Work Text:
Dream Machine Burnin' Wides
It was not one of their better weekend getaways. Tony had warned them at the beginning of working together that his heats fluctuated ever since his injuries in Afghanistan, but none of them had really understood what that meant. They’d thought it was just his awkward way of saying he didn’t actually go through heats anymore, because admitting you were infertile as an omega was still seen as shameful, no matter how much omega rights had been furthered (or how much it hadn’t been his choice).
And then Tony had almost dropped his bowling ball on his foot, turned on his heel, and said, “I need to go home right now,” with such finality that even Clint got up from his seat without an argument.
It took everything in Natasha to keep from pulling over and climbing over the back seat, taking the curving mountain roads at a crawl with the hazards on. Once the terror of his heat unexpectedly starting in public had faded, the car had quickly filled with his pheromones, and with the windows up to keep it from disturbing innocent passersby, it had quickly grown cloying. Steve had been the first to break, burying his nose against Tony’s throat and whining high and reedy when Thor, bewildered, tore him away.
She could still hear his desperate ‘please, I need to be inside him’ echoing in her skull, Tony’s resulting whine, the smell of his heat getting stronger. Tony had once joked about being open to any of them helping him through his heats, but it didn’t seem like much of a joke now.
“How are you doing, Natasha?” Bruce asked, leaning next to her as much as his seat-belt would allow.
“I’ve been better,” Natasha hissed through gritted teeth. She gripped the wheel with white knuckles, reminding herself that now was not a good time to think about getting Tony bent over and mounted until he cried, no matter what her alpha instincts were telling her.
“Thor and I can get us back up to the cabin. You could help the others with Tony,” Bruce offered. “He’s already cramping up. He needs help.”
Some part of her wanted to jump at the chance, but another part of her wanted to keep going, get them back to the cabin Tony had rented for them, make sure he was safely ensconced in a plush bed with water and snacks at the ready. It seemed… unfair, that their first pack heat should be in the back of a van.
Natasha didn’t even realize she’d been letting out a fairly distressed growl until Bruce barked, sharp and authoritative, “Just pull the car over, Natasha!”
Natasha obediently pulled off to the side of the road before she could even really recognize that Bruce had ordered her to do anything. She spared one thought to wonder if he was just as uncomfortable as all of them but in the opposite direction, antsy because he couldn’t help, radiation having burned his pheromone receptors beyond repair. Then Tony gasped behind her, and she wrenched around against the seat-belt, forgetting about Bruce entirely.
Clint and Sam had dragged Tony between them, hands pawing over his chest, between his legs. His jeans were soaked all the way down to his knees, thighs trembling where they were spread open by the betas’ knees wedged under his own. As she watched, Clint produced a knife from… somewhere, and she felt a brief flash of protective aggression until she realized he was using it to slice Tony’s shirt open from collar to hem, flooding the van with more of Tony’s tantalizing scent. A knife. What an excellent idea.
Natasha cut through the straps of her seatbelt, hands shaking too much to bother with the button, and lunged over the middle seat so she could get back to where Tony was. Vaguely, she was aware of Thor sighing out a faint, if annoyed, ‘okay,’ but he didn’t have the pheromone receptors either. At least he could keep Bruce company.
Steve caught her by the scruff before she could leap on Tony, and she growled at him, twisting the knife to sink into his chest. Steve grabbed her wrist easily though, and he beared his teeth at her, grinding out a guttural ‘not yet.’ She considered trying to stab him again, but the part of her that deferred to him on the battle field was now also telling her that Clint and Sam pawing at Tony wasn’t an accident. They were only doing it because they’d been allowed. She wished she knew what Steve was waiting for.
Steve stared her down a little longer, but he must have found whatever he was looking for when she ducked her head, because then he was looking away, grunting something in Bucky’s direction, and Bucky clearly didn’t have to be given permission twice, because he crowded between Tony’s shaking thighs to latch their mouths together, quieting Tony’s needy whines and pleas, hands clamping down on his waist to steady him under Clint and Sam’s inelegant pawing.
Betas were safe-makers, Natasha reminded herself, dimly aware of the van beginning to move again. Tony had been giving off waves of distress as he’d carefully walked to the van, eyes darting around for danger, as if any of the team would allow an interloping alpha to snatch him away. Steve was especially sensitive to distress. He must still have been able to scent a tang of it under the cloying sweetness of Tony’s heat. Of course he’d have the betas lull Tony into a haze of security and arousal. It wasn’t like their knots would be able to satisfy him like he needed. She and Steve would have their turns. Tony would be soft and sweet for them by that point.
Sam curled his hand under Tony’s knee and lifted, spreading him open wider, and Natasha found herself lunging into the spot before the desire even truly registered, saliva filling her mouth as a fresh wave of arousal filled the space. Her teeth met denim, and the taste of omega slick flooded over her tongue as she closed her mouth over the soaking fabric, trying to bury her teeth as deep as they’d go. Tony jerked against her, letting out a yelp of shock, a hint of pain edging the end.
Steve grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back, shaking her. “Now they have to start all over you fucking dick,” he snarled, and Natasha fought the urge to wince as a sour tang of fear tinged the arousal in the cloud of pheromones.
“I’m not immune to the roundness of his ass,” Natasha began, and Tony let out a semi-hysterical giggle before Clint leaned in to cover his mouth with his own. Natasha let Steve shake her, unable to help a smidgen of embarrassment as he growled about how she’d read Tony’s file and how he hated being vulnerable and wasn’t she the one who had posited that he’d need at least an hour of beta attention only before he relaxed enough for an alpha knot.
It didn’t stop her from hungrily licking the taste of Tony’s slick from her lips, though, and Steve shook her harder.