Dumpster #4: I Don't See How That's a Party

[trashmod]

Okay, kids, you know the drill. Don't be a jerk except to fictional characters. Warn if you want, but read at your own risk, because hydratrashmeme is about as far from a safe space as you can get. Garbage we like: noncon, whump, aftermath, violence, mind control, inappropriate uses of Bucky Barnes' metal arm, bad guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves. Garbage you should find a different trashcan for: a/b/o, D/s-verse, soulbonds, mundane AUs, OOC evil!good guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves, rotting leftovers dressed up as a romantic gourmet meal. Nothing wrong with 'em, but this isn't the crowd you should be pitching to if you're trying to sell Brock Rumlow as anything but a human dumpster fire.

Link your fills on the fill post, post unprompted fills as replies to a header comment so the wall o' text is collapsible, and let me know if you're interested in helping out with the Pinboard archive.

[Rules in full] [Round 1] [Round 2] [Round 3] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by greenkirtle)] [Round 4 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

All prompts or fills that contain Infinity War spoilers must go on the Infinity War spoiler post until May 26th. Spoilers in the main dumpsters will be deleted.

Round 4 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 5.

Comments

The asset has a wonderful day with its favorite handler

[(Anonymous)]

I love fics where Winter is all broken and pathetic and NEEDS to be a useful, obedient asset to Steve, whom he thinks is his handler. In most of those fics, he gets better eventually, and Steve etc help him realize he's a real person with autonomy and all that. But what if Bucky never breaks out of the asset mindframe? How does Steve cope?

Basically I just want more of those lovely trash tropes, e.g. where the asset gets to pick its favorite sugary cereal, but it's only okay because its pleasure at consuming it gives its handler pleasure; or it learns to disagree with and be snarky at Steve like the old Bucky Barnes was, but it has to think of it as a game, and it always needs reassurance and approval after the "disobedience play" is over. Or it loves being fingered or eaten out by Steve, but is only able to stand it when Steve frames it as a way that he wants to make use of it or as a diagnostic check on its semen-producing functionality. And please throw in all the goodhandler!Steve tropes too, like Steve establishing rituals and routines and learning to give clear directions so the asset doesn't get anxious that it's not obeying properly, or giving as-painless-as-possible "punishments" when Bucky thinks it's necessary, or meticulously performing "maintenance" (giving baths? brushing hair?) in various ways.

Re: The asset has a wonderful day with its favorite handler

[(Anonymous)]

Enthusiastically seconded. There are a couple fics like this already but we always need more.

Re: The asset has a wonderful day with its favorite handler

[(Anonymous)]

it always needs reassurance and approval after the "disobedience play" is over
Holy shit, like the even-darker mirror of D/s and aftercare. I never knew how intensely I needed this until now!!

Re: The asset has a wonderful day with its favorite handler

[(Anonymous)]

Yeah, I'd read the shit out of that.

Re: The asset has a wonderful day with its favorite handler

[(Anonymous)]

Always!

Re: The asset has a wonderful day with its favorite handler

[(Anonymous)]

plz with the intensity of a thousand suns

Fill: Asset Management 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

First time writer here shyly presents this piece of saggy toast wrapped in used gym sock, hoping it is trashy enough to please the senior dumpster-divers.

------

The Asset has been awake for approximately sixteen minutes when Handler Rogers wakes up.

For a moment, Handler Rogers looks at the Asset with a blank stare, then he gets up and moved over to where the Asset lies on its resting pallet in the corner.

Handler Rogers is a very big, strong man, stronger than the Asset. He looks even bigger like this from the low vantage point on the floor. He is only dressed in a pair of low hanging dark sleep pants. A soft smile tells the Asset that Handler Rogers is pleased with it.

“Morning report, Asset,” Handler Rogers commands with a heavy yawn as he crouches down to pull the weighted thermal-blanket off it. The cool morning air on naked skin causes it to shiver for a moment before it can stop itself.

“The Asset is fully rested and ready to receive its next mission. Additionally, one memory fragment is primed to be recorded,” It responds. Warmth spreads in the Asset's belly for a moment, but it dismisses the sensation as unimportant information.

“Excellent!” Handler Rogers sounds pleased, the warmth grows a little. “Your primary objective right now is to write down as much as you remember of it, performing your morning hygiene is secondary to that. Then, when you are done, report to me in the kitchen. Understood?” Handler Rogers instructs as he unlocks the mag-cuffs from the Asset's limbs one by one with a finger to their touch pads.

“Confirmed. Mission objectives are; Record memory fragment in the logbook, perform morning hygiene procedures and finally report back to Handler Rogers in the kitchen for the next mission.” The Asset refrains from reporting the elevated pulse drumming in its ears.

“Affirmative,” Handler Rogers squeezes the Asset's shoulder gently. The warm handprint stays after he lets go. “Execute.”

The last cuff snaps open, and the Asset rises to its feet in one smooth motion. Handler Rogers follows it up, he is still bigger than the Asset, if only by a few inches. The Asset doesn't meet Handler Rogers’s eyes, keeps its head down. The warm feeling grows some more, but that is not important enough to warrant a report either.

Handler Rogers steps aside, moves to pull up the blinds on the window, letting early morning light in.

It has a mission, it will complete that mission and please Handler Rogers.

The tablet left on the bedside table responds under the Asset’s fingers. Handler Rogers leaves the bedroom after a few minutes of supervising its work. The thermostat says that the temperature remains the same, but the Asset shivers anyway; the warmth fading as soon as Handler Rogers closed the door.

The memory fragment consists primarily of pain and a sequence of events in which a blond boy made out of elbows and scowls, kneels over another boy in a dirty alley.
Three other boys lie unconscious around them.
The scowling boy has a bloodied lip and the beginning of a big bruise along the side of his face.
The scowling boy says, “What did you do that for? I had them!”

That is funny for some reason. The boy who is in a lot of pain responds with a laugh, “Sure you did. Idiot.”

The scowling boy's blue eyes twinkle. “Jerk,” he says.

After that, the fragment ends.

The Asset writes everything down with as much detail as it can remember. This is different from other mission debriefings. There is less emphasis on tactical data and more information on how it “felt”.

Handler Rogers explained that the recording of memory fragments were part of a set of cognitive exercises. It doesn't understand how or why, but it's not the Asset's place to question the orders of a handler.

When the fragment is sufficiently documented, the Asset returns the tablet to the bedside table and enters the bathroom connected to the bedroom.

The light blue tiled floor is warm under the Asset's feet. The bathroom is spacious, shiny white tiles along the walls are larger than the ones on the floor.

First the Asset relieves its waste before starting the internal clean out. The shower is equipped with a douche for this purpose.

Biting through the cramps, it expedites the procedure with a set of uncomfortable motions. Once the Asset's bowels have been sufficiently washed it can proceed with cleaning the outside.

Handler Rogers instructed the Asset to use warm water even though it would be a waste.

As strong jets of heat pour down on it, the Asset takes thirty seconds to do nothing but stand there feeling the water flow over it, washing away the impurities that make it unworthy of belonging to Handler Rogers.

Except. Nothing could ever wash it clean in the way it would need for that because Handler Rogers -Steven Grant Rogers- is a good man. He is the best Handler the Asset has ever had, some days it can't believe how lucky it is.

The Asset finishes its half-minute of stolen time with a silent vow to be better for Handler Rogers, to work harder. That way, maybe, one day it will be worthy.

For now it gets as clean as it can get.

------

Re: Fill: Asset Management 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

Yes! *coughs* Uh, yes, it's fine, thanks.

No, seriously. Can't get enough of this sort of thing.

Re: Fill: Asset Management 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

yes please more <3 I love it

Re: Fill: Asset Management 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

This is beautiful

Re: Fill: Asset Management 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

Shit, this is good. This is so, so good. I will read as much of this as you want to write, anon.

Re: Fill: Asset Management 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

This is heartbreaking and beautiful, I mean it!

Fill: Asset Management 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

This fledgeling writer is endlessly grateful for the wonderful comments!
[High frequency giggling while clapping hands]

This follow up dish comes with a topping of rotten eggs and maggot infested bacon.

It is this writers hope that the filth presented here not look so edible as to be pretending like non-trash, as the writer has always preferred the emphasis of ambiguously successful aftermath and recovery over the more traditional HTP fare.

In short; I hope this isn't too much fluff and too little trash.
Enjoy!

------

Once the Asset has rinsed the soap suds off, smelling of Handler Rogers, it uses the white fluffy towel to dry. It would have air dried itself or used some less beautiful thing like a rag, but Handler Rogers was very clear about the morning hygiene procedures, warm water, wash-gel, big white, soft-as-a-cloud towel.

The fogged up mirror above the sink prevents the Asset from seeing its face, but it doesn't need to see in order to shave. The beard trimmer buzzes against its skin, there are no razors in the cabinet.

Sometimes Handler Rogers does this part of morning hygiene. The Asset kneels, Handler Rogers stands above it, tilting its chin up with gentle fingers.

There is a light pressure in its chest and something seems to irritate its eyes, but neither sensation is important enough to report. The Asset puts the trimmer down, it has completed its mission and must return to Handler Rogers.

The sound of activity and smell of caffeine drifting from the kitchen makes the Asset speed up through the corridor from the bedroom.

Handler Rogers sits with a cup of coffee and three piles of breakfast food. The Asset gets halfway to the table before it staggers forward to its knees and crawls the rest of the way to his side.

Handler Rogers puts down the cup and turns to look down on the Asset. The Asset is kneeling upright and straight with arms gripping elbows behind its back. Eyes fixed on the floor.

Handler Rogers is wearing a set of casual civilian clothes that suggests a low probability of field missions for today. A white T-shirt and gray sweatpants combo with bare feet is what Handler Rogers usually wears when he intends to utilize the Asset for recreational activities.

There is no pain on those days, not even any aches due to exertion. It is Handler Rogers who does the majority of the work instead. He claims he wants the Asset to stay in peak condition, but it doesn't understand what bubble baths and massages have to do with that.
Still, the Asset doesn't voice its doubts due to two simple facts: for one, it still isn't the Asset's place to question a handler's wishes, for the other, the Asset doesn't “want” to change the way Handler Rogers puts it to use.

It knows it isn't supposed to "want" things. It is just a tool meant to be useful for handlers. Pain or pleasure doesn't matter, such sensations are supposed to be irrelevant.

Previous handlers used the Asset mainly to kill people during field missions, and the occasional recreational activity were mostly filled with pain.

It is one of the Asset's many failings. One more reason why it doesn't deserve Handler Rogers. The gentle touches that that come unbidden again and again. The merciful absence of injury.

There was a time before when such things were unimaginable, but now the Asset doesn't know if it could ever go back without breaking. It has grown weak.

The only thing the Asset can do is to try and please Handler Rogers, be as useful as it possibly can be. That way he won't discard it. It can stay with Handler Rogers longer, perhaps even indefinitely.

A warm hand settling over the Asset's shoulder startles it back to the present. It looks up, and Handler Rogers is like a king on a throne, sunlight crowning him in gold.

“Hey, where are you right now?” Handler Rogers asks hurriedly but not angrily, so it couldn't have done anything terribly bad by losing focus.

“We’re in the kitchen, Stark Tower apartment...New York...City?” The Asset hesitates, unsure how thorough Handler Rogers expects it to answer.

“That right, Asset. Good job.” Handler Rogers puts a bracing hand to the Asset's cheek, it leans into the touch. It did good. The unimportant warmth is back in its chest. Even softer than before, Handler Rogers continues, “And who am I?”

It senses a fragility in that question, like always, as Handler Rogers often makes that same inquiry in the morning.
Exactly what it is that causes the slight wobble in Handler Rogers voice, the Asset could never guess.

Sometimes it entertains the notion that Handler Rogers might value the Asset's perception of him -its ability to differentiate him from previous handlers- so much that he fears it might answer incorrectly. That Handler Rogers might get very sad, and not just disappointed, if the Asset forgot about him.

But that is such a ridiculously illogical idea that the Asset never thinks about it for very long before dismissing it.

“Yes, Sir. You are the Asset's Handler, Steven Grant Rogers, codename: Captain America. Sir,” It answers confidently. It quickly learned to use Handler Rogers full name for identification after the first few times he corrected it.

Handler Rogers smiles again. Good answer then. “Excellent. Okay, time for breakfast.”

The Asset pointedly does not glance at the heaping plates of bacon, eggs and toast. It keeps its eyes on Handler Rogers when he lifts his hand from where it still rested on the Asset's shoulder. In the peripheral it sees a strip of salt pork approach, and it opens its mouth without prompting.

The hand on the Asset's cheek stays as it shews. After a few bites the bacon is exchanged for a perfectly browned toast running with egg yolk. When the Asset fails to catch everything, the thumb idly stroking its cheekbone stops to scrape up the yellow drip before it falls off. Once the bread is finished the Asset licks the sticky fingers off for Handler Rogers so he can take his own turn at the bacon.

They go back and forth, splitting the food between them. Handler Rogers claims that he wants to make sure his Asset gets proper nutrition by feeding it himself like this, so by using the same food as he eats, he doesn't just have full control of what goes into the Asset, he saves a lot of time.

It isn't the Asset's place to make judgements on the plans of handlers, but it can't help but to agree with the logic. Handler Rogers always have the best ideas.

“I'm thinking we'll sunbathe on the roof-terrace after we're done here...it's supposed to be a beautiful day today, and I think a healthy dose of Vitamin D is in order....I've kept you indoors for quite a while now so you probably need it.” Handler Rogers says thoughtfully as he works on his last egg.

The Asset quickly evaluates those plans. Last time Handler Rogers took it to the terrace they both took a nap on the soft grass area, Handler Rogers had rested against the Asset, head cushioned on its chest. The Asset remembers how Handler Rogers praised it for being such a comfortable pillow.

Of course, afterwards they'd both acquired mild sunburn, Handler Rogers's was worse than the Asset's, but the angry red discoloration faded over the evening, so neither suffered any permanent damage.

The last piece of bacon goes to the Asset, it's crispy and salt, just the way Handler Rogers likes it.

From time to time, the Asset finds opportunities to make Handler Rogers laugh by offering comments and unprompted questions. Behavior that would normally be punishable with severe pain, but Handler Rogers always encourages it when it tries.

Different handlers have had different expectations, and the Asset has always tried to adapt. Handler Rogers is unimaginably different, but that is what makes him the best. He calls it another one of the cognitive exercises, probably the one it has the most trouble with.

Something tells the Asset that this might be one of those opportunities. It considers its options and decides on an angle of attack.

“Sir, are you sure that's wise? Last time you sunbathed you ended up more burnt than this bacon, Sir.”

There is a moment of silence, Handler Rogers sits very still. The Asset holds its breath, fearful it might have miscalculated the situation. A lump of ice forms in the pit of it's belly.

Handler Rogers bursts out laughing, loud and suddenly enough that the Asset jumps.

Through the bright sound, ringing like church bells, Handler Rogers gasps, “Yo-you're right a-about that one! Christ, did that sting! What was I thinking? Falling asleep in the sun...a-at noon... without sunscreen!”

Eventually the laughter tapers off into a warm chuckle. The Asset tries to smile, but it only manages a brittle imitation. The Asset made Handler Rogers laugh, that is good. It also spoke out of turn with disrespect to a handler, that is bad, very, very bad.

A good Asset is never mouthy, Always silent and obedient. It should be punished for its insolence. It doesn't deserve Handler Rogers, but it was Handler Rogers who instructed it to take the initiative. The Asset is confused, something clamps down on its windpipe from the inside.

The Asset realizes Handler Rogers has stopped laughing completely. It is just about to beg for forgiveness when a thumb, messy with fat and egg yolk, is pressed to its half open lips.

“Clean that for me, will you,” Handler Rogers says calmly, like nothing bad happened.

The Asset takes the proffered digit inside and rolls its tongue over the pad, swallowing the last remnants of breakfast past the knotted-up esophagus. There is something irritating its eyes again, so the Asset attempts to close it out and blink away the dampness.

Those eyes open wide once more when the thumb, once cleaned thoroughly, suddenly hooks down behind the Asset's front teeth, and the rest of Handler Rogers's hand grips its chin in a firm but not cruel hold.

Handler Rogers stares down on the Asset, its mouth open and jaw slack. There is both cold iron and burning steel in those clear blue eyes.

“What. Is. My. Number. One. Rule. For. You, Asset?” Handler Rogers's voice is firm but not angry, never angry.

For a moment the Asset is silent, then, when the thumb is removed and wiped below the Asset's lower lip, it does the only thing it is capable of. It Obeys.

“Rule number one is: Only Handler Rogers may pass judgement on whether the Asset has been disobedient or failed in any way and mete out the according punishment.” Everything is still and peaceful and safe. The Asset hears itself speaking in a low, reverent tone.

The ice and fire is gone, leaving open sky in its wake when Handler Rogers says, in that warm, satisfied and wonderful voice, “Good.”

------

Asset Management 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

------

Handler Rogers gives the Asset a glass of juice to wash down the salt of breakfast. He holds the drink for it, tilting the glass gently, giving the Asset time to swallow without spilling a drop. The rich pulp tickling over the Asset's tongue suggest freshly pressed oranges.

Previous handlers just gave it Vitamin supplements. Fruit was for people, not wasted on objects. The Asset understands, it makes perfect sense, but Handler Rogers never thought so.

Why mess around with pills and such when all it needs is an apple a day, Handler Rogers said.

The Asset doesn't argue his point. Mainly because it isn't the Asset's place to do so of course. The other reasons aren't important enough to mention.

“There, that's plenty enough fluids for now,” Handler Rogers says once the Asset has finished the glass. “Put this away.” He gestures at the empty dishes.

The Asset rises to its feet and gathers everything in one tidy pile; smaller plates on the bigger, balancing the tall juice glass on top.

The dumbwaiter across the room goes to the communal kitchen a couple of floors down. The Asset loads it up and closes the hatch, listens to the whirr of machinery, seeing the way the chrome frame reflects the sunlight.

The Asset looks down to its left arm. Shining plates opening and relocking in waves as the neural interface interpret the electrical impulses that would have been a rhythmic flexing of muscles. Once, it was used as a weapon for evil men, the Fist of Hydra.

There hasn't been any blood to clean out from beneath those plates in a long time. Handler Rogers doesn't use the Asset for field missions at all. It hasn't killed a person or even seen combat in years. Handler Rogers doesn't have any use for a weapon.

But he still keeps it around. He found a use for it even after all the time the Asset attacked him, hurt him and failed him. Handler Rogers is a good man.

“Good job, Asset.” Handler Rogers's hand comes to rest on the Asset's metal shoulder. It doesn't flinch this time.

Handler Rogers never touches it for pain, outside of punishment. And even when the Asset is punished, it's always mercifully quick and to the point. Handler Rogers trusts it to learn anyway.

The Asset turns around. The warmth in its chest makes itself known with a pulse, nothing new that needs to be reported there.

Handler Rogers steps forward to pull the Asset against him, tucking it under his chin. It stays very still when he takes a whiff off its hair.

“You washed up well. Smells good,” Handler Rogers wraps his arms around it, sounding pleased.

Just by washing in warm water and putting away breakfast the Asset managed to please Handler Rogers, and now he wants to touch it. Being close to it pleases Handler Rogers.

The Asset has to close its eyes to stop from dripping on a warm, and soft, and safe chest.

Like this it wouldn't be noticed if the Asset took a whiff for itself. He smells faintly like the wash gel in the shower, but mostly it is just skin, Handler Rogers's skin.

“You do so much for me, making me laugh.” Handler Rogers combs his hand through the Asset's hair. It can't breathe, words of reverent gratitude sticking in its throat. “I couldn't find a more perfect Asset in the entire world.”

Broken sounds erupt from the Asset along with tears soaking Handler Rogers's front. The Asset wasn't sure it could have pulled back even if Handler Rogers had ordered it to. Instead he tightens his hold, not painfully, but firmly supportive. Handler Rogers wants the Asset close, he takes pleasure in the Asset's presence, even when it falters to its own weakness and can't perform any actual service.

“There, there. Just let it out. Good.” Handler Rogers keeps up a steady stream of gentle encouragements until the Asset empties itself fully and quiets down.

“Alright, there we go. You're alright. It's just another part of maintenance. You're not defective, Asset. Repeat it back to me.”

It's true because Handler Rogers says it. The Asset isn't really useless, Handler Rogers knows. He has such patience and kindness.

The order brings reality back into focus, the Asset's vision clears up. It can be useful right now. All it needs to do is repeat what Handler Rogers said.

“I-it’s just a-another part...o-of...main-ten-ance.” the last part doesn't come out on its own, the Asset has to bite down and force the word, syllable for syllable.

The hand in the Asset's hair scritches gently, the sensation zings down its spine like electricity but in a pleasurable way rather than painful. “Good job. You're not defective, Asset. Say it,” Handler Rogers repeats.

“The Asset is n-not...defective.” It continues from there. The words are hard, but Handler Rogers waits patiently, reminding it when the Asset forget or hesitates too long.

“The Asset is useful,” comes a little easier.

“The Asset always tries to do the best it can,” is a mouthful but true all the same.

“The Asset is clever,” takes a minute and three tries to get right.

“The Asset is strong,” has a 'not’ and 'enough’ missing, so it silently fills in the gaps for itself.

Then comes the part that's even more difficult.

“Handler Rogers will put his Asset to good use,” is absolutely true, but that's not why it has such trouble repeating it.

It's because they're declarations about Handler Rogers. It isn't the Asset's place to say what people are or aren't. But this is just Handler Rogers's words so it's actually okay. He just wants to hear it say his words, to know that the information is coming across. The Asset can do that.

“Handler Rogers is happy with his Asset,” was never true with previous handlers, only ever Handler Rogers.

“Handler Rogers wants to keep his Asset,” comes out more stilted than any other with new wetness stinging its eyes.

The Asset never stayed with one single handler for very long. Hearing Handler Rogers say it out loud makes that forbidden “want” uncurl painfully because it knows that the words might not stay true forever. It's only a matter of time before Handler Rogers fully realized how weak the Asset is if it can't get better.

The final line is always the one that boggles the Asset's mind more than any other, the most impossibly kind thing, but it's true because Handler Rogers says it.

“Handler Rogers will take care of his Asset,” never comes out as any more than a whisper, no matter how many times the go through these exercises.

The irritant in the air finally wins out and causes even more water to fall where the moisture from before has already dried. At least the Asset remains silent through the episode as the not-quite pain lashes through its chest cavity.

“It's okay. It's just that kind of day,” Handler Rogers says. “Go ahead and clean that up. No point in losing any more fluids before we go outside, you're going to need it.”

The Asset's mind comes to a merciful lul with the certainty of orders. The water stops running down from its eyes. The Asset dutifully licks the salty stains from Handler Rogers's skin, and as he hums in satisfaction, a spark of pleasure starts smouldering between its naked legs.

Soon Handler Rogers is clean enough, and by that time the Asset's cock had already gotten half hard. The Asset thought about licking the rosy nipple conveniently located just to the right of it's mouth.

Would Handler Rogers appreciate the prospect of sexual escalation that that gesture implied, or does he have some other immediate use in mind for it? The Asset's flesh shivers imperceptibly even though Handler Rogers is radiating heat like an oven.

“Let’s head back to the bathroom and get ready.” Handler Rogers pulls back out of arm's reach after a last part to its head.

The Asset has a mission. It will do its best to fulfill that mission and please Handler Rogers.

------

Fill: Asset Management 4/?

[(Anonymous)]

Hi, AA here.

I would just like to warn readers that this is the part where we enter the more overtly sexual aspects of Steve's caretaking as the Asset's Handler.

Just know that any sexual advances from Steve are due to him having learned through previous trial and error, that refusing to play along with the demands of the Asset's programming just results in negative feedback.

Steve fully realises that the Asset can't give proper consent and what that means.

Sinse this is written from the Asset's POV the truth of Steve's motivations are not explicitly stated.

I tried to give hints in the way the Asset perceives Steve, but just in case I didn't do a good enough job: This is not Dark!Steve doing trashy things to Bucky for the sake of trash. It is Steve trying to get them both through the Trash!Aftermath with as few scrapes as possible.

Whether or not Steve has shameful thoughts about liking his role as Best-Handler-in-the-Entire-World, I already stated in a reply to a comment above, but it can also be up for interpretation.

Please let me know what you think! Reading your comments never fail to make me smile.

P.S. I have no beta reader, so any mistakes are my own.

------

The Asset follows two steps behind Handler Rogers, keeping flawless marching formation.
Inside the bathroom Handler Rogers tells it to wait by the rub. The Asset kneels at the lip of the monstrous bath, a thing akin to the offspring of a small swimming pool and a jacuzzi.

While Handler Rogers is busy rummaging through the cabinets, the Asset wonders what he meant by 'it’s going to need fluids’.

A particular form of punishment comes to mind.

One time, when the Asset still belonged to Hydra, it was secured to the roof of a building, immobile and exposed on its back, for five days. The blazing summer sun combined with the cloying humidity of the climate managed to dehydrate and burn the Asset to such a degree that an unmodified human would have died. The punishment was intended to last for a week, but the Asset was needed for a mission so the handler at the time had to get it back into serviceable condition. Once the Asset completed the mission it was sent back to that roof to endure the rest of its punishment.

The Asset doesn't believe Handler Rogers will do something like that though. He gave no indication that this was to be a punishment, Handler Rogers is always very clear when the Asset is being punished.

What it did wrong, how to improve its behavior in the future, what the punishment will be and how long it will last but also why that particular punishment fits the crime.

Handler Rogers also says that the Asset is always completely forgiven afterwards.

Which doesn't make sense. Failing a handler is unforgivable. Failing Handler Rogers is worse than torture, worse than hunger and thirst, worse than cryosleep, or even the Chair.

The Asset has failed Handler Rogers so many times, each one is like a heavy steel ball bearing dropped into the bowl of a scale. Whereas every completed mission, every smile and laugh and soft touch from Handler Rogers is a feather placed in the counterweight, trying to tip the balance back to a modicum of equilibrium.

The Asset doesn't need Handler Rogers to tell it this is the case. The Asset knows this with as much certainty as it knows how to operate a rifle.

The Asset looks up from the floor, shocked to find that Handler Rogers has exchanged his clothes for a pair of swimming shorts featuring the stars and stripes. Normally the Asset is much too in tune with Handler Rogers to miss him changing clothes right in front of it. Distantly, it mourns the missed opportunity to see Handler Rogers naked, even if it would have just been a glimpse stolen in secret.

Handler Rogers has the most beautiful body, unscarred and golden. The Asset has seen him bare many times before when he uses it for pleasure, but only half of the pleasure the Asset receives in return comes from what Handler Rogers actually does with it, the other half is just from getting to see Handler Rogers's pleasure flush on his face, down to his chest and cock. No other reward compares.

“Okay, Asset. I heard what you said about the sunburn, and you've got a point. So, this time we'll use plenty of sunscreen.” Handler Rogers holds up a tube with a big smiling sun emblazoned on the side and squeezes out a thick drop of pale cream in his other hand. ”Now stand up so I can apply it to you.”

The Asset obeys, standing up straight but keeping its arms crossed behind its back; the standing rest position. Handler Rogers steps up in front of the Asset, so his legs and feet reach into its lowered cone of vision.

“Hold this,” Handler Rogers says, handing over the sun-tube. The Asset takes it in a metallic hand, the flesh arm stays locked into place.

The Asset studies the picture for a moment. The smiling sun has big square teeth and, for some reason, sunglasses perched on its non-existent nose. Underneath it is what looks like a field of flowers, along with some numbers at the bottom showing what the sunblock factor is.

When the Asset looks back up, Handler Rogers is rubbing the cream between his hands, warming it. But instead of rubbing it on himself, he reaches out slowly to the Asset, letting his hands hover over its chest.

The Asset blinks, confused for a moment. Then Handler Rogers casually says, “You can do me afterwards.” Like it's no big deal at all; giving the Asset a mission that involves keeping Handler Rogers safe from injury, by very carefully touching him all over his body. Even if it's just about some possible sunburn that will fade in a few hours, it is still an injury prevented. Definitely more than just a feather.

The thought is heady and seemingly slightly too big to fit inside the Asset's brain all in one go. It has to let the order compartmentalize a bit on its own before the Asset fully grasps the idea.

When it does, the glowing embers low in its groin erupt like someone threw a tank of gasoline on it, becoming a raging inferno that sets the Asset's blood to boiling. Its cock surges to attention in an instant, erect and hard as steel.

Only then does it notice Handler Rogers's hands already moving over its body. He coats the Asset's neck first, then lightly over its face, rubbing with his fingertips. After that he's moving down to circle the pectorals. The cream is scented lightly floral, it notices as Handler Rogers breaks symmetry by reaching back up over the Asset's right shoulder with one hand and underneath its left arm with the other.

The mechanical limb doesn't need any application so Handler Rogers skips it, though he doesn't shy away from the braid of scars circling the attachment point.

Previous handlers would either be repulsed by the ugly strip of skin and completely ignored it, others were fascinated by it, prodding with various implements like knives and taser-batons in order to take pleasure in the Asset's pained reactions.

Handler Rogers doesn't take any pleasure in its pain. He finds it in the pleasure of others, in the Asset's pleasure. No touch from Handler Rogers has ever brought pain.

The hands move downwards again, smearing the protective cream over the Asset's abdominals and sides.

There is a pause. The hands retreat.

The Asset realizes it has closed its eyes and blinks them open to see Handler Rogers standing just as close as before, hold an empty hand under the Asset's left one, patiently waiting for it to deposit more of the sunscreen.

He doesn't seem angry over the Asset's lapse in concentration, rather the opposite.

He smiles in one of the gentle ways only Handler Rogers can, the one where his eyes go soft and shiny just like they do when he asks the Asset about his name.

The Asset looks away, breaking eye contact, by flipping up the lid off the tube and squeeze out some more of the runny content into Handler Rogers's hand.

The Asset quickly squashes the urge to ask Handler Rogers not to waste resources like this on it. Handler Rogers made it abundantly clear early on that the Asset is not to challenge him on things like warm water, fruits and other expenditures best spent elsewhere. It isn't the Asset's place.

Whatever it was that the moment was charged with dissipates as Handler Rogers returns to his work, covering the Asset in the protective coating.

Handler Rogers works down the Asset's hips, bypassing its dick and balls, down the front of its thighs. Then he walks around it and rubs a heavy layer on its upper back, kneading the knotted muscles around the Asset's left shoulder blade.

It has to bite back a groan, as Handler Rogers keeps on working the tension out of its body, its cock jumping and twitching unseen by Handler Rogers, the pain-turned-pleasure spiking down the Asset's spine.

Slowly shifting lower, Handler Rogers skips the Asset's ass as well. After one more portion of sunscreen he’s got the legs completely covered. The only thing left is the Asset's groin area.

There is a pause, but Handler Rogers doesn't reach for the tube. Nothing happens for a minute.

A visceral jolt runs through the Asset. Did it do something wrong? Missed an order? Was it supposed to suppress the erection? The silence fills the air like smoke. Something is in its throat, preventing it from breathing. The curling heat inside of the Asset's belly turns cold and stale. It braces for the strike it knows is coming.

Suddenly, there is light. “Hey! Hey, it's okay! You did nothing wrong,” Handler Rogers's beautiful voice says hurriedly, laying a gentle, so, so gentle hand at the Asset's nape. “I’m s-just thinking. That's right! About how to reward you for being so good and obedient, alright.”

The Asset leans back into the steady hand. Boneless in the face of that assurance. Handler Rogers steps forward and lets it rest a sticky back against his chest.

Using the residual cream from his hands, Handler Rogers gives the Asset a perfunctory coating over its genitals and ass. Its cock rises back up from just that brief bit of attention.

“We’ll figure out something nice to do with this for tonight, alright?” Handler Rogers says hurriedly and pulls his hands back without lingering once he’s done.

The Asset's body thrums at the prospect. It is a rare treat, Handler Rogers playing with its cock.

Tonight. If it can keep up the good behavior throughout the day, that is. Not the easiest of thing, given the Asset's many failings.

“Okay, your done. My turn,” Handler Rogers says faintly.

The Asset turns around eagerly, but deflates slightly as it remembers that Handler Rogers is already wearing shorts. But that doesn't matter, it already has the chance to earn an opportunity to show proper gratitude. Tonight, if it can just stay good for him. For now it does whatever it can.

Starting with making sure Handler Rogers is protected from any serious sunburn.

------

Fill: Asset Management 5/?

[(Anonymous)]

AA here.

Sorry for the wait. School just started so I have had a lot on my mind lately.

Things are heating up for the Asset, and it will only get more intense.

Hope you all like this part.

------

The Asset tries pouring a generous amount into its right hand but overestimates the sunscreens thickness. It slips between the fingers and over the side of the palm. The Asset quickly brings it to Handler Rogers's chest before anymore is sloppily wasted on the floor.

The cream makes a loud smacking sound and starts running down Handler Rogers in thick rivulets. The Asset looks up for a moment to judge Handler Rogers's reaction.

He seems to be suppressing a smile. The Asset worries for a moment that the sudden heat in its face might be due to some allergic reaction to the sunscreen but that seems unlikely.

Working with only one arm, the Asset meticulously spreads out an as even coverage as possible. The layer seems too thick at first, compared to the Asset's own chest, but then it remembers how angry-red and sore Handler Rogers's skin ended up last time, so it decides to leave the chest as is.

Handler Rogers is warm and smooth under the Asset's hand. Completely hairless like the Asset is from the neck down. He doesn't even need to shave his face, unlike the asset. Possibly due to the difference between their formulae. Hydra had the Asset's body hair permanently removed for reasons of hygiene and presentability, leaving facial hair to grow naturally since it could be cultivated as part of a disguise if necessary.

Applying the sunscreen to Handler Rogers goes faster than the Asset had expected, even with some areas already covered by the swimming shorts.

Everything goes blurry, except for Handler Rogers. The world fades away, and the Asset can focus on this one thing: protecting Handler Rogers. Doing this seems to resonate with something deep inside, something that goes beyond the Asset's programming.

It doesn't matter that Handler Rogers never take the Asset with him during field missions.

Handler Rogers doesn't utilize it for combat. Instead the hours pass at a snail's pace when the Asset is placed in lockdown while Handler Rogers is out risking his life. Not a single second goes by without the Asset wondering if he will ever come back, it pictures all the possible ways he could be hurt or even killed.

In those moments the Asset “wants” to be there, to move Handler Rogers out of the way of a death-ray, to take the sniper bullet meant for his head, to jump on the grenade that land at Handler Rogers feet.

The Asset can't do anyone of those things, because it isn't stable. On the battlefield it would just be a loose canon, a risk. The Asset's combat experience is worthless because Handler Rogers can't trust it in that way.

Just after Handler Rogers took proper possession of the Asset, one of his teammates, Sam Wilson, codename: Falcon, came too close to it. The Asset doesn't remember what happened, but security cameras recorded how the Asset broke Mr Wilson's arm and almost strangled him to death with a shoelace before Handler Rogers interfered.

As if that wasn't bad enough, there are still words in the Asset's head that can steal it away from Handler Rogers. Words that could be employed by anyone to turn the Asset against the Avengers, against Handler Rogers.

So the Asset isn't allowed to come with Handler Rogers on field missions. When Handler Rogers is out, it stays locked up in the basement of Stark Tower, inside of a fortified bunker, restrained and immobilized. It is necessary, not just to prevent anyone unauthorized from accessing the Asset, but also for making sure it can't harm anyone or itself in Handler Rogers's absence.

But, it doesn't matter.

None of that matters because, right now, the Asset gets to protect Handler Rogers in this small way. It isn't much, but in the Asset's unreliable condition it's more than anyone could have asked for.

The Asset comes back to reality crouching on its knees, stroking up and down Handler Rogers's ankle with its right arm. The left hand holding the ruptured remains of a tube of sunscreen messily dripping onto the floor. It drops the destroyed item as if burned.

“Hey, you with me?” Handler Rogers asks in a faint voice.

The asset takes its hand off his leg, and shuffles back to press its forehead into the ground in front of Handler Rogers's feet. Hands next to its head, palms flat, fingers splayed and vulnerable on the blue tiles.

“The Asset apologizes for damaging Handler Rogers's property. It is ready to receive its punishment, Sir.” The Asset says in a dead monotone.

Handler Rogers takes a hasty step back. The Asset flinches at the motion so close to its head.

The room is silent for a moment. Then Handler Rogers asks, “Where are you, Asset?” in a firm tone.

“Inside the Bathroom of Handler Rogers's Stark Tower apartment, Sir,” the asset answers woodenly.

The words are once more gentle again when Handler Rogers praises it and asks about his own name.

Some of the tension fades. Among the countless of sneering faces, cruel voices and favoured torture implements, individual handlers melt together into a single multiheaded amalgamation. Next to that, Handler Rogers, kindness and safety incarnate, stands out like the North Star, a bright and unmistakable light in the dark void of night. The one thing to always stay firm enough to navigate by on the stormy sea.

“You are the Asset's Handler -Steven Grant Rogers- Captain America, Sir.” The asset is absolutely sure of this fact.

Handler Rogers exhales slowly, not sighing, just slowly breathing. “Good job,” he praises.

Some more of the tension eases up.

“What is rule number one?” Handler Rogers asks calmly. The Asset twitches. It hadn't thought about its words and casually broke the rules by asking for punishment when it wasn't its place to do so!

The Asset can practically see the special treat go up in smoke, a promising morning wasted on a sloppy mistake.

“The Asset apologizes for intruding on Handler Rogers right by attempting to dictate its punishment, Sir. It will submit to Handler Rogers's judgement, Sir.” The Asset tries to inject as much regret as possible into the apology without sounding like it's begging.

By showing proper contrition, the Asset might just be able to salvage this situation enough to at least be allowed to serve as a bedwarmer come nightfall. Things still haven't reached the same levels of disaster as yesterday, so if the Asset can just get better and keep focusing on Handler Rogers there doesn't have to be two bad days in a row.

Handler Rogers said that he doesn't expect perfection all day, every day. That bad days are permitted because he knows there are things outside its control. That the point is to have, overall, more good days than bad ones.

Yesterday was a bad one.

The Asset averages out at three bad days to every four good ones, just barely towing the line. Two consecutive bad days might very well push it over, make it more of a hassle than it’s worth.

Handler Rogers doesn't say anything at first. “The sunscreen was an accident, so I won't hold it against you. As for asking for a punishment, I think that no harm means no foul, so I will ask. Did you hurt yourself?”

There is something cloying the Asset's windpipe again and another round of tears bead at its eyes but Handler Rogers said it would need the water so the Asset blinks them away before they can fall and forces out a strained, “ No, Sir.”

“Let me see your face,” Handler Rogers orders gently.

The Asset looks up, straining its neck to not raise anything else. Handler Rogers towers over it like a giant. Yet there's a calm, reassuring smile on his lips.

“Further, so I can reach you. Kneel up for me, please.” The command is dressed as a soft request but it is still an order, and he holds out a hand at hip height to let the Asset know it doesn't need to stretch up so far as to rest all weight on the knees. The warmth and fuzziness is coming back again, everything might not be lost after all.

Once the asset is upright, folded forearms in back, chest pushed out and ass resting on heels, Handler Rogers brushes a thumb over its forehead. The warm spot that rested on the heated tiles tingling under his touch.

Handler Rogers is looking at it with a curious expression. The asset doesn't understand what he searches for, but it will give whatever that might be to him if it is able. The Asset would give its life for Handler Rogers, but he already owns it fully and doesn't want its life.

Handler Rogers just wants the Asset to live. Live to serve another day.

If Handler Rogers finds what he looks for, the Asset doesn't know. The searching glimmer in his eyes goes away after a moment. He looks away and the Asset does the same, locking its gaze to the floor where it belongs. His hand stays by the side of its head though, giving the asset something to rest against.

“You did a good job with the sunscreen. I don't think I'll even get a mild tan like this...Which means I can enjoy the sun the entire day.” The Asset can hear the smile in Handler Rogers's voice.

It did good, it pleased Handler Rogers even if it can't fully remember everything. The Asset's cock starts to harden yet again.

“Just clean this up, and we'll go up top. Wait! Use this, here!” Handler Rogers quickly amends his orders when the Asset bends down, stretching out a tongue to lick the sunscreen of the floor. He holds out a roll of toilet paper for it.

The asset takes the equipment with its right hand made out of flesh, the left metal one still messy from the accident.

Cleanup takes a couple of minutes with just one hand. Afterwards the Asset is instructed to clean the residual sunscreen from between the plates on its hand with warm water in the basin. Manually bending the digits backwards one by one to get underneath the concealed spaces takes even longer. The Asset muses over whether it would have been quicker to just lick the mess up, but it doesn't question Handler Rogers's orders because it is not its place to do so.

Once everything is good, the Asset kneels down before Handler Rogers, who’s been sitting on the stool in the corner, waiting.

“Good job, Asset. Let's go outside then,” Handler Rogers says as he stands up to exit the bathroom. The Asset follows him, crawling on all four, to the side and slightly behind him in the proper formation.

Once by the door, the Asset hesitates, unsure if Handler Rogers has forgotten or is purposefully ignoring the mundanely looking dresser by the side.

Handler Rogers has one hand on the door handle when the Asset pipes up, “Sir, what about the safety gear?”

------

Fill: Asset Management 6/?

[(Anonymous)]

AA here.

This was both my favorite and least favorite part.
I love toys, as you might notice, but they are not easy to write.

I still feel like I may have gone a bit overboard.

Hope you like this part! The Asset literally doesn't move anywhere so I hope I haven't ruined the pase with exposition.

Thank you for commenting!

------

They both freeze. Metal bands constrict around the Asset’s lungs; it can’t breathe.

It questioned a handler! It questioned Handler Rogers! It’s not the Asset’s place to question, just to obey!

If Handler Rogers doesn’t want the Asset to use the safety gear then it won’t use the safety gear. That simple.

If Handler Rogers wants the Asset to kill someone then it will kill that person. That simple.

If Handler Rogers wants the Asset in pain then it will suffer for him. That simple.

If Handler Rogers wants to share the Asset with anyone else then the Asset will be used by them too. That simple.

The Asset exist to serve its handlers. Nothing else matters.

Handler Rogers slowly takes his hand off the door. He sighs, whether in relief or frustration, the Asset can't tell over the roaring in its ears.

Finally he says, “I...just wanted to see if you remembered on your own...Good job.” He doesn't sound entirely all there, but the Asset can’t figure out why that would be.

After a moment Handler Rogers turns around, smiling, pleased.

Air returns to starved lungs as the Asset’s muscles are released, something like a rock is lifted out of a hole in its stomach.

When Handler Rogers is pleased nothing could ever possibly be bad.

The dresser is opened, and the Asset’s pulse picks up. Everything inside has a purpose, to assist the Asset in its purpose, to serve Handler Rogers.

He wants the Asset to wear the safety gear. He doesn't want it to kill anyone, doesn't want it to suffer and, most importantly, doesn't want to share it with anyone else. Handler Rogers is happy with his Asset, he wants to keep and take care of it.

The Asset forgot about that, again. It always forgets, but luckily Handler Rogers doesn't mind.

Hanging on hooks and resting on shelves are the all the articles that make up the Asset's safety gear. The things that makes the Asset safe outside of the apartment, among other people, but at the same time also keeps it safe from them.

The mitts go on first. Gloss black and padded finger- and thumbless gloves, made out of some hyper durable synthetic leather, created by Handler Rogers's friend Tony Stark, codename:Iron Man, to be inescapable yet comfortably breathable for long term use. The internal lining and stitching keeps the hands curled into light fists. Strapped on high up the forearms, the mitts make sure the Asset can't aim a gun or hold a knife, nor even twist a shoelace around someone's throat. Any punches it could deliver would be cushioned by the boxing glove-like design.

The Asset lifts its arms one by one, holding still while Handler Rogers pulls the mitts on. He tightens the straps going around the forearms, but not enough to cut off blood flow. It still has mobility in the wrists.

The leg binders comes next. Made from the same material, they tie the Asset thigh to calf with short lengths of chain, only allowing the knees to extend about ninety degrees to crawl as well as limiting its ability to kick someone. The attached pads also prevents it from staining the ground with blood from scraping its knees. Handler Rogers doesn't want it to get damaged from being on all four, so he makes sure everything fits securely.

Handler Rogers picks the muzzle off one of the top shelves and studies it for a minute, turning it over in his hands. Perhaps searching for cracks or imperfections.

This muzzle is both familiar and different from the one the Asset wore during its time with Hydra. But instead of a suffocating air filter and an uncomfortable voice modulator, the one Handler Rogers puts on it is made out of a see through, lightweight polymer, perfectly moulded to its nose and chin with plenty of air vents and rounded edges that won't pinch or press painfully.

The muzzle is good because as long as it remains locked into place the Asset won't be able to bite anyone, nor will unauthorized people be able to use its mouth for pleasure. It works better than a gag because it still allows the Asset to communicate clearly with Handler Rogers when needed. With a bowed head it passively let's Handler Rogers brush Its hair aside, he is meticulous about it, wanting to get the straps perfectly buckled without snagging any strands.

The Asset is also equipped with an automated locking plug. With the wings fully opened inside of the Asset the plug stops any conceivable use of that hole as well. Unless the culprit is willing to leave the Asset with wide ruptures and obvious tearings to its sphincter the only one who can remove it is Handler Rogers.

Though the Asset regenerates at an accelerated rate due to the serum, any such damage wouldn't heal in time to hide the crime from Handler Rogers. The device effectively deters any would be opportunists, but at the same time can also help opening the Asset up for Handler Rogers to use later if used properly.

On its knees, chest and face to the floor once more, ass raised in the air, the Asset surreptitiously watches through the corner of its eye how Handler Rogers crouches down behind it with the shiny gadget stowed in the crock of his armpit and a big bottle of [insert lube name here] in hand.

He uses plenty of the long lasting lubrication as he loosens the Asset enough with his fingers to allow the relatively slim collapsed head of the ass lock inside without any resistance. First one finger, then two, scissoring them and then moving on, working in three digits all the way. The entire process takes several minutes since Handler Rogers likes to be sure everything goes smoothly. By then the world around them is just a haze, the Asset completely lost in the pleasure.

Once the tip is finally pushed against the Asset's welcoming hole the metal isn't cold. A distant part of its mind concludes that Handler Rogers must have used his own body heat to warm it up. Its insides go even fuzzier at that thought, though it doesn't understand why; because he probably did it just so he wouldn't have to fight the involuntary clenching the chilly material would have caused.

Warm or cold, the Asset's body greedily swallows up the plug, stretched-out hole closing snuggly once more around the thin neck.

The whir of a tiny electric motor accompanying the expansive sensation of the blooming bulb brings a rough groan to the Asset's lips. The plug immediately comes to a stop. Sounding, strangely enough, just as affected Handler Rogers asks, “Are you in pain? Asset, you must tell me if you're in pain right now!”

The Asset shakes its head, negative.

“Are you sure?”- Handler Rogers sounds almost worried for a moment before his voice goes warningly stern -”I-I have no interest in waiting for your ass to heal a tear because you tried to take more than you can handle. Answer me truthfully, are you in pain?”

The Asset is not in pain. The knowledge of its body yielding to Handler Rogers's will is turning every movement and touch into ecstasy. Pain is, by far, the last thing on the Asset's mind.

“S...s-ir, the Asset is not i-in pain. It hu-mbly begs Handler Rogers...to let it serve him. Please, Sir?” The Asset clumsily attempt to placate, tongue seeming just as limp as every other muscle.

Handler Rogers is silent for another long moment, considering, before he comfortingly strokes up and down the Asset's thigh. “Alright, good job, Asset.”

The warm praise brings the Asset’s already erect cock to an aching need. And as the plug continues to slowly unfold, one of the three wings start pressing unyieldingly on the Asset's prostate, causing it to moan obscenely.

In a haze it realizes that it's leaking a steady string of precome on the floor. The Asset's silent vows to clean the mess up as soon as it is able is cut short as the ass lock settles into place.

The body’s involuntary reaction to the pleasure Handler Rogers brings it is unfortunately for naught because the next piece of the safety gear, the cock cage, is designed to prevent anyone from acting on those reactions, by preemptively stopping them from occurring.

Fingers brush down the Asset's taint towards it's balls. “Shit. Should’ve done this first,” Handler Rogers mutters. “Hey, Asset, think you can go without the cage today?” he questions lightly.

Cold hands grip the Asset's heart.

With no protection for its cock around other people, they might use it for their own pleasure by riding the Asset, penetrating themselves on it!
Or...or they might use it to do that...to others…

The thought prickles over its body like spider, it shudders. The Asset needs to be flaccid for this part. The possible consequences of going without the cage almost does the trick, but the Asset needs to get completely soft for the cage to fit.

“Please, sir. Permit the Asset to serve you, please…” the Asset can't say anything more than that, it isn’t allowed to ask for things, it isn’t allowed to question. But the Asset is weak, it can't handle being around other people without its safety gear, so it must beg.

“The ice, sir. Please, the ice. The Asset needs the cage, sir. It apologizes for its failure, sir,” it whimpers into the floor, once more leaking water through its eyes.

“Okay...I’m s-I’ll be right back.” Handler Rogers says, sounding so disappointed the Asset has to bite down on its tongue to stop itself from calling him back.

An hour seems to pass before Handler Rogers returns, though it was probably just a minute or two.

“Here's the ice, Asset. You sure this is what you want?” Handler Rogers crouches behind it once more, holding the ice in a folded cloth.

The Asset “wants” to belong to Handler Rogers and nobody else but him. The cage will make sure the Asset is safe, but for that it'll need the ice because it can't get soft enough on its own. Yes, the Asset is sure.

“Please, sir…”

“Okay.”

After an application of the towel wrapped ice the metal tube is closed tightly around the flaccid shaft, bending downwards, making it useless for any man or woman wishing to take it into themselves. The tight ring going around the base combined with the forward facing prongs on the inside of the tube makes it just as impossible to remove as the ass lock.

Handler Rogers has made sure his team knows the Asset is off limits, but he still has it wear these parts of the safety gear ,just to make sure, just in case anyone of them happens to forget that when he isn't looking.

Any attempts to circumnavigate the safety gear would simply render the Asset useless for sex but not necessarily permanently maimed. In the span of a day or two it would be healed enough to be of use to Handler Rogers again.

As the cage clicks shut the Asset unconsciously lets out a sigh; the sounds of both its own and foreign voices, begging for mercy, all fade away. Nothing bad will happen now, Handler Rogers will take care of his Asset.

When Handler Rogers first told it that he didn't want anybody else to use it he also gave it a mission to figure out and propose a feasible way to ensure that. An hour later the Asset had presented the idea of the ass lock and cage. Handler Rogers took some time to consider it, but in a week he asked Mr. Stark manufacture the pieces. Since then, the Asset has always worn them in addition to the safety gear when Handler Rogers takes it outside.

No Avengers team member has attempted to use the Asset behind Handler Rogers's back, no one has shown any interest, but that might change one day so it's best to be prepared.

The Asset kneels up straight again. Handler Rogers has that same vulnerable look in his eyes as he wipes the fluid from the Asset's face.

“It's okay, you’ve been so good for me. Just a few things left. I'm not upset with you for asking for the ice.”

Handler Rogers such a capacity for leniency and forgiveness it boggles the Asset's mind sometimes.

To make sure Hydra won't try using the trigger words when the Asset is out and vulnerable like this, Handler Rogers also had the ear phones made. The odds of someone infiltrating Stark Tower and reaching the Asset when it's outside of the apartment or bunker is still very low, but no chance is too small to risk it.

The tiny buds are placed deep inside the Asset's earcanal with a special tool. Once inside they are only removable with the same tool. They completely cut out any sound except for the select number of frequencies that matches Handler Rogers's voice. The rest of the world goes quiet, the only orders the Asset can hear are his. It is safe.

“Can you hear me, Asset?” Handler Rogers asks, the sound filtering letting his words through crisp and clear. It responds in an affirmative, unable to hear its own voice. Handler Rogers smiles, it's a beautiful thing. “Good job, Asset.”

The Asset's cock twitches in its cage, driven in vain by the praise. The heat returning to its belly curls in on itself with nowhere to go.

“Okay, last piece here. Raise your head for me.”- the Asset does. -”That's it, good job, Asset!”

The collar is thick and wide with soft padding. A dressing of black leather hides the reinforced steel wire core. Magnetically sealed clasps connected to a fingerprint scanner locks it around the Asset's throat.

The hidden electrodes of the shocking mechanism remain unused till this day, unlike before, nothing bad the Asset has ever done during its time in Handler Rogers's possession has ever warranted a tazing.

More important than anything are the words emblazoned in chrome-plated letters along the length of the collar:
PROPERTY OF STEVEN GRANT ROGERS.

The honor of wearing Handler Rogers's full name never grows any less exalting. The Asset would fall to its knees if it wasn't already on them. The collar doesn't stop the Asset from moving its neck like a posture collar would or impede its breathing like a choker, but with every turn, nod and swallow it is reminded again and again of the physical manifestation of Handler Rogers's mastery over it.

It is almost complete now, only thing missing is the leash, then it'll be ready to face the outside world without risking an incident. The Asset closes its eyes, breathes slowly in, holds it for a moment, before letting it go and looks back up with purpose at Handler Rogers's smiling face.

“Please, Sir. We are losing daylight, Sir.” It awaits judgement in silence, holding its breath once more.

Handler Rogers chuckles, “All right, Asset. Let's go.” He clips the leash and opens the door.

The Asset has a mission. It will do its best to fulfill that mission and please Handler Rogers. With warmth pooling in its belly, it breathes out slowly: this might turn out to be a good day after all.

------

Fill: Asset Management 7/?

[(Anonymous)]

AA here,
Hi! Sorry for the long wait. School has been killing me recently, but I kept chugging along with this thing and here we are.

I didn't initially intend to go in the direction that I did. But some dark part of me whispered awful things in my head and I couldn't resist the temptation.
Just know that this is still intended to end up as good day for the Asset.

Before I continue I would just like to reiterate that:

Some of you may have noticed a similarity between Asset Management and many of Dsudis's works.
This is not a coincidence. I was hugely inspired by their stories such as 'Dinner for Two', 'A Thread of Light' and their currently ongoing AMAZING 'All These Burning Hearts in Hell' series.
Dsudis is truly the giant on who's shoulders I stand. They were the one who introduced me to the breathtaking dumpster world.
If it weren't for them, I would never have started writing Asset Management.
If you like hurt!Bucky being comforted by heartbroken!Steve, but haven't read their stories then head over to Dsudis at
http://dsudis.tumblr.com
Or
http://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
For amazing feels, top notch writing and the friendliest space you will ever find this side of the internet.

I just wanted to give proper credit where it is deserved.

Thank you all!

------

The elevator ride to the tower roof is silent. Everything is silent with the ear buds in. Up until the Asset's stomach makes a small jump, then when the doors don't open right away Handler Rogers says, “It seems we weren't the only ones who planned on enjoying the good weather. Doctor Banner is leading Natasha and Sam in a yoga exercise on the grass field, so we'll have to take the sun chairs instead.”

The Asset gulps. Agents Black Widow and Falcon are on the other side of the still closed elevator doors. Along with Subject Hulk. It hadn't expected seeing anyone else quite this soon, practically right out the gate.

There is a reason the doors haven't opened yet, the Asset realizes. Why Handler Rogers saw fit to share the information he most likely just now received from JARVIS. He wants to test the Asset, see if it can control itself.

The Asset rolls its jaw, muzzle shifting comfortably with the motion. Fists flex, toes curl, cage and lock secure, the leash hangs slack in an arch from Handler Rogers's hand to the Asset's collar. It is safe.

It doesn't hear itself say, “The Asset is safe, Sir,” but Handler Rogers does. He leans its head against his thigh with a steady hand. The Asset breathes in the scent of warm skin, bathing shorts and sunscreen. The words “Good job,” reverberates down his strong leg into the Asset's skull.

“You'll be safe with me. You won't do anything to them, and they won't do anything to you.” after a moment Handler Rogers wraps the lead around his hand, shortening the slack so that the Asset won't be able to get more than a foot and a half away from him without pulling the leash tight. A reminder and promise both.

The Asset does not look up. It has to be on its best behavior now that it's around people. Or else Handler Rogers might let someone else punish it while he relax in the sun. It's never come to that before with Handler Rogers, but Hydra often had people who volunteered to punish the Asset.

The Avengers are an unknown. It doesn't have a psyche profile on any of them, It doesn't know if one of them might be a sadist, so it has to be on its best behavior.
Disappointing Handler Rogers is bad enough because he isn't a sadist, so he doesn't enjoy punishing the Asset, but that just means it makes him that much more unhappy when it is bad.

The elevator doors open, revealing the bright morning sky. Smog-filtering blimps drift in the clear blue, proudly proclaiming ‘Stark Industries New Green Initiative’. The outside wind tousles their hair.

Handler Rogers step forward. The Asset spies the other Avenger members to the side as it follows him. They are gathered on the grass like Handler Rogers said, sitting cross-legged on light grey gymnastic mats. The asset refrains from pointing out the purposeless waste of space if they aren't even going to sit on the soft grass directly. If Handler Rogers still wants to use the Asset as a recliner like last time then it will endure the hard deck floor without complaint.

The roof terrace is beautifully arranged with curling walkways of cobble and combed white sand areas. There's a peanut shaped swimming pool and a hot tub with an infinity edge overlooking the side of the building. There's even a shaded bar with swiveling high stools.

The agents had to take the circular patch of lush grass for their yoga mats though.

Handler Rogers walks up to the deck chairs, and motions for the Asset to stay at the foot end. When he sits down on the seat and leans back. Something inside its chest shrivels, the Asset hangs its head: it doesn’t deserve to serve Handler Rogers like it did on the grass.

Handler Rogers had been lying on the bare grass resting his head and shoulders on the Asset's stomach where it lay perpendicular to him. He had been smiling in the sun just like he does now. If Handler Rogers doesn't want to use the Asset it will wait obediently for him to find a use. Handler Rogers always finds the best uses for the Asset.

Then Handler Rogers props his feet on its back. The Asset looks up, startled. It sees Handler Rogers put his hands behind his head. His smile warms the Asset more than the sunlight bearing down on it. For a moment the Asset can't look away. Handler Rogers is so beautiful when he smiles it becomes paralyzed like a deer in headlights.

The spell breaks when Handler Rogers looks away, attention called by something the Asset can neither see or hear, but he nods in the direction of the grassy area so the Asset assumes one of the agents said something. It turns its head back to the ground, the warmth staying with it.

It did good. The grass doesn't matter. The yoga mats don't matter. The agents don't matter. The only thing that matters is that the Asset can please Handler Rogers just like this. Taking a shower, putting away dishes, applying sunscreen, even just something as small as being a footstool for Handler Rogers is enough. It doesn't even have to move anywhere or do anything.

It's so easy to please Handler Rogers, to earn smiles, gentle touches like hugs and even rewards. The Asset doesn't deserve Handler Rogers. Worse, the Asset is selfish and greedy for 'wanting’ to stay with him when it knows he deserves better than a used-up Asset not even good in a fight.

...

There's someone standing over the Asset. An intruder? Handler Rogers hasn't moved, possibly asleep, unaware and vulnerable. The target hasn't moved further, hesitating? The Asset can drop them to the floor, establish a headhold in the crock of its elbows, twist its arms and break the target's neck.

A dark skinned hand slowly places a glass of pale yellow liquid with a straw in front of the Asset's face. The Asset looks up sharply. Agent Wilson pulls his hand back as if burned. Though he keeps a wary smile as he meets the Asset's gaze evenly. He opens his mouth to say something but the Asset looks away, turning to Handler Rogers to wake him up.

It finds Handler Rogers wide awake, taking in the scene with calm interest.

Only then does the Asset realize what it nearly did.

With a jolt, the Asset pulls back out from underneath Handler Rogers's feet. Turning over the drink in front of it by accident. The breaking glass, though soundless, is enough to drive the Asset into a blind panic.

It bolts away from from the tall dark man and the spilled drink and the grasping hands and the cutting whips and electric batons and too wide toys splitting it in two as the people laugh-

The leash goes taut and tugs the Asset back with a yank that sends it spinning. The Asset scrambles like an insect flipped on its back. Once it manages to get the right side up again the Asset looks back at what it was fleeing from, disoriented.

Handler Rogers lies halfway underneath an overturned deck chair, end of the leash tied around his wrist and looped around one of the chairlegs. He moans a weak “Oww..”, and the Asset's blood drops to Sub-Zero degrees in an instant.

As fast as possible, the Asset crawls forward and flings the furniture off Handler Rogers body. When he looks up into the Asset's eyes it crumbles to the ground, incoherently begging for forgiveness with a voice it can't control or hear.

It doesn't so much as flinch when Handler Rogers gathers the Asset up in his arm and starts rocking it.

There's more water running down its cheeks, ragged breaths scraping its throat raw from the inside. Meanwhile Handler Rogers murmurs gentle words into its hair, telling it that, “Everything is alright,” and “I'm not mad,” “It was just an accident, the leash got snagged on the seat,”.

Slowly the Asset calms down, but it never stops trying to say, “Sorry, sir. So sorry. Sorry, sir. So sorry,” but it's not sure if the words come out right or in one long slur.

“Hey, can you hear me, Asset? Are you with me?” The questions ring clear in the Asset's ears. Handler Rogers expects an answer. Handler Rogers is giving it a chance to serve, to show a willingness to make up for the bad behavior. The Asset must answer.

The asset can't hear itself when it tries to say, “Yes, sir. T-the Asset is ready to receive its next mission, sir.”

“O-okay,” comes the faint response. “Good job, Asset. You're doing such a good job for me. Give me a status report.”

After a quick survey it says, “The Asset is unharmed and fully operational within standard safety parameters, sir.”

“G-good job.” Handler Rogers clears his throat with a wet gurgle. “Do you remember what just happened?”

The Asset nods. A wavering “Yes, sir,” silently leaves its lips.

“Alright. Can you tell me what was going through your mind? Right now I'm a little bit confused on the details.”

Handler Rogers is willing to listen to the Asset before agents Wilson, to hear its side of things. The Asset doesn't deserve that. It was bad, almost attacking an avenger. It is bad for clinging to Handler Rogers like it's the victim, like it's a person deserving the comfort.

It must do right by Handler Rogers.

“Permission to speak, sir?”

“Yes, of course! You can alwa-I mean, permission granted, Asset.”

Handler Rogers probably just stumbled over his words so the the Asset ignores the first part of that. “The Asset is not secured, sir.”

Handler Rogers goes still. “What do you mean?”

The Asset just shakes its head. “The Asset is not secured, sir!”

The next moment they are both moving. Handler Rogers carries the Asset in his arms as he rushes to the elevator door that open for them automatically. A quick sucking sensation in the belly tells the Asset that the elevator almost drops them completely into a free fall. With another dizzying stomach flip a second later the doors open to their floor. Once they’re inside Handler Rogers pushes the door closed with a shoulder, not letting go of the Asset for a moment.

“The Asset is secured, sir.” It murmurs shyly.

Handler Rogers takes a deep breath, sagging against the door. “Good.” The relief is palpable in his voice. “Let's talk on the sofa, okay?”

The Asset suddenly realizes Handler Rogers still doesn't understand the gravity of the situation. It had expected punishment right away, but it never explained why that was. After Handler Rogers finds out will he be angry with the Asset? Will he push it away? Tell it that it can't have the special reward?

None of that matters. Only Handler Rogers matters. The Asset must be good for him, even when it has been bad. Especially when it has been bad.

They’re by the sofa in no time. The Asset puts its chin where Handler Rogers pats his thigh, kneeling once more before him.

“Okay, let's take this from the top.” The Asset doesn't know where to start. It goes to open its mouth but nothing comes out. Mercifully, Handler Rogers seems to understand. “It looked like Sam startled you, is that what happened?”

The Asset nods. “Yes, sir. But…” it falters.

“Okay then. That means it wasn't your fault. I'll be sure to warn you next time.” Handler Rogers smiles as he says it, stroking its head like a dog. The Asset's head spins, ‘next time’? Handler Rogers is giving it one more chance to prove itself useful outside?
“And the other part? What was the other thing you wanted to say?” Handler Rogers prods, curious but not angry. Though he surely will be soon.

It can't look him in the eyes. “The Asset broke a rule, sir,” it whimpers.

Handler Rogers stops petting for a moment, holding his breath. “Which rule?”

This is torture. Handler Rogers always asks questions right before a punishment. Like amputating a limb in the most gentle and careful way possible still hurts just as much when you don't have any anesthetic.

Handler Rogers isn't a cruel handler like the ones from before. He's caring and fair, but his punishments are ten times as horrible simple because they don't really hurt the Asset either. Punishment is supposed to hurt. The fact that Handler Rogers never hurts the Asset in any meaningful way just puts the Asset's place in perspective. A reminder that it doesn't deserve him.

Nothing could possibly drive the Asset to obey more than that, yet it still fails at every corner.

“‘The Asset is not to be utilized for combat purposes’, sir. The Asset attempted to attack agent Wilson, sir.”

“What do you mean? You were wearing the safety gear, weren't you?” Handler Rogers asks, confused.

Here it comes. Handler Rogers will be disgusted with the Asset. He'll reject it and make it sleep on the floor like last night. The day is ruined, the Asset has been bad.

“The Asset was only partially restrained, sir. It would have wrestled agent Wilson to the ground and broken his neck using only its arms, sir.” The Asset doesn't even try to sound regretful, nothing could ever convey how sorry it is for the innumerable transgressions it has made.

“Oh.” Handler Rogers doesn't sounds angry, just so, so disappointed. The Asset 'wants’ to sink through the floor and disappear. “I-I’m so sorry, B-...Asset. That was my mistake.”

Handler Rogers made a mistake trusting the Asset around people. Water starts pouring out of its eyes like a broken floodgate, unstoppable. A wretched sound escapes it's throat, as horrid and raw and ugly as the Asset itself. It can't control itself. There's a cold-burning knife in its chest.

Handler Rogers gathers the Asset up in his arms once more, rocking it to sleep.

------

Fill: Asset Management 8a/?

[(Anonymous)]

AA here,

I had to divide this part up in two pieces to fit.

------

There is pain in the Asset's left leg. It cannot move the limb. The air is cold and smells of blood, gunpowder and dirt.

In the darkness there is a voice that says, “I'm so sorry, Bucky!” It's Handler Rogers. “This is all my fault, I lost track of where you were and deflected that blast right at you! I'm so sorry, please wake up! The guys are getting you stitched back up. I-”

Another, gruffer voice interrupts Handler Rogers, “Steve, it's okay. We got him stabilized. Going by the way you two can shrug of bullet wounds to the chest, I'd say he'll live. Your tourniquet saved his leg though, Steve. You did good.”

“But I-” Handler Rogers begins to say, but gets interrupted again. The Asset has the faint urge to strangle that gruff voice.

“You made a mistake, Steve, We all do. You're human just like the rest of us, fancy powers or not. This is war, people get hurt and die, but you saved him.”

…...

The Asset wakes up, still in Handler Rogers's arms, curled into a tight ball. It's still wearing most of the safety gear, only the leash, muzzle and earbuds missing. They're inside the apartment though, so it's safe.

Handler Rogers is so warm and strong it stays still and quiet so the moment can stretch out a bit longer.

“You awake, Asset?” Handler Rogers asks.

The Asset twitches, caught in the act of stealing more of the touch than it deserve. It nods guiltily, getting ready to be dumped on the floor.

“Do you know who I am?” Handler Rogers asks instead, he doesn't sound angry like the Asset expects.

It licks its dry lips, blinks at the sofa they’re still sitting in. “Yes, Sir. You are the Asset's Handler, Steven Grant Rogers, codename: Captain America, Sir.”

Handler Rogers rewards the good answer by stroking the Asset's hair with a soft hand, the touch zings up its spine.

The Asset tries to suppress a moan as the steel between the Asset's legs bites down on a growing erection, though that does nothing to stop the member from trying again when the Asset realizes its body is yielding to Handler Rogers's will. Safe, secure, can't do anything wrong. The heat spikes, and the cage keeps it down. Like a pendulum.

The ebb and flow of pleasure is cut short when Handler Rogers asks, “Do you remember what happened before we got here?”

He still doesn't sound angry, but the Asset tenses up anyway. “Yes, sir.” It whimpers. “The Asset failed to be useful, Sir. It...it was ungrateful towards agent Wilson, and broke the rules…” Water is swimming in its eyes. ”...And it brought h-harm to Ha-andler Ro-gers...sir.” The Asset struggles to get out of Handler Rogers's hold, to get down on the floor where it belongs.

A hand gripping onto the back of the collar puts a stop to that. “No. You stay where I put you, Asset,” Handler Rogers says sternly, moving the Asset to sit upright in his lap. Its arms fold themselves behind the Asset's back, instinctively trying to be good.

A finger tilts the Asset's chin up so it looks into Handler Rogers's eyes. Eyes that aren't angry at all, eyes as blue as the clear and calm open sky.

“I am not angry with you, Asset,” Handler Rogers says firmly, “And here's why: You were useful, you always are to me.” The Asset mewls, but the gentle finger stops it from looking away again as the wonderful words just keep pouring over it. ”You weren't ungrateful, Sam just surprised you. I should have known better than to allow him that close without letting you know, okay. So, not your fault.”

The Asset can hardly fathom the extent of Handler Rogers's mercy. It should be used to it by now, not struck speechless by how kind Handler Rogers can be. The Asset can't move, can't hide from Handler Rogers's truth, because it's not allowed to. The Asset must show some measure of gratitude though, it needs to.

The finger at its chin is just close enough to risk it. The Asset warily leans forward to place a quick kiss to the strong digit, careful to keep eye contact with Handler Rogers, showing that it's still listening.

The blue eyes go a little soft around the edges like only Handler Rogers's can. He lets it know it has permission to continue by raising the hand to give the Asset better reach. The Asset places a feathery peck to each knuckle, then slowly starts to succle on the very tip of Handler Rogers's index finger. When it doesn't get any sign to stop it takes Handler Rogers a little deeper, and a little deeper still, tasting of salt skin and flowery sunscreen. When the Asset has the entire finger cradled in its mouth, Handler Rogers start smiling gently around his words.

“You discovered a flaw in the safety gear, and then you tried to prevent something bad from happening because of that, right? You tried to get away from Sam to protect him?” The Asset nods because it is true. “That is good, Asset! That's so, so good! I'm proud of you!”

The Asset blinks, shocked. Handler Rogers wipes the new beads of water from it's eyes with his free hand, and then cradles its face.

“You couldn't know the leash would snag on the chair.”- The Asset starts to tense back up. -”No, no! I'm fine, it didn't even really hurt, but it wasn't your fault, okay? Say it. ‘Not the Asset's fault.’”

It can't divert blame from itself, but it can't disobey Handler Rogers either. Forcing its lips to form the words around the finger, it stutters out an uncertain, “N...no-t...the Asset's...f-fault?” It can't quite hide the doubt.

“That's right!” Handler Rogers smiles reassuringly, so it must have done the right thing. It tries to smile back, Handler Rogers likes it when the Asset smiles. “Good job, Asset. Good job!”

The world goes warm and fuzzy again. Handler Rogers's words echo around the Asset. It did good. It's not going to be punished. Handler Rogers is happy. The Asset-

Is Good -

Is Safe -

Is Kept -

Is Happy -

…...

The Asset comes back once more, suckling on something different, smaller than a finger, tasting of more sunscreen.

It's Handler Rogers's nipple, perked nub rubbing the Asset's tongue. Handler Rogers moans. It's the most beautiful sound the Asset has ever heard.

Handler Rogers's hands hover over the back of the Asset's head, not gripping, not guiding, just permitting the Asset to move on its own.

Another groan leads the Asset to look up. Handler Rogers is flushing bright red all the way down to his collarbones, eyes closed, biting his lip. He pants and blinks up at the ceiling, a faraway look to his eyes.

The Asset let's go of the nipple, stunned by the glorious sight in front of it. Handler Rogers huffs and looks down at the Asset with a dazed expression. He smiles faintly and combs a hand through long dark tresses, scratching gently over the scalp. The Asset arches into the contact.

Unable to stop itself, it basks in the attention, greedy. The Asset knows it isn't supposed to, but it wants.

Bucking forward, chasing for pleasure in vain because of the cage, the Asset notices the hardness in Handler Rogers's shorts, tenting the thin fabric with a wet spot darkening the center of a white star.

The Asset pleased Handler Rogers, it made him blush, it got him hard. The locking plug has stretched the Asset, it's still wet with lube, it's ready for him. Handler Rogers could fuck the Asset right now. The Asset could give him such pleasure, it could show the gratitude that's holding ready to burst in its chest.

If only Handler Rogers would fuck the Asset.

“Let's-let’s save this for tonight, alright. It's still a such a nice day outside, 'be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Handler Rogers doesn't fuck the Asset. Instead the heat gets to coil in on itself even more intense than before. The Asset's dick doesn't stop throbbing with more want.

Handler Rogers takes the Asset off the couch and tells it to stay there while he goes to switch to a new pair of swim shorts, but not before the Asset spies an even bigger wet spot on his left thigh.

While Handler Rogers is away, the Asset thinks what might happen when they go up to the roof terrace again. Maybe the agents have left by now and freed up the grass area.

The Asset also notices that it won't stop leaking precome. Some distant part of the Asset's mind notes that the metal cage makes it look like a leaky faucet.

When Handler Rogers returns wearing a pair of light blue swim shorts he also has a nondescript box underneath his arm.

He crouches down in front if the Asset and puts the box between them, smiling reassuringly even though the Asset is pretty sure there's nothing bad inside. Handler Rogers wouldn't surprise the Asset like that, at least he hasn't done anything like that yet.

“While you were tuckered out, I had a talk with Tony about the safety gear.” The Asset looks up at the clock mounted above the living room doorway. It doesn't know how long they spent outside before the incident but it's approaching noon. Handler Rogers says, “You slept for just over an hour, I texted him because I didn't want to wake you up when I could see you needed the rest.”

The Asset doesn't understand why Handler Rogers would do that, but the Asset nods, grateful nonetheless.

“Right. Well, so I was thinking about an upgrade. After what we found out earlier about your arm we'll need to secure them,” Handler Rogers states tersely, flipping up the top of the box.

------

Fill: Asset Management 8b/?

[(Anonymous)]

AA here,

Okay, so maybe I don't know when to stop. Hope you all like reading how my obsession spirals more and more out of control.

Lots of Toys, toys, toys for my Boys, boys, boys.

What is wrong with me?

Thank you for the comments!

------

A moment later, Handler Rogers holds up a tangle of interlocking metal plates and wide black straps. The Asset studies the pieces for a moment, putting it together in its head. Handler Rogers just watches with a strange expression.

Finally the Asset shuffles around to present its back to Handler Rogers, bowing its neck to give him better access.

After a minute of dead silence, a gentle hand rubs between the Asset's shoulder blades, a reward.

The core length of the new restraint is placed over the Asset's back. Made out of a band of flexible chrome trapezoids overlapping like scales, it rests like a second spine from nape to tailbone, attaching to the back of the collar. The metal is cool against the Asset's skin but not uncomfortable.

Two thick belts, extending vertically from the top vertebrae, drapes over the Asset's shoulders, crosses over the center of the chest, goes underneath opposing armpits and finally meets together behind its back with magnetic clasps onto the core a segment further down. The Asset notes that the straps simulate the not unpleasant sensation of a tight hug.

A branching mass of straps anchored to the tail end of the core encircles the Asset's belly and thighs like a climber's rappelling harness. Handler Rogers takes plenty of time to get everything settled properly, soft steadying hands lingering even when he moves on from one buckle to the next.

Finally, in the mid part of the core there's a third set of bands and wide cuffs that binds the Asset's fists to its elbows and tethers its upper arms to each other behind its back. Handler Rogers make sure the Asset holds its wrists together when the buckles close over the forearms.

Tiny springs activate when the mag-locks click together, cinching all belts and straps tight without cutting off blood flow or stressing the joints overly much.

Stepping back, Handler Rogers asks, “How’s that? Anything pinching or going numb?”

The Asset shakes its head. “No, sir. Fits good. No pain to report, sir.”

“Oh, good to hear. Try it out. Check if it's secure enough to take outside.”

The Asset tries flexing its arms at first but nothing works, every strap and metal joint is as indestructible as the rest of the safety gear. No matter how it tries to contort, the binding just won't come free, and with the mitts on it can't even attempt to get at the clasps with metal fingers to break them. The spine follows the movements smoothly, staying flush with the Asset's back the entire time.

Once the asset is sure that escape is indeed impossible it shuffles back around to face Handler Rogers. “The Asset is secured, sir,” it says proudly to his feet.

“Good job, Asset.” A wide hand ruffles its hair affectionately and it preens silently. The Asset is good.

The world goes softly fuzzy once more, but not fully out of focus. The Asset can still see and hear everything, it's just so warm and safe and good that all the bad things fade away in the distance.

It tries to move forward but has to shuffle inefficiently to get anywhere. Handler Rogers crouches down in front of it, his wonderful hands cupping its cheeks. He smiles happily as he shakes his head. “You don't have to crawl anywhere with this on. I'll carry you, okay?”

The Asset nods, curious about how he is going to accomplish that. It doesn't doubt that he’s capable. It has seen Handler Rogers lift and fireman carry three people over his shoulders from one of the black and white recordings from the Smithsonian. Even though that was before it came into Handler Rogers's possession, years ago, the Asset remembers everything it saw there, but that's not what's important right now.

Handler Rogers picks up another long belt from the box and clips it to the spine core at both ends. The spines lock together as soon as handler Rogers puts tension on the new strap, when he lifts it the rigid frame supports the Asset's weight without an issue. Another of Mr Stark’s engineering miracles, created in under an hour.

The fluffy warm clouds closes a little tighter around the Asset. Handler Rogers is holding the Asset. He is keeping it securely in his grasp. It can't struggle, nothing can take it away from him now.

The Asset stares down a at the moving floor as Handler Rogers walks with it before settling it in front of the apartment door. They are going out again, but this time is going to be better.

Glancing down again it notes that the cock cage is jumping and leaking on the floor like a restless zoo animal, hungry for the next meal. The burning heat in the Asset's belly certainly turns and coils like a living thing of its own, desperately in need of something to feed on. The Asset knows just what might help sate that burning need.

Looking up, Handler Rogers is going through the cabinet again, searching for the extra pair of earplugs there, seemingly ignorant of the Asset's condition. It licks its lips, hesitating, but the pleasurable buzz drives it to speak up. Handler Rogers doesn't punish it for speaking when not spoken to. “Sir?”

Handler Rogers turns around immediately. “Yes, Asset!” He says, sounding worried like he thought the Asset was in distress.

It shakes off the strange notion and continues pushing on. No point in stopping now that it has Handler Rogers's attention. It must remain respectful however. “Permission to speak, sir?”

“Yes, of course, Asset. Go ahead, permission granted.”

The Asset bends down and kisses Handler Rogers's feet. It just seems appropriate, since it isn't often that the Asset does something like this.

“Permission to...to make a r-request, sir?” The Asset asks with as much submission it can manage without appearing to beg.

“Oh?” Handler Rogers blinks, stunned. Then he smiles gently. “Permission granted for that as well, Asset.”

It sighs, relief washing over it like warm shower water. It can ask, it has permission. “The Asset is losing fluids, sir. Please, would you use the plug to stop it, sir?”

Suddenly Handler Rogers looks upset. He touches the Asset's ass, running a quick finger around its rim before looking it in the eyes again, confused.

“Are you bleeding internally, Asset?” He asks with no small amount of worry.

“No, sir.” The Asset straightens up with a passing urge to chuckle for some reason, tilts backwards and pushes its hips forward as the cage loosens another string of precome. “The Asset is leaking from here, sir.”

After a pause there's a faint, “I...see.” Handler Rogers palms the cage and even though the tube keeps it from actually sensing the contact, the Asset still moans. “And plugging it up would be the best solution, hm?” Handler Rogers asks just as faintly.

The Asset is good, Handler Rogers is happy. If he has a better idea he will go with that instead, so there is no problem either way. Handler Rogers won't be angry. “Please, sir…”

“Alright. It's alright, Asset. It's a fair request,” he shushes it. “We'll fix the problem and then I'll get you something to drink. To replenish those fluids for you.”

Handler Rogers is the best handler ever.

The urethral plug came with the cock cage when the Asset made the commission to Mr Stark years ago, though it has remained unused in the sterile package it came in until this day.

Handler Rogers still insists on cleaning it with disinfectant before inserting it. He says “I don't want to have to deal with any urinary tract infection...in case I'd want to ride you later, that is.” The Asset doesn't argue with that though the thought brings another round of urgent throbbing to the cock cage.

The Asset isn't small, when soft its dick measures just shy of five inches. The cage is made to fit tightly enough to eliminate any chance of erection. Looking like just a simple bent tube of metal on the outside, the ring of sharp prongs on the inside at the base and a thin, rubber lined, steel wire noose around the cock head anchored to the front ensures that the Asset stays chaste. The tip of the cage is, in contrast, just a detachable dome with a small hole.

Handler Rogers has the Asset lying back on its bound arms, legs spread wide to offer the space needed to work while Handler Rogers kneels over it from the side.

There’s a fluttering of small bird wings in the Asset's chest. It has wondered for a long time what it would be like to take the sound for Handler Rogers. To have a piece of him inside of its cock.

To the Asset, the sound really is a part of Handler Rogers, a part of his will given form and purpose. All of the pieces of the safety gear are made from Handler Rogers's will. He wants the Asset to be safe, and the gear ensures that it is. Whether or not it was made by someone else's hands is unimportant.

The Asset has been made to use catheters before, when it belonged to Hydra, mainly for field missions, collecting urine in a bag to empty out later when it didn't have access to standard toiletries, but sometimes for particularly elaborate recreational activities as well.

The sounding plug is different though, because Handler Rogers is different.

The plug itself is moderately sized, smooth, and from what the Asset knows of its own body just thick enough to efficiently stop the release of any fluids without stretching the urethra to much. Curved to be used with the cage, it reaches just an inch further than the tube itself when properly inserted and fitted together.

Handler Rogers holds the tube in one hand while he slowly inserts the tip of the lubricated plug into the tiny hole, wiggling carefully to catch the cock slit underneath. The tapered point sinks in half an inch and the Asset gasps.

Handler Rogers freezes. “You alright, Asset? We don't have to do this, you know? I could thread a condom on top to catch the drip instead. I just don't like seeing you in pain, okay? If it hurts we don't have to do this,” He coaxes like he's comforting a hurt child.

It does sting, just a bit, but the overwhelming sensation is an ecstasy the Asset has never experienced before. Handler Rogers is inside of the Asset, inside of it in a way unlike any other, Handler Rogers is inside of the Asset's cock. Not all the way though, and the Asset wants more, all of it, as far as he can go.

Not that the idea of gathering the emissions in a condom sounds bad. Having to work extra hard to earn the precome back, to use it as lubrication or succling it back like a closed system.

The trapped heat throbs violently at the sudden image of precome pouring out of the Asset into a glass through a hollow sound, like a bar tap. The Asset lying flat the terrace table, restrained and immobile, or hanging from a wall like an ornament while Handler Rogers milks it for its juices. Just a fluids dispenser, jealously guarded by Handler Rogers against his teammates, against Hydra.

Blinking away the greedy fantasy, the Asset looks back up at Handler Rogers.

“M-more...please, sir.”

For a moment something pained passes over Handler Rogers's face, there and gone again before the Asset can wonder where it came from. “When you ask so politely how can I refuse?” He smiles down at the Asset. “Okay, hang in there.” In the swimming vision he looks like a benevolent God, and that’s the Asset's last coherent thought before Handler Rogers starts pushing in the sound.

The tiny rod takes an eternity to glide inside, yet it's over in far too short of a time. The sound stops when there is still more room to fill, when the Asset could have taken more, but now at least Handler Rogers is inside the Asset, inside and outside, everywhere. He holds it down, holds it in place where it belongs. He's inside its ass and even its cock, where he belongs, filling it up, giving it meaning and purpose, its mouth is the only place left to fill. The Asset opens wide, blindly searching for a cock, a nipple, a finger, anything off Handler Rogers to suck on to make it complete.

There's a clicking of metal. The Asset gasps hoarsely, looks down at the shaking fingers that slowly turn the tiny protruding knob at the end of the shining cock cage. With a final snck the sound locks into place.

The Asset's entire body thrums with pleasure. It doesn't get to experience this kind of satisfaction except after Handler Rogers has come from fucked the Asset, when he holds it closest, pets it and praises until they both fall asleep.

“Th-there, how is that?” Handler Rogers sounds just as breathless as the Asset does as he strokes the Asset's face, leaving a small smear of clear lube and precome. The Asset leans into the wonderful touch, licking at what it can reach out of the corner of its mouth.

“Thank you, St-sir.” The Asset shakes its head, trying to clear the suddenly thickening cobwebs in its skull.

Handler Rogers blinks again, then he breaks out into the most beautiful smile the Asset has ever seen, the one the Asset hasn't seen in a long time, a single gleaming tear trickles down his cheek.

“You're welcome…Asset.”

------

Fill: Asset Management 9/?

[(Anonymous)]

AA here,

A bit shorter this time. I've been going through some stress lately.

Games are invented, apologies are thrown around, there are a lot of blinking and the Asset starts getting comfortable around another human being who isn't Handler Rogers.

Thank you for commenting! Nothing in this world compares to reading what you have to say!

------

Handler Rogers helps the Asset to get back on its knees with gentle hands. Small shivers of pleasure run all over the Asset's body when the movements jostle the cock cage and the new sound.

“Still okay, Asset?” Handler Rogers crouches next to it, placing a hand on its thigh. “You will tell me the moment the...sound starts to hurt. That's an order, Asset. Understood?”

Even though Handler Rogers's voice is blurred, as if halfway under water, the Asset still hears him and understands that it must answer him. “Yes, sir...Understood, sir.” the Asset leans against Handler Rogers's side without meaning to, but before it can right itself and apologize Handler Rogers pulls the Asset into another hug, rewarding it for answering him.

The cage throbs and pulses, an entirely new pressure starting to build up behind the cock plug, that too is now bound and restrained by Handler Rogers.

“Thank you...for in-indulging the Asset...sir. Sorry, sir.”

Handler Rogers shushes the Asset with a kiss to the temple and wonderful fingers combing through its hair. “Nothing to apologize for, Asset.”

Everything is soft and warm and safe. The Asset mumbles, “Mustn't be greedy. Bad...for...want-t... shouldn't ask for thi-...sir...”

“It's okay, Asset. You're not being greedy or bad. In fact, I think I liked hearing you ask me for something, so let's make that an exercise game. Hmm, what do you say?”

Handler Rogers's voice is like warm honey. The Asset squirms as the cage and sound throb extra hard; Handler Rogers always comes up with the best games, even if they can be a bit scary like the joking game. The Asset nods, murmurs “Yes please, sir.”

Handler Rogers rubs its taut belly in a wide, slow circular motion. “Okay then, the rules are simple.” All of Handler Rogers's games have easy to remember rules, if not always easy to follow. “First rule is that you don't have to start the game but you may do so anytime you think of something nice.” That's a good rule, Handler Rogers is helping to ease the Asset into it. “Then you ask for it just like you did just now.” That sounds both exciting and scary. Freedom of asking for things that can help the Asset serve Handler Rogers. “Then I decide if you can have it or not, but here is the important part.” The Asset blinks, listens in carefully. “There will be no punishment for asking. Not even if I don't like what you ask for, especially not if I don't like it. How does that sound?”

The Asset's pulse is beating loud, the possibilities Handler Rogers has presented are overwhelming. It almost seems too good to be true, but then again that's a pretty good description of everything about belonging to Handler Rogers. Except everything really is as good as it sounds. Now the Asset is allowed to ask for ways to serve Handler Rogers, it can just ask. If he doesn't like it, if it wouldn't be good service he will just tell the Asset so. “Yes please, sir!” The Asset says enthusiastically and burrows into Handler Rogers's chest, latching onto a nipple to succle.

Handler Rogers huffs a laugh and wraps the Asset in his arms a bit tighter.

“Permission to speak, sir?” the Asset mumbles around the nipple.

Handler Rogers tightens the hug just a tiny little bit more. “Yes, just like that...go on, permission granted.” It did good.

The Asset licks its lips. “Permission to...make a request, sir?” The Asset is starting to get the hang of this.

“...Yes, Asset. Permission granted,” Handler Rogers answers with a kiss to its head.

“May…” Does it actually dare to ask? To go through with the request if approved? “...may the Asset repay agent Wilson for ruining his drink, sir?”

Handler Rogers goes very still. The Asset does the same, realizing what the request might have sounded like. A very steady voice asks, ”What did you have in mind, Asset?”

“T-t-to make a drink for him, sir. No-nothing else like- sir!” It stops speaking before it gets itself in more trouble.

“Hush, it's alright...you belong to me. My Asset. Nobody else's. Only for me.” A very big and wide palm settles over the Asset's nape, over the collar, gently kneading the muscles underneath. The Asset is safe. “I think that sounds fair, but let's hear what Sam thinks first alright?”

The Asset nods, and Handler Rogers pulls out his phone, showing the Asset what he writes as he opens a text-chat with agent Wilson.

*Steve: Hey Sam, you still up top?*

Almost right away there's a reply.

*Sam: Yes, Bruce and Nat finished awhile ago. You okay?*

*Steve: Yea, sure. Everything’s fine. So I was thinking about coming back up and join you. You don't mind if I bring the Asset, right? Figured it could hold our drinks for us, to make up for the little accident earlier.*

The Asset's ears burn a bit, but the tiny wings in its belly buzz a little more fervent at the same time. How will the Asset hold the drinks without its hands? Handler Rogers must have some idea, or he wouldn't have claimed the Asset could.

Handler Rogers isn't the kind of handler who would restrain the Asset and then demand it provide an impossible physical service and then punish it for failing. Handler Rogers puts the Asset to good use.

Agent Wilson takes a minute and a half to answer with a very short, *Sure*

After giving it a glass of water, Handler Rogers takes his time to secure the Asset fully, muzzle and earplugs but not the leash. It can't even crawl with the armbinders, but carried under his arm like a big shoulder bag is alright anyway, it doesn't need the leash, can't possibly get away from Handler Rogers like this. That is good.

Soon they are up on the roof terrace again. As promised, agent Black Widow and Subject Hulk are nowhere in sight. The grassy area is once more clear, but Handler Rogers carries the Asset back to the pool, to where agent Wilson sits in one of two loungers.

Handler Rogers puts the Asset down in between the two seats. It keeps its head down but can sense agent Wilson watching it. Handler Rogers taps the Asset's right shoulder.

“I'll be over there getting us something to drink,” he says pointing towards the bar on the other side of the pool. “Sam won't touch you.”- He pauses to throw a pointed look at agent Wilson, who smiles reassuringly at the Asset and nods.

There doesn't seem to be any hint of subterfuge in agent Wilson's eyes, only a slight hesitation that the Asset attributes to fear. He must still remember when it almost killed him years ago, but the Asset can't see any desire to take revenge on it for that. An hour ago he even extended the very arm the Asset broke during that long ago attack.

He is safe this time. Agent Wilson won't come to harm from the Asset now that Handler Rogers has such tight control over it. Even if something happens Handler Rogers will easily be able to leap over the pool. Nothing bad will happen.

-”But you have permission to speak to him, though that's not an order that you have to.” The Asset turns from agent Wilson to Handler Rogers and back, then nods to the ground.

“Understood, sir.” Handler Rogers pats the Asset's head.

Handler Rogers steps away. The fuzziness fades a little.

After a few seconds the Asset looks up at agent Wilson who glances back at it, startling slightly when it says, “The Asset apologizes for ruining agent Wilson’s drink earlier, sir.”

Agent Wilson blinks. For a moment the Asset wonders if it spoke to low for him to hear, but he smiles similarly to Handler Rogers and shakes his head. With his hands agent Wilson signs, ’Apology accepted, no hard feelings.’

It's the Asset's turn to blink. It won't have to try and read his lips, it hadn't expected that kindness from him.

“The Asset apologizes for almost attacking agent Wilson earlier.”

The agent blinks several times, his mouth forming a silent 'oh’. Then he shakes his head and smiles again, signing 'It's okay, I surprised you.

The Asset frowns, it was the Asset's fault. It's trying to appease agent Wilson to not seek revenge later, but his frivolous attitude towards the incident confuses the Asset. He's supposed to demand greater signs of submission before accepting, not taking the blame. That's not how it's done. At least not with HYDRA.

'Besides, the drink was for you, you know.

The Asset blinks. It was? Thinking back the Asset puts it together, reconstructs the event. The drink agent Wilson presented earlier had a straw that was long and slim enough to easily slip inside one of the air vents in the muzzle.

As the thought settles in the Asset's mind, Handler Rogers says. “Here we go. Did you behave, Asset?”

The Asset looks up. Handler rogers is carrying a tray with three tall, pale yellow drinks with long thin straws. He looks expectantly at the Asset. It takes a quick peak at agent Wilson before nodding. “Yes, Sir. The Asset talked with agent Wilson, sir. The Asset apologized, agent Wilson accepted, sir.”

It's not sure how much it should speak for agent Wilson, but no one says anything against it, so the Asset continues. “Agent Wilson provided supplemental information regarding the previous incident. The Asset was not aware agent Wilson had clearance to dispense fluids.”

Handler Rogers sits down on the other lounger with a chuckle, putting the Asset between himself and agent Wilson. “Well, to be extra clear this time”- Handler Rogers holds up one glass and fits the straw through the muzzle. -”This drink is for you.”

The Asset takes a sip. Cold and sweet, freshly pressed pineapple juice. The drink is large enough to last the entire afternoon if properly rationed.

After two more mouthfuls handler Rogers puts the, still well over half full, glass on the deck in front of the Asset.

“Lean forward, Asset. Yes, just like that. You'll be our table for a while.”

The asset eagerly complies. Like this the straw sits right on front of its face, so it'll be able to take sips whenever it needs to without moving anywhere. The weight of the tray settles over the Asset's shoulders like a comforting blanket. The cage and sound throbs but that's not important.

“You will let me know if this position gets painful. That's an order. This isn't an endurance test. It's meant to be nice and comfortable, if it isn't you must let me know,” he says sternly.

What is important is that the Asset has its orders. It has a mission. It will complete that mission and please Handler Rogers.

“Yes, sir.” The Asset closes its eyes, hiding a smile behind the dark hair draped around its face.

------

Fill: Asset Management 10/?

[(Anonymous)]

AA here,

Hello. So sorry for taking so long. I had hoped to be able to get this part done before new year, but writer's block got me bad. Hope you like this anyway! I love hearing what you have to say, it really does help me get going with the writing. Thanks for all the comments!

------

Handler Rogers and agent Wilson talk for a while, but the Asset can only hear Handler Rogers's side of the conversation. It hears him say things like, “I'd love to. How's tomorrow at eight sound?...See you in the gym then.” Making the Asset wonder if they are talking about an actual sparring session or, if not, then maybe the Asset might be allowed to attend and watch Handler Rogers do some cardio.

Another image suddenly appears in the Asset's mind, this one of Handler Rogers with a sweat slicked T-shirt sticking to his powerful chest while bench pressing enough to actually strain his stamina, flushed face focused upwards on the Asset with a heated look in his eyes as it helps with spotting for him. Later on, in the showers, he would have the Asset sucking on his cock as the water flows over them both, guiding and commanding how he wants it with strong hands tangled in dark hair and a voice rough with pleasure, ”Fuck, yes. Just like that. Take it. So good for me. Don't stop. Mine, just mine.”

The Asset shudders, the solid steel between its legs biting down on another erection with cruel indifference. None of the wings of the locking plug are press on the Asset's prostate, but it wouldn't need much to rub against that bundle of nerves, just a bit of clenching and the Asset would be wracked with even more pleasure.

The Asset doesn't do anything, it still has a mission to fulfill after all. There is no time for greedy self pleasuring. Handler Rogers will tell it when he wants it to touch itself, when it can press inside its hole with metal fingers or rub its cock with a warm flesh hand. Handler Rogers likes to watch when the Asset takes care of that part of maintenance by itself, and it's always so much easier to find relief when he does.

The Asset lets the straw poke through the muzzle and takes another couple of sip of sweet pineapple, careful not to shake the precious load balancing on its shoulders, it would be very bad if anything fell off.

Handler Rogers's happy voice makes things go fuzzy and out of focus again. The Asset drifts away in the knowledge that it is safe and good.

A bit later Handler Rogers says, “No, it's alright. The Asset has been exceptionally well behaved so far today. I'm very proud of hi-...it,” and that sends another cascade of pleasure through the Asset's body, all of it pouring into its chest where it pools and sloshes in tandem with the heat already gathered in its belly.

Hearing Handler Rogers tell others how pleased he is with the Asset does something indescribable to its mind. Alien sensations swirl around it, like the sound of a newborn rainbow or the taste of moonlight, impossible things like that.

Handler Rogers is bragging about the Asset, bragging about owning such a useful and good thing. Of course, Handler Rogers has said as much before, but when he claims such things in front of a teammate the Asset can't help but let a small kernel of hope to form in its chest.

A hope that what Handler Rogers says might stay true forever even though it knows that's impossible. One day Handler Rogers will see how worthless and pathetic the Asset is, but until then it will serve him as well as it can. Cleaning away breakfast, putting on sunscreen, holding up drinks, even making Handler Rogers laugh and letting him find pleasure in its body.

The glass of pineapple juice is approaching half empty, but the Asset doesn't know how long it is expected to stay like this, there is no clock to judge time with so it has to guess by the displacement of shadows that not even an hour has passed.

The sunlight landing mostly on the back of Asset's head and thighs brings a different kind of warmth that seeps into every exposed poor, buzzing just under the skin. With the breathable material of the safety gear the Asset doesn't experience any skin irritation or perspiration where the black straps and cuffs cover it up. It's not worried about tan lines since neither the Asset or Handler Rogers can hold a tan for more than a day before the pigmentation in their skin reverts.

“Status report, Asset,” Handler Rogers commands after a long silence.

Squaring its posture, it answers right away, “The Asset is unharmed and fully operational within the new standard safety parameters, sir. Only negligible stresses on knee joints and spine to report, sir.” The Asset can hold this position without strain for at least another hour before the ache in its back and legs starts to register as pain. It once held a flawless L-sitting formation on gymnastic rings for two hours without a break. Balancing a tray on its shoulders and bound arms is easy by comparison.

“What are your current orders? Be specific,” Handler Rogers inquires seriously, though he does not sound reproachful.

“To function as a stable surface for Handler Rogers and agent Wilson to rest a tray of their drinks on within easy reach.”

“Yes, good job, Asset,” Comes the praise. The Asset smiles a little bit wider. “What were the exact operational conditions of this task?” Handler Rogers asks with warm encouragement.

“To continue until the first signs of pain and then immediately report so to Handler Rogers for further orders, sir,” the Asset replies dutifully.

“Yes, exactly!” Handler Rogers sounds excited and pleased, making the Asset fill up with more warm fuzziness. It closes its eyes, sighs. It did good. “You've been a wonderful table for us so far. I'm very pleased.”

“Th-the Asset is grateful for any opportunity to serve Handler Rogers, sir.” Everything is soft and fluffy, the bright sunlight blooming out in the corners of the Asset's eyes. Handler Rogers's words mean everything.

The tray is lifted off the Asset's shoulders by Handler Rogers and placed on the deck on the other side of his chaise lounge. The Asset peers up at him, and seeing the wide smile on his face it smiles shyly back.

“I think now's a good time for a light snack, and Sam here needs to head off anyway so let's take a break.” The Asset looks over at agent Wilson who rises up with a wave and walks away. The Asset nods back, it doesn't believe the agent wants to hurt it. He seems to be a kind person like Handler Rogers, but the Asset knows that might just be a ruse to get it to let its guard down. However, Handler Rogers is a very smart and perceptive man, and he is also very good friends with agent Wilson so he can't possibly be that bad.

Not that it matters anyway, the Asset belongs to Handler Rogers and nobody else. He doesn't want anyone else to use or even touch the Asset. “We'll let your front get some sun on the green patch afterwards. With how good you rubbed me in before I won't have to worry about taking a nap on my favorite pillow, right?”

A bolt of pure want strikes the Asset in its belly, causing its heart to skip a beat and its cock to surge to attention, the cage to bob up and down with futile heat. Handler Rogers wants to use the Asset as a cushion on the soft grass! He will rest his head on its body!

Handler Rogers gives a faint chuckle. “‘Sounds that good, huh?” A hand cups the Asset's cheek around the muzzle. It leans into the contact and closes its eyes, greedy for the touch after going so long without.

“Yes, sir. The Asset is grateful for the chance to serve, sir,” it murmurs. Handler Rogers scratches behind its ear as a reward.

Handler Rogers picks up the Asset with the wide spinal strap again and carries it over to the bar where he gently lowers it to the ground by one of the bar stools.

The sensation of being lifted and held suspended securely in the air by the rigid frame has the Asset breathing heavily once Handler Rogers releases it. Distantly, the Asset marvels over the engineering of the arm binders. Distantly because most of the Asset's mind is occupied with sorting through the excited tingling in its gut, confused over the pleasurable anomaly. After a moment the Asset's stomach seems to calm down.

Rolling its shoulders with a sigh, the Asset unabashedly watches Handler Rogers sitting on the stool in front of it as he peels and dices an assortment of fruits and berries, stuffing the colorful food bits in a big blender along with some ice.

After a minute on the highest setting Handler Rogers pours up two jug and adds a generous scoop of soft ice cream from the bar fridge to each before sticking a straw in each and presenting one to the Asset with a happy, “Here, for you. Drink up!”

Sipping eagerly the Asset idly wonders if Handler Rogers will put the bowl down on the ground, but he doesn't. Handler Rogers holds the cold ceramic awkwardly steady for the Asset the entire meal, keeping his eyes on it throughout with a content expression as he sips his own cold treat.

The Asset slurps as fast as it can, barely paying attention to the rich blend of fruit and shipped ice. It wants to finish the sweet reward right away so Handler Rogers can rest his body against it on the grass area.

A stabbing pain blooms up in the Asset's head without warning. The Asset flinches back and lets out a whimper it can't hear. It shouldn't be so greedy. That's why it is punished, it must be. Bad Asset.

“Oh, hey, hey. Is your head hurting you, Asset? It's okay, it'll pass. Just slow down for a bit, breath,” Handler Rogers says.

After a moment the pain dulls somewhat. The Asset looks up with salty water in its eyes at Handler Rogers and says, “The Asset apologizes for being greedy, sir.”

Handler Rogers frowns confused, but not angry, never angry. “That wasn't a punishment, Asset. It happens to anyone when if they eat to much cold to fast. I...I'm, well, Clint once told me it's called brain freeze, so…”

The Asset glances at the cup of sweet fruity goodness. It did taste delicious, but the Asset is torn between taking it easy and having to wait to lay down on the grass, or endure the 'brain freeze’ again.

Handler Rogers gave the treat to the Asset because he wanted it have it, so the Asset shouldn't squander it.

Mind made up, the Asset gives Handler Rogers a shy smile and takes the straw into its mouth again.

One sip, swallow, breathe. Two sips, swallow, breathe. One sip, again and again in a slow but steady pace. The Asset's tongue goes a bit numb after a while, but the pain doesn't return, and the mix of fruit and ice cream tastes delicious.

Eventually they both finish their snacks and Handler Rogers brings the Asset to the grassy area, where he lays it down on its back. The Asset can't help wiggle just a bit, the soft grass tickling over the bared skin. Handler Rogers looks down, grinning, and the Asset gazes back up at him with the same expression.

The Asset closes its eyes once Handler Rogers is situated with his head once more resting on its stomach and relaxes secure in the knowledge that everything is alright in the world.

Fill: Asset Management 11/?

[(Anonymous)]

AA here,

It has been quite a while. Had to quit school, wasn't doing very good emotionally for me.

Had writer's block for a long time, but I'm back. I couldn't abandon this story, it's my baby.

Perhaps this next part has been influenced by my mental state but any way.

Let me say that I am so grateful for your comments, they really helped drag me out of my funk.

------

“Please, Sir please. The Asset begs to be punished! It is ready to comply! Please!” Bucky screams at the top of his lungs, the horrible sound of his voice carrying through the practically-hulk-proof isolation chamber's speaker system. Bucky's pale and harrowed face rendered in perfect clarity on the wall mounted monitor.

On a seemingly straightforward mission not three weeks ago, members of a hidden HYDRA cell managed to activate the Winter Soldier programming which Steve and the others had all thought purged from Bucky's mind.

Once everything was said and done, the HYDRA agents dead and the day saved, Steve had found out how wrong he'd been.

A few days after Bucky had pulled Steve out of the river under the falling Helicarrier he’d showed up, dressed in some scavenged clothes, on the doorstep of Stark Tower. Steve had coaxed him through the evacuated reception area up to his apartment, where Bucky had asked, “James Buchanan Barnes, that's… my name?”

“Yea, Buck,” Steve had whispered in reverence, wishing to touch him but holding back in fear of scaring him away. “How much do you…”

“Steve,” he said the name as if testing it out. “I… I don't remember everything… but it's me, it's Bucky. I'm back now,” Buck had promised, all doe eyes and wobbly lip.

Five days after Bucky had appeared out of nowhere Steve's resolve cracked and they fucked for the first time in over seventy years. Bucky had looked so beautiful, all shy and waiting on Steve to guide him through it again like they had before the fall.

A lie, a flighty fantasy. And Steve had swallowed it all, hook, line and sinker.

Now Steve realized that it had been the Asset looking for ways of pleasing its handler, and Steve felt like throwing up.

The other Avengers stood around Steve in silence as the video feed continued, promises of obedience and perfect service in the hope of forgiveness kept pouring out like a broken record. Bucky didn't even talk about himself like a person anymore, only the Asset, 'it’.

That made Steve's blood boil. Everyone responsible for Bucky's current state were either dead or beyond Steve's grasp. Except for one; himself. Because, really, if he hadn't let Bucky fall off that train seventy years ago then Bucky wouldn't have landed in the grip of HYDRA, Bucky wouldn't have been turned into this broken thing, he wouldn't have-

Steve wanted very much to go back down to the gym and punch a bag of sand, but if he did that he might never stop. Bucky -or what was left of him- needed Steve to be here, needed Steve to go through with this.

JARVIS, along with every other doctor they trusted to have a look at Bucky’s readings all told them the same thing; Bucky was dying, inexplicable bodywide organ failure. It was a miracle he was still up and lucid, they all said.

No miracle, Steve knew. Zola’s experiment and Steve's bastardized serum was the only thing keeping the reaper from Bucky now. Everytime they tried to offer treatment or explain to Bucky that he was free, that he didn't need a handler, his condition just deteriorated.

“Before I go in,” Steve said. “I need you guys to promise me something.”

Everyone nodded.

“I need all of you to watch my back… for his sake. To keep vigilant of the signs. I want JARVIS to monitor us around the clock and report anything… suspicious. If I turn into someone else… If I go too deep and lose sight of why I'm doing this I want you to stop me by any means necessary… because I… I couldn't live with myself if I…”

Sam put a steady hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “We've got your back, man. You can lean on us, that's a promise.”

Tony gave Steve a nod. “JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir. Beginning to upgrade Captain Roger's quarters. Structural reinforcement should be completed in the next 72 hours. Installation of surveillance systems will be finished within in the hour, Sir.”

“Steve, anything else you'd like to add just tell JARVIS, no need to clear it with me. Now I'll be down in the lab, taking another crack on those encrypted files.” Tony gave Steve's other shoulder a pat as he passed, sharing a grimm look for just a moment.

Before Steve could reach the cell door, Nat cornered him. “You don't need me to tell you that your man, the man you know, won't come back. What these people do…” She looked away into the distance, blinked once and then turned back. “They break people and make something different with the pieces,” she said bluntly

Steve opened his mouth to say something but Nat continued before he could get anything out.

“I'm not telling you not to do this, I can see you need to. Just… watch out for yourself.”

Steve blinked, looked down at his feet. “I know,” was all he said.

The reinforced door slid open to reveal Bucky's ragged form kneeling bare on the floor, silent for once, in the middle of the room. As Steve took a wobbly step forward, he noticed the squishy, gymnastics mat like padding that covered every surface of the pale cell interior.

Bucky twitched at the soft sound of Steve's footstep but didn't look up from the space right in front of his own knees. Steve took another step, and another twitch followed; by the time Steve was standing in front of him, Bucky was actively shaking.

Steve took a breath, trying to think of something to say, everything he'd planned up until this point gone, but Bucky beat him to it. He looked up at Steve with bloodshot eyes and said with a sandpaper voice, “The Asset is ready for the next mission, sir. What is the target?” His skin was wax pale and clammy with perspiration.

“There is no target,” Steve said, keeping his voice perfectly controlled and free of all the emotions that wanted an out. “There’ll be no new missio-”

Bucky broke down sobbing, a horrendous sound tearing from his throat. “Please, s-sir. The Asset can still ser-ve! Allow it to show that it is s-still operational! Just one chance, please, sir!”

There comes a point where you know there will be no turning back. Where you can see your future laid out before you. Steve knew this was it, he also knew there had never been real choice for him. There never was when it came to Bucky. “You will continue to serve me… Asset.” the words tasted like ash in Steve's mouth but he kept going anyway because there was a light in Bucky's eyes now, hope, however warped. “But no more field work. No more targets.”

“No more combat missions?” Bucky asked breathlessly, slightly disbelieving, when Steve didn't say more. “The Asset is only for recreational use then?”

“Yes,” Steve said past the lump in my his throat.

“W-who’ll be authorized to utilize the Asset?” Bucky licked his lips nervously.

“No one!” Steve said sharper than he had intended. Bucky flinched. “Ah-I mean...no one... except me. Do you understand? You only… only serve me, no one else.”

There was more than hope in Bucky's eyes now, worship, delirious gratitude. It made something in Steve's guts twist up in knots.

Bucky gulped audibly. “Sir, may the Asset be of service to Handler Rogers right now now?” he asked, practically begged.

Here it came. “Yes… Asset. You may.”

Bucky wasted no time getting Steve out off his pants. He just pulled down the zipper and fished Steve's cock out into the open air. A bare breath later and he was choking on it, already halfway down to the root.

Steve groaned, hating himself for enjoying how that tight heat convulsed around him. Hating that he’d gotten half-hard from the mere sight of Bucky on his knees.

The blowjob was sloppy and uncoordinated. Driven more by Bucky’s desperation than any true desire, Steve knew. Not that it made a difference for Steve's traitorous cock; it was already hard as steel inside Bucky's throat.

The one-way mirror in the opposite wall showed his expression as the Asset brought him to orgasm, the face of Alexander Pierce moaned and shot down the Asset’s throat.

------

Handler Rogers came awake from his peaceful slumber with a shout. The Asset flinches as it gets ripped out off its own fuzzy haze.

It watches Handler Rogers dry-heave for a moment, pitched forward on his hands and knees over the soft grass just out of arm's reach, staring into nothing. It makes the Asset tremble in its bonds to see Handler Rogers so distressed.

The Asset wracks it's brain for something, anything, to help. Even if it isn't the Asset's place to do so.

“Sir!” It tries calling out. No response.

“Handler Rogers, sir. What’s your status?” Still nothing.

“Steve-” The Asset doesn’t get any further before Handled Rogers jolts violently, wide, unseeing eyes whipping to the Asset's face.

“Buck…?” Handler Rogers asks hoarsely, like he's still dreaming.

The Asset shrinks back like it has been slapped and looks away where it's safe, where it can't see how much Handler Rogers wants it to be him.

It's not him. It must not try to be him for Handler Rogers like it pretended to when it first came to Handler Rogers years ago because that ended badly. It hurt Handler Rogers horribly. And the Asset would die before it tried that again

The Asset knows it’s not a person, just a weapon, a tool, a toy. Made for use.

It must never again try to be one.

Just a toy, made for use, made for Handler Rogers even though it can't be what, who, Handler Rogers wishes it to be the most.

------

Fill: Asset Management 12/?

[(Anonymous)]

AA here,

Sorry for the wait, just, please know that reading your comments have helped me tremendously with writing this thing, as well as other everyday things that I find challenging at times. I hope this story brings you all just as much relief as you give me.

Sexytimes ahead! Last stop before the Trash Train de-rails down into The Ravine of Dirtybadwrong Porn.

Thank you so much for reading and commenting.

------

Being good for Handler Rogers is the only thing that matters.

“The Asset begs for forgiveness, sir. It will submit to Handler Rogers’s judgement,” it says, very careful not to break Rule Number One.

“No, no!” Handler Rogers calls, voice startlingly soft and broken. It turns back to those deep blue eyes that make up the Asset's entire world. “Come here, Asset. Let me hold you.” he reaches out towards it with a beckoning hand.

It tries to turn over onto its front to wiggle over to him. “Yes, good job. You did nothing wrong,” he assures as he gathers it up in his arms before it can squirm very far and sits it down in his lap.

They are both sticky and sun roasted with sweat, and Handler Rogers's chest is almost scorchingly hot against the Asset's right shoulder but still absolutely perfect. It tucks in under Handler Rogers's chin without thinking about it, and he just rubs the Asset's neck over the collar so it knows it's right where he wants it to be.

“It...it was just a bad dream-” Handler Rogers murmurs against the Asset's sweaty scalp.

So Handler Rogers had a nightmare about him again. It has been a while since the last time so the Asset almost forgot about it, forgot about him.

The Asset curls a little tighter as Handler Rogers goes on. “-But you helped snap me out of it. You did good…I know you're my Asset. I know…”

He trails off there, and the silence hangs heavy with sadness in the air. The Asset needs to do something to make Handler Rogers happy, like he was before he fell asleep and dreamt about him again.

It needs to be bold and surprise Handler Rogers somehow, he likes that. When a finger brushes over the muzzle-clasp at the back of the Asset's neck it gets an idea of what it could do.

“Permission to speak, sir?” The Asset asks.

“...Yes, permission granted,” Handler Rogers sighs in relief above it

“Permission to make a request, sir?”

“Permission granted, Asset. Good job,” he adds as his wonderful and strong hand kneads the back of its neck. Some of the warmth returns to its belly

“Sir, may-...may the Asset be of service to Handler Rogers right now?”

Handler Rogers's breath tickles the top of the Asset's head as he gasps and an unmistakable twitch in Handler Rogers's swimming shorts pokes the Asset in the hip.

“What…what did you have in mind, Asset?” Handler Rogers asks in a breathless and good way, the Asset hopes.

The Asset grinns behind the clear mask, turned away and hidden from view. “If Handler Rogers removed the Asset's muzzle he could use it's mouth…” Handler Rogers is silent for a moment “I-If it would please sir, of course,” it adds on to the end quickly.

Handler Rogers hums in consideration and scratches the Asset's scalp. He always likes it when the Asset tries to take the initiative.

“Please, sir? No one else is around. It's safe, correct?” The Asset pleads, suddenly not so sure anymore.

Handler Rogers huffs a warm laugh. “Yes, you're right. I gues it couldn't hurt with a little quickie.”

The Asset squirms, its cock makes itself known once more with a renewed throbbing ache in its tight metal prison.

Careful fingers unlatch the tiny mag-lock at the back of the Asset's neck and the muzzle falls off its face into Handler Rogers’s waiting hand.

The Asset works its jaw for a moment. “Sore?” Handler Rogers asks as he puts away the muzzle.

It shakes its head but throws a wary glance towards the elevator doors. “No, sir. Just warming up, sir.”

Handler Rogers hums fondly and tips the Asset's chin up with a finger to look it in the eyes.

Again Handler Rogers expression is soft and fragile and open like before, then he leans in and places a series of tiny little kisses on the Asset's cheeks, forehead, nose and chin.

The Asset shivers with the nearly overwhelming pleasure of the tender touch; Handler Rogers likes to show affection like this when he uses it. It's not necessary for the Asset, it would still serve him eagerly even without the kissing, but no matter how hard it tries, it can't deny how much it wants him to do it.

“Good job, Asset. You're being so good for me.” Those clever fingers comb through the Asset's hair, gently gripping and carding the long strands where the muzzle strap just sat, kneading some more at its scalp until the pleasure zing's down and up again all along its body. The Asset gasps and its hips twitch involuntary in a fruitless search for friction to its caged cock.

One of the hands disappears from the Asset's head and it gives a tiny whimper at the loss like an ungrateful dog, greedy for touch. The Asset barely notices where that hand trails off to though, distracted as it is from the sensations wracking its whole frame.

When Handler Rogers brushes its aching balls with a tender thumb the Asset practically howls.

“There we go, Asset...Just breathe...good job...How's that, any pain?” Handler Rogers asks, sounding distant and raw like his throat is full of gravel as the gracing thumb turns into the missing hand lovingly cupping the Asset's entire scrotum.

“N-no...pain t-to re-...report, sir...” The Asset moans from somewhere above the fuzzy clouds. If it was possible it would have ejaculated right then and there. But Handler Rogers hasn't given permission and even then it couldn't have with the cock cage on and sounding plug in. So the Asset simply rides that wave as it crashes impotently against the solid cliff-face of Handler Rogers's will.

The hand starts gently playing with the Asset's ballsack, rolling the orbs one at a time gently between his fingers. The Asset sobs at the sheer inconceivable ecstasy of it all, arching halfway out of Handler Rogers's lap chasing after that contact.

The hand still on the Asset's head, almost forgotten by this point, takes a steady grip on its hair and guides an ear to his lips with barely any force necessary. “Tonight, Asset-” He licks his lips, the hand starts massaging the back of the Asset's head. “-Tonight, I want you to plan what I'll do with this beautiful body. Something really nice, for you and me both, Asset. Think you can do that for me?”

Choking on air, the Asset can only nod, too breathless to answer verbally, water threatening to spill out of its eyes. This is unlike even the new request exercises. Handler Rogers is giving the Asset choice, a chance to use its extensive tactical experience to formulate a plan. A mission.

The Asset has a mission!

Primary Objective: Plan the night's recreational activities to ensure the most pleasurable experience possible for Handler Rogers.

No. Disregard that, for you and me both Handler Rogers had said.

Addendum to Primary Objective: Ensure the most pleasurable experience possible for Handler Rogers and the Asset. But prioritize Handler Rogers of course.

Angles of approach, calculation of utility and effort, necessary requisitions and a hundred other things whirling around the Asset's head all come to a stand still when it realizes that it is getting ahead of itself. It needs to service Handler Rogers first before it can start to plan for a privilege it's probably just going to fuck up and lose.

“May the Asset start to service Handler Rogers now?”

The small smile on Handler Rogers's face twitches and goes a bit crooked. “That's- yes...Yes, let's start.”

Handler Rogers sits it up so his legs spread and brackets the Asset. The hungry thing in its stomach does a double flip at the sight of the expectant erection tenting Handler Rogers's new swimming shorts like it did the old pair.

The Asset can't even drip pre-come to relieve the pressure anymore.

Its cock and ass are already plugged up, and very soon Handler Rogers will be inside its throat, he will fill it up completely and fully. Every hole stuffed to the breaking point; it will be perfect.

With hands trembling with excitement Handler Rogers pulls down the front of the light blue fabric to free his cock and let his balls hang over the elastic waistband.

The cock is just as beautiful as the rest of Handler Rogers. Long and thick, just a bit bigger than the Asset's own hard cock when not compressed within the solid steel shell of the cage. Like most things compared between the two of them.

With a sudden flash of heat to its face the Asset realizes it's actually drooling with how much it wants and needs to get Handler Rogers's cock down its throat.

“Permission to speak, sir?” It swallows down the excessive saliva with an audible gulp.

Handler Rogers breathes heavily, blue eyes intent on the Asset's. “Yes...Asset. Go ahead, permission...granted.”

“P-permission to make a request...sir?” It asks, doubting itself once more.

“Absolutely- I mean, yes, permission granted.” Handler Rogers says, sounding even more out of breath. His eyes flick involuntarily between the Asset's face and its pulsating cock cage that must be glowing red hot by now.

“Maybe...maybe sir could...hold the Asset? So that it doesn't overbalance and falls...maybe...sir…” It lowers its head, presenting the long strands of dark hair for Handler Rogers to get a good grip in.

“That's... that's a pretty good idea, Asset...Thank you for telling me,” Handler Rogers says, voice strangely wobbly in a way the Asset still can't identify but hopes mean something good.

The Asset shivers when Handler Rogers takes a perfectly painless but steady hold, tangling fingers in the sweat-slick locks at the back of its head. It wets its lips in anticipation.

Servicing Handler Rogers with its mouth is always a pleasant activity; he's never choked it to unconsciousness and makes sure to hold back just enough so the Asset doesn't throw up, because he doesn't enjoy causing it pain like that, unlike so many previous handlers.

Not to mention, Handler Rogers tastes delicious, better than ice cream on fruit-slushie, better that eggs and bacon on toast. The Asset can just barely recall a number of instances when it was restricted to a diet consisting solely of its handlers semen and other body fluids, so it could very well live off of Handler Rogers's cum if that's something he might want.

The scorching hot tip of Handler Rogers's cock touches the Asset's lips and everything else just fades away. There is only the Asset, Handler Rogers and his cock in a void so bright it's pitch black.

The hands holds the Asset just above the red mushroom head for a while, infinitely cruel. When they drop it an inch the Asset seals like a vacuum cleaner over the head, already gloriously wet with pre-come. Careful to cover its teeth it tries swirling the tongue and is rewarded with another inch as sweet moans emanating from the center of the universe urges it on.

Slowly but steadily the Asset works its way down, earning every fraction of an inch with faithful worship, tongue and lips working themselves raw, until Handler Rogers's cock hits the back of the Asset's throat and stops.

It knows what lies ahead, that deep sense of accomplishment, of true and proper service rendered to Handler Rogers, the fulfillment of its purpose, his touch at the center of the Asset's being. A feather’s weight dropped in that metaphorical scale towards salvation.

Only, it doesn't come. The hands holding the Asset's hair won't allow it to take any more.

Not even halfway there and Handler Rogers sees fit to deny it now, why? Has it displeased him somehow, failed him? The horror of that old freezing cold and burning electricity suddenly threaten to swallow the Asset whole like the yaws of a nightmarish beast.

The dread mounts for what seems like an eternity, the Asset's silent prayers for mercy going unheard within its head.

The hands, still so caringly gentle in their hold, starts to move the Asset back and it loses control, makes a desperate sound, a whimper that it can't hear for its own but knows Handler Rogers couldn't possibly miss.

Instead of punishment, the hands reverse without warning and pushes the Asset down, down, down with more than human strength.

There is an instant of pain as Handler Rogers breaches the Asset's throat, stretching the sensitive tissues there to just shy of the breaking point. It can't breath, airways plugged up just like the rest of it, filled up with cock and steel, and it's all Handler Rogers's. They are as one; handler and asset in perfect harmony.

With the Asset's nose crushed against Handler Rogers's pelvis, it gags around his cock, so deep inside, and Handler Rogers pulls it back up.

It gasps as fresh air cuts its windpipe like knives. “Thank y-” the Asset doesn't get any further before Handler Rogers plunges it down again just as fast. It doesn't try to say anything when he pulls it back a second time, just takes a quick breath and makes a gratefully helpless sound as he fucks its face, uses it for his own pleasure like the toy it is.

The most beautiful voice cries out in pleasure, and the Asset feels Handler Rogers's cum shoot down direction into its stomach with the impact of a shotgun blast.

It is one of the best feelings in the entire world.

------

Fill: Asset Management 13

[(Anonymous)]

AA here,

Thank you to all who commented and waited. This isn't allot, and it's not very well betaed, but I hope it will tide you all over for the new year.

I love reading your comments, they really drive me to write like nothing else. I hope to be able to write and post some more in the future. I'll try and move this to ty profile on AO3, and I will let you know when I do.

Again, thank you all so much. Hope you enjoy it.

------

The Asset teeters on the edge of unconsciousness, air supply dwindling quick, but it can't bring itself to care about that. The sensation of Handler Rogers's cum seeping through the Asset's guts, absorbing into its flesh, has it in a trance.

The gagging comes out of nowhere and the Asset's stomach roils. Handler Rogers pulls it off, his cock sliding slick and slimy out of the Asset's throat and mouth to leave a thin string of saliva connecting them, his hands remaining steady and gentle in its hair.

The string beads up and breaks off on the Asset's chin as it coughs, sore all the way down the abused channel of its throat. “Tha-...thank you, sir…The Asset is...grateful to...serve, sir,” it says in-between heavy lung-fulls and further coughing.

Handler Rogers remains quiet for a time, eyes shut, occupied with his own deep breathing, but he puts the Asset's head down on his thigh to relax his fingers.

After a minute the Asset finally dares to cast a glance up at Handler Rogers just in time to see the slow fading of the deep blush that runs across his face and down all the way below his collarbones to the top of his still heaving chest. The murky unease in the Asset's stomach clears when it sees the result of its service to him.

“Thank you, sir,” the Asset repeats with a murmur.

The hands still resting on the Asset's head starts scratching and playing with its hair. Handler Rogers releases a deep sated groaning sound and says, “So good. So, so good for me, my-my...Asset. You were perfect. Good job.” His eyes blinks sleepily down on the Asset.

It pleased Handler Rogers! It did good! Handler Rogers used the Asset and now he is happy! It did good! He-

Another wave of pleasure rises without warning out of the stormy sea that is the pool of heat in the Asset's stomach, cresting high up its neck, all other senses white out in the face of that tidal wave. And then- it just- rises- higher and higher until it's as if the pleasure is spilling over, like- like-

Like a clogged up sink in a rat-hole apartment in Brooklyn- cleaning the blood off of bony pale knuckles in that sink when it used to work and-

Wet cloth dabbed at a split lip, tears barely held back in bright blue eyes.

“It's okay to cry if it hurts, you know.”

A split second of thundercloud anger, “'m not crying!”

“Sure you're not, punk.”

“Idiot.”

------

For a fraction of a second the Asset doesn’t know where it is. It is held by strong arms against a broad chest, heavily restrained. They're in an enclosed space moving at a steady, uniform velocity, possibly a transport holding cell. But why is it being held?

The asset opens its eyes to bare skin just in front of its nose. Warm skin, sticky with something smelling vaguely floral...the sunscreen!

The last thing the Asset remembers is the overwhelming pleasure. It twitches experimentally and its nether regions respond with an oversensitive tingling, like everything below the hips and above the knees has fallen asleep, except the opposite. The Asset's crotch is thrumming with restless energy.

“You with me, Asset?” Handler Rogers asks and the Asset startles just a bit, it almost forgot that it was being carried.

“Yes, sir,” it answers, mouth pressed against his bare collarbone.

“Good job, Asset. You- ah...you went out on me a bit there- but that's okay! You didn't do anything bad. I just felt like we've had enough sun for today, okay,” Handler Rogers reassures.

The elevator they're in stops and the doors open before the Asset can think of a response beyond “yes, sir.”

Handler Rogers doesn't reposition the Asset to carry it by the convenient spine strap when he walks back into the apartment. He doesn't put the Asset down in the hall either. Handler Rogers brings the Asset back to the bathroom where he deposits it gingerly, the tiles warm under its knees.

“Right, let's get you out of your gear and cleaned up,” Handler Rogers says.

While Handler Rogers works to remove the safety gear the Asset can't help reflect over how quickly it got accustomed to the new armbinders and how it needed to be plugged up to stop from dripping pre-come from the cock cage. The sense of completion at being filled there, and the not-quite-orgasm sensation that rushed through it, was all thanks to the safety gear. The Asset realizes this as Handler Rogers unhooks the leg restraints, accidentally brushing its sore balls.

The Asset shivers and Handler Rogers raises an eyebrow. “Anything gone cold or numb?”

“No, sir. Nothing cold...or numb,” it responds dutifully. Because now that the Asset is paying attention it notices how hot its body still is, partly due to the sun but also just keyed up and eager for more.

The spine restraint comes off next and then the gloves, freeing the Asset’s arms, its fingers just a bit stiff and heated but not painful or clammy in the slightest; Mr Stark really does manufacture some of the best equipment the Asset has ever used.

But now that it is almost completely divested of the safety gear the Asset can't help but shivers at the thought of being bare and exposed again even though Handler Rogers is the only one who will see it.

The growing lump of cold in its throat is almost enough to distract the Asset from noticing when Handler Rogers slowly removes the urethral plug, but the sweet sting of relief makes it moan and arch its back as the buildup of pre-come drains out of its tormented cock through the hole in the cage onto the tiled floor in a sizable puddle.

The urge to bend over and lick the mess off the ground strikes hard but all Handler Rogers says is, “Oh, you were quite backed up weren't you? That's okay, this won't stain so we can leave it for later. Right now I want to get you out of the gear so I can wash you up good and clean again.”

As soon as the cage is taken off the Asset grows erect in an instant. Just the bare stirring of air against it enough to drive it to the edge but no further.

The locking plug is taken out as well and set aside to be disinfected later. Everything is taken off, including the sturdy collar.

It shocks the Asset all over again to see the wonderfully shiny words ‘PROPERTY OF STEVEN GRANT ROGERS’ chrome plated on to the collar. It wore those words outside. Agent Wilson and probably the others had seen it with the collar on, they had seen it and known that the Asset belonged to Handler Rogers.

“I’ll just drop these off to be cleaned,” Handler Rogers bundles up everything and turns to leave the bathroom. “Start a bubble bath while I'm gone and get in. I'll be back in a minute or two.”

Handler Rogers leaves the bathroom. The Asset has a mission.

The first thing it does is hit the switch that will block the drain, and then it turns up the crane to let hot water fill the big jacuzzi.

In the cabinet next to the sink it finds a few options for different scents. Bath-bomb packets for 'Citrus Orange’, ‘Sweet Strawberry’, ‘Sleepy Lavender’ and 'Mild Vanilla’ stare the Asset in the face like a challenge.

Four against one. Which one to engage first? Who poses the greatest threat? Handler Rogers has not shown any predominant preference for any of the options in the time the Asset has been in his care. Each compound has been used before at previous bathing activities that involved excessive amounts of perfumed cleaning products, but none of them stand out with any higher frequency of use.

Orange, pineapple and other exotic fruits; perhaps Handler Rogers has a reference for vitamin-C today? Has Handler Rogers neglected his diet recently? The Asset shakes the thought away. No. He hasn't, the Asset would know since he feeds it the same things he eats.

The sound of Handler Rogers' returning footsteps breaks the Asset out of its cluttering head. It should have picked a scent already! It should be in the water waiting for Handler Rogers!

The door handle to the bathroom turns and the Asset fumbles for all four packets at the same time, whips around and sends a vanilla Bath-bomb capsule flying out of its open container with the motion.

At the same time Handler Rogers steps in and the white little shape shatters on the floor right in front of him, showering his bare feet in tiny chemical soap pellets.

“Wha- Asset?” is all Handler Rogers has time to say before the tiles comes crashing up against the Asset's knees and forehead.

“Asset!” He calls out. But everything the Asset can think about is how it failed him. It failed Handler Rogers. It failed the mission. It was too slow. It threw something at its handler. It made a mess.

“Asset?” Handler Rogers’ voice suddenly goes very distressed. “Asset, respond!”

It realizes that Handler Rogers already called the Asset and it failed to respond. “The Asset is- will submit to Handler Rogers’ judgement, sir.” it manages to catch itself before it can get itself into even more trouble.

“I'm not-” Handler Rogers starts. “...Mission report, Asset.”

“Mission failure, sir.” The words are like ash in its mouth. “The Asset failed to present at the finish position and to add the soap within the allotted time frame, sir. It was unable to make a selection, sir.”

That is no excuse. There is no excuse. There never was with previous handlers.

Except. Handler Rogers isn't like the others. He is so kind to the Asset. He always forgives it, no matter what it does.

And really. The Asset was only trying to figure out which kind of bubbles Handler Rogers would like the most.

The Asset shivers. That is a dangerous  line of thought. It must never blame its handlers.

“Sir.” The Asset licks its lips and finally looks up at Handler Rogers. “The Asset was unable to make a selection because it did not know what Handler Rogers' preferences were.”

Handler Rogers is grinning, friendly and not at all dangerous. Handler Rogers could never be dangerous. He takes a step forward, ignoring the crunch under his feet, and then another until he right over the Asset. A hand gesture says c’mon up, and the Asset rises up on its knees. The hand rewards it with a soft stroke through the hair at the back of the neck.

The Asset doesn't need to hear Handler Rogers say it. It still gives a small sigh though when the “You're not going to be punished,” comes.

“You were just trying your best. And that's alright.” Handler Rogers pulls the Asset in to rest its cheek against his hip. “Let's get in the water. Just throw in bath-bomb, anyone of them will do.”