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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Talk to him. He clears his throat, which gets no reaction. "Soldier. Look at me, please." And oh shit, oh fuck, those cold eyes come up and Mike is staring into the face of Hydra's killer, their singular unanswerable weapon, their Asset. The shock of arousal he feels is tinged with fear, and that makes it better than the fantasy, hotter, because this is real, he's imagined it a hundred times and now it's happening, he's alone with the Soldier and he can have whatever he wants and what he wants is—

"I want you to fuck me." He'd thought it might be hard to say, but it's not, because now that the moment's here he feels the surging heat of a reckless excitement, an immunity to consequence that makes it easy. The Soldier just stares at him, flat and unimpressed, and normally that would make him shy, would feel like skepticism at best and rejection at worse, but what it feels like now is a challenge. He knows what he looks like, sure, short and kind of underfed, nothing like the muscle-bound gods who support the Soldier in the field, but they're not available for the Soldier's use, for his pleasure, and Mike—is. You'll like this, Yimei had said, and Mike might be small and awkward but he respects the hell out of the Soldier and he's going to prove her right. "What Yimei said, about recreation—this, this isn't that." Not that he knows what that is, not really, like given the Soldier's response his imagination honestly fails him, but it's obviously bad and Mike's not here to do anything bad, Mike's here to show his goddamn respect. "I'm gonna—" In for a fucking penny, he thinks. "I'm gonna suck your cock, get down right here on my knees and suck you, make it good, and then when you're nice and wet I'm gonna get up on that chair, sit in your lap and—" Okay, his pants are getting seriously uncomfortable, he needs to be a lot more naked, like, stat. He's got condoms and a little bottle of slick in his pocket, and he drops those on the tray that swings out from the arm of the chair, and then he pulls his shirt over his head and slides off his belt and opens his pants and fuck, stripping before that unwavering gaze, stripping while the Soldier is dressed from head to toe in his fucking armor, it makes his throat tighten and his face burn, it makes him so fucking hard.

Touching the Soldier feels impossible but it's not, not if he gets on his knees first, where—oh god—where he belongs, so he's looking up, reaching up to touch the reinforced black material of the Soldier's pants, getting them open, getting his cock out. He's big everywhere, fuck, of course he is, his cock is thick and heavy in Mike's hand and he's not even hard yet. Mike darts a glance at his face, and yes, the Soldier is watching him, Mike has his attention now. He licks a soft swipe along the Soldier's cock, and presses a kiss to the head, tasting, worshipping, and the Soldier makes a sound low in his throat. Mike freezes, braced for that metal fist to close in his hair, pull him in or push him away, but the Soldier doesn't move, doesn't touch him, and after a moment he lets his lips part. He takes the Soldier's cock in until its silky weight rests on his tongue, and sucks gently, and the Soldier makes another sound, soft and startled, and this time Mike takes it as encouragement.

It's long minutes before the Soldier begins to harden in his mouth, and Mike's own neglected cock is hot and aching, but he doesn't touch himself, doesn't want to come yet, or wait, better, he's not allowed to touch himself, not allowed to come unless it's with the Soldier's cock inside him, he can beg for it but he doesn't get a choice, doesn't get to take his pleasure unless he's being, fuck, being used—and in the fantasy he wouldn't get to use his hands, either, but that's not practical, because the Soldier's fully hard now and Mike can't take more than half of it, he's not inexperienced but he's spent less time with a dick down his throat than he'd consider ideal, but it's okay, he's doing good, he's making the Soldier feel good.

When he pulls off, the Soldier's eyes are closed, his head tipped back against the padded headrest. Mike's chin is slick with spit, and his jaw aches, and the high wild excitement is pounding in his blood. He needs to get fucked now. He reaches up to snag the little bottle, and the Soldier opens his eyes to watch as Mike pours the slick into his own hand, as he reaches behind himself to brush his fingers against his hole. It feels like the stripping did, humiliating and hot, fingering himself open on his knees on the fucking floor, pinned by those ruthless eyes. Not cold anymore, though, not distant. Stay, Yimei had said, and wherever the Soldier had gone inside his own head he's here now, he is present and fucking accounted for. Interested. Expectant.

When Mike climbs into the chair to straddle the Soldier's lap, he is acutely conscious of the picture they make: his pale bare skin against the Soldier's heavy armor, his small form balanced above the bulk of the Soldier's body. The Soldier lifts his hands to Mike's waist and then pauses, the metal palm and the flesh one hovering an inch from his skin, not touching. "You can," Mike says, "yes," and the Soldier grips him carefully, steadies him. He rolls a condom down over the Soldier's cock, and slicks it liberally, and the Soldier groans. Then he's lining them up, sinking down, and it's—fuck, it's so much, it sends sparks racing through him but it's so much, and it's slow, slow, he's panting and mumbling, god, you're so hot, you're the best thing about this fucking place, they don't see it but I do, I want you to take this, I want you to fucking use me. The Soldier's hands tighten convulsively, and Mike feels a moment's rush of fear that the Soldier will buck up into him, pull him down, force himself deeper, faster, than Mike can take—but the Soldier is still, the Soldier doesn't hurt him. When he's fully seated, he lets himself gasp, lets himself tremble a little as he tries to adjust. This is, without doubt, the hottest fucking thing that has ever happened to him. He goes soft, sometimes, taking a cock in his ass, especially after—but not this time, his dick is flushed and straining against his belly, and he lets himself touch, finally, strokes himself slowly and moans because it is so good, so much, so good. His other hand is braced on the Soldier's chest, and fuck, fuck, he's still wearing his fucking knives in their clever little sheaths, he is a fucking arsenal. He can't help the words, he is split open and everything inside is coming out, I love these, god, the knives, I've seen videos, it's like they're part of you, your claws, your teeth, fuck. He needs to move, he needs to—and his thighs shake as he pushes himself up, and the Soldier's cock feels just as huge, just as overwhelming sliding out of him as it did pushing in, and oh god, I like your guns best, though, the way you handle them, I watch the clips and I get so fucking hard, I think about you touching me like that, I think about—

He finds a rhythm. It's slow, but the drag of the Soldier's cock inside him is perfect, and the Soldier's hands on his hips burn hot and cold, searing him, claiming him. The Soldier risks a small movement, never taking his eyes from Mike's face, and Mike shivers with pleasure and tosses his head back and says, "Do it, do it, fuck, I want it—" And the Soldier braces him and thrusts shallowly into him, and Mike wails, because yes, yes. He bounces on the Soldier's cock, shameless, wanton, and he's going to come, as the Soldier's intent look softens into something dazed, he's going to come from this, as the Soldier grips him harder, as the Soldier starts to fuck him in earnest, less careful, less controlled, he's going to—

The Soldier moves him like he weighs nothing. Lifts him, shoves him, sends him stumbling to the floor—and catches him, the metal hand unforgiving around his wrist. Then the Soldier is out of the chair, and he's dragging Mike across the room, deliberate, unhurried, irresistible. They reach the table and the Soldier clears it with a single careless swipe, sending the muzzle flying, the stun stick clattering, and then he's bending Mike over it, one hand between his shoulder blades, and pushing back into him. Mike gasps, reeling, because there's no easing into it this time, the Soldier has him pinned, and the Soldier thrusts deep, hard. And okay, ow, ow, and Mike's hands close on nothing, and adrenaline races through him because this is—

he doesn't think about it, mostly, but—

this is too much like—

it was two years ago and it was just hazing anyway but they'd been so much stronger than him and it had hurt and he feels small and helpless like that now under the Soldier's hard body and he squeezes his eyes shut and his breath comes fast and—

"Easy." The Soldier's warm hand strokes firmly down his shuddering back, the weight of it grounding him. Again. The Soldier's voice should be a growl, Mike thinks, but it's not—it's rough, a little hoarse, but clear. And the Soldier's not letting him up, not pulling out, but he's not moving, either. The Soldier is . . . petting him? "Easy, kid." He's waiting, Mike realizes. He's waiting for Mike to tap out, if he's going to.

And, just—fuck no. This is fucking hot, this is what he fucking wants, to be taken, to be used, this is the fucking fantasy come to life and he's not going to call it off just because—just because—and the Soldier's touch steadies him, and he says yes and he says fuck me and he arches up under the Soldier's hands and the Soldier shoves him back down. The Soldier fucks him, relentless, remorseless, he fucks like he fights, and it's so much, it's too much, it's perfect, and when the cool metal of the Soldier's hand closes around his cock Mike comes so hard he feels obliterated, laid waste.

The Soldier's not done, though. He makes an inquiring sound, and Mike can barely lift his head but he nods, he says more. He's too sensitive for this, he can't take it, but he will take it because the Soldier is going to fuck him until he comes, can and can't don't matter, the Soldier is Hydra's incomparable warrior and Mike is an offering. He's sore, raw, the Soldier can't help hurting him now, and it's still perfect.

When the Soldier comes, he drops his head to the back of Mike's neck, and for a long minute, he doesn't move. His breath in Mike's ear is ragged, and Mike can feel the sweat on his cheek. The Soldier rests like that, his face pressed to Mike's bare skin. And Mike feels a wave of exhausted, delirious contentment, and something almost like affection, and he smiles a little to himself, because the gesture is so unguarded, so unselfconsciously fucking sweet, it's almost human.

Oh my FUCKING God.

Mike's a little guy. Of course he is. He's nothing like the guys who go into the field. Is Mike blond? I somehow think he might be.

Leave me here to die.

...and I just realized what "hazing" consists of.

Hydra. Oh my God, Hydra.

Don't work for Hydra, kids! (The More You Know.)

(Also, yes, that's my competence kink right there, oh yes it is...)

FUCK, everything about this is hitting all of my buttons. This is SO WELL DONE. The Soldier noticing when Mike freaks out and responding with care -- and of course Mike is short and slight, of course he is -- "it's almost human" ARGH. Just, ARGH.

A pile of plaster dust, a broken drill bit, and some leftover washers of various sizes for you, author!anon. This is pure gold.

I'm so glad you liked that part, I actually wrote that first—the Soldier noticing when Mike freaks out—and then built the rest of the scene around it. Is Bucky afraid of punishment for displeasing a handler, or is he still in there somewhere and not, you know, interested in fucking someone scared and hurting? (Both. It's meant to be both.)

*scuttles out to collect trash gifts*
*carries them home in my teeth*

"Almost human" fuck, fuuuuck I can't even

(OP)

Welp, that is it, I am dead. I am writing this from my warm, trashy grave.

Seriously, though, this was SO GOOD. Mike's fantasy deviating so hard from reality, even though for him it totally is reality. How he imagines the Soldier telling him not to come, being in total control, even though every line makes it clear how not in control the Soldier is. He's so gentle, so concerned about doing the right thing, and all the while Mike's blowing the Soldier and fucking himself on the Soldier and drowning in fantasy land.

Other people have already commented about Mike's last thought, "it's almost human," but I just had to also point out how utterly perfect it is. Even Mike, who is showing his respect, who can't imagine mistreating the Soldier, still doesn't really think of him as fully human. This is exactly what I wanted.

Lastly, as far as the actual fucking goes: That uniform porn? The black armor, the knives and the guns and the way you describe them? That is why I am dead, just fyi. The image of the Soldier leaned back in that chair, covered in armor and weapons, with slight little Mike sat in his lap naked and vulnerable and split open on the Soldier's cock. Yes well. And later, him telling the Soldier to finish even though he was raw and sore and not actually sure he could take it? Let's just say I am a very happy little trash denizen. I wasn't having the best day today, but I think I will go to bed quite cheerful tonight anyway.

I've no idea what you've got planned for part three, but I have been pretty happy so far. :)

"Almost human." Oh jesus. What a painful fucking phrase.

Well done, anon. I'm sure this little scene will be occupying a place of honor in my spank bank for years to come.

Oh man, this is so perfect and awful and perfect.

Oh my God, this story is beyond perfect!

I love the symbolism of Bucky knocking the stun baton off the table so he can bend Mike over it. And also the incredibly trashy way you center the sex around Mike's consent, all the little ways Bucky looks for permission and the opportunities Mike has to say yes, you can, I want it, etc. -- when MIKE is the rapist here. On the one hand, it feels like Bucky's being careful because Mike's a handler and he doesn't want to get in trouble, but on the other hand it feels like Bucky's basically decent sensibilities around sex are still intact, despite everything he's endured. Which almost makes it WORSE.

I don't want to be That Person, but is part 3 in the offing? I totally get it if the inspiration has flown away, but...I just love Mike's twisted rationales so much.

I don't even think I have much of anything coherent to say about this other than hell and yes. The casual disregard for the Soldier's humanity is Hydra scum through and through, and it's chilling how normal they think of themselves, as if this isn't rape – worse still, they think they're the ones doing a GOOD thing. And even worse than that, it's another rape victim doing this, perpetuating a cycle of sexual violence.

That said, I completely understand Mike's mind-numbing lust over Bucky's battle gear because holy shit. I can't even feel guilty over how hot this is. Looking forward to the next part!

Thanks for your kind comments! Although I did initially have a third part to this story planned, it carried the plot beyond what was requested in the prompt and was thus a bit ultra vires. (It didn't include further porn, so you're not missing anything.) As it is, the story's natural ending sort of snuck up on me, and for the time being I'm calling it complete. It's up on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6403141. (I had to change the title, since as it stands all the fascists are basically fine.)

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Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

FILL: All You Fascists (Bound to Lose) [2b/3]

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