In Heat/Rut

[thelegendof]

THE IN HEAT/IN RUT AU MEME
not an alpha/beta/omega meme

There's no need for elaborate backstories for this AU. You go into heat, rut, whatever you'd like to call it. You've always done so since you were of age to do so. It's a socially accepted norm, and people have gotten used to the difficulties that come with the mating seasons. Life goes on.

Isn't this alpha/beta/omega, then? No, not at all. In this meme, there are no gender-variant genitalia unless your character comes prepackaged with those. No giant cocks - again, unless your character is already packing - or self-lubricating assholes or anal wombs, and no knotting. Unless that's your thing. There's also no set in stone roles with regards to dominance and submission, and some people do not even feel the inclination towards either. Still, there are a few similarities, mainly being that the pheromones of others can put someone into heat that was not in it before and the bond between mates. In addition, some humans/human-stand-ins have created packlike dynamics in response, but this is not universal.

In this meme, it's just regular old human...oids feeling the urge for sex. And by "urge," we of course mean all-consuming drive. If characters choose to ignore that urge, it will backfire on them. The more they put it off, the more they will lose their control, becoming more irritable and aggressive, and eventually be nothing but a rutting animal until the need to mate is satisfied. Not all heats call for mating, of course, and most people can just relieve themselves, but when you do mate, you feel the urge to stay by their side and essentially "nest." These desires don't always pan out into offspring, and mating isn't forever unless it's mutually decided upon. However, impregnating your mate is said to be one of the most euphoric experiences a person can have, even if some people only mate because they want to utterly possess someone, as mates are bonded for a while.

If there's anything that's to your fancy that's been left out, go ahead and add it in. Play it how you'd like!

HOW TO PLAY

• Comment with your character and preferences.


• Include what you're interested and not interested in.


• Respond to others!

PROMPTS

1. first heat: Baby's first heat. YOU'RE A TEENAGER/LATE BLOOMER AND WHAT IS THIS?


2. old hand: You've done this a million times, but it never gets any easier.


3. happen to be here: You're not picky. You can't afford to be. You'll take anybody who's nearby.


4. old faithful: You're going to the person you always go to in order to relieve your problem.


5. worked something out: The two of you aren't involved. You just help each other out.


6. unexpected: You never expected to rut with this person, but here you are.


7. forbidden: AKA the obligatory incest or age difference option.


8. volunteer: You've offered yourself up out of the kindness of your heart.


9. tribute: This isn't your offer. You're the offer from others, a gift for someone powerful to sate their appetite.


10. mating: You've decided to go one step further and make your relationship deeper.


11. nesting: Aaah, (temporary) domestic bliss. And lots of fucking. Lots and lots of fucking. Like, you'll barely be able to stand.


12. bonding: The bond, which is mildly psychic and intensely physical, makes sex even more intense.


13. the natural conclusion: Heat calls for pregnancy. Get someone pregnant.


14. already pregnant: Unfortunately, being knocked up doesn't abate your partner's desires. Or yours.


15. mates for life: Now you're absolutely certain that you want to be with no one else. Of course, this means you'll be in synch with their heat for the rest of forever.


16. save you: You've been saved from the advances of an undesired mate by someone who may be much more suited. Show your gratitude?


17. cockfight: Two people want the same mate. That won't do. There are ways to figure that out, not always involving fists.


18. increase in dominance: Exactly what it says.


19. increase in submission: Again, exactly what it says.


20. unexpected dominance: No one expects you to ever be dominant. Prove them wrong.


21. protect: You want to protect your mate from others, and that means putting your scent all over them.


22. set off by someone else: You were doing fine until you got a whiff of someone else's pheromones.


23. resisting temptation: Your heart belongs to someone. You want to stay out of this "heat" thing. You want to rise above it. Whatever it may be, you just have to not take the bait. Easier said than done.


24. all worked up: You're beginning to lose control and yourself. Quick, do something before you're jumping anything that moves.


25. pack: As mentioned prior, some people, especially those far out from civilization proper, have formed packs that hold to the more traditional alpha structure. Of course, these packs come with their own rules when it comes to heat and mating.


26. suitable partner: The desire for certain mates can come from a subconscious level, and you can find yourself aroused by someone showing how strong they are (they can protect you), how curvaceous they look (that must mean they're fertile), or any other number of traits that can benefit you.


27. desperation: You'll take anyone! Anything!


28. final release: You've reached your breaking point and your mindless. At least you'll get relief.


29. fighter: Part of your process is seeing who's worthy of you by testing their mettle. That, or you want to fight anything.


30. off your meds: It's fairly rare, but some can get blockers for their heat. What if those blockers run out? Why, it makes your heat ten times worse!


31. noncon: They don't want this. You don't want to stop this.


32. dubcon: You say no, but your body says yes and you can't stop loving it.


33. calm you down: Whether it's to fuck or to fight, you're going mad, and they have to bring you back down to Earth.


34. territorial: How dare someone look at what belongs to you? You'll have to make things right.


35. odd man out: For some reason, you don't go into heat. Never have. Being with you is pretty relaxing, and some find it appealing to not have to deal with pheromones that aren't theirs. You do have to learn how to appreciate their problems, though.


36. WILDCARD

Comments

[infligere]

They were far beyond punishment and had hit the point of survival. The asset was malfunctioning and there was nothing in the field that he could do to fix it aside from this, but he would be damned if he didn't enjoy it all the same. He kissed the asset and taught the poor bastard how to do it so that they could both enjoy it, not just cold lips slamming on his face. Besides, once trained, the Soldier took well to kissing, though apparently his previous peppermint leaves that he had chewed before the mission was still on his breath. Never knew what one was going to end up getting kissed and humped by a killer weapon after all; it was best to be prepared.

His free hand guided the asset down between his legs, which settled as comfortably as possible curling around the Winter Soldier's muscled thighs, tipping his hips up in invitation if it wasn't already obvious what was supposed to happen. It seemed that the asset had a clue by then based on how easily the Soldier slid into position and he grunted into the kiss at the prodding, the steady increasing pressure. He reminded himself not to tense up, not to hold his breath, but it was really difficult when he was about to get his proverbial cherry popped.

His face contorted to a grimace, but he expected nothing less from the Winter Soldier. Their lips were still together when the asset thrust into him, and pain roared through his flesh as if he had his ass lit on fire. He gave a hoarse shout as he threw his head back, his legs tightening on the Soldier's thighs and his hands grabbing anything that happened to be close to him, which was pretty much the asset. His shout turned very quickly into a volatile spewing of every cuss and vitriol that he knew. God damn that hurt!

Yet he knew all the same it was going to happen. He somehow managed to get his hands into the asset's hair, stroking it because that broken sound certainly hadn't been from him. "Easy now, big guy. Take it slow... we're in this together," he murmured. "Just you and me."

[frozenassets]

He bottoms out, and his human arm suddenly starts to tremble with the effort to hold himself up for once, as he tries to catch his breath against Rumlow's lips. His own curl for a moment against the rough slide of stubble against his, there's this sense of wrong to the sensation that's deeply unsettling. He doesn't remember the stubble. He remembers soft lips, he remembers giggles and hair he might or might not have run his hands through, he remembers pale skin and fine bones but he doesn't know if he kissed those or not.

Rumlow swears viciously under him, cries out; that's wrong too, all wrong. he shudders in him. Something in the Winter Soldier deeply wants at that moment to shut the handler under him up, silence him because it's all wrong. He can't kill him and stay balanced, and that programming that's got this shaky hold at best shivers away from killing a handler when he hasn't presented himself as a target, hasn't struck him, so the weapon instead crushes his lips against his, the "kiss" painful and hard and his teeth bared into it until every cuss peters out. He lets up when Rumlow stops with the filth, and lets up because he needs to breathe.

The surging violence and resentment trails off when his handler's fingers slide into tangled hair, stroke him in a way that has him breathing deep, eyes closing. This time the order at least holds back the next thrust, even if his ass flexes, his hips give this roll into him, works this delicious friction and heat all over his cock. Take it slow. Take it slow. Just you and me. His mouth works, repeating those words silently against Rumlow's lips, you and me like they've caught his attention. It feels familiar. Like he should know it, like it's always been him and...him and...

He can't remember. The order was to take it slow, not stop, just you and me. His hips draw back slow, then he slides back in just as painfully slow, his cock working him open again. Just you and me. What comes out sounds like something out of rote, like he's saying it but doesn't understand the content, but only remembers because years and years ago, he'd repeated it over and over in his mind whenever they dumped his body into that dank cell after each session stalled.

"End of the...End of the l.. You and me until the end of the-," the Winter Soldier groans, voice husky and pained. "End of the..."

[infligere]

His tirade was cut off by the asset's hard mouth, and he hissed and bared his teeth all the same, though his touch remained gentle. The kiss was not, all hard angles and teeth snapping and when he managed to get a hold of the asset's lower lip, he nibbled it roughly before sucking on it like he owned it. It settled him far more than any kind of comfort of gentleness would. He lived in a world where pain was a large part of it after all, so why shouldn't getting his cherry popped hurt like this?

He pressed his fingers through the asset's sweaty-soaked hair over and over, petting and stroking as he forced himself to relax under the heavier weight. His legs shifted to make certain they were comfortable, hooking his ankles a little harder around the asset's thighs as his fingers traced the ridges of his charge's ears. He issued a softer groan at the roll of the Winter Soldier's hips and his muscles clench around the invading flesh in his ass. It wasn't... horrible.

He licked the asset's lips, tasting the words that he had just spoken being repeated, and he knew a few screws were loose and more loosening. His palms stroked down the asset's cheeks and then the column of neck, but he raised an eyebrow at the repeated string of words. Could it be that the Winter Soldier was remembering? "Yeah, just you and me, pal. I'm here to make you feel better."

And if he could wedge himself into a deeper impression with the asset, it wasn't anyone's business but his own.

[frozenassets]

He shudders as teeth catch at his lower lip sharply, cock jumping at the rough thrill of pain and pleasure as Rumlow sucks on the smarting lip. The Soldier's tongue darts out, brushing against his handler's lip, but not to taste or chase after brewing new orders this time, but to try and wet a mouth that's been going dryer over the past hour. He's no longer sweating.

The asset's hips continue to smoothly roll into the delirious heat and pressure embracing him from all sides: now and then, on each plunge back in, the head of his length brushes, then drags back against the other man's prostate, but the touch doesn't always return. The Winter Soldier seems far away, eyes staring blankly into the distance in some corner of the safehouse even as his body continues to move, though the words have trailed off, his mouth trembling with the burned memories and the sensation of being inside someone for the first time in decades.

It's the hand settling against the side of his throat that has him blinking rapidly, that pal said in the wrong voice that brings him out of it. He shakes his head, like a dog trying to drive off a persistent buzzing sound, before pale eyes focus, take in the headache with the barest of winces, then return to the present. The asset's eyes latch back onto Rumlow pinned below him as his cock slides home in one long thrust, thigh muscles rippling. Something in his mind nestles closer to this handler at those words, takes that small step away from that other shadowy shape in his memory he thought he felt, a small shift he never notices.

The assassin's forehead sinks to rest against Rumlow's cheek, long hair scattering all over his face. It feels better to repeat back what he said, affirm it in the chaos. He's starting to pick up speed, hips starting to snap into his. Another slap of the asset's hips and his length accidentally drives against his prostate, "'You and me', you are my handler." he says with some relief.

[infligere]

He gritted his teeth initially at the roll of the Soldier's hips, the grating motion shifting the other inside of him. He probably should have used more saliva, but it was too little, too late for that thought now. He stiffened at the occasional prod deep inside of him, a flush of pleasure that he hadn't expected but mixed so well with the pain that he issued a soft throaty groan the second time that it happened.

Once he was warmed up, it wasn't so bad actually. He could even see why some guy were twinks in the first place, though aside from the Winter Soldier, he had no plans on swinging that way personally. He didn't like letting people that close to begin with, save this big guy apparently who was more likely out of anyone to kill him in this moment. Maybe that's part of the reason he was doing it, small and secretive.

His ankles tightened on the asset's thighs, pressing himself down on the slide of that flesh between his legs, meeting the Soldier's rhythm once it didn't feel like he was being screwed by a pineapple. His fingers stroked the weapon's neck and up under the Soldier's jaw, caressing and praising as his breath picked up a bit, and he could see the moment when the Winter Soldier came back from whatever glazed thought had stuck up in that shaggy head.

He tilted his head, urging the Soldier faster with his legs and felt the tickle of hair against his cheek and nose. He groaned into the asset's ear, a harsh pleasured sound. "Yeah, I am, and I'm helping you, aren't I? Just as promised. I always keep my promises."

[frozenassets]

The asset comes back to the present in time to find the heels of Rumlow's ankles digging into his thighs, two points of pressure that are urging him forward, and he obeys, grinding his hips forward as if to get that last half inch in as deep as he can, and then familiar fingers stroking down his throat then up under his chin. His head tilts upwards a little, then into the touch; most of the people in his existence only give him only the touches that they had to as they showered him off, or put him back on ice, or helped him get dressed for an assignment or checked his vitals. It's cold, it's impersonal, and he never realized those two until Rumlow's touch today. Or how starved he is for it. The Winter Soldier's eyes drift close with pleasure at the touch and praise, leaning in and tilting his head to nuzzle at those calloused fingers, then at Rumlow's jaw, lips grazing against the skin there.

It's as good as where he's buried into that tight, heat that's engulfing him. Maybe better.

He's slowed a little at the caress, then remembers himself, remembers the pain and frantic urge that's thrumming through him when he sits still. A shiver goes through him when Rumlow groans loud and harshly into his ear, has him pulling back once and then lunging forward, sliding them both forward along the ground before he sinks his fingers into the concrete.

He nods mutely; Rumlow is his handler. His handler tells him what to do out on the field, shows him the information on his target, he gives him direction and purpose and Rumlow has always been one of the best. He keeps his promises. He doesn't leave him bleeding out alone in the snow or rotting in a cell.

Mouth twisted, the asset obeys, and picks up the pace. He doesn't need much urging; desperation, pure animal need quickly takes over. The Soldier pumps into his body, skin slapping obscenely against his as he works himself quickly towards that cresting pleasure, his cock opening him up over and over as he groans under his breath. The pace is punishing and unrelenting once he's started. All he can think of is this release of pressure in his head, in his body-

One last push and his hips snap flush against Rumlow's as he shakes, cock giving a little spasm as he starts to come with a low, relieved moan.

[infligere]

Rumlow, of course, noticed the difference immediately when it came to how the asset responded to touch. Punishment always came rough and swift and praise was limited to words rather than action, all the better to keep the asset in line and doing what was necessary. They were to keep things impersonal to cut off any sense of attachment save perhaps respect and the occasional poke of hilarity to the fate of a man turned into a weapon. Until today, he had never particularly done anything different with the asset, but right now smoothing his fingers along the asset's skin, he noticed. He was faced with an attention starved horny man who had no control over all these reactions.

Against his better judgement, he continued to stroke and caress the asset's neck and shoulders, providing a little warmth in the dark place that was this creature's miserable life. Just for today, just for this, he would be the best thing that the Winter Soldier had dealt with. A time out of sorts, and besides, the asset was a handsome man, attention starved and all.

His legs tightened but more to hold on as the asset began to really get going, and he arched under the thickly muscled frame above his, rubbing his erection into the groove of the asset's hip and belly. They found a rhythm that suited them both, and he watched that face, his fingers smoothing along the other man's shoulders still even as he was enjoying this more than he should. It hurt but no more than it was pleasurable and he had always enjoyed the mix, especially now as they moved together with a single set purpose.

He slipped a hand between them, jerking himself off between their bodies until he groaned sharply at the harsh snap of the asset's hip and felt the other man still. A few more strokes of himself and he too followed the Winter Soldier into bliss, his muscles working over that erection still inside of him. "Ah, always first to the finish, huh?"

[frozenassets]

This ragged moan comes tearing out of him as his handler twitches beneath him. There's this splash of liquid heat between them, staining their skin, and his handler's muscles clamp down on his cock and milk another last spurt of come from him that has the asset's hips rolling one more time before he slowly goes limp over the other man. His arms slide forward along the floor, metal quietly scratching against the concrete. His thighs sink down, and it's a relief, such a relief. The burning tearing him apart, that need is gone, replaced only with the dull ache of dehydration and hunger.

He looks relaxed for the first time in his life as his eyes open to track towards Rumlow as he speaks. His head's resting against Rumlow's shoulder, and for a minute or two, he's still breathing raggedly before he gains control of himself. The assassin's breathing quiets down, and he pulls himself out too quickly; even the Soldier's unable to hide the wince.

The asset sits back on his knees, settling a little unevenly onto his knees, arms on his thighs to prop himself up. He looks a mess: he's still got blood smeared on his lower face, which is framed by hair that's even more tangled than before. There's a bruise that's already fading on his chest where his handler kicked him, quickly healing already, and this smear of thick, glistening white sliding down his stomach where Rumlow had come between them. His eyes meet Rumlow's then lower to the ground. Everything's coming back that he'd done during that rush, and with it, all the times he's stepped out of bounds or been violent towards a handler. He only completed part of the assignment; he'd killed the target, but hadn't planted the evidence. He had missed the scheduled rendezvous. Hadn't made the mission report as order.

He'd tried to kill Agent Rumlow.

Hair hanging in his face, head bowed, the asset waits for whatever punishment he is due.

[infligere]

He grunted softly as the Soldier's weight pressed down on him, but he made no move to shove the other man off of him. He waited to see if the moment had finally passed and the asset had settled again and would hopefully have no more need of reaming his ass anymore. He was really going to have to practice a normal walk after this, but he had a feeling that it was going to be very trying and painful to even attempt it.

Brock groaned at the sudden shift of the Winter Soldier, and if his charge looked bad, he looked like he had seen war and crawled out the other side. The side of his face was a bloody mess of cuts, he was bruised, scraped and painful, and his ass literally felt like someone had shoved a porcupine up there. He was also far slower to sit up, dragging himself to sit and almost regretting it immediately as his ass settled more on the ground. There was also a disconcerting wetness seeping from between his legs too and not all of it was blood.

He drew his knees up towards his chest so that he could rest his arms on them, watching the Soldier as the moment seemed to have passed. "I should punish you, shouldn't I? Beat you until you're barely conscious. I should, and maybe I will. You won't get uppity again, will you?"

[frozenassets]

His eyes flick upwards at the groan from his handler. The asset performs a quick evaluation of Rumlow's condition; scattered lacerations and abrasions, bruising, and Rumlow moves with this careful, ginger note to him that he thinks he may have torn something while Rumlow had fixed him. He may not be able to walk easily after this for the next several days. Mission effectiveness will have dropped several degrees.

There's no order to help Rumlow, and so the Winter Soldier remains where he is, naked and his weight pushing his knees and ankles uncomfortably into the concrete, even as the thrums of pleasure and relief still linger. His eyes go back to the ground, obedient once again as the control slips over him; after the wild, mindless desperation of before, he welcomes it like an old friend. Even if they do decide to decommission him for this malfunction, at least he has this much back.

He can feel Rumlow's eyes on him. He keeps his steadily where they belong unless ordered, and there's only this unconscious, rapid blink like he's expecting to get struck already when Rumlow throws out punishment in the air. Punishment is too good for all of his failings today. He will take whatever his handler decides he has coming.

The asset remains silent until that last question. Uppity? Rumlow slips into saying things certain ways that leave the Soldier uncertain which way to answer or exactly what he's asking, but he thinks he understands this. The asset shakes his head slightly, then softly says, "No. The error has been fixed."

[infligere]

He watched the Soldier for a long moment, aware that he should slip back into his pants and beat the living daylights out of the bastard for ever laying a threatening hand on him. The asset could have killed him, had been on the apparent verge of it several times, but he was sort of used to that. Anyone who worked with the Winter Soldier had to appreciate that a misplaced elbow could kill them in a second.

Brock finally shifted to grab his fatigues, pulling them over his feet and then up his legs. He had a lot of trouble getting to his feet, but his pride wouldn't allow him to ask for help and he eventually made it and pulled up his pants. His thighs were coated in a sheen of blood, but he ignored that as he did up his pants.

"Get dressed," he ordered coldly. Since the error was fixed, there was no point in staying here any longer. If the mission was botched, he'd have more than a sore ass to worry about. He limped heavily over to where his ear piece had settled and stuffed it back where it should be. He tapped it, but it seemed to have been damaged in the rough treatment. Great.

"We're moving out in fifteen minutes," he added with his scrapped and bruised back turned to the Soldier. He tried to get his ear piece working again while he listened for sounds of the asset's movements to do as ordered.

thread wrap

[frozenassets]

The assassin remains where he is, still as stone, though his eyes watch every stiff, ginger motion his handler makes as he gathers his close up, and waits for whether he will feel a heavy hand or not for his mistakes earlier. The concrete continues to bite into his knees, and the sweat all over the Soldier has begun to cool, becoming sticky on his skin.

He expects Rumlow to come over now that he is dressed, strike him. That order instead almost takes him off guard, but the asset moves smoothly, though there's this tinge of lethargy clinging to the motion. He bends, retrieving each article of clothing and making no motion to clean himself, he wasn't ordered for that, the asset slips them on, as if nothing had just happened within the past hour or so. The muzzle goes back on over the dried blood. All the while his eyes never leaving his handler; deep down in his subconscious, the event's driven him closer to the handler - his handler had provided order in the chaos, his handler had promised to repair him and had, and his handler continues to give clear commands and order. That impression sets in deeper.

He silently gathers the shattered remains of the rifle, then silently waits, ready for additional commands to move out. There's still a mission to finish in the area.