

“But aren’t I the Sarge?” The soldier asks. It sounds right to him. Sarge.

“There’s two Sarges.”

The soldier feels like he has a concussion. They enter a hallway. “Why…” The soldier doesn’t complete his thought. It feels perfectly natural to listen to the man in black, but something urgent is gnawing at him, like he’s forgetting something important.

“No more questions, soldier.”

“I think I outrank you.” The soldier says. “I’ve been in the army for… for years. Many years.” How many years? He continues to walk down the dim hallway, until the man in black points at a door to his right.

They enter the room across the hall. It’s filled with soldiers and men that look like doctors and computer screen with a green face on it. Johnny’s there, frantic words cut short when he enters. They look at him warily. The soldier looks back, tries to focus his eyes, but can’t.

“There’s the Chair, just for you soldier.” The man in black says.

“Thanks, I hate it.” The soldier says. And he doesn’t know why he hates it, but the orders are to… but whose orders? What base is this?

“Go sit down.” The man in black says.

“Why?” The soldier asks. The room visibly stiffens at that one word. Guns were drawn. Not a sound could be heard. “Where—What’s going on—” He stutters, panic lacing his voice. Trust his instincts someone once said to him, and his instincts, at first dull, were steadily growing in the back of his head, telling him that he needs to get Out of This Room, Now.

“Steve!” The soldier whips his head towards the man in black. All of his thoughts grind to a halt. “Steve Rogers.” The man in black repeats.

“Where is he!” He demands. Wait. “Who is he?” Shit. “Why—”

“He’s your Captain. Remember? And he needs you to sit in the Chair.”

Right. Right? “Right. Captain. Chair. Steve.” Well if Steve said so. He starts to walk. Everything is fuzzy and tilted slightly to the left. He gets closer to the Chair. He hates it. Why does he treat it like a proper noun? It’s not just a chair, it’s the Chair. Why does that sound that way in his head?

So. Steve said to sit in the Chair. Right? “Steve said—”

“He wants you in the Chair. Once you sit down, then things will be okay. Remember? Captain Steven Rogers—”

“Alpha.” The soldier says, and his whole body shivers when he does.

“Did you just say Steve Rogers is your Alpha?” Man in black says slowly. He finds this funny, for some reason.

“Have to keep it quiet, or else, the people will… will know. That I’mma…” How does the man in black know Steve? He’s at the Chair. It’s pretty ugly. But if Steve said to sit he’d hafta have a good reason. He’s a good guy, Steve. Not like those other knotheads that want to leave him barefoot and pregnant, that want to kick him outta school, that want him married at 14. Steve is good. Ma likes Steve. Steve doesn’t care that he wants to join the army. But of course that asshole wants to join too. Wanted to join. He joined, didn’t he? He’s his Captain?

When are we?” The soldier says.

“12:13 AM. Sit down soldier, and things will be alright.” Man in black says.

That’s not what he meant. “I don’t want to.” The soldier says.

“I know, but this will all be over soon. Do it for your Alpha. Do it for Steve.”

“I’d do anything for Steve.” The words are automatic, almost nonchalant, like he was making a statement of a well-known fact.

His words make the man in black grin exceptionally wide, like he’s been given something valuable. “I bet you would. Now sit.”

The soldier sits.

“Open your mouth.”

The soldier opens his mouth. This is familiar. His eyes are not clear. A bite guard enters his mouth.

“Now lean back.”

The soldier leans back. The Chair leans back with him. He hates this. Why—

And then,

 

 

Agony.

 

 

The soldier finishes preparing himself for commission, which consists of following a series of movements while several men in lab coats watch. He walks through the halls with his escort behind him. People give him a wide berth.

On every wall, around ever corner, is a picture of a man in a lab coat, blood seeping from a wound in his forehead, with the caption: “always remember wipe your weapons before you put them in the freezer.”

The soldier wonders what that is all about.

Context: He’s headed to a gym in a base under the snow in Siberia. He has been tasked with training new soldiers today. The recruits have yet to receive a serum. They are the best Hydra have to offer. They are all Alphas. They all have dead eyes like him, so the soldier thinks they’ll do okay.

He kicks all of their asses a good thirty minutes before his heat starts.

When it does start, it’s when he’s being detached from his IV in the corner of the room. The tech staff, which are all Betas, scramble to make a call. The soldier notices the recruits from where they are sitting on the mats and benches, licking their wounds. They flare their nostrils into the air, zero eyed stare narrowing in on him, looking for a willing and eager prey.

The soldier, having kicked all of their asses, finds none of them suitable for him. They try anyways, but the soldier attacks back, and several minutes later they lay, unconscious, in several bloody heaps.

None are dead. Probably.

The soldier is approached by a salt and pepper hair Beta with a strong jaw and methodical eyes. He regards him mildly. He’s the only one, save Tvorets with the power to give him orders that he most obey directly and immediately.

The Beta takes one scent of him and wrinkles his nose.

“Follow me.” He says, and the soldier does so immediately, mind clear from the fighting.

The soldier is placed in a room with a cot and a toilet and a sink. He is given a magazine and a silicone penis.

“I’ll be back in two days.” He says. The door slams behinds him.

The soldier sits on the bed, then when he soaks through his pants, he takes them off and sits on the toilet, letting it drip, drip, drip out of him. He has so much, and he keeps make more. What is it all for? Children? He doesn’t want those. Fucking? He wants that.

But no one is here to fuck him. What a waste.

 

 

Time passes. Things happen. They don’t entail the soldier. So he just. Fucking sits there.

 

 

The door to his room opens, and the soldier looks up from the toilet. In the doorway stands a man dressed in black.

“Hey soldier.”

The soldier doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t think it’s been two days yet.

“Do you remember me?”

“No.” He doesn’t remember most things.

“That’s okay, we only met for a little bit. Wouldn’t have expected me to stick in there, not like Steve.”

“Who the hell is Steve?” The soldier says.

“I can’t help but notice,” the man starts, ignoring the question. He is creeping inwards, sitting on the cot across from the toilet, where Bucky is drip drip dripping away, “that you haven’t touched your dildo. Not a fan of the fake stuff?”

And then the man in black goes to unzip his pants.

The soldier starts reciting. “Hydra recommends that you do not…”

The soldier’s voice trails off.

Because the man in black is huge. Like fucking, like if you found twenty whole dollars and used to buy as much sausage as you could it would be this Stevie, this massive—

“You want it soldier? I can see it in your eyes. I can smell it. God, that smell. You have the strongest, most potent goddamn scent… I wonder if it’s the serum’s doing?”

Someone had lit a match and placed against the soldier’s skin, and it’s like his whole body had ignited in flame. “I want it. Oh fuck. I want it.” The soldier’s not supposed to want. He’s been breaking a lot of rules, lately.

“Oh I know you do. You need a good Alpha, don’t you?” The man in black almost purrs, taunting and confident in the way and Alpha can be when they know they are desirable. “Not like the others, who use all that false bravado and showmanship to prove their knots. No, you need someone that knows they are who they say they are.”

The soldier could give two shits about what this man was talking about. He’s just watching that piece of meat in the Alpha’s hand, steadily getting impossibly larger, and wetter, the longer the Alpha strokes.

He wants.

He falls off the toilet to his knees and crawls the two steps to the man in black, before pulling his hand away and sucking him into his mouth with a whine.

“That’s it, slut. Take it.” The man in black says, cracking out a laugh. Don’t even know his name.

The soldier takes it, then takes it again, in and out and in and out. The man in black starts to push into him, and the soldier can suddenly feel the emptiness of his hole, expanded in expectation of begin split in fucking half, and the soldier actually whimpers, feeling close to begging for it, just wanting the taste of a sweet knot his ass, stretching him into oblivion, making him feel whole, and complete, and so, so good.

A fantastic mate, something purrs in the back of his head.

But not

“…Rogers. I wonder what he would say if he could see what I was doing with his Omega right now. I hope we find him, so I can tell him. God, that’s hot, can’t believe I’m going to fuck Captain America’s mate. Fuck.”

The soldier pays him no mind, trying to get that sweet dick as far down his throat as he can. A part of him is roaring in pleasure, wanting more and more.

 “I can’t blame him for picking you. Were you always this much of a whore? God, look at you go.”

The soldier whines, spreading his legs.

“Hey.” The man in black says suddenly. “Think you can take the whole thing?” He takes his hand and pushes the soldier head down.

The soldier can. He does. The man in black swears up a storm, and a little voice in the soldier’s head preens at the attention, at pleasing this Alpha that is clearly big enough to satisfy the soldier, who is strong and level headed.

“How—fuck, how long can you hold your breath?” The man in black asks, and he pushes himself all the way down the soldier’s throat.

The answer is several minutes, but the soldier doesn’t get the chance to answer, because the man in black is still down the soldier’s throat, cutting off his air supply. The soldier stays very, very still and works his throat dutifully around his cock. He wants to be good for this Alpha. He can take care of the soldier the way he needs.

Above him, the man in black moans and begins to piston his hips, sounding like he’s not going to last much longer.

And then the soldier feels the thing in his mouth get bigger.

And the soldier realizes, that the man in black is, is knotting his mouth.

And the soldier can’t breathe. He couldn’t before, but it was okay back then. But now, knowing his mouth is about to be knotted, a different kind of suffocation is takin him over, the kind that made him seize up in fear and took Steve reminding him to take deep breathes. He can’t breathe, and everything is getting worse. His chest was squeezing him like a vice, panic gripping him tighter than a bitch outta heat.

The knot continues to inflate, and the soldier, half out of his mind, begins to struggle.

“Shit! Don’t move!” The man in black gasps, as the knot fills up in the soldier’s mouth, expanding behind his teeth, making it impossible for him to pull it out.

Oh Christ. He can’t breathe, he’s going to pass out, and this Alpha’s going to bite his neck in his sleep like what happened to the girl next door and he’s going to have to go live with him, and he don’t even know his name

“Calm the fuck down! Stop, you’re— ow, fucking—!

What is Ma gonna say, knowing he’s stuck to this shitty Alpha he found by the docks, who had traded his mouth for a fiver, but it was cold, he had to, cuz Stevie was to weak to work and nobody wanted—

“That hurts you fucking—Fucking hell! Stop!”

But there’s no way he’s letting himself be paired off with an Alpha like this, he wants Steve, and he wants to prove everyone wrong about Omegas because he knows he’s smart, and he’s not going to waste the rest of his life tied to an Alpha, not when he has so much to offer.

“Stop! Shit, fucking—"

He can’t let this happen, he just can’t.

 

 

The soldier bites.

 

 

The most inhuman, unnatural noise pierces the air, sounding like an air being let out of a tire.

The soldier’s feels like he’s chewing living, breathing rubber, breaking slowly beneath his teeth, blood dripping down his chin.

Reflexively, the Alpha above attempts to jerk back, but the soldier’s not an ordinary man, and his teeth hold steadfast. Skin rips, and the heavy taste of salt and copper floods his senses tenfold, flooding his mouth in spurts, and suddenly the soldier is choking on two things now. The soldier redoubles his efforts to pull back, tossing his head from side to side, ripping and tearing, the Alpha above him screaming and crying and begging.

Something pops, and the knot starts to deflate rapidly. The soldier can finally slip him from his mouth, and he throws up blood, spitting and choking it out. He’s shocked to find tears in his own eyes, and tries wiping him away. His whole arm comes back red.

He looks up. The man in black had collapsed into the bed, and his dick was—

The soldier, who is not squeamish, has to look away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2011

The soldier is in a van with a STRIKE team when he goes into heat.

Rollins eyes go dark. “Can we…?”

“Don’t even think about it.” Rumlow snaps.

“But—”

“Last time, he bit a man’s dick off.”

No one touches him.