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Without Understanding

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He knows he is in heat. He can feel the itch under his skin, and each movement is torture all on its own. He wants even when he is not allowed to want, even when he's not sure what it is exactly that he wants. The room smells cloying and sweet, harsh to his own senses, but there is no other smell here but himself and he knows that. He also knows that his smell should be mixed with something else, something more pungent and heavier. He wants but he does not know what it is that he wants.

The door makes an awful creak as it's opened, alerting him to the fact that someone else has entered the small, empty room, but it closes too quickly for him to find any relief from the smell of his own body. The techs had already taken his clothes, so at least there is nothing for him to ruin with his slick.

The figure that approaches him is quiet and menacing in ways he doesn't understand. He can hear the thump of his boots on the concrete floor, and instinctively, he knows that it's Rumlow. Finally, finally, he's given something else to focus on that doesn't involve the empty ache of his backside and the disgusting smell that he's been wallowing in for two days.

Rumlow smells like rich spices, like a bar at two am, whiskey and cigarettes, gunpowder and engine grease. It's dominating and thick, wafting over him, ensnaring his senses. It's also the smell of an alpha. And it's good, it's so fucking good, he's practically salivating with the pheromones in the air.

"Aw, sweetheart, you're makin' a mess." the alpha croons at him and he doesn't understand. How could he be making a mess? He hasn't moved from the position he'd been in, curled in on himself, arms folded tightly against his own chest, like he has to hold onto himself, otherwise, he'll fall apart.

Slowly, his fever bright eyes slide up to focus on him, and for a moment, he's struck with just the color of those amber eyes, and then his tunnel vision subsides--or does he force it away?--and he can see the other man. Actually see him. He wants to ask how he's made a mess, but his handler doesn't seem displeased in any way. Slowly, carefully, he shifts and then, he discovers what it is his handler means. Slick. It's dripping down the backs of his thighs, cooling his heated skin, but adding a certain level of sensitivity. He had not been aware that he'd been leaking so much fluid until just now.

His mouth opens and he means to apologize, to tell his handler that he's sorry for making a mess, that he's not functional, he's in need of maintenance immediately, but all that comes out is a strangled noise of want. He tries to focus on something, something besides that soft coolness, the empty ache that emits from deep inside of him, the involuntary hardness that protrudes from his groin. He wants so bad, but he doesn't know what, and his hazy mind keeps circling around and around until it's all just haze and smell and intense need.

His groan is met with a soft chuckle from the alpha in the room, and again, he has to remind himself to focus. He must control his body, otherwise they will say he is broken and they will discard him, decommission him, and he cannot let that happen. He has to be good for his handler.

Rumlow shifts and then gently gets to his knees in front of him and the smell that wafts over him again is enough to make him dizzy, and he draws in a breath through his nose. Mistake, he should not have done that. It makes the cramps in his abdomen flare again while more slick oozes from his backside. He is going to be decommissioned, he can feel it coming.

"It's alright sweetheart, I'll take care of you." Rumlow murmurs, and relief is like cold water as it washes through him. He reaches a hand out and wraps it around his straining erection, fist loose as he strokes up and down a few times. It's pure torture though. His skin is too hot and too tight for him to do anything more than buck his hips up, seeking more friction and some sort or reprieve from the fire that burns inside. But it isn't enough, Rumlows fist is too loose, he's barely touching him at all.

This time, when his mouth opens, its all he can do to not to scream with need. "Pleasepleasepleaseplease!" escapes him and he sounds desperate and whiny. For a moment, he expects punishment, and he'd take anything--even the waterboarding again if he'd just take away the burning sensation. But the punishment does not come, in fact, he's rewarded, and his pleas do not fall on deaf ears. Rumlows hand tightens until he's gripping the base of his erection in a painful grip, and he stills under his touch. But then hs hand starts moving again, and maybe it's the feel of skin against his aching flesh or maybe it's the smell of alpha that's slowly overwhelming his senses, but he cums embarrassingly fast, a soft cry escaping him. White tinges at the edges of his vision and for a moment, it's absolute bliss and it's everything he hoped for.

But only for a moment.

The fire comes back with a vengeance, laughing and mocking him, thinking he could get rid of it so easily. Another rush of slick from his backside, and he whimpers. "Isn't that what you wanted?" the alpha asks as he pulls his hand back from the painfully hard flesh between his legs. It was, but it did not stop the fire, it did nothing but make it worse and now he feels helpless and hopeless.

A moment later, he feels fingers slide into his mouth. Without thought, his lips close around them and he sucks lazily, tongue lapping at the wetness on his tongue. The taste is bitter and warm, but he doesn't care. He focuses on what he's doing, on cleaning them off completely, on laving his tongue between the digits, watching Rumlow watch him.

It's like a game, predator and prey, except the need is very real. He wants to be caught. To be devoured by the beast he can see raging in his handlers eyes and distantly, he notes that the amber color that once dominated his eyes is but a thin ring around a circle of black.

"Beautiful..." his handler praises, and for a moment, he feels absolute pride in the fact that he is able to inspire such a word from his handler. Slowly, the fingers in his mouth probe, and under the bitter tang of his own cum, he can taste Rumlows skin. He's not even sucking, no longer moving his tongue around, but rather he's slack jawed while Rumlows fingers slide over his tongue, across his teeth, saliva pooling in his mouth until when he draws them out and away, a thin line of spit connects his fingers to his bottom lip.

He wants to beg again, wants to writhe on the floor and whimper and moan until Rumlow puts the fire out, but he can't make himself move. He's caught, trapped in Rumlows gaze. And when his handler says, "Present." in a voice that sounds layered with another, he isn't sure why or what he's doing anymore, but he scrambles.

His body is well aware of what to do, moving with clumsy accuracy until he's up on his hands and knees with his leaking ass on display for him. His brain is no longer working, but he knows that when he's told to present, this is what he's supposed to do. Rumlow gives a soft hum, but he cannot look back to see if his handler is pleased or not. He doesn't dare move from this spot, in case in doing so, his handler then decides not to help him.

"Got what you need right here, sweetheart." he promises, and he struggles not to at least glance back, because he can hear the zipper on Rumlows tac pants, can hear the shuffle of material as he frees himself from them, and then finally, finally, he can feel the head of his cock slide against his overheated skin.

"Pleasepleaseplease." escapes him again in whispers, one word and yet many at the same time.

"Shh, I got you." he murmurs and he believes him. He has to, Rumlow is his only hope, his mind screams.

And all at once, the fire burns hotter and dulls, and he doesn't understand, but it doesn't matter. He just needs, and Rumlow is the only one that can make it better. The stretch is unbearable, but his body adjusts faster than he anticipated. Rumlows cock slides into him and he groans again it's so fucking good.

His handler wastes no time moving slow or allowing him time to adjust. One moment he's bottoming out inside of him, and the next he's pounding into him. He can't focus on anything except his own screams and whimpers, can't hear or smell or taste anything except alpha and Rumlow and it's right and wrong, but it's already starting to make the pain subside, so he'll endure anything.

Time drifts by in a haze, and he's unsure of how long it lasts or what Rumlow says, but suddenly the stretch is too much and he screams his pleasure at him--for him? He's not sure anymore, and it doesn't matter anyway because once his knot locks inside of him, the pain shifts and everything that hurt before is tingling with absolute bliss. He cums again, so hard his vision whites out completely, his body contracting around the knot in his ass. He has to have everything Rumlow can give him or his body will burn to a cinder in the flames of his heat.

He's not sure when he collapsed to the floor, boneless and completely spent, but he is intimately aware of the smell of alpha and the slowly subsiding fire that burned inside of him. His instincts scream safety and warmth and love, and when Rumlow leans in, presses his nose against his scent glands, he moans again, tipping his head invitingly. He doesn't know what he's inviting him to do, but the alpha lets out a low, possessive growl and then he feels teeth scraping a little lower, over where he thinks his bonding glands are.

"Soon enough, sweetheart." is the last thing he hears before the darkness swallows him up.