hydratrashmeme | Dumpster #2: ...'Cause a Hydra Trash Party don't stop

Dumpster #2: ...'Cause a Hydra Trash Party don't stop

Unholy hell-miracle achieved! Welcome to Bad Guys Do Bad Things To Your Faves 2: Electric Boogaloo. AKA the seamy sexual-violence-and-violent-sex underbelly of Captain America fandom, AKA the Hydra Trash Party kinkmeme. As usual, BLANKET NON-CON AND NSFW WARNINGS apply: just assume going in that everything in this landfill is unfit for human consumption.

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, and dark!good guys AUs are off-topic.

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Round 2 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 3.

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this story keeps getting better and better with each installation.

one thing i've started wondering about is like - how exactly does bucky see his relationship with steve? what's going through his head there? presumably he remembers their past relationship, knows who steve is, etc but - well, considering all the masks we've seen him don in such a short span of time, the misreading of sam's "expectations" of him and that power dynamic, the frantic attempts to hide the truth from steve, and his considerable success in convincing steve that he's okay despite the fact that he's obviously not - idk, i'm so curious about what their interactions are like, what's going through bucky's head, what's at the core of all this for him, and i actually really love that you've kept that under wraps from us and kept us guessing.

it seems like bucky is really clinging hard to steve being a safe space and that steve knowing certain details of his abuse would jeopardize that - but then again, bucky's sense of a safe space is incredibly distorted, all things considered.

anyway, i'm very excited to watch this all devolve into inevitable disaster!

(OP)

I really like this exploration of Sam's own trauma, and that you write him as relating to Bucky not just as a concerned outsider, but from the perspective of someone who has already walked the hard road of healing. He can use his own experiences to try to understand Bucky, even while not acknowledging that their trauma is very different. Also, one thing I kept thinking during this part was "Sam deserves better than this." SO MUCH STRESS FOR POOR SAM. It makes so much sense for Bucky to cut him out of the road trip, but I was still surprised, and then I was offended on Sam's behalf when Steve went along with it, even though that of course he would. He'd do anything to make Bucky more comfortable. But it's hard to see Steve getting irritated with Sam when STEVE IS WRONG. Anyway, I enjoyed Sam struggling to be as honest as possible with Steve about what he'd seen that Steve hadn't, while also not betraying Bucky's secrets. He was tense. Jumpy! Yes, he tried to jump your bones!

I wonder if Steve is gonna have to look more closely at Bucky's behavior now. He needs Bucky to be okay, but Sam has as good as told him that Bucky's revealed something to him that he hasn't to Steve, and that he's also shown a more wounded face to Sam. Steve can't possibly guess at the true depth of the damage Bucky's revealed, but he's still got to realize there's an unexplored thread here -- so what will win the day, his need for Bucky to be fine, or his instinct that he's missing something? Will he drop the thread or not? Or will he feel such an instinct at all?

By the way, oh my god, his "Bucky's not your average person" speech HURTS, because I'm just imagining Bucky's desperation not to let Steve know he's average after all; what a blow it would be to Bucky, to disillusion Steve about himself, and to wound Steve by being wounded, and to lose his safe space, all in one reveal. There are a lot of things that could be going on Bucky's headspace that give rise to his need for Steve to not find out: he's protecting Steve from trauma; he feels that if Steve believes the "normal Bucky Barnes" mask, then it'll be true; he feels that if Steve doesn't believe the mask, and sees what's underneath, he won't think so highly of Bucky anymore; Bucky thinks his purpose now is to be used, but he needs Steve not to know that, because if Steve wanted to use him too... etc. I think it's very effective that you leave us to speculate about what exactly is going on in his brain; there are a thousand possibilities, but ultimately we're just as lost as Sam is.

(OP)

Bless Sam for having a list of trauma counselors at hand, even though there is absolutely 0% chance of Bucky ever calling one. He may feel like a third wheel, but he's the third wheel on a tricycle; absolutely fuckin' necessary.

Sam is becoming an expert in reading between Bucky's lines -- "what do you want" is no longer such a simple statement; "what do you get out of it" = what the hell is in for this for you if I'm not getting you off? Even though he accidentally terrifies Bucky by suggesting a compromise -- which must have felt like the hammer coming down after how Bucky felt Sam had been fucking around with him, and Bucky must be EVEN MORE confused now -- by the end of this he's going to understand who Bucky currently is better than Steve, if that's not already true. But finally, I appreciate that they connect about wanting to protect Steve. I think there's hope here... but I am also looking forward to everything falling apart.

While I was waiting for you, I knitted us some wall hangings out of these shredded coffee filters.

You have narrowed in on my very favourite recovery trope - Bucky assuming Steve is a handler (the world's kindest handler, who he desperately wants to please but is also terrified by, because he doesn't understand him) and Steve slowly, horribly, realizing this and then trying to work within it to give Bucky some sense of stability. I love this miscommunication that stems out of very legitimate and fundamental differences in how they understand human interaction. I don't know a lot of actual card game rules, but I can picture Steve noticing the game is going incredibly slowly and wonders if Bucky forgot how to play but it takes a few rounds before he figures out Bucky is very carefully ensuring that he (Bucky) appears to be playing normally but never actually wins.

I think Bucky probably also assumes anything good has a time or amount limit, and since Steve has not informed him of what that limit is, that means it's Bucky's job to figure it out and not be "greedy". Like, say Steve shares his bed with Bucky (this might be in the early days, before Steve realizes exactly how fucked up Bucky is and how he might interpret any kind of intimacy, even completely non-sexual) and Bucky is a little wary of why he's being rewarded so extravagantly out of nowhere, but he is also really happy:

So they're under the covers and it's warm and safe and dark and quiet and Bucky can't believe his luck, but as the minutes drag on, and Steve doesn't do anything, doesn't grab at him, doesn't bark "All right, that's plenty, soldier" and kick him right onto the floor, Bucky starts getting nervous. When is he supposed to get out? Steve is atypically generous, but if Bucky overstays his welcome there's going to be trouble. And if he leaves too soon and appears ungrateful there's also going to be trouble, and he'll never get to lie here next to Steve in the dark and quiet again. So his tension is just ratcheting up and he's lying there frozen, counting time (he's very good at this, since on sniping missions the asset has no business taking his eyes off a target to look at a watch) until about 45 minutes when he just slithers out of the bed in one quick motion and is on the floor in the other room before Steve even knows what happened.

And then when Steve goes to check on him, worried he'd done something to make him leave, Bucky assumes this means he left too early and gets freaked out, and so Steve now thinks bedsharing is not a good idea and doesn't do it again for a long time (which just of course confirms Bucky's original fears about miscalculating).

Bucky gets inexplicably turned on by memories of HYDRA punishing him by forcing him to wet himself. He's in recovery and he's been sleeping with Steve, but he's too ashamed to tell anyone because he's worried that they'll think he enjoyed it.

Bucky is doing really well after coming in; he's healthy, happy enough, working on what it means to be a person. The only catch is that no matter how much time goes by, he never regains a scrap of memory. But Steve's learning to live with that, and everybody's doing okay.

Until they find and empty out another abandoned Hydra base, and it turns out that Bucky had been visiting that base, on a weekly basis, to use their chair. Because before he let Steve bring him in, he had recovered all his memory, and found he couldn't cope with all the torture, rape, and other indignities Hydra put him through. Because of comic book science, he can set the chair to only erase memories from before a certain point (like coming in from the cold), but the only way to keep the Hydra memories from resurfacing is to sacrifice his pre-Hydra memories along with them.

I've been checking this prompt for a fill I love the idea so much, and this fill is so great! I love it, I love your Sam and how much baggage he has and how hard he's trying. I love Steve finally getting something good and locking down on it too hard to see it for more complicated than it appears to be. I love Bucky flipping through personas to find one that works in every situation. I love this.

oh, hello there.

Oh god yes.

I don't think I've ever loved a prompt as much as I love this one.

I'm just imagining Bucky fulfilling his kink on his own and all the shame and internalized victim blaming for indulging himself and getting off at all. And them maybe somebody finding out by accident and bucky's fear of punishment and what they'll think of him etc.

HELP I LOVE IT SO MUCH

We've had a ton of amazing fills around the idea that Bucky wants to hide his sexual abuse, but as I was pondering my love for that scenario, I thought: what if it was the exact opposite?

So Bucky's in therapy, and he finds it really helpful, he's really improving. He's gotten to the point where he feels the strong need to start talking through the sexual parts of his experience with Hydra. Only to find that he literally cannot. Maybe, throughout the entirety of or at some early point during his captivity, sexual congress with the asset was strictly forbidden, and in order to save their own skin, someone who raped him conditioned him to never tell a soul. All these years later, that lesson is still sticking around.

I am here for lots of pain as Bucky tries to get help for what happened to him, either from therapists or his closest friends, without being able to say a word about it.

+ Maybe he can still talk about his feelings re: his sexual assaults, so he spills his heart out and hopes someone realizes he was raped

+ People do figure out he was raped, but because he's so terse whenever the subject is broached, they assume he doesn't want to talk about it

+ Painful awkwardness: Bucky resorting to things like drawings or, hell, even charades as he tries to explain what happened

+ Bucky not only needs to unburden the weight of the secret off his chest, he also has to untangle a lot of feelings and ideas, like shame, self-blame, and self-doubt, and he wants to work through these issues with someone he trusts... but this would be a fraught experience even if he could actually talk about it

Yes totally want this, this is something that's been running through my mind while thinking about these prompts.

anon, i see and appreciate your link, and raise you this one http://lazy-anus.tumblr.com/post/115800784936/happy-belated-easter-hope-u-folks-all-had-a-gr8#notes

YES

different anon, just poking my head in to say you're an amazing genius. I love that trope so, so, so, so, so much. the combo of Bucky being heartbreakingly grateful and thrilled and responsive just at being treated kindly, and the fear and fawning response. I LOVE both of your scenarios. this has to get written.

This was supposed to be a fill for http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/587.html?thread=66635#cmt66635 but it went waaay off the rails in terms of 'consensual fantasies'. But hey, if anyone else is interested in 'revenge fisting' as a prompt, I know I'd sure be interested in reading it.

Includes: torture, stoicism, a desk

Rumlow comes to in a dingy windowless room; an abandoned office, he thinks, or an unused storage space. There's not much of a view from the heavy executive desk he’s tied down on. He yanks at the cord holding his wrists to the desk's legs; there's no give and the desk barely shifts. On the heels of that realization is the knowledge that he's not wearing pants anymore, and his legs - just as tightly bound to the other side of the desk - are starting to ache from the strain of being held so far apart. He must've been out for a while. Behind him is a rustle of clothing and the occasional heavy footfall. He grits his teeth at the irritation of having lost a fight and getting dragged off like a sack of potatoes.

The air shifts behind him as his captor approaches the desk. Rumlow snorts in annoyance. “Real original, pal, but if you wanted any of the good stuff you should've gone for - ” His words are cut short by a vicious smack on his ass. In the short seconds after while he catches his breath, the hand - that was a hand, he thinks, not a plank of wood, what the hell - returns to grip his ass in a bruising hold, and he realizes just how fucked he is. That hand is very, very cold, and it shifts in small unsettling tics as it digs into the meat of his left asscheek. If the soldier went to the trouble of bringing him here alive, there's only one thing he could be looking for, and it's not weapons or intel. Still, he tries his best, as his heartrate rises and sweat prickles down his spine. “Gonna give me a taste of my own medicine? Didn't think you had it in you.” Turning his head to the side gets him a good view of his own shirt - the soldier is out of his line of sight. Might be better if he doesn’t have to look at the guy, anyways. “Y'know, it's always better when you share, and I don't see any of your friends hangin' around here. Managed to slip their leash as well?”

The only response is a cold metal digit pressing into his asshole, and he steadies his breathing. His awkward position leaves his head hanging over the edge of the desk, and his face is getting warm from that settling blood. This sort of thing stopped bothering him ages back; Hydra trains its agents to work under any conditions, and torture’s not even the worst. He’s personally sent the soldier into corridors thick with nerve gas with nothing more fancy than his muzzle. Rumlow grins at the memory of the soldier’s pained faces and groaning. “Hey, remember when we - ” The soldier backhands him so hard that something in his neck crackles, and says “Shut your face, Rumlow,” with curt irritation. Rumlow figures that shutting his face might save him some concussion damage. Good thing, too, because the finger in his ass is not making it easy to think straight.

The dry, unforgiving stretch keeps going until it can't go any further, and he grits his teeth against the burn. It starts to push and pull in a steady rhythm at his hole, making the burning worse and sending a sick jolt to his gut at the unnatural feel of it. The finger pulls out of him and another takes its place, longer and thinner and fucking cold again. Dammit, he thinks, that first one had almost been lukewarm, and now it’s gonna be the same process all over again. The finger prods at his insides and then crooks, pulling at the side of his hole. It doesn't get very far, and the burning spikes into a sharp prickling ache that he really doesn't want to think about. This time when it pulls out it hurts just as much as when it went in, and he feels a second fingertip work its way in next to the first, flexing lightly at his hole, trying to get it to fit around two unyielding goddamn spikes, which it won't, not without tearing. He is a little surprised when they stay where they are instead of reaming him out; does the soldier want him in one piece here? It shouldn't matter once he sticks his dick in. Rumlow knows he's got a decent-sized cock, but it's nothing he couldn't handle. Eventually the two fingers start to work their way in in increments, the metal banding a sharp catch every time an edge slides in. His ass is going to be chewed up like ground meat by the time the soldier gets this over with. As the fingers sink in to the second knuckle, he has to squash his pride down and start taking deep breaths. The pressure and burning has become a hot throbbing pain, the small cuts and tears a brighter agony against the background. He breathes through his nose and grinds his teeth together.

When the third finger comes into play he starts to get confused. He's seen the soldier's dick in a lot of different situations, and there's no way it should be taking him this long. Is this the point, then? He's going to get fingerfucked by the soldier until, what, the soldier gets off or gets bored and leaves him tied up in here, his ass sore and bleeding, for the rest of the team to stumble on later? What a waste. His eyes are starting to water from the pressure, which is reasonable considering the soldier never lets up. He's trying to remember if he's ever seen the soldier exhibit signs of 'imagination' when he realizes the renewed pressure is coming from the fact that the soldier is cramming four fingers up his ass, and the thumb is poking his abused rim like it wants in on the action. That’s nearly the entire hand, he thinks, the weight and displacement settling into his gut and making his stomach heave. Somehow it manages to get worse, and Rumlow's certain that he's being torn open on the fucking Fist of Hydra as the soldier gradually forces the width of his knuckles through the screaming agony that’s taken the place of Rumlow’s lower half. The metal hand slows as more of the palm and wrist slide in, and hot and cold chills wash over him as he registers the sick sensation of the soldier's hand flexing and adjusting inside him. There's no time for him to get his bearings before the goddamn hand curls in on itself, and the invasive stretch gets worse as it forms into a fist and shifts around to settle against his prostate.

Rumlow makes a dedicated attempt at controlling his stomach, but the pressure of the desktop is not helping. Every part of his body rebels at the feeling of the massive object twitching back and forth in his wrecked ass. His eyes are watering harder now, and he angles his face back toward the desktop in frustration. He’d give anything to kick, to spit, to drive his head back into the soldier’s stupid face and smash his nose to a pulp. The soldier grabs Rumlow’s hip with his free hand and pins him solidly against the edge of the desk. Without any leeway to flinch or shift around, all he can do is lie there and feel it as the fist pulls against the resistance of his swollen, stinging hole and then thrusts back in again. The soldier sets up a continuous slow rhythm, inward strokes grazing against his prostate to send a jolt of muted, uncomfortable sensation through his groin. Once he starts to get a handle on the pulling and squishing sensations in their constant, nauseating pace, he realizes with a sort of absent dismay that the friction on his prostate is not letting up. His dismay gives way to a creeping horror as he feels his dick begin to stir. The hell is this shit, he thinks in suppressed panic. Every muscle draws tight as he tries to hold himself rigid, as though holding himself in stillness might keep his traitorous dick from doing anything.

The soldier must have been doing that on purpose, because as soon as he notices that Rumlow’s tensed up he lengthens his slow strokes in and out, so that Rumlow can feel each knuckle dragging over and back in a neverending grind. He huffs against the surface of the desk, feeling his own breath washing over himself and making his face even hotter. There's sweat dripping off the end of his nose and skittering down his back and sides. His shirtfront must be sticking to the fucking desk by now. He feels his half-hard cock brush against the surface with every thrust and desperately tries to figure out how long it would take him to get off from this. That must be the point. The soldier might be several cards short of a deck but he'd always been task-oriented. It's still going to take way too long for Rumlow’s preference. He swallows down bile and tries not to groan.

When the soldier lets go of his hip he barely registers it in the midst of every other hideous sensation. He does take notice when something nudges up beneath his balls and starts to - he doesn't know what it's doing. Frankly, he doesn't want to. An audible electric hum sets his teeth on edge as his nerve endings crackle. The pleasure crawls through him from the center out, making his balls draw tight, until he's hard and pulsing and starting to drip precome all over himself. The head of his cock is rubbing constantly against the desk, the friction eased slightly by the come smeared everywhere. Rumlow curses every superior officer he's ever had for getting him to this specific time and place. He's going to get off on this, and he's going to chafe his dick raw on this shitty miserable piece of furniture, and he can't feel anything below his waist more specific than 'fiery inferno of misery'. His hips and knees have long since cramped into their current arrangement; he'll have to drag his sorry carcass out of here on his elbows, if he can manage to get free.

He's on the very edge of coming, unable to focus on anything but his rising gorge and the pressure in his balls and the relentless ache in his ass, when the thing on his balls presses into his taint and a vicious, biting shock rips through him. His body spasms hard enough that he wrenches his neck and something tears in his left shoulder. As his sparking vision clears he feels more come trickle down to his balls, still as hard as before but knocked back from the hair-trigger edge of orgasm. The churning in his ass is now an ugly, sucking pull. The bastard's going to turn me inside out, he thinks; it feels like all of his organs are getting dragged out through his asshole as the soldier pulls his arm free. He's been scraped raw and stinging by the shifting metal plates, and without that goddamn hand taking up space he is ragged and hollow. Wetness dribbles out of him and drips slowly onto the carpet. His own come and blood are trickling over his sack in a cooling, itchy mess. He wonders absently if he'll be able to stand wearing pants to get out of here, and then remembers with impotent fury that he doesn't even know where his pants are.

Behind him he can hear the soldier moving around. His hardon slides wetly against the desk as he tries to get his leg muscles working again. Dragging his face out of the pool of spit and sweat in front of him, he slurs out “Just like old times, huh? Taught you pretty good.” He wipes his face off as well as he can manage on his shoulder. “Tried that one out on Rogers yet? Bet he's a real - ” The soldier grabs the back of his head and slams his chin into the desk.

When Rumlow's head clears and he's spat out a few chips of tooth, he finds a quietly hissing handset next to his face. The soldier is no longer in the room. A strip of tape is holding down the call button so he’ll have to beg for help without any idea who’s on the other end of the line. He coughs to clear his throat and hopes it's on the right channel - or any channel at all, for that matter. His team would never report back from a mission without their commander. They’re capable agents; they know their place. As long as Westfahl's not the first one to show up, he thinks. Christ, anything but that.

...Charades?!

Wait. Did you just give us snarky and defiant... Rumlow? Well. Hello there, surprise boner.

...I could see this turning darkly funny quickly *puts finger through A-OK sign*

haha nope. I'm not crying. It's just raining on my face.

Bucky has become so conditioned and mindbroken by HYDRA's repeated rapes that he becomes physically addicted to being fucked, with all the shame and internalized self-loathing that comes with it. At this point Steve and him aren't lovers or they're not having sex, so first he tries to hide it from Steve and stave it off by fingering himself or using dildos and sex toys in private but it's not good enough without an actual person doing the penetrating. Eventually he snaps and forces himself onto Steve by riding him, and everything goes to hell.

Now Sam and Nat have to deal with twice the traumatized nonagenarian super soldiers since they've now also got Steve who has to deal with the trauma of being raped himself on top of the painful realization at the fucked up shit HYDRA put Bucky through. And of course Bucky's own issues are now worsened by his guilt over what he did to Steve.

Give me all the complicated leather bondage, whips, "training" accessories, and the asset decked out like Pierce's pretty little show pony (how 'good' he is at being a pony is up to you). Pierce uses the asset like a horse, then rides him hard and puts him away wet.

Bucky went out for a walk when the negotiations were over and didn't come back for three hours. He closed the door loudly enough for Steve to hear when he came back in, and then there wasn't another sign of his presence in the too-spacious apartment until Steve was headed to bed and stopped short in the hallway at the sight of Bucky's bedroom door standing open.

Steve hadn't seen the door to Bucky's room open since all of this started--Bucky's rules of careful propriety had meant that Bucky's bedroom was utterly off-limits to Steve. Bucky was sitting on the end of the bed, side-on to the door, tapping around on a tablet, but he looked up when Steve hesitated at the doorway.

"Hey," Steve said quietly, at a loss. Negotiating terms this afternoon had felt like a fight, the kind that was viciously restrained to words instead of blows. It had filled his head with the vivid sensations of Bucky being violent and cruel and above all angry.

But this was Bucky, his Bucky, here and now. He looked tired, and Steve wanted to fix it somehow, or just to sit with him and share it.

That, he thought, might be the worst thing about this whole plan: it forced him and Bucky to be on opposite sides, instead of sex being something they could do together.

"Hey," Bucky echoed quietly. "You want a kiss good night?"

Steve dredged up a smile. "Always, Buck."

Bucky nodded and set the tablet aside, rolling to his feet and walking over to the doorway. He braced his hands on the frame, standing exactly on the threshold, and Steve automatically put his hands behind him, tilting his head down toward Bucky's. There was a moment of hesitation--long enough, Steve thought, for both of them to be acutely aware of how useless the rules were now--and then Bucky pushed up to brush a light, dry kiss across Steve's mouth.

It hurt like a sucker punch, to have that much and no more from this Bucky, his Bucky, who--

"Sleep in here tonight," Bucky said quietly, settling back down onto his heels.

Steve's heart started beating fast--like they hadn't spent a night together already, like anything could happen--but he wanted it. Just to be close to Bucky, just to have whatever they could have. He nodded, and Bucky fell back a step, making space for him.

Steve followed him to bed, and when Bucky undressed Steve followed suit, leaving his underwear on to match Bucky's.

"JARVIS," Bucky said quietly, flipping the covers back. "Lights."

The room dropped abruptly into darkness, but Steve had no trouble finding his way into Bucky's bed, scooting across the width of it to find Bucky already reaching for him. Their legs tangled together, Bucky's left arm curling around Steve's shoulder to pull him closer. Steve let himself be guided in until they were lying face to face, hips still angled apart.

Steve closed his eyes and found his way to another light kiss, brushing his lips across Bucky's. Bucky sighed into it and kissed him back just as chastely.

Bucky pressed his forehead to Steve's, angling away from another kiss, and said, "Did you ever--did you ever think about what it'd be like if you got the guts to make a move on me?"

"Once or twice," Steve said. "Per day, since I was fifteen."

Bucky laughed a little, bitterly, and said, "Yeah. Yeah. I never imagined the other night, though."

"Well, Buck." Steve raised a hand to his cheek, brushing his thumb over the downturned corner of Bucky's mouth. "Life's got a funny way of surprising us."

"Yeah, but the hell with that," Bucky insisted. "It should've been--I wanted, I'll bet you wanted--"

Bucky kissed him again, metal arm tightening around Steve's shoulders as his lips parted against Steve's, his tongue slipping out tentatively.

"Yeah," Steve agreed, desire stirring as he slid his hand along Bucky's jaw to cradle the nape of his neck, pushing further into the kiss, licking cautiously at Bucky's open mouth. "Me too."

It would have been like this, when they were teenagers, or in some blackout hotel room in London or some tent in a dark sleeping camp. It should have been like this, their arms around each other, their mouths touching sweetly but with so much hunger, tasting each other, learning the shapes of each other. Not that frantic, apologetic yielding of the other night, but a mutual exploration.

Steve was hard before long, squirming a little because he didn't know if he should press in against Bucky or pull away. He let his hand slide down to the dip of Bucky's waist in silent question.

Bucky groaned against his mouth. "Yeah? Do you want..."

Steve caught his breath, taking his hand off Bucky completely to press against his own cock. "Anything, Buck, I don't even care, I just want you."

"You got me, Stevie," Bucky said against his mouth, pushing him onto his back.

Steve went where Bucky wanted him, letting Bucky shove Steve's hand aside to slip his own right hand into Steve's boxers, curling for the first time around his cock. Steve couldn't help shoving up into that grip. He'd imagined it so many times, wanted this for so long. Bucky bit down on Steve's lip and then licked gently over it, and Steve shoved his own boxers down to make room as Bucky started to stroke him, his chest still rocking down against Steve's as they kissed. Steve hooked one leg over Bucky's thigh to keep him from pulling away too far.

Bucky's hand worked over him steadily, quickly finding the way Steve liked to be touched, falling into just the right rhythm to make him arch and gasp.

"That's how you like it, right?" Bucky whispered. "Listened to you jerk off enough times, that's--"

Steve writhed, a thousand memories hitting him at once of jerking off knowing Bucky was close enough to hear if he was awake. Knowing Bucky had been listening, paying just as much attention to Steve as Steve ever had to Bucky the nights he heard those furtive movements--had remembered the same way Steve remembered.

He thrust hard into Bucky's fist, slinging one arm around Bucky's neck to hold him still for a rough, thorough kiss. Bucky jerked him through it, taking him right over the edge without hesitating. Steve came in pulses over Bucky's fingers, splattering both of them with come, and there was a moment of drifting perfect contentment.

Then Bucky settled down against him, shifting to one side as he did so he wasn't resting directly against Steve's cock, and Steve was aware of the cloth of Bucky's boxers against his hip. Bucky's cock was a soft weight behind them, resting heavy and motionless against Steve's body.

Steve twisted under him, getting his hand on Bucky's hip. "Can I..."

He didn't know what to ask for--he couldn't return the favor, but he still wanted his turn to touch.

"Yeah," Bucky said, almost laughing. "Sure, Stevie, give it your best shot. If you can--"

Bucky cut off when Steve shoved him onto his back and slipped his fingers into Bucky's boxers, tugging them down.

"I'm not taking a shot at anything," Steve said, although God, God, if he somehow could make it work for Bucky like this, if they didn't have to go through with tomorrow's plan... "I just want to touch you, all right? Tell me if you don't want that."

Bucky moved under him, pushing and kicking his boxers the rest of the way off and settling himself under Steve, spreading his legs to give Steve access. "All yours."

Steve braced on his left arm, kissing Bucky until his mouth lost that wry, resigned twist that Steve could hear better than he could see. He let his right hand rest on Bucky's hip, just stroking over the skin there, until he felt Bucky really relax under him, not just that deliberate self-exposure. When Bucky's mouth was easy under his, kissing him back just for the pleasure of kissing, Steve shifted his hand in, across the slight concavity between the jut of Bucky's hipbones, to curl around Bucky's cock.

It was just as soft as it had been all along, a limp weight in his hand like a sleeping body, unresisting. Bucky's breath went out of him at the touch in a long shuddering sigh. Steve lifted his head a little, keeping his hand still. "Okay?"

Bucky nodded, his hair shushing against the pillow. "Just weird. Like touching a scar."

"Huh," Steve said, considering how much more of Bucky's body he'd never seen or touched before tonight. He put his right hand back down on the bed, supporting his weight as he shifted down and to the side, pressing his mouth to Bucky's left shoulder. He got all metal on the first try, but he redirected until his tongue was on the seam between metal and flesh, and Bucky's breath was shaking out of him all over again. Steve closed his eyes and explored with his lips and tongue, finding every little radiating scar that trailed away from Bucky's shoulder, kissing and licking and nuzzling as he mapped this new terrain. Bucky squirmed under him, his breath speeding, but he never pushed Steve away, and when Steve curled his left hand around Bucky's cock--still just as soft--Bucky pushed into the touch unhesitatingly.

Steve explored Bucky's cock with his fingers while his mouth lingered on Bucky's scars. It was strange if he thought of this as sex--and more strange if he thought of this as not-sex, like he was holding Bucky's dick for him to piss. It felt more private than sex somehow, more naked; it felt like he'd peeled back Bucky's skin and reached inside, had his hand around some organ that wasn't ever supposed to be exposed. He couldn't stop working his fingers over it, learning the weight and shape in his hand, reaching down to cup his balls as he picked his head up enough to say, "Bucky?"

"Yeah," Bucky said, a little breathless. "Please, I don't know, just--"

Steve dropped one more kiss on the topmost scar on Bucky's shoulder and then shifted down to lie between his legs, licking gently at Bucky's cock, brushing his lips down the soft length of it. Tomorrow, if everything went according to plan--but tomorrow wasn't tonight, and this was something entirely different from whatever that would be.

Steve opened his mouth and took Bucky's cock inside, feeling the limp weight of it as something new all over again when it rested on his tongue. He sucked delicately, with a painfully tender awareness of the need to be gentle, and Bucky squirmed under him and slid a hand into his hair. Steve hesitated, but Bucky dug his fingers in without pushing Steve away. He gave another suck, swallowing around Bucky's cock, and then pulled off to lick and kiss the head until Bucky was moving restlessly under him and finally tugged up on his hair.

Steve obeyed immediately, crawling up Bucky's body to kiss him again; the forceful motion of Bucky's tongue in his mouth felt strange after the laxity of his cock, but it was all Bucky. All his.

Neither of them said a word as their kisses slowed, and they fell asleep with their mouths still brushing together, holding each other close.

god, sam is SUCH a douchebag FIXER in this like, like! sam! baby! stop trying to fix bucky! let him be broken and autonomous!

Oh my fucking god. I came when Steve did just from reading it. I am so hyped for the next installment, I plan on it smashing me to tiny pieces I can't even

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Dumpster #2: ...'Cause a Hydra Trash Party don't stop

Re: FILL: between scylla and charybdis [5b/?]

Re: FILL: between scylla and charybdis [5a/?]

Re: FILL: between scylla and charybdis [5b/?]

Re: Steve/Bucky, Steve tries to help Bucky deal with re-remembering trauma

Bucky has a pisskink

Bucky erases his own memory

Re: FILL: between scylla and charybdis [5b/?]

Re: Bucky has a pisskink

Re: Bucky has a pisskink

Bucky wants to talk about it, but can't

Re: The super-soldier has a super-sphincter

Re: Easter Hydra trash style

Re: Bucky wants to talk about it, but can't

Re: Steve/Bucky, Steve tries to help Bucky deal with re-remembering trauma

Bucky/anyone, revenge fisting

For old times' sake - Bucky/Rumlow, complete

Re: Bucky wants to talk about it, but can't

Re: For old times' sake - Bucky/Rumlow, complete

Re: Bucky wants to talk about it, but can't

Re: Windmills, Fill 9/? (aka Bucky's sense of tmi is faulty)

Bucky Rapes Steve; Double the Trauma

Ponyplay

FILL: Lamb and Martyr 6/?

Re: FILL: between scylla and charybdis [5b/?]

Re: FILL: Lamb and Martyr 6/?