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Brock wasn’t too happy when his communicator watch beeped urgently, one of the boys signaling that they were in danger. Usually it wouldn’t be too big a deal, he’d get to release any tension by getting his hands bloody and it’d mean that whoever captured the boys or Rusty would need time to create a new scheme, so a few days of peace.
But he was absolutely not in the mood today, his heat had started. It always had him feeling restless, his body reacting slower than he was comfortable with. Of course, he could call in a favor with Molotov, that would be the smart course of action, the one anyone with a brain would take.
So he didn’t know why he rushed to his car, haphazardly sticking a scent patch onto his neck, knowing in the back of his mind it barely held back the smell. This wasn’t the first time having to do his job during his heat, after all this wasn't the type of career where you could just take weeks off just because you were feeling under the weather, people’s lives were at stake. Most of the time anyway.
It usually wasn’t entirely awful, with all the extra tension wound up in his body, it felt nice getting to break something between his hands, watching flesh separate, feeling it pull against his fingers, his hands felt tingly thinking about it.
Like instinct his fingers fumbled with his radio as he raced down the streets, glancing down every once in a while at his watch to make sure he was going to the right place.
When Led Zeppelin finally began blasting out of his speakers he felt himself relax a little, something to keep his mind off of the uncomfortable itch in his groin.
He could almost feel normal as he kept a cigarette to his lips, basking in the way his body calmed when nicotine flooded his system. But it didn't stay calm, and he was quickly going through multiple cigarettes on the drive.
Even for him it felt excessive and he finally resisted the urge to grab another one when he was actually hacking and coughing, something he rarely did.
He groaned in disgust as he spit out mucus, at least he was close to the villain's hideout. He was surprised at the discrete location, no houses around and located in a forest. The GPS led him to a small, dirt path that disappeared into the thick trees; he definitely didn't want to scratch up Adrienne so he parked it and got out, knife already in hand.
His mind went over who the enemy could be, definitely not Monarch, the man was much more upfront, wanting to take credit and induce fear for whatever he did. It wasn't very rare that they got random villains targeting the man.
He decided to focus on finding the base, maybe the henchmen's outfits would jog his memory, but then again he really didn't care who it was, their fate would be the same.
Brock could feel his annoyance tick higher as the seconds ticked by while he walked down the muddy forest path, simple things like grass or branches brushing his skin made him grimace. Without anything to distract him he could feel the minor effects of his heat.
Beneath the surface he could also feel the heat, like an itch under his skin. He clenched his jaw, his whole body tense, worried that if he relaxed for a second it'd all come spilling out.
It didn't take long to find the lair, his watch told him it only took a few minutes but it felt like the walk was hours as sweat beaded down his body. Needless to say, the first henchman that he got his hands on didn't suffer long.
As soon as his sight was set on the costumed man he lunged, hand shooting out and gripping their head as he slammed it hard against the wall.
Immediately the body jolted, falling limp but Brock only brought their body back and slammed it in the wall again and again. The other henchman around seemed to shake as they watched their coworker be gruesomely killed and they slowly raised their weapons nervously.
Brock breathed slowly, it felt a little better to let loose some tension but his body was still wrung with pent up need. He noticed the minions tense when their noses picked up his scent, their guns pausing and his irritation only burned hotter.
He hated it, from the moment he first presented he hated the looks, how he suddenly went from someone who should be feared to someone that could be tamed and bred. A few broken bones seemed to fix that mindset.
And the same was true for these henchmen, it seemed seeing a few of their coworkers die in front of them snapped them out of their thick pheromone-fueled brain. Many fled, yelling as he yelled and chased, feeling satisfaction burn brightly every time their body gave way to his fists and knife.
By the end of it he was covered in blood, he thinks one of them landed a lucky shot as his shoulder ached and blood leaked steadily beneath his shirt. With a grunt he ripped the fabric from one of the henchmen’s clothes and tied a tight, makeshift tourniquet. He wasn’t usually out of breath when fighting people but he had purposely expended as much energy as he could, hoping it would satisfy the urges until he could get the boys home and safe.
He ignored the very obvious boners in some of the bodies, an obvious sign they were still alive, as enticing as it was to put them down, he couldn’t waste a lot of time. For all he knew, this was the type of villain that would kill Dean and Hank. He went quietly, a bit surprised by how packed the base was with henchmen, it didn’t matter when none of them stood a chance but it only worsened his worry for the boys. Clearly the villain was a bit concerning, maybe even cruel.
As he stabbed his knife into the center of one of the men’s heads he heard a slow clap, just like in those cheesy villain movies. “Brock Samson” he hummed, a soft Russian accent hidden in his words as he tested the name on his tongue. Brock looked over and gave the man a death glare.
He was definitely the boss, his outfit more intricate, a deep purple with bits of yellow in the shape of stars. The tan, Russian man had an elegant sort of air to him, dark raven hair slicked back, his outfit nice and smoothed out. Brock smirked when he noticed the man’s large stature, he always liked taking down the big ones.
Brock immediately sprung into action, knife in hand as he lunged, the man seemingly expecting it as he grabbed his wrist, slamming the bodyguard against the wall.
Brock felt his rage burn bright when the man had the gal to inhale. He slammed his knee up, hitting the man in the crotch and gritting his teeth when it hit some kind of protection. It still showed some effect as the villain backed off with a groan, letting Brock get the upper hand again as he surged forward.
Fists met skin, each dealing blows and Brock heaved, he could feel his face and body burn from the hits, though the other man also seemed a bit worn down.
In one quick motion the villain pulled back his shirt collar and ripped off his scent patch. As soon as the thick alpha pheromones flooded Brock's senses his head spun, making him wobble. He eventually got himself steady but it was a struggle to even pull his hands up, the villain smirked at this, slowly unbuttoning his outfit.
Brock growled, lunging forward weakly and the man moved faster, grabbing his fist and hitting his lower leg, making him fall.
“it’s a bit laughable how easy it is to replace a villain” he laughs, making Brock freeze. “For all of the Guild's rules, they really don't care what happens to a villain as long as it doesn't directly threaten them. Well, I guess Starvesto wasn't a high ranking villain anyways.” The man sighed and Brock could feel his worry grow as he glanced past the man, looking at the door behind him. If he didn't care about the guild then it was likely he had killed the boys.
Brock heard a dark chuckle from the man as they kneeled down in front of him. “I didn't kill them. I haven't even touched a hair on their head,” he assured with a purr. Brock glared at the man, his head swimming again as a wave of pheromones leaked from the alpha's neck.
The man gently cradled Brock’s head, for a moment, the bodyguard let his head collapse against the warm palm, feeling a sort of calmness shiver in his body. It quickly faded and the villain had to pull his hand away as Brock snapped at his wrist, teeth almost able to sink in. The villain laughed once more when Brock collapsed, shame radiating off the skilled agent.
“You’ve always looked so precious during your heat Samson” he stated, watching Brock's body tremble.
“How long,” Brock spat out, glaring up with what could only be described as burning hate.
“You'll have to be more specific, Samson.” The villain said, voice cheery as if he was taking joy in Brock's reaction.
Brock heaved heavily before replying, his body ached with desire, now shifting from murderous intent to arousal as the alpha revealed more skin, slowly undoing his coat. It made Brock angrier as he pushed back the instinct to beg the alpha to touch him, or even worse, present for them. “How long have you been watching us?” Brock gritted out.
The villain hummed while in thought, standing while he fully removed the piece of clothing and carefully folded it. Underneath the coat was a wife beater, a bit of dried blood coating the cloth, his muscles were defined, like Brock, showing off how much work he put into his body. “I’ve been watching you for hm… a few years, who knows exactly how long,” they say flippantly, though Brock had a feeling even then that wasn’t the full truth.
In one quick motion Brock lunged, hand grabbing purchase on the other man’s throat and slamming him against the wall. He felt his head swim again, legs shaking in effort to even hold himself up but the sounds of gagging felt like music to his ears. Brock dug his nails into their throat when their hands desperately pried at his wrists.
“Where are the boys?!” Brock growled, eyes burning with rage. The man struggled in Brock’s grip for a while, but to the bodyguard’s frustration the man was laughing through his gasping and gagging.
All at once the pheromones hit Brock, making him gag, the smell stronger than anything he’s smelled before. Quickly the man he had pinned slams a hand into Brock’s stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. He feels impact against his legs, making his knees buckle as once again he finds himself on the ground.
“So focused…” the man pants softly, catching his breath before speaking once more “on the venture boys, it’s kind of annoying.” The man’s expression changes to something dark, he sounds jealous, angry. This only makes Brock more confused.
“Who the hell are you?” Brock finally asked, he really couldn’t remember the man from anywhere, not from the guild, not from any offhanded fight, why the hell did this man even care about him?
The man took a breath, seemingly calming down as he smiled sweetly down at Brock. “Not anyone you would know, but soon I’ll be your alpha,” He said confidently, hands undoing the fancy buckle. “If you want a name to scream when I claim you, call me Mikhail, but I do prefer alpha,” Mikhail chuckled.
Brock felt his rage burn brighter but he could do nothing with it as another rush of alpha pheromones flooded out, making the room spin. His head bowed as he tried to gain control of his body, he was top of his field, feared by anyone who knew him, his stupid alpha biology couldn’t change him so easily. It couldn’t.
Brock felt sick at the feeling of slick dripping out when the sound of a belt hit the ground, his body aching, wanting what was to come next.
“I would’ve liked a nicer place to do this, fucking on the ground isn’t romantic at all,” Mikhail sighed. Brock could only heave, shutting his eyes closed as he heard the zipper slowly come undone. “But you never liked romance anyways, so who cares.”
Brock grunted when his hair was grabbed, forcefully pulled back and his whole body was followed backwards until he was belly up, his head slamming into the concrete. It took several seconds for him to register the hands on his pants, the impact against the floor making everything go blank for a few seconds, pain registering instantly in the area before he realized he had bigger problems to think about.
His pants were already being slid down his toned thighs, making him freeze before finally getting his senses in control with a growl Brock attempted to get his legs around the man’s neck. The tactic of suffocating them didn’t get far as they quickly grabbed both of his legs, pushing them back down, albeit with a lot of effort.
“Why are you fighting so hard for something your body wants so desperately,” Mikhail tuts, as if reprimanding a child. “Let your instinct take control and it will not hurt… much,” he added the last part with a grin.
This did nothing to calm Brock who suddenly kicked the man back, deciding to completely lose his pants and Brock lunged once they were discarded. His teeth found purchase in skin and everything felt a blur as they wrestled, a metallic taste in his mouth that he couldn't decipher if it was his or Mikhail’s, his fists burned as he put effort into his punches. At some point he was on the bottom, writhing under Mikhail as he tried to look back and bite, to struggle, do anything. But Mikhail had Brock’s arms tilted painfully behind his back, restrained and useless while Mikhail panted from the effort it took to do so.
It apparently did nothing to dampen his arousal as he rocked his hips forward, his dick sliding along Brock’s ass, covered only by white underpants. Brock hated how his body shivered, not from disgust, as much as he wished to believe. Again slick leaked steadily, staining the undergarment.
“Such a tease you are, Brock Samson,” Mikhail huffed, grinding down harder. Again Brock writhed but he really couldn’t move, and Mikhail’s grip on his arms showed no signs of straying or loosening.
Heavy minutes went by as Mikhail grinded, humping the man like a dog in heat as he groaned Brock’s last name over and over. It was maddening, to feel the appendage so close to his hole, yet unable to be pushed inside, unable for him to feel complete. Brock could feel the pleads boil in his throat so he bit his tongue to keep them captive.
At some point, Mikhail leaned in, breathing hot against the shell of Brock’s ear, “if you are a good omega, I will release your arms and begin the preparation now.” Mikhail, too, seemed to be struggling, his voice shaky, likely fighting off the urge to try and breed Brock now.
Brock closed his eyes, feeling his anger still burning bright, but he thought of Dean and Hank, if he played his cards right he could catch this fucker by suprise and get them home safe. He just had to play along for a bit. Against everything his body had learned, he slowly let his shoulders fall, his body relaxing for the first time in years, maybe even decades.
Mikhail breathed heavier and very slowly released Brock’s arms, cautious. Brock, in turn, slowly let his arms fall away from his back, hands laying face down on the floor. Mikhail immediately scooted back, eager hands pulling down Brock’s underwear and throwing it to the side carelessly.
“Such a good boy,” Mikhail breathed, voice so quiet Brock almost wasn’t sure he heard him correctly. Brock settled himself in the thought of how he would kill Mikhail, a quick snap of the head wasn’t enough but it would prove at least somewhat satisfying.
Brock narrowed his eyes when Mikhail lifted his hips, the man lowering his body to the ground, suspicion grew to dismay when Mikhail’s mouth connected with Brock’s hole. Against his wishes, he groaned, immediately sealing his mouth but he was sure Mikhail could taste the slick that quickly oozed out.
As his tongue pressed in, Brock could feel his restraint strip away, his effort to keep the worst of his heat at bay slowly ebbing away as what felt like fire eased up his body, the tongue feeling so good but also tortuous. It felt shameful how quickly he wanted to give in and beg Mikhail to just put it in, to fuck him, to make the insufferable heat go away.
Mikhail retracted his tongue to turn Brock over and slowly run the muscle along Brock’s dick, his finger sneaking up and the tip pressing teasingly against Brock's hole. It didn't press in, simply rubbing up and down along the opening. The touch was light, driving Brock insane as he canted his hips down in an attempt to push the fingers inside but to no avail.
He didn't beg, even as his body ached painfully, clouding his brain as he shook softly. Mikhail drew away from Brock's dick, panting heavily before sitting back, finger finally pushing inside Brock.
He didn't get much time to adjust though, a second finger quickly added and then a third with only a few seconds of stretching. Every extra finger burned, Brock wasn’t very insecure, well, he hated being an omega sure, but he didn’t hide it from the women he slept with, it wasn't an easy thing to hide even if he wanted to. Even so he’s experimented before, but definitely not often. Still, at least it helped lessen the pain, but he wanted it to hurt, a part of him hoping his first time in heat with an alpha would be like this.
Because then he would never crave it, never miss the feeling, Brock would only be able to remember how awful it was and he’d never settle. He wasn’t a lover, sure, he held out for Molotov for years, dreaming of her most nights, but it wasn’t love, because he would never be able to settle down, neither of them would.
So it was good as four fingers were forcefully shoved inside, it was good that he clenched and felt a small burning sensation, even better when he felt nauseous when a dick aligned against his hole.
He breathed deep when Mikhail pushed in, that pain increasing tenfold and as more was hurriedly shoved inside. On instinct he struggled, hands flying up to grip Mikhail's neck, in return Mikhail gripped both of Brock’s wrists harshly, thrusting all of his length into Brock while simultaneously slamming his head against Brock’s forehead.
“как хорошо, You feel so good Samson, god, I shouldn’t have waited so long.” He breathed, accent thick, he pulled out before slamming back in and groaning again. Brock couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, the worst part was that it did scratch the itch, the way Mikhail’s cock pistoned in and out with little pause. That didn’t stop how it hurt, it didn't stop the bile that raised in his throat or how this felt worse than he thought it would.
Mikhail leaned down, burying his face into Brock’s neck and inhaling, his whole body shuddering in ecstasy as he slammed roughly into the body guard. Brock didn’t smell like an omega, no, he had a leathery, rough scent, one you’d find on an alpha, really. Still, the scent was enticing, unlike an alpha’s, it sat nicely in one's nose, encouraging them to breathe it in again and again.
He noted how Brock’s hands clawed at his back when released, for once not in an effort to harm. The look on Brock’s face was so enticing, mouth open, eyes vacant and watery as he drooled and moaned. He had to pull out, so close to cumming as his dick ached, purple at the tip and pulsing. Brock whined before quickly silencing it by biting his lip. Mikhail turned Brock over so his ass was facing up, when the bodyguard quickly protested, trying to get up, one quick, hard slap to the cheek made him sputter and fall.
“Hold still, малыш,” Mikhail mumbled, he had to grip the base of his dick to stop himself from coming, the sight of Brock so enchanting it was almost like a dream. To keep Brock from feeling too empty he shoved three fingers back in, pulling and pushing them in and out while he gave his dick time so he could last longer. All he wanted to do was shoot a load inside Brock but this was his one chance, as soon as Brock wasn't affected as much by his heat he would gain the upper hand and likely kill Mikhail.
Once he felt ready he shoved his dick back into the man, both of them groaning. This time Mikhail gripped Brock’s hair, forcing his head back as he rammed in and out. Brock really was perfect, fit for him, his hole feeling like it was all Mikhail needed in the world. He wished he could spend the next few days with Brock wrapped around him, but really that would only work if Brock was actually affected by them fucking during his heat, and that was never a guarantee for any normal omega, let alone THE Brock Samson.
Brock’s head felt empty, the feeling of cock slamming in and out too good to even put into words, still, in his brain he chanted “I’m going to kill him” over and over, feeling helpless when he meant the words less with each repeat. His body ached for Mikhail’s knot, he knew the man was holding back, wanting to make this go on for as long as he could, so he told himself he just wanted Mikhail to cum so this could all be over.
Finally, in a weak, hoarse voice Brock spoke, “just fucking knot me already.” He regretted it the moment it left his mouth, his body screamed for it, he felt anticipation when the knot had rubbed against his hole but the part of him not affected by heat knew the risks that came from knotting, especially during a heat. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he got Brock pregnant-
He didn’t think about it, focused on how nice it was when Mikhail groaned deeply and grabbed Brock’s dick, stroking it as he slammed in faster, letting go of Brock’s hair in favor of gripping his hips to improve how deep and fast he could go. “Я тебе это дам” Mikhail growled, feeling his knot inflate embarrassingly fast.
It obviously hurt when the large intrusion made its way inside but once it did lock them together it felt like pure euphoria, something Brock wasn’t expecting as he came, everything going white.
While Brock spaced out, Mikhail leaned in, lips teasing Brock’s scent gland before suddenly biting into it, Brock moaned before his mind finally caught up with what was happening and he tried to struggle. There really wasn’t much he could do though, and when the mark was made his whole body gave in, collapsing against the floor as they both lay there panting. Brock could barely register Mikhail licking the blood that sprang from the new wound, the gesture for some reason making his heart thrum.
The minutes seemed to slip away when suddenly Mikhail pulled out, bringing Brock to reality, choking when he felt fingers slip inside him once more, seemingly pushing what cum slipped out back inside before the fingers quickly retracted when Brock turned around. Like a coward, Mikhail moved fast, grabbing the stolen clothes of Starvesto and gunning down the hallway, “see you next time Samson!” he shouted hurriedly.
Brock just stared, too stunned with the whole interaction to really act in anger, at some point he finally stood, putting on his clothes numbly, not understanding why his chest ached. He noticed a key card left behind from Mikhail and used it to open the door at the end of the hallway, there sat Dean and Hank, comfortable as they sat on a couch and seemingly were playing some sort of console game.
The boys turned, eyes shining bright when they saw Brock and they quickly forgot the game, running up to Brock and hugging him. “Brock!” they both shouted in unison, he patted their heads before quickly leading them out, just wanting to get home and rest, he really felt exhausted. And vulnerable.
He didn’t think about it.
Driving the boys back to the compound, none of them talked about how Brock smelled, well, Hank mentioned Brock smelled funny but didn’t say much else. Back at the compound Rusty, like always, wasn’t bothered with their disappearances though seemed displeased when Brock walked by, pinching his nose.
A sort of sour feeling settled in Brock’s stomach when he finally laid in his bed, the feeling was cast aside when Rusty shouted his name. “Brock come down here! Your car is filthy!” He shouted, the bodyguard sighed and marched to the garage. He really had wanted to shower before focusing on his “job” but Rusty really knew how to get under someone’s skin and make them comply, or punch hum. Shucking off his shirt he grabbed the hose, and some sponges, taking care in cleaning off Adrienne, it was sort of relaxing, something he definitely needed after this day.
“You got to be kidding, do you really have to show that off,” Rusty sneered, pouting as he glared at Brock. Brock paused and looked over his shoulder.
“What?” He said, confusion written all in his voice and Rusty rolled his eyes and pointed at the man’s back.
“That hussy’s phone number on your back, we get it, you can score, big whoop, I guess it’s more important than the boys.” Rusty exaggerated, his jealousy obvious but Brock could barely hear anything else that the man said and he tried to glance at his back, seeing only bits of black.
“What are the numbers?” Brock asked, mouth feeling dry, a sort of desperation cleaning to his words. Rusty seemed more annoyed but dryly sounded out the numbers before being distracted by some mayhem the boys seem to have caused inside. Brock didn’t know why he pulled out his phone, dialing the numbers as he strode fast to his room, ignoring Rusty yelling his name again to settle whatever happened between the boys and him.
Only when the door closed behind Brock did he finally call, heart beating loud as he pressed the device to his ear, it rang for what felt like hours before his call was answered.
“Well that was quick, did you miss me already?” A familiar voice hummed out, Brock hated how his whole body felt like melting, a comforting warmth spreading throughout as he smiled softly. His scent gland ached, and all Brock could think was that it wasn’t fair Mikhail had bitten him. He’d have to return the favor.