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: The Kind of Man Who Leads [6/6]

[(Anonymous)]

DONE! Thanks for sticking with me, y'all.

--

Rumlow wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow and exit the room before Pierce. There was no protocol for this and nothing in Pierce’s body language to guide him. He wished now that he hadn’t separated the razor from its handle and could have offered to do Pierce a turn. Not that there was much of a shadow on him even after a full day; only the faintest prickle of white-blond showed near his jaw, the skin there less marked by what age and years of sun had put on the rest of his face.

The water in the bath was still steaming, and Rumlow nodded at it. “You mind if I--?”

That smile ghosted across Pierce’s face again. “Be my guest,” he said, plucking one of the stray washcloths off the counter. He passed the roll to Rumlow as he exited and politely closed the door behind him.

Rumlow stripped down. He left his things in a haphazard pile, a crumpled, chaotic mess scattered on the floor near Barnes’s neurotic little stack. Rather than get into the tub and soak, he gave himself a wash like this was the field: dipping the cloth into the water and scrubbing ruthlessly at his skin until it turned pink not from heat but from raw abuse. Grimacing, he swiped between his legs at the last. Dripping wet, the water that trickled down the insides of his thighs made his muscles seize. He left the washcloth to sink into the bathwater and snatched a towel to hastily dry off.

He could hear them talking--Pierce anyway, a murmur too soft to pick words out of.

He’d stood hallway duty plenty of times before, never for Pierce, but keeping watch while someone got their jollies off was inevitable when babysitting diplomats and businessmen. Whether the entertainment was escorts or flings from a hotel bar or some other politician’s wife, there was always an element of sameness from the other side of the door.

Rumlow retrieved his pants and hauled them on over still-damp skin, then tugged on his tee. Instead of putting his socks back on he balled them up and stuffed them into his boots. Briefly he entertained the idea of whether or not he could get it up and jerk a quick one into one of Barnes’s socks, but there was no guarantee he’d be able to right now--or that Barnes wasn’t going to get fresh laundry in the morning and be put away by Pierce all prim and proper.

Scooping up his boots and the rest of his gear, Rumlow killed the lights and left the master bath.

It didn’t surprise him in the least to find Pierce naked in bed, his back propped against pillows while the asset sprawled across his lap. He was toying with Barnes’s drying hair with one hand and Barnes’s mouth with the other.

Rumlow dumped his things against the wall and knew that there could’ve been a very different end to this night. If he hadn’t read the situation so damn wrong earlier, his ass wouldn’t be smarting in his pants and he very well might have petitioned Pierce to let him put that dog in its place. Barnes was no stranger to getting spitroasted, and Rumlow was good at making sure the guy on the other end felt each thrust.

But he couldn’t forget Barnes’s weight on him, the brutal hold of his arm and his relentless rhythm. It hadn’t been a fair fight. Hell, could he say he even fought back at all? Rumlow found himself avoiding eye contact and holding up a piece of wall. Pierce mercifully didn’t question the decision, and the few feet between them stretched into miles. As Rumlow drifted further from the action, he catalogued the way Barnes responded to Pierce's touch: Pierce was training the asset to do things that he found pleasurable and at the same time clearly working out what it is that Barnes reacted to. From that vast distance, Rumlow added to the list in his head: fresh shave, hot bath, and slow kisses to the shoulder.

He watched everything through that strangely faraway lens up until the moment when Barnes was flat on his back, his real arm thrown over his eyes and his cock standing flush and hard. The whimpering sob that cracked past his lips hauled Rumlow back into his body, a rush of something that felt more like fear than a sexual thrill clutched at Rumlow's insides.

He hadn't ever heard the asset make a sound like that. Not even when bleeding and dripping from both ends or slumped in a corner soaked in piss. But Pierce had taken him there somehow, through whispered words too quiet for Rumlow to hear and gentle touches that brushed from throat to thigh.

Suddenly, viciously, Rumlow’s lust came roaring back. He wanted to climb into that bed and fuck the asset sloppy, to pry Barnes's knees apart and force his fingers against where Pierce had certainly loosened him up nicely. He bit the inside of his cheek, knowing that his moment had passed and he wasn't meant to have that; he had to settle for watching Pierce roll Barnes onto his side--too gently, far too gently--and spoon against him.

It took a while before Rumlow realized Pierce wasn't even fucking Barnes, not really, Pierce was doing him schoolboy style, dick pushing between pressed thighs.

And Barnes-- Barnes was into it, his cock twitching as it filled and grew.

Rarely did the asset get hard without being forced there, tugged and groped until his body grudgingly responded. Hell, that'd been true earlier tonight, when Rumlow had been trapped under the clamp of metal on his neck and had to endure the awful press of a spongy dick rubbed up against him until Barnes had gotten hard enough to push his way in.

And now there he was, cock straining and drooling, teeth on his lip like he was trying to keep quiet.

Maybe it was muscle memory meets buried memories. It wouldn't surprise Rumlow if this was how Barnes had passed time on the eastern front, Rogers all cozy beside him, a little private time cause they were such good friends weren't they.

That viciousness surged up again, swelling up in his throat, slick and oily. He studied the micro expressions playing across Barnes's face, the tug of his brows and the quiver of his lip. And then, later, when Barnes’s cock was spasming and spitting a heavy load over Pierce's sheets, the confusion that stared out from blurred eyes.

The look faded as minutes passed, turned into boredom until Pierce rolled away satiated himself and ordered Barnes to clean up. Finally, this was something that Rumlow would’ve bet on happening tonight: Barnes lapping up what he could, tongue leaving dark stains on the million thread count and then scooping up the mess that had been left dribbling down his thighs in wet fingerfuls that he sucked clean and swallowed with an impressive thoroughness.

There wasn’t a drop left when he was done.

“Do you understand it now?” Pierce asked, returning with a damp towel. He wiped clean his hands and his dick and then threw it towards the asset without bothering to look at him. “Why he obeys?”

Rumlow stood up straighter, shoulders squaring. “Obeying was...never in question.”

“Indeed it wasn’t.” Pierce was clearly pleased that Rumlow that arrived at the right answer. “Why then do you think he obeys me in the manner that he does?”

Barnes had curled up at the foot of the bed, practically tucked into a ball with his cheek tucked into the crook of his arm. It wasn’t too far different from the way Rogers managed to shrink down to hide behind that fucking shield of his. The look in his eye was back to calculating, observant. Less like a hound and more like a cat.

Rumlow chose his phrasing carefully, picking his way through the words like a minefield. “You give him something he wants. What he needs, maybe, even if he doesn’t always like it.”

“Smart and vicious,” Pierce said. He sat on the edge of the bed, and stroked Barnes’s from shoulder to hip. “And do you know then, why you accepted the invitation to my home and then chose to stay?”

Rumlow swallowed thickly. He knew the answer, even if it pained him to say it. He felt lightheaded to the point that he now needed the wall to keep on his feet. “I’m no better than Barnes,” he said, and clenched his teeth so hard they hurt.

“Good guess, but not entirely true.” Pierce continued to pet Barnes as he spoke, soft touches that matched his tone. “He is starved, and useless to me without his programming. You’re a man of free will who is simply...hungry.”

Rumlow almost asked what it was that Pierce believed that he was hungry for. He tried, but his voice dried up before it left his throat. It didn’t matter, he realized. If he couldn’t see the forest through the trees, Pierce would do it for him. A gritty laugh tore out his throat as he sunk to the floor. He sat there, staring up at Pierce, feeling every hurt in his body clawing down to settle in his bones.

Pierce turned down the bed and regarded him. “Stay as my guest as long as you care to. Join me for breakfast if you’d like. The asset is capable of fixing up a decent plate of toast and eggs. Later in the day, I’d like you to accompany me to secure the remainder of those votes.”

Rumlow didn’t care to stay where he was, but he’d turned to stone, a weight too heavy to move. “Yes sir,” he managed.

How fucking hungry--

The sheets whispered as Pierce slid between them. At the foot of the bed, he heard Barnes shift.

“Go fetch some bedding,” Pierce ordered.

Bare feet landed in front of Rumlow. A moment later, the asset’s metal hand offered him a woolen blanket and a foam pillow.

When he didn’t take them, they were placed carefully before him.

“Good boy,” Pierce said, as Barnes crawled back onto the bed.

Rumlow shoved at the pile of his gear beside him, bootlaces left trailing across the thick pile of the carpet. He gathered up his knees and draped his elbows over them. The door was still open to the hallway, dark and yawning, the path to the stairs and the door his to take.

Eventually he lowered himself to the floor, pretending that he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the praise had been meant for the asset alone. He rolled onto his back, and crammed the pillow under his neck. Patterns crept into the shadows that marched across the ceiling.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the faint gleam of metal at Barnes’s side. Rumlow still had a chance. He could leave now, before Pierce got any more ideas about what was ticking in his head. He could walk right out of here and pretend this whole night didn’t happen.

“Good boy,” he mouthed, testing the shape of the words in the darkness. The feel of Rogers’s short hair in his fist sprang into his imagination. He bared his teeth, lips peeling away from his gums. Pierce must know he ached for it every single fucking time he had to look Cap in the insufferable All-American eyes. Was that the ultimate command position? A reward reserved for unique circumstance?

Best not to assume, the Contessa’s voice whispered a warning.

Rumlow turned the prospect around in his mind for a long while, chewing lightly on the edges of the idea. If Pierce valued his loyalty, what would it matter if he gave up a bit more of his dignity to prove it. You need to play the game to win, he reasoned. He might not want to hand out marching orders on the regular, but if Pierce let him run down Rogers when the time came and that’s what it took to be at the other end of that leash….

The idea kept his blood running hot until he caught a more subtle gleam from the foot of the bed: Barnes was awake and had that dead-eye stare trained back on him.

Under the weight of that gaze, he tempered his resolve. He shook out the blanket and made himself more comfortable; crashing on a carpeted floor sure as hell beat laying a bag out on the cold dirt. His skin prickled as Barnes tracked his every move, and the whole of his flesh went tight as he shut his eyes and turned his back on the threat.

He’d played right into this, but he could still muster ambition where the asset couldn’t, and he could harness the anger that in the asset simmered uselessly behind programming. He might be on the same lead, but he didn’t have to fear a wipe, only a bullet.

Holding that cold comfort close, he chased sleep and tried to shake the feeling of metal on his throat, clamped there like teeth to hold him down.

Re: Fill: The Kind of Man Who Leads [6/6]

[(Anonymous)]

holy heck what a stunning end! I love how smart and cognizant the Asset is through all of this. I hope you post it to AO3 so that I can give it internet points.

Re: Fill: The Kind of Man Who Leads [6/6]

[(Anonymous)]

aw thanks. <3 Can't believe how long this thing turned out, but I'm cleaning it up for posting now that it's done!

Re: Fill: The Kind of Man Who Leads [6/6]

[(Anonymous)]

[WHALE NOISES]

Re: Fill: The Kind of Man Who Leads [6/6]

[(Anonymous)]

:D :D :D the best noises!