Trash Party Dumpster #1

[trashmod]

(Will be continued in a Dumpster #2 post if by some unholy hell-miracle this post hits the 5000-comment limit.)

Filthy anon dumpster for sad hobos to fling moldy pizza crusts, raccoon eye makeup tips, and garbage about their sad trash kinks at each other.

AKA the Hydra Trash Party kinkmeme. One hundred percent Hydra Party Favor Bucky Barnes, Is It Sexy Violence Or Violent Sex?, and Bad Guys Do Bad Things To Your Faves: Winter Soldier Edition. BLANKET NON-CON/DUB-CON WARNING, not safe for work, not safe for life, not safe for anyone, read at your own risk of becoming one of us.

Rules in brief: don't be a jerk except to fictional characters, warnings for particularly fucked-up garbage are nice but not required, thou shalt not judge the trashiness of thy neighbor's kinks unless thy neighbor is trying to pass off their rotting banana peels and half-eaten pizza crusts as a healthy romantic dinner for two, off-topic comments may be chucked out of the dumpster at management's discretion, management's discretion decrees that omegaverse, soulbond AUs, D/s-verse, non-superpowered AUs, etc. are off-topic.

Organization: hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive maintained by greenkirtle. If you fill a prompt, drop a link at the fill post. Discussion threads now have a chatter post.

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GO TO TOWN, TRASHBABIES.

Unholy hell-miracle achieved! Round 1 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 2.

Comments

Hydra/Steve, sex pollen to make him enjoy it

[(Anonymous)]

Steve is captured, dosed with a superpowered aphrodisiac, and thrown into a cell with his own STRIKE team so they can beat the crap out of him. Whatever they've drugged him with is so strong that he keeps getting off just from being hit. The idea is to keep going until he begs them to fuck him, but Steve's a stubborn bastard who keeps control over his actions even when he can't control his body's responses, so eventually they lose patience and rape him anyway.

And then it turns into a drawn-out filthy gangbang--multiple guys on Steve at once, riding him while he's getting fucked or sucking him off and then spitting his own come in his face, using their weapons (knife/bloodplay, pistol-whipping, stun batons, object insertion), fucking and overstimulating him through repeated orgasms, starting off talking dirty about how tight his ass is and how they're gonna open him up until their come is dripping out of him, then by the end (thanks to the magic of sex pollen and super-healing as well as a whole lot of fucking) he's so stretched-out that they can fist him or force two cocks up his ass. They keep trying to make him beg for it and humiliate him for getting off, but he stays defiant until the bitter end and keeps struggling no matter how desperately his body craves the stimulation or how good it feels to get fucked.

Completely optional bonus: they bring the Winter Soldier into it and make him fuck Steve while Steve is gagged and can't appeal to him or say anything to stir up memories of being Bucky.

Re: Hydra/Steve, sex pollen to make him enjoy it

[(Anonymous)]

Seconded

Re: Hydra/Steve, sex pollen to make him enjoy it

[(Anonymous)]

I swear I've been trying to put together a prompt for this exact scenario. I'm so glad someone more articulate did it first. Even just the prompt is 100% amazing.

Re: Hydra/Steve, sex pollen to make him enjoy it

[(Anonymous)]

How did I miss this prompt?! Yesyesyes, please.

FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

Rumlow was starting to worry that the lab techs had fucked up the dosage. Which would be very bad news for him and his team, since at the moment a few hundred milligrams of mind-altering chemicals and a slightly sturdier pair of handcuffs were all that was keeping every single one of them from eating cell-block ceiling the way Rumlow'd eaten elevator ceiling earlier that day. The cuffs seemed to be holding so far, but Cap didn't look very altered. Just pissed off. Rumlow aimed a kick at his ribs and jerked away with a snarl of pain, because Captain fucking America had just lunged and sank his teeth into Rumlow's calf hard enough to draw blood. Incredible. A quadruple dose of this bizarre miracle drug that was supposed to reduce even the toughest men to pathetic, whimpering cocksluts didn't seem to have given Cap anything but a raging hard-on and a willingness to fight dirty. Either he really was the goddamn driven-snow unicorn whisperer some of his biographers wanted him to be, or the techs had fucked everything up by assuming the experiments they ran on their creepy pet assassin would have any application for a real-deal original brand super-soldier.

Rumlow rattled the bars of the cell to get the white-coats' attention. "Hey, get me another syringe in here! I don't think it's working."

There was a dry, hacking sound at his feet, and when he looked down he saw that it was Rogers laughing. "Think it's working just fine, thanks," he gasped, in a voice that could've been ragged from the effect of the drug or from the kicks that Higgins had just delivered to his kidneys.

"Not as fine as we'd like it to, Big Guy," said Rumlow, but he looked down at Rogers through narrowed eyes. The techs hadn't said anything about anybody resisting the mental effects of the drug for more than a minute after the physical symptoms showed up; then again, Rogers was exactly the sort of crazy, stubborn, superhuman sonofabitch who'd manage to do it anyway. And if the STRIKE team caused permanent damage with an overdose this soon in the game, Pierce would have his guts for garters.

Well, then, he'd have to check the progress of the physical symptoms, wouldn't he? Rumlow nudged at Rogers' crotch with the toe of his boot, still unable to make up his mind whether this whole exercise was fascinating or a riot or just a fucked-up distasteful mess. Rogers hissed at the touch and his whole body went rigid. Rumlow chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "You want some more of that, huh?"

"That does seem to be what this stuff does," said Rogers with evident disgust.

For a second there, Rumlow almost felt bad for him--they were both soldiers, they both had their heads screwed on straight about what this was, and like hell would he want to be in Cap's place right now. Then the lump on his head throbbed and he remembered waking up in that elevator feeling like all the hangovers of Christmas past had just walloped him upside the head at once. To hell with pity. If America's favorite übermensch was less adept at fending for himself against a handful of mere mortals this time, he'd just have to take what was coming to him. Rumlow drew his leg back and kicked Steve Rogers square in the balls.

There was a satisfying choked-off cry, and Rogers curled up in the closest he could get to the fetal position with his arms cuffed behind his back and half a dozen pairs of feet surrounding him. It took a few seconds for Rumlow to look closer and realize the other effect of the kick: a wet stain was spreading over the front of Rogers' khakis. For a split second he stupidly thought the man had pissed himself, but of course it wouldn't be anything so prosaic; the ominously-sterile, odorless air of the cell now had a faint but distinct whiff of jizz to it.

Behind him, Rollins started laughing. "You like that, you smug bastard? Want another one?"

"Nope," said Rogers, as matter-of-factly as he could when his face was bright red and he couldn't seem to drag his voice back to its normal pitch, "really not my idea of fun."

"Too bad," said Rollins, grabbing the obvious opening with relish, "cause it sure is ours," and he planted a dirty bootprint smack across Rogers' ass that made Rogers twitch and frown, presumably at his own reaction to it.

Then the others piled on him, kicking and punching and grabbing at handfuls of his hair, and Rumlow wasn't actually sure how many times Rogers came over the course of the next few minutes. All the groans and grunts were pretty indistinguishable at first, but Rumlow was willing to bet it was a good number--from what he'd gathered, watching Hydra's prized silent assassin descend into begging for cock in six languages, the first one kind of opened a floodgate.

Eventually he started to recognize Cap's hitching breath right before another one ripped out of him and the way he tried to choke back those groans but not the others. He counted out six, the last five from random blows all over the body and nowhere near the groin, before he shoved a couple of his men away so he could get right up in Rogers' face, yanking his head back savagely by the hair.

"Was there anything you wanted to ask us?" Rumlow growled.

Rogers screwed his eyes shut, caught in the throes of yet another orgasm, this one apparently set off by having his hair grabbed. When he could open them and focus again, his voice was hoarse but implausibly steady. "Yeah," he said. "What the hell is all this for?"

What the fuck. He was supposed to be begging by now. Instead he was doing his Captain America thing and looking all disapproving at them. This was ridiculous. Rumlow brought his face in close, close enough to bite Cap's lip if he wanted to, and hissed the version of the truth he hoped the bastard least wanted to hear: "Fun."

"That's it?" On closer inspection, Rogers' steadiness was more remniscient of a drunk guy trying really hard not to act drunk--wavering every once in a while only to snap back hyperfocused. Except instead of slurring or staggering, he kept slipping into abortive breathy moans or the stunted embryos of what might've been sex faces before returning full force to his scorn. "Seriously, that's it?"

It wasn't exactly the shattered hope Rumlow'd been expecting--in fact, Cap was all but rolling his eyes when he had the wherewithal to do so--but he still had room to twist the knife a little. "Yeah. What did you want, a grand plan you could thwart from the inside? An interrogation you could heroically resist? It's over, man. Pierce just thought it'd be entertaining to pass you around before we kill you so everyone can hear you beg for Hydra dick."

Rogers grimaced. "Don't hold your breath on that one."

"Might not be your choice to make, Cap." Fuck it, the psychological symptoms had to show up sooner or later, didn't they? If not at a particular point in time, then at least past a certain point of desperation. Rumlow looked up at his team. "Blackwell. Get his pants off."

FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

Rogers apparently took that as his cue to redouble his attempts to fight back. Blackwell only got as far as unzipping his fly before a headbutt to the face sent him staggering back, clutching his broken nose. Stern fared a little better--he lunged in from behind and managed to yank Rogers' pants and underwear down to his knees, but then he got too close, Rogers' arms jerked outwards, and Stern found his face pinned ignominiously to Rogers' bare ass by the handcuff chain around his neck.

For a few seconds there, it looked like Stern was about to get his neck broken. Then the physical contact did its work, and the entire room was treated to the sight of Captain America's perfect porn-star dick shooting off another load untouched. Snickers and scattered applause from around the room, and the star of the show went slack just long enough for Stern to wrench his arms away and break free.

The problem was, there shouldn't have been a few seconds there. He should still have been at the point where a light breeze would set him off instantly. Rumlow swore and grabbed the syringe the techs had set out just outside the bars when he asked for it. Fuck overdosing, Cap was metabolizing this shit so fast they should put him on an IV drip of it if they could get him to lie still long enough. Speaking of which--"Can't you dumbfucks find some better restraints?" he snapped at whichever technician was nearest. He didn't wait for an answer, just took the syringe back to the STRIKE team pile-on that Rogers was currently at the bottom of.

Rogers let out an honest-to-god, full-throated moan when Rumlow jabbed the needle into his outer thigh, and his cock twitched, but he didn't come again. Full-speed ahead to Phase Two, then, half an hour ahead of schedule. Just to make sure, Rumlow dug his fingers into the inside of Rogers' thigh, inches from his balls. Rogers shuddered and made a funny choked-off noise, but that was it. Yup. Hair-trigger frenzy over. From now on he'd need stimulation--and boy would he ever be desperate for it.

"Aw," said Rumlow, "I'm hurt, I thought you liked the pain. You sure there wasn't anything you wanted from us? Cigarette? Last meal? Cock up your ass?"

Rogers' breath hitched so loud everyone in the room heard it, but instead of caving, he visibly screwed up his resolve and spat on Rollins' boot. "You taking requests?" he panted. "Because I'd like my shield back."

Rollins snarled, pulled out his stun baton, and shocked Rogers in the gut.

"Okay, how about the key to these handcuffs?"

Another, longer shock, and Rogers was gasping and all but writhing on the floor now, but he started laughing the same dry, hacking laugh as before.

"Apple pie?" Rollins' boot connected with his face, and now Blackwell was getting in on the taser action. "Dodgers tickets?" Harris, whose foot was inches from Rogers' elbow, kicked him hard in the funny bone, but he just kept laughing. "Liberty and justice for all? Life in prison for every single one of you sadistic goose-stepping traitors? I could go on."

Fuck it, Rumlow thought, and forced a hand between his legs to grab him by the balls. Rogers' half-hysterical laughter subsided into a series of ragged, heavy gasps. His dick was so red and straining it hurt just to look at it. "You done?" Rumlow asked. "Ready to talk about what you really want? Because Christ, just look at you. We know you're desperate for it."

"Yeah," said Rogers through gritted teeth, and for just a second Rumlow thought they were getting somewhere. "Of course I am. Good job. Nice drugs. You think that's enough to make me beg you to rape me? I'd rather lie here like this until my dick rots off."

Oh, man, Rumlow was going to enjoy rubbing that one in his face once he cracked. Right now, though, his patience was wearing thin. "Ain't rape if you beg for it," he pointed out with a shrug. He jerked his head at Higgins, who already had his knife out, ready to add it to the reprisals if Rogers kept backtalking. "You. Just cut his clothes off already."

Higgins left a trail of bloody lines in his wake, not over-careful of how deep he cut. Rogers shuddered under every touch of the knife like it was the caress of a lover. When Higgins went to slice open the sleeves of the sweatshirt, though, he sprang back with a panicked cry. "Sir, he's--"

Rogers was already loose and staggering to his feet.

He punched Blackwell right in his already-broken nose with the hand that still had a pair of handcuffs dangling from the wrist. Then he followed up with an uppercut from the other fist, but not as hard, and with a grimace of pain--must've dislocated his fucking thumb to get out of the cuffs. Rollins and Stern, working together and with a running start, almost succeeded in slamming Rogers up against the wall, but Rogers pivoted and shook free of Stern's grip.

And then Rollins did the sensible thing and grabbed Rogers by the dick. The orgasm hit him like a freight train. He was bent almost double when Rumlow and the others grabbed him, two to each limb, and pinned him to the wall.

There was some kind of commotion going on on the other side of the bars. Rumlow figured it was just the techs panicking now that Rogers was loose, but then, from the doorway, an affable voice cut through the noise, leaving silence in its wake. "I heard you boys were having some trouble with restraints."

Rumlow froze. Oh man, they were fucked.

Alexander Pierce stood in the doorway, and behind him, a masked, menacing shadow, was the Winter Soldier.

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

you write SUCH an amazing steve!!! i really like this fill so far

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

Thanks! Hopefully it will continue to meet expectations as it goes on. :D

-a!a

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

yesssssssssssssss this is QUALITY

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

Thanks! Glad you like it.

-a!a

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

This is perfect. More glorious trash!

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

Thanks, and hooray for glorious trash!

-a!a

FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

There was a collective jerk as everyone on the STRIKE team instinctively tried to stand at attention and then remembered why that was a terrible idea and doubled down on Rogers. "Apologies, sir, we were just getting him back under control," said Rumlow, but Pierce wasn't even listening to him. He pulled up a chair from one of the lab stations and straddled it backwards, right on the other side of the bars. His posture stayed affectedly casual, arms crossed and resting on the back of the chair, but his eyes were more calculating than ever, and they never left Rogers.

"Captain," said Pierce. "You're a hard man to keep down."

Someone snickered, but if Cap caught the double entendre he didn't show it. He was staring Pierce down without the slightest trace of embarrassment for his nakedness, his raging erection, or the streaks of his own come dripping down his chest. "Were you expecting anything else?" he said, his jaw clenched.

Pierce actually smiled. "Oh, I'd heard the stories, but seeing the real thing in action is something else. You know," he said, and there was steel in his eyes even as he settled into the role of affectionate uncle about to share a story, "I was just going to have you killed. No mess, no fuss. Just a bullet to the head to get you out of the way. There were plenty of people back in the day who would've sold their souls to make you suffer for everything you did to Hydra, and back in the day I was always the first to tell them that's not how the game is played. It's about practicalities, not personal grudges."

Rogers let out a sardonic bark of laughter. "What changed your mind?"

"I've been having a really, really bad day." Pierce stood up, shoving the chair away, and clapped a hand on the Winter Soldier's shoulder. "No hard feelings about Zola, he was just R&D, but you almost cost me the best weapon Zola ever gave us. And you cost me Sitwell. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a good right-hand man these days?"

Rogers' eyes flicked over in Rumlow's direction, a bitter twist to his mouth. "Do I ever." Any other time, that would've been flattering, Cap getting all cut up over all the missions they ran together, but Rumlow's eyes were on Pierce, because Pierce's eyes were on the Winter Soldier. And okay, now Rumlow was starting to get an inkling of where Pierce was going with this.

Because the thing was, even the people who got to work with Hydra's legendary ghost assassin had no fucking clue where he came from. If anyone knew, it was so classified that the number of people with access to that information could probably be counted on one hand. Everyone else got to sit there playing guessing games about who he was, where his enhancements came from, and why certain parts of his brain seemed to be permanently on mute. And Rumlow was kind of a legend in his own right where the guessing games were concerned, because he'd first worked with the Soldier right after Cap got unfrozen, when the media was drowning in Howling Commandos nostalgia. He'd been the first one to put two and two together and point out that the Winter Soldier was the spitting goddamn image of Bucky Barnes.

Nobody had any clue how or why. He bled red like anyone else, so he probably wasn't some sort of freaky LMD android. Rumlow's money was on clones--some genetically-engineered experiment grown in a vat somewhere from Barnes' DNA. But that wasn't the point. The point was that siccing a Hydra doppelgänger of good ol' Bucky on Cap was the kind of bastard genius plan that only Pierce would come up with.

Pierce was taking something out of the Winter Soldier's hands. It looked like a sturdy metal bar, a few feet long, with four evenly-spaced cuffs attached to it and held shut with heavy padlocks; the key was dangling from a carabiner hooked to one of the cuffs. Pierce passed the whole contraption through the bars to Harris, who was closest. “So you understand that I have some frustration to let out,” he continued. “You've caused Hydra a lot of headaches, Captain, but not so many that I can't carve some time out of my schedule for stress relief before the helicarriers go up.” He unlocked the cell door and ushered the Winter Soldier inside with a hand on the small of his back; even with firsthand knowledge of the soldier's obedience, it was fucking creepy seeing anyone handle him that familiarly. “Forget your previous mission objective,” Pierce said to the Soldier. “Keep him secure while the STRIKE team gets him into the cuffs and await further—”

Rogers saw the open door and made a break for it. Must've been biding his time, because he shook the whole damn team off like a pack of toddlers and landed Rumlow a good one on the cheekbone with his injured fist on the way out. What happened next was too fast to see. One second Rogers was barrelling for the door, the next second there was a blur of flesh and chrome and black leather and a sickening crack as his head smacked back into the wall. When the dust settled, the Winter Soldier had Cap's hands pinned to the wall above his head with the metal arm. Calmly, deliberately, heedless of his captive's struggling and kicking, he reached up with his flesh arm and wrenched the dislocated thumb back into its socket.

Harris scrambled to get the cuffs open and in position. It took some doing, but with three guys holding Rogers' left leg in place and a fourth wrestling with the restraints, they got the outermost cuff around his ankle and padlocked. Getting his right ankle into the other outer cuff was easier—in fact, Rogers put up less of a fight the longer the Soldier kept him pinned to the wall, some combination of dizziness and arousal throwing him off his game. Bondage gear, smell of leather, half a dozen guys manhandling him, beautiful killing machine even stronger than he was holding him in place... not Rumlow's fetish, but he wasn't exactly surprised at the little keening noises Rogers was trying with all his might to hold back.

It wasn't immediately obvious how they were going to do the wrists. They settled for knocking Rogers flat on his ass and wrestling his torso forward until he was bent double, like making him touch his toes. The Winter Soldier, inexorable, held his arms down between his spread legs while Rumlow and Rollins locked his wrists into the inner cuffs. And there it was. They stood up, panting, and looked to Pierce for their next move.

Pierce shot them an unimpressed, expectant look and jerked his head up meaningfully. Rumlow caught on first, glancing from Rogers to Pierce and back again and thinking, Man, can't do much to him while he's sitting like that. He grinned and pulled up on the bar. In the end it took three guys to hoist it, but the results were well worth the effort: Steve Rogers flat on his back on the cell floor, arms and legs in the air, everything between his legs on full display.

Somebody on the team wolf whistled. “Nice ass.”

“Do anything we like with you now, Cap.”

“Look at that, his hole's twitching.”

“Feelin' empty?”

“Bet he'll be sweet as a girl inside.”

“Naw, tighter than a girl.”

Rogers struggled at first, but the Winter Soldier kept a good grip on the restraints to keep them in place, and eventually he went motionless except for his heavy breathing and an occasional slight twitch of his cock at some of the filthier catcalls. Rumlow strolled over to see what was happening on the other end. Rogers' face was blank, his eyes closed. Bracing himself for the inevitable. Rumlow leaned in and backhanded him across the face. “Last chance to ask nicely for what you want before we give it to you anyway.”

Somewhere in the middle of the crowd of guys palming themselves through their trousers, Stern's voice rang out. “Yeah, stick it in you nice and gentle if you beg for it.”

“Go ahead, keep quiet,” said Higgins. “I wanna ream your sanctimonious ass so hard you'll still be walking bowlegged when we shoot you.”

“If we don't just keep you alive as a fucktoy.”

Rumlow stared down at him. “Well?”

Rogers looked him straight in the eye and said, very clearly, “Fuck you.”

The retort to that was beyond obvious, so much so that it would've felt weak if Rumlow'd actually said it in the face of the pure hatred Rogers was glaring at him. It was the first time he'd ever heard anything saltier than 'damn' or 'hell' pass Cap's precious virgin lips, and it was also the first time he'd heard Cap swear directly at anyone. In other words, it was a compliment to be treasured forever. Rumlow smiled.

“We're not getting anything worthwhile out of his mouth, sir,” he said to Pierce. “Permission to proceed?”

“No, you're not getting any worthwhile talk out of his mouth. Have your men hold off a few more minutes while we arrange for something better.” Pierce turned to the Winter Soldier. “Gag him.”

Rumlow hadn't even seen the spider gag dangling from the Soldier's belt. Jesus fucking Christ, if he hadn't witnessed the Pet Assassin Maintenance Crew using that thing to do dental work on the Soldier himself without getting their hands bitten off, he'd have to ask himself if SHIELD had a kinky bondage dungeon hidden away somewhere. Then again, there'd always been something kinky about the pet assassin. Rumlow had no idea how deliberate it was, or who if anyone had been taking advantage of the freaky obedience training behind Pierce's back, but he'd always known it was there and kept his mouth shut about it, even before he got 'volunteered' to help test out the superpowered fuck-drugs on Hydra's knockoff super-soldier. Once you passed a certain point in the hierarchy, getting ordered to do shit like lead a gangbang on Captain America was a surprise but not a shock.

The Winter Soldier was kneeling on the floor forcing Rogers' mouth open with his metal hand. Rumlow helped hold his head up so the gag could be fastened in back, while Pierce himself held the restraints steady. Oh yeah, he wanted a nice up-close view of his handiwork.

Once the gag was in place and the ring of metal was holding Rogers' mouth open in a perfect 'O,' Pierce addressed his masked shadow again. “Fuck his mouth,” he said, the obscenity coming out as casually as if he'd just told the Soldier to take a seat and relax. “Be sure and get your dick nice and wet.”

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

This is seriously magnificent. I was so hoping someone would fill this one.

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

Glad you like it! I've had my eye on the prompt for a while and finally decided, fuck it, this horrible evil garbage filth isn't going to write itself.

FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 4/?

[(Anonymous)]

Rumlow wasn't sure what the point of the exercise was if Hydra's resident Bucky clone kept his mask on, but by now he knew better than to question Pierce's plans. The others were crowding around to watch now, but Rumlow'd been there first, and he had a front row seat as the Winter Soldier knelt over Cap's face and opened his fly. You had to hand it to Rogers, he took it like a champ. No undignified groaning or whimpering, he just started breathing hard through his nose and closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the cock being forced into his mouth. From time to time Rumlow saw his jaw working as he tried to see if he could dislodge the gag, but the gag was designed not to go anywhere, so there wasn't much risk of anyone coming out of this with bite marks all over his dick. Not that that mattered to someone like the Winter Soldier, who didn't mark and didn't scar and healed almost as fast as Rogers himself.

“Don't just leave it there,” said Pierce in annoyance, “fuck his throat. Make him gag on it.”

The Soldier obeyed, fucking Rogers' face in sharp little thrusts that made him choke and gasp. After the first time he choked, his eyes flew open, and if Rumlow thought the glare he'd been given was pure hatred, that was fluffy bunnies and rainbows next to the way Rogers looked at the man who was brutally and dispassionately raping his mouth for no other reason than that he'd been ordered to.

After a few minutes, Pierce asked, “If you come in his mouth now, will you be able to get it up again soon?”

The Winter Soldier nodded without hesitation.

“Do it. Not too deep. Get it on his tongue, make him taste it.”

And just like that, the Soldier came. The first spurts painted a broad white stripe over Rogers' tongue, which the rest of them could see as he pulled back, letting the rest of it hit Rogers' lower lip and the underside of his tongue while he frantically tried to swallow what was already in his mouth. His jaw was forced open too wide for him to do anything about the mess all over his tongue, so he just had to lie there waiting for it to drip back down towards his throat as he choked and swallowed as best he could. Rumlow wasn't sure whether to be sick or cream his pants.

The Soldier pulled back and stood up to await orders, his dick glistening with spit and come and not actually flagging all that much. Fuckin' super-soldiers.

It took a minute for Pierce to tear his eyes away from the sight of Cap glaring daggers as he choked down a mouthful of come. When he did look up at the Winter Soldier, though, his grin was so wide that Rumlow sensed the coup de théâtre approaching. “Good. Very good. Now you're going to get him ready to get fucked. Use your tongue. Get his asshole covered in spit.”

There was a collective indrawn breath from the handful of STRIKE team members who knew who the Winter Soldier was, or at least who he looked like. Harris, oblivious idiot that he was, let out a low whistle and said, “Now that's filthy.” The Soldier just inclined his head, as though to indicate the obvious barrier between him and the proper execution of his orders.

“That's right,” Pierce said, “you'll need your face uncovered.” Even Rogers looked up in curiosity at that. Pierce settled one hand on the mask and the other on the back of the Soldier's neck, and slowly, gently pulled the mask off.

There was a long moment of flat, wide-eyed shock from Cap. Then two syllables tore their way out of his throat, completely shapeless and unintelligible of course, but it wasn't hard to guess what they were supposed to be. Then he started thrashing with all his strength.

The Winter Soldier, completely indifferent to the cries of a struggling prisoner, grabbed the spreader bar to hold him still. Rumlow joined him. “I'll keep him under control,” he said. “You've got a job to do.”

He'd been half-wondering if the Soldier was going to refuse—sure, forcing your dick in a guy's mouth and fucking his throat weren't exactly normal assassin activities, but that was in a whole different league from getting down on your hands and knees and eating out his ass. But either someone really had been having some illicit fun with him, or the drugs they'd been testing on him destroyed any sense of sexual boundaries he had left, because he got right down there and went to town on Steve Rogers' ass.

The noise Rogers made was like a dying animal. He wasn't thrashing and struggling anymore so much as trying, inch by inch, to flinch away from what the Winter Soldier was doing to him. Which was made considerably more difficult by the way his hips kept jerking involuntarily towards the source of pleasure. Same thing with his face—he kept alternating between craning his neck forward to stare down in rapt horror at what Barnes (or the Barnes lookalike, or whatever the fuck he was) was doing between his legs, and throwing his head back, eyes squeezed shut, as tears leaked down his cheeks and cries of ecstasy spilled out of his mouth. The mouth that was still dripping with Barnes' come. What a beautiful fucking trainwreck.

“That's enough,” said Pierce, just as the Soldier did something with his tongue that made Rogers stiffen all over, bang his head once on the floor, and come with an awful sobbing wail. Nobody had even touched his cock, but apparently he'd been just that fucking desperate, and now there was another load of come glistening on his abs to match the one drying on his chest. The Soldier pulled away and sat back on his knees to await further orders, which came immediately: “Okay, now you can fuck him.”

Choked-off noise from Rogers, and then the Soldier, not one to waste time, grabbed him by the thighs for leverage and started pushing in. Even with a fuckload of aphrodisiacs and a thorough rimming, it was slow going—Rogers must've been tight as anything. Pierce, apparently entertaining similar thoughts, said, “Any of you gentlemen know if he's a virgin?”

Rumlow shrugged. “As far as I know.” Which was all you could say about someone like Cap, who was always politely evasive about locker-room talk—he'd join in on the harmless stuff, drop out if he disapproved, and turn into an amiable brick wall if his personal life was involved. He always gave the impression of someone who'd never had a serious partner and didn't go in for casual hookups, but what the fuck did any of them know? It's not like he was the type to kiss and tell on Peggy Carter. For all they knew he could've spent the whole war banging her or having a torrid gay love affair with Bucky Barnes or both. What a thought.

Rogers sure wasn't going to give them any answers. He'd stopped making any noise whatsoever and was just lying there taking it, eyes screwed shut and mouth stretched wide open, thrashing his head around whenever the Winter Soldier shoved himself deeper into his ass. Rumlow couldn't even tell if it was pain or pleasure. Finally Barnes-or-whatever-he-was withdrew until only the head of his dick was still inside, spat on his hand and rubbed it all over the shaft, and forced himself in to the hilt in one rough motion. That got a cry out of Rogers. After that he started rocking his hips, small motions at first and then actual thrusts as Rogers started to loosen up despite himself. It was hard to tell for a while, whether Rogers was really figuring out how to take cock or whether the Soldier was just getting more impatient about forcing his way past the resistance, but no, Rogers was getting into it and that was utterly destroying him. He kept bucking his hips up for more, freezing when he caught himself doing it, and groaning as his face—the top half of it anyway—crumpled up in disgust.

At one point Rumlow noticed that Rogers had his eyes open again and was staring wide-eyed at something—something off to the side that wasn't the Winter Soldier pumping in and out of his ass with an expression of total indifference on his face. He tried to follow Rogers' gaze but didn't see anything except the blank cell wall and, closer, the Soldier's right hand clamped around his thigh.

Suddenly, it clicked, and Rumlow almost let go of the spreader bar in shock at the implications. There was a jagged three-inch scar running along the side of the Winter Soldier's flesh hand. The Winter Soldier didn't fucking scar, so it probably dated back to before he'd been enhanced. And Steve Rogers was staring at that scar like he'd seen a ghost.

Well I'll be damned, thought Rumlow. No lookalikes or weird cloning shit—the Winter Soldier was literally Bucky Barnes. Never mind that there were a dozen reasons that was impossible. Bucky Barnes was alive and committing assassinations on command for Hydra, and whatever they'd done to turn him was so thorough that right now he was violating Captain America on command without the faintest glimmer of emotion or recognition. What a trip. Hail Hydra.

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 4/?

[(Anonymous)]

oh my god I'm in awe

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 4/?

[(Anonymous)]

a!a

*takes a bow*

*faceplants into a puddle of rancid deep-fry oil*

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 4/?

[(Anonymous)]

amazing

FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 5/?

[(Anonymous)]

Okay, maybe not without the faintest glimmer of recognition. What Rumlow had taken for indifference at first glance was more like mild puzzlement. Barnes still didn't look the least bit interested in what he was doing, but there was a furrow in his brow, and he kept glancing sidelong at Rogers and frowning, like a man trying to remember where he'd misplaced his car keys. At length he looked up at Pierce and spoke. “This man,” he said. “Who is he?”

Rogers gargled on another string of vowels, but Barnes wasn't looking at him. All his attention was on Pierce, whose posture had straightened suddenly but who was otherwise calm. “He's your target. And you're performing your mission just fine.”

“There was something I was supposed to know about him.”

“Not anymore.” Pierce stepped forward, one foot on either side of Rogers' head. “You don't have to worry about him.”

Steve Rogers apparently had a thing or two to say about that, and the outrage was intelligible even if the words weren't. But he shut up when Pierce, with a sigh and an audible cracking of joints, lowered himself to his knees straddling his prisoner's face.

“Sir...” one of the STRIKE team members said hesitantly.

Pierce waved off the concern. “When I said stress relief, did you think I wanted to do it without getting my hands dirty?” he said, unzipping his fly. “Some things are worth killing your knees for.” And he actually winked, looking not at all like a man about to revenge-fuck his worst enemy, except there was a faint curl to his lip as he looked down at Rogers that he would never have allowed on his public persona. Rumlow had spent enough time with his boss behind the scenes to recognize that look. For all his pleasant talk of practicalities, there was a side of Pierce that downright enjoyed getting his hands dirty. It was one of the things Rumlow liked about him.

Pierce rammed himself down Rogers' throat in a single, brutal thrust. He didn't bother moving more than that, just stayed buried to the hilt and let the choking, gagging convulsions of Rogers' throat do the rest of the work for him. In fact, as soon as he was situated he all but ignored Rogers and raised his eyes to where Barnes was still plugging away at his assigned task. Once all of Rogers' face besides his chin was covered by Pierce's body, Barnes seemed to lose interest; his gaze slid away and his frown dissolved back into blankness, though the furrow in his brow remained. Even that smoothed out as Pierce caught his eye and gave him a long, steady look. It was like watching a snake charmer at work: all distractions fell away, and the Winter Soldier had eyes only for Alexander Pierce.

Rumlow was starting to wonder if he should take bets on whether Rogers would pass out for lack of air before he got his gag reflex under control. When it happened, it happened so suddenly that he couldn't even tell at first which one it was: one second Rogers was spluttering and gagging around Pierce's cock, his throat working frantically, and the next second he went slack and silent. Rumlow didn't think it had been long enough to render a guy with Rogers' enhanced lung capacity unconscious, but he wasn't sure until Barnes shifted his angle, shoving Rogers' thighs down until his knees were practically pinned to his shoulders, and Rogers moaned so loud that a couple of the STRIKE team members jumped. Hah. He was awake all right, and deep-throating like a pro.

“Would you look at that,” Rumlow muttered. “You're a natural, buddy.” His voice sounded loud in the all-but-silent room. Even the guys who had no idea who the Winter Soldier was seemed to be taking their cues from the ones who did, or at least they were intimidated enough by Pierce and the Soldier to work out that this was a good time to shut their fucking mouths and save the trash talk for later. Higgins elbowed him in the ribs. Pierce didn't seem to care, though, because Rogers was moaning around his cock at every thrust now, and god only knew how long anyone could last like that.

Not very long, apparently. “When I give the word, you're going to jerk him off with your left hand until he comes,” he said to Barnes, who hadn't broken eye contact the entire time. “When he's done—and only when he's done—you can finish inside him.”

Barnes nodded, and it wasn't very long before Pierce said, “Now.”

Rogers' hips jerked when the metal hand closed around his cock. All it took was a couple strokes and there he was, spurting all over the Winter Soldier's state-of-the-art cybernetic fist. Must've been clenching that sweet ass pretty hard, too, because even the Soldier had to close his eyes and grit his teeth to hold out until Rogers was done. Pierce's lips parted as he drank in the sight. It was like a chain reaction: Rogers gave a final pulse and fell still, Barnes thrust roughly into him a few more times before ramming himself in deep and staying there, and Pierce waited for the whole show to draw to an end before closing his eyes and letting go. He shoved in as far as he could and held himself in place, so deep that Rumlow could've sworn he saw the head of his cock distending Rogers' throat, and when he tucked himself back in and buttoned up his fly there were two damp crescents of spit and come staining the fabric of his very expensive suit.

Pierce stood, and the Winter Soldier's eyes drifted right back to Rogers' face, which was screwed up like he was trying to get a foul taste out of his mouth. “Did I tell you to let him come on your hand?” Pierce said to the Soldier in disgust. “What a mess. We'll have to take you to the technicians. But for now, just get him to lick your fingers clean, that'll take care of the worst of it.”

Barnes was still kneeling there with his cock softening inside Rogers. He reached up to stick two fingers into Rogers' mouth, and at first Rogers refused to play ball, stubbornly keeping his tongue curled towards the back of his throat. But after a sharp poke made him open his eyes, he caught sight of Barnes staring at him with his brow furrowed and that bemused frown tugging at his lips, and like the sap he was, Rogers couldn't help but keep eye contact. He couldn't say anything, of course, but that didn't stop him from trying to impart fuck-knows-what with his eyes as he slowly licked his own come off Barnes' metal fingers. It was deeply weird, watching the two of them stare at each other like the rest of the world had stopped existing, and Rumlow was kind of relieved when Rogers swiped a final drop of jizz off Barnes' thumb with his tongue. Barnes still looked baffled when he pulled away.

As a final victory lap, once the Winter Soldier had stood up and retreated to the door, Pierce crouched down where he'd just been and slipped a finger inside Rogers, checking on his pet's handiwork. It came out coated in semen and, surprisingly, only one thin streak of blood. Pierce smiled as he wiped it off on the underside of Rogers' still-erect cock and stood up to join his shadow at the door. “Gentlemen,” he said, “it's been a pleasure, but duty calls. He's all yours now.”

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

So I found an image that is v. relevant to this fill's interests: http://stevebuckypornlookalikes.tumblr.com/post/72858975830

[guilty fapping intensifies]

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

*stares for much, much longer than can possibly be healthy* ...O lord, bury me in garbage for I am slain.

-author!anon

Re: Hydra/Steve, sex pollen to make him enjoy it

[(Anonymous)]

Author!anon here. My ideas for this fill are spiraling completely out of control, so I figure I'd better check in with the OP before I end up accidentally squicking you out with something that wasn't in the prompt.

1. What are OP's opinions on public use kink? As in, at some point Steve just gets left tied up somewhere for any passing Hydra goon to take advantage of. Hot? Meh? Squick?

2. So, uh, Pierce just sort of decided he wanted in on this and showed up even though he wasn't in the prompt. But if OP doesn't want to read about him getting in on the gangbang, he doesn't have to.

3. If a hypothetical rescue occurs while Steve is hypothetically still sex-pollened up, would dubcon with Sam or Natasha (of the "has to briefly join in to avoid blowing cover" or "offers Steve a helping hand because he's still frantically horny" varieties) be okay?

Re: Hydra/Steve, sex pollen to make him enjoy it

[(Anonymous)]

OP

First of all, omg I can't breeeeeathe thank you so much this fill is amazing so far. defiant!Steve forevarrrr.

1. DEFINITELY HOT. (Although this might be the time to mention that I have a hard squick about scat and watersports, since they frequently turn up in combination with that kink in porn.)

2. Eh, sure, why not? I won't say no to all the deliciously evil possibilities Pierce/Steve brings up.

3. ARE YOU SHITTING ME, HAS CHRISTMAS COME EARLY? HELL YES DO IT.

Re: Hydra/Steve, sex pollen to make him enjoy it

[(Anonymous)]

a!a

*salutes* Your wish is my command! Horrible public-use garbage and defiant Steve coming right up, as soon as Pierce is done using the Winter Soldier to be really really mean to Steve.