hydratrashmeme | Dumpster #4: I Don't See How That's a Party

“Going for a run,“ Steve said. He’d spent the mostly-sleepless night considering his options.

The door was right there. Before he resorted to violence, he had to at least try.

Getting up before Rumlow sure hadn’t worked. He wasn’t sure the man had done anything but watch him all night. Taking him alive for questioning would be useful, but the asset’s presence made that damn near impossible.

Rumlow raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? Take the asset with you. It could use the exercise too. Just keep away from the perimeter. The defenses are automated.“ He looked at the asset. “Asset. Maintain a five meter distance. При необходимости используйте силу.” He smiled at Steve, all teeth. “Don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

Don’t test the bars and we can pretend you’re not a prisoner, Steve interpreted sourly. “Sure. Can you show me the boundaries, Soldier?”

The asset glanced at Rumlow. It was dressed in loose black pants and a lightweight dark gray shirt with black leather gloves, hair tied back.

He shrugged. “Been here often enough. You’ll know the way.”

Bucky’s pale eyes flickered as the asset turned a distantly considering gaze on the door, eyebrows slight drawn in thought. After a few seconds, it nodded.

Steve's prison yard wasn't that much larger than the first Retreat had been. True dawn was still maybe half an hour away and the grass was wet with dew. He was glad for his modern footwear. The boots he had worn during the war would have been soaked through before he’d completed one lap. The asset kept pace with him, staying between Steve and the nearly invisible perimeter. Steve wondered what Rumlow had said in Russian. Nothing that would do Steve any good.

Three circuits and Steve was about ready to jump out of his skin, body wrapped in invisible coils of tension. If he could get past the lasers with the Winter Soldier still following...

Under other circumstances, feeling like this, he might have run himself into exhaustion. That wasn’t an option here and now. He couldn’t let himself waste too much energy and he needed to think.

As he ran, he searched for anything resembling a gap or exploitable flaw in the perimeter. If he’d had the shield, getting out would have been easy. In the back of his mind, Bucky’s groaned in exasperation at Steve’s tendency to let himself be separated from his weapon.

He did his best to push it from his mind. Bucky was here, only feet away, matching him stride for stride the way only another supersoldier could.

Because you were made to match suggested that small voice of doubt he’d had to suppress since his conversation with the Winter Soldier.

Shut up. Don’t think about it. It’s not true. I volunteered for the serum. I’m not a Winter Soldier. I’m Steve Rogers.

At the same time, that doubting part of himself offered, And even if I’m not the original Steve Rogers, HYDRA will regret ever letting any version of me be defrosted.

He slowed to a light jog, still faster than most unenhanced people could run.

When he came to a stop, the asset did the same, drifting just outside arm’s reach.

Steve regarded what was left of Bucky until he couldn't anymore and looked away into the trees.

The side of his face and neck itched under the other supersoldier’s attention, like the asset’s stare could burn him like the sun.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Steve said hoarsely. He’d been crying for the last several minutes without realizing it. He wiped at his eyes angrily.

Bucky shook his head. “I’m not him, Captain.”

“I know,” admitted Steve heavily. “And I’m sorry for wanting him back when you’re trying your best. But you were my Bucky. I know you were. And someone will pay for that.”

They looked at each other, the Winter Soldier making no effort to avoid eye contact.

Then Bucky’s knees hit the wet grass with a soft thump. “Please.” It was a whisper, low and desperate. “I’m not him, but I could be yours. You could make me him. The Commander can teach you.”

He swallowed, mouth dry and lips tacky. He licked them and swallowed again. “Why?” he managed. He understood what it was doing. The asset wasn’t stupid.

Please don’t leave me. Don’t make me hurt you. God he hated HYDRA.

“HYDRA made me to be a good asset and a good Bucky,” it elaborated in a rough whisper, staring at the grass in front of its knees. “Please, cooperate and comply. We fit together so well. Don’t you remember how good it was when you gave in?”

“Good? Bucky, that was a goddamn fucking nightmare. We were drugged.”

Bucky’s scowl had more than a little hurt in it. “You gave me permission to touch.”

“Yeah. You’re not the one to blame, Buck.”

Leather gloves creaked as the asset looked away. “You shouldn’t call me his name unless you’re ordering me to be him.”

“You are him!”

Shadowed eyes met his, seeking, before dropping away again. “You don’t have that authority. The Secretary said you could earn it, but you don’t try.”

“I have tried!” Steve realized he was on the verge of shouting and repeated himself in a whisper. “I have tried. But I can’t go on hurting you.”

“Your solution is to leave me to handlers who enjoy hurting me more than you do.”

“No!” Steve protested. “I want you to escape with me.”

The Winter Soldier just stared at him. And then began to laugh.

Steve stood and waited it out, irritation and embarrassment warring with the fear and anxiety.

The asset said, “Impossible. You’re insane. We’ve got trackers. Even if you disable yours, there's nowhere you won't be found. The organization's influence is everywhere.”

“Not everywhere,” he argued. “That’s not possible.”

“They will hurt me more with you gone,” said the asset, ignoring him.

“Then come with me!”

“We aren’t prisoners, we’re assets. Good supersoldiers comply. Compliance isn’t optional. We would be found. Bad supersoldiers are punished and frozen.”

Steve took a shuddering breath and ran his hands over his face. Fuck. I just can’t get through. To Bucky or through the fence. He was stuck and the asset was immovable.

Capitalizing on his silence, the asset pressed, “It doesn’t have to be that way. Cooperate. Learn to be a good handler. The Commander can teach you. Today. The Barnes Protocols. I can be Bucky for you. We can stay together. It will be easier to protect each other if the Commander sees no reason to have us separated.”

Every time he decided he had to end his mission, he was offered another reason to stay and give them opportunities to break him.

Another day could mean another day of not having to risk fighting Bucky. It mean opportunities for Steve too.

He needed more time to think. He needed a better plan for getting out of this place.

“Get up, Soldier,” he ordered tiredly.

The asset stood, cautious but hopeful.

“Never was good at quitting,” Steve said, and began trudging back toward the building.

Thanks! I go back and check the other threads occasionally but it's good to have a heads up!

holy shit anon I love this prompt so much

Oh, they actually talked! I love it! And the Asset is basically telling him he *wants* to be Bucky and *wants* to be physical with Steve, but Steve obviously can't see it from that side.

Steve finally trying to get away with Bucky is so satisfying and frustrating at the same time

I LOVE THE SHIFT IN THIS CHAPTER SO MUCH I'M YELLIN'

THE ASSET WANTS TO BE HIS BUCKY
STEVE TRUSTS THE ASSET ENOUGH TO TRY TO LURE HIM AWAY
THEY'RE TRYING TO FIND SOMETHING THAT WORKS FOR THEM BOTH
THE ASSET WANTS TO BE WITH STEVE this feels like it's leading up to a glorious crescendo ;o;

My most favorite thing about this is the offhand mention of Bucky's silence during the sex ordeal. You made my heart hurt so good!

Yes please!

(A!A) Steve isn’t the one trying to avoid a physical fight. It helps that Steve’s uncertain status reduces his authority over the asset. The asset doesn’t want force to become necessary to keep Steve so this tactic is worth a shot. Steve clearly doesn’t object to the asset’s boldness and it helps that all the asset has to say is true from the asset’s perspective. :-)

(A!A) I love the frustration but even I’m getting fed up with Steve’s refusal to run. I was all ready for Steve to make a break for it.

(A!A) I’m not sure how well thought-out Steve’s “run away with me” was. He’s really teetering on the edge. He trusts Bucky instinctively and the asset might be taking advantage. Steve was ready to make the asset pursue him away from the Retreat and try to subdue or reason with the asset later. He’s desperate and he’s putting all his cards on the table, except for the “I know about HYDRA” card.

They are desperately trying to persuade each other, both thinking their way is the best way to protect them both. The asset wants to be Steve’s Bucky. The only way it sees that happening is if Steve becomes the asset’s full-fledged handler.

I’m glad you enjoyed the chapter!

(A!A) that should be “isn’t the only one”

Glad people are liking this so far! I'm thinking there'll be 5 or so parts.

Oh, and I promise there'll be some plot in there somewhere!

Steve leaned back, all flushed and messy haired. “Sorry.”

For a second, Bucky didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, then he caught the glance downwards.

Ah, Stevie, always a fucking gentleman.

“Don’t matter.” Bucky kissed him. “I don’t mind.”

He could feel Steve’s hand against his hip, so he deepened the kiss in the hope Steve might lose interest. Of course, that wasn’t doin a whole lot to help him lose interest.

Steve was pushing him back on to the bed, kissing down his throat.
“Buck, lemme-“

“No.”

Steve sat up, bit his lip. “I’m sorry I forgot. I won’t touch you there. I promise. I know-“

“Stevie.”

“Yeah?”

Christ, he was so sweet. Really, it should be illegal.

Bucky smiled, caught his hand, pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “It’s fine, really.”

Steve grinned, relieved. He ran his hands up and down Bucky’s ribs, in a way that was clearly meant to be seductive, but which landed squarely in cute. “Well, let me make it up to you then.”

He couldn’t say no.

Well, he could, clearly. There was no one he trusted more than Steve. There were times when Steve hadn’t touched him for days because he’d said no, not even to let their hands brush. He’d never made a thing of it, come back without a word when Bucky had opened his arms.

But here, in this setting, in their own bed, Steve would ask questions, and there was no answer Bucky could think to give that wouldn’t result in Steve’s face crumpling.

He couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear that look on his face. Not ever, but certainly not when he was the one to put it there.

So he just smiled. “Sure thing, Stevie.”

Steve grinned and hitched his way back to sit between Bucky’s legs, the same way they’d started all this. He felt the press of his fingers, and something about the very recent memory of what it felt like had him tensing automatically.

Steve dipped his head to run kisses up the inside of his leg. “Let me in, baby.”

He made himself concentrate on the scuff of Steve’s stubble at the top of his thigh, the warmth of his tongue. He let himself slip back years, to when the window frame rattled in the wind, and this would’ve been the highlight of his day.

He felt Steve breach him, for the briefest of seconds it was like it would’ve been all those years ago. Then the burn started.

He couldn’t help the grunt, knew Steve must have felt him tense.

He forced a laugh. “You got some magic fingers, buddy.”

He cringed internally that that cheesy shit was the best he could come up with, but whatever, it had the desired effect. Steve huffed a laugh and went right back at it.

It was marginally better once Steve found his mark.

He felt it again. Buried under everything else. He wanted this.

But he didn’t know if he could. He couldn’t chase the feeling, not when he was so over sensitive from having Steve inside him before. Something Steve was brushing was sending little twinges up his spine and that was killing any chance he had of finishing.

What was worse was that Steve could tell he wasn’t into it, could see it in his face, in the little line that had appeared between his brows.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, cos that was gonna be the final nail in the coffin. “Stevie?”

The kiss to the hip was a question.

“I need… more. Need you.”

Another kiss. And Steve plunged another finger in, which wasn’t exactly what he meant but had the desired effect. His flagging erection perked up at the added pressure.

He groaned, and it was just the wrong side of pained, but he didn’t think he could keep it in if Steve kept goin like that. He turned his head and bit into the flesh of his wrist. Was pretty damn certain his other hand was ripping at the sheets.

Steve was murmuring something, probably some ineffective attempt at bedroom talk, but it didn’t matter, Bucky couldn’t concentrate on that. Not when the confusing fire burn was whiting out his brain. It felt like the crackle of tasers, the smell of ozone, but it was also the heat deep in his gut.

He wanted…

Wanted to kick Steve off and curl into a ball.

Wanted more of him. As much as possible.

He bit harder into his arm, tasted copper, and that was a bright white crescendo above everything else. As long as he focussed on that, the searing up inside him faded away.

He was moving now, Steve having to press into his hip to keep him where he wanted him. He was pretty sure he was crying, warm tear tracks down his temple, but the sharp pain in his arm was keeping him present, focussed on the end game.

He wouldn’t stop now if the world was fucking ending. Not after all it had taken to get this far.

He panted into his arm as he came, feeling like he was burning up from the inside out.

And holy Christ was it worth it.

***
He was pressed up against Steve’s side when he woke up, arm flung lazily over his stomach. Could feel Steve brushing lightly over the hair at the back of his neck, and the phantom ache inside him, almost like years ago.

Steve had dragged the sheets over them while he’d been zonked.

He shifted slightly, hummed to let Steve know he was awake, and smiled as Steve pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “Sap.”

“Yep.” Steve’s hand drifted to his arm, running up and down the skin.

“Do you..?”

“Mmm?”

Steve brushed his thumb over the inside of his wrist. “Do you get off on this?”

His tone was very carefully non-judgemental.

Bucky opened his eyes to look at the little ring of pink indents. The skin had already healed over. By morning there’d be nothing there.

He sat up, so he could straddle Steve’s lap. “I get off on you.”

Steve laughed. “Your lines are worse now than in 1938.”

“Got you in the sack, didn’t it?”

Steve grinned and kissed him, trailed down his throat. “I never needed any lines.”

However long he’d been asleep had been enough to get Stevie back in the game. Bucky could already feel his interest beginning to stir again.

He sighed into Steve’s kisses. He was tired, and he felt a little sick.

But he sat back anyway, flashed the brightest smile he could manage, raised an eyebrow. “So, ready to go again, cowboy?”

A/N: Sorry for the ridiculously long wait between parts. Have some more gratuitous Bucky whump!

From the stillness of his chest, he isn’t breathing either. He’d heal from whatever brain damage a few minutes of oxygen deprivation would do to him - he’s healed from far worse - but Rumlow doesn’t have the time or patience for that. He steps in close and nudges Barnes over onto his side with his foot, watching with disinterest as a thin trickle of bloodied water drips out from between his parted lips, but nothing more.

A sharp kick to the ribs works a little better, rousing Barnes enough for him to dribble out a few more mouthfuls from his lungs. But it’s the slamming of Rumlow’s steel-capped boot right into that sweet spot right over Barnes’ left kidney - hard enough that he’ll be pissing blood for a week, supersoldier healing be damned - that finally does the trick. Barnes convulses, retching at the pain and finally clearing enough of the water from his lungs to take a deep, heaving gasp of air that quickly evolves into a thick yell of agony when Rumlow kicks him in the same place again. Gotta make sure those lungs are definitely clear.

When he steps back to survey the scene, it takes a little while for Rumlow to notice that Barnes isn’t just shaking with the aftershocks of pain. No: he’s shivering. Under the harsh lighting he looks almost blue. It makes sense: the water had been just about freezing, and the warehouse itself isn’t much warmer. If this was a human, hypothermia would definitely be setting in by now; shock, too, if the injuries hadn't already killed them. But the Soldier had undergone dozens of cryo procedures, and this - just some cold water - is nothing compared to that.

Rumlow can’t help the faint shiver of disgust at the fact that a little bit of water was enough to reduce Barnes to the pathetic, shuddering mess trying to curl in on itself before him. The Soldier was never so weak. Even after cryo, coming off the ice, it was never like this; they’d trained it to be better than that. They’d put it on the table where it would lie still and silent like a dead thing, its dull eyes unblinking as its internal temperature crawled back to the land of the living. Sometimes, if they had time before it needed to be mission-ready, they’d fuck it. Get it warmed up from the inside.

Rumlow turns the memory over in his head. Huh. That’s actually not such a bad idea.

Barnes doesn’t exactly look up to resisting in this state, what with the near-drowning and the beating and the drugs - the IV is still embedded in the crook of his arm. As much as forcing the Soldier to submit when it struggled - and even better, making it beg - had had its own upsides, there’d always been something incomparably satisfying about the times it stayed limp and pliant and unresisting as Rumlow used its body however he pleased, the faint tremors of its body beneath his hand the only sign that it felt anything at all. He’s missed that feeling.

But, somehow, there's something unsatisfying about the prospect of repeating that now. It's predictable, is what it is. Probably the first thing Barnes had expected, being used like that again; whether it was killing for them or being fucked by them, he sure had a wealth of experience at being HYDRA’s bitch, and getting off on it too.

Not anymore. This time, the pleasure’s gonna be all Rumlow’s.

The best reactions of the last day have been the ones ripped out of Barnes through something unexpected, something he's been unable to brace himself for. Which makes the solution to his current dilemma - what next? - clear: Rumlow’s gonna have to find something new; some untouched, fresh ground to desecrate.

Out of the corner of his eye, the bloodstained knife catches his eye.

The idea coalesces slowly, coming into focus like an oil spill bubbling up to the water’s surface. First he shuffles across the room to retrieve the knife. Next, he limps over to his bag, rummages around and grabs the box of condoms he’d bought as part of his preparations for bringing Barnes here; it always helped to be prepared. He picks out a single foil packet, and then, after a moment’s deliberation, another one to go with it.

By the time he's standing over Barnes again, his dick is already stirring in his pants, his pulse revving up in anticipation. Fuck, he's really gonna do this.

Barnes hasn't moved from his position on the ground, face pressed against the floor as he pants wetly. Rumlow crouches down and gets a handful of his hair, dragging his head up from the ground and forcing his spine to arch. From this close, his back looks like nothing more than shredded meat; no way Rumlow's getting in through there.

Plan B it is, then.

A hard shove topples Barnes over onto his back. The crack of his head against the floor is enough to stun him if his complete lack of reaction is anything to go by: when Rumlow moves in close, settling his weight over Barnes’ knees and pinning him in place, Barnes doesn’t react at all.

Rubbing gloved fingers over the torn-up edges of the knife wound in Barnes’ thigh serves to rouse him a little; forcing his fingers into the messy gape of it, opening it up wider until his fingertips slide over slick muscle, drags a ragged noise of protest out of Barnes, his head twitching like he’s trying to lift his gaze to see what's happening but doesn't have the strength left.

Doesn't matter. He’ll know soon enough.

Rumlow leaves off making a mess of the leg wound to slide his gloved hand up Barnes thigh, over the scars left there -faint, now - over the years, reminders of each time STRIKE got their hands on him. Except that the letters his fingers trace over have been interrupted, have been made unreadable.

A closer look reveals a series of newer, fresher scars that carve up every single one of STRIKE’s reminders, lines crossed through each word like any of those things could ever be so easily erased.

He can tell from the rhythm of Barnes’ breathing that he's back to being fully awake, now. Plan B can wait a few more minutes; first Rumlow’s got a job to do.

‘Slut’ is the first to be rewritten with the knife’s razor-sharp tip, followed by ‘Fucktoy,’ and then ‘Hail Hydra’, and then the rest. There's too many tally marks - spanning practically from ass to knee on both legs - to count, so he settles on carving his own new ones: two for when he used the stun baton, and a deeper third line, for what he’s about to do next; he’s got a feeling he’s gonna be too distracted to do it later. But it’s only when his fingers reach one scar in particular that Barnes reacts with anything more than a shuddering breath. No; this time he jerks his leg, trying to pull away and seemingly not caring that the sudden movement earns him a deep gouge of the knife into the pale skin just below.

“What’s the matter, huh?” Rumlow murmurs, tracing over the scar-rough skin with the pad of his thumb. ”Don't want me touching this one?”

The scar in question has been so sliced up with fresher lines that the original word carved there is completely concealed. From the scar’s length it was at least two words, maybe more.

He takes another look at the rest of them, cataloging each word and linking it to a time and place, to a memory, and---Ah. This covered-up scar clicks into place in his head. He knows exactly what it is, and why Barnes scratched it out completely.

Rumlow can't help the slow smile that spreads across his face.

He flips the knife in his grip, adjusting the angle of the blade, aiming not for Barnes’ thighs this time but higher, on his chest. The skin parts easily beneath the sharp blade as he drags it in a small arc, carving out the first letter, presses down harder than he needs to just because he can and because he knows Barnes can't do anything to stop it.

“You should’a seen it, y’know. The look on his face when he realised who you were. What we’d done to you.” He gives the knife a sharp flick, carving out another line of the next letter. “Maybe he smelled it on you. We’d always wondered what he’d’ve thought, if he’d been alive to find out exactly what we did to you,” he muses idly. “Sure made things more fun for us when they dug him out of the ice.

That was the way the story went, you know: you were his before you were ours. Now I know that memory ain’t what it used to be so, look, I’m doing you a favour here; a reminder so you don’t forget.”

With a flourish, he finishes the last slice, sitting back to grin at his handiwork. Because sure, Barnes has been Hydra’s bitch for the last seventy years; it’s indelible, under his skin in a way that no amount of superserum healing is gonna erase, and he knows it, too. The thing with Rogers, on the other hand. That’s gotta be different. If his reaction when Rogers had recognised him on the bridge - and after, before they fried it out of him again - was anything to go by, that might just be the one untouched thing Barnes has left of his former life.

Barnes doesn’t say anything, not even when Rumlow reaches in and drags his thumb over each deep slice, smearing the blood into Barnes’ skin as he traces out the letters.

Cap’s Bitch.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Rumlow sneers, when Barnes still doesn’t fucking react: time to get to the grand finale, then. “And now I’m gonna make you mine.”

And before Barnes has time to brace himself - or do anything at all - Rumlow stabs him in the gut.

(A!A) Damn it, forgot to change the subject line. I'm thinking one or two more parts for this section!

A/N: (Wow, okay, sorry for clogging up the flat view, threading this correctly this time!) Sorry for the ridiculously long wait between parts. Have some more gratuitous Bucky whump!