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

[trashmod]

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.

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

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

Comments

FILL: Steve, medfet + objectification

[(Anonymous)]

When Steve regained consciousness, he took stock of his situation. Bag over his head. Check. Some sort of gag. Check. Restraints. Heavy-duty. Check. Naked as a jaybird. Unfortunately, check. He didn't expect the slow caress of a soft hand traveling up his thigh, the side of his hip and trailing up to his chest. The motion was repeated several times. "So beautiful. The perfect specimen." A woman's voice. Rich and accented. Italian? “Have you ever seen such perfection outside of the Louvre?” "Look at the definition here." Another voice, male. Bostonian. Fingers pressed into his side, not hard enough to hurt. "Latissimus dorsi, sculpted by the hand of God." "You mean by Stark and Erskine." Stark wouldn't have minded the comparison, Steve thought. What were these HYDRA mooks up to? A pinch on his nipple. "Vascular response, normal and efficient." Someone rolled the sensitive flesh between their fingers, the glove caught on tiny hairs. Cold tape on his chest, wires trailed off the electrodes, Steve felt them before they warmed to his skin temperature. "Respiration, cardiac response... Within normal limits." So far, they weren't hurting him, but Steve never really believed in luck. "Begin testing of specimen Alpha 2. Compare and contrast with Alpha 1's measurements." Who was Alpha 1? Steve wondered, Schmidt? “Testing. Recording. Full body scan.” A machine whirred and hummed, a tiny beep. “Completed. Subject has been analyzed.” That wasn’t so bad. “Blood sample.” Steve felt gloved hands upon his arm and the sting of a needle. He clenched his fist and heard the collective hiss of their surprised inhalations. “Subject is conscious. Sedatives metabolized.” The Italian. “Much faster than the other subject. Amazing. Truly spectacular.” “Well, he’s got the true serum, not the bargain basement version. Administer 200 cc.” Steve strained against his bonds, the table creaked beneath him and his restraints groaned, but the flood of sedatives made his head spin and his vision darken. His head flopped back against the steel. “Very good. Set up a drip. We don’t want any more surprises. Call in the rest of the team, we’re going to need more samples.” Those were the last words he heard before he lost consciousness again. Steve felt the cold steel of the table on his chest. They’d flipped him over in the minutes or the hours that he’d been out. There was something under his abdomen supporting his weight. His legs were spread apart and his ass was up in the air. This was bad. New voices murmured. He’d lost track of the Bostonian and the Italian. “Respiration increased. BPM increased. Subject is conscious again.” He tested his bonds again, this time there was no give. They’d reinforced his restraints. “Commence with prostatic fluid collection.” The fresh holy fuck what? “Look at that. Not a defect, not a flaw.” Steve wondered what they were looking at this time with such frank admiration. A cold slick finger circled his hole. He inhaled sharply and at that sound someone gripped his ass cheek firmly and pushed inside. Fingers rubbed at the nob of flesh inside him until he felt fluid leak from his penis, someone wiped the tip of it upon something slick and cold. “Prostatic fluid obtained. Slide prepped. Occult stool sample obtained. Card prepped.” A fiery burn as they forced a catheter up his penis. “Urine specimen collected. Clean catch protocol.” It was withdrawn with the same care with which it was inserted. Steve winced, a sharp inhalation. “May I assist with the next sample?” The Italian woman again, admiration thick in her voice. “Semen collection commencing.” Oh hell no, Steve thought. A slick gloved hand began massaging his dangling penis, rubbed and rolling the flesh. Steve bit down hard on the gag in his mouth and thrashed against the restraints. “Essere un bravo ragazzo. Lasciarsi andare bel ragazzo...” The Italian cooed, her voice oddly soft for a HYDRA mad scientist. “I require assistance. Yes, all of you.” More hands rested upon his naked skin, hot and greedy. He lost count of the fingers that touched him, kneaded his muscles. More voices murmuring in many languages, accents and genders. It was disorienting, confusing and more off-putting than the drugs that still flooded his system. He sweated, flushed and his penis reacted to the steady stimulation predictably. “Erection obtained. Size beyond normal parameters.” The Bostonian said with a sniff. “Larger than Alpha 1 in girth and length.” “Grande uomo.” Someone fondled his testicles, tugged on the sac of his scrotum. Another stroked his perineum and dipped wet gloved fingers into his anus, Steve gasped around the gag, air hissing in between his teeth. It was torture, it was wrong. It felt so good. Steve’s penis jumped in her hand. Was it still her hand? His orgasm left him trembling and vulnerable on the cold steel table. “Semen collection complete.” Someone patted him on the ass like a good obedient dog. The hands on his body withdrew one by one and left him feeling strangely lonely and abandoned. “Analysis complete. It’s a shame.” The Italian said. “Such a tragedy.” “What is?” The Bostonian asked. “That we have to dissect this perfection to get all our answers.” She made a tsk-tsk sound. “But we do what we must. Scalpel.” And a white hot searing fire trailed down his chest. “Skin sample. Acquired.”

Re: FILL: Steve, medfet + objectification

[(Anonymous)]

GOD DAMN IT. Can you delete this mess Trashmod?