The faces changed, as did the language, but there was always one constant. They always told him how good he was. "Good work, Soldier," they’d say after he’d fulfilled his orders. "Well done." He didn’t remember much, but he remembered that. That he was very good at what he did. He was proud of that.
Some of the orders he was receiving here in America’s capital city made him uncomfortable. He followed them, of course, because he wanted to be useful and good, and he was proud of that, but some of these new orders-
“Take off your clothes, turn around, and get on your hands and knees.”
He complied as quickly as he could. Agent Rumlow had worked with him to take down Nick Fury. Rumlow was good, too. He believed in peace and justice. He believed in following orders. Working with him before had been rewarding.
Working with him now was strange and uncomfortable.
“Good boy,” Rumlow said, gripping the Asset’s long hair tightly from behind and forcing his head back so far it hurt, exposing his neck to attack. “You remember what I like, don’t you?”
Looking up at Rumlow, neck straining, he grunted his assent. He did remember. He hadn’t needed any wipes for weeks. He was glad for that, even if he understood the necessity. Wipes were painful, but they enabled him to do his job. To be good.
He wished he didn’t have to remember what Rumlow liked, but it was essential to the mission, so he remembered every detail. He remembered that Rumlow liked him to struggle. Rumlow liked him to make noises of distress when he was pounding himself inside the Asset. Rumlow liked him to cry, and to plead for him to stop. All things that he didn’t do, but that Rumlow had ordered him to do so he had to do them.
Following Rumlow’s orders was the most uncomfortable, but maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if Rumlow was the only participant. There were a group of men that followed Rumlow’s turn with the Asset. Agents Morrison and Johannson always. Agent Rollins twice. Once an agent called Ramirez, but he hadn’t gotten farther than shoving his half-hard penis inside the Asset’s mouth, then panicking and rushing from the fortified vault while the other men jeered. The Asset understood that Ramirez had failed his portion of the mission, which meant the Asset had failed, too. That would have bothered him, but not for this particular mission. Failure or not, for these missions the absent-Ramirez was his favorite colleague.
There had been four of these missions so far, including the current one, and he remembered what Morrison liked (only with his mouth, and Morrison liked to call him “it”), and Johannson (for him to face Johannson, to make noises of pleasure, and to orgasm along with him). Rollins liked to slap him around even more than Rumlow, but he wanted the Asset to be silent when he was inside him.
“Johannson, how’s that little fundraiser of ours going?”
The Asset heard Rumlow’s voice over Rollins’ grunts. From the sound of them, he knew Rollins would be done with him any moment now.
“Agent Boone’s leading. Almost two thousand bucks.”
“Huh,” Rumlow sounded speculative. “Might shake things up to get a chick down here.”
Rollins orgasmed, his fingers gripping the Asset’s hips punishingly as he plowed into him. The name Agent Boone meant nothing to him, neither did Rumlow’s talk of a fundraiser, so the Asset focused on being silent and not falling over from his ordered hands-and-knees position.
“Having Boone here would be good,” Rollins agreed, inside the Asset. “Make everything a little less queer, I guess.”
“How many times do I gotta tell you,” Morrison interjected. “It’s not queer if it’s not really a person.”
“Just keep telling yourself that.”
Rollins pulled out of the Asset, a trail of warm semen dribbling out behind him. The Asset recalibrated his position and awaited instruction. He was relieved that it was over. The relief clouded his satisfaction at a successful mission. It was distressing.
“Let’s go,” Rumlow said after the noise of Rollins zipping up his fly had faded. “Soldier, clean yourself up and get dressed. Don’t tell anybody about the last hour.”
The Asset complied as the men locked him back in his vault. He reminded himself that he was very good at his job, no matter how uncomfortable it made him. He was proud of that.
*
“Hey, sweetheart. Wake up.”
The Asset’s eyes opened to the vault’s ceiling, before he swiveled his head to look at Agent Rumlow standing on the opposite side of the barred door, leering at him. The Asset was lying on his cot, preparing for the mission Pierce had given him. He required three hours of sleep for every twenty-four hour cycle to perform at optimum capacity, but he determined that he hadn’t fulfilled that time frame, and he was troubled by the fleeting memories of the dream he’d woken from. His sleep cycle was normally empty, but ever since Rumlow’s new missions he’d been having disturbing dreams. It made him miss cryo. There were no dreams in cryo.
Rumlow typed in the code and spun the locks to open the vault’s door. The Asset was afraid when there was no longer a barrier between them. The Asset was never this afraid, and the feeling made him even more afraid. A never ending cycle of terror.
The vault door slammed shut behind Rumlow, trapping the Asset inside with him. He could kill this man so easily, yet he was trapped with him. The paradox was distressing.
“Die Erdbeere ist zu schwer.”
Rumlow said the words that told the Asset to stand at attention and not move or speak until further orders were issued. He swung his legs over the side of his cot and rose. His heart was beating too fast. It was distracting.
“Heard we’re going after Rogers, Romanoff, some guy called Wilson, and that pissant Sitwell tomorrow.”
The corresponding faces to those names flashed through the Asset’s mind, disappearing once Rumlow was beside him, touching his cheek, and playing gently with his hair. The Asset knew the violence would begin at any moment. That was the worst part of Rumlow’s missions, the knowing, and yet the surprise of it when it finally began.
“It’s gonna be dangerous, goin’ after two goddamn Avengers. Rogers alone might kill us all, not to mention that sneaky little Ruskie bitch.”
At least Rumlow was alone for this mission. The Asset didn’t register anyone else in the vault, on either side of the door.
“Bribed your guards to take the night off,” Rumlow said in his ear, as if reading his thoughts. “Wanted you all to myself for what might be our last time.”
He was unbuckling the straps across the Asset’s chest himself. This was different. Usually the Asset was ordered to strip himself.
“Should’ve been keeping you all for myself this whole time,” Rumlow finished removing the Asset’s top layers. “But it was hard enough gettin’ your codes by myself. Needed some help from the others to bribe the guards every time. To cut the camera feed, distract Pierce.”
He removed the Asset’s mask. His mouth smashed savagely against the Asset’s, and the Asset opened his lips as he knew Rumlow wanted, continuing to maintain his straight-backed position while he awaited Rumlow’s next order. Rumlow’s words were confusing and they slid off the Asset’s mind like oil. They weren’t relevant to the mission. Or, if they were, they weren’t for him to think about.
“Mmm,” Rumlow pulled his mouth away. “You’re so sweet. Aren’t you, gorgeous? They took some doe-eyed boy scout, Cap’s best friend no less, and turned him into a murder machine.”
The words were distressing him. He knew they meant something, but he couldn’t grasp exactly what.
“It’s diabolical, even for Hydra,” Rumlow was undoing the Asset’s belt now. “I love it.”
The Asset’s pants slid down around his ankles, caught on his boots. Rumlow was kneeling down to unlace them.
“Boone won our fundraiser,” Rumlow offered conversationally. “She paid out four thousand bucks just to get a turn with you, assuming we survive tomorrow. And here I always thought she was a lesbian. Lift up your right foot.”
The Asset complied. Rumlow slid off his boot and sock.
“You might get a chance to get your dick wet for once. Bet you’d like that, huh? Lift your left now.”
He complied, then complied again to help Rumlow finish removing his pants. The Asset was naked in the vault’s dim light. The temperature wasn’t close to resembling cold, but the Asset shivered.
“You shoulda seen Rogers’ face,” Rumlow had a sadistic smile as he rose to his feet and started unzipping his fly. “We gave him all the money we got from people bidding on you for his stupid rape charity. Came to almost ten grand. I thought he was gonna cry.”
-gaunt face, watery blue eyes, split lip bleeding. Bony hand swiping tears angrily away as the Asset came to his aid. The skinny boy said a name that was not the Asset’s name, because he had no name, but he responded as if it was-
“Hey!”
The Asset saw Rumlow’s fingers in front of his face; heard them snap to get his attention. Rumlow shouldn’t have to get the Asset’s attention, the Asset should already be at attention. He was failing, and he was distressed. The skinny boy’s face faded and he was glad.
“The fuck is wrong with you?”
The Asset was irritated, and he glared at the other man. There was nothing wrong with him. He was good. He was the best. This was Rumlow’s fault, with his contradictory missions, and he didn’t have to answer unless Rumlow gave him a direct order.
“We gotta get this show on the road.”
Rumlow began the string of Russian words to take direct control of the Asset’s mind. It shouldn’t distress the Asset, but it did. When Rumlow had finished, the Asset let him know he was ready for the mission.
But he was afraid.
“Get down on your belly, bitch,” Rumlow ordered. “You know what I like.”
The Asset complied and the violence finally began.
After Rumlow left, the Asset was unable to finish his sleep cycle. He hated Rumlow for that. He hated himself for how much of a failure that made him.
Fill: Speaking Out (2/4)
II. Asset
The faces changed, as did the language, but there was always one constant. They always told him how good he was. "Good work, Soldier," they’d say after he’d fulfilled his orders. "Well done." He didn’t remember much, but he remembered that. That he was very good at what he did. He was proud of that.
Some of the orders he was receiving here in America’s capital city made him uncomfortable. He followed them, of course, because he wanted to be useful and good, and he was proud of that, but some of these new orders-
“Take off your clothes, turn around, and get on your hands and knees.”
He complied as quickly as he could. Agent Rumlow had worked with him to take down Nick Fury. Rumlow was good, too. He believed in peace and justice. He believed in following orders. Working with him before had been rewarding.
Working with him now was strange and uncomfortable.
“Good boy,” Rumlow said, gripping the Asset’s long hair tightly from behind and forcing his head back so far it hurt, exposing his neck to attack. “You remember what I like, don’t you?”
Looking up at Rumlow, neck straining, he grunted his assent. He did remember. He hadn’t needed any wipes for weeks. He was glad for that, even if he understood the necessity. Wipes were painful, but they enabled him to do his job. To be good.
He wished he didn’t have to remember what Rumlow liked, but it was essential to the mission, so he remembered every detail. He remembered that Rumlow liked him to struggle. Rumlow liked him to make noises of distress when he was pounding himself inside the Asset. Rumlow liked him to cry, and to plead for him to stop. All things that he didn’t do, but that Rumlow had ordered him to do so he had to do them.
Following Rumlow’s orders was the most uncomfortable, but maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if Rumlow was the only participant. There were a group of men that followed Rumlow’s turn with the Asset. Agents Morrison and Johannson always. Agent Rollins twice. Once an agent called Ramirez, but he hadn’t gotten farther than shoving his half-hard penis inside the Asset’s mouth, then panicking and rushing from the fortified vault while the other men jeered. The Asset understood that Ramirez had failed his portion of the mission, which meant the Asset had failed, too. That would have bothered him, but not for this particular mission. Failure or not, for these missions the absent-Ramirez was his favorite colleague.
There had been four of these missions so far, including the current one, and he remembered what Morrison liked (only with his mouth, and Morrison liked to call him “it”), and Johannson (for him to face Johannson, to make noises of pleasure, and to orgasm along with him). Rollins liked to slap him around even more than Rumlow, but he wanted the Asset to be silent when he was inside him.
“Johannson, how’s that little fundraiser of ours going?”
The Asset heard Rumlow’s voice over Rollins’ grunts. From the sound of them, he knew Rollins would be done with him any moment now.
“Agent Boone’s leading. Almost two thousand bucks.”
“Huh,” Rumlow sounded speculative. “Might shake things up to get a chick down here.”
Rollins orgasmed, his fingers gripping the Asset’s hips punishingly as he plowed into him. The name Agent Boone meant nothing to him, neither did Rumlow’s talk of a fundraiser, so the Asset focused on being silent and not falling over from his ordered hands-and-knees position.
“Having Boone here would be good,” Rollins agreed, inside the Asset. “Make everything a little less queer, I guess.”
“How many times do I gotta tell you,” Morrison interjected. “It’s not queer if it’s not really a person.”
“Just keep telling yourself that.”
Rollins pulled out of the Asset, a trail of warm semen dribbling out behind him. The Asset recalibrated his position and awaited instruction. He was relieved that it was over. The relief clouded his satisfaction at a successful mission. It was distressing.
“Let’s go,” Rumlow said after the noise of Rollins zipping up his fly had faded. “Soldier, clean yourself up and get dressed. Don’t tell anybody about the last hour.”
The Asset complied as the men locked him back in his vault. He reminded himself that he was very good at his job, no matter how uncomfortable it made him. He was proud of that.
*
“Hey, sweetheart. Wake up.”
The Asset’s eyes opened to the vault’s ceiling, before he swiveled his head to look at Agent Rumlow standing on the opposite side of the barred door, leering at him. The Asset was lying on his cot, preparing for the mission Pierce had given him. He required three hours of sleep for every twenty-four hour cycle to perform at optimum capacity, but he determined that he hadn’t fulfilled that time frame, and he was troubled by the fleeting memories of the dream he’d woken from. His sleep cycle was normally empty, but ever since Rumlow’s new missions he’d been having disturbing dreams. It made him miss cryo. There were no dreams in cryo.
Rumlow typed in the code and spun the locks to open the vault’s door. The Asset was afraid when there was no longer a barrier between them. The Asset was never this afraid, and the feeling made him even more afraid. A never ending cycle of terror.
The vault door slammed shut behind Rumlow, trapping the Asset inside with him. He could kill this man so easily, yet he was trapped with him. The paradox was distressing.
“Die Erdbeere ist zu schwer.”
Rumlow said the words that told the Asset to stand at attention and not move or speak until further orders were issued. He swung his legs over the side of his cot and rose. His heart was beating too fast. It was distracting.
“Heard we’re going after Rogers, Romanoff, some guy called Wilson, and that pissant Sitwell tomorrow.”
The corresponding faces to those names flashed through the Asset’s mind, disappearing once Rumlow was beside him, touching his cheek, and playing gently with his hair. The Asset knew the violence would begin at any moment. That was the worst part of Rumlow’s missions, the knowing, and yet the surprise of it when it finally began.
“It’s gonna be dangerous, goin’ after two goddamn Avengers. Rogers alone might kill us all, not to mention that sneaky little Ruskie bitch.”
At least Rumlow was alone for this mission. The Asset didn’t register anyone else in the vault, on either side of the door.
“Bribed your guards to take the night off,” Rumlow said in his ear, as if reading his thoughts. “Wanted you all to myself for what might be our last time.”
He was unbuckling the straps across the Asset’s chest himself. This was different. Usually the Asset was ordered to strip himself.
“Should’ve been keeping you all for myself this whole time,” Rumlow finished removing the Asset’s top layers. “But it was hard enough gettin’ your codes by myself. Needed some help from the others to bribe the guards every time. To cut the camera feed, distract Pierce.”
He removed the Asset’s mask. His mouth smashed savagely against the Asset’s, and the Asset opened his lips as he knew Rumlow wanted, continuing to maintain his straight-backed position while he awaited Rumlow’s next order. Rumlow’s words were confusing and they slid off the Asset’s mind like oil. They weren’t relevant to the mission. Or, if they were, they weren’t for him to think about.
“Mmm,” Rumlow pulled his mouth away. “You’re so sweet. Aren’t you, gorgeous? They took some doe-eyed boy scout, Cap’s best friend no less, and turned him into a murder machine.”
The words were distressing him. He knew they meant something, but he couldn’t grasp exactly what.
“It’s diabolical, even for Hydra,” Rumlow was undoing the Asset’s belt now. “I love it.”
The Asset’s pants slid down around his ankles, caught on his boots. Rumlow was kneeling down to unlace them.
“Boone won our fundraiser,” Rumlow offered conversationally. “She paid out four thousand bucks just to get a turn with you, assuming we survive tomorrow. And here I always thought she was a lesbian. Lift up your right foot.”
The Asset complied. Rumlow slid off his boot and sock.
“You might get a chance to get your dick wet for once. Bet you’d like that, huh? Lift your left now.”
He complied, then complied again to help Rumlow finish removing his pants. The Asset was naked in the vault’s dim light. The temperature wasn’t close to resembling cold, but the Asset shivered.
“You shoulda seen Rogers’ face,” Rumlow had a sadistic smile as he rose to his feet and started unzipping his fly. “We gave him all the money we got from people bidding on you for his stupid rape charity. Came to almost ten grand. I thought he was gonna cry.”
-gaunt face, watery blue eyes, split lip bleeding. Bony hand swiping tears angrily away as the Asset came to his aid. The skinny boy said a name that was not the Asset’s name, because he had no name, but he responded as if it was-
“Hey!”
The Asset saw Rumlow’s fingers in front of his face; heard them snap to get his attention. Rumlow shouldn’t have to get the Asset’s attention, the Asset should already be at attention. He was failing, and he was distressed. The skinny boy’s face faded and he was glad.
“The fuck is wrong with you?”
The Asset was irritated, and he glared at the other man. There was nothing wrong with him. He was good. He was the best. This was Rumlow’s fault, with his contradictory missions, and he didn’t have to answer unless Rumlow gave him a direct order.
“We gotta get this show on the road.”
Rumlow began the string of Russian words to take direct control of the Asset’s mind. It shouldn’t distress the Asset, but it did. When Rumlow had finished, the Asset let him know he was ready for the mission.
But he was afraid.
“Get down on your belly, bitch,” Rumlow ordered. “You know what I like.”
The Asset complied and the violence finally began.
After Rumlow left, the Asset was unable to finish his sleep cycle. He hated Rumlow for that. He hated himself for how much of a failure that made him.
He hated how much it distressed him.