trashmod: (Default)
garbage all the way down ([personal profile] trashmod) wrote in [community profile] 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 by [personal profile] 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.

FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (11b/?)

(Anonymous) 2016-09-02 10:28 pm (UTC)(link)
Bucky’s on his right side, left arm swung behind his back, hand cupping his own ass. He digs metal fingers into his flesh through the tight denim, bucking his hips, mouth lax and open.

“Good, your mouth’s already ready,” Steve says, walking up to him on his knees. He stops in front of his face, and leans down and sweeps his middle finger beneath one of Bucky’s eyes. Some makeup smears away. His skin looks bruised beneath it.

Steve’s finger lingers on Bucky’s cheekbone. It’s not like it’s a black eye. It’s just sleepless shadow. Or from knuckling at his eyes too hard. But he didn’t know it was there. His stomach feels thick and acidic. It doesn’t matter. He shakes his head.

“Steve? You got plans for my mouth then?” Bucky looks so relaxed, so pleased, and Steve takes his hand away from his face to pinch his nipple through his shirt instead. Bucky says, “Ah!”

“If you remember, you had plans for your mouth.” He holds up the knife. “Something about gagging you with this.”

“Oh, yeah, I did plan that. I’m pretty smart, aren’t I?”

“Well, smarter than you look. I promise.” He kisses the shadow beneath Bucky’s eye, and feels the twitch of a blink. “You need to talk or something, just pull it right out, okay?”

“No shit. Or, no, actually—Bet I could spit it across the room.”

Steve bites him on the cheek. “Don’t. You’re gonna gouge the paint.”

Bucky says, “It’s always the paint with you.” Then he opens his mouth wide like a baby bird, and angles his head away from Steve so that he can properly side-eye him and look as impatient as he is. He makes an angry, honking noise when Steve tucks the blade away, but Steve glares and taps the closed knife against Bucky’s cheek, and his hand gets head-butted in apology.

“Grip it with your teeth.” Steve slides the knife into Bucky’s wide mouth. His closing teeth click against the handle, and he hangs on. “Perfect. Thank you.”

Bucky’s breathing slows around the knife. A new, brief pause between inhale and exhale. His eyelids lower, but he doesn’t blink, staring at Steve. Steve watches him, how his lips fidget, how he sucks on the knife for a couple seconds, and Steve has to put his hand to the side of Bucky’s face, stroking. The skin above his beard is smooth. And his beard, even, where it catches the pads of Steve’s fingers, is softer than Steve’s own.

“You look like you were raised in the woods,” he says, and Bucky hums, high and just short of plaintive.

He lies down on his side too, so they face each other, and switches to petting at Bucky’s thigh, spreading his hand to hold the front and back in his grasp. Sliding his palm up and down in short, firm motions, squeezing. Bucky’s so solid, such a sure presence here, like this, and humming again, more plaintive this time.

Steve makes the humming back at him, then grins, watching his hand on Bucky’s thigh, trailing down to the inside, wedging between his legs, squeezing there and making circles with his thumb. He says, "Just gonna make us shoot off together today. Just my hand. That good?"

Bucky lolls his head back. Steve takes his hands off him all together, but goes back to watching his face, mad at himself for looking away at all. But Bucky looks fine. He nods, then nods more quickly, and jerks his head toward Steve in a little arc, like long-distance nuzzling.

“Hang out there a minute for me,” Steve says, and Bucky throws his arm up, letting his metal hand land on his thigh with a loud crack. “A serious hardship for someone so needy, I know.”

He places his palm over his own crotch. These pants are soft and thin, and he twitches at the first touch, twitching dick and twitching hips and a hitch in his breath. He isn’t completely hard, but getting there, and he rubs the heel of his hand over his growing erection, biting his lip and looking at Bucky as he does.

Bucky’s starting to drool, the slightest wetness down his chin, and he looks beautiful that way, so Steve dips his head forward and licks the drool up, which only makes Bucky’s jaw more glistening wet. Bucky does something with his mouth that’s maybe supposed to be a smile under the circumstances. So Steve smiles back and mutters, “You’re messy,” shy about the words for no reason.

He’s feeling hotter, needier, and shuffles the hand under him forward to cradle his groin, fingertips brushing his balls, to keep his head in the game and wanting this (he does want this, but--). Then he sets about unbuttoning Bucky’s shirt, (white with purple polka-dots, the short sleeves cuffed like he might stuff a pack of cigarettes in there).

“You look like a delinquent,” he says, feeling Bucky’s smooth chest in quick touches as he moves from button to button, and Bucky’s shoulders raise and lower with a laugh. “What? I say something funny? I say something that made no sense and you want to make fun of me about it?” Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. “Sucks for you, I guess. You look like a giraffe, James Barnes. You look like a toy minivan. I can say whatever I want, can’t I?” Bucky makes the weird smile again, pointy and thin-lipped and charming.

With the shirt unbuttoned, he puts his hand flat on Bucky’s chest and feels his heart, beating steadily, his breath quickening but fine.

“Help me get this off you.” He tugs at the shirt, and Bucky sits up, shucking it off, and Steve takes it from him and tosses it onto the floor. Bucky slaps him on the arm with the back of his right hand. “Christ, I’ll wash and iron it. Calm the fuck and lie the fuck down.”

Bucky listens, settling onto his side again. He’s drooling more, dots of wet appearing on the bedspread. Steve follows him down and scoots into his space, licks lightly at Bucky’s nipple so that Bucky gasps and thrusts his chest closer. He drags his lips over it to get to Bucky’s sternum, and starts sucking bruises there, and nipping at the skin. Bucky is still pushing closer to him, and puts his right hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve bites him again, then kisses where he bit, and pulls back, and looks at Bucky, whose eyes are wide, who’s pawing at Steve’s shoulder.

“You all right there?” Steve asks, and makes an effort to sound teasing, and Bucky nods and taps him affectionately on the lips.

Which Steve takes as confirmation--though he says, "About to touch you more," first--that he’s good to slip his fingers into the front of Bucky’s waistband, over his boxers and then into them, nails against skin. And then to shuffle his hips closer and dip his hand down the back of Bucky’s jeans. He gropes him as best he can with the jeans as tight as they are, kneading the flesh of Bucky’s ass and finding the surety of muscle. Bucky issues a deep, stuttering moan, and Steve presses his finger over Bucky’s asshole, feels him clenching and twitching, then takes his hand totally away.

He smiles at Bucky, who glares back. “I think we should go on a date to the park,” he says, undoing his own fly, shoving his pants and underwear down enough to take out his dick, which is hard now from constant light pressure and the thrill of touching Bucky. He grazes a hand over his balls and closes his eyes briefly, but snaps them back open, and grabs the lube from where he stashed it under a pillow. He slicks himself up, and Bucky’s squirming, trying to get closer, drooling around the knife, and Steve laughs and nudges him away with a hand on the soft swell of his stomach. “You know, take a stroll. Feed some birds. See the statues.”

As he strokes himself with the hand underneath him, he stares at Bucky, at Bucky’s neatened hair draping back into his face as he squirms around. And he shudders at his own touch, and stretches his arm out to grip Bucky’s ass again, if through the jeans this time.

“We can see if the fountain’s on this time of year. It’s not that cold anymore, right?” He grips Bucky harder. “Maybe I should ask someone else. Since you’re always in heat.” He laughs at his own joke. “Rutting up against everything, needy and slutty and desperate. I’ll check the weather report instead.”

Bucky’s face is twisting up around the knife and he’s pushing his ass back into Steve’s hand, his eyes on Steve’s dick, where Steve’s still stroking the full length, pausing here and there to swipe his thumb over the wetness at the head and smear it down. Like he didn’t already use an absurd amount of lube.

Steve says, “You like the weather,” then takes pity on him. “Okay, squirm a little closer, wouldja?” But really, he can’t help himself from squirming closer to Bucky instead, wanting. And Bucky already did undo his fly, getting ready to get fucked, and it’s easy for Steve to shove the front of his boxers down and pull him out of his jeans. The head of his dick is drooling about as much as his mouth.

He kisses Bucky on the cheek, the cool handle of the knife a brief presence against his jaw. Bucky moans around it, and that turns into a soft succession of moaning as Steve wraps his hand around both of their dicks, getting the lube evenly distributed, spitting on Bucky too, unnecessarily, but Bucky’s hips respond. Steve shudders through jerking them both off. He hears himself whine, and he watches Bucky’s face, how Bucky’s watching the movement of his hand.

Steve says, “Give me a hand and take over here for me. I’m tired.” It’s a lie, but one Bucky loves indulging him in typically. Fuck yourself while I watch; I’m tired. Kiss me while I sit still and glare at you; I’m tired. Tell me what you want me to do to you right now; I’m too tired to think of anything.

Except Bucky doesn’t move. “Buck?” Bucky’s eyes move up to his slowly, and he blinks at him, but that’s it. Steve drops their dicks and takes the knife out of Bucky’s mouth, getting the handle slippery. He puts the knife on the bed between them, and cups Bucky’s chin loosely with his hand. “Bucky, you with me?” He gets thrown off sometimes, is probably all it is. He gets overwhelmed. “We good?”

Bucky shakes his head, but then nods, and grins. “Yeah, yeah. It’s really good. It’s good. Sorry I ignored you. I just—Yeah, sorry about that. Yeesh.” He sounds livelier the more he talks, and some saliva slides out of his mouth, but his lips and the rest of his face are animated.

“What, you too absorbed in my dick brushing up against yours? You like it that much?”

“Yeah. I do. I love it. You know I love it.” He grins again.

“Okay, but I’m not gagging you anymore. I want you to answer when I talk.”

Bucky says, “Sure, okay. The knife?”

Steve thinks about it, then pops the blade out, and reaches behind Bucky to hold the knife against his back. Bucky startles at the touch, but calms, and rolls his hips. For a minute, Steve just runs the flat of the blade up and down Bucky’s spine, like petting a cat in a vaguely threatening way.

“We could go lay in the grass," he says, managing not to stumble over the words. "Bring some books. Hell, we could have a picnic. How’s that for a real date, right?”

Bucky says, “Sounds real good,” and Steve says, “It does,” and twists so that the arm under him has a greater range of motion, and goes back to jerking them off.

Worrying dampened the mood, but between the jerk of his hand and Bucky’s cock rubbing against the underside of his, he’s feeling good again soon enough, warm all over, blinking blurrily at Bucky, who’s watching the action with sharp intent, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones.

And Steve feels so good and floaty for a moment that it scares him, and he takes his hand away and says, “Yeah, definitely too tired. You take over like I said.”

It isn’t a power thing this time; it’ll give him the distance to focus better, and could be a way to keep Bucky in the moment. Bucky closes his eyes and licks his lips and says, “But it’s good. It was good. It's working.”

Steve brushes his fingers up Bucky’s dick and says, “Do what I said, Buck. Okay?” and Bucky opens his eyes, looking kind of spacey. He moves his metal hand, grabbing them both up, and something lurches inside of Steve watching him, and Bucky’s slow about jerking them off, his grip too unforgiving.

“Bucky?” Bucky whimpers, then narrows his eyes and keeps going slowly. “Bucky?”

Bucky says, “Um, yeah,” but nothing else, still stroking, and Steve panics and fumbles the knife before throwing it across the room, the quickest way to get the blade away from anyone vulnerable. It hits the wall. It maybe dents the paint.

Bucky comes. He whimpers again, and shoots onto Steve’s arm and his own chest. Steve pulls back, sliding out of Bucky’s fist, and Bucky, still shivering through the end of his orgasm, mutters, “Wait, I have to get you off.”

“You really don’t have to.”

Bucky glares at him. He’s breathing hard. He looks down at how Steve is still much harder than he’d like to be. He frowns. “Where’d the knife go?” His hand tremors. The metal hand.

“I threw it.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I got overwhelmed.”

Bucky looks at him like Steve is a crossword puzzle and he knows he’ll never know enough to solve him all the way. “You don’t want to come.” His voice is flat.

Steve says, “Um, I mean.” not sure what else to do in the face of much he’s confusing Bucky, and the fact that he is, physiologically, pretty close. He says, “You know, I, uh, well,” and rolls onto his back and starts stroking himself. He closes his eyes, picturing Bucky’s head bowed for the haircut, how happy he looked letting Steve take care of him with a knife so close to his face. He doesn’t picture anything that just happened.

He feels Bucky cuddle up to his side. A heavy, warm body curled there without making any specific contact. “You don’t want me to help?”

Steve opens his eyes and turns his head. Bucky looks concerned more than anything else, his lips parted and brow furrowed. Steve says, “No, I just want you to talk to me.”

“What, about how much more I want you to bite me? How I want you to see how long you can keep me bruised for, fighting against the serum to keep me marked? How I want you in my ass, rough and fast?”

“No, your day. I want to hear about your day.”

Bucky kisses his earlobe and says, “Fine, all right,” and Steve closes his eyes again. “I bought a large black coffee and a breakfast sandwich from the food truck outside school. The lady behind me in line had a shirt covered in cats. I told her I liked it, and she—”

He keeps talking, and Steve does picture the new bruises on his chest, watching them fade, the whole hypothetical process of writing down when exactly they fade and maybe doing illustrations to accompany the numbers, and soon enough, he comes, as Bucky’s saying, “whole thirty-seven cents in the gutter, can you believe it?” He feels cold, but it would be horrible to cry.

Instead, he slides a finger around in the come splattered on his shirt and says, “That’s crazy, Buck. You could buy a whole bag of chips.”

Bucky actually licks at the come, getting Steve’s finger in the process. “Yeah!” he says. “That’s exactly what I did.”

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (11b/?)

(Anonymous) 2016-09-03 12:59 am (UTC)(link)
Awesome as usual

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (11b/?)

(Anonymous) 2016-09-14 04:13 am (UTC)(link)
thank you!!

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (11b/?)

(Anonymous) 2016-09-03 03:39 pm (UTC)(link)
[PAINED WHALE NOISES]

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (11b/?)

(Anonymous) 2016-09-14 04:12 am (UTC)(link)
thank you; i intend to eat these pained whale noises for breakfast tomorrow so that my desire and ability to effect pained whale noises in others will grow ever stronger

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (11b/?)

(Anonymous) 2016-09-03 06:47 pm (UTC)(link)
This is so good! I loved the little detail of Steve smearing makeup he hadn't known was there from Bucky's face, and discovering bruised skin underneath. THE SYMBOLISM. And the mention of Steve practicing with the knife made me smile so hard.

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (11b/?)

(Anonymous) 2016-09-14 04:10 am (UTC)(link)
thank you!!! steve is determined to give his weird sad knife-trick-loving husband the most entertaining knifeplay experience he can

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (11b/?)

(Anonymous) 2016-09-04 10:57 am (UTC)(link)
I can't begin to express how much love I have for this, an this chapter specifically. The end just broke my heart, but in all of the best ways. It's like I can feel Steve's lonely conflictedness through the screen. Your writing is wonderful?

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (11b/?)

(Anonymous) 2016-09-14 04:15 am (UTC)(link)
thank you so much!! :)

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (11b/?)

(Anonymous) 2016-09-06 12:20 pm (UTC)(link)
This fic/update is a BLESSING. I adore everything about this.

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (11b/?)

(Anonymous) 2016-09-14 04:14 am (UTC)(link)
thank you so much!! happy to bless

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (11b/?)

(Anonymous) 2016-09-06 08:20 pm (UTC)(link)
*prompter anon is heard shrieking in the distance*

Let it be known that I said OH NO out loud multiple times while reading this. Just showing us the very edges of Bucky's dissociation from Steve's POV is so brilliant and well executed and low key horrifying and makes me want to lie down forever. But also like. Is giving me so much life. The detail/image with wiping away the makeup has been stuck in my brain since reading this and will not go away, I think it is probably permanently stuck there. I'm dying (in the best way) over Steve knowing that something's off, that he's kind of walking a dangerous line here, doing his best to mitigate the situation/damage but also being completely over his head/probably not realizing just how off things really are. I'm all *chinhands* waiting for the dam to break. (Also, the hair cutting was so wonderfully intimate that I think my heart is gonna burst out of my chest any moment now.)

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (11b/?)

(Anonymous) 2016-09-14 04:08 am (UTC)(link)
:) :) ahhh thank you!!! i'm so happy to provide chest-bursting heart sensations/shrieking impulses/good death. steve is beyond in over his head and falling for bucky's Everything's Good act much more than he thinks he is.

Re: FILL: The True Repairman Will Repair Man (11b/?)

(Anonymous) 2016-09-13 03:38 am (UTC)(link)
This is fucking amazing.