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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“Harrison, you’re up.” Rumlow lifts his chin towards a Hydra goon at the opposite end of the room, standing with his rifle gripped tight in both hands, then looks down at Steve. “Go on, sweetheart.”

Working to keep what he hopes is an appropriately neutral Soldier expression on his face, Steve tries to push to his feet. A firm kick from Rumlow hits flat against his left shoulder, on the scar tissue where metal joins flesh, knocking Steve on his ass and sending pain sizzling out from the joint to places Steve hadn’t imagined were connected to the arm’s circuitry.

“Crawl,” Rumlow says. An ugly grin stretches his scarred face.

Steve shoves his tongue between his front teeth where he can bite it. Fine. More macho posturing. More trying to assert dominance over the asset, as if lording over a prisoner who won’t fight back is any sort of victory. Steve pushes up onto his hands and knees and points himself in the direction of the man Rumlow had indicated, Harrison.

As he moves, the hair rises on the back of his neck, and that unfamiliar lump in his stomach twists into something painful and urgent, as if there’s something about this position the body rejects. Like it knows turning his back on Rumlow is dangerous. Steve resists the urge to hunch his back defensively, and instead concentrates of the scrape of his metal fingers on the floor as he moves.

In front of Harrison, he settles onto his knees again and waits. There are only five more men in the room, not counting Rumlow. If they all want to perform some sort of ridiculous token humiliation to punish the soldier, Steve can take it. Better this than beating or torturing him. This might be unpleasant, but it shouldn’t hamper Steve’s efficiency when the time comes to get what they came here for and blow this joint. He schools his face to blankness and looks up at Harrison to brace himself for the next hurdle.

When the man starts unzipping his pants, it takes Steve several seconds to understand what’s happening. At first, he thinks Harrison must be going for a weapon. Instead the man shoves aside the fabric and draws out his penis, already partially erect. “Here you go, boy.”

Steve’s eyes catch on the fat, fleshy tip of the man’s cock, inches in front of his face. It’s incongruous, here in a combat situation, when exposure like this is meant for intimate moments, for lazy mornings in bed with Bucky, for teasing looks and thinly-veiled roughhousing. It’s a sight that doesn’t belong in this situation.

A quick glance over his shoulder earns Steve a derisive chuckle from Rumlow. “Don’t act shy now, snowflake. After all the cock I’ve seen you take, there’s no pretending you don’t know what he wants. Go on.”

He turns back to the man holding his cock out, and this time the sight seems completely normal, like Steve should have been ready for this from from the moment Rumlow put him on his knees. The moment the guards marched him into this room. The moment he saw the Winter Soldier's dead, blank eyes staring at him out of his dead best friend's face.

Steve’s mouth opens and the man is inside him, fucking his face before Steve has even registered what's meant to happen next. It’s automatic, like muscle memory.

There’s a buzzing in his ears that drowns out the next thing Rumlow says. Whatever it is makes Harrison laugh, pushing his belly against Steve’s face. He wants to move, but all his muscles and metal parts are locked tight, braced for impact.

This isn’t supposed to be part of the mission. Bucky never told him. That might be the worst thing. No, the worst thing is pushing down the urge to vomit as the man’s stale-tasting dick jabs into the back of Steve’s throat. Or perhaps it’s the clench of his fist—one flesh, one metal—at his sides as he stays on his knees, looking up at the man’s open-mouthed expression of pleasure and just lets him fuck into his throat.

Steve could stop this. He’s stronger than this man by far. He could bite down, incapacitate him, stand, and break his neck. He could fight back. He’s always fought back. But that’s not what the Soldier does. That’s not what Bucky would do if he were here. What he'd been doing for seventy years, it seems. Compliance is what Rumlow and the others expect from the Soldier, so that’s what Steve is going to do. He will not give himself away.

“That’s it. That’s our boy. Taking it like a champ.” Rumlow steps close enough to slap Harrison’s shoulder, jolting him further down Steve’s throat. “See, I told you, get him back in his routine, and he’ll be fine.”

No matter how brutally hard the man fucks his mouth, Steve doesn’t gag. This body knows how to take it, to breathe in through the nose whenever possible, to move with the hand guiding his head, to keep his hands at his sides, to keep his eyes fixed on the man taking him, even when reflexive tears blur his vision.

When Rumlow had said, “punishment,” Steve had braced himself for something unpleasant. Something like the beatings and torture he knew Hydra had employed to train the Soldier. But of all the things Bucky had told him about Hydra, he’d never breathed a word of this. Not a syllable. When he was lying sweating and fucked out holding Steve against his chest, he’d never even hinted. Bucky had woken up this morning and put on his Winter Soldier uniform and gotten in the Quinjet and he’d known and he’d agreed to the mission anyway.

Harrison finishes with a shouted curse, and Steve swallows what he’s been given easily, barely tasting it. He has to stop himself from striking reflexively when the man tugs him off by the hair—too long: not his own crew-cut, but Bucky’s soft brown locks. Steve regains his balance and settles back onto his knees, and he doesn’t lash out.

“Thank you, sir,” he says. The words spill out automatically, and he bites back the string of defiant threats that wants to follow. Harrison grins down at him and pats him on the cheek before zipping up his pants.

Steve knows what he’s looking at: he’s seen Bucky like this—lips swollen and red from kissing and sucking, eyes fixed on Steve as he takes him deep, and how--how had he never said anything about this? There’s an ache in Steve’s throat that doesn’t exactly hurt—not the way a bullet wound hurts—but that he knows he will remember it as long as he lives. The lump in Steve’s stomach has coalesced into a heavy thrum that pulses through him, ominous as a loud heartbeat in a silent room. Steve makes himself keep breathing. Bucky had volunteered for this mission, knowing what was in store. Being unprepared for it isn't any worse than that, surely. Steve has to keep going. Giving up isn't an option. After all, he'd never ask anyone under his command to do something he isn't willing to do himself.

“That’s it. Getting back into the routine feels good, doesn’t it?” Rumlow tussles Steve’s hair before giving him a shove too hard to be playful. “Keep going. You know how this works. You let the team down, you gotta make it up to all of them.”

Your inner Steve monologue is a thing of genius.

Steve may not be as well-adjusted as he imagines!

Such fine trash! This is one of my favorites! Steve's thoughts are so well written and hit me in the gut each time.

A trash gift for you: three credit card offers to previous occupant, bubble wrap with all the bubbles popped already, and a broken teapot.

Previous Occupant gets all the good stuff! And sorry for the gut punches :D

I love love love how in his mind he's already involving their sex life in it, and how he knows he can never erase it from his mid's eye.

Oh my I do hope you write the part where they're reunited after this.

It's hard not to think about sex with Bucky when sex is happening to Bucky's body. And there may be plans for a reunion...

Oh god this is so good. I absolutely love that the devastating thing for Steve was that Bucky never told him. Because physical torture and rape Steve can probably just deal with in his usual stoic way, but to *know* that this happened to Bucky, and that Bucky chose to hide it from him.... ugh so good.

(And I loved the lines about Bucky and Steve having epicly hot consensual sex... <333)

Not everything's terrible all the time! Sometimes Steve and Bucky get to have fun! Just... not right now. Right now Steve is rewriting his concept of what has happened to Bucky in the last 70 years, and it is not pretty. at all.

OP

I THOUGHT I REPLIED TO THIS? HOW HAVE I NOT REPLIED TO THIS?!?! I think my brain just melts out my ears every time I read it and I walk away under the impression that my keysmash must've transmitted itself through the intertubes.

Steeeeve. Steve Steve Steve. So busy going "omg Bucky?!" and "but the mission" that it's like he hasn't even registered yet that he's on his knees being brutally raped. Like he won't even let himself feel that while he's still got a job to do. D:

And Bucky. DDD: On the one hand I'm happy for him and his clearly-delightful sex life with Steve... on the other hand he was going to walk right back in there, jesus. I'm not sure if that's better or worse than walking in with no clue--different kinds of awful, really.

When the man starts unzipping his pants, it takes Steve several seconds to understand what’s happening. At first, he thinks Harrison must be going for a weapon.
1. Yes good perfect Steve reaction
2. And I mean, Steve's not wrong, just not in the way he's expecting.

I love you OP.

he hasn't even registered yet that he's on his knees being brutally raped. Like he won't even let himself feel that while he's still got a job to do. D:
Soldiers are very good at compartmentalizing, and I think Steve in particular has experience at erasing himself, and just being the person he needs to be (e.g. Captain America) for The Mission and not letting Steve Rogers' feelings or wants come into the equation.

I'm happy for him and his clearly-delightful sex life with Steve
Things are going so well for the super-soldier boyfriends! They have fun times! But damned if Bucky is going to let fear stop him from doing something that will help Steve and the rest of the team.

Steve's not wrong, just not in the way he's expecting.
Just because you're not bleeding to death doesn't mean you're not hurt Steve you idiot!

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Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

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