garbage all the way down (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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hydratrashmeme2015-09-09 07:23 pm
trashmod) wrote in hydratrashmeme2015-09-09 07:23 pm
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 bygreenkirtle)] [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.
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.
Re: FILL: The Love of Cruel Discipline Re: Sam/Rumlow fight trash
(Anonymous) 2015-10-16 11:42 pm (UTC)(link)Sam woke to
sounds of shuffling, the muffled rub of fabric against fabric
the light outside filtered by the anti-UV coating on the glass windows, slanting in and glistening on the broken glass around him
some of it grinding into his back
the soft twinkly jingles of that glass as someone walked through it
*
Sam woke to
a hand on his face
he couldn't see whose hand
every contact point between his skin and those fingers hurt
and felt wet
*
Sam woke to
the taste of copper in the back of his mouth, slick and sliding its way down his gullet
crowding out the air until there was no more room for it in his lungs
*
Sam woke to
a soft squeeze
a thumb and four fingers on either side of his cheeks, closing towards each other so his mouth would open
it helped with breathing for a moment, but then the pain set in, and Sam woke all at once, to Rumlow's hand gripping his jaw, fingers clawing into the slippery wet flesh of his face. He was on his back still, his view of the dappled grey ceiling blocked only by Rumlow's toothy grin.
Rumlow's mouth moved in the shape of words, but the ringing in Sam's ears prevented him from hearing most of what he said. He only caught the end, something about "tried to warn you, but just had to push your luck," said in that same strangely breathy voice he had been using to taunt Sam since the moment he exploded into the room, like a mockery of a whisper.
Something hit Sam's forehead. It was the buckle of Rumlow's open belt. He hadn't noticed Rumlow moving closer, which clued him in to the fact that he was still slipping in and out of awareness from his concussion, losing full seconds of time to either unconsciousness or confusion.
The arrhythmic tapping of Rumlow's belt buckle on his head made it hard to concentrate on other things. His world was narrowed to just one sensory stimulus at a time. The next thing he knew, something was at his lips.
Rumlow's cock.
Rumlow's cock was at his lips.
"That's it," he murmured, the death's head grin still spread across his face. The rough material of his combat uniform trousers bunched around Sam's chin. He couldn’t breathe through the thick sludge of blood coating his broken nose, and his mouth was being filled and his jaw ached and everything smelled of wet pennies.
Sam woke to Rumlow's cock in his mouth, pumping steadily past his lips, Rumlow's grunts in his ears, his belt buckle tap tap tapping his forehead. His face throbbed in time with his pulse, which he could feel in the mess of his nose, in the bitten tongue being forced aside by the fat head of Rumlow's cock, in the circles of pain beneath each of the pads of Rumlow's fingers holding his face to keep his mouth open.
Every time Rumlow withdrew meant Sam could suck in a desperately insufficient breath of damp, fetid air from Rumlow's crotch, sweaty with the exertion of their fight and with his current activities. But every time he withdrew also meant he would thrust back in, each time deeper than the last.
"You gotta take it like a man," Rumlow said conversationally, like Sam wasn't lying there, taking every inch of it. "You start a fight like a man, you have to take the consequences like a man. It's only right."
This man would speak to him of rightness when Sam's vision was swimming from too much cock in his mouth and not enough air. Pinpricks of light like little stars burst across his eyes and he drifted with them, even while he could feel Rumlow pushing himself deeper into his mouth, into his throat, too deep.
Sam woke to the smell of vomit cutting through the scent of blood. It was his own. He could still taste the traces in his mouth, could still feel the raw sting of it on his palate as the last throes of gagging worked their way through his body.
The sensation of fabric sliding down his thighs pulled his attention away from smell and taste. Rumlow was pulling his pants down.
"Don't think you can get out of your obligations so easily," Rumlow said in an admonishing tone. "Man up, remember?"
His pants were around his ankles and Sam woke to something cold nudging at his entrance. Not Rumlow's cock, because Rumlow's cock was hot like a brand, Sam had intimate knowledge of just how hot it was exactly. It wasn't easier to breathe with it out of his mouth, and there was vomit pooled around him, and something cold was nudging at his entrance and then it went in.
Sam's head lolled at a perfect angle to take in the sight of Rumlow's belt, still undone, all of the standard issue weapons still on it except for the service pistol Sam had knocked out of his hands when he first entered the room, and except for...the stun baton.
Rumlow was fucking him with the handle of the stun baton.
Sam made an effort to move his sluggish limbs, but they only listened to him intermittently, and not all at the same time, so it resulted in him flailing just slightly. Rumlow slapped his arms back down, and down they stayed.
If Rumlow was fucking him with the handle of the stun baton, it meant that he was holding the business end in his hand, which didn't seem very smart. Although he probably figured Sam wouldn't run the risk of shocking himself if he somehow managed to activate it, since the two of them were forming two points of a circuit.
Rumlow was still talking, still explaining what he was doing and why he was doing it, but it was hard to hear and Sam's vision was tunneling again.
In Sam's memory, there was no end to it. There was no point at which he realized it was over, no sense of relief that it was finished. There was Rumlow, and then there was a helicopter and yelling, someone gripping his arm as he stumbled through the collapsing rubble of the building, which was maybe more damaged from its brush with the Helicarrier than it initially seemed.
There was someone yelling in his ear, and he responded, although what he couldn't remember.
Rumlow was nowhere to be found.
There was yelling, and then it turned into talking, and then there was the acute smell of antiseptic. The next time Sam woke, it was to Natasha filling him in on what happened with Steve.
*
Sam sat next to Steve's hospital bed, the soft strains of Marvin Gaye's voice soothing his nerves. The first thing Steve had done after he woke up, besides make a smartass remark, was do a double take at Sam's face. From that, Sam could guess he didn't look too pretty. He'd avoided looking at any mirrors so he couldn’t confirm first-hand, but he knew he had a broken nose, a fractured jaw, a bruise the size of a large men's boot.
When Steve woke up again, he looked much better, practically healed. Sam made a half-hearted joke about wishing he had his abilities, which Steve politely chuckled at before he said, "Sam, are you okay?"
"I'm doing better than you," he said, which wasn't maybe strictly true but also wasn't strictly a lie, considering how by all reports Steve had gone down with the ship like a good captain should—willingly.
Steve snorted, which was a thing Sam couldn't do with his nose all fucked up the way it was. "What happened?" he asked, all gentle, and Sam couldn't very well tell him.
"Just lost a fight, is all."
"No shit."
"Turns out Rumlow's got a mean kick on him. Doesn’t mean I didn't hold my own, though. You should see his face."
"Yeah, I bet," Steve said, but his face said he wanted to know more, wanted to push for details. "What did he—"
And Sam just. Could not deal. With. The thought of telling Steve to his face that while he was busy contemplating suicide after a run-in with the tortured empty husk of his long lost best friend, Sam was off getting his skull held down and fucked by Steve's former brother in arms. "Please don't ask me," Sam said.
Steve's mouth clicked shut.
The third time Steve woke up, there wasn't a scab left on him and the only thing he asked was, "Do you want to get me out of here and let me sleep on your couch for about a million years?"
"Yes," Sam decided.
(also posted to AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5012998)
Re: FILL: The Love of Cruel Discipline Re: Sam/Rumlow fight trash
(Anonymous) 2015-10-16 11:52 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: The Love of Cruel Discipline Re: Sam/Rumlow fight trash
(Anonymous) 2015-10-16 11:56 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: The Love of Cruel Discipline Re: Sam/Rumlow fight trash
(Anonymous) 2015-10-17 03:34 pm (UTC)(link)