I think this might not be exactly what you wanted, but here:
-
They put a gun against his head. He tells them to shoot. He knows they won't, he is too big a prize to let go so easily, but he still has a moment of wondering what would happen to Bucky if they did. Then they put the gun against Bucky's head.
Steve almost considers letting them shoot. Bucky's been through in their hands. It might be good to get some rest. Surely it would be better than this? But the stubborn part of his brain, the one Bucky always complained about, doesn't let him. Because they will find a way out. They will get out of here, and he will take Bucky back to Brooklyn, and they will get a small apartment with plants on the windowsill, and in the evenings he will draw and Bucky will read and sometimes they will go out dancing, and maybe, he will finally, finally get to dance with Bucky. He owes him that much. They can still be happy.
After he kills every last one of these HYDRA bastards.
So Steve lets them push him to his knees behind Bucky, though he doesn't know how they expect him to get turned on. Bucky is trembling and breathing hard, held up on his elbows and knees. He doesn't seem to be entirely aware of his surroundings, which Steve takes as a blessing, but he flinches violently when Steve presses a hand against his hip. Steve keeps it there, caressing him slightly, in a mockery of reassurance.
"Steve?" Bucky croaks out. Steve realizes his voice is raw from so many men fucking his throat.
"Yeah, Buck", he answers, his own voice breaking. "Look, pal, I'm gonna need to..."
"You're not supposed to make love to it", the nearest goon says, with a nudge of his rifle against Steve's temple. Steve doesn't talk back. The last time he did, Bucky lost two teeth. Bucky hears him, though, tries to cower away from Steve's hand.
"It's okay, Buck, it'll be over soon", he says, in the gentlest voice he can find, still caressing Bucky's hip, and he hates himself for not having a plan, for subjecting Bucky to this, for the lie. He uses his other hand to touch himself, wants to get this over as soon as possible, tries to imagine them both out of here, tries to imagine a soft bed, and a willing Bucky.
It takes him a long time to get hard enough, and the jeering laughs of the agents are no help. He spits on this hand then, a few times, rubs the saliva all over himself, in a desperate attempt to make this any less painful. It probably won't make any difference, not when Bucky is open and raw, blood tinged come dripping out of him.
Steve feels the bile rising in his throat as he pushes into Bucky. He slides in easily. Any resistance has been fucked out of Bucky's muscles a few hours ago. Bucky whimpers, then, makes a weak effort at scrabbling away, just for a second, and then acquiesces. Steve can feel his shivers increasing, his breaths sounding more and more like sobs. He realizes his vision is blurry, and blinks away the tears as he carefully starts moving.
"I'm sorry, Bucky", he doesn't want the agents to hear him, but he can't help it. "I'm so sorry. It'll be over soon, okay? I'll get you out of here. I'm sorry..."
Steve is openly crying now, and he stops talking because if he continues crying he won't be able to continue this, and he'll never have the chance to get them out.
They tell him they want him to continue until he comes. He doesn't see how he possibly can, and at the same time, he doesn't want to prolong Bucky's suffering any longer. So he tries to speed his hips up a little while remaining gentle, and he closes his eyes and goes back to his imagination, focuses on the feeling around his cock, tries to ignore the squelching sounds everytime he slides into Bucky. He thinks of Bucky early in the morning, fixing his hair in the mirror before leaving for work. Bucky so dashingly handsome in his army uniform that the need to touch him was almost unbearable. Bucky washing in an European river, thin and scarred but miraculously, thankfully alive. Bucky's hands, his eyes, his mouth curving into a smile as he called him Stevie.
Steve's orgasm is short, perfunctory, simply the body responding to prolonged stimulus. Bucky curls up on himself as soon as he pulls out, whimpers as even more come drips out of him.
The HYDRA agents cheer as they leave, confident their reinforced door won't budge (it won't, Steve tried it yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that). As it clangs shut, Steve is left in the darkness. The only sound is his own breathing, and Bucky's sobs.
Re: Sloppy seconds
-
They put a gun against his head. He tells them to shoot. He knows they won't, he is too big a prize to let go so easily, but he still has a moment of wondering what would happen to Bucky if they did. Then they put the gun against Bucky's head.
Steve almost considers letting them shoot. Bucky's been through in their hands. It might be good to get some rest. Surely it would be better than this? But the stubborn part of his brain, the one Bucky always complained about, doesn't let him. Because they will find a way out. They will get out of here, and he will take Bucky back to Brooklyn, and they will get a small apartment with plants on the windowsill, and in the evenings he will draw and Bucky will read and sometimes they will go out dancing, and maybe, he will finally, finally get to dance with Bucky. He owes him that much. They can still be happy.
After he kills every last one of these HYDRA bastards.
So Steve lets them push him to his knees behind Bucky, though he doesn't know how they expect him to get turned on. Bucky is trembling and breathing hard, held up on his elbows and knees. He doesn't seem to be entirely aware of his surroundings, which Steve takes as a blessing, but he flinches violently when Steve presses a hand against his hip. Steve keeps it there, caressing him slightly, in a mockery of reassurance.
"Steve?" Bucky croaks out. Steve realizes his voice is raw from so many men fucking his throat.
"Yeah, Buck", he answers, his own voice breaking. "Look, pal, I'm gonna need to..."
"You're not supposed to make love to it", the nearest goon says, with a nudge of his rifle against Steve's temple. Steve doesn't talk back. The last time he did, Bucky lost two teeth. Bucky hears him, though, tries to cower away from Steve's hand.
"It's okay, Buck, it'll be over soon", he says, in the gentlest voice he can find, still caressing Bucky's hip, and he hates himself for not having a plan, for subjecting Bucky to this, for the lie. He uses his other hand to touch himself, wants to get this over as soon as possible, tries to imagine them both out of here, tries to imagine a soft bed, and a willing Bucky.
It takes him a long time to get hard enough, and the jeering laughs of the agents are no help. He spits on this hand then, a few times, rubs the saliva all over himself, in a desperate attempt to make this any less painful. It probably won't make any difference, not when Bucky is open and raw, blood tinged come dripping out of him.
Steve feels the bile rising in his throat as he pushes into Bucky. He slides in easily. Any resistance has been fucked out of Bucky's muscles a few hours ago. Bucky whimpers, then, makes a weak effort at scrabbling away, just for a second, and then acquiesces. Steve can feel his shivers increasing, his breaths sounding more and more like sobs. He realizes his vision is blurry, and blinks away the tears as he carefully starts moving.
"I'm sorry, Bucky", he doesn't want the agents to hear him, but he can't help it. "I'm so sorry. It'll be over soon, okay? I'll get you out of here. I'm sorry..."
Steve is openly crying now, and he stops talking because if he continues crying he won't be able to continue this, and he'll never have the chance to get them out.
They tell him they want him to continue until he comes. He doesn't see how he possibly can, and at the same time, he doesn't want to prolong Bucky's suffering any longer. So he tries to speed his hips up a little while remaining gentle, and he closes his eyes and goes back to his imagination, focuses on the feeling around his cock, tries to ignore the squelching sounds everytime he slides into Bucky. He thinks of Bucky early in the morning, fixing his hair in the mirror before leaving for work. Bucky so dashingly handsome in his army uniform that the need to touch him was almost unbearable. Bucky washing in an European river, thin and scarred but miraculously, thankfully alive. Bucky's hands, his eyes, his mouth curving into a smile as he called him Stevie.
Steve's orgasm is short, perfunctory, simply the body responding to prolonged stimulus. Bucky curls up on himself as soon as he pulls out, whimpers as even more come drips out of him.
The HYDRA agents cheer as they leave, confident their reinforced door won't budge (it won't, Steve tried it yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that). As it clangs shut, Steve is left in the darkness. The only sound is his own breathing, and Bucky's sobs.