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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Rumlow is a Bad Guy, of that there's no doubt. But maybe on a whim, or because some inkling of pity flashes through his black heart, Rumlow shows a little mercy towards the Winter Soldier.

Maybe Rumlow lets him have a bite or two from his sandwich (the asset is definitely not supposed to eat food unless it's HYDRA scientist-approved). Maybe the asset falls asleep on an exhausting cross-country mission, and instead of waking him up (no sleeping on the mission), Rumlow lets him nap.

Little things that would otherwise be common courtesy as a human being, the soldier usually doesn't get the privilege of having. None of these small niceties from Rumlow escape the notice of the Winter Soldier though. And he's learned that receiving good things comes at a price.

Author!anon can choose how the winter soldier decides to repay Rumlow for all his mercy.

Bonus points if Rumlow, after realizing the winter soldier will always "pay" him back, then goes out of his way to do nice things to keep adding on to the "debt" the winter soldier owes him.

want

also want

An hour outside of Austin Brock notices the Soldier’s fallen asleep. He hasn’t moved an inch from the straight backed, wide legged stance he’s been sitting in for the past five hours but his eyes have slipped shut and his shoulders have curved down just a little looser. Jack notices a second after Brock and makes like he’s going to wake him, but Brock cuts him off with a sharp jerk of his chin.

“Leave him be. I can do with a precious few seconds where he isn’t boring a hole in the back of my head, can’t you?”

“This is unusual for him,” Jack says.

“Yeah, well, anything been usual about the past few days?” Brock replies. It had been the most grueling set of back to back missions Brock had ever been assigned and the longest he’d ever seen the Soldier out of cryo in the ten years since they’d first been introduced.

Jack’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror. Brock props open the files in his lap like he’s doing another read through but glances askance at his own side mirror. The Soldier’s got his mask on so Brock can’t see his expression, but his forehead’s relaxed and smooth, eyelashes downturned making dark feathery smudges across the very tops of his cheekbones.

He’s never seen the Soldier asleep before on missions but he’s also seen the Soldier’s body do a lot of weird shit, like spit out bullets and take tranqs that could down an elephant or a small blue whale.

“Doesn’t hurt to have an extra pair of eyes scoping out the place,” Jack grumps, but he seems ready to concede. His arm reaches out and he turns the radio on low to something classic and rock.

“You need an eye doctor? That’s what we’re here for, idiot. Forty years of experience between us.” Brock flips a sheet in the file to signal the end to the conversation and his willingness to engage.

It’s a blissful half hour of silence before the Soldier wakes. He doesn’t make a sound, but Brock can feel the air tighten around him in that way that signals he’s being watched by something deadly. He feels the urge to check his watch or fidget with the comm in his ear. There’s a short, tense moment before the Solider speaks in low, toneless Russian.

“Once more with feeling. And by that I mean English,” Brock says.

“You didn’t wake me,” the Soldier says. His voice always sounds smoother in English, shapeless without much inflection but melodic in a way that sounds natural even though the Russian always comes first.

“For the record I was against it,” Jack says.

Brock gives him a baleful stare.

“Thought you could do with some beauty rest,” Brock says easily with a wave of his hand. Jack’s eyeroll is nearly audible.

“Fine, whatever. That’ll teach me to be nice.” Brock snaps. “Weapons check. Then we’re mobilizing in ten.”

*

If it had been a bullet the tranq would’ve entered through the target’s neck and out the other side through his cheek. As it is the tiny needle tipped vial lodges firmly and discharges. Within a few seconds the target’s unconscious on the floor. George Sanchez. Ex-SHIELD tech. With enough intelligence that Pierce wanted him captured alive. Brock’s life was so much easier when they could just kill ‘em.

The target’s house is isolated and the surrounding terrain hilly, so Brock tells the Soldier to stay put at his lookout point while he and Jack sweep the rest of the building. Brock takes the upstairs. He’s in a room which must be the bedroom of a teenager, decked out in boyband posters and a vanity overspilling with makeup, when he hears a soft sound behind him. He spins around fast enough to nearly wipe out the Soldier, who’s inexplicably standing so close behind Brock that he easily reaches out a hand and grips Brock’s shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, I could have shot you,” Brock hisses. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Creepy, ghost walking, silent fuck. Fuck.

“I would have survived,” the Soldier says implacably. His grip doesn’t falter, that fucking metal arm as tight as a vise.

“Well that makes it okay. Take your hands off me,” Brock says. He tries to jerk his shoulder back but the Soldier doesn’t let him budge an inch. Christ. Brock’s seen him crush throats with nothing but the thumb and forefinger of his metal hand. They stare at each other. Brock feels a bead of sweat form at his temple.

“I have a debt to repay,” the Soldier says simply. What the fuck.

“Can you repay it later? We’ve got to clear this place in ten.” Brock tries to pry his shoulder loose again and for a second it feels like the Soldier is letting him, only he’s steering Brock backwards step by step and into the open closet.

“Soldier-”

“I want to thank you.”

The Soldier sweeps aside the bulging assortment of hanging clothes and pushes Brock into the space he’s made so Brock’s back hits the wall. He places his left hand flat against Brock’s chest to steady him then in one smooth movement sinks to his knees. The picture he makes is so incongruous with everything Brock knows about the Soldier, with anything Brock could have expected, that all Brock can do is gape and mentally rewind the events of the past 24 hours, grasping for an explanation even as the Soldier’s flesh hand moves to Brock’s crotch.

“I let you sleep in transport,” Brock says stupidly. He glances towards the open closet door. This isn’t happening. Except it is. He’s got the world’s deadliest assassin on his knees ready to, unmistakably, blow him. He should stop him. Say whatever it takes to break the programming. Pierce, that son of a bitch. But he makes the mistake of looking down again and his eyes catch at the Skorpion still strapped to the Soldier’s back, the Sauer at his left thigh. The picture warps in his brain with the sensation of the Soldier’s hand on him, the knowledge that he’s down on his knees, and that along with the hand kneading firmly at his crotch gets Brock harder faster than he’s ever been in his life.

“Shit.” Brock breathes. “Okay. Uh.” The Soldier looks up at him blankly as he squeezes Brock’s hardening dick through his trousers. Jack’s voice crackles over the comm.

“You done up there?”

Brock takes a deep breath, steadies his voice, makes a decision.

“Give me exactly five,” he spits out.

“Copy that,” Jack replies. The comm goes silent.

The Soldier presses his face into Brock’s crotch and mouths along the hard line of his dick. Fuck. What the fuck. It’s the hottest thing Brock’s ever seen in his life. He’s never had any doubt the Soldier could rip him in half in any fight, never had the urge to go up against him. He knew his place as commander was thanks to Pierce’s programming, a rigid structure in place long before Brock had ever heard of that secret division within SHIELD. To have even the illusion of that sort of power was pressing all of Brock’s buttons at once. Now he just had to be smart enough to know when and how to press back.

Brock takes a wild chance. He fists his hand in the Soldier’s long hair and pulls him off. The Soldier’s mouth hangs open invitingly. His pretty blue eyes are blank. Brock’s always known the Soldier was handsome but previously it had been filed away in the same place he stored the knowledge of how many pounds he’d seen the Soldier lift or what hand he favored in a gunfight. Now it was appreciative. And weird. The kid was hot. And his hands aren’t moving from where they’re gripping Brock’s thighs.

Brock’s throat feels dry. He steadies himself.

“You heard what I said.” Brock says. His heart’s pounding. “It isn’t a proper thank you if you don’t finish within the time limit.”

Brock’s pulse pounds with something between terror and complete arousal. The Soldier nods once and ducks down again. He’s got Brock out of his trousers like it’s an Olympic race, then past his lips and sliding down his throat so fast and smooth Brock loses it for a moment, feels like his brain is glitching and all the blood’s rushing south so fast he might faint. He punches back with his fist at the wall behind him, heedless that he’s probably leaving a dent.

“Ho-oly shit,” Brock gasps out. His brain skips and loops around what and how and then he’s lost in sensation as the Soldier pulls off slowly, mouth hot and wet and his lips sealed tight around Brock’s length before diving back in. It’s the tightest suck of Brock’s life, like a fucking vacuum around his dick. The Soldier’s mechanical but skilled and thorough. His left hand steadies Brock at his thigh, his right reaches into the opening of Brock’s trousers and massages at this balls. The Soldier pauses long enough to really get in there and mouth at the base of Brock’s dick. He licks at Brock’s sack with the broad flat of his tongue then honest to god sucks on them, fuckin nasty and dirty and completely thorough. Brock feels pleasure build so intense he thinks he might blow like this, but he’s gripped with the need to see how far he can take this, just when his luck will run out.

“Get your mouth back on me,” Brock says. He tightens his fingers in the Soldier’s hair again but the guidance seems unneeded. The Soldier takes him in his mouth and bobs his head back and forth in those long, hard sucks. Brock’s climax builds inexorably, feels like it's being drawn out from deep in his gut and he knows it’s going to be good, he’s mindless with it for a moment that feels endless before his dick jerks in the Soldier’s mouth and he comes in long pulses. He pulls the Soldier down and he moves easily, takes him even further so Brock’s coming down his throat, feeding it right into his belly.

They’re finished with 30 seconds left. The Soldier tucks him back in and zips him up. The fucker even checks Brock’s watch before pushing up smoothly to his feet and staring blankly at Brock as he catches his breath. An expression flickers like a cloud passing in front of the sun in those freaky robot eyes but Brock knows better. Or he used to. The Soldier existed like a dot on a map before this point, unbound by context. Now Brock can see the murky outline of past and future, can anticipate figuring out where the Soldier began and where he ends. It’s an uncomfortable thought, and useless. He brushes it aside.

“Get the fuck outta here,” Brock says finally. The Soldier snaps in a turn and leaves.

*

Brock’s on high alert throughout debrief but Pierce, if he knows any different, doesn’t show it. Brock doesn’t put it past him though. The director’s the kind of sneaky long-ranged bastard that doesn’t mind fitting the punishment years away from the crime. Inconsequential. Brock had accepted an unexpected, inevitable death years ago. If it was going to be over the most mindblowing blowjob he’d had since he’d first discovered his dick then so be it.

*

They wipe the Soldier and ice him. Brock isn’t around but he’s there a year and a half later when the Soldier’s brought back out again, dripping and shivering and blue around the edges. Brock knows he’ll be recognized as Commander but any other association or memory’s been long eliminated. The techs hose him down as Brock’s debriefed. He wonders idly what would happen if a stray wire hit all that wet, if the Soldier would light up with electricity and channel all that power or if he’d fry. Only to heal over and function once again.

They’ve got a standard tac team in place and it’s an easy mission. When they’re settled in the jet Brock reaches into his gear and pulls out a Snickers. The Soldier’s seated across from him in the narrow space. His eyes track Brock’s hand.

“Hey,” Brock says, “You hungry?”

*

oh my goooooooood

that last line gave me chills

:D! thank you <3

on ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4984918

this is... amazing. great rumlow voice. boy is he evil

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

mercy repaid

Re: mercy repaid

Re: mercy repaid

[fill] give and take - rumlow/WS [1/1]

Re: [fill] give and take - rumlow/WS [1/1]

Re: [fill] give and take - rumlow/WS [1/1]

Re: [fill] give and take - rumlow/WS [1/1]

Re: [fill] give and take - rumlow/WS [1/1]