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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

After Fury saves Pierce's daughter, Pierce is extremely grateful. And, well, he's easy on the eyes, he's friendly, and he's got connections, so Fury has no qualms about getting into bed with him. Even if he does have a kink for pretending to be Captain America and getting told off by his superiors for being a reckless idiot, going on rescue missions alone and crashing planes in the sea. Fury's dealt with stranger things.

And really, bringing in some amputee veteran who looks bizarrely similar to Bucky Barnes isn't the weirdest thing they've done in bed (there was the time Mrs. Pierce showed up in her historically accurate Agent Carter getup, and Fury and Pierce have both worked with Carter), but the kid's still unnervingly quiet and malleable and Fury doesn't know why the hell Pierce wants to get lectured about letting "Bucky" fall off a train anyway, and he's relieved when that experience turns out to be a one-off. Eventually, the whole tryst tapers off, which is good, because it's not all that many years later when they find the real Steve Rogers in the ice, and it would just be awkward for Fury to have to work with him while all that's going on.

Cue Fury in his underground hospital bed, so repulsed when he learns the truth about Bucky Barnes and puts two and two together. Give me Fury trying to compartmentalize his disgust and horror at what he was unwittingly part of, because there's no time for that shit. And Fury is acutely aware that Rogers might not be forgiving if he found out.

Oh GOD I'm not even usually into Pierce/Fury, but this sounds like such a perfect mixture of comedy and horror that I desperately want to see it filled.

*manufactures a parasol from greasy KFC buckets and limp cabbage leaves, and camps out beside prompt*

omg yesssss please THIS. ALL OF THIS. but especially that scene where Bucky is "unnervingly quiet and malleable" in bed with Fury and Pierce dear lord in heaven this prompt is so beautiful.

I am super into Pierce/Fury and this jams like 90 of my buttons holy shit

This is a beautiful prompt and you should be proud. Anything with Fury encountering WS Bucky would be amazing.

Fury/Winter Soldier so much, god! Into this like, er, all the fucking way

Pierce looks wrecked.

His clothes are rumpled, hair out of place, glasses sliding down his nose with no effort on his part to right them. There are bloody imprints of his teeth in his lower lip, eyes so wild that Nick isn’t sure if he’s faced with gratitude or outrage. He’d hope saving the bureaucrat’s daughter and a dozen others would entitle him to the former, but he’s under no illusions about the situation. He carried out an unauthorized operation on foreign soil and made a fool of Pierce before the rest of the State Department. The odds he won’t be made a scapegoat are slim.

Pierce’s hands are shaking. It’s a far cry from the man Nick had seen only yesterday. Pierce had been in the same suit then, but it was impeccably pressed. He’d looked so calm and collected, so certain he could negotiate the rebels down.

Nick had nodded at the decision and then left to take matters into his own hands. And now Pierce will have his head on a stick for it.

“You,” Pierce manages. His mouth works silently afterward, fingers twisting the fabric of his cuffs.

“Me,” Nick says. Usually he can rein in his smart mouth around simpering politicians who never have to get their hands dirty. But usually those politicians cut right to the chase.

Pierce’s eyes flare and yeah, it’s outrage Nick sees there. The words come spilling out, finally, though halted and stammered. “How dare you—You defied—you risked—”

Then the words stop as abruptly as they’d started, cut short by Pierce slamming his lips against Nick’s.

It’s not as surprising as it probably should be. Nick doesn’t work under anyone without learning all there is to know about them, and he could tell in his gut well before any intel came back. Not that there’s been much to find. Pierce is either deep enough in the closet that he might even have fooled himself, or he’s got a hell of a knack for discretion.

He had, Nick corrects. Pierce’s mouth is still pressed against his own. He kisses like he knows his business: not weak and waiting, but not struggling for dominance either. There’s room for Nick to reciprocate, if he chooses to.

Instead he grips Pierce by the arms, pushing him back. Pierce looks as stunned as ever and there’s no way Nick’s going to stand here and deal with either Pierce coming to terms with being a queen or a hasty gratitude blowjob in a makeshift embassy.

It’s only now that Nick realizes how tired he is. The adrenaline’s well and truly gone if he prefers a soft mattress to getting sucked off.

“Your daughter’s asking for you,” he says, releasing his hold on Pierce. He turns and walks out of the office without waiting for a reply. Whatever mud Pierce wants to sling his way can wait until he’s slept.

And maybe Pierce’ll reconsider attacking the man he just outed himself to. Nick’s not too exhausted to hope.

It’s not in Nick’s nature to keep from looking a gift horse in the mouth, but when Pierce makes him head of S.H.I.E.L.D., he can’t bring himself to dwell too long on the downsides. If this is a bribe for his silence, it’s a hell of a reward for shutting up about a secret he already planned to keep. If it’s an attempt to discredit him—put him in over his head and watch him leave the agency in disgrace, so any accusations he makes are ascribed to bitterness—then Pierce will find Nick’s a lot more skilled and resilient than he’s estimated.

And if it’s really just a gift in exchange for saving Pierce’s daughter? Might be nice to have an ally who throws all his resources into so richly rewarding common sense.

There’s a ceremony, and the food’s much more memorable than any of the speeches. Nick lets the words wash over him, mostly droning stuffed shirts who didn’t know him from Adam until Pierce pulled some strings, going on about Nick’s achievements and character.

He almost misses when Pierce goes to podium, tuning back in just in time to hear him say, “Director Fury’s shown me just how much I’ve yet to learn about the world.”

Holding in a laugh, Nick regrets it when he nearly chokes on a bite of filet mignon.

Pierce appears at Nick’s side later, once the ceremony’s concluded and Nick’s had about all he can stand of the glad-handing. “A word?” he asks.

It was inevitable. Nick follows Pierce to the office and waits to see which route this’ll take. Careful euphemisms, maybe, praise for his discretion. He won’t resort to threats or blackmail; he’s too smart for that and he won’t want Nick as an enemy. Not with what he knows.

Nodding to an empty chair, Pierce sits on the edge of his desk.

Nick doesn’t take the seat. He’d prefer to know where they stand before he gets too comfortable.

Pierce’s gaze is measured and steady as he speaks. “Would you like to fuck me?”

He’s casual, like this is an offer he’s made dozens of times. Maybe it is, and Pierce is just skilled at secrecy instead of closeted. There’s no leer in his stare, nothing in his tone that indicates he feels that Nick is indebted. He doesn’t sound as if he expects gratitude, and that above all else drives Nick’s reply.

“You got a place?”

“My home?” Pierce offers.

Nick cocks a brow. “And your wife?”

Pierce’s smile comes easily. “You think she doesn’t know?”

They end up in a hotel room, some obscenely expensive place with fresh cut flowers and champagne waiting in the suite. The pace is slow, every movement drawn out and carefully assessed. Neither of them wants to lose control first. Neither wants to stop scrutinizing the other.

Pierce may be an idealistic bureaucrat, but Nick has to admit he’s a clever, collected one. And a damn good lay.

The fifth time they fuck is in the early morning hours after some party in Seoul. Pierce comes into Nick’s hotel room with the extra key, cursing under his breath and scrambling to get his watch off. By the pale dawn light filtering through the crack in the shades, Nick can see deep imprints circling Alexander’s wrist. It looks like he’s bleeding in places.

“Christ.” He sits up in the bed, pulls the chain on the lamp. “What happened?”

“This was a gift from the Korean ambassador a few years back,” Alexander says, setting the watch on the nightstand. He rubs at the raw skin of his wrist. “Damn thing’s too tight.”

“So don’t wear it.”

Alexander shoots him a look. “Right, and offend the ambassador. That’ll go over well.”

Nick rubs a hand over his face. It’s both too late and too early for this. “Why didn’t you just sell it and buy yourself another one that fit?”

Alexander’s glare falters, and Nick doesn’t bother to hide his smirk. “There are very rare occasions when I don’t think of everything.”

“You’re telling me.” Nick shuts the lamp off again, settling back against the headboard. “Lie down, you idiot.”

Alexander’s sliding off his bowtie, dark silk wound around his long fingers. He pauses, turning his head. “Call me that again.”

“What, idiot? Sure thing.”

“I like it.” Alexander shrugs off his dress shirt, stretching out on the bed. “It implies much more reckless behavior than I’m able to get up to in my line of work.”

“Your kink is getting told off?” Nick rolls his eyes, reaching down to help Alexander out of his belt. “Should’ve let me know sooner. I’d like nothing better.”

“Christmas?” Nick repeats.

“Christmas Eve,” Alexander corrects. “The last thing I want is to keep you away from your mother. She’d have my head for that.”

“You want me,” Nick says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “To spend Christmas Eve. At your house?”

“I hardly see why not.” Alexander taps the nub of his pen against a manila folder on the desk. “Surely we qualify as friends by this point? Why shouldn’t you come? Our housekeeper makes this incredible roast with—”

“Alex.” Nick puts his hand down on the desk, stilling the pen. “This might have slipped your mind given all the long nights you pull here, but you’re married. You think your wife’s gonna want the man fucking her husband carving the turkey?”

“It’s ham,” Alexander says evenly. “And you wouldn’t be carving it. That’s my son-in-law’s job. Anyway, my wife’s wanted to meet you since Bogotá. As soon as she was done slapping me about it, she demanded to see the man who’d saved our child. She’ll probably want to kiss you.”

Slapping Alexander doesn’t sound like a bad idea right now. Nick wonders briefly if that would get him hard. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Some would say it’s my best quality.”

The Christmas Eve dinner goes more smoothly than Nick had expected. The most awkward moment is when Pierce’s daughter insists on having Nick feel her belly, proudly announcing that her child’s either going to be Nicholas or Nichole. She’s not even showing yet.

The housekeeper eats with them, and Mrs. Pierce spends most of the time talking with her about some Christmas charity drive they’d both taken part in. It makes it easier for Nick to settle back in his chair, to relax. And it is a damn good roast.

It’s not until the housekeeper’s gone home and Pierce’s daughter is off with her husband to the guest house that Mrs. Pierce turns her attention to him.

Alexander wasn’t wrong about the kissing. But he could have mentioned it would be long and deep instead of a grateful peck on the face.

“Beverly’s been waiting to do that for a long time,” Alexander says when Nick pulls away for air. “You like girls, Nick?”

He looks pleased with himself. It dawns on Nick as he’s catching his breath that Alexander invited him here for a threesome knowing damn well Nick’s driving his mother to a Christmas church service in the morning. Goddamn it.

“Well enough, Alex,” Nick answers just as easily.

Beverly fits so readily between them that Nick knows this isn’t her first time in bed with her husband and one of his flings.

The next time they’re alone in Alexander’s office, Nick backhands him with a fraction of his strength behind it, calling him a reckless fool. As expected, it turns Alex on.

It’s more rare than not for Alex’s wife to join them in bed, but she makes it clear she has no problem with Nick stopping by. It’s easier to coordinate than the hotels and with their jobs, Nick has every reason to make visits to Alex. It becomes a habit quickly, dropping in when he has the time. On occasion he finds himself invited to dinner.

It’s October, nearly a year after that Christmas dinner, when Beverly stumbles into the bedroom while Alex and Nick are at it, tipsy and dressed up as Peggy Carter.

“Our church,” Alex explains, flushed and panting as he tries to catch his breath. “Halloween party, you know, for the parents who think their kids will be kidnapped by Satanists if they trick or treat. Bev’s a chaperone every year. And she’s been obsessed with Agent Carter since she was a girl.”

Beverly laughs, collapsing into the vanity chair more than sitting on it. “You act so innocent. Don’t let him fool you, Nick, the only thing that gets him harder faster than Carter is Captain America.”

“Oh really?” Nick asks, and Alex’s face is much redder than their previous fooling around justifies.

Beverly stands back up once her boots are off, fumbling with the buttons of her army jacket. It really is a perfect replica, and tailored to her body like a glove. “He likes to be called Steve,” she whispers, somehow managing to be louder than if she’d shouted. “Have fun.”

“Should have figured you for a Rogers fan,” Nick says once the door clicks shut. “He might be the biggest idiot in American history.”

“He saved the world,” Alex protests, but he’s so flushed and smiling and entirely too good-looking.

“And couldn’t think to crash a plane in warmer water.” Nick shakes his head. What is it, he wonders, about white boys and Captain America? There’s no malice in the thought; it’s just such a cliché, and Alex is rarely so typical. Steve Rogers seems to be every white fairy’s first crush, probably because of the government’s insistence on slapping his image on every textbook and recruitment flier they can. Let a kid sleep with a poster over his bed of some blond god in a spangly outfit with pecs bigger than most women’s tits, and what do you think he’ll end up jerking it to?

Nick slaps his hand against Alex’s flank. “On your knees, Rogers. I’m not done with you yet.”

He means it as more of a joke than anything else, a harmless taunt, but the shiver that runs through Alex at his words tells Nick that he’ll have to try that name again.

Later, when Alex is lying on top of him, both too fucked out to move, Nick can’t help laughing to himself.

“What?” Alex asks, shifting his head slightly.

“You know, I have to meet with Carter next week. Look her in the eye and try not to think of your wife pistol-whipping you.”

Alex’s laugh is exhausted but genuine, and music to Nick’s ears.

There’s no expectation of exclusivity between them.

Alex is married, for one, and as the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick spends no shortage of time holed up on ops halfway around the world. He takes what he can get. They both do. It’s not something that they’ve had to discuss; with their lifestyles, it’s an unspoken understanding. Nick knows they both use condoms with strangers, but other than that, he’s never asked about Alex’s sex life. He expects it’s like his own: opportunistic and largely impersonal. Alex is one of the few men he can fuck and hold a conversation with. He always figured he filled that same role for Alex.

Which is why it’s such a surprise when Nick drops in early one night to find a long-haired man in a bathrobe sitting on Alex’s couch.

“Nick!” Alex is on the couch too. Or was. He bolts upright so quickly when Nick makes his presence known that the liquid in his glass sloshes a little onto the hardwood.

The stranger doesn’t have a glass.

“I thought you’d be out of the country until next week?” Alex asks. He’s up now, offering his seat to Nick.

Nick doesn’t take it. “The trip got cut short.” Translation: The mission went belly-up and it’s a damn miracle there wasn’t a blood bath. He’s aching and tired, on edge from all the adrenaline his body’s churned out in the past few days. Coming here had seemed better than heading home alone. So much for that.

“Sorry to hear it.” Alex does look genuinely concerned, and Nick takes it there’ll be questions later. When he’s not walking in on Alex and some twink he brought home.

Well, twink’s not exactly accurate. The man’s young—or at least his seemingly perpetual pout makes him look it—and long-haired, with smoky eyeliner smudged poorly around his eyes, but he looks built enough under the robe, and there’s stubble dusting his face. Nick wonders where Alex picked him up. The clubs with all the glitter, makeup, and tulle had never seemed like Alex’s scene. Too public.

“You must be exhausted,” Alex says. “You should sit—I’m sorry, I’m being rude—Nick, this is—this is Jay.” He bites his lip, eyes darting between the two of them, and for the first time Nick wonders if this isn’t just some random lay. Does Alex have some young pretty guy who thinks they’re exclusive? Or is he worried about outing Nick? “He’s—a friend. Jay, this is Nick.”

It takes a second for Jay to nod in acknowledgement. His eyes are dead and dark and Nick wonders if he’s on something.

“Pleasure,” Nick says.

“Here.” Alex lays a hand on Nick’s arm. “Let me get you a drink, you look like you need it.” His grip is firm enough that Nick knows it’s not a request.

They don’t go to the kitchen. Instead, Alex moves to the den where his liquor cabinet is stored, closing the door behind them. “I’m sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” It’s never been a closed relationship. “I’m the one who barged in.”

“He’s a friend,” Alex says, taking a decanter of brandy from the cabinet.

Nick can’t help a faint snort at that. It sounds like the excuse a scared teen would make to his mother: We’re just friends. He was just hanging out. In a bathrobe. Just guys being pals, that’s all. We were only kissing to practice for girls.

“More than a friend,” Alex amends. He sighs, handing Nick a glass. “Met him on a visit to the VA. He’s got a nasty case of shellshock, lost an arm to an IED.”

That explains his eyes. And why he wasn’t drinking; Nick’s seen his fair share of veterans with PTSD who turn into nasty drunks. And some who can’t stop crying once liquor’s in their system. Nick hadn’t noticed a missing arm or a prosthetic, but he hadn’t been staring at the guy’s hands either.

“I pulled some strings to get him in a program for military amputees,” Alex continues. “State of the art prostheses and physical therapy, that kind of thing.” He sips from his own glass. “Had him around a few times to see how he was doing, and, well.” A shrug. “I was going to mention him, but you’ve been out of the country, and if those messages had been intercepted…”

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. Nick can imagine the headlines someone with a grudge against Alex could feed to the papers. Accusations of making a traumatized war hero prostitute himself for aid. Highlighting the age gap. Nasty stuff.

“You don’t owe me explanations.” Nick tries the brandy. It’s got to be obscenely expensive, but it tastes like a mouthful of liquefied wood. “You never ask about my guys.”

“I’m sorry I said your name.” The apology’s unexpected. Alex flushes and looks away. “I wasn’t thinking—I saw you and thought something awful must have happened on the op.”

Nick shrugs. As the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., he’s worked to keep himself out of the public eye. So Pierce’s boy toy knows his first name. Not exactly a threat to his career. “It’s fine. I’ll go, you have your fun. I can fill you in on the details tomorrow.”

Alex is biting his lip again. It makes his mouth look red and much too tempting. “How bad was it?”

“Not as bad as it could have been.”

Alex sighs. “You don’t have to spend the night alone. You can stay, it’s fine.”

“In your guest room?” Nick isn’t sure he relishes the thought of listening to Alex fuck a stranger, no matter how nice his sheets are.

“Well, you could.” For the first time since Nick arrived, Alex’s eyes sparkle with that familiar humor. “Or I could have a word with Jay and see if we can’t make room for one more.”

Nick shakes his head. He’s tired down to his bones and yet Alex still makes it seem more appealing than sleep, damn him. “That makeup of his. Does it run?”

“He can wash it off you if it does.” Alex drains the last of his glass. “Don’t question the fashion sensibilities of today’s youth, Nick, it never makes sense and they’ll only pout about it.” He starts for the door but stops, a hand on the knob and a smile on his face. “Oh, and Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“He likes to be called Bucky.”

“Where do you find these people?” Nick mutters, shaking his head in disbelief, but Alex has already closed the door behind him.

The kid’s prosthetic is a damn work of art. There’s a fake skin over top of the machinery, either printed or painted to look exactly like human flesh. Varying levels of translucency, veins, imperfections and hairs, even nails glued onto the ends of the fingers. It’s perfect until Nick actually touches it, feeling cold metal beneath the thin covering.

Jay doesn’t move when Nick touches his hand, doesn’t even look. Maybe the sensation’s lacking. Or maybe he’s lost in his head, despite Alex’s insistence that he’d been enthusiastic about this.

Alex settles on the bed across from Jay, reaching a hand out. He brushes the hair away from Jay’s face and Jay finally raises his head to meet his eyes.

He does look uncannily like Bucky Barnes, and Nick wonders if that’s what caught Alex’s eye to begin with.

“Bucky,” Alex breathes. He’s smiling, still stroking Jay’s hair. “You’re back. I thought I’d lost you.”

These two must have more of a roleplay kink than Nick’s ever gotten up to. Oh, he’s called Alex ‘Rogers’ more than a few times, barked at him for insubordination and recklessness, but this is more than that. It seems like a scripted scenario of Rogers rising from the dead to find his equally revived friend before they ride off on a white horse. Or something.

Briefly, Nick wonders if Alex’s wife ever gets involved with the pair of them.

Jay’s silent, although he brings his left hand up to hold Alex’s. The robe slides down on his shoulder as he moves, and Nick sees a gleam of metal where the prosthetic cover doesn’t come all the way up. There are scars all around his shoulder. Nick tries not to stare.

“I missed you so much, Buck,” Alex says. “I’ll never let you go again, I promise. You’re safe now, I won’t let you fall again.”

He leans in and kisses Jay, whose lips part readily to accept him. They trade slow kisses until their lips are red and swollen, and Nick has to admit it’s a beautiful sight.

He isn’t expecting it when Alex pulls away, turning to face him.

“Tell me to apologize,” he says.

Nick may be horny but he’s still exhausted, and it takes him a moment to react. “What?”

“To Bucky.” Alex tilts his head toward Jay. “For letting him fall. For losing him. Make me make it up to him.”

White people, Nick thinks. Can’t they just screw instead of turning it into some sexual epic? He holds in a sigh, reclining against the headboard. “Rogers,” he says sharply, and Alex straightens up, listening.

“You think you just shove your tongue down Barnes’s throat and that makes it all better?” Nick demands. “You left him to freeze in the Alps so you could take the glory on a suicide mission, but you promise it won’t happen again, so it’s all fine?”

“I had to—”

“Shut your mouth, soldier,” Nick snaps. “Did I give you permission to speak? You let Barnes fall off that train and you’re gonna make excuses? Tell him you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Alex says immediately. “I’m so sorry, you’re my whole world, I’d do anything for—”

“Doesn’t sound sincere to me,” Nick interrupts. “Try again, Rogers.”

“God, Bucky, I’ll do anything to make it up to you, I’m sorry, when I thought I’d lost you, I couldn’t make myself go on, I—”

“Pathetic.” Nick shakes his head. “That’s all you’ve got? There are better ways you can use your mouth to make it up to him.”

With a nod, Alex lowers his head into Jay’s lap. Jay looks as confused about all this as Nick feels, but he parts his legs readily, letting Alex lay kisses against his thighs as he works up to his cock. His lips part as Alex takes him in, and the moan that escapes him is so pretty that it more than excuses this melodrama.

“That better be the best damn blowjob of your life, Rogers.”

Alex manages to nod, and whatever he does with his tongue in that moment makes Jay shudder violently.

It doesn’t take long before Jay’s hips are rocking up to meet Alex’s mouth, lips slack and eyelashes fluttering. Stamina’s clearly not one of his strong points, but Nick supposes when you’re that pretty and young, it doesn’t matter much. Jay’s head falls back, hair moving with it to bare his long, pale throat. His hands wind in the silk sheets, and he comes with a loud cry, jolting against Alex with each aftershock. Flush spreads across his face and chest, his eyes wide and wet.

Damn. It’s not like Nick didn’t know how well Alex gave head; he’s been on the receiving end his fair share of times. But it’s Nick’s never seen himself go to pieces under Alex’s tongue, and even if he had, he doubts he does it as prettily as this guy.

Alex sits up, wiping his mouth before he catches Jay’s lips in another long kiss that leaves them both gasping to catch their breath.

“Well, sir,” Alex says, turning to face Nick, flushed and grinning and gorgeous, “did that do it?”

“I don’t know,” Nick replies, like he’s not hard enough to see stars. “It was all right.”

“All right?” Alex shuffles to Nick’s side, reaching around him to grab a bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer. “Let’s see if we can’t do better than that.”

“Stop running your mouth and get to it, then.”

Alex guides Jay to kneel on the mattress now, facing Nick. He practically poses him; Jay’s clearly too fucked out and blissful to do much of his own volition. Nick’s surprised he can hold himself up as Alex slicks his fingers and starts working them in. For a while, Jay just breathes, resting on his arms, but then Alex must start stroking his prostrate because there’s a sudden gasp he tries to muffle by biting down on his lip. He’s hard again, red and dripping. The benefits of youth.

“Make some noise, Buck.” Alex’s free hand pats Jay’s side. “Let Nick know how much you’re enjoying yourself, would you?”

Instantly, Jay’s mouth falls open. He lets out a moan that halts and wavers, cut short by a shuddering breath, and Nick knows it’s not fake. Alex draws a few more sounds like that out of him, deep and shaking, before he withdraws his fingers and the moans give way to a thin, reedy whine. Then Alex leans in to lick, and Nick’s palming himself through his pants as Jay trembles and cries out. How he’s still holding himself up, Nick has no idea.

This time, when Alex pulls away, Jay does slump down, face and chest resting on the bed. His cheeks are pink, hair slick with sweat. He’s struggling to catch his breath as Alex positions himself, stroking Jay’s thigh. “You ready, Buck?”

Jay nods, trying to heave himself back on all fours as Alex slides in. He gives up pretty quickly, staying sprawled on the bed with just his ass up, moaning into the mattress as Alex rocks his hips. He’s still once it starts, uncannily so, and Nick attributes it to being fucked into a higher plane of existence, but he can’t ignore the uneasiness settling in his stomach as he watches. He’s almost too still, silent until Alex told him to moan. He doesn’t even push his hips back. Even if this were his first time, wouldn’t there be some movement on reflex?

“C’mon, Bucky,” Alex gasps. “Don’t make me do all the work, huh?” He’s focused entirely on Jay, half lying on him to kiss at his shoulders, but it still feels eerily like he’s read Nick’s mind. It’s eerier still when Jay props himself up again just like that, moving his hips to meet Alex’s thrusts. It’s like watching a robot programmed to fuck.

“You like that?” Alex asks.

“Yeah,” Jay mutters, nails digging into the sheets. Nick realizes it’s the first thing he’s heard the man say.

There. Acknowledgement of his consent. Nick tries to force himself to swallow his misgivings. So the guy’s bad at fucking. Or maybe dealing with a traumatic brain injury from the explosion that took his arm. Whatever’s going on with him, it’s not like Alex brought home a life model decoy to screw. Get over it, Fury.

“You glad Nick told me to make it up to you?”

“Yeah,” Jay repeats. It comes out as a moan this time, long and loud.

“Why don’t you show him how glad you are, Buck?”

Then Jay’s freeing Nick from his pants as Alex slides his hand down to fist Jay’s cock, and shit, the guy may not know how to fuck but he can give head with the best of them.

The sex becomes infrequent over time.

Neither of them is getting any younger, and as S.H.I.E.L.D. grows, it eats more of Nick’s time, the way the World Security Council takes Alex. Then Nick’s mother died, and Alex’s wife got sick, and Tony Stark just had to build himself a powered suit of armor. In the course of a week, alien hammers fall from the sky and Captain America turns up frozen but very much alive.

Nick does spare a thought for Alex when he hears about that last one, wondering if his friend’s harder than ever at the news or dying of shame.

They’re still friends, of course. They make time for each other when they can, though that’s less and less often these days.

And when Nick asks Alex to delay Project Insight, he asks for Iron Man to meet his niece, not for Nick to spend a night.

It’s less than an hour later when Nick finds himself surrounded by would-be assassins.

Lying in a hospital bed under a bridge, Nick lies drifting in and out of consciousness, trying to ignore the pain. No morphine, not now. He can’t risk dulling his senses until he’s sure this is over. Preferably, until he’s put a bullet in that metal-armed killing machine’s head himself.

Metal arm.

The memory of an awkward sexual encounter he’s tried to forget enters Nick’s head unbidden.

“Goddamn it,” he says, ignoring the questions that follow from the doctor.

“Look, I didn’t know about Barnes.”

And sitting there on the receiving end of Rogers’s glare, stomach still churning at the realization of Pierce’s depravity, Nick thanks any god that may exist that Rogers doesn’t know about Barnes either. Not the extent of what Pierce did to him, at least. What he tricked Nick into.

If Rogers knew that, Nick would have that shield rammed through his skull.

This is such a gem. Thank you for this. (totally loled at the "dude what's with white guys" moment)

NICK JUST WANTS TO HAVE NORMAL PEOPLE SEX. IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK.

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Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Fury/Pierce and Bucky, WWII Roleplay Gone Awry

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