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.

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“Soldier,” Rumlow snaps. Steve drags his attention away from Bucky to look at Rumlow. “You remember that mission in Riga?”

Steve makes no reply, but out of the corner of his eye he sees Bucky’s frown deepen.

“No, of course you don’t. I’ll tell you about it sometime. Here’s what you’re going to do.” Rumlow grabs Steve’s chin and turns him to look at Bucky. “Be good for him. Get him to drop that prissy act and show us all what a needy bitch Captain America really is.”

“Rumlow,” Bucky growls. “If you think--"

Rumlow gestures to one of the remaining guards behind Bucky—Bryant, the one whose come is drying on Steve’s face—who he tugs a knife from his belt. He presses the blade to Bucky’s throat until a single bright bead of blood appears against the shining blade. Bucky lifts his chin and continues to glare, but stops protesting.

“Where were we?” Rumlow pulls Steve in close, throwing an arm around his shoulder like they’re friends. There’s no shudder of revulsion to repress. Steve’s body turns loose and pliant under Rumlow’s touch. “You think you can make him like it as much as you do? Go on, show him what you’ve learned.”

Steve moves with Rumlow’s playful shove until he’s standing over Bucky. It’s the work of a moment to calculate their odds in a fight: only five enemies, but Steve’s naked and weaponless save for the arm. Worse, Bucky, bound and on his knees, will be vulnerable if Steve attempts an attack now. Even if the knife at his throat could be avoided, all the guns in the room are pointed at Bucky, so the risk of injury is unacceptably high. Enduring a little temporary distress for the sake of the mission is acceptable to Steve, but he won’t risk Bucky’s safety. The choice is clear.

“Soldier,” Rumlow snaps. “We’re waiting.”

Steve folds to his knees before Bucky, putting them face to face, and lets himself really look at Bucky: at his bruised face half-hidden by the Captain America helmet, the deepening frown, the eyes that are the wrong blue. He won’t allow Bucky to suffer any more pain than what he’s already had to endure, which means Steve can’t do this to him, not without his permission. Steve’s eyes slide past Bucky, beyond the guards, to focus on the wall. That’s unchanged, at least: the vent in the same place, the gouge out of the concrete. Or has the stain on the wall grown? He doesn’t remember what it looked like before. His breath is coming short and shallow in his chest.

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice is soft, barely audible over the mechanical whir of Steve’s arm shifting and resettling. “Do what you have to do. It’s fine.”

Steve manages to focus again. He squints as though he could see through those too-pale eyes to the truth of what Bucky wants. Bucky looks right back at him, firm and unchanging as the wall.

Rumlow’s boot prods his bare ass. “We don’t have all day.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky says, louder now. “It’s not your fault.”

“Not his fault?” Rumlow chuckles: a low, dirty sound. “Look at him. He’s not upset, Cap. He loves this. You don’t know the first thing about what an animal like him needs. Go on, Soldier. Show him what a good boy you can be.”

Steve can see Bucky tense when he looks at Rumlow, as if expecting a new blow to go with his latest set of instructions. As if Steve might try to retaliate, despite their piss-poor tactical position. Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s spread thighs, presses against his own hard muscle under the armor. He half expects to feel it as he digs his fingers in, but it’s not his body, not right now. Bucky looks down at him, and Steve looks right back, willing him to understand. “I can be good for you,” Steve says, hoping that’s not too far outside the range of the Soldier’s normal behavior.

Bucky lets out a long, slow breath. Then he closes his eyes and bows his head the bare fraction allowed by the knife still pressed to his throat.

That’s as much answer as Steve’s likely to get. Quickly, before his resolve can erode further, Steve bends forward, hands fumbling with uniform fastening he’s never dealt with from this angle. This is the body he dressed this morning, when he shaved and brushed his teeth and put on white briefs underneath his uniform. He pushes the briefs down to expose what he’s after, a part of himself that he wouldn’t have thought a roomful of Hydra soldiers would ever see.

Bucky’s eyes are open again, but he’s staring straight ahead into middle distance, jaw clenched tight and lips pressed into a thin, angry line: bracing himself as if for a punch he can’t avoid. Steve uses his flesh hand to heft Bucky’s cock, a familiar soft weight. He wraps his fingers around it and gives a gentle tug—the same way Bucky sometimes does, never failing to get Steve’s full attention. Bucky huffs out a thin breath and looks down. Steve has a sudden flash of the night a few weeks ago, kneeling next to the bed between Bucky’s legs, looking up at him in the dim light and nuzzling against denim until Bucky gave him what he wanted. Steve's cock—hard from Rumlow’s earlier treatment—gives an interested twitch, and Steve hurries himself along.

He presses his fingers into Bucky’s hard thighs as he lowers his mouth to take in Bucky’s cock. He thought he knew his own body, but he’s never seen himself up close this way, seen the intimidating bulk of his cock even before it’s hard. He doesn’t hesitate; he won’t leave Bucky exposed any longer than necessary. Besides, Bucky’s body knows how to open up and take the thick cock into the root. Never before had Steve really appreciated the skill it takes to do this, swallowing around the soft obstruction in his mouth while continuing to move, dragging the tight circle of his lips and down the shaft. He can’t see Bucky’s face well from this position, but he can feel the relentless tension in his muscles.

“Well trained, isn’t he? You saw how easy it is to get him hard. I wonder if you’re the same. As uptight as you are, I bet it’s been a while since you got your dick wet.” Steve can hear Rumlow moving behind him, then the change in air currents and body heat as Rumlow crouches behind him. “You should have looked harder for your pal Bucky. You could’ve had a live-in fuckdoll.”

Something smooth and hard nudges between Steve’s legs, prodding at his balls, and his stomach clenches when he recognizes the stun baton. That tight lump of anticipation is back, and it spurs him on to suck harder. Bucky’s cock is firming and growing in his mouth, making it more difficult to breathe.

“I know, I know. You’d want to let him off the leash and tell him he’s a person, treat him like he’s the guy you used to know, but he’s never going to be that, Cap.”

The baton continues to move between Steve’s legs, spreading around the dripping mess on his skin, but Rumlow also braces his hand against Steve’s ass, an anchoring touch that soothes the anxious knot in his belly. He relaxes into his task, bobbing his head down onto Bucky’s hard cock. Steve remembers being pinned on the bed, Bucky holding his hands down in an implacable grip while he knelt over him, sucking and teasing. He tries those tricks now, pulls out everything Buck has ever done to get Steve to finish with embarrassing speed. On those nights, Bucky usually ended up flopped on top of Steve, a victorious grin pressed into Steve’s shoulder as he gloated. The sooner Steve finishes this task, the sooner they can move on with the mission. The sooner Bucky will be safe. The sooner they can go back to that.

“See how eager he is? Months AWOL, and within ten minutes he was back on his knees for us. He’s always gonna be a desperate, pathetic slut. You know why, Cap? Deep down, beneath all the trigger words and the cottage cheese they made of his brain, he knows this is what he deserves. Look at him. You’re the enemy, and he’s desperate to please you, just to follow orders.” Rumlow nudges the tip of the baton inside, and Steve braces his knees apart to improve his balance and avoid jostling Bucky. As fucked open as he is, the penetration barely registers, and he keeps sucking. “You like this, don’t you, kitten?”

Steve nods as well as he can with Bucky’s dick down his throat. He’s following orders, which is what he’s meant to be doing for the mission. Bucky’s holding back noise, those helpless groans Steve knows he himself lets out when he’s close to the edge. Just a little more, and Bucky will be done. They’ll leave him alone.

“Look at him, taking it from both ends.” Rumlow pushes the baton further in, working it in rhythm with Steve’s mouth. “But he hasn’t gotten you off yet. Must be slipping. If you don’t come soon, Cap, I’ll have to turn this on. See if that motivates him.”

“Don’t,” Bucky grits out.

“You don’t get to give me orders anymore, Captain.” Rumlow works the baton in further, eliciting a pained grunt from Steve.

"Rumlow." Bucky takes a shuddery breath, loud in the tense silence. “Please don’t.”

“I don’t know where you got these manners, but I like them,” Rumlow says. “Still not convinced.”

With that much warning, Steve manages to get his mouth off Bucky in time to scream when Rumlow activates the stun baton. His fingers clench reflexively against Bucky’s thighs, the metal arm seizing up. He tries to breathe through the pain, and smells the scent of leather, blood, and his own skin. The shock stops pulsing through Steve, and he collapses, sprawled halfway in Bucky’s lap. He can’t do anything but shudder and gulp in air.

“Soldier,” Rumlow barks. “Finish your mission.”

Blindly, Steve opens his mouth and gropes with his tongue until he can get Bucky’s cock back in his mouth. He has barely enough coordination to start sucking again.

“You holding back, Cap? Afraid it’s undignified to come from a blow job by a highly trained Hydra operative?” Rumlow leans in, deliberately staying out of Bucky’s biting or headbutting range, but levering the baton up to stretch Steve and make him whine. “Or do you like seeing him scream?”

“If you want to hurt someone, hurt me.”

“You think I don’t know how to hurt you, Cap? I served under you. I know you.” There’s a pause where Steve can’t see what’s happening. Rumlow rubs a hand down Steve’s spine, soothing away the shudders induced by the shock. Then Bucky huffs out a pained breath, and Rumlow laughs. “Make him come, Soldier.”

Steve keeps his eyes closed as he tongues roughly against the leaking head of Bucky’s cock and slides his hand back to cup Bucky’s sac, something Steve’s found almost always pushes Bucky over the edge. With a strangled shout, Bucky spills into Steve’s mouth. It tastes wrong, though surely he’s swallowed Bucky’s come a hundred times or more. Except this isn’t Bucky’s cock in his mouth, not really. They aren’t together in the darkness and safety of Steve’s bedroom. Bucky’s hips snap forward, making Steve gag and cough.

He’s still gasping for air when Rumlow grabs a handful of his hair and tugs. “Get up. We’re not done yet.” He drags the baton out of Steve’s ass, prompting a pained grunt. “I want to see you fuck Captain America.”

Steve lets Rumlow pull him to his feet, taking the opportunity to check his condition. The arm doesn’t seem to have been disabled by the shock, and although he’s still a bit wobbly, all his limbs are under his control. When Rumlow lets go, Steve tries to settle himself into the Winter Soldier’s confident stance: shoulders back, chin up, as if he hadn’t just been screaming on the floor with Rumlow’s stun baton spreading him open.

“Move,” Steve says, wooden and flat as he can manage, and grabs Bucky’s shoulder. Bryant pulls his knife away as Steve moves to shove Bucky on his back.

“Wait—“ Bucky protests, but Steve clamps the metal hand over his mouth. Bucky can’t blow their cover now by trying to comfort Steve, not when it’s almost over. Bucky’s eyes widen, and his eyes dart from Steve to Rumlow and back. He tries to say something else, but it’s too muffled to make out. Then he pulls against of Steve’s grip. He’s not using his full strength, but he is looking at Steve again with pleading eyes. Steve rubs his thumb, the metal one, against Bucky's shoulder where he's holding onto him, but that's all the reassurance he can give right now without putting them in more danger.

Under the cover of Bucky’s struggle, Steve does a quick threat assessment. There are only four men left besides Rumlow. Harrison’s the one holding the shield, but he’s also got his weapon out. Park is watching lazily, grip loose on his rifle. Bryant holds his knife in a confident reverse grip, and he’s hard again in his pants. There’s a fourth man whose name Steve didn’t catch when he was sucking his cock earlier. He’s young, curly-haired. His eyes are fixed on Bucky’s pained expression, and his gun is pointed at the floor.

Steve guides Bucky down in a controlled push, straddling him with a knee on either side of his thighs. Rather than move out of the way, Rumlow steps up next to Steve to get a better view, putting him conveniently in range of Steve’s left arm. Steve tightens his grip as Bucky tries to push back, unwilling to let his hands be pinned under him.

“Stop fighting,” Steve says and Bucky squints up at him, expression creased with worry.

“Yeah, Cap,” Rumlow puts in, teeth bared in a feral grin. “Don’t pretend you’re not going to like this.”

Steve shoves hard, his hands on Bucky’s arms until he has him flat against the floor.

“Goes down easy,” Rumlow says, and the others laugh.

“On three,” Steve breathes, barely loud enough for super-soldier hearing. He shifts his grip to fit over Bucky’s wrists, just above the mag-cuffs, and angles his body to block Rumlow’s view. “One. Two.”

Their combined strength snaps the cuffs easily.

OP

Okay. Okay. Breathe. Yes. I am totally going to go make up for my holiday comment backlog on previous installments. But I just wanted to say that THIS IS A MASTERPIECE OF FILTHY, GARBAGE, DEPRAVED PERFECTION and I could not have asked for a better New Year's gift. HNNNNGH. All my kinks. All my trash offerings. Take them, they're yours.

Huzzah! I am so glad you are enjoying, OP! Haaaaaaaaaappy New Year!

Bless you, Dumpster Provider of Amazing Things. This just keeps getting better.

Thank you for your support. For more trash, please press one.

hnnnnnnngh yes to all of this

The paaaaaain! It is so much fuuuuuun!

Bless you, author-anon!! Not only stun baton spitroast but actually turning it on?!! You fill my filthy heart with such joy. And Steve and Bucky's little attempts to reassure each other, and Rumlow's horribly degrading dirty-talk about Bucky -- these two grandpas are going to need a LOT of debriefing after this. <3333333

The dumpster always seems to respond positively to stun batons, so, y'know.

Bucky's little attempts to reassure each other
Isn't it sweet? Er, I mean, let's find a way to warp that, too.

Rumlow's horribly degrading dirty-talk about Bucky
Someone's got some 'splaining to do, that's for sure.

This fill is amaaazing. That is all.

Thank you! I am so glad you are enjoying this :D

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Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

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