Not-Two jammed the pretty underwear in Bucky’s mouth before they pushed him half-way over again. This time he was on his side, hips flat.
“Shit,” said someone, “That’s perfect.”
It was shameful, the way Bucky’s leg just flopped back when they pushed it up. He could feel the air of the room cool on the exposed, tender rim of his ass.
Someone made a choked-off laugh sound and said something that sounded like, “Planet of the gapes.”
“That’s the medication working, dumbass,” snapped Not-Two.
Bucky thought he was in the moment before the icy plunge. The shock will be good for you, Soldier. Or perhaps he was standing over someone else with his hand on the rope, waiting for the order. He was underwater and he fell down into the keyhole and the keyhole hurt as it stretched around him, it ached as he shoved through it and broke the surface of the water for just long enough for Sam to clap a respirator over his mouth before he went back down. The water was warm, like when they were in the Caribbean for that undersea lab fiasco last year or out of the plates in a library book, that novel he borrowed the year Steve was sick all spring back before they knew “pirateers” wasn’t how you said that word and Steve would make him stop at al the plates so he could stare at the cannon fire and the ice cream colored waves and Bucky was so bored, but his left arm dragged him down, down to where it was dark and something like hair covered his face, filled his nose and mouth and Edie was braiding his hair, kicking her feet into his back and saying I’m practicing on my mama and he needed to tell her to go away.
Bucky was on his back in his own bedroom with the overhead light in his eyes and whatever they had shoved into him was too big and too hard and they kept fucking him with it and he wanted to be able to speak so he could scream, he wanted them to start asking questions so he could give them the answers they wanted and they would stop. He wanted to be back in the treatment room, strapped down and wet and shivering and waiting for the insulin coma. By the end of the course they had trained him to ask for the needle.
Please, please – he couldn’t remember the best way to say it so it became beg you, beg you, and it came out like the tiny noise Sam makes just before a dream breaks, except when he asked Sam what he dreams about he said, Doesn’t matter, never happened so all Bucky knew was what he saw on TV which made him think they had more dust and rubble than his.
The plunge was good for him. Clear the mind.
“There was a purpose for something like you, when you worked for Hydra. I used to respect you. Turns out pretending to be a real boy is shitty, huh? It’s really too bad.”
A masked somebody put a gun against his head, and he had just enough time to hope it was loaded before they pulled the trigger. He hoped the same thing when they stuck it in his mouth. Someone said this was boring. Bucky hoped it was him.
A hand cradled his jaw as the gun was slid out. Putting the mask on him was a two person job if he’s being feisty. Harris said they should put a ball gag under there once, after the Soldier nearly took his thumb off. Sam said, Gonna get a gag so I never have to hear your sass again but he made a bit of a face when he said it and Bucky was glad. The underwear was back, wet and cold with his own spit and the lace tickling the back of his throat where he couldn’t cough of gag. The man up on his knees over Bucky’s chest had blue eyes. Not so different from his own in the mirror.
The thing was getting pulled out of him. It was still too long, too hard, and Bucky thought maybe part of him would be pulled out with it. Maybe he could faint from the pain.
All Bucky could see anymore was his body, all black except for the strip of skin around the eyes, but there was noise elsewhere. People moving around the room. A hissing sound. A chemical smell. The blue-eyed man leaned down and when he spoke, it was Two’s voice.
“Something like you, you were better than this. Living in a two-room, getting cats out of trees during the day, being someone’s warm hole at night.” He reached down and stroked one hand through Bucky’s hair. “So here’s the deal! You’re coming back to us. Bright thing like you should be able to figure out where. And I don’t see you or loverboy on the news ever again. Otherwise things just get shittier from here because,” he leaned down, “Hydra will find you in whatever nasty little hideaway you crawl into. You, or whoever else we have to.”
“Boss,” the third one said urgently.
“I’m coming,” Two snapped.
Without Two’s body blocking it the overhead light was blinding. Bucky was still trying to adjust when hands shoved him over onto his face, then off the side of the bed. It hurt when he hit the floor.
He didn’t see them leave but he saw the bedroom light flick off and head the front door shut. From where he lay Bucky could see under the bed to the other side, to the clothes strewn on the floor, a torn strip of the quilt, chunks of that foam rock that Sam used instead of a pillow because didn’t know what nice things were and said everything else was too soft. He hoped he would pass out soon and maybe he did, because the next thing he heard was Sam yelling his name.
He wanted to shout I’m in here but the words wouldn’t come out.
Sam’s face was so familiar it didn’t seem real. He had an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, cradling his head in the crook of it. His other hand touched Bucky’s throat, pulled the underwear out of his mouth, pulled his eye wide for a moment, pressed his legs apart and then, after Sam tucked his face into his own shoulder and said something that sounded like “Oh, oh,” back together. Sam kept saying his name and “Oh God” and “C’mon, give me something,” and Bucky wanted to but the sounds wouldn’t come.
“I’m here. It’s okay.” Sam’s hand slid around Bucky’s right one, warm and strong. “Gimme something. I know you’re in there.”
Bucky focused everything he had into his fingers, squeezed them once, then again, stronger. It was just like when he woke up and couldn’t move. You start with the fingers and toes.
Sam was telling him to stay with him, like Bucky was going anywhere, and that he was going to call them help. Bucky wanted to tell him not to bother.
Sam reached up to the bed for something and Bucky’s head tipped back so that for the first time he could see the wall above the bed. Bucky was barely aware of Sam talking to him, Sam tucking the sheet around his body, because in his mind’s eye he was still looking at the message spray painted there.
Re: No Saltwater Lake (4/?)
“Shit,” said someone, “That’s perfect.”
It was shameful, the way Bucky’s leg just flopped back when they pushed it up. He could feel the air of the room cool on the exposed, tender rim of his ass.
Someone made a choked-off laugh sound and said something that sounded like, “Planet of the gapes.”
“That’s the medication working, dumbass,” snapped Not-Two.
Bucky thought he was in the moment before the icy plunge. The shock will be good for you, Soldier. Or perhaps he was standing over someone else with his hand on the rope, waiting for the order. He was underwater and he fell down into the keyhole and the keyhole hurt as it stretched around him, it ached as he shoved through it and broke the surface of the water for just long enough for Sam to clap a respirator over his mouth before he went back down. The water was warm, like when they were in the Caribbean for that undersea lab fiasco last year or out of the plates in a library book, that novel he borrowed the year Steve was sick all spring back before they knew “pirateers” wasn’t how you said that word and Steve would make him stop at al the plates so he could stare at the cannon fire and the ice cream colored waves and Bucky was so bored, but his left arm dragged him down, down to where it was dark and something like hair covered his face, filled his nose and mouth and Edie was braiding his hair, kicking her feet into his back and saying I’m practicing on my mama and he needed to tell her to go away.
Bucky was on his back in his own bedroom with the overhead light in his eyes and whatever they had shoved into him was too big and too hard and they kept fucking him with it and he wanted to be able to speak so he could scream, he wanted them to start asking questions so he could give them the answers they wanted and they would stop. He wanted to be back in the treatment room, strapped down and wet and shivering and waiting for the insulin coma. By the end of the course they had trained him to ask for the needle.
Please, please – he couldn’t remember the best way to say it so it became beg you, beg you, and it came out like the tiny noise Sam makes just before a dream breaks, except when he asked Sam what he dreams about he said, Doesn’t matter, never happened so all Bucky knew was what he saw on TV which made him think they had more dust and rubble than his.
The plunge was good for him. Clear the mind.
“There was a purpose for something like you, when you worked for Hydra. I used to respect you. Turns out pretending to be a real boy is shitty, huh? It’s really too bad.”
A masked somebody put a gun against his head, and he had just enough time to hope it was loaded before they pulled the trigger. He hoped the same thing when they stuck it in his mouth. Someone said this was boring. Bucky hoped it was him.
A hand cradled his jaw as the gun was slid out. Putting the mask on him was a two person job if he’s being feisty. Harris said they should put a ball gag under there once, after the Soldier nearly took his thumb off. Sam said, Gonna get a gag so I never have to hear your sass again but he made a bit of a face when he said it and Bucky was glad. The underwear was back, wet and cold with his own spit and the lace tickling the back of his throat where he couldn’t cough of gag. The man up on his knees over Bucky’s chest had blue eyes. Not so different from his own in the mirror.
The thing was getting pulled out of him. It was still too long, too hard, and Bucky thought maybe part of him would be pulled out with it. Maybe he could faint from the pain.
All Bucky could see anymore was his body, all black except for the strip of skin around the eyes, but there was noise elsewhere. People moving around the room. A hissing sound. A chemical smell. The blue-eyed man leaned down and when he spoke, it was Two’s voice.
“Something like you, you were better than this. Living in a two-room, getting cats out of trees during the day, being someone’s warm hole at night.” He reached down and stroked one hand through Bucky’s hair. “So here’s the deal! You’re coming back to us. Bright thing like you should be able to figure out where. And I don’t see you or loverboy on the news ever again. Otherwise things just get shittier from here because,” he leaned down, “Hydra will find you in whatever nasty little hideaway you crawl into. You, or whoever else we have to.”
“Boss,” the third one said urgently.
“I’m coming,” Two snapped.
Without Two’s body blocking it the overhead light was blinding. Bucky was still trying to adjust when hands shoved him over onto his face, then off the side of the bed. It hurt when he hit the floor.
He didn’t see them leave but he saw the bedroom light flick off and head the front door shut. From where he lay Bucky could see under the bed to the other side, to the clothes strewn on the floor, a torn strip of the quilt, chunks of that foam rock that Sam used instead of a pillow because didn’t know what nice things were and said everything else was too soft. He hoped he would pass out soon and maybe he did, because the next thing he heard was Sam yelling his name.
He wanted to shout I’m in here but the words wouldn’t come out.
Sam’s face was so familiar it didn’t seem real. He had an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, cradling his head in the crook of it. His other hand touched Bucky’s throat, pulled the underwear out of his mouth, pulled his eye wide for a moment, pressed his legs apart and then, after Sam tucked his face into his own shoulder and said something that sounded like “Oh, oh,” back together. Sam kept saying his name and “Oh God” and “C’mon, give me something,” and Bucky wanted to but the sounds wouldn’t come.
“I’m here. It’s okay.” Sam’s hand slid around Bucky’s right one, warm and strong. “Gimme something. I know you’re in there.”
Bucky focused everything he had into his fingers, squeezed them once, then again, stronger. It was just like when he woke up and couldn’t move. You start with the fingers and toes.
Sam was telling him to stay with him, like Bucky was going anywhere, and that he was going to call them help. Bucky wanted to tell him not to bother.
Sam reached up to the bed for something and Bucky’s head tipped back so that for the first time he could see the wall above the bed. Bucky was barely aware of Sam talking to him, Sam tucking the sheet around his body, because in his mind’s eye he was still looking at the message spray painted there.
THIS IS YOUR WARNING