Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sublevels of the SHIELD bunker looked different than Tony remembered. More dated. Dingier. Claustrophobic.

Tony hadn't been down here since the late 70s, back when everything was more polished; back when Howard recognized that his son had actual potential beyond anything as trite as his designation; back when the whole world seemed to be opening up for him more and more each day, rather than closing in on him.

Back before he'd presented as an omega.

After presenting, everything had changed. Doors that had once been open to him were firmly shut. His father's hopes for his son's future had been dashed, replaced with old-fashioned notions about propriety and upbringing. Howard had never brought Tony to work with him again, cloistering him off as if Tony's 'virtue' was now a commodity far more valuable than his precocious intelligence. It was downright medieval, the kinds of backwards notions and traditional values people like Tony's parents still perpetuated in modern society... It was 1987, for crying out loud! 

Things would've been very different for him if Tony had been born an alpha. It wasn't fair, but it was sadly true. He hated the designation he'd been given; absolutely loathed the biology that he was bound to; the impulses and hormones that imprisoned him. His body was a ticking time bomb, and now that he was on the cusp of his 18th birthday, he'd soon be eligible breeding stock for all of the insufferable alpha jock fuckwads that his father had been dangling Tony in front of like ripe, nubile bait.

That was the only reason that Tony was even allowed back at Camp Lehigh now, as ironic as it was. Tony needed access to the only person on Earth who might be able to help him escape his fate, and Howard had wanted to introduce his chronically disobedient son to some big-shot colonel who'd come to tour the facility. So Tony had sucked up his pride and agreed to play the part, prancing around in his ridiculous outfit while Howard directed the occasional suspicious glance his way, but seemed pleased enough by Tony's uncommonly docile behavior. His inability to see through the act was yet another instance of Howard underestimating what his son was capable of.

Now that most of the base had retired for the night—while Howard snored in his bed, sleeping off all the drinks that Tony had submissively plied him with—Tony took the one shot he had.

Hacking into the security system had been only slightly more difficult than Tony had anticipated, but he breezed through the job quickly enough. Based on some cryptic language and an overabundance of security measures, he had a pretty solid guess as to where he might locate the man in question. Tony only hoped that the key card he'd swiped off his sleeping father would grant him the clearance he needed to access an area that—alarmingly—bore more resemblance to a prison cell than a rehabilitation ward.

What was SHIELD even doing to the poor guy, keeping him locked away like that??

It didn't make any sense. Ever since Tony was a pup, he'd heard nothing but the highest praise for Rogers—the legendary "Captain America"—from his father. It seemed to Tony as if Steve Rogers represented the pinnacle of not only alphadom, but of humanity; a genuinely decent man, albeit one capable of incredible feats of physical strength and endurance. Tony had seen the footage; had read the reports of Rogers' bravery and heroics with particular fascination, which only intensified after Tony had presented as an omega.

To Tony, Captain America represented so much more than the legendary figure history had painted him as. He was also symbol of hope — hope that even the most helpless of omegas could become somebody; hope that one day, Tony might also escape the prison of his designation, transforming into the kind of man he knew he was capable of being.

Howard had clearly worshiped the ground that Steve Rogers had walked on, and made it his personal mission to recover the fallen hero's remains. So the big question was: after discovering those remains not only intact, but still living, why in the world would Howard want to keep his beloved Captain America in a cage, hidden away in the depths of the New Jersey SHIELD bunker?

Whatever was going on, something definitely had Howard on edge lately. He was even more snappish with Tony than usual, which was really saying something given that he never made it a secret how displeasing it was to him that the uptight beta had fathered such a disobedient omega son. But something about this little father-son outing had the man drinking excessively, which never made things any easier for Tony.

He really couldn't afford to screw this up. If Howard discovered that he'd snuck off like this, Tony's already highly-restricted freedoms would become non-existent. He might be more concerned about that, if he wasn't already on the verge of being shackled to some alpha stranger his father deemed eligible as soon as he came of age. Even if it was a long shot, Steve Rogers and the secret behind his transformation from omega to super alpha was the only hope Tony had left.

It was by some miracle of good fortune that Tony managed to avoid the patrol duty officers as he snuck through the deserted corridors, following the directions he'd memorized to Rogers' most likely location. They'd really buried him away down there—deeper beneath the bunker than Tony had ever gone before—behind a maze of "RESTRICTED ACCESS" signs and locked, heavily reinforced doors that opened as if by magic with a swipe of Howard's key card.

The further along Tony went, the more uncertain he became. If any patrol officers had been in close enough proximity, the telltale, anxious scent of an omega who was definitely not where he was meant to be would've surely given him away. Tony's scent output hadn't exactly been subtle ever since he'd hit puberty.

He also looked extremely out of place. If he'd had more time, Tony might've changed into the jeans, t-shirt and tennis shoes he'd surreptitiously stuffed into his suitcase after Jarvis had packed for him. Howard didn't like Tony dressing so unbecomingly in public, but Tony hadn't wanted to meet Captain America looking like a complete tool. At least the suit Jarvis had packed for the introduction to the colonel was one of the less ridiculous ones. The perfectly-fitted, dark blue blazer wasn't that bad even if it didn't actually button up to cover the pearl-white silk shirt beneath, whose top row of buttons were also merely decorative, deliberately leaving a peek of the neckline invitingly exposed. Tony had groomed himself to the standard expected of high-class omega trophies: primped and polished and smelling as fresh as a burst of primroses — though it did little to disguise the markedly nervous signals that his scent glands were giving away.

It didn't help matters to consider how some alphas were turned on by that sort of thing... The dank smell of an omega's fear could be even more sweetly enticing to certain noses than the softer aroma of comfort, or the bright, almost fruity tang of confident self-assuredness. As perverse as it was, it was a fact that Tony had come to learn in person on occasion, when certain misadventures of his had left him in compromised situations—isolated and vulnerable—only to find that his panic-soaked scent appeared much more compelling to the "helpful" alphas who'd happened upon him than it should've been.

Fortunately, he'd managed to extricate himself from these situations without suffering more than some mild social embarrassment and an odd, bruised sort of feeling in his nervous belly — a feeling that lingered long after he'd made his narrow escape. He didn't want to revisit another of those scenarios tonight, if he could help it — not even alphas working for SHIELD were guaranteed to be the gentlemanly type. As much as Tony loathed the sternly-delivered warnings and constant censure for his "careless" behavior that his parents and Jarvis had been nagging him over ever since he'd hit puberty, he hated to have to admit that they might've had a point.

Tony paused outside a large steel, windowless set of double doors with a big sign posted on one that read:

LEVEL-7 CLEARANCE REQUIRED

NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL BEYOND THIS POINT

This had to be it. If the key card didn't work this time, Tony was screwed. Given this level of security, there was no way that accessing this unit after hours would go unnoticed for long. Surely somebody, somewhere, was monitoring the access log, and Tony's activities might rouse suspicion. There was no time for hesitation.

He swiped the card, watching with wide eyes as the little light flashed green and chirped to signal his success. The doors unlatched and slid aside, permitting him to pass through the ominous entryway.

The first thing he noticed inside was a massive bank of computers; entire rows of them, actively running programs as the green glow of coded text against black backgrounds filled most of the monitor screens, while some were lit up brighter with white-on-blue. Their light provided most of the illumination, since the entire room seemed to have some sort of intentionally dim, nighttime lighting installed that left much of it shadowed in darkness. Tony might've been more interested in parsing the screens' code if he hadn't been instantly distracted by the scene to the right.

It was some kind of cell, all right. Designed to hold someone who didn't want to be held. Or rather, it had been.

What was left of it was an alarming mess of twisted metal and broken glass; battered concrete walls; industrial lighting fixtures torn right out of the ceiling and dangling from frayed wires; the lumpy, mangled shape of what was formerly a steel toilet completely ripped free from the concrete flooring, apparently smashed against the shattered window of what should've been unbreakable glass.

He's gone, Tony realized with a flare of panic, I'm too late...

Had Captain America busted out of SHIELD's confinement already? Did that explain Howard's strange mood? —How easy it had been to ply him with alcohol that evening?

If he had made a run for it, then where had he gone? Why wasn't Howard out there looking for him??

It still didn't make any sense!

Feeling frustrated and desperately confused, Tony turned back to the rows of computers, biting his lower lip as he wondered if maybe something on them could clue him in to where Rogers was, now. It seemed unlikely, though, and any remaining vestiges of hope that Tony still clung to were rapidly draining away as he struggled to come to terms with the harsh reality that was now facing him. 

...Had this all been a complete waste of time?

Then, as his eyes tracked over the monitors in desperation, he caught sight of something on the far side of the secret room that made the air freeze in his lungs.

Tony's ingrained instincts recognized what he was seeing even before his mind had caught up with it — one's hackles didn't just rise up like that unless the presence of an alpha was detected. There, against the back wall, dimly lit by a greenish light emanating from inside of it was some kind of... tank. A cylindrical chamber, reinforced with thick bands of metal wrapping around its circumference. And inside this eerily glowing chamber — held in place by ridiculously oversized restraints and shackles — just behind a transparent layer of plexiglass — was a man.

Tony tentatively stepped closer, becoming more and more certain as he approached the chamber.

Holy shit.

There was a man in there, all right...

The man.

Steven Grant Rogers.

Captain fucking America himself, in the flesh...

Or rather, in a very tattered set of clothing that was shredded enough to reveal a surprising amount of flesh. His clothes were a total mess, torn up and generously flecked in dried blood, but what Tony could see of the skin underneath appeared completely unmarred.

...What the hell had they done to him?!

Rogers' eyes were closed, but he certainly appeared to still be alive. It was unconscionable—and frankly preposterous—the idea that Howard, and SHIELD, would be keeping him down here like this, denying him his freedom and... what? ...Experimenting on him, or something? But nevertheless, the evidence was pretty damning. Rogers clearly didn't want to be here, but they weren't giving him a choice.

This was insane. Rogers was a goddamn hero — and an alpha, no less! But he was being treated like...

Like an omega.

The uncharitable thought made Tony's blood boil the moment it occurred to him. Seeing Rogers restrained like this inevitably brought to mind the kind of terrible imagery that Tony had seen in history books, documenting how omegas of low birth used to be bound up, tagged and collared before being auctioned off as chattel in the marketplaces of bygone eras. Though that practice had long since died off, the general public perception of omegas as "property" was still alive and well; a persistent notion that had played out in different forms over the years. In some households, it was still common practice to lock omegas away for misbehaving — keeping them isolated, cutting off access to the outside world — and, as objectionable as the concept was to the more liberally-minded, "collaring" was still very much in fashion with a large percentage of the population.

Only a short time ago—back when Tony's father was a young man—dated concepts like these had still been the norm, and any omega who dared to challenge the status quo put themselves at great risk. Tony had always thought that Steve Rogers had broken free of all that when he became Captain America; that he was the exception to the rule — a former omega that the whole world actually respected...

And yet there he was, propped up in a grotesque display of captivity as if nothing had really changed for him, after all. Tony had read something about "Schmidt's scepter" in the report he'd hacked; something that Rogers had been exposed to for decades as he'd slept in the ice, which had supposedly altered him in some inexplicable way. Recalling this, Tony wondered if maybe the scepter had interfered with whatever process Rogers had undergone to become an alpha...

Maybe Rogers was losing his super-strength, weakened by the scepter — unable to fight off the SHIELD agents that were keeping him subdued like this.

Tony felt his heart clench in his chest as he sucked in a breath of hurt outrage, holding back tears of anger as he took another step closer to the tank. He extended a gentle hand to touch the surface of the plexiglass, not even trying to hold back that involuntary instinct that made him want to offer comfort to the big, beautiful alpha.

...and, damn, he sure was gorgeous...

Tony had seen pictures, of course, but nothing compared to seeing him in person like this. It made his heart speed up a little as he allowed himself to really look, taking in the sight of those uncommonly handsome features. The weak, yellow-green light that illuminated the chamber should've made Rogers look more sickly, casting his chiseled features in stark, shadowy contrast like that; but to Tony, he just looked all the more terrifyingly beautiful. There was a metal band around his mouth, ostensibly keeping him from speaking for reasons that Tony couldn't begin to speculate on — but even so, everything that Tony could see of the man's face was immensely captivating.

Maybe it was because he'd never seen an unbonded alpha up close like this for an extended duration, before. In polite company, Tony was always expected to play demure; he'd keep his eyes downcast for the most part, taught that it was rude (and could potentially give off the wrong sort of signal) to stare directly at an alpha like this. So perhaps Tony had never really gotten a good, long glimpse of one of them in person, and some quirk of his omega hindbrain was being activated as he looked his fill, examining Rogers like he was the most intriguing creature he'd ever laid eyes on.

Or maybe that was all Rogers. Maybe he really was as incredible as history made him out to be, and it was apparent enough just by looking at the guy.

Tony's gaze was already lingering on the dark sweep of Rogers' long eyelashes when they began to flutter. Before Tony even had a chance to temper the ridiculous longing written all over his face, Rogers' eyes were suddenly open: sharp, piercing blue staring directly at him—keen and intense—as Tony's brown eyes widened in astonishment.

He froze.

Even if he'd had enough presence of mind in that moment to step away from the plexiglass, he couldn't budge from the spot. Something was keeping him rooted in place — maybe it was shock, or alarm, or some kind of reckless curiosity compelling him to remain still. Whatever it was, it kept him close enough to notice the way that Rogers took quick stock of the empty room behind him for a moment; close enough to see how assessing the alpha's eyes had become once Rogers returned his probing gaze to Tony; close enough to register the motion that Rogers made with his eyes, then, prompting Tony to glance up and notice the nozzle above Rogers' head (...some sort of gas dispenser, it looked like?). Rogers' eyes darted to the right of the chamber, and Tony realized that there was a control panel there.

Tony was moving without pausing to think about it. Rogers was trying to communicate something to him; he needed Tony's help.

The control panel displayed a countdown, and a digitized readout that monitored the chamber's levels of oxygen, CO2, and another gaseous compound that appeared to be a particularly strong sedative. Any minute now, more of the latter was due to be pumped into the chamber again, keeping Rogers under.

He had to act fast. Luckily for Rogers, disabling the countdown wasn't a hardship for Tony Stark. Overriding the security features for the containment chamber proved to be somewhat more challenging, but soon enough Tony had the thing opening up as the locks disengaged, releasing its heavily restrained prisoner.

It didn't take more than a couple seconds before Tony realized his mistake, even if the full scope of what he'd just unleashed wasn't yet apparent to him. But he knew, the moment after the hermetically-sealed plexiglass barrier hissed open, why that particular precaution had been taken.

Rogers smelled... wrong.

His scent hit Tony with what could only be described as olfactory violence, nearly buckling Tony's knees as he breathed in all that sheer, unadulterated power and dominance; a scent that was surely strong enough to make even weak-nosed betas inclined to cower in the alpha's presence.

It wasn't supposed to be like that. Tony was sure that even super-alphas like Rogers weren't meant to radiate quite that much authority, emitting pheromones like a weapon. It shouldn't even be possible. And yet they were rolling off of Rogers as if it came as naturally to him as breathing.

He looked even larger once he stepped clear of the chamber, standing up to his full height, more massive and imposing than Tony knew anyone could be outside of those uber-macho, alpha-oriented advertisements on TV and in magazines. But Steve Rogers wasn't all bulky, over-exaggerated muscle; he was beautifully proportioned, looking so stunning that Tony's mouth went dry as he stared up at him, unable to tear his eyes away from the impossible glory of him.

He was perfect.

And he was looking right at him, now.

For just a moment, Tony completely forgot what he was even doing down there in the first place. Steve Rogers was approaching him, moving with an easy grace that belied the sheer size of the man, and the level of dominance wafting on his scent should've been strong enough to knock a weaker omega out cold. It was doing... things... to Tony that he didn't quite understand, making his omega biology go haywire.

Still, he resolved to hold his ground, trying desperately to recall what he was supposed to do.

Rogers came to a stop in front of him. He was still standing at what would be considered a "respectable" distance away from Tony, but near enough that there was no chance he might've missed the way that Tony's own scent spiked with an embarrassing amount of interest at his proximity. Tony hated the way that his body betrayed him like this, though he'd never actually been in a situation quite like this one. He'd never actually been interested in any alpha like this, before, even if that unfamiliar interest was mixed up with all sorts of contradictory reactions that must've made him positively reek of wrong-footed inexperience. He averted his gaze as he was meant to, feeling his face heat.

"You helped me," Rogers intoned, the sound of his voice somehow making the chaos swirling around inside of Tony slow down a little. It felt as if his body hinged on Rogers' every word, waiting for him to speak again. It was weird.

Tony nodded, still unable to lift his gaze from the floor.

"Why?"

Tony swallowed thickly. This was supposed to be it — the opening he needed to ask Rogers what he'd come to ask — but he found himself uncharacteristically at a loss for words, overwhelmed by sensations and impulses that he wasn't accustomed to.

He saw Rogers take a couple slow, steady steps closer to him, feeling his heart speed up as Rogers stepped right into the invisible bubble of omega personal space that all alphas should know better than to cross.

Then Tony felt a cool finger beneath his chin, coaxing him to lift his head enough for his skittish eyes to meet Rogers' uncommonly direct gaze. Strange alphas definitely weren't supposed to go around touching unbonded omegas like this... There was good reason for it, Tony realized, eyes flashing, as he felt the effect that the simple touch had wrought upon his already overtaxed body, sending the sort of signal through it that wasn't meant to be so casually invoked. Didn't Rogers have any sense of propriety??

"I asked you a question," Rogers spoke, the soft, patient-enough sound of his voice at odds with the way that the words landed in Tony's psyche. It might've been spoken mildly, but it still felt like a command.

"I... wanted to ask for your help," Tony managed to reply, humiliated by the smallness of his own voice. This wasn't like him at all. What was this guy doing to him, making him act like this??

Rogers cocked his head slightly, looking down at Tony in a way that the nervous omega couldn't begin to decipher.

"Go on."

Tony bit his lower lip. It was an old, nervous habit that he didn't know if he'd ever outgrow. Rogers was still gazing down at him in that eerily calm, inscrutable way, though his eyes were on Tony's mouth, now.

"Uh. Well," Tony started, softly clearing his voice before he summoned as much courage as he had in him to say, "...the thing is, I want to be like you."

Rogers' brows rose at that. Gratified that he had the alpha's attention, Tony bravely continued, "You were an omega, once... then something happened to change that. Something too classified for me to figure out, and believe me, I've tried — I'm, um, kinda good at that. Smarter than most people realize — like you were, I guess. But..."

Tony rubbed at the back of his neck, still unable to make heads or tails of Rogers' facial expressions. There was an intensity there that Tony hoped was a genuine interest in who he was; in what he was trying to ask...

"—but I kinda hit a dead end, and then I found out about how they found you in the ice, and you were still alive and they were keeping you down here—which was really messed up—and I figured if anyone could help me it had to be you, right? So... long story short: here I am."

Tony had gotten slightly breathless as he'd rushed through the rest of his explanation, but now that the cards were on the table, he felt like he could almost breathe, again. He'd done what he'd come to do — whatever came next was up to Rogers, now. And the guy owed him one...

After giving him another long, penetrating look — one that stretched out a bit too long for comfort — Rogers asked, "What's your name?"

"Tony," he supplied, trying to hold Rogers' gaze, though the compulsion to avert his eyes was almost painfully difficult to override.

"You're a plucky little thing, aren't you, Tony," Rogers mused, his tone vaguely teasing.

...Plucky?... Tony didn't know quite what to make of that. He decided to take it as a compliment. "Uh, sure."

"Quite clever, too, apparently," Rogers added with a narrowing of his eyes, glancing back at the entrance for a moment before returning his gaze to Tony, eyes skimming over him before pausing at the breast pocket of Tony's blazer. It's where the key card is, Tony thought. ...Huh.

"...So tell me then, Tony: why would you wanna be an alpha?" Rogers asked, his voice taking on a seductive quality that made Tony feel slightly dizzy. Or maybe that was because an alpha had just called him "clever." He wasn't used to receiving that kind of compliment.

"...Probably for reasons not too different than yours," Tony murmured, trying not to shrink under Rogers' intense, too-perceptive scrutiny. "That is, well... respect, for one thing. Dignity, right? Self-determination; being able to do all the things I wanna do; the kinds of things I'm actually good at. Not being a slave to my biology... Freedom's a biggie. That's what I really want."

"Hmm," Rogers hummed, looking Tony over with a faraway sort of gaze. His voice had gone a shade darker when he reiterated, "Freedom, huh?"

Tony nodded, looking up at Rogers with wide eyes, his expression open and innocent.

To his shock, Rogers reached out to touch him again; Tony held perfectly still, not wanting to flinch away despite the alarmingly illicit intimacy of the gesture. The backs of Rogers' fingers were tracing over the line of Tony's jaw — delicately, but still leaving a stunning trail of sensation that Rogers had to be aware of...

You must never permit an alpha to touch you without consent, he'd always been taught. It was just one of those lessons that he'd taken for granted, assuming it was more to do with evolving social norms than anything else; now, he recognized that there was a definite physiological component to the warning, as well. The unsolicited touch of an alpha had a distinct edge to it that was setting off alarm bells inside of him, but Tony was determined to appear unfazed.

"...I used to think that freedom was what I wanted, too," Rogers mused, his voice gone low in a way that made Tony even more uncomfortable than he already was. "...that it was something worth fighting for; worth dying for, even. But I know better, now. All that time in the ice helped me to understand the truth... I'm awake now."

Tony blinked up at Rogers, feeling something queasy starting to churn in his gut. That, uh, sounded kind of ominous...

Rogers' eyes seemed to flash an even brighter, almost unnatural shade of blue as he loomed over the nervous omega, continuing, "I appreciate what you did for me, Tony, which is why I'm gonna help you."

"...You are?" Tony gulped, somehow feeling less than reassured by that promise.

"Yes. I can see that you're in pain. And you're right: I do know how to fix it."

As Rogers' thumb grazed over the plump swell of Tony's lower lip, something that Tony finally recognized shadowed the alpha's expression.

Desire.

Tony was familiar enough with that look by now, having witnessed it crossing the faces of every damn alpha his father had ever paraded Tony in front of. Uh oh.

"You see, Tony, you've been operating under a misapprehension — that the answer to your sense of frustration is to run away from your own nature; to try to change it; to distort the natural order of things... Y'know, I thought that was the answer, too, once. I wanted to rail against what was, all in service to some misguided notion of what might be. But it was all a fantasy; a delusion driven by an insidious kind of vanity. That's what 'freedom' really is, Tony: a vain delusion — a misdirection, leading us astray, when the thing that really matters — the only thing that can truly save us — is order."

There was a frightening amount of fanaticism radiating from Rogers' eyes as he'd spoken that last word, slipping his fingers beneath the open collar of Tony's shirt and placing his big hand right at the join of Tony's neck and shoulder — settling it directly over his scent gland.

Though the other touches had been borderline unseemly, for the alpha to lay his hand on such a suggestive place on Tony's body was completely beyond the pale. He knew that he had to do something about it. Though Tony wanted to object; to pull away; to make it clear that he wouldn't allow these kinds of liberties to be taken — he was having a difficult time summoning the requisite level of outraged indignation when Rogers was so damn big, towering over him like that and smelling like the most dominant alpha to ever walk the Earth.

"You... you shouldn't..." Tony tried, nearly stuttering as he struggled to get the words out, "...take your hand off me. Please."

Rogers only seemed amused by Tony's objection, rubbing his hand over the same spot with far too much presumption as he darkly cooed, "If you didn't want to be touched, you shouldn't have worn such a provocative outfit."

Tony's mouth fell open, stunned into momentary silence as he tried to make sense of what he'd just heard before balking, "...Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb," Rogers chastised, taking another step closer, fully invading Tony's personal space. The alpha tugged playfully at Tony's open collar as he added, "You wore your shirt like this for a reason, didn't you? It makes you look easy."

Oh, for fuck's sake...

Tony knew that Rogers had come from another time period, but he wasn't expecting him to be quite this out-of-touch...

"Seriously?? It's 1987, okay? This is just how omegas dress these days! It doesn't give you the right to— ah!"

Just as Tony tried to push Rogers' hand away from him, Rogers caught him fast by the wrist in a firm grip; the shock of it had interrupted whatever Tony meant to say, next.

"There's another word that's misunderstood," Rogers calmly pointed out, rubbing his thumb over Tony's pulse point and stimulating the scent gland on his wrist. Fucking hell... "You talk about 'rights' as if that means something. It's just a made up concept, though. Another deviation, invented by mankind to obscure reality."

"What the hell are you on about?" Tony complained, tugging ineffectually at his trapped wrist. This guy was definitely not the man he was expecting to meet, tonight. It seemed like his head was seriously warped...

Maybe Howard had good reason for keeping him locked up, after all...

"I like you, Tony — and I'm gonna help you by giving you what you need, even if you don't understand what that is, yet."

Rogers was speaking to him as if Tony was a child; as if he were stupid. His indignation flared hotter, coloring his scent with the smell of burning rubber and something sulfuric that only came out when he was truly reaching his limit. Rogers only laughed at him though, chuckling darkly as Tony gritted his teeth and tried in vain to wrench his arm away.

"What I need is for you to fuck off," Tony ground out. "Forget I even asked, okay? This was obviously a waste of time!"

Rogers tisked at him, stepping forward until he was crowding so close that Tony was forced to back up. He stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall and Rogers' hand finally released his wrist, only to wrap around his neck in the next moment.

"Ah!" Tony gasped, eyes gone wide, feeling Rogers' grip tightening around his neck until it was effectively choking him; then Rogers lifted him right off the ground like that as he murmured his next words in the darkest tone Tony had heard from him, yet:

"Freedom is chaos, Tony. What you clearly need is control."

Abruptly, the anger in Tony's scent dissipated, swiftly replaced by a rush of fear.

The scent change registered immediately with Rogers' sharp nose. Tony saw the way that his nostrils flared; the slight dilation of his pupils. It was a reaction he'd come to recognize by now — but never quite this close-up, before.

Tony knew what he smelled like. At the first spike, Tony's fear smelled of burnt licorice and petrichor; dark, wet; caramelized and bittersweet. The scent was complex and indolic in a way that nature designed to be off-putting, but which didn't translate quite as intended with him. Body chemistry was weird that way. Typically, an omega's fear carried an undertone that smelled slightly rancid, similar to soured milk — but on Tony, this undertone had a creamier overripeness to it; like rain-soaked, fallen petals slowly rotting in the summer heat; or like delicate fruits that had gone too sugary from sitting out for too long. As Tony's desperation increased, the initially bitter, anise-like sharpness gave way to a briny sort of aftertaste redolent of seaweed, filling the air around him with a saltiness so pronounced that one could taste it on the tongue.

It should've been nauseating to any alpha that had invoked it, but Tony wasn't so lucky. That desperate olfactory signal rolling off of Tony in thickening waves didn't seem to turn Rogers' stomach in the slightest — if anything, he seemed fascinated by it.

Tony's smaller hands clawed uselessly at Rogers' strangling grip while the alpha perved out on his scent for a protracted beat, shamelessly sniffing the air as his ice-blue eyes turned noticeably hungrier. As Rogers' other hand reached toward him, Tony's heart skipped before he realized that Rogers was just snatching the key card out of his pocket.

Rogers eyed the identification on the card for a moment with a look of tempered surprise before returning his attention to Tony with renewed interest.

"You're Howard's boy..."

Though it was clear that Rogers had already figured it out, Tony nodded in confirmation. To his relief, Rogers lowered him back to the ground, releasing his hold around Tony's neck. Tony sputtered for a moment, still trembling from the shock of the assault — or perhaps it was the obvious interest he was smelling on Rogers' overpowering scent that was making him unsteady.

"Wait here," Rogers told him before turning his back on the frightened omega, clearly confident that his command would be obeyed. To Tony's sorrowful frustration, he knew that there was no way he'd be able to do anything other than stay put, too overwhelmed to even consider contradicting the alpha. Suddenly he understood why Rogers' mouth had been banded inside the chamber: his command voice was too powerful to ignore.

Oddly, Rogers approached one of the computer terminals on the far side of the room—near the wreckage of the destroyed containment cell—and did something there that Tony couldn't see. What was he up to?

Faintly, Tony could hear a computerized voice greeting him from the console: Good evening, Captain Rogers...

Rogers was... conversing... with the computer...

Tony couldn't make out all of what was being said, but he'd heard Rogers address the computer as "Zola" — heard something about an operation being dissolved — a change of plans... He heard Rogers tell the computer that he'd take care of something, while HYDRA agents would have to handle the rest...

Something about seizing the scepter... quietly... the need for continued discretion before the next phase...

An agent will be in touch...

"Hail HYDRA..."

Even if Tony had no clue what "HYDRA" was, he was smart enough to know that whatever Rogers was involved with sounded bad.

Shit.

He'd really managed to fuck this one up big time, hadn't he...

When Rogers returned, he was radiating an unmistakable sense of purpose. That powerful stride and imposing set to his big shoulders only added to Tony's anxiety over the situation. Whatever Rogers had in mind, it couldn't be anything good — and he looked like he'd already won.

"We're leaving," Rogers told him.

"Y'know, I think I'm good here, actually," Tony lamely tried.

The look Rogers directed at him was cooly impassive, which was somehow more unsettling than the frustration Tony had expected.

"You'll take me to your father."

"...Dad?" Tony squeaked out, swallowing thickly. "...What do you want with him?"

Tony really couldn't parse the way that Rogers was looking at him, now, but he definitely didn't like it.

"I made him a promise that I mean to keep," the alpha solemnly told him. "Let's go."

It was strange, the way that Tony actually wanted to be caught by the night patrol, now, after anxiously evading them on the way into the bunker. Nevertheless, he was begging for someone—anyone—to show up now and sound the alarm. Though Rogers probably wouldn't be an easy guy to take down (and would surely put up a spectacular fight), at least it would give Tony an opportunity to slip away, instead of being dragged along on whatever chilling errand involving Howard that Rogers meant to carry out tonight.

But Rogers moved swiftly and efficiently, seemingly unconcerned about getting caught by any unfortunate security personnel. As uncomfortable as it made him, Tony led the way as instructed, begrudgingly pointing out the residential bungalow that he and Howard had settled into that afternoon. 

It probably shouldn't have been so easy, slipping into the private quarters through the side entrance that Tony had used to make his escape. But suddenly there they were—back in that place that Tony had hoped he'd seen the last of when he'd snuck out a short time ago—heading straight for his father's bedroom.

There was a time when Tony might've gotten some sick thrill out of seeing Howard dragged from his bed by Steve Rogers, sputtering and stammering with confusion, still disoriented from drink and sleep, gaping up at the supersoldier with an expression that Tony had never actually seen on his father's face before, though he'd fantasized about it often enough. But the reality of it wasn't very fun to watch, after all.

"What have you done?!" Howard gasped as he knelt on the carpet, eyes wider than ever as he caught sight of Tony, in the doorway, clutching the frame as he stood there watching it all with mounting dread.

"Don't look at him," Rogers snapped, wrenching Howard's face up roughly by his chin. "Eyes on me. He doesn't belong to you anymore."

Huh?

"You'll never get away with this," Howard weakly insisted.

"I already have," Rogers grinned. "You really thought that HYDRA's time was over? That it ended with Schmidt?? You poor, pathetic fool — you have no idea what's coming. And now you'll never get to see how wrong you were."

"Steve, please," Howard begged, his desperation agonizing to witness, "—this isn't you — the scepter did this to you, but we can fix it!"

"I'm not the one that needs fixing," Rogers cooly replied. "Unfortunately, it's too late for you, Howard. But I'll make sure that your son learns. Consider it a favor, for old times' sake."

The stench of sheer dominance coming off of Rogers was making Tony's head spin as he stood by helplessly, utterly overwhelmed by what was happening right in front of him. It was a credit to his father that he could still manage to speak at all, since there were enough pheromones in the air to choke the words right out of a man.

"You stay the fuck away from him," Howard spat.

"No," Rogers lightly replied, taking Howard's head in both hands, "...I don't think I will."

"Steve," Howard croaked, looking up at the alpha beseechingly, "please... don't do this..."

"I told you what would happen as soon as I got out of those restraints, Stark," Rogers spoke in a low, menacing tone, staring meaningfully as Howard went even paler in his hands. "I promised you I'd make it quick."

Then, with a swift, all-too-easy twist, he cleanly snapped the beta's neck.

Tony didn't even make a sound as he watched his father's lifeless body collapse onto the floor, gaping at him wordlessly as he stood in complete shock.

That... had actually just happened.

His father was... dead...

Tony had wished for this often enough; had even thought about being the one to do the old man in, himself. But nothing about this felt like justice. There was no satisfaction in seeing it; no sense of freedom that followed. There was just a yawning, empty void where his father lay, and a sickening sense of wrongness ricocheting around the bedroom, blindly intent on taking out collateral damage.

It wouldn't take more than a moment before it found its next victim. Rogers lifted his head from the lifeless corpse at his feet, turning his darkened gaze onto Tony.

Most alphas got off on violence. Everybody knew that. It was another one of those quirks of biology that affected enough of the population as to become a commonly-accepted fact, no matter how questionable it should've been. Still, not all alphas got turned on by something as awful as snapping another man's neck...

Tony knew he was unlucky enough to be alone with the exact type of alpha that really did get off on it, though. He didn't even need to check for a bulge in the man's pants to confirm it. It was obvious enough in the way that Rogers was looking at him. Obvious enough in the scent wafting off of him: all that power and dominance amplified beyond reason, with a pronounced, tell-tale musky tang beneath it that projected more than just sexual interest.

It was the signal that a mate chase had just begun.

Oh HELL no...

Tony was fast, but not nearly fast enough. Rogers was on him before he even made it out of the hallway, breathing heavily and completely reeking of arousal.

"You can't!" Tony cried, struggling helplessly in Rogers' massive arms as he lifted the little omega up with ease. "I'm still a minor!!"

Rogers seemed amused by Tony's desperate outburst, turning him around to face him as Tony continued to flail and kick.

"You're old enough," the alpha assured him with a smile that should've been charming on Steve Rogers' handsome face, but seeing it sent a chill down Tony's spine.

"You don't get it," Tony sobbed, tearing desperately at the remains of Rogers' clothing as the unconcerned alpha carried him toward the omega's bedroom. "It's illegal, now! You can't claim an underage omega!"

"My mother was bonded at age fourteen," Rogers flatly retorted, shifting Tony in his arms to turn the doorknob and push the door open.

"Yeah, well, times have changed—" Tony squeaked out as Rogers headed for the bed, rapidly explaining, "—omegas under 18 can't be bonded without special authorization—at least in most states—and— ah!"

Whatever Tony meant to argue next was lost as Rogers tossed him onto the mattress. He quickly rolled over onto his back, eyes gone wide as he regarded the enormous alpha looming over him, who'd already begun stripping off the tattered remains of his clothing. The guy really wasn't wasting any time.

"You're mine," Rogers told him, with a ferocity that Tony wasn't expecting. "I decided that pretty quickly, if you hadn't noticed. And if anyone wants to try to say otherwise, they're gonna have to take it up with me. It won't go well for them."

Tony had meant to try to argue further, but was momentarily distracted by the sight of a near-naked alpha standing in front of him. He'd never seen anything like it, before. Rogers might've been a monster, but he was still gorgeous enough to take Tony's breath away.

Then Rogers stripped off the last of it, and Tony's breathlessness verged more on the panicky kind.

Steve Rogers' dick was fucking huge.

No sooner had Tony started backing up tensely along the mattress, preparing to flee, than Rogers pounced on him. The alpha bracketed Tony in with his arms as the omega gasped and squealed with alarm, effectively pinned down by the big alpha's naked body.

Rogers just watched him squirming like that beneath him for a protracted beat, eyes darkening with avid interest before one of his hands came up to tug at Tony's open collar, better exposing the gland on his neck. For a terrible moment Tony was sure that Rogers was about to bite him there, marking his claim against Tony's wishes, despite the severity of such a crime — but as he tensed in awful anticipation of the pain of a forced bond, Tony belatedly realized that though Rogers' mouth was on him, the alpha's fangs hadn't breached him. Instead, Rogers was licking at his gland, practically drooling all over him as the alpha groaned out a deep, rumbling sound.

"You smell so delicious," Rogers spoke into Tony's skin, sounding almost drunk off the scent of the terrified omega. "...never smelled anything like you... never seen anything so beautiful..."

Blindsided by the adamant words, Tony could only lay there gasping in anxious torment as the feel of Rogers' tongue against the sensitive skin started to turn rough, no longer dragging in a slick glide over his throat. He knew what that meant. The barbs in an alpha's tongue only came out for two reasons: for cleaning meat from bones, or else triggered by the activation of the special salivary glands behind the fangs.

And since Tony wasn't a hunk of meat, it was fair to assume that Rogers was getting aroused by the prospect of a compatible mate.

Shit.

As Tony's heart rate increased, so did the amount of scent he was throwing off, which only drove Rogers to go at him more intently. There was no mistaking what was getting the alpha so riled up. Though Tony smelled mostly like fear, still—a scent which was proving to be the opposite of a deterrent for Rogers—he couldn't help the way that he was getting involuntarily aroused by the alpha's untoward attentions as his stupid omega biology struggled to process what was actually happening to him. It had prompted another shift in his scent, allowing some of Tony's distinctive aroma to bleed into the bouquet of his mounting terror.

A friend had recently described Tony's scent as "cake-like"; soft and fluffy and perfectly delectable. It still carried traces of the milky sweetness of puphood, but was now ripening into a creamier note more reminiscent of vanilla — a scent that was universally appealing to wandering noses. It was so addictive that even Tony got off on the way that he smelled sometimes, pressing his own wrist to his face and breathing in deeply as he masturbated through another one of his mild 'pup heats.' Tony was still too young and inexperienced to have suffered through a true heat before, but all that could change if Rogers triggered those still-dormant processes in Tony's youthful biology. One good knotting was all it would take.

He couldn't let that happen!

At the thought of being knotted, fight or flight kicked in. Taking as deep of a breath as he could manage while struggling not to hyperventilate, Tony used all the strength he could summon to jam his knee hard into Rogers' balls. Even as distracted as the alpha was, he still somehow turned away from the blow at the last moment, causing Tony's knee to glance across his thick, bare thigh, instead. Fucking supersoldier instincts...

Rogers chuckled down at Tony for a moment as the thwarted omega fumed with exasperation, then startled as Rogers suddenly flipped him over onto his belly with surprising swiftness. Before he could even wonder at that, Tony felt a tug on his blazer and heard the jarring sound of fabric being rent. His clothes were being torn right off of him!

With frightening ease, Rogers ripped apart Tony's clothing like it was nothing. It was a scary thing, that reminder of just how strong he was; how effortlessly he could kill with those hands. Tony was still shuddering at the thought when he suddenly found himself lying face-down on the bed completely naked, ears perking up at the unsettling way that the big alpha behind him was breathing.

He couldn't help startling at the first touch of the alpha's meaty hands, even if they were far gentler than he was expecting; though heavy against his skin, they traced over his nakedness with a slow kind of reverence. Somehow, that was even worse, him touching Tony like that; admiring him with palms and fingertips; caressing him so tenderly that it burned — with the same hands that had snapped his father's neck only moments ago.

Tony could only lie there shivering uncontrollably, too afraid to move again, knowing how pointless it would be to try to make another run for it. The sharp tang of the mate chase signal had ripened into something overwhelmingly alpha, the new scent directly targeting the part of Tony's brain that compelled him to submit.

"I've caught you, Tony," Rogers was telling him in that deep, rumbling tone, stroking a possessive hand down the tantalizing curve of the omega's lower back. "You know what happens, next."

All Tony could do by way of response was muffle a plaintive sound in the bedcover as his stomach dropped out at the implication.

"...Are you gonna present for me like a good little omega?" Rogers crooned, stroking his hot hand over Tony's plump ass.

The alpha must've been out of his mind if he thought Tony was just going to get up on all fours and show him his ass like a fucking chump. No way in hell...

"I'd like it if you did," Rogers encouraged, his fingernails scraping lightly over the pale flesh, apparently oblivious to Tony's adamant refusal.

When Tony just stubbornly held his ground, Rogers tried a new approach. His wandering hands were replaced by his mouth, as he started pressing wet, sloppy kisses into Tony's skin, raising gooseflesh in their wake. Tony whined miserably and tried to shy away as Rogers' mouth trailed up his oversensitive ribs, leaving him uncomfortably ticklish. But Rogers just chased after him and held him down, apparently delighted by such an excitable response.

"You can squirm all you like, kitten," Rogers grinned against Tony's skin, one hand tight enough on Tony's waist to leave bruise marks. "I like that you're a fighter; you've got spunk."

"Just fuck off, already," Tony complained, gasping out in surprise in the next moment when Rogers' hand gripped him by the jaw.

"You've got a mouth on you, too," Rogers chastised, settling down too close to Tony as he held the omega firmly in place.

Tony suddenly realized that Rogers was about to kiss him on the mouth. Fuck that. His hand flew up quickly, fingernails sinking into Rogers' cheek and tearing as hard as he could.

Rogers barely even reacted. He looked mildly surprised by the sneak attack, eyebrows lifting as he stared down at Tony, who was glaring up at him with wild-eyed defiance as the scratch marks bloomed red.

"Huh... so the kitten's got claws," Rogers remarked, releasing Tony's jaw to press his fingertips into the wound on his own cheek, then coolly regarding the small amount of blood they'd collected. "...Might have to do something about that."

The ominous statement landed heavily as Tony wondered what Rogers had in mind. Rogers was looking over the bed for something, then reached for one of the discarded pieces of Tony's torn shirt. As he watched Rogers tearing a deliberate strip off the hem of the material, he suddenly understood.

It was no use trying to wrest free of the determined alpha. Rogers easily gathered up Tony's wrists, binding them together with the torn fabric and knotting it securely. Tony gnashed his teeth and struggled against the bindings, feeling the fabric digging into his delicate skin as he fought against it, trying to loosen it enough to pull himself free. Then all at once he froze as he felt Rogers' hands settling between his legs, spreading his cheeks apart before Rogers' big thumb rubbed directly over the omega's most private place. No!!

"Don't wanna present for me, huh? Seems I'm gonna have to break you in the hard way," Rogers drawled, stroking the pad of his thumb over Tony's hole, enticing it to pulse and retract in response. Tony couldn't help the whimper that escaped him, simultaneously repulsed by and drawn to the alpha's illicit touching. As that probing thumb dug in and breached him, pushing into the tight channel and releasing an embarrassing amount of slick as it sent shockwaves of unprecedented sensation through Tony's virgin walls—being abruptly penetrated for the very first time—Tony cried out with nervous surprise, feeling his face heat at the outburst.

"...Maybe not all that hard, after all," Rogers teased, spreading the slick around until Tony's entrance must've shone with it. His voice went rougher as his hand hooked around the omega's hip to drag him further down the mattress, saying, "c'mere, kitten — time to show you what you were made for."

"Please, please!" Tony sobbed, trying to wrench away as Rogers settled in behind him, lining up his oversized cock with Tony's soft pink hole. "Please, don't do this!!"

"Oh baby, I promise you're gonna like it," Rogers husked out, anchoring Tony with a firm grip on his slender hips as he started pushing into him.

The wail that Tony let out was more forlorn than pained as this twisted facsimile of Steve Rogers proceeded to impale the distressed omega on his massive cock, driving into Tony's smaller body like he meant business. The excruciating shock of it was enough to leave Tony thoroughly shaken, no longer thrashing in his bindings — all he could do was clutch the bedcover in his tensed hands as he choked on a gasp and his face froze in a deep wince, just riding out the overwhelming sensation of being split open by the raging hard-on of a handsome murderer.

It was far from the kind of night he'd had in mind when he'd set out earlier, hoping to leave behind the trappings of an omega's lot in life for good.

Somehow instead of escaping the fate he'd despised, he'd ended up precipitating it prematurely.

It should hurt more, being brutally violated by a super alpha; but when Tony’s tight channel just slackened and went slick in response to the invasion, it was just one more way that his body had betrayed him. He wouldn't be grateful for that. Even so: Rogers was still so ridiculously big and Tony was the very definition of petite, so taking the alpha's cock was far from easy. Once Rogers had bottomed out, stretching Tony's virgin orifice wider than he would've thought possible, Tony barely had a second to adjust to the stretch before the alpha started properly rutting into him, moaning out a series of animalic sounds that made Tony's hair curl.

Tony desperately tried to tell himself that it wasn't so bad; that he could endure this; but it was hard to convince himself when the alpha's cock was piercing him so deeply that Tony wasn't sure his vital organs could take it. The smell of the alpha's arousal was so thick and heavy that Tony choked on it, wanting to gag from the overbearing force of it. It was too strong, just like Rogers' base scent was too strong; too domineering; too intense. There was an offness to it as well; something Tony couldn't have placed even if he hadn't been so distracted by the strain of a cock much too large for his meddlesome little ass.

There was something very wrong about Rogers. That much was obvious enough by now.

For the first time in his young life, Tony actually wished that he'd obeyed his father; wished that he'd stayed away from the damned bunker. How many others would have to pay the price for his mistake?

Rogers dropped down close to him and groaned a blood-curdling sound in Tony's ear as Tony sobbed into the mattress, not even realizing that he'd been crying until he felt that rough tongue lapping at the tear-streaks on his face. Those barbs were up again on Rogers' tongue, making it feel like sandpaper as it traced Tony's tears. That wasn't good.

Tony choked on a thick, frightened sob as Rogers flipped him onto his back, examining Tony's teary face with far too much interest.

"Damn... you're one pretty little thing, aren't you..." Rogers breathed, gently stroking a tuft of brown hair off Tony's sweaty forehead. "C'mon, kitten. Spread your legs for me," Rogers coaxed, easily opening Tony's legs wide as Tony resisted the urge to protest, already too worn-down by all of it. A fresh swell of tears pricked his eyes at the recognition of how compliant he'd become.

"Yeah... that's it," Rogers huskily approved, finding Tony's opening with his swollen cockhead again and driving it in good and deep. The tears spilled over as Tony's eyes went wide and a panicked cry was punched out of him; he was even more overwhelmed by this new angle as Rogers' cock plundered his ass with renewed vigor, stabbing into him with rabid enthusiasm. It was so much worse like this, being confronted with the terrifying sight of the big alpha's heaving chest and all those bulging muscles bearing down on him — and that face, looking down at him with an expression so voracious; so predatory; hungering for so much more than a quick rut into a warm body.

Now Rogers' cock was hitting a place inside of Tony that sent a jolt through him with every blunt impact, making him gasp out high-pitched sounds of alarmed objection that only provoked a more concentrated attack. Above him, Rogers' lips were pulled back in a sneer revealing the flash of the alpha's sharp-looking fangs. It had to be an intentional display of dominance. He wanted Tony to submit; to call him alpha. Tony could almost feel it already — that awful instinct in him that just wanted to roll over and let Rogers take whatever he wanted from him.

I won't, Tony thought, trying to project his refusal with his eyes even if he couldn't say it out loud. Never.

He could see the scratch marks he'd left on Rogers' cheek already starting to fade away, disappearing as if it had never happened. As if Tony's rebellion was utterly pointless.

Rogers had caught on to his defiance — Tony couldn't hold back the quavering cry that broke free from him when the asshole started to fuck him even harder, dead set on breaking the omega's resolve.

"Yeah... yeah, you like that, don't you?" Rogers taunted, grunting and fucking into him again in a way that was guaranteed to produce another involuntary whining sound. Tony tried to bite down on his bottom lip to contain it, screwing his eyes shut as Rogers continued to rail him relentlessly.

"This is what you were made for," Rogers insisted, driving his point home with a particularly rough thrust, jamming his cock right into some jarringly sensitive place inside of the young omega.

Tony couldn't help it. His lip popped free from his teeth and he squealed, high and loud, fingers and toes flexing as too much sensation shot through him at once. Rogers let out a proper growl as he chased after that very spot again and again, assaulting it with a cock that somehow seemed to stiffen even further, going rock hard as Tony screamed and screamed with mounting helplessness.

It went on for far too long before Tony's voice went raspy and Rogers finally slowed down, crawling right on top of Tony and pressing his body in so close that he was practically smothering the trembling little omega with his sheer bulk, still shallowly thrusting into him as if he couldn't help himself. "Oh, you sweet thing," Rogers cooed, wrapping his big hand around Tony's bound wrists just to emphasize how small and frail Tony was by comparison. "...do you see, now? Do you see how lovely you are?"

Tony gulped as Rogers settled in right over him and took Tony's chin in his hand, forcing Tony's unfocused, watery eyes to meet his. Rogers had him pinned to the mattress like a bug, his aching, trembling legs splayed out wide as the alpha's sturdy hips bore down on him. Tony hated the way that his lip was wobbling, but there was nothing to be done for it.

Rogers' voice was eerily sincere as he questioned, "How could you want to change something so perfect?"

It didn't even matter anymore. Tony knew that it had been a long shot when he'd sought out Captain America in the first place, but what had initially motivated him seemed so far away, already. He'd taken a chance and lost. Big time. His priorities had drastically shifted in a short span of time; now, all that he wanted was to get away from this big, gnarly, deranged alpha while he still could. If Rogers bit him, any chance he had of escaping would be drastically compromised.

"Just let me go," Tony begged, his brown eyes brimming with misery, not even caring how pathetic he sounded. "Please. Forget I ever asked you for anything, okay? Just let me go."

"Ohhh, honey," Rogers soothed, kissing the corners of Tony's eyes and relishing the salt of his tears as he assured him in an unsettlingly soft voice, "...no, baby. Don't you get it? ...I mean to keep you."

The alpha released Tony's chin. Tony shuddered as he felt Rogers' fingertips grazing over the gland on his neck, which had swelled up nice and plump from all the teeming pheromones that had been roused by the thorough dicking he'd endured.

"No," Tony breathed, mouth gone suddenly dry, trying to flinch away from the touch as his heart sped up. "No!"

Rogers tisked at him, breathing hot and heavy as he sniffed indulgently around the swollen gland. "C'mon. No more of that. Bare your throat for me like the sweet little bitch that you are," Rogers half-whispered, sounding too far-gone with arousal to be reasoned with. He was bucking into Tony's body in a way that seemed almost unconscious — as if his fat, throbbing cock had a mind of its own, compulsively seeking out more of Tony's tight-fitting heat while his head was occupied elsewhere.

"No," Tony desperately sobbed, whimpering and trying to squirm away as Rogers hovered over his neck with that scary look in his eyes, fully baring his fangs now as if they were taking up too much space in his mouth. Tony watched with horror as saliva dripped from them, knowing full well what proteins the alpha venom contained; that particular biology lesson had been traumatizing, learning how every alpha's fangs were connected to salivary glands containing special proteins that were just rearing to infect his vulnerable, never-before-marked omega body. "Biological imperatives," they called it. It was Tony's worst fear, being subject to the will of a bond, becoming even more enslaved by the unlucky O chromosome he'd been dealt. To be claimed. To be inextricably bound to an alpha through his own blood...

Putting up one last, pitiful fight, Tony's tied hands tried in vain to push Rogers away as the alpha descended on him, shoving Tony's wrists up and out of the way and pinning them down with one hand as the other gripped the panicking omega by the throat and held him down. "Hold still," Rogers gasped, breathing hotly over Tony's gland, which was throbbing with insensible anticipation as warm saliva dripped onto it.

When it happened, there was nothing but pain. The dread that had seized the trapped omega fled in an instant as he felt sharp fangs pierce his flesh, sinking into the gland as Rogers bit down so hard that Tony was sure he'd tear his throat out. There was no room for panic, anymore; no room for anything other than the most brilliant, blinding pain that the young omega had ever experienced, tearing right through him, radiating from the puncture wound like a sizzling inferno.

It's not supposed to hurt like this, Tony thought; the only thought he was capable of as he lay there, completely stunned into submission.

Claim marks were meant to be a 'different kind' of pain; a pleasurable kind; erotic in a way that Tony had never quite understood, but had accepted as fact. That's what he'd been told, anyway. "It feels... nice," his mother had shyly confided, when recounting an experience she'd had with an alpha in her younger days, before that bond had been broken and she'd been discarded as a 'disgraced' omega; one only worthy of a status-seeking beta's consideration, since no self-respecting alpha would want to form a bond with another's leftovers.

"But doesn't it hurt?" Tony had asked, skeptically eyeing the fading scar on his mother's neck. It fascinated him as much as he was wary of it. Maria typically kept it hidden under clothing or covered with makeup, since the fang-less Howard found it offensive.

"Yes, but in a good way," Maria had enigmatically replied, dabbing a fresh application of concealer over the mark. "You'll understand when you're older."

Not if I have anything to say about it, Tony had decisively told himself.

A forced bond was different, though. A forced bond hurt like hell, without the accompanying rush of pleasurable endorphins. Didn't Rogers taste it?

It should've been bitter; repulsive, even. But Rogers was sucking at Tony's neck like it was fucking ambrosia to him.

What was wrong with this guy??

...Or maybe it was Tony that was wrong... Like his scent, which didn't translate fear the way it was meant to. Something in him that turned everything sweeter than it ought to be; some defect in his biology that attracted toxic alpha perverts to him like flies.

It took forever before Rogers' fangs withdrew, all bloodied and ferocious-looking as the alpha's eyes gleamed with primal satisfaction. The pain of the puncture wound and the deep indentations left by the rest of Rogers' overzealous teeth had faded to a stinging ache as Tony laid unmoving against the bedspread, keeping still but for the occasional, spasmodic twitching of his muscles, still strung out from their earlier convulsions. As the sandpapery barbs of the alpha's tongue laved over Tony's sore, overstimulated gland, enthusiastically cleaning the blood from the wound, Tony caught a whiff of his own scent, which had a new flavor to it, now.

He smelled faintly of alpha.

His alpha.

The process had already begun. Rogers was clearly enamored with the change, abandoning the abused gland from time to time to bury his nose in the hair behind Tony's ear, breathing deeply and moaning as his engorged cock burrowed more deeply into Tony's overstretched hole.

Tony had no fight left in him, feeling completely drained by what Rogers had done. He just let the alpha do whatever he wanted, using Tony's lax, barely-responsive body to his satisfaction as Rogers indulged in the omega's complacency, seemingly unbothered by Tony's subdued capitulation. If anything, seeing Tony broken like this seemed to give him a whole new thrill.

At length, Rogers' own gland was protruding noticeably from his neck, so much that it looked like it had to be uncomfortable. Tony ignored Rogers' attempts to entice him with it, bringing it close to Tony's face and murmuring, "C'mon, baby... show me those little kitten teeth," trying to egg Tony into biting him. Tony refused to take the bait.

"It'll make you feel better," Rogers promised, as if that was something he actually cared about.

The terrible thing was that Tony knew he was right. A one-way bond was complete misery, leaving a marked omega wildly dependent on an alpha that remained largely indifferent to their turmoil. It left them in a constant state of abandonment even if the alpha that had marked them was right beside them, rendering them irrationally isolated at all times, to the point of physical illness. Tony could feel that mental instability taking over already, recalling how some omegas went crazy from it.

He wanted the misery, though; wanted to go mad even more than he wanted the cure. He wanted to cling to whatever autonomy he had left, no matter the cost. To reciprocate the bond would mean letting Rogers have one more piece of him; letting the alpha understand him on a molecular level — worst of all, he'd be letting the alpha into his head. Without reciprocating, the poison that was in his blood, now, wouldn't work like it was supposed to. Rogers' control over him wouldn't be that easy.

I'd rather die, Tony told himself, eyes pinched tightly shut as Rogers angled his neck over Tony's mouth again, making the omega salivate uncontrollably at the strong, musky scent that assaulted his olfactory receptors. His tiny fangs actually throbbed in his mouth as a bout of lightheadedness overtook him.

"C'mon, kitten," Rogers cooed, rubbing his thumb against Tony's screwed-tight lips, "...open up..."

Tony shook his head emphatically, making Rogers huff out a frustrated breath. The big alpha shifted his weight, then, laying on his side and allowing his cock to slip free from Tony's hole. It should've felt more like a relief than a loss. The sickness was really doing a number on him, already, if Tony was actually missing having that gigantic cock up his ass. Nausea started to sweep through him and he broke into a cold sweat, swallowing down another mouthful of saliva.

Rogers held Tony's head steady in one hand as he prodded at Tony's lips with the fingers of the other, snapping at Tony to "open," as Tony tried to pull away. The scent of frustrated alpha was making him even queasier. Tony's eyes flew open when Rogers hooked a finger inside of the omega's mouth, tugging his lip back far enough to examine one of his fangs.

"Yeah, you know what you really want," Rogers murmured, pressing the pad of his thumb against the sharpened point and watching with interest as Tony's overactive salivary glands soaked his finger with a flood of saliva.

Rogers held up the wet thumb for Tony to see, telling him, "You're not doing yourself any favors by denying it."

Tony watched as Rogers lifted the thumb to his own mouth, sucking it clean as his eyes flashed with peculiar intensity.

After studying Tony intently for a beat with those sharp blue eyes, taking in the shivering mess that the omega was fast becoming: the glassy look in Tony's skittish, brown eyes and the sweat cooling on his brow and the pallor of his skin — Rogers cocked his head and stroked a hand through the sweaty mop of Tony's hair, asking him, "Are you gonna be a good boy for me, or am I gonna have to teach you a lesson?"

Looking up at the alpha with consternation, Tony's eyes rapidly scanned Rogers' as he wondered what the hell the bastard had in mind. Screw that. He wasn't gonna give him the satisfaction of looking intimidated. Bring it on, fuckwad.

Tony narrowed his eyes and ground out, "Go to hell."

Rogers' expression flattened, and for a moment Tony thought that he'd made the alpha genuinely angry. But then a slow, devilish sort of smirk began to spread over his confusingly attractive features before he favored Tony's head with a couple patronizing pats and murmured, "Suit yourself."

Tony blinked as he watched Rogers roll away from him. The alpha easily hefted himself up off the mattress and sauntered away with a self-assured kind of swagger, favoring Tony with a full view of his (frankly fantastic) ass and well-muscled backside before he stepped through the doorway, shutting it firmly behind him.

The panic didn't fully hit him until Tony heard the sound of the door being locked. Nowadays, most accommodations catering to traveling omegas had locks on the inside of the bedrooms, prioritizing an omega's sense of comfort and security. It hadn't always been that way, though. Tony had noticed the dated vestige on his bedroom door as soon as he'd arrived at the private residence: an omega's bedchamber which locked on the outside — once the standard accommodation for guests traveling with omegas, since omegas weren't even able to travel unaccompanied until thirty-some years ago.

It hadn't bothered him that much. Camp Lehigh had been built before the liberation movement, and the military was notoriously slow when it came to updating their 'politically incorrect' policies and infrastructure. So Tony had barely given the lock a second thought. Howard had no reason to use it; not if Tony didn't give him one. The omega heir had come here to act a certain part, and he meant to play it convincingly enough.

But now — being locked in this room, naked and alone; wrists bound, jittery, body temperature dropping — Tony's panic was spiking.

He was trapped in an active crime scene; his dead father's corpse was still lying on the floor of the next room. His neck was throbbing with the awful, soul-crushing ache of a forced claim mark which hadn't been reciprocated. All of that was more than sufficient grounds to have the book thrown at Rogers, who'd been on a full-on rampage since Tony had set him loose; but just thinking about the alpha behind bars—kept far away from Tony, forever—was making him intensely nauseous.

It was poison, what Rogers had bitten into him — and the antidote was just as vile.

There were places, of course — rehabilitation clinics — where omegas suffering through this sort of thing could go to find some measure of relief. Many had survived experiences like these and went on to live relatively decent lives.

Right now, though, it seemed like nothing would ever be able to fix this. As his symptoms mounted, Tony felt unbearably hopeless and alone; utterly without salvation. It felt as if the room were swallowing him whole; as if he was sinking into a despair he'd never come back from, drowning in the most abject sense of failure he'd ever experienced. He'd never felt so wrong in his entire life — a feeling that was so pervasive; so excruciatingly painful that he didn't understand why he wasn't dead from it, already...

At length, Rogers was back. Tony hadn't even heard the door unlock from where he was huddled in a fetal position, shivering uncontrollably — neither had he heard the alpha approach before he became inundated with a scent so overwhelmingly reassuring that he'd temporarily forgotten where he was or what had happened.

Alpha.

Suddenly Tony felt like he could breathe again, letting the scent fill his hypoxic lungs with much-needed relief. Then the disoriented omega found himself gathered up in warm, strong arms, his bound wrists tucked up against his chest as he leaned gratefully against that big, solid weight propping him up, allowing Rogers to settle him over the alpha's musky-smelling lap.

"Aww, baby; it's okay, now... I'm here," the alpha purred, cupping Tony's head in his big hand as the omega's residual shivers started to taper off. "I've got what you need."

Tony was so out of it with gratitude that he didn't even question it when the alpha guided Tony's head toward his neck, positioning him right over that swollen, strongly-scented gland. Tony's little fangs throbbed eagerly as saliva pooled in his mouth. He wanted, so desperately...

A deep groan of satisfaction rumbled through the chest Tony was propped up against as he sank his teeth into the alpha's skin, his senses inundated all at once with something incomprehensible.

It tasted like... it smelled like... it felt like...

Tony didn't even have any frame of reference for the experience, but he knew that he wanted more of it. His brows knitted together and he bit down even harder, barely registering the hiss from Rogers in response.

He did, however, register the feeling of Rogers slipping his cock through all the slick accumulating between Tony's legs, finding Tony's hot, throbbing hole and working the head of his cock through the pulsing ring of muscle before plunging inside.

Tony's vision blurred, bursting with stars as he continued to suck desperately at the alpha's neck while Rogers sank as deeply inside of the little omega as his cock could reach, his big hands bearing down bruisingly hard on Tony's hips as he rooted his omega to him, letting out a growl that somehow made the taste exploding inside of Tony's mouth even sweeter.

Oh, Tony distantly realized, this is what it's like, then...

The bond. That connection. Being tied to an alpha—his alpha—through his very blood. Feeling reverberations of what his alpha was feeling coursing through him as he fed on the incredible taste of him; feeling all that power; that satisfaction...

...that immense attraction for him, as clear as day...

It was beyond heady, experiencing that for the first time — he'd never known how good it could feel to be wanted like this.

That feeling completely transported him. The enthralled little omega was totally blissed out on it, riding that endorphin high, too far-gone to remember why he was supposed to hate this...

Rogers didn't interrupt him. He let Tony suckle his gland for as long as the omega pleased as his thick cock throbbed impatiently inside of the tight, hot sleeve of Tony's body, overheating with lust as Rogers let its engine idle. As the alpha's arousal mounted, the heady lure of his scent only deepened, compounding Tony's dependence on it.

When Tony at last came up for air—breathing in heaving, labored breaths as his teeth let go of the alpha's warm, intoxicating flesh—he had no idea what he looked like.

But he felt it, when Rogers gently turned his head to face him, guiding him upright on the alpha's lap; he felt what Rogers saw when he took in the sight of Tony's dilated pupils darkening his big, brown eyes; the sight of his puffy mouth wet and red with the alpha's blood.

The feeling spread through him like fire, setting him alight. He'd never felt so beautiful, before. Never felt so treasured in all his life.

The word came, unbidden, gasped out with surprise:

"Alpha!"

The sound that Rogers let out at hearing Tony address him as 'alpha' for the first time was unlike any human sound Tony had ever heard, before.

That sound was still roaring through Tony's blood as his alpha smashed Tony's face to his, kissing him so ferociously that Tony didn't know whether the blood he was tasting was from Rogers' neck or was his own. He was pretty sure that Rogers had bit into him at least once somewhere along the way, but he was too lost in the drugging scent and sensation of Rogers' arousal to really notice.

—But then—when he felt that huge alpha hand wrapping around his own cock, dwarfing it in Rogers' massive hold—he definitely took notice.

Tony was gasping and crying out helpless, enraptured sounds as the alpha bounced him on his swollen cock, squeezing and pumping Tony's stiff little erection in time with his jarring thrusts. The alpha had Tony's throat captured in his jaws again and Tony's dick held tightly in that big, strong hand, and the thrilling danger of both of those sensations—the knowledge that Rogers could easily crush him at any moment—was enough to push Tony rapidly over the edge of his own heightened arousal.

The alpha started sucking a deep bruise into Tony's neck as the omega came — his scent bursting with milky sweetness — whining out a long, shaky sound that turned breathless as Rogers' cock continued to surge up inside of him, milking as much of Tony's trembling orgasm as he could savor. Tony's eyes could barely focus on the sight of Rogers lifting his head from Tony's throbbing neck, making sure he had Tony's attention before bringing his spunk-covered hand to his mouth and lapping it up hungrily.

The sight punched out a shocked little gasp from Tony, his slack mouth hanging open enough for Rogers to easily slip the edge of his hand inside, feeding Tony his own, creamy spend.

Tony's eyelashes fluttered as he registered the new taste on his tongue; the flavor wasn't as repulsive as he might've expected. A little sweet, even...

The rosy-cheeked omega obediently sucked on Rogers' hand as he stuffed it deeper, relishing the pleased sound rumbling in the alpha's chest far more than the taste. Hearing that made him flush even deeper.

Once his hand was clean, Rogers lifted Tony off of his lap and laid him down on the bed before backing up and kneeling on the mattress as he stared down at the bemused omega, his cock standing up tall and proud as it curved toward his chiseled stomach. He looked almost godlike, taking on that assertive posture, towering over Tony in all his perfect, naked beauty.

"Present for me," the alpha commanded.

Tony didn't need to be told twice. The urge to comply with his alpha's command was powerful and immediate.

He rolled onto his stomach and settled his cheek and forearms against the bed before lifting his ass nice and high, letting his back dip enticingly, toes curling as he put his sex on full display for the benefit of the hot alpha eyes he could feel boring into him.

"Ohhhhhhh, you sweet thing," Rogers rumbled appreciatively, his movements rocking the bed as he came up behind Tony and caressed his ass and thighs with possessive, appreciative strokes. The sound of his voice and the feel of his hands made Tony shiver, eyelids drifting shut.

"You want it, don't you, baby?" Rogers knowingly murmured, his voice low and dark as his fingernails dragged up the soft skin of Tony's inner thigh.

"You want this?" he husked out, dragging the head of his cock through Tony's slick.

"...Yes, alpha..."

Tony let out a small sound of surprise as he felt a big hand come down on the back of his neck, holding him steady in the classic mating posture as Rogers rammed his cock in hard, hand tightening at the back of Tony's neck as Tony wailed out in response. Then Rogers was fucking him again, fast and brutal, setting a punishing pace that turned Tony's legs to jelly as they buckled beneath him, only to be wrenched back into place by Rogers' free hand as he tightened his grip and fucked him even harder.

The sheer brutality of it was enough to knock some degree of sense back into Tony's pheromone-saturated, bond-addled mind.

It's okay... this is fine... my alpha is pleasuring himself with my body, part of him kept repeating, in some delirious mantra that was meant to be reassuring.

He's a killer, another, more distant part of Tony screamed at himself; Dad is out there right now, dead because of him...

...He wants me... he wants me... he wants me...

...He's controlling me... he's controlling me...

"Want me to spill inside of you?" Rogers was rasping, his breathy voice punctuated by his rapid thrusting as he fucked into Tony at a pace no average alpha should've even been capable of. The man was a freakin' machine...

"...Want me to fill you up? —to fill you with my seed??"

Yes, Tony couldn't help thinking, yes! I want that!

"You want that, baby? ...You want a nice big bellyful of it?" Rogers pressed, his body curling over Tony's to tease: "...Want me to put my pups inside of you?"

No!!

"Unnnnnghhhh!!" Tony moaned, a sound that was meant to be a protest, but which came out way too horny to translate correctly.

Even though the odds of being impregnated outside of a heat/rut cycle were slim to none, Tony still felt an icy shudder wrack through him at the prospect of being inseminated by Rogers. He most certainly did not want to carry that psycho's pups. Apparently even the confounding effects of a freshly-formed bond weren't strong enough to make that particular horror sound appealing.

"Ooooohhhhhh, you're gonna look soooo good, little one... gonna get you fat with my litter," Rogers promised, pounding roughly into him.

Tony had stiffened up at the harrowing suggestion, his hole tightening reflexively in fear. The added resistance only seemed to spur Rogers to go at him more vigorously, cursing under his breath and making harsh, lewd sounds as he drove into Tony's body like it existed solely to please him.

"Gonna knock you up," Rogers gritted out, "...gonna knock you up real good..."

Tony had started sobbing again, overwhelmed by both the notion of parenthood and the relentless treatment Rogers' huge cock was giving to his abused hole. He just really wanted Rogers to come, already; though whether because he wanted to get this over with or because he actually wanted to feel himself stuffed full of the alpha's jizz was not a distinction he felt inclined to dwell on.

When the alpha's cock suddenly withdrew from him—leaving him empty and exposed for the pathetic, cock-craving, unrecognizable creature he'd become—Tony let out the most wretched sob, yet, as hot tears of humiliated yearning spilled from the corners of his eyes.

"Turn over," the alpha commanded, and Tony was powerless to resist. He scrambled onto his back with a wet gasp, stretching his bound arms up over his head and spreading his legs in invitation, desperate to be filled.

"Oh, look at you... so pretty..." Rogers was heatedly murmuring, sounding like he was losing it. His cock looked even more engorged than before — had it gotten even bigger somehow?? — and was dripping copious amounts of fluid all over the bedspread from the darkly flushed head, in the same way that his fangs had been salivating, earlier; hungering to fill the omega with more of his alpha poison. "...So perfect, baby... my sweet little omega bitch... so good for me..."

Tony let out an embarrassingly pleased moan at the alpha's praise, unable to contain it. He knew that Rogers could see and smell the way that he was leaking his own slick all over the bedding — he could only imagine what it looked like with his legs wide open like that, flushing prettily, nipples perked and cock gone stiff again. The air between them was thick with their commingled scents: creamy vanilla and heavy musk; fresh, dewy rosebuds being crushed beneath a heavy combat boot; warm woolen mittens and icy steel; sweetness and spice; lust and murder; fluffy white birthday cake splattered in cold blood.

This time, when the alpha took him, there was no doubt where it would lead. This was it. He folded Tony in half and fucked him like he was about to go off at any moment, looking completely possessed by the force of his arousal as his gutteral, bellowing sounds drowned out Tony's helpless cries. The fearful omega felt like he might be crushed to death under the heavy weight of the insensate alpha as he fucked Tony deeply into the mattress, noisily jostling the springs as his big body reasserted just how powerless Tony was to do anything other than lie there and take it.

When Rogers came, the sound that he made turned Tony's blood to ice. It was so loud—so visceral—that Tony was sure it must have frightened off any unfortunate creature within range of hearing it, sending them scattering. Tony gasped out a little sound of his own when he felt a hot rush of semen shooting off deep inside of him; he lay still, holding his breath as his alpha tensed on top of him, the throbbing pulsations of Rogers' cock stimulating Tony in a whole new way. The sensation was so foreign to him, the way that Rogers' cock strained and pulsed, feeling almost like having a live animal burrowed into him.

It went on for a long time, too... Much longer than Tony would've expected.

How much jizz can the man produce??

And then the base of Rogers' cock started to swell, and Tony realized that it wasn't over, yet.

Oh fuck... how could he have forgotten this part??

It didn't tend to happen too frequently outside of a rut, but it was often triggered by a new bond...

Rogers was going to knot him.

"No," Tony gasped, his voice coming out breathlessly raspy, "...no, don't... not that..."

He tried to squirm away, but was pinned down tightly by Rogers' heavy body. He wasn't going anywhere.

"Sssshhhh..." Rogers soothed, a look of concerted focus on his features as he panted out, "...easy, baby..."

"Please!" Tony cried, desperation swelling up in him, "You're too big, already!"

"It'll fit," Rogers quietly insisted.

"No it won't!!" Tony squeaked, feeling the knot starting to stretch him wider, ballooning inside of his already forced-open hole. "Let me go!! Please, please!! Let me go!!"

The alpha lifted off of him slightly, and for a moment Tony thought he might be able to breathe again. But then he heard Rogers shushing him in that completely patronizing way again as he gathered Tony up and settled back against the headboard, his big, constricting arms keeping Tony firmly planted on his lap as his knot continued to swell inside of Tony's small body.

"Aaaaah, it's too much!" Tony moaned, breaking out into a sweat as his face contorted in a variety of panicked grimaces while Rogers just stared at him with avid fascination.

"You can take it," Rogers crooned, leaning in to lick at the shell of Tony's ear before he shifted gears into a command tone as he solemnly added, "You will take it."

Tony's lip wobbled and his eyes filled with tears as he felt his automatic reply pushing up in his throat, unable to prevent himself from sobbing out a pathetic, "Yes, alpha."

Rogers groaned appreciatively and held Tony's head in both hands, intently watching Tony's fat bottom lip quivering for another moment before sucking it between his teeth and nibbling on it as Tony gasped out a cry and spilled his tears. He could taste the salt of them collecting in his mouth as Rogers laved his tongue over the bitten lip, making a pleased sound as he, too, registered the taste of Tony's tears.

As the knot continued to fill him, Tony could do no more than sit there stiffly, too afraid to move as the alpha planted a series of kisses over Tony's face, jaw and neck — all the while stroking his big hands down Tony's body with possessive greed, admiring the softness of his skin and the slenderness of his frame.

Then—as Rogers' thumbs playfully tormented Tony's oversensitized nipples—just when Tony was sure that the knot couldn't possibly swell any larger without breaking him apart, Rogers started to fuck him on it.

"Oh fuck, no..." Tony shakily cried, as the alpha slowly bucked into him experimentally, working up to a steady rhythm.

"Watch your language," The alpha chastised, his teeth nipping the join of Tony's neck and shoulder sharply in warning.

"Ah!!" Tony cried out, his small hands scrabbling against Rogers' solid chest as he tried to find purchase—fingers digging into unyielding muscle—the bindings on his wrists making it too difficult to steady himself.

"Unnnghhhhh," Rogers groaned, gripping the back of his omega's neck in one hand as the other tightened on Tony's small waist, his face contorting tightly with pleasure.

The bond between them made it very clear to Tony that his alpha was in the throes of an extreme pleasure; one that was completely senseless — a feral sort of instinct driving him on, getting him drunk on his own power and influence over his helpless, captive mate. Rogers could feel how scared Tony was; could sense his desperation; his absolute dependency on Rogers, knowing that the alpha held his safety—his life in his hands.

This aroused the man beyond all measure. That much was painfully obvious to Tony.

There was no point in begging him to stop; the more Tony pleaded, the hotter it was for the giant perv. He got off on pushing Tony's limits; on forcing him to take whatever he wanted to give him.

Even so, Tony couldn't help the way that he cried out as Rogers fucked him on his knot more urgently, getting increasingly riled up by Tony's mounting desperation.

He could seriously hurt me, Tony realized, there's nothing stopping him...

He's dangerous.

Tony's wailing grew louder and louder, something tight and strange coiling inside of him as his fear and desperation began to shift into something else, the longer that Rogers fucked him like that.

Oh, no... he realized too late, the feeling getting tighter and tighter, so close to snapping; he'd gotten aroused by this!

He could smell it all over him, now. The hideous, traitorous stench of arousal intermingled with the pain and horror. Worse, he knew that Rogers was fully aware of it.

What had he become?

"Come for me, beauty," his alpha commanded, his deep voice penetrating clean through the haze of Tony's shame, hitting him dead in the center of that illicit feeling coiled up deep inside of himself.

Tony whined out a long, wretched, broken sound, and came on his alpha's knot.

Rogers might've come a second time. It wasn't clear. Tony couldn't even be sure that he'd ever stopped coming that whole time. There was so much cum leaking out of his swollen ass once the knot had finally deflated that it would be insane if all of it had been the product of a single orgasm, but who knew anything about what Steve Rogers was capable of?

Tony was fucking exhausted. He barely registered Rogers untying his limp, abraded wrists before cleaning him up afterward, far too out of it to object to the way that Rogers manhandled him like he was some kind of doll, tending to Tony's worn-out, battered body as if it belonged to him.

Shortly after Rogers forced him to drink too much water and practically force-fed him half of a banana—along with one of the big tablet painkillers from Howard's Dopp kit—Tony passed out.

Tony was still out of it when he woke up well before dawn, roused from his sleep by a persistent hand shaking his chin and tapping at his cheek. He blearily tried to make sense of what was happening as Rogers grinned down at him and cooed, "There you are... good boy."

Tony blinked owlishly at the alpha as he straddled Tony with his knees; the omega belatedly realized that he'd been propped up against the headboard as Rogers' erect cock came into focus in front of his disoriented face.

"C'mon, baby, open up... been waiting for you..."

Intending to make some kind of sleepy protest, Tony opened his mouth, only to mumble a sound of surprise around the mouthful of dick that suddenly pushed its way inside.

"No biting," Rogers warned him, the sound of the command making Tony shiver. It was too damn early for whatever the fuck this was...

That made no difference to Rogers, though. He stretched Tony's lips wide on his oversized cock, making low sounds of pleasure as he watched Tony struggle to accommodate it—barely able to keep his eyes open—still groggy from the heavy painkiller and inadequate sleep.

Rogers fucked Tony's mouth until the omega couldn't take any more, his hands coming up to push against the alpha's thighs, urging him to quit it. He chuckled at the little display of protest for an extended beat before he finally pulled out, only to kiss him sloppily the next moment, hooking his hands beneath Tony's armpits and dragging him up to pin him against the headboard as he ravished the breathless omega's mouth with his tongue, making Tony dizzy all over again.

The next thing Tony knew, Rogers was lowering him back onto the bed and stroking his face with a possessive look in his eyes as Tony tried to blink some measure of alertness into his overtired brain. In the next moment, though, Rogers had him gripped by the hair on top of his head and proceeded to fuck Tony's throat until he gagged; until his eyes stung and tears spilled down his face; until he choked so hard that he vomited up a mouthful of banana mush that dribbled down his messy chin, along with all the drool and salty tears.

Rogers just whispered soothing-sounding words as he wiped Tony clean and carried him to the bathroom, where the light was too bright and everything felt like a bad dream. It was there that the insatiable alpha proceeded to fuck his half-conscious omega against the cold tiles of the shower wall until he came again, pulling out just in time to spurt his sizable load all over Tony's worn-out body. Then, with obvious relish, Rogers coerced the reluctant omega to suck thick globs of cum off of his fingers, making Tony stick out his tongue to be sure that he swallowed it before finally rinsing him off under the steaming showerhead with excessive tenderness.

Sometime later, Tony woke in bed with an awful headache.

His mouth felt funny and his body was sore everywhere. He could hear subdued voices somewhere outside of the bedroom.

Voices??

Had Rogers been caught?? Did someone come around looking for Howard, only to find the escaped psychopath, instead?

The possibility was compelling enough to get Tony out of bed, heavy-limbed and smarting something awful as he limped his way to the bedroom door.

It was locked.

Should he bang on it? Call for help?

Tony paused for a moment, deciding to try to listen in on whoever was out there, first. Better to make sure he knew who'd be rushing to his rescue, finding him fucked out and completely naked, covered in bite marks and bruises. As he looked toward the corner where he'd stowed his suitcase, Tony was momentarily distracted by the realization that it was missing.

Where were his clothes?

Why would Rogers have taken them??

Unsettled by the discovery, Tony stiffly moved toward the bed to tug off the duvet. He wrapped it around himself protectively as he glanced around the bedroom, still puzzled by the fact that his suitcase had been removed.

Pushing past his lingering discomfort, Tony leaned against the door and pressed his ear to the crack, trying to make out the conversation happening in the front room.

"...It doesn't matter. The guy's dead. Just shove him in head first."

"They won't like it if we mess up the corpse, Rumlow — you know they're gonna wanna make it look like an accident or somethin'..."

"Well then go get one of those Rubbermaid cans! He's sure as shit not gonna fit in this thing if we don't break a few parts."

Tony stiffened, realizing what was happening. Whoever was out there wasn't going to save him. They were there to cover up his father's murder, which meant that Rogers had help.

"...Grab one off the side of the bungalow; if there's anything in it, just dump it on the ground."

"You don't think it's gonna be suspicious if he smells like a garbage can?"

"The guy's a fuckin' corpse, dumbass — he's gonna smell a lot worse soon enough. Go get the can already; I missed breakfast for this shit."

Tony felt like he was going to be sick. He didn't want to hear any more of what those men were doing out there, trying hard not to imagine his father's lifeless body being stuffed into a garbage can. Woozily backing away from the door, Tony's foot got caught in a fold of the duvet and he lost his balance, falling and landing hard on his ass with a thud as he let out a soft cry of pain upon impact.

"...Yo, Rollins, hold up — you hear that?"

"Uh huh."

Tony held his breath as heavy footsteps slowly approached the bedroom door. He was too afraid to move, gathering the duvet tightly to his chest and clutching it in a tense grip as he hoped against hope that the men would simply ignore the sound they'd heard and go back to their grisly task.

"It came from in here," one of them said in a subdued voice, standing right outside the bedroom. "Somebody's locked in."

"...Oh shit — Stark brought his kid with him," the one called Rumlow suddenly recalled. "That sweet little omega piece, remember?"

"...I don't think you should open that," Rollins warned, though the sound of the lock was already turning.

Tony braced himself, considering the futility of hiding beneath the duvet before the door handle suddenly turned and the door was slowly being pushed open.

Standing in the doorway were a couple of tough-looking alphas dressed in SHIELD uniforms. Their eyes immediately landed on Tony frozen in place on the carpet, partially wrapped up in a tangled duvet blanket.

"Oh, shit," Rumlow breathed, huffing out a breath of disbelief as an awful-looking smirk spread over his shadowed face. "...What have we, here?"

Tony tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, but had no idea what to say to these men. "Help me" seemed like asking for trouble.

"...Smell that?" Rumlow said in a suggestive tone, glancing over at Rollins before turning his dark eyes back on Tony.

"He smells like Cap," Rollins mentioned, clearly interested in what he was seeing, though his posture was distinctly wary.

"He smells fucking delicious," Rumlow corrected in a low growl of a voice.

"Watch it, man — look at his neck," Rollins pointed, catching sight of the exposed claim mark.

"I see it," Rumlow murmured, still looking at Tony in a way that made the omega want to make a run for it. "Looks like Cap got him, first. He ain't here now, though..."

"You think Rogers just left him here like that?" Rollins doubted.

"Why not? He got what he wanted," Rumlow shrugged. "Guy like that... he could have any om he wants and nobody'd bat an eye. Bet the guy's a serial bond breaker. Can't help himself."

Tony felt a terrible surge of something painful swell up in him at the alpha's words, breaking out into a cold sweat at the idea of being abandoned.

"You're freaking him out," Rollins mentioned, picking up on the distressed scent radiating off of the trapped omega.

"Aww, poor baby," Rumlow soothed, taking a step into the room and making Tony tug the duvet more tightly around himself. "Hate to be the one to break it to ya, but you're just soiled goods now. Tsk. Bond sickness can be a real bitch, too...  What you need is a nice, big alpha cock to make it better, don't you?"

Tony shook his head, trying to look insistent, but Rumlow only chuckled at him as he stepped closer. "You're lucky you're so cute. I don't even mind that another alpha got there, first." The fear was radiating off of Tony in sickening waves as Rumlow towered over him, rubbing a hand over the growing bulge in his pants as he cocked his head and leered down at the frightened omega. "You've got a real sweet face... I think I'm gonna use your mouth while my buddy here takes you from behind — how's that sound? Wanna party with us, cutie pie?"

"You sure about this?" Rollins questioned as he followed Rumlow into the bedroom, still looking uncertain, though the second alpha also had the stink of arousal on him already. "What if Cap still wants him?"

"Pfft. What would that guy still want with a little runt like this? Doesn't matter how pretty he is. Now that Stark's outta the picture, they're fast-tracking Rogers up the political ladder; gonna make him a senator or some shit. He's gonna be fuckin' drowning in slick, the lucky bastard. If he wanted one for keeps, it'd have to be a real puppymill of an omega," Rumlow casually pointed out as he suddenly reached down for the edge of the duvet and ripped it away from Tony, sending him tumbling naked onto the carpet with a surprised gasp.

"...See? This one's cute, but he doesn't have the hips for it. Great for fucking; not for breeding."

Rumlow and Rollins stared at Tony with renewed hunger in their eyes as he scrambled to cover as much of himself as he could, hating the way that the two alphas were scrutinizing him like he was nothing more than sub-par breeding stock. "Wouldn't stop me from knotting that ass, though," Rumlow added with a predatory grin. "C'mon. Grab his legs; get him up on the bed..."

Just as Rumlow moved to reach for Tony's wrists, the most chilling voice that Tony had ever heard sudden spoke from the shadows of the hallway.

"Do not touch him."

In the next moment, the scent of an enraged alpha was wafting into the bedroom so strongly that if Tony hadn't been so unexpectedly relieved to hear the command in that voice—and to smell the familiar, pungent spike of dominance that accompanied it—he might've pissed himself a little bit. Judging by the sour note of terror tainting the scent of the other two alphas, Rollins and Rumlow might've had less self-control.

"Shit! Cap!" Rumlow practically squeaked, throwing his hands up defensively as he turned wide eyes onto the approaching figure of the super alpha. "You still wanted him?? Hey! I didn't know! Hold on—"

Before Rumlow could try to plead his case, Rogers was storming into the bedroom and roughly dragging a struggling Rumlow out into the hallway, away from Tony. Rumlow's body slammed into Rollins, who had been scrambling to run away before both alphas ended up tangled up together on the hallway floor.

The smell of aggression ramped up considerably as a fight broke out between the three alphas, making Tony shrink back into himself in response — some omegas got turned on by the smell of alpha-on-alpha aggression, but Tony found that it only ever made him feel defensive. The two agents were going against Rogers with all they had, coordinating their efforts as they teamed up to take him down, apparently realizing that they were fighting for their lives. They were clearly highly-trained and managed to put up a decent fight before Rogers laid waste to them, stabbing Rollins through the neck with his own knife and forcefully slamming Rumlow's head into the wall again and again until he'd left a large dent in the bloodied plaster—crushing the alpha's skull well beyond what was needed to ensure that he was very much dead—before finally dropping the man's mangled body on top of the other dead alpha with pure disdain.

It should've been an awful thing to witness. Tony should've been terrified by how brutally Rogers had torn the other two alphas apart; how easily he'd killed those men for even thinking about touching his omega.

It really shouldn't have been so satisfying to watch the blood gushing from the place in Rollins' neck where Rogers had jammed the blade.

The wet crunch that Rumlow's skull had made as Rogers bashed it repeatedly against the battered wall really should not have been a turn-on.

And yet, as Rogers turned to face Tony with that burning intensity in his eyes — breathing in that heavy way and smelling like ten kinds of trouble and looking fine as fuck in the sharp officer's dress uniform that he'd changed into — Tony was most definitely getting slick.

Desperately slick.

The way that Rogers was looking at him was totally unhinged, like he wanted to throttle him or fuck him. Maybe both. Keeping his eyes locked on the alpha's, Tony maneuvered himself into a more demure position, kneeling on the carpet and settling down on his heels as he rested his hands neatly on top of his thighs, just like he'd seen in pictures of omegas who were waiting to service their alphas.

It was a classic posture; one that he'd never thought to assume, personally — but here he was, posing like the kind of omega he never wanted to be and looking up at his alpha with genuine gratitude in his eyes, knowing exactly how submissive he looked and how seductive he smelled, and not even feeling embarrassed about it.

After staring at him in that too-intense way for a protracted beat, Rogers slowly crossed into the bedroom to stand in front of Tony. His breathing was still labored, and he still smelled strongly of possessive rage. Another alpha's blood was dripping from his knuckles.

"Easy, big guy," Tony murmured, reaching a tentative hand up slowly, making sure that Rogers knew exactly what he meant to do before he rested his hand lightly on top of the alpha's thigh. Part of him knew that Rogers was still dangerous—that he was still Tony's abuser; not his protector—but that distinction was muddled under the influence of their newly-formed bond, which was flooding Tony with too much horny gratitude in that moment to know much else aside from his instinctual imperatives. Tony focused his attention on the big bulge in Rogers' uniform pants, eyeing it deliberately before glancing up at Rogers beneath his long eyelashes and blinking innocently as he softly entreated, "...How 'bout I take care of this for you?"

The nod that Rogers gave by way of response was oddly solemn, as if some greater bargain had just been made that Tony wasn't fully aware of. He licked his lips and brought careful hands up to unfasten the alpha's belt, unwrapping the big package with cautious reverence. He hardly recognized the impulses that were taking over as he willingly took out Rogers' huge dick, actually wanting to feel it filling his mouth as if he needed his alpha to know how much he appreciated him coming to his rescue.

It was completely fucked up, what was happening to him, but Tony couldn't be bothered to care in that moment. Not when his alpha was holding himself perfectly still as Tony guided that cock past his lips, letting it fill his mouth and stretch his lips and jaw wide open as he took him as deeply as he comfortably could, before pushing past his resistance and determinedly taking him even deeper.

It was completely intoxicating, how Rogers smelled and tasted; just as addictive as it was disorienting. That heady combination of danger and protection; control and recklessness. The rugged, hearty vitality of an alpha in peak physical condition, alongside something sick and wrong that Tony was growing far too accustomed to already. It was in him, now, too, whatever mind virus Rogers had been infected with while he'd been down in the ice with the scepter. Tony could feel it through the bond they shared, even if he didn't quite understand the nature of it.

None of that seems to matter now, though, while Tony's fully gagging himself on Rogers' cock and getting so slick that he has to be dripping all over the ugly, outdated carpeting.

The connection of their bond is sparking so hot in him that when Rogers finally comes in Tony's mouth—filling him so fast that Tony's practically chugging down the hot release in an effort to keep it from spilling over his chin—he can actually feel how gratified Rogers is to see Tony gamely swallowing his seed. He already knows—with a warm, bone-deep certainty—that he's succeeded in satisfying his alpha well before the gentle words of praise rumble out of the alpha's mouth. He can feel that satisfaction singing through his blood and can smell it wafting thickly all around him; and when Rogers' fingers catch some of the cum that did manage to spill from the corners of Tony's mouth, Tony doesn't hesitate to suck it off of them—heedless of the drying blood of dead alphas still staining those hands—sucking those fingers down to the big knuckles and swallowing it all and looking up at Rogers with his big brown eyes like he's genuinely grateful for it.

It's really quite strange how fluttery Tony's insides feel when Rogers tells him how good he was and helps him to his feet, guiding him over to the armchair in the corner of the room. Tony feels almost like he's floating at the sound of the praise coming from the big alpha, and doesn't even question what's happening when Rogers takes a seat and settles him belly-down over the tops of the alpha's clothed thighs, rubbing appreciative strokes down the length of Tony's back as his deep voice says, "...But you should've known better than to draw the attention of other alphas while I was away. We can't have that. Since you thanked me so well, I'm gonna go easy on you this time..."

The first slap of Rogers' hand against Tony's bare ass rings out loud in the small space of the bedroom, shattering the dreamy spell he'd been under in a single instance.

What the fuck...

Tony cries out in delayed shock at the second slap, eyes going wide with sudden realization.

The bastard is spanking him!!

Another one. Then another. Hard and heavy, landing loud against Tony's skin. Rogers delivers ten stinging slaps to Tony's pert little ass and tells him that if he ever catches Tony enticing other alphas again, it'll be much worse next time. Tony just lies there against Rogers' legs for a beat as the pain sinks in, tears welling in his eyes more from the outrageous indignity of it all than from the pain itself — though it certainly hadn't been done gently.

Worst of all is how he can't help the way that he's dripping with slick as his ass throbs red hot from the undeserved spanking. Rogers can probably smell just how mad he is as he lays there in stunned stupefaction, thinking, I'm going to kill him, and meaning it. But he can definitely also smell how involuntarily aroused Tony is, in spite of his anger. Tony's stupid prick is hard against the fabric of Rogers' uniform, and he hates himself for that almost as much as he hates the alpha who did it to him.

When Rogers gathers him up onto his lap and positions Tony over his erect cock, possessively wrapping one hand around Tony's throat in an intimidating but inevitably titillating hold before violently inserting himself into Tony's small body once again, Tony lets out a snarl of frustrated pleasure at how appallingly great it feels to be split open by the smug, self-righteous asshole.

It shouldn't be this good. Tony is sore and achy and his reddened ass still smarts with the fresh memory of Rogers' big hand slapping hard against his tender flesh, and he really, truly hates this guy with every fibre of his being — but he still bears down on the alpha’s cock and can’t help the way that his bond-captive body sings at the sense of fulfillment; of being so full, stretched wide open by his alpha; the same alpha whose oppressive scent is all over him, now—on him and in him—marking him as a piece of property.

He should hate it, and he does — it’s absolutely the worst thing that’s ever happened to him — but some perversity deep down inside that he'd never even known he had in him is getting off on it, too; some shadowy part of himself—a part that he wants to cut out and harshly denounce—actually thrills at being possessed by this man; by this huge, gorgeous super alpha — violent, murdering macho scumbag that he is — because that same part of him also knows that this alpha really does want to keep him and protect him in his own sick, twisted way. He can feel that through the bond that they share; can feel an unruly possessiveness radiating off of him, heated and toxic, as his big hands circle Tony’s slim waist before he starts bucking up into him even harder; hitting him so deep; as if he's obsessed with the need to continually reassert his claim on Tony’s small, supple body. 

Rogers is hard as steel inside of him, that alpha cock so engorged that Tony can feel its veins bulging against his taut rim. Then one of the big hands that had been bruising his waist takes Tony's chin and forces him to turn his head around, making him face the open door of the bedroom, and Tony suddenly understands what it is that's got Rogers so worked up.

He can see them; the bodies piled in the hallway outside. Two alphas, dead because of him. Because they dared to try to take what didn't belong to them. What already belonged to someone else.

Tony's still looking at them as Rogers wraps his free hand around Tony's erect cock, forcing him to keep staring as he speedily jerks off the overwhelmed omega.

Look. Look what you made me do.

Had Rogers said it aloud? Tony isn't even sure if he'd heard it inside his head or if the words had been growled into the heated space between their connected bodies, but whatever the case, that's all it takes to push him right over the steep edge he's been riding. Tony is crying out helplessly as Rogers milks him dry and grinds up into Tony's spasming heat with a scarily focused look on his handsome face. Then the alpha reaches behind him with the hand covered in Tony's release and grabs a messy handful of the omega's hair too tightly, the fingers of his opposite hand digging mercilessly into Tony's plump, tender ass before he makes a savage sound and thrusts up into him harder and harder until he comes.

Tony learns the hard way that Rogers can still knot him even outside of a rut cycle or a fresh claiming. He's so sore and oversensitized from the obscene stretch of the alpha's massive knot that he's trying not to move — his heart rabbiting wildly — whimpering and moaning in agony whenever the alpha's hips buck up into him as he pumps out a fresh spurt of semen and groans out low, pleased rumbles, his sticky hand still fisted in Tony's hair as his barbed tongue laves Tony's punctured gland raw.

It's all too much. Tony shivers as Rogers sniffs at him again with proprietary interest and tells him that if they keep going at it like they have been, they're bound to trigger a 'honeymoon heat.' He says it in a wry sort of tone, but to Tony there's nothing funny about that at all.

It's probably foolish to hope that Rogers is sterile; that whatever procedure he went through in the 40s that turned him into a super alpha could only have changed him so much, but hadn't given him the ability to procreate like a true alpha... Or, maybe all that time in the ice rendered him sterile somehow...

Tony doesn't think he's that lucky, though.

He doesn't want to be anybody's "puppymill." He won't be. He doesn't dare say as much to Rogers right now, though. Not when he's smelling all warm and pleased at the thought of triggering an early heat in his omega.

So he tries to hide his wince after the knot finally deflates and Rogers lifts him off his lap, internally cringing at the feel of the alpha's copious seed trickling down the inside of his thighs; and he gets in the shower when Rogers tells him to, and scrubs the disgusting mess out of his hair where his scalp is still sore from Rogers' grip, and he washes himself until his skin turns pink, though he still doesn't feel clean enough. And when he gets out of the shower he finds a bag of clothing left for him, and he almost—almost—loses it when he gets a load of the super dorky, conservative ensemble that Rogers expects him to wear.

But then he remembers the dead alphas in the hallway, and his father's corpse in the front room, and he quietly dresses himself.

There's still so much that he doesn't understand, yet, but Tony starts to put the pieces together when Rogers offers him a takeout box from the commissary and tells him that they'll be staying at Howard's place for a while. It's the way that Rogers says it, with that air of entitlement, that clues Tony in to what's going on.

He considers all the old-fashioned notions that Rogers proselytizes like it's the only way to do things; he remembers "hail HYDRA," and Rumlow's assertion that "they" were gonna make Rogers "a senator or some shit," fast-tracking his political career, and it all starts to make a gruesome kind of sense.

Whoever HYDRA is—ostensibly some secret agency with a wide reach and a fascist agenda that aligns with Rogers' newfound ideological madness—apparently want to install Rogers as some sort of political figurehead promoting their propaganda (probably under the guise of fundamentalism, which would be frighteningly easy to do given the current sociopolitical climate)... They'll prop him up as a legendary figure brought back as a modern hero, here to restore "the good old ways" and usher in a new age of hierarchical social order. Rogers certainly has the legendary status and the commanding presence to pull it off, too. His opponents won't stand a chance.

Tony can already predict what'll happen, next. He remembers learning about the old "right to seizure" laws, which used to allow bonded alphas to claim the assets of their omegas' families' estates if no one "suitable" was left to directly inherit them or to contest the alpha's claim; "suitability" largely being a subjective determination, with the courts stacked in favor of alpha claimants. Howard's wealth and various properties would no doubt benefit Rogers—and HYDRA—greatly. Tony wouldn't be surprised if invoking and reinstating those right-to-seizure laws was at the top of Rogers' agenda.

If Rogers thinks he can just take over Howard's home without anybody getting in his way, he must already have a devious plan in place. He undoubtedly plans to claim Tony as his bondmate, regardless of the legality issues with non-consensual, underage claimings. Maybe HYDRA already has enough administrators in place to ratify the bond without issue. And if there's nobody willing to contest it...

It's way too easy to envision his mother and Jarvis' corpses sprawled out across the polished floor of the mansion’s foyer while Rogers ravishes Tony on the base of the grand staircase.

So Tony swallows back the bile rising in him at the thought, and suggests that they go to the empty Hamptons place, instead.

He feels a little feverish as he asks sweetly, summoning as much coquettish charm as he can fake in an attempt to entice his alpha into going along with the alternative plan. Rogers seems suspicious — but when he catches a whiff of ripening peaches on Tony's scent—eyes alight with hunger, flashing his fangs as a wolfish smile spreads across his face at the realization that he'd put the little omega in pre-heat—he indulgently agrees.

Maybe it won't be so difficult, manipulating this alpha just far enough for Tony to put a plan of his own in place; because one way or another, Tony is going to kill him.

It's a heavy thing, killing one's bondmate. Sudden bond death syndrome is serious enough that Tony might even die as a result...

...but then again, he might not.

He might survive it. He might survive anything.

After all, he's not like other omegas — never has been, never will be.

Those symptoms can't be much worse than what's in store for him if he carries out the imperatives of this bond, letting the fascist super alpha turn him into a complacent little puppymill. He'd take the agonizing torment of a sudden bond death over that fate, easily. The thought of Rogers dying should be abhorrent to him, but honestly, it's the only thing keeping his head on straight.

Who knows?

...Maybe he'll even enjoy it.

Outside the bungalow, Howard's car is waiting. Tony doesn't recognize the driver. Another car is standing by to accompany them, with dark tinted windows and government plates.

Rogers reaches for the passenger door, opening it for Tony and politely ushering him inside. When the alpha settles down in the car beside him, it's kind of alarming how easy it all seems; how easily this can become Tony's life, now, belonging to this alpha instead of Howard.

Trading one oppressive master for another; one that's far, far worse.

Once the Cadillac pulls out of the military base and smoothly heads out along the open road—following that car with the heavily-tinted windows—Rogers turns to regard Tony with a subdued expression, though Tony doesn't miss the look simmering behind the alpha's blue eyes. He acts differently in public, Tony notes, considering how formal Rogers has been ever since they'd exited the bungalow.

"Who are those guys?" Tony ventures, pointing toward the car ahead of them.

Rogers frowns, stiffly replying, "That doesn't concern you. If you need to know something, I'll tell you."

Tony's scent turns bitter at the rebuke, and Rogers' expression softens a little. He reaches across to lay a heavy hand over Tony's knee. Tony wants to pull away from the unwanted touch, but he wouldn't dare.

"Am I allowed to ask how long this ride's gonna be?" Tony tersely inquires.

Rogers regards him curiously for a beat before squeezing his knee and saying in a low, private voice, "...Someone's eager to get home, huh?"

Tony thinks of the Smith & Wesson Model 29 that he isn't supposed to know about, behind the trick door in Howard's liquor cabinet. Whatever else you could say about Howard, the insecure man always did like to have his guns around.

Turning to look at the alpha with a benign expression, Tony allows the smallest of smiles to creep onto his weary face.

"You bet."