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.

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

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Steve makes himself stay still while Rumlow walks a full circle around him, looking him up and down. “You check him for weapons?” he asks the other guards.

“Yes, sir.” There’s the snap of respect in the man’s voice, the same as the other Strike Team members had always had for Rumlow. “He’s clean.”

“He say anything?”

“No, sir.”

“Fucking protocol,” Rumlow mutters. He snaps his fingers in front of Steve’s face. “Hey. Status report.”

Steve pages back in his memory to the time when Bucky had just returned to him. The flat voice, the matter-of-fact reporting of conditions had unnerved Steve then, and he remembers them better than he’d like. “No immediate need for maintenance.”

“Well, we can fix that.” The other soldiers laugh, but Rumlow ignores them to smile at Steve. “You missed us, didn’t you, soldier?”

“Yes, sir.” The voice comes out flat, devoid of the anger Steve feels, and Steve absolutely does not punch the grin off that bastard’s face.

“You know you’ve been a bad boy.” Rumlow prowls in a circle around him, and Steve resists the urge to follow him with his eyes. “You deviated from protocol. You failed your mission, and you didn’t report back for debriefing.”

Steve wasn’t sure how Bucky had been planning to explain that, if asked, but he can guess. “The relevant procedural memories were corrupted.”

“I believe that. You’ve been out of cryo too long, haven’t you? Don’t worry, tiger. We’ll fix you up.”

Rumlow sounds almost gleeful about that, and Steve thinks of the schematic of the chair Natasha had shown him, the machine that took away everything that made Bucky a person. He flexes his fingers, feeling the strength in Bucky’s metal hand, and reminds himself that that won’t ever happen again.

“But first, you know you have to be punished. Let’s see how much you remember.” Rumlow stops right in front of Steve, close enough that Steve can smell him, feel the heat from his body. “Get on your knees.”

It’s harder than Steve thought it would be to just obey, to be the Soldier the way Rumlow expects. He plants his knees on the ground but keeps his chin up. He knows he can take whatever punishment Rumlow can dish out.

Rumlow takes Steve’s jaw in his hand and tilts his head slightly to the right and then the left. Steve keeps his eyes straight ahead and tries not to shiver at the idea that Rumlow’s looking him over like he’s a dumb farm animal he might want to buy. Then Rumlow rubs his thumb against Steve’s lips, and Steve can’t help the instinctive flinch away.

For a horrible moment, Steve thinks he might have given the game away—he’d never seen the Soldier flinch, never seen him shown any fear or surprise at all—but Rumlow just chuckles. “Guess you do remember something after all.” The other soldiers laugh.

Before Steve can think too much about what that’s supposed to mean, his attention is caught by Rumlow’s hand pulling a gun from his belt. Calculations and contingencies speed through Steve’s mind with a rush of battle adrenaline. If Rumlow shoots, Steve will have to move, get his hands on one of the other guard’s weapons, find an exit—No. They wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of bringing the Soldier here just to shoot him. The Soldier is a valuable asset. And in any case, Steve can’t risk Bucky’s body getting hurt if it comes to violence. Instead he waits as Rumlow makes a show of holding the gun up and stroking two long fingers against the barrel.

“Now, do you want us to cuff you for your punishment, or are you going to behave this time?” Rumlow asks.

Steve makes himself keep breathing. He knows Hydra had hurt Bucky, probably often, over the years. There’s comfort in Rumlow’s insinuation that Bucky didn’t always cooperate. Now, however, Steve drops his eyes and settles his hands against his thighs. He’s not here to fight. He’s taken his share of beatings, and if he can take this one on Bucky’s behalf, so much the better.

“Good boy,” Rumlow says. He lifts his right hand—the one with the gun—and for a moment Steve fears he’s misjudged the situation, but no. Rumlow presses the barrel of the gun to Steve’s lips and says, “You know what to do.”

Of course, Steve thinks. Bullies always want to feel powerful: make the other guy look foolish and weak. The Soldier could rip Rumlow in half, but here he is on his knees. It’s just an attempt at humiliation, Steve tells himself. Just Rumlow puffing up his manhood in front of the other Hydra soldiers. It can’t really hurt him. It’s not giving in, not if it’s what the mission requires. He opens his mouth and lets Rumlow shove the barrel in, sliding bitter and oily against his tongue.

“Yeah, that’s what you like, isn’t it, sweetheart?” Rumlow pushes the gun in until Steve almost chokes, then pulls it out slowly.

Guns have always felt small in Steve’s hands, but in his mouth this Sig feels enormous, stretching his lips tight as Rumlow works it in and out. Steve worries he might be pink to his ears with the shame of letting Rumlow do this to him, but he can’t feel any trace of heat in his skin. Maybe the Soldier doesn’t blush. Maybe he never felt shame at all, and wouldn’t have understood why this was different than any other order Rumlow might have given. Steve hopes so.

When Rumlow pulls his gun out of Steve’s mouth, a line of saliva stretches between his lips and the barrel. Steve drops his eyes to the ground so he doesn’t have to look at the shiny wet metal. There’s a knot in his belly that feels something like fear, but not the way he knows it: not that bright bite of energy chasing him to action, but a heavy, sickening lump of dread.

“All it takes is a little reminder, and it all comes right back to you, doesn’t it?” Rumlow wipes the barrel off on Steve’s cheek before returning it to its holster. “Well, now that you’re all warmed up, show me what else you remember.”

OP

Hrnnnghhhhhh *gurgles* There can never be enough gun blowjobs in the world. Never ever ever. And I LOVE YOUR STEVE. I love his anger and his stubborn impatience with bullies on power trips, I love him deciding to put duty over the urge to lash out, I love that he struggles with it. And I love love love him trying to brace himself for something he doesn't even realize he could never be prepared for.

There’s a knot in his belly that feels something like fear, but not the way he knows it: not that bright bite of energy chasing him to action, but a heavy, sickening lump of dread.

And that's how you know shit's about to get real. Just punch me right in the id, why don'tcha? And fuck, more A+ Steve characterization--yes, it's an atypical reaction for him, but the very fact that it's unfamiliar speaks volumes.

Oh Steve. Oh Steve, you are so fucked, in just about every sense of the word.

Gun blowjobs for everyone! Steve has never liked bullies on power trips, so probably the worst mission for him is one where he has to just let himself be bullied. But ultimately, duty is what drives him. He's willing to take any amount of pain for what he believes in. So, y'know, we might as well take advantage of that :D

hnnnnnngh

I keep trying to write something coherent, because this is seriously the best fic I'm following right now, and I keep checking back being like "I wonder of Habeas Corpus has updated yet?" But what comes out after reading each section is just "hnnnnnnngh".

But yes, I love tactical Steve. Steve who is used to fighting and evaluating both the situation at hand and the larger team movements. Steve who makes what seems like the best choices at any given moment. And I love the parts of Bucky's mannerism that he's able to mimic/extrapolate, versus what he can't. <3333333

Thank you, nony! It's so nice to hear you're enjoying it, coherent or not :)

Steve is all about tactics. He's going to maneuver his way out of any situation, just you wait! He's the man with a plan! It would probably help, though, if he had a little more info to work with in this particular situation, mwah ha ha!

Oh god this is so good! The description of the lump of dread in Steve's stomach; I can't decide if I'm reading it as Steve subconsciously knowing what's about to come or Bucky's body knowing, but I love it either way. I love this and can't wait for more.

(Na) I read it as Bucky's body having ingrained physiological fear responses thay Steve doesn't know how to interpret.

Yet.

This is horrifying and I am just so excited for more!

!!!!!!!

The body swap trope is just ripe for all these confusing bodily impulses. It's so much fun! -a!a.

oHMY GODDDDD

Can I just say that, apart from the trash, I just love how you write Bucky's body reacting differently from Steve's, and Steve being aware of it? It's wonderful.

Let me just say, it must be very disconcerting to be in another person's body, feeling all the differences between that physical vessel and your own, and not knowing how to interpret all of what it's trying to tell you. Good luck, Steve!

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Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

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