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: Doctor Webb, or: Snake (Oil) in the Grass (3/?)

[(Anonymous)]

The first day is bruises.

There are small glass jars heated to a precise temperature and lined along his lower back and across the back of his thighs. They cool and leave perfect purple circles. Doctor Webb says, “we must test the healing timeline of contusions.

Clamps pinch along his sides, threads screwed to an exact pressure.

The bruises from Webb meld with the bruises from his daytime courses.

“A pity we only have so long… I doubt the data will be viable. It does not look like you are a very fast healer, Private Rogers.”

His body aches with new islands of swollen hemotomas as he shifts on his cot, trying to find a position that doesn’t hurt (while also not setting the springs in the bed off badly enough that someone’ll chuck a boot at him).

-

The second is skin and blood.

Tissue samples from his thighs leave inches of raw stretches of skin that Steve has to try to keep covered. The coverings shift during the day, the shallow strips of revealed dermis ooze liquid and drops of blood.

Abrasions on his calves are caused by a metal file.

This can’t have anything to do with the study, Steve thinks. He questions, and the Doctor threatens to have him removed from the study if he doesn’t comply.

“You do know what happened to Bloom, after all, don’t you?” Doctor Webb says, with false sympathy.

Steve clenches his jaw and thinks, just another day. Just another nine days, it’ll be over. Whatever happens will happen - he’ll be chosen or not. But it’ll be over.

The vials of blood drawn leave him dizzy when he stumbles back to the barracks.

-

Third day is -

Well, Bloom hadn’t experienced a unique test, apparently.

Steve lays back on the examining table, naked as the day he was born. The chill of the room sets his hairs rising.

He tries not to react when the Doctor takes his prick in his gloved hand. Tries not to do anything but stare, determined, up at the ceiling.

In a sly, quiet tone, Webb asks him to please inform him if Steve thinks he’s going to vomit. It is best not to interrupt the proceedings, but a mess would be far more difficult to take care of.

Steve’s pallor is ‘really quite concerning’.

Steve could fucking spit he’s so mad.

Steve tries to keep still, tries not to wince when the Doctor palpates his balls roughly, leaving them sore.

But Steve perseveres. There’s no way he’s gonna give in like that. No way he’s gonna let the Doctor tell him he’s not good enough.

The first problem comes when - well, when the Doctor starts stroking his dick and all Steve can do is swallow bile.

“Private Rogers, the test can’t be completed unless you can attain an erection. Is that possible in your health, or shall we just write today’s test off as a wash?”

Steve doesn’t - he doesn’t want to cry, but biting back on the angry diatribe waiting to bubble out is making his eyes water.

“No. I can do it. Sorry, sir.” He hates himself for apologizing. “Can I just -“ He reaches down, and the Doctor slaps his hand away.

“Private Rogers, your hand isn’t sterilized. Do you really want to make matters more difficult and make me go find an extra set of gloves for you?”

“No, sir,” he grits out.

He tries to distance himself from the moment. Tries not to think about the feeling of rubber moving across his prick. Tries to think about being alone, not watched by the malicious gaze of this asshole.

But his prick isn’t nearly as determined as him, it appears.

“Private Rogers, you’re a very difficult subject, you realize? You really are a bit of a hinderance on the study.”

“Sir, I’m sorry - “ Steve starts, but the Doctor cuts in.

“I’m certain you are. However, it will simply have to be dealt with.” His legs are guided up into a bend and opened. A moment later there’s the cold feeling of lubricant smeared briskly across his anus. Steve bites down on his lip and closes his eyes, beyond ashamed and embarrassed. He knows enough about anatomy to know where this is going.

“If penile stimulation wont do, we’ll have to use other measures.”

The doctor presses one thick glove finger inside and after a moment Steve is curling his toes. It’s an awful raw feeling like having to piss and interrupting mid-stream. The Doctor rubs at his prostate relentlessly first with one finger and then with two - until Steve is panting, his dick finally hardening in the Doctor’s other hand.

“Excellent, Private Rogers. You’ve attained one of the most rudimentary necessities for the survival of a species,” Doctor Webb praises him sarcastically. “I’m sure you’re very proud.”

Steve locks his jaw and says nothing, feeling the miserable heat of his flushed cheeks and chest like a badge of shame.

He feels his pulse under his skin as the Doctor methodically strokes him, feels the muscles in his thighs jumping.

The Doctor drops Steve’s shaft onto his stomach and removes his fingers. He turns away, and when he turns back -

The metal pencil, Steve supposes. It is about the thickness of a pencil, just about a foot long and smooth metal with an inch of gentle curve at one end and a wide stopper ball at the other.

The doctor pours a bit of surgical lubricant onto his gloves, swipes it perfunctorily around the first few inches of the curved side of the rod, then quickly across the opening of Steve’s urethra.

Steve can’t fucking breath. He wonders if he should stop the Doctor. If he’s going to get an infection like Bloom. If this fucking quack is going to give him VD with that thing - Hell, has it even been sterilized?

But when the Doctor picks his prick back up and points the head toward the ceiling, Steve says nothing.

“Let’s hope you can stay still better than Private Bloom,” says the Doctor mildly. And Steve says nothing.

The tip of the rod settles against his dick, and with a bit of pressure from the Doctor it sinks in. The feeling is invasive and sickening and Steve tells himself, he’s had catheters, he’s -

Steve says nothing, because he doesn’t give a shit what happens to this body. Because even if his dick rots off, he’s got to at least try to get over there. He can’t do any less than anyone else. Can’t give up just because he’s a little afraid of a test.

The rod sinks and sinks, the Doctor lets gravity do most of the work but he tugs at Steve’s cock to pull it upward along the rod. Steve registers the way flesh shifts aside for its downward descent with a distant, dizzy nausea.

At the base of his cock it slips past something tight and hits a nerve - like crunching down on something hard when you’ve got a cavity. Steve fights his entire body not to jerk away from the sensation. He tastes blood and realizes he’s bitten into the inside of his lip.

The Doctor is murmuring about the variation of his reaction, says something about neural response, Steve isn’t even - he can’t - the words slip past him. The Doctor slides the rod out and lets it sink back in, stroking his shaft up around it. It strikes the nerve again, but Steve is ready for it. He chews harder at his lip.

“Private Rogers, your red complexion is almost as worrisome as your earlier pallor. If it will stop you from panting, you may make sounds.”

Steve can’t give him the satisfaction, as much as his eyes are watering right now. He blinks away the wet, chews harder on his lip.

The Doctor repeats the rise and fall of the rod several more times, before letting it drop and tapping the end of the rod a couple times. The tremors feel like they’re hammering on Steve’s nerves. He can’t help the whimper. He glances at Doctor Webb instinctively, ashamed and angry.

Doctor Webb smiles. Steve looks back up at the ceiling with watery eyes.

“Hold this, Private.” Steve reaches down with shaky hands and steadies the rod with one hand and his dick with the other, afraid to shift and - prod something in there, or -

After a moment, there’s a sharp sting in his ball sack. It’s followed by an awful, aching, heavy feeling.

“What are you - “ Steve gasps.

“Simply saline,” the Doctor replies dismissively, “it’s easier to assess the health of the organ this way. Plus, we must evaluate the rate at which your body absorbs. For a baseline.”

Steve stares past his hands as the Doctor steadies another syringe against his sack. Feels the sharp sting and further ache. Sees the Doctor reach down and start grabbing at his swollen balls, sees the rough treatment of his scrotum. He feels oddly disconnected. He knows it should hurt a lot more - sees the gloved hands of the Doctor practically mashing his genitals - but for some reason the dull ache of the saline has left his balls oddly insulated from the manipulation of the Doctor.

Steve keeps having to remind himself the Doctor said ‘absorb’. They won’t - they can’t just - stay like that, can they? It’s going to -

The Doctor eventually stops his examination of Steve’s scrotum - lifting, twisting, inspecting - and grabs hold of Steve’s prick once more. Steve’s hands rest on his stomach as he stares numbly down at what’s happening.

The Doctor pauses one moment, taking a stop watch from his pocket and setting it on the table. In the back of his mind, Steve admonishes the Doctor for using gloved hands to grab onto the timepiece, cross-contaminating both gloves and watch.

There’s the furious ticking as the Doctor sets it, then begins pumping his dick roughly. The rod still lodged deep inside slides across the sensitive membranes as they move up and down it, only a few inches peek out of the top of Steve’s dick and he wonders deliriously if it’s going to fall inside. The Doctor’s other hand slips under the swollen heft of his scrotum and pry him open again, fingers rubbing quickly at his prostate.

Steve wants so badly to just - just be able to be done, but the rod - resting where it is, it feels like he’ll never be able to -

He realizes he is whimpering again, bites down on his lip and clenches his eyes closed tight.

After a few more seconds, the hand on his dick moves and the rod is lifted out of him swiftly. The relief and ache where it filled him is enough to make him cry out. The fingers inside of him keep rubbing, and it’s so much at once - the sore place inside him where the rod’s end had rested seems to pry itself open with the force of his ejaculation - he blacks out a little when he shoots over the Doctor’s gloves.

It is, again, on shaky feet that he makes his way back to the barracks. The long days spent with Philips’ games have left his muscles sore and aching, but the nights with Webb have given him bruises, raw skin, a cock that feels like it’s been stabbed - that has basically been stabbed - and a swollen sack that leaves him walking practically bowlegged.

In the morning, his balls are their normal size and something in him that’s been wrapped up tight and preventing him from thinking about it too hard gives out. The relief rushes in and even with the ache in his genitals - even with the way pissing is an exercise in panic and just on the safe side of burning pain - he’s so damn glad he sends a little prayer out.

-

((Woops, was gonna put a lot more into this but then RL happened, so I'm just gonna post all this stuff and call it good. Rather than waiting a few months for when I have time. ^^;; ))