hydratrashmeme | Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Holy shitballs, look at us go. Welcome to Captain America fandom's resident wretched hive of scum and villainy: ROUND THREE. AKA Bad Guys Do Dirtybadwrong Things To Your Faves, 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] [Round 2] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by

greenkirtle)] [Round 3 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

Round 3 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 4.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

The only animal!!
This is the ao3 link http://archiveofourown.org/works/4743752/chapters/10842782
If someone have the post from here, that would be nice :3

(Other Anon)
http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/1504.html?thread=2443232#cmt2443232

I happen to bookmark it :)

There's a fair amount of fic that has Bucky as the Winter Soldier raping
Steve - I'm interested in seeing the reverse (i.e Bucky is Captain America and Steve is the Winter Soldier - how this occurs is up to author anon), and how this interaction is different based on the fact that it's Bucky as Cap, not Steve.

The exact situation is up to the author - maybe WS!Steve appearing as the finale to a trash party where the agents have already wrecked Bucky, maybe WS!Steve sent to interrogate Bucky and used rape to get the info HYDRA needs, etc. etc.

+100 for blood - I want it to be violent, for Bucky to be injured/bleeding before and/or after
+1000 for WS!Steve fucking Bucky with a stun baton
+10000000 for fisting that results in forced orgasm

So this fic is pretty dark, but it's great and definitely RTYI I think, if you haven't seen it already:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/557753/chapters/995045

The author has written another great WS!Steve fic too - though I don't think it's trashy, it's more of a re-write of the movie

The question that immediately jumps to my mind is: okay, is this your standard canon divergence AU where Steve was the one who fell off the train?

Or is this a universe where Bucky!Cap happens for the same reason as in 616? (Civil War ends in Steve dying, for Marvel values of "dying," none of which should be construed as implying anything about Cap 3 one way or the other.) Bucky takes up the shield, shoulders the burden, tries to atone for his Winter Soldier past and be worthy of Steve's memory... and then OH WAIT.

(OP) I was thinking standard canon divergence (but I have a fondness for Bucky w/ the metal arm, so: Bucky falling from train but found by Americans, Steve going into the ice and being found by HYDRA/Russians).

HOWEVER. That second option sounds so much more delightfully brutal.

(OP) Goddamn, I can't believe I forgot about that fic; thanks for reminding me! (And yes: 100% relevant to my interests.)

omg thank you!!! *rushes over to AO3*

Speaking purely physically, Steve doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up. He doesn’t particularly want to know what happens if he can’t, though. He’s going to either lose his erection or come soon, and he doesn’t know which. He doesn’t know what the consequences will be, but he know he can’t let Bucky face them just because he’s failed at this.

He hates himself for feeling pleasure. The part of him that experiences this as sex, as an enjoyable stimulation, is fortunately small and contained, but he can’t deny the sensation exists. He tries not to think about it. It feels like he would be violating Bucky all over again to take any joy from what he’s doing here, even the inevitable physical pleasure. He does not allow himself to think of his other fantasies, of the million times he’s imagined Bucky underneath him, crying out in delight and love instead of terror and pain. He’ll never let himself think about that again. He’s done enough damage, as is obvious from Bucky’s reactions.

Bucky has stopped screaming, stopped fighting back. He’s lying still and silent underneath Steve, occasionally letting out a whimper of pain. Every so often, he’ll stammer out a “no,” or a “please,” but there’s no more talking, just drawn-out, desperate syllables, like he knows they’re hopeless, like he knows they’ve been made meaningless. Bucky’s terrible passivity frightens Steve. He wishes Bucky had been able to keep fighting him. Then at least he’d know that Bucky’s still in there, that he hasn’t reverted back to the same empty, terrified shell he was when Steve first found him.

He can’t calculate the emotional harm he’s doing, but the physical is obvious. Steve can feel Bucky’s body limp beneath him. What was a vice-like squeeze at first is now worryingly looser, and he can feel the wet warmth of blood as he thrusts. He’s able to loosen the grip of his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, at least. He no longer has to pin Bucky down, since he’s no longer fighting back.

Even without force, the position they’re in, that Steve has him in, is brutal. Because Bucky’s hands are tied behind his back, his face is ground helplessly into the ground with every thrust of Steve’s hips into his prone body. Steve wants to do something, but how can he hold him? There’s nothing to grab except his hair—which would only hurt him more—or the device around his neck—which could kill him instantly, for all Steve knows.

He has no choice but to let it happen, to let Bucky’s face be pushed brutally against the floor, to keep hurting his best friend even after all the fight has gone out of him, even after he is completely without any ability to resist. Even after he has been broken all over again, when he had just started healing from before.

Bucky is still whispering something. It’s too quiet for Steve to hear, but it sounds like he’s saying, “I’m sorry.”

As if Bucky somehow deserves this.

Interspersed with the almost inaudible words are louder sounds—not words, but noises, strained and broken cries of pain. It sounds like Bucky is choking on his own tears.

Steve doesn’t dare to say a word, but he can’t stop himself from crying too.

Thirty minutes.

It shouldn’t be so long. For Christ’s sake, it’s the length of an average sitcom. It’s how long it took him to make pasta for the two of them to have for dinner last night.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been. It feels like this—his, he has to make himself say it, his rape of Bucky—has gone on forever, has no beginning and no end. He has to believe it hasn’t been thirty minutes yet, though, has to believe that Natasha is coming to save both of them, to let them free from their neverending ordeal.

Steve can’t let himself think about what’s going to happen after this is over. That doesn’t matter, it can’t matter. He has to let himself concentrate on what he’s doing. He has to keep being rough enough to please the guards, or they’ll hurt Bucky again, but as gentle as he can. One wrong movement could cause Bucky more pain than he needs to. He can’t help having to do this, but if he goes even a little harder than they’re forcing him to, if he does one thing to hurt Bucky than what they’re forcing him to do, that’s all on Steve. That’s all Steve’s fault.

He’s concentrating completely on it, on maintaining an even pace, on the horrifyingly simple physical mechanics of raping his best friend, when suddenly, he hears the commander speak.

It’s in Russian, so he can’t exactly understand the words, but he thinks he knows what he’s saying, especially when they start to leave. He’s not sure if it’s a trick at first, and he’s too panicked to stop, but he looks up and sees the room empty. The last of the agents disappears out the window, and Steve freezes, ready to begin repairing the damage that he’s done.  
It’s over so quickly, as abruptly as it began.

They cut it close. He doesn’t even have time to register that it’s over when his door comes crashing off its hinges.

Natasha didn’t come alone. It was she that kicked down the door, but flanking her are Sam, wings and all, and Tony, already in his suit.

They stand there and stare, unmoving. Steve pulls away from Bucky’s prone and trembling form. He looks down at his own naked body, and, not for the first time, doesn’t recognize himself. This time, though, it’s not because he’s been transformed into something stronger. It’s because his thighs and stomach and the shamefully hard length of his cock are all stained red with Bucky’s blood.

“Steve?” Natasha says, her voice blank, and Steve realizes what she must be thinking. What she must think of him.

It doesn’t matter. He deserves it. “The thing around his neck,” Steve rasps. “HYDRA came, they put it there, they made him—can we take it off, is it safe—“

Natasha and Tony approach Bucky. He’s remained on the ground, unmoving, but as soon as they get close he starts to scream again. It takes a while for the words he’s saying to become clear, he’s so loud and hysterical, but once Steve recognizes them, he knows he’ll never forget them.

“I’ve learned my lesson, I promise, please don’t share me, please don’t let them hurt me too, if I have to be punished more please do it yourself, please don’t give me away—“

Steve slumps back, defeated.

Whatever they hoped to accomplish by forcing him to do this, they succeeded.

Bucky is broken all over again, and this time, Steve did it himself.

“You going to tell us what happened here?” Natasha says.

“What does it look like?” Steve responds, bitter.

“Well, it looks like you tied Bucky up and raped him, but that doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing. Also, I got a mystifying call about half an hour ago, so I’d like to know what’s up with that.”

“HYDRA,” Steve says. “They came. They made me…” He buries his head in his hands.

Tony is using Sam’s goggles to inspect the thing around Bucky’s neck from a distance that won’t terrify him into screaming again. “It’s safe to take this off. There’s no electronics in it at all. .”

Steve starts to laugh, hysterically.

“What?”

“They told me—they told me it would kill him. That they’d use that to kill him, if I didn’t—of course, they fooled me. I did this to him for nothing.”

Bucky is on the ground, still. When Sam tries to untie his hands, he starts to scream again.

“Steve?” Sam says. “I think maybe you’d better do it.”

Steve shakes his head. “I shouldn’t. I can’t. I can’t go anywhere near him. I just—“

“I know. Still, I think maybe he wants it to be you.”

And, true to Sam’s wisdom, Bucky goes limp as Steve approaches, falling silent. Steve is able to snap the chains around his hands, letting him free. Slowly, tentatively, Bucky turns to face him. He stares into Steve’s face, his eyes wide open as he blinks a few times. “Steve?” he says, his voice raspy from the long minutes of screaming and struggle. He doesn’t seem afraid anymore, just numb and distant. His expression is unreadable.

“I’m sorry, Buck. I’m so sorry. But it’s over now. It’s over.”

holy jesus motherfucking christ

(and after everything, Bucky will still only let Steve come near him. I can't. I CAN'T.)

Oh crap this hurts, love it

When Bucky woke up he didn't know where he was, but he could tell well before he opened his eyes that he wasn't gonna like it; he was lying on a very cold floor and his hands were cuffed behind him...which might have been superfluous, because the nagging itch of the metal arm's feedback was gone. They'd taken his arm, leaving him with the wasted flesh he'd lost to Schmidt's goddamn raygun.

Then it dawned on him that the floor was so cold because there was nothing between him and it. He was naked, naked as the day he was born.

Bucky's stomach heaved. He hadn't felt sick since the last of Zola's poison sweated out of his pores, but maybe that gas was related because now he felt like he was gonna puke.

"He's awake," said a voice—Rumlow, the traitorous fuck, not personal Bucky's bare ass—and a boot nudged him in the thigh. "Come on, Cap, rise and shine."

Bucky pried his eyes open and glared. The effect was probably spoiled a bit by the fact that it took him a few seconds to focus, but he gave it the old college try. Rumlow was grinning at him. The room was a cell, maybe twenty feet on a side, not quite crowded with Bucky and six members of STRIKE; one wall was bars, because of fucking course there were bars, and on the other side was a central clear space with other cells lining it.

Bucky opened his mouth but no words came out until he closed it again and worked up some spit. "Barnes, James," he croaked when he could. "Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven-oh-three-eight." Because fuck being a captain and fuck his SHIELD badge number, and fuck SHIELD for that matter.

"You got the wrong idea," Rumlow said cheerfully. "We're not planning to ask you anything."

Bucky's stomach flipped over. He lurched, trying to sit up, and Rumlow stepped out of range—quickly, but not looking like he was panicked about it. It turned out that Bucky's handcuffs were attached to a chain in the floor; he has just enough slack that he could sit up, but even with his hands in front of him he wouldn't have been able to stand straight. "If Pierce wants to know about Fury, this ain't the way to find out," Bucky said.

"Screw Fury," Rumlow said. "This isn't gonna be for information, Cap. This is just for fun."

Bucky must've been more out of it than he thought, because he hadn't heard a door opening, just the sound of Alexander Pierce's voice. "I'm not sure 'fun' is the word, commander. More like just desserts."

Bucky turned his head the little bit he needed to get a square look. Pierce stood on the other side of the bars, his hands casually in his pockets. The Winter Soldier stood at his shoulder at perfect parade rest, a hulking shadow in his black leather. His dark blond hair hung around his face and blue eyes stared over the muzzle-like mask. He wasn't watching Bucky.

Pierce was, a tiny smile playing around his lips. "I told you you'd regret it, Captain," he said affably.

Bucky looked him up and down, turned till he was looking straight ahead again, and repeated, "Barnes, James. Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven-oh-three-eight." Out of the corner of his eye, Pierce looked unmoved. The Winter Soldier's attention shifted, however, as if speaking had made Bucky worthy of notice.

"Well," Pierce said, "this should be entertaining to watch. Soldat: Protocol П. Don't kill him."

The Winter Soldier, it seemed, knew the code for the cell door. He advanced on Bucky in unhurried strides.

...thank you. thank you. for this.

[THE SADDEST WHALE NOISES]

I'm so here for this yesss.

oh but steve, it's not over. it's just beginning. ;)

Annalise Neman is proud to be heading up Project Vernal. At Captain America’s personal request, this task force was put together immediately after the failure of Project Insight. He vetted all of the candidates himself, and chose Annalise to head up a multinational team including experts from 15 leading intelligence organizations and over fifty countries. Their mission was simple: to locate Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, codename the Winter Soldier, long thought of as a deadly assassin but now understood to be the world’s longest-serving prisoner of war, and assure his safe return to his home country. After two years of dedicated searching, both by the Vernal team and by, it was widely rumored, no less a secret force than Captain America, the Falcon, and the Black Widow working around the clock, the teams had more or less given up ever finding Barnes. Then, just a few hours ago, reports came pouring in to the dedicated hotline that had been established: people had spotted Barnes, of all places, drinking hot chocolate at a café in Brazil. Annalise led her team to the spot, and, using reports of eyewitnesses, hefty bribes, and security footage, tracked Barnes back to the squalid apartment where she is currently staying.

She has been fully informed, and has likewise made her team aware, that nonviolence and calm must be their top priorities. Annalise was chosen for this mission in part because of her background in clinical psychology, as well as her whole-hearted belief that Barnes is an innocent man, a good man. That doesn’t, however, mean that after seventy years of unceasing mental and physical trauma, and given his enhanced physical form, he isn’t still dangerous.

She goes in alone, her team waiting just outside, ready for her orders. She finds the man, neither cowering or gearing up for a fight, but sitting on the lone chair in the dingy room, in a patch of sunlight that sneaks through the boards on the windows. He’s wearing a red hoodie and jeans, and sits with his palms upturned on his lap, as if to signify that he intends to look as harmless as he can.

“Hello,” she begins, a little unsure how to address a man who, despite two years of staring at his picture for most of her workday, she still first saw in a history textbook. “I’m Annalise Neman. I work for the United Nations. I’m here to help you.”

“I’m quite all right, thanks.”

That wasn’t the answer she was expecting. Annalise tries again. “Sergeant Barnes, we’re going to need you to come with us now.”

“Can’t do that for you, doll.” He smiles at her, and for a second looks just like the charming man in the photo she keeps in the over-stuffed folder of historical images of Barnes.

“You aren’t under arrest, and nothing bad will happen to you. You have my personal assurance of that. However, it’s our duty to make sure that the, ah, cybernetic enhancement is deactivated, and that there are no other lingering effects of your time with HYDRA. After the exam, of course, you’re free to return to private civilian life, with the gratitude of the governments of the world for your cooperation.”

His tone is still calm, though his words would seem angry in any other context. “So I’m free, and I’m not being arrested or controlled, as long as I do exactly what you tell me to? That makes sense.”

“We need a full medical exam. The US government would prefer you return to their soil, to be formally honorably discharged from duty and receive the awards you are due for your service, before taking your retirement, but I’m sure something can be arranged there. I have to insist, though, that you come back to the base with me for a simple exam. I’m asking only for an hour of your time.”

He doesn’t move. “I’m not much interested in medical exams, doctors, governments, awards, and/or bases, in any context, ma’am.”

“Sergeant Barnes, there’s simply no choice. You have to—“ She moves towards the door, ready to get Cliffords and Liu from their spots at the door to bring the Sergeant in whether he likes it or not.

“Do you wanna know the thanks I got? Last time a government wanted to give me an award, Miss Neman?” Barnes asks, and Annalise strongly suspects she isn’t going to like this very much. “It was a reward for having taken forty dicks from the team in a single night, without fighting back or even passing out. Since I was so good, I was allowed to rub against my handler’s boot ’til I came too. It was HYDRA, of course. Or, technically, SHIELD. If you’re wondering why I’m not so excited about secret government agencies and what they want from me. I’m sure you and your friends are not a secret Nazi organization with a size-large rape fetish, but I find one can never be too careful about these things, don’t you? Once was really enough in a career to make that mistake. I mean, you think you’re doing your duty, bringing peace and safety into the world, just like your commanding officer told you, and then you realize you’ve killed literally hundreds of innocent people and been raped so many times you actually can’t count ‘em all even when you try, and the fact is, ma’am, if you want me to leave this apartment with you, if you want me to willingly enter the custody of the SHIELD or the CIA or the UN or the International Yodeling Championships Nominating Committee or whoever the hell you are, you’re going to have to drag me out. I’m not going to fight you, but I sure as hell won’t walk willingly into another war, not if I live another hundred miserable years.”

Annalise’s clinical training definitely did not prepare her for this. She expected trauma, but the scale on which Barnes has been violated is outside of her experience, possibly because it’s completely unprecedented in the history of the world. Sexual abuse of a prisoner is hardly uncommon, but the fact that HYDRA seems to have made it a game is horrifying and completely beyond the scope of what she’s prepared to handle. The thought of further violating Barnes after everything he’s been through, of having her men come in here and force him to comply, is repulsive to her, even though she can hardly leave a genetically and cybernetically enhanced super-soldier wandering around this suburban town without even being sure that he doesn’t have a kill code implanted in his brain or a bomb in his arm.

“I’ll radio my medical team. They can come here and take a look at you, and then you can go about your day.” She presses a button on her comm to relay that to the team.

“Gosh, miss, I feel like such a buzzkill, but I gotta take a hard pass on the whole medical issue. You wanna know what usually happens when I see my medical team?”

Annalise emphatically does not want to know. She rather doubts the answer is ‘I am given evidence-based care in a compassionate manner.’ Still, if Barnes can live through what he’s describing, she can listen to it.

“I’m strapped down. Three straps for each of my legs, two for my human arm. My other arm gets deactivated, so I don’t have to worry about that, ‘cause I’m too weak to lift it if it’s powered down. They drug me so I won’t fight. They start by testing my pain reflexes. Head to toes. The first doctor I had liked to check how fast I could heal. He’d start on my skin. He’d flay me. Have you ever had someone peel off your skin on purpose, while you were tied down and helpless? You’d think it would be the pain that’s the worst, but it’s not. It’s the violation. I mean, when you’ve got nothing left, when you don’t remember your own name and your whole arm has been chopped off and you’re not allowed clothes on the base and anyone who wants to can just fuck you whenever, you wouldn’t think that you could still feel violated. But you’ve got yourself, right? I mean you’ve got your skin. When someone takes that away from you, when you don’t even have that physical barrier between your raw flesh and the world—“

“We can give you medication, for the anxiety, to help you through the exam.”

“So you’ll drug me before you start ripping me to pieces. I guess it’ll make sure I can’t fight back.”

“That’s not what I meant!” At the sound of her losing her temper, as she raises her voice in a shamefully unprofessional manner, Barnes shrinks back visibly in his chair. He’s a large man, and quite intimidatingly built, but at even moderate frustration in her tone he seems terrified. She takes a deep breath, reminding herself all he’s been through. “All right. Would you be willing to make a compromise?”

“What kind of compromise?” He eyes her suspiciously.

“You remain in the apartment. House arrest. I personally keep an eye on you. I call Captain Rogers, for an assessment of your mental state. He knows you best, so I believe he’ll be able to tell if your mind has been tampered with. I also call Mr. Stark, who does a scan of your arm to see if it’s dangerous. No one has to touch you, and you don’t have to leave this room unless you agree to. Does that work for you?”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at her. That stare could give a person nightmares, those huge, empty, endless eyes.

She knows her duty is to take Barnes in. She knows she ought to have her team drag him out if he won’t go willingly. That’s why Project Vernal was created in the first place.

But she doesn’t have it in her to drag this man, who for all his bluster is clearly terrified of her, against his will anywhere. She isn’t capable of making him think that his suffering is about to begin anew.

After a long hesitation, Barnes gives her a minute nod. She smiles at him. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

“You aren’t going to force me?” he asks.

“No. I do believe we have the power to, technically, but I won’t let it happen.”

“What if I change my mind? If I don’t want my arm scanned?”

“We find a new compromise.” Once she’s over the shock, it’s not so different than any other trauma case. He’s lost all his power (even his skin wasn’t his, good Lord she cannot think about that right now although it’ll haunt her nightmares), and he needs to have it given back to him. “You have my word. As long as I’m in charge here, no one does anything to you without your agreement.”

Tentatively, still suspiciously, he stands. “All right. If you say so, ma’am, you can go ahead and have ‘em take a look at me.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

“You can call me Bucky, if you’d like.”

I just binge-read this and wow. This is *the* Bucky/Tony fic I've been waiting for. I didn't know it but the second I read this I realized that this was everything I ever wanted. The mutual self-loathing ascends with every chapter and I also ascend. Everything is perfect and awful but the last chapter. Gosh you out-done yourself. I think my heart stopped for like the entirety of it. And that ending, fuck. I fucking hope Bucky hits Tony and Tony bleeds and then I hope Steve finds out about all this and they all cry a lot. Jesus. I need to take a break after this story and maybe to read it again a few times. Thank you so much for writing this.

I am really loving where this is going

(OP) THANK YOU BOTH SO MUCH!! *bookmarks instantly so I don't lose it again*

OP: This is so fucking good, I can't even say!!!
God, the trash-sharing, the fact that SHE'S the one who loses her cool... Hats off to you anon, you are a GIFT

I love this. international yodeling championships. he's perfect.

AAAAAAAHHHHHH

still OP: also, i just looked up "vernal"...

...well played, anon. well played.

Bucky wasn’t exactly in a great tactical position, was the problem; sitting cross-legged with his hands chained to the floor didn’t leave him a lot of room to maneuver, and he was positive the Winter Soldier would be able to read any attempt he made to improve his odds. Nor was he sure he believed them when they said they weren’t after intel; if nothing else, he knew when and where he’d told Sam and Nat to meet him.

But damned if he was gonna entertain fucking Hydra any more than he absolutely had to, so he stayed where he was, staring at Rumlow’s shock-stick holster, until the Winter Soldier stepped into his line of sight.

He just stood there for several seconds, long enough for Bucky to get a very good look at the bulk of him, and then his hands went to his belt. Bucky found himself fascinated by the movement of the Soldier’s fingers as they danced through opening his trousers.

It was be fascinated or feel sick again, and the Winter Soldier had surprisingly graceful hands for a man his size; Bucky could picture them holding a pencil or a stick of charcoal, sketching in the first lines of a portrait. Even the black leather half-fingered gloves would work, the kind of thing you bought to wear around the house when you had bad circulation and the radiators were off till you could scrape together this month’s rent.

The Winter Soldier’s cock was just as impressively sized as the rest of him. He stepped forward, pulling a knife as he did. There was no showy little flip, just the businesslike presentation of the weapon.

“Barnes, James,” Bucky started.

“<Why do you say that,>” the Soldier asked him. His voice had no particular inflection, not even a rise at the end to make a proper question, but the sound of it sent shivers down Bucky’s spine.

His Russian wasn’t good enough to phrase the answer, so he responded in English, “Because that’s what soldiers say when they’re bein’ tortured.”

There was no response, and Bucky couldn’t see the Soldier’s face well enough to read his expression. His empty hand curved around the back of Bucky’s head, the best control he was likely get with Bucky’s hair too short to grab. “<Open,>” the man said. Bucky swallowed and stared ahead, trying not to attach any meaning to the fact that someone’s cock was inches from his face.

He saw the blow coming but couldn’t move enough to do more than mitigate it. His lip split. As he was recovering, his head ringing, the Winter Soldier’s hand settled on his shoulder and he felt the merest bite of the blade of the knife over his carotid. “<Open,>” the Soldier said again, and this time Bucky did.

It wasn’t that Bucky’d never sucked anyone’s cock before, even aside from Steve. Keeping Steve alive hadn’t been a cheap proposition some years, and Bucky wasn’t vain but he knew perfectly well what he looked like, what people were willing to pay for. Some of the guys who hung around the Navy Yards had liked to get a little rough, too.

This was something else again.

The Winter Soldier was at least as strong as Bucky was, maybe stronger without the metal arm, and he had all the leverage. His cock started out soft but it didn’t stay that way for long, and soon Bucky was choking on every thrust, gagging helplessly. He could barely breathe, snatching sips of air when he could. His nose didn’t swell up from battering against the Winter Soldier’s pelvis, at least; that was one thing being a freak was good for, but it didn’t help much when the man’s cock physically blocked his airway. He could taste the blood of his split lip under the faint scent of the Soldier’s sweat, warm and clean; he smelled much better than Bucky would have expected. Bucky had to wrestle down the urge to bite, the threat of the knife ever-present, moving perfectly with them, never a hair out of place even when the Soldier’s thrusts turned erratic.

When he came it was silently and shallow, spilling over Bucky’s tongue. The taste wasn’t sickening either. Bucky didn’t move as the Soldier stepped back, rearranging himself as he did. Bucky looked up and met the man’s eyes deliberately before he spat. The mess hit exactly where he’d aimed it, on the laces of the Winter Soldier’s right boot.

He held the Soldier’s eyes and got as far as Sergeant before the punch knocked him over.

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Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Re: Request for help finding a fic

Re: Request for help finding a fic

WS!Steve / Bucky!Cap non-con

Re: WS!Steve / Bucky!Cap non-con

Re: WS!Steve / Bucky!Cap non-con

Re: WS!Steve / Bucky!Cap non-con

Re: WS!Steve / Bucky!Cap non-con

Re: Give it to Me Straight (2/4)

shattered 4/7

Re: shattered 4/7

Re: shattered 4/7

FILL: I Can't Remember When 1/?

Re: Rec Sam-centric fic

Re: shattered 4/7

Re: FILL: I Can't Remember When 1/?

Re: shattered 4/7

fill: unleaving [1/1]

Re: Fill: Come Round Full Circle (6d/7)

Re: FILL: I Can't Remember When 1/?

Re: Request for help finding a fic

Re: fill: unleaving [1/1]

Re: fill: unleaving [1/1]

Re: fill: unleaving [1/1]

Re: fill: unleaving [1/1]

FILL: I Can't Remember When 2/?