Somebody flicked on the bedroom light. Bucky knew because the sheet went from yellow-gray to white in front of his eyes. Two was still fucking him, making little grunting noises in time with his thrusts, and bucky could hear a rattling noise in the background. He could also feel something hot in the pit of his stomach and he hoped it mean the would throw up, throw up and choke on it and then this would be over. But instead he felt Two’s leather-gloved hand grip his cock, which as stirring, traitorously, in a half-formed erection.
“We like that, huh,” said Two’s voice hot in his ear. “I bet you’re wondering why we’re here,” he went on, and part of Bucky wanted to speak so he could shout back Men like you don’t need reasons, but another, stronger part wanted to sob Yes and Stop.
“Here’s the thing,” Two went on. His body was hot and heavy over Bucky’s, like it was bigger than it really was. “You think you can go running around with your pals, taking dick and playing house and parading around like you’re a human being, but you’re not. So how’s this, Soldier? You like being a person?”
Soldier. Soldier. It rang around in Bucky’s head and he wished he could look down and see how he was, if he was fully hard or only partially, like that made a difference but it did. He couldn’t feel his own cock, couldn’t stop himself from drooling a wet patch onto the mattress. He should be able to shake any of these guys off himself without breaking a sweat and instead he was face down in his own bed, getting fucked by them. You boys from an organization? They knew how to take him down. They called him Soldier. Every time he thought he had gotten away from Hydra, every time he thought he had cut off the last head –
Bucky knew when Two came. It was a feeling as much as the rhythm of his thrusts or the clench of his hands on Bucky’s hips, and Bucky screamed into the mattress as he pulled out of him because he was still inside.
“Give him another hit,” said Two. The tranq dart jabbed into his left thigh this time.
The world got slower then. Bucky was in a dance hall, turning and turning. He was in the tank again. He was in space.
He was on his back, the ache, burn, thrust of a man that wasn’t Two inside him while a man that might or might not be Two straddled his chest, flaccid cock in hand. When he forced his finger into Bucky’s mouth they tasted like leather and spunk and when the heavy, salty length dropped in Bucky hoped he would at least be able to gag on it, but he couldn’t.
Seventy years ago, when the Russians first got him, they put him on the conveyor belt, days on his feet with lights in his eyes, shouted at by officers in a language he didn’t understand yet. Bucky had tried telling himself it was jut boring. This again? every time the officer switched out. This again? He couldn’t tell if it was the last man pushing past his stretched, sore rim or the first again.
He was back on the table in Austria. He was in the arms of a mark, even though that only happened in the movies. Any moment now he’d wake up and shake Sam and Sam would mumble So I have to suffer too, huh? even as he turned to drape an arm around Bucky.
“Get a load of this,” said the voice that wasn’t Two’s, the ‘shut the fuck up’ voice.
Bucky tried to remember what they kept in that box. Mostly his stuff. The gloves for his left hand. A vibrator. The worst pair of handcuffs Bucky ever saw in his life and that he had managed not to break yet. Pretty underwear, stockings, a lace slip. Because it was the 21st century, and he got to live in sin with his man and have a good time and not be ashamed. He got to have a Hydra goon holding up the slip, saying “Whose is this?” while another laughed, “Who do you think?” He got to have it all, alright. He got what he wanted.
“We brought you something,” Two said. “Hope we picked the right size, since I guess you like it big.”
Re: No Saltwater Lake (3/?)
“We like that, huh,” said Two’s voice hot in his ear. “I bet you’re wondering why we’re here,” he went on, and part of Bucky wanted to speak so he could shout back Men like you don’t need reasons, but another, stronger part wanted to sob Yes and Stop.
“Here’s the thing,” Two went on. His body was hot and heavy over Bucky’s, like it was bigger than it really was. “You think you can go running around with your pals, taking dick and playing house and parading around like you’re a human being, but you’re not. So how’s this, Soldier? You like being a person?”
Soldier. Soldier. It rang around in Bucky’s head and he wished he could look down and see how he was, if he was fully hard or only partially, like that made a difference but it did. He couldn’t feel his own cock, couldn’t stop himself from drooling a wet patch onto the mattress. He should be able to shake any of these guys off himself without breaking a sweat and instead he was face down in his own bed, getting fucked by them. You boys from an organization? They knew how to take him down. They called him Soldier. Every time he thought he had gotten away from Hydra, every time he thought he had cut off the last head –
Bucky knew when Two came. It was a feeling as much as the rhythm of his thrusts or the clench of his hands on Bucky’s hips, and Bucky screamed into the mattress as he pulled out of him because he was still inside.
“Give him another hit,” said Two. The tranq dart jabbed into his left thigh this time.
The world got slower then. Bucky was in a dance hall, turning and turning. He was in the tank again. He was in space.
He was on his back, the ache, burn, thrust of a man that wasn’t Two inside him while a man that might or might not be Two straddled his chest, flaccid cock in hand. When he forced his finger into Bucky’s mouth they tasted like leather and spunk and when the heavy, salty length dropped in Bucky hoped he would at least be able to gag on it, but he couldn’t.
Seventy years ago, when the Russians first got him, they put him on the conveyor belt, days on his feet with lights in his eyes, shouted at by officers in a language he didn’t understand yet. Bucky had tried telling himself it was jut boring. This again? every time the officer switched out. This again? He couldn’t tell if it was the last man pushing past his stretched, sore rim or the first again.
He was back on the table in Austria. He was in the arms of a mark, even though that only happened in the movies. Any moment now he’d wake up and shake Sam and Sam would mumble So I have to suffer too, huh? even as he turned to drape an arm around Bucky.
“Get a load of this,” said the voice that wasn’t Two’s, the ‘shut the fuck up’ voice.
Bucky tried to remember what they kept in that box. Mostly his stuff. The gloves for his left hand. A vibrator. The worst pair of handcuffs Bucky ever saw in his life and that he had managed not to break yet. Pretty underwear, stockings, a lace slip. Because it was the 21st century, and he got to live in sin with his man and have a good time and not be ashamed. He got to have a Hydra goon holding up the slip, saying “Whose is this?” while another laughed, “Who do you think?” He got to have it all, alright. He got what he wanted.
“We brought you something,” Two said. “Hope we picked the right size, since I guess you like it big.”