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.
bodyswap trash fill 5c/6
(Anonymous) 2016-09-03 07:21 am (UTC)(link)Which had to be it—for a second he panicked thinking they were already on the water, but he didn’t smell fish and the movement wasn’t right, no rocking to it. Plus, he wasn’t an expert on the kind of boat a man on the run could rent or steal on a day’s notice, but he doubted they were lined with this scratchy carpet-upholstery shit. It’d get moldy, right? Sea air?
He might already be oxygen-deprived.
He couldn’t see for crap and he couldn’t feel much of the space from this position. It was too small for the car they’d rented earlier. He did his best to wriggle around in case there was a crowbar handy, but he wasn’t even running into a spare tire. He could just about reach his own pockets, if he did some muscle-cramping things with his legs, but there was fuck-all in them; they’d had to pass carry-on luggage rules. Some candy wrappers, a couple receipts, a credit card. Natasha could probably kill Steve with the credit card, but he didn’t spend a decade as a Russian child-spy. A pen. Okay, he could do something with a pen. He could… stab his boyfriend in the eye. Sure. Fuck, he’d gone and pictured it.
It wasn’t Steve. Christ, he barely remembered what Rumlow looked like. Just enough to transpose a vague dark-haired shape over last night, the night before, the night before that. Over the guy who’d handed him coffee and kissed him before he left for work Tuesday morning. Sam swallowed hard and breathed through his nose. The gag was tied in place, but it felt like the business end was just an item of clothing bunched into his mouth. He was starting to wonder if it was a whole goddamn shirt. The tail of it was starting to creep down his throat. At least the pre-vomit saliva was putting some moisture back in his mouth, but if he threw up he could choke.
The car turned, bumped, tilted, stopped. Sam let go of the pen. If he had long sleeves on to hide it in, that’d be one thing. If he had time to wedge it into the knot and try to undo the rope, that’d be—he could work with that. But if Steve was coming right now…
A door slammed, seagulls screamed, and the lock on the trunk scratched.
It was a bright day. Really good weather. Sam was pleased for people who were on the beach enjoying it. For him personally, the relief of fresh air was offset by the blinding sunlight right in his eyes at a moment he could have used some instantaneous situational awareness, but he hoped the nosy white lady was having the time of her life. He hoped she was feeling chatty. He hoped Natasha found her fast.
By the time he could see and breathe again, Steve had sliced through part of the rope and hauled him up by the front of his shirt. Steve pulling him out of a sticky situation, that part felt sickeningly normal.
His hands were still tied, but his ankles were half free and not tied to his hands anymore, so that was a start. “You with me?” Steve grabbed Sam’s chin and turned his head one way, then the other. They were on a very small, very rocky, very steep beach, and of fucking course there were no people around. The road was a few feet behind them, radiating heat, and there were weeds growing in the cracks, so this probably wasn’t a major thoroughfare.
Steve shook Sam’s head and then there was cold metal against his neck. Sam froze. Steve slid it up and through whatever was holding the gag in place. “You can yell if you want, I just don’t want to listen to it,” he said, and yanked the gag out of Sam’s mouth. Sam’s jaw clicked, pain shooting up it and into his temples.
“Where are you getting this shit?” he said. His voice dragged at his sore throat all the way out. “I don’t have a knife. When did you get a knife?”
“I worked for an intelligence agency instead of babysitting grown men who wanna cry about how they didn’t get killed in the sandbox. I have contacts.” He set Sam on the edge of the car. The bumper seared Sam’s legs, and he hissed, jerking back. “Sorry. Think you can stand?” He pulled Sam onto his feet without waiting for an answer.
Sam wavered but caught his balance. He tugged his left ankle away from his right and almost fell over, but at least worked the rope off. “I’ve been managing since I was a year old, yeah.”
“We’ve got a couple minutes before the boat gets here. We’re not going far.” He looked just like Steve did when he was concerned. Sam wondered whether that meant he had a better Steve impression in there when he wanted to, or it was just how this face worked, given time. “Just want to throw them off some. We’re going real low-tech.” He clapped a hand to Sam’s shoulder and dug a thumb into the hollow of his throat. “Don’t fucking try anything, Wilson, I’d hate to have to break your ankles.” He was breathing hard, eyes alight. Euphoric. “We’re almost out of this.” He surged forward, jostling Sam against the car, and kissed him. The hot metal scorched Sam’s back and legs, his jaw hurt so badly when Steve forced it open that he cried out, and he’d have kept either sensation if he could’ve traded away the dick heavy against his hip.
He ducked his head the second there was a give in Steve’s grip. “Get your goddamn hands off me.” He knew it was a mistake before it was halfway out his mouth.
Steve grinned. He closed his left hand, enough to hold Sam still, and hit him with his right. Sam’s vision blurred. Steve swung him around and shoved him off his feet. He hit the rocks elbows-first, which was better than face-first, at least. Or that was what he told himself. He couldn’t feel his left hand. He could, just about, get his fingers into his pocket.
Steve crouched over him, pinning his legs down. “Little late for that, Wilson. We both know I’m your type.”
“Yeah, you were great. Do you usually have to threaten guys into saying they’re having a good time, or was that special for me?”
“Well, I guess I’d be a change after Rogers. He probably cried when you fucked him. You’ll get used to it.”
Sam twisted like he was trying to get away. It got him a bruising grip on his thigh, but it put his fingers deeper in his pocket. “Where’s Steve?”
“I told you already.”
“No, you told me he’s got a Face Off deal too. I mean where is he, your body, whatever.”
Steve let go of his leg and stood up. “You stay right the fuck there or I’m gonna see what happens when I stomp on a man’s hand in this thing, and then it’ll be blowjobs instead of handies all the way to Tahiti. Just making work for yourself.” He turned to face the sea. It didn’t put Sam out of his line of vision, but it made him peripheral. “I’m gonna bet he’s fine, aside from the walking corpse he’s stuck in. That might even be doing him some favors; they can’t torture him for information, the state he’s in. Hell, he’s probably getting better treatment than I was before they realized I was the only one left who actually knew him well enough to pull this off.”
“HYDRA retirement package not all it was cracked up to be?” He had the pen in his hand, but it was wrong end up. If he tried to stick the button end into the knot, Steve—Steve would have heard it. He had good hearing, waves and wind aside.
“Whose is, these days? Hey. Our ride’s here.” He waved an arm over his head. Sam couldn’t see shit from this position. He spun the pen as quickly as he could and tried to force it under some useful bit of the knot. He was out of time. Steve bent over, grabbed his arm, and hauled him to his feet.
The boat was low-tech. It didn’t look like it had heard of the telegraph, never mind GPS. It didn’t, as far as Sam was concerned, look seaworthy. He dug his heels in. “Is now a good time to mention I get seasick?”
“Wilson, for fuck’s sake, if it sinks I can probably swim the pair of us and punch a shark along the way. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“If it sinks is making me worry, as a phrase.” As was the specificity of thought put into how he’d be providing orgasms even now that he wouldn’t be participating, but he’d table that.
“Calm down. We’ve got time to test it, we’re gonna have to swim out. It can’t land here, this beach is for shit.”
He still couldn’t get under the knot. “Like goddamn hell am I—”
Steve wheeled around and grabbed his face, clacking his teeth together. “You’re not, no. You’re not doing fuck all. Your hands are staying tied. I’m gonna get you out there. You can shut your fucking mouth about it or I can break your jaw.”
Sam held still and tense, which didn’t do his aching neck any good.
“Where the hell is that bastard?” Steve took his hand off Sam’s face and peered at the boat. It was close, now, and Sam was pretty sure it had stopped moving. “He could get closer than this…”
“You’re bleeding,” Sam said. He must have done something to bandage up the stab wound, but there was finally blood seeping through his shirt. “I could look at it.”
“Yeah, once we’re on the boat.” Like he’d been taking that for granted, like they were in this together. Sam could try to encourage an infection, but he wasn’t sure there was a germ out there that was going to give Steve’s immune system pause.
“Where the shit…” He had the knife in his hand again. “Fuck.” He grabbed Sam’s bicep, dragged him in close, and stuck the knife under his chin.
“Hey, asshole.” Barnes had made it nearly out of the water. He was up to his thighs in waves, dripping wet, and pointing a gun that looked like a fucking joke, some kind of Super Soaker painted black. Sam had been right earlier: he could’ve cried with relief. “He give you the ‘I’ve got contacts’ speech?”
“It came up,” Sam said between his teeth. If he kept his eyes on Barnes, it wasn’t Steve doing this.
“And I was too zoned out to notice who you were talking to, huh?” Barnes rolled his shoulders. “Let go of Sam, Rumlow.”
“I don’t think so.” Rumlow coiled in closer behind Sam, twisting a handful of the back of his shirt in one hand and keeping the knife pressed into his chin with the other. He was big enough that Barnes could probably hit him anyway, at least a shoulder. He was pressed along Sam’s back, the length of him, and Sam wanted to burn off every bit of skin he was touching. He was so close to not having to do this anymore. Blood from Steve’s shirt was smearing his wrist. Barnes kept not taking the shot. “You’re not going to shoot me with that,” Rumlow said, right in Sam’s ear. “That shit was designed for you, Soldier. We know what it does to your knockoff store brand serum. You don’t have clue fucking one what it’d do to Rogers.” Barnes locked his jaw.
Sam wanted Steve back. But God, he wanted this man off him. He wanted the last three days off him.
He stabbed back with the pen, right where the shirt was leaking blood onto his wrists. He felt the knife go into his chin, bright and clean and too fast for pain. Rumlow lost his grip on Sam’s arm and shirt and Sam stumbled aside.
Barnes fired. Sam doubted the Winter Soldier had ever missed at this range. He didn’t start now.
Steve hit the rocks hard, convulsing. Barnes looked like he might be sick. He fired again anyway. Steve stopped moving.
Sam half expected there to be a gaping wound in his neck, spurting blood all down his front. He could practically see it, deaths he’d seen pasted onto himself. The cut was shallow, though, nothing hot or fast so far.
“Hey,” Barnes said. “You look like hell.”
“We have to stop meeting like this. I’m told I clean up pretty decent.”
“We’ve got Steve.” Barnes waded out of the water, pulling a seriously heavy-duty pair of handcuffs off his belt. He stooped and grabbed the knife. “Turn around.”
Sam did. As soon as he had his back to Barnes, he started shaking. How the fuck did he know this was actually Barnes?
He cut the tie around Sam’s wrists and stepped back. Sam faced him and backed up the beach a ways while Barnes threaded Steve’s limp hands into the cuffs. “Is he alive?”
“Yeah—I mean we’ve got both of them. Rumlow—Steve—shit. The actual Steve is back with the organization that’s definitely not S.H.I.E.L.D. He’s locked up, but he’s okay. And now we’ve got… this one, too. We’ll put them back. I can infiltrate one more HYDRA base, no problem.” He tossed the knife to Sam before he bent to check Steve’s pulse. Sam tried to catch it with his left and hand fumbled when he couldn’t feel it. “Can you, uh—I don’t know… how to monitor for shock, or whatever. Natasha’s on her way, but…”
Sam made sure he had the knife first. He walked over to Steve with his knees about to check out for the day.
“Hey,” Barnes said. “Close enough. If you just… tell me what I’m looking for. You don’t have to touch him if you don’t—want to.”
Sam’s legs sent him a resignation notice. He tried to accept it gracefully. “I’m fine to touch him.” He settled next to Steve and took his pulse for himself. It was fast, but just Steve’s normal fast. “Why wouldn’t I be? Go check in the car for a blanket, would you?”
“Sam, um. I worked. I worked with Rumlow. I know—how he is.”
Sam flattened one hand against Steve’s chest and the other over the knife on his thigh. He shook his head. “You better get a blanket or something if we’re worried about shock. More clothes out of the bags’d work.” He reached up and adjusted Steve’s head, tilting it back some more, reminding himself not to overcompensate. If Steve woke up right now, the bound wrists wouldn’t be a problem. He could still grab Sam.
Barnes went and got the bags. Sam, based on the squeal of metal, thought he might have torn a door off to get them. Couldn’t just break a window like a normal person. Barnes started digging extra shirts out and ripping them along the seams to use as blankets. “You never,” he said. “You know, when I—have trouble, you’re always real decent about it. I can be, for you… for fuck’s sake, Sam, don’t pretend he didn’t.”
Sam heard a helicopter. “I’m not pretending.” He smiled. “Jesus, everybody knows, huh? I mean, Natasha does. And if she does, so does Fury. Does Hill? Carter?”
“Fuck them. I just mean—you can… I know what it’s like to look at Steve and see something else.”
Sam pressed his hand down harder. He couldn’t see it shaking, like this. Barnes could tell, he guessed, but he’d take what he could get.
The helo sounded close. Barnes glanced up. “You can. If you change your mind.”
Sam nodded.
Re: bodyswap trash fill 5c/6
(Anonymous) 2016-09-03 08:40 am (UTC)(link)Re: bodyswap trash fill 5c/6
(Anonymous) 2016-09-03 04:45 pm (UTC)(link)Re: bodyswap trash fill 5c/6
(Anonymous) 2016-09-06 06:45 am (UTC)(link)I know what it’s like to look at Steve and see something else. I have been WORRYING about this! I'm so relieved Sam was rescued, but what will this experience mean for his relationship with Steve? Poor Sam, and poor Steve too, if his boyfriend will now associate his body with pain and fear. They need all the hugs!
Re: bodyswap trash fill 5c/6
(Anonymous) 2016-09-06 04:36 pm (UTC)(link)Re: bodyswap trash fill 5c/6
(Anonymous) 2016-09-14 01:44 am (UTC)(link)Re: bodyswap trash fill 5c/6
(Anonymous) 2017-04-26 02:29 am (UTC)(link)Any chance it will go up on AO3, for bookmarking purposes?