hydratrashmeme | 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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Pierce’s suv was the last one idling in the underground, the rest of the council already headed out into the night--a one day reprieve to attend their business meetings, senate hearings, financial reviews, or whatever the fuck they did that was above Rumlow’s pay grade.

“You gonna want an escort?” Rumlow asked. His voice echoed through the parking garage.

The driver stood unobtrusively by the open door as Pierce unclipped Barnes’s leash to let him crawl in first and settle on the floor in the middle of the bench seat. He faced the back of the vehicle, his knees spreading wide to fit his bulk into the space. Pierce darted a glance at Rumlow before he looked back to Barnes who stared back at the both of them, as silent and patient as the driver. Pierce began slowly winding the leash into a loop. “I get the feeling that you do,” Pierce said, and offered the coil of leather to Rumlow.

It knocked him for a loop. STRIKE in the council chambers was a song and dance, and unless someone needed their nose bloodied, it always stopped here. He’d only asked as a courtesy. It took him a moment to find his voice. “Sir. I can’t say it isn’t tempting,” Rumlow said cautiously. “But I also can’t help but wonder if it’s gonna cost me.”

Pierce gave a short laugh, a soft quick sound accompanied by an equally quick smile, the sort that on the surface played off Rumlow’s admission as a joke. “You know, that’s one of the things I like about you,” Pierce said, giving Rumlow’s shoulder a fond squeeze. He held Rumlow’s gaze, his lips thinning as he turned something over in his head. “One of a few, really: You’re honest about what you want, you enjoy your work...and you know that everything has a price.”

“Sir.” Rumlow looked between the hand on his shoulder and the deceptive warmth in Pierce’s eyes. They were, he noticed for the first time, almost the same bright blue as Rogers’s.

“Get in and keep the asset occupied while I make a few calls,” Pierce told him, and gave Rumlow’s shoulder a final pat before withdrawing his hand and gesturing lightly between them. The cold LED lights in the ceiling glinted off his wedding band. “I want you to know, Brock, that I value the kind of loyalty that doesn’t require the occasional few thousand volts to reprogram.”

“Yes, sir.”

A tiny bit of unease rolled around in Rumlow’s gut as he took the seat behind the driver’s. Being in close confinement with the asset put him at a distinct disadvantage if those last few thousand volts hadn’t been a clean wipe. Barnes didn’t seem to care though that his master wasn’t physically holding the leash; his eyes were flat and calm above the dark line of the muzzle. He knew Pierce wanted him to play nice.

“Atta boy,” Rumlow said, and sucked it up to show absolutely no hesitation as he reached out to playfully ruffle Barnes’s hair. He’d forgotten how soft it was; or maybe the last few times Barnes had been let out of the ice it’d still been sticky and matted from blood or jizz. It didn’t matter, it felt nice now, and Rumlow threaded his fingers through to get a nice handful, enough to yank Barnes’s head around if he wanted. The weight of the strands fit comfortably in his fist. “Yeah, that’s a good dog,” he said, loosening his grip to let Barnes’s hair slip free so he could gather up a fistful all over again.

Barnes didn’t react. He didn’t give a fuck what Rumlow called him. He wasn’t some freak who liked to wear a muzzle and collar and who bought buttplugs with fuzzy tails attached so he could cram them into his ass. Then again, maybe he’d react to Pierce calling him a good dog, start pushing his nose into Pierce’s hand to feel his touch like one of Pierce’s real dogs.

At times like this when Pierce took the asset home, what the hell did he do with him, Rumlow wondered. Barnes might not be into being treated like an animal without a few zaps in the chair, but Pierce clearly was. Did he go all out and do shit like kennel the asset? Make him strip and eat out of a fucking bowl on the floor with his ass up and his balls hanging down begging for a good smack? Did he have Barnes lay on the floor next to his trio of setters--one of these things is not like the other--while he puttered around lighting cigars from a stack of hundreds, or whatever it was that rich assholes did when they weren’t ordering around guys like himself.

As Rumlow continued to comb his fingers through Barnes’s hair, he considered whipping it out and taking off the muzzle to dump a load down Barnes’s throat during the ride, but if this really was a new job perk, it would pay to see where it got him. Hell, it might even top getting to be end of the line and fuck the sloppy seconds after the rest of the boys pulled a train on Barnes.

Thinking about the wet mess of the asset’s hole too loose to keep the come from dripping right out of it got Rumlow from fat in his pants to properly hard, and he gave his dick a squeeze. Barnes’s gaze flicked straight to the fat outline of Rumlow’s cock lined up along his thigh, but those blue eyes didn’t hold there, they tracked back to Pierce seated on the other side of him.

Pierce didn’t register the look, his attention on his phone calls, and not having Barnes watch took away most of the fun of stroking it. Rumlow went for Barnes’s tits instead, loosening the velcro of Barnes’s light tac vest and then sliding a hand down the front of his shirt to find his nipple and tease it into a small tight point.

Barnes’s thighs tensed, his body shifting subtly but in a way that said he didn’t really like Rumlow touching him there. Was he remembering the last time they’d had fun together, just the two of them? Or was he getting little confusing sensations of pleasure zipping from his tits to his balls? Rumlow pulled his hand away to hook his fingers in the front of Barnes’s collar. An experimental tug got Barnes shuffling awkwardly in the small space available between the seats, willing--if not keen--to move where Rumlow wanted him. Barnes wasn’t a small guy, but he was flexible, and Rumlow managed to get him to straddle one leg and spread those knees wide enough to get the heat of his crotch planted firmly atop Rumlow’s boot.

Rumlow could feel Pierce’s attention shift, and seemingly so could Barnes, who stretched his neck out to let Pierce run a casually possessive hand along the tender underside of his chin. This time he better tolerated Rumlow’s hand sliding under his vest to pinch his tits, though he whined a bit as the blocks slid by and Rumlow didn’t let up.

“Gonna be sore, bitch,” Rumlow whispered, and flexed his ankle to bring the toe of his boot snug against the taut stretch of Barnes’s pants.

The car slowed as they approached the gates to Pierce’s residence. Pierce tucked his phone away and said, “Leash him and fix his vest before you bring him inside.” As he fixed the lines of his suit, he added, “Your restraint came as a surprise.”

Rumlow shook out the leash and fingered the cool metal of the clip. Still straddling his boot, Barnes stiffened in anticipation of the reach under his jaw to attach it. Rumlow let him sit with the suspense. “I figured that if I waited, you’d make it worth my while,” he said, and extracted his leg to hop out of the vehicle. With a sharp whistle, Rumlow beckoned for Barnes to crawl to the door. A warm satisfaction went through him when Barnes obeyed, and again when he noticed Pierce had paused a few steps away, his hands slung in his trouser pockets to watch Rumlow clip the leash on and haul Barnes snarling out onto the pavement. A hand between Barnes’s shoulderblades forced him to settle down, everything calming but his eyes, which had gone from disinterested back to seething--just the way Rumlow preferred.

“Ain’t that right,” Rumlow said to Barnes, giving the lead a sharp pull to get Barnes following along. Another muffled snarl made it past the heavy muzzle. The soles of Barnes’s boots made a gritty scraping noise as he bear-crawled beside Rumlow, and though the press of his palms against the pavement was silent, Rumlow imagined he could hear the whirr of the mechanics hidden under his sleeve.

Pierce continued up the steps towards the side entrance. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

I'm really enjoying this

This is fantastic. Your writing blows me away. Can't wait for the next part!

Please please go on!!

Dumpster #3: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch

Fill: The Kind of Man Who Leads [2/?]

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