One of the STRIKE guys muttered Holy shit and that seemed to snap Steve’s stillness. Bucky remembered he should try to fend him off just in time to get caught in the worst possible position when Steve hit him like a battering ram, leather-covered shoulder to the solar plexus and no way to cushion his head when they hit the floor.
“Steve,” Bucky wheezed, and Steve’s fist came out of nowhere, snapping his head to the side and into the floor so hard it was like being hit twice. Bucky was still blinking and shaking his head when the crushing weight left his hips and then he was rolling, face-down on the cold floor, one of Steve’s hands on the back of his head. Bucky tried to get his hand under him to push up but Steve brought one knee down into his left forearm, all the weight of a tall, muscular man behind it. The abused nerves screamed and Bucky did too, an unabashed howl into the concrete.
Still in English, Steve said, “Move again and I’ll break it.” Bucky gasped in air and tried to go limp. Steve eased up enough that the arm was still pinned but no longer crushed, and for a second Bucky had no idea what was going to happen next.
Then he felt Steve’s free hand sliding down his back, over the curve of his ass.
“Steve, don’t,” he said, couldn’t stop himself from saying. Steve’s grip on the back of his head loosened and Bucky raised it, only to have it promptly smashed back into the floor. His nose broke with a brisk little snap that he felt more than heard.
“Shut up,” Steve said.
No: the Winter Soldier said. There was nothing of Steve in that emotionless voice. His hand moved again, searching, and Bucky shuddered as two fingers breached him with no care.
Bucky knew it was possible to fuck a man to death. He suspected he wasn’t going to be so lucky; he was too much of a freak.
On the other hand, they undoubtedly intended to shoot him once they’d had their fun, so there was that to look forward to.
The Soldier probed into him for several minutes while Bucky tried to breathe around his broken nose and ignore his entire body. At least the Soldier seemed to have no interest in making him enjoy this; he wasn’t trying to find the sweet spot, just stretching with passionless efficiency. It hurt, though Bucky knew damn well it could have hurt a lot more.
Finally the Winter Soldier moved, collecting both Bucky’s hands and twisting them up into the center of his back to hold them firmly down with one of his own. He settled between Bucky’s thighs, blocking the reflexive inward twitch with his own legs. “Give me that,” he ordered; one of the STRIKE team moved to obey. Bucky couldn’t see the transfer.
He felt something hard and cold settle against him and press in, and Bucky was just realizing it was a goddamn stun baton when the Winter Soldier flicked it on.
Through his tac suit, a stun baton was annoyingly painful. On the unguarded flesh of his insides, it was white, mindless agony, so all-consuming he couldn’t even hear himself screaming. Bucky heaved against the floor in a mindless attempt to get away, but the Winter Soldier controlled him with no apparent effort. After endless seconds the Soldier turned off the charge and Bucky subsided, breathing in desperate shudders. Someone was laughing, the warm chuckle of a man whose team had just made a great play.
Bucky knew he’d never know how long it went on, the Winter Soldier fucking him with the stun baton and turning on the charge at unpredictable intervals. He screamed every time, but he didn’t beg for it to stop, because he knew it wouldn’t stop, and asking Steve for mercy and being denied would break him. He couldn’t break; he had to live through this, he had to get to Steve somehow. He couldn’t die until he’d gotten Steve out.
So he screamed and struggled—which drew no further punishment, the Winter Soldier seemed to understand it was an involuntary reaction—and panted for breath when he could, and the small eternity finally passed. The stun baton was withdrawn and Bucky heard the tiny clack of it being set on the floor, and then the rustling of the Soldier’s pants being opened again. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hot face into the cold floor, clinging to the idea that at least it wouldn’t hurt as much.
He didn’t expect gentle, and he didn’t get it. But as the Winter Soldier slammed into him, his hand tightened on Bucky’s wrists in a tiny double squeeze. Steve had always done that, no matter which of them was taking it, and Bucky felt his heart break.
FILL: I Can't Remember When 4/6
“Steve,” Bucky wheezed, and Steve’s fist came out of nowhere, snapping his head to the side and into the floor so hard it was like being hit twice. Bucky was still blinking and shaking his head when the crushing weight left his hips and then he was rolling, face-down on the cold floor, one of Steve’s hands on the back of his head. Bucky tried to get his hand under him to push up but Steve brought one knee down into his left forearm, all the weight of a tall, muscular man behind it. The abused nerves screamed and Bucky did too, an unabashed howl into the concrete.
Still in English, Steve said, “Move again and I’ll break it.” Bucky gasped in air and tried to go limp. Steve eased up enough that the arm was still pinned but no longer crushed, and for a second Bucky had no idea what was going to happen next.
Then he felt Steve’s free hand sliding down his back, over the curve of his ass.
“Steve, don’t,” he said, couldn’t stop himself from saying. Steve’s grip on the back of his head loosened and Bucky raised it, only to have it promptly smashed back into the floor. His nose broke with a brisk little snap that he felt more than heard.
“Shut up,” Steve said.
No: the Winter Soldier said. There was nothing of Steve in that emotionless voice. His hand moved again, searching, and Bucky shuddered as two fingers breached him with no care.
Bucky knew it was possible to fuck a man to death. He suspected he wasn’t going to be so lucky; he was too much of a freak.
On the other hand, they undoubtedly intended to shoot him once they’d had their fun, so there was that to look forward to.
The Soldier probed into him for several minutes while Bucky tried to breathe around his broken nose and ignore his entire body. At least the Soldier seemed to have no interest in making him enjoy this; he wasn’t trying to find the sweet spot, just stretching with passionless efficiency. It hurt, though Bucky knew damn well it could have hurt a lot more.
Finally the Winter Soldier moved, collecting both Bucky’s hands and twisting them up into the center of his back to hold them firmly down with one of his own. He settled between Bucky’s thighs, blocking the reflexive inward twitch with his own legs. “Give me that,” he ordered; one of the STRIKE team moved to obey. Bucky couldn’t see the transfer.
He felt something hard and cold settle against him and press in, and Bucky was just realizing it was a goddamn stun baton when the Winter Soldier flicked it on.
Through his tac suit, a stun baton was annoyingly painful. On the unguarded flesh of his insides, it was white, mindless agony, so all-consuming he couldn’t even hear himself screaming. Bucky heaved against the floor in a mindless attempt to get away, but the Winter Soldier controlled him with no apparent effort. After endless seconds the Soldier turned off the charge and Bucky subsided, breathing in desperate shudders. Someone was laughing, the warm chuckle of a man whose team had just made a great play.
Bucky knew he’d never know how long it went on, the Winter Soldier fucking him with the stun baton and turning on the charge at unpredictable intervals. He screamed every time, but he didn’t beg for it to stop, because he knew it wouldn’t stop, and asking Steve for mercy and being denied would break him. He couldn’t break; he had to live through this, he had to get to Steve somehow. He couldn’t die until he’d gotten Steve out.
So he screamed and struggled—which drew no further punishment, the Winter Soldier seemed to understand it was an involuntary reaction—and panted for breath when he could, and the small eternity finally passed. The stun baton was withdrawn and Bucky heard the tiny clack of it being set on the floor, and then the rustling of the Soldier’s pants being opened again. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hot face into the cold floor, clinging to the idea that at least it wouldn’t hurt as much.
He didn’t expect gentle, and he didn’t get it. But as the Winter Soldier slammed into him, his hand tightened on Bucky’s wrists in a tiny double squeeze. Steve had always done that, no matter which of them was taking it, and Bucky felt his heart break.