garbage all the way down (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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hydratrashmeme2015-09-09 07:23 pm
trashmod) wrote in hydratrashmeme2015-09-09 07:23 pm
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.
[Round 1] [Round 2] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained bygreenkirtle)] [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.
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.
Unprompted Fill: Skin Trade 1/6
(Anonymous) 2016-08-01 08:27 pm (UTC)(link)Sergeant Barnes had used the words “God-forsaken” plenty of times before the fall but it was Russia that taught him what they meant.
There were no windows to tell the days by, no sun to count the hours. He’d long since given up on keeping track of his breaths – turns out he can’t count that high. At least, not with his one intact arm chained over his head and his feet struggling to balance on the edges of a bucket. He’d given up on listing off name, rank, serial, on screaming, on quiet sobbing. How long would it take for his balance to fail and his shoulder to finish sliding out of its socket?
Did it really matter anymore how long it took?
He didn’t bother praying that he’d held out a few days at least, but he hoped for it pretty hard which is almost the same. Only difference is he’d stopped expecting someone to listen. He didn’t have a whole lot of pride left but he clung to it like it was the only thing keeping him sane in this frozen Hell. Maybe it was. So when the Russians finally came to take him down he did his level best not to cry like a goddamn baby and curl up in an aching ball at their feet. He’d compromise for wet gasps and wobbling on his knees.
These stress-position marathons were all the same in one regard, even if their creativity and cruelty always managed to surprise Barnes: no food, no water, no sleep. His throat was fire from the wet-scabbed cracks in his lips to the desert of his mouth, right down to the angry, empty cramps of his gut. They didn’t want him dead, he was sure of it, so they’d have to give him water soon or risk losing their plaything.
It was the first word out of his mouth. His head was already pounding so hard from dehydration he almost didn’t feel one of the soldiers – agents – whatever – backhand him, even as the blow bowled him over.
“Русский,” the soldier demanded, sneering.
Barnes licked dry lips with a dry tongue. “Вода?” he tried.
Amazing how quickly you could pick up scraps of a new language when you had to.
But then the soldier shoved him back down with a booted foot and asked, «Why?»
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
He wasn’t. Barnes got kicked in the ribs for his trouble.
Fine then. He played along, clumsy as he was with the foreign tongue. «If no water I die soon.»
The first soldier gestured to the others, and one stepped forward and seized him by the hair to pull his head up and back. The third produced a canteen and splashed stale, rust-flavoured liquid down onto him. It was barely a mouthful. Relatively speaking, it was ambrosia.
Something about it set off alarm bells in Barnes’ head to the tune of “That’s gonna make you sick.” Well, better that than dead. All he could really think of at the moment was the need for more. He leaned against the grip on his hair, pushing his face towards the canteen that was already being drawn away.
They snickered at his desperation. «You want more?»
Barnes tried to nod, but the soldier’s grip tightened, making his head throb all the worse. A groan bubbled out of his mouth from sheer nauseating pain, but he managed, “Да.”
The soldiers exchanged a look. «We make deal,» the first one said, or at least that was what Barnes caught of it. «You want more than we give you, you pay. Much water is luxury. For luxury, you pay.»
Barnes tried to swallow. There were those alarms again. This was a trap, one of their tricks. The first soldier reached for his belt and there it was, the thing he’d been praying they wouldn’t do all these months, the buckle opened and they were going to–
He jerked against the other soldier’s grip, grappled weakly at the wrist holding him in place, and lashed out with a foot. His kick missed but his point got across. «Fuck you, no, no deal! Fuck your water!»
«Too bad,» the Russian smirked. A gloved finger ran along his lips. «You will change your mind.»
Fuck that. He bit that finger. The next thing he knew someone was grabbing the stump of his left arm and squeezing, and he heard himself scream and scream until the pain made everything go dark.
#
After blacking out they finally let him sleep where he fell. Barnes woke to inflamed muscles, a howling stomach, and a pounding headache. The thump of boots approaching his cell made him jolt upright. He started shivering violently – an ingrained response after God only knew how much time at the Red Room’s tender mercy.
The same three agents stepped into his cell. He wasn’t sure how he knew, given these goddamn eastern Hydra goons all wore masks like their German counterparts, but he knew even before one of them grabbed him by the hair. «Ready to make a deal, little one? Sell your pretty mouth?»
“Get fucked,” Barnes groaned. «No deal. No sale.»
«Your loss.» They flicked out clubs and fell on him till the world went black again.
#
The ache in his head made it hard to see. The headache throbbed in his eyes. His hands shook.
The soldiers returned.
«The water is good today,» their leader plied. «Cold and sweet.»
They passed a canteen among themselves and made him watch them drink.
They made their offer again, hands on belt buckles ready to go.
When he told them to go to Hell, they beat the stump of his left arm and the soles of his feet. Before they left they poured the rest of their shared canteen on the floor.
Joke’s on them. As soon as they left, Barnes abandoned all pride and lapped what precious little moisture he could get right off the stone.
#
He couldn’t hold out any goddamn longer. There was no God in this place. No rescue forthcoming, not in the foreseeable future. He was in Hell, and these Russian fucks were demons sent to torment him for all eternity. The door opened and the trio stepped inside, and something inside Bucky shattered like a twig under tank tread.
«Okay,» he croaked, «okay.»
«We said you change your mind,» the lead soldier crooned (Barnes didn’t catch all the words, but close enough). «Ready to pay?»
No. Never. He nodded, steadying his breath. «Clean water,» he amended.
The Russian cocked his head in what Barnes imagined was an appraising look. Something about that made him grateful he’d thought to get specific. «This is much to ask for. Make it worthwhile.»
Barnes knelt on the frigid stone floor with his remaining hand rubbing absently at the stump on his left. It wasn’t oozing or smelling of grapes but it still ached. Everything ached, but this was a particular hurt, seeming to come from somewhere below the elbow he no longer had. He didn’t look up at the clink of a belt buckle and buttons. Every second he could hold onto before this happened was precious.
There wasn’t nearly enough time. A gloved hand fisted in his hair and steered him where the man wanted his mouth. The soldier’s cock was halfway hard and slow-motion twitching in interest, but Barnes had his work cut out for him. He opened his mouth and took the damn thing in.
Almost immediately the Russian grunted and tried to guide him by the ears, which made a flash of annoyance flare through him: no goddamn Russkie Hydra bastard needed to teach Bucky Barnes how to suck a dick. His mouth was far too dry to be much good on its own, so he grabbed the base of his jailor’s shaft and stroked it hard in tandem with his suction and his tongue. The faster he could get this sonofabitch off the faster he could drink.
The guy talked an awful lot in hisses and groans. Most of the words Barnes didn’t know yet, but he knew the kinda smut that came out of a guy’s mouth when he’s on the business end of a suck job and figured it must be about the same in Russian as it was in English. The agent came quick enough to shame him. Hot, bitter fluid flooded his mouth and he was so out of his mind with thirst he swallowed once before he could stop himself, though he spat the rest out between the man’s boots.
He knelt there, face burning as he heaved for breath, and thrust his hand up in demand. “Вода.”
“Шлюха,” one of the Russians sneered as they passed him a canteen. He made a note to find out what that word meant; he’d heard it aimed at him an awful lot. None of that mattered for now. He lunged for the canteen and scrabbled backwards till he could put his back against the wall and guzzle every last drop of water they’d given him. He drank till his lungs burned and his stomach felt like it might pop right open and then he drank some more.
«I think he liked that,» one of them was snickering, and it was all he could do not to get back up and spit in the fucker’s face. «Imagine what he’ll sell when he gets hungry enough.»
Barnes curled into the corner where he slept (when they let him sleep) and tried very, very hard not to think about that. He’d already disgraced himself in more ways than he could count. Seemed like Hydra wouldn’t stop until there was nothing left of him to shame.
Re: Unprompted Fill: Skin Trade 1/6
(Anonymous) 2016-08-01 10:56 pm (UTC)(link)