Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

[trashmod]

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.

Comments

FILL: 95, Not Dead 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

So look:

Steve and Bucky hadn't been rolling in cash, back in the day, and as a result he took the jobs he could get. Sign painting was great, but there wasn't always sign painting to be had. What that meant was yes, he illustrated a couple of Tijuana bibles in his day. It wasn't something he was in a hurry to mention to the people of the new century, and fortunately none of them had been signed with his real name or even his initials.

So the first time someone on STRIKE sent him a link to a porn video, he rolled his eyes and deleted the email. The concept of a blue movie wasn't exactly new to him, though the idea that it was legal (and in fact free) was, he had to admit, a little startling. But it was just guys being guys, and being teased about his supposed prudery wasn't new either.

And he had an excellent visual imagination; it wasn't like he needed porn to get himself off. In fact, one of the drawbacks of his souped-up metabolism--one he doubted Erskine had thought about beforehand--was that he, well, wanted to get off regularly and it was always pretty easy, no matter how low he felt in any other respect. Sure, he could have gotten his ashes hauled by one of the dames who wanted to lay Captain America, but that seemed like the worst possible combination of using her and letting her use him. He ended up discovering that there were much better lubricants than Vaseline in the future and taking care of it himself whenever the need, ahem, arose.

It was fine, right up until the party at Rumlow's place the second autumn after the Chitauri. It wasn't for any particular occasion; Rumlow just hosted people every few months. Steve had mixed feelings about going, because the kind of working relationship where you rag on each other in the locker room after a mission was one thing but he wasn't sure he wanted all these guys to be his friends. Some of them, Rumlow most definitely included, were sort of assholes, though Steve was aware that his reaction to Rumlow wasn't as negative as it might have been if the man hadn't been dark-haired, broad-shouldered, and apparently deeply offended if Steve fought him when Rumlow thought he needed to eat or get an injury looked at.

But he went to the cookout. Rumlow set up a grill in his postage-stamp backyard and made hamburgers and frankfurters, there was potato salad, it was fine, and Steve was just thinking about making his excuses for the evening when he heard Mercer. "For God's sake, leave him alone," she said, sounding annoyed and like she was trying to keep her voice down. "He doesn't need to see that."

Steve's eyebrows rose and he went over to the door to the room Rumlow kept his computer in. Rumlow probably didn't call it a study, but that was what it was, with a desk and a couple of comfortable chairs and a surprising number of books. Mercer, Rollins and Takahashi were clustered around the computer. They all looked up when he said, "Don't need to see what?"

Mercer looked pissed; Rollins and Takahashi a combination of amused and guilty. "It's stupid internet porn," Mercer said. "These two morons want to try to make you blush."

Steve huffed. "We did have sex in the 40s," he said mildly. "I'm aware of the concept." He rounded the desk and Mercer blocked his view of the screen.

"No, Cap, I really think you'd rather not," she said seriously.

Steve cocked his head to meet Rollins' eyes. "If I look at this, will you guys stop sending me blue links?"

Rollins made a face and said, "We'll do that anyway if it bugs you."

"It only bugs me because you seem to think I can't find it on my own if I want it," Steve said. "OK, lemme see."

"Cap," Mercer said.

"I can handle it," Steve said. She blew out a breath and stood aside.

The video was paused on an image of a man on his knees. From the angle of his shoulders his hands were tied behind his back, which kept him from fending off the standing man whose cock was in his mouth. The recipient's dark hair fell into his face but just enough of the curve of his cheek and the angle of his nose was visible that Steve blurted "Bucky" before he could stop himself.

Takahashi laughed, though it sounded more nervous than anything else. "That's what we thought too," he said. "Doesn't that look just like Bucky Barnes, you know?"

But it was impossible. The image was in color, for one thing, and as far as Steve knew Bucky'd never even had a color photograph taken in his life. The way the shot was framed wasn't right either; if Steve had had to guess, he'd have put its origins in the mid-70s.

"I guess everybody has a double," Steve said. He must have sounded fairly normal because Rollins replied, "There aren't many good shots of his face, but straight on the resemblance isn't as strong."

"Now he's seen it," said Mercer. "Do you feel better about yourselves now?"

Rollins sounded grumpy and ashamed, as well he might, when he said, "Yeah, OK, not funny. Sorry, Cap."

Steve never figured out exactly what he said, either accepting the apology or getting the hell out of Rumlow's house, but it couldn't have been too bad because no one looked at him twice the next time he worked with STRIKE. At the time, he was too busy getting behind closed doors to think about it.

He went straight into the shower, turned it on as hot as he could bear, and sat there with the water beating on the top of his head for nearly an hour; when he finally hauled himself out, every inch of his skin was bright red and he was breathing hard, on the edge of heatstroke. He went to bed. He had no trouble sleeping, at least, and if he dreamed of Bucky falling from the train that wasn't anything unusual, even nearly two years (by his memories) later.

But in the morning, he turned on his computer--Natasha liked to tease him about being hopeless with modern technology, but it really wasn't that complicated--went to Google, and typed in "bucky barnes lookalike porn".

Re: FILL: 95, Not Dead 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

OH NO

(oh yes oh yes oh yes)

Re: FILL: 95, Not Dead 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

YAAAAASSSSS this is the best

Re: FILL: 95, Not Dead 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

This is so good so far!