So, I started writing it, but I need time to lead up to the scene you want. This is the part 1/3. I made Steve jizz-repulsed, and Brock comes on him, so maybe you'll like this part a bit too, even though it's not in the suit yet :)
I won't warn for anything but internalized homophobia.
Rumlow messes about with lonely, touch-starved virgin Steve. He's very... Rumlow about it. (pre CA:WS)
---- The first time it happens, they are in the showers, alone. After the mission, they went directly to report in, so by the time they are finished, the other guys are already done and the showers are deserted.
Steve doesn't think about it. It's just Rumlow, and the communal showers are communal showers.
He'd expect a hand on his back to make him jump, but instead, it sends a shiver all the way through him. It's a deep quiver, potent but melancholic, and it makes his heart constrict painfully. No one has touched him that way since he came out of the ice. Directly, skin-on-skin, and not on his hand. It's intimate and... wrong, he tells himself, wrong, because it's Rumlow, and he doesn't especially like Rumlow, even. The man is a good agent, but he's too arrogant by far.
The hand on his back is moving up and down now. It's calloused, but it glides over Steve's skin, slick with running water. Every inch of Steve aches for more contact. It's making him feel warm and oddly vulnerable, but that's not a bad feeling. He doesn't move away. Still, he's blushing and he can't make himself turn around to look Rumlow in the eye. He doesn't know where this is supposed to go, doesn't know if he wants any of it – he doesn't. What he wants is those hands on his back, though, touching everywhere – just touching. Five more seconds, Steve thinks.
A hand wraps itself around his dick and Steve bites his lip so that he wouldn't scream, so that he wouldn't ejaculate on the spot, because, because... This is not something he does. Not with guys. Not, for that matter, with anyone. And certainly not casually, like this, it's just wrong for him, it's...
Another person's touch down there is completely different than his own. He's never felt anything like it. The hand is rough and oblivious, it doesn't know how Steve likes it, doesn't know all those special little moves he treats himself with. His own palm is comfy. Rumlow's hand is fire and hot glass, more skin on skin, coarse tugging where Steve is most sensitive. It's too fast and uncaring. It's exhilarating.
"No, don't..." It's Steve's voice, he's forcing the words out even though he doesn't want the sensation to stop. "I don't want..." But he's hard as steel in Rumlow's palm, on the edge of bursting already. He's pushing into the hand. Brock jerks him with merciless roughness.
"Oh, shut up. You're so hot for it, look at you. You can't hold out for two minutes." Steve blushes even harder at these words. He thinks how he should push the hand away, but he can't make himself do it. "You have no stamina, do you? Does Captain America ever jack off, even? Or is that too dirty for you?" Brock's voice is low in Steve's ear, mocking, but his hand is hot and it's moving, and the cruel words do nothing but pool somewhere in Steve's belly, making the burn even fiercer, even better. He's ashamed that he's letting Rumlow do this, ashamed he had never done it before, ashamed...
Rumlow presses his body against Steve's back, and the touch is so overwhelming Steve's knees almost give out. A wave starts, somewhere in his groin, a rising flood from the aggressive hand on his dick, and it sweeps Steve up, and...
A harsh thumbnail scrapes down the slit on top of his cock. The pain is so sharp and unexpected that Steve gives a muffled yelp. It turns the flood back down, nothing happens, he shivers with pure frustration and doesn't come.
"Oh, sorry, Cap, did I hurt you?" Brock sounds nearly normal for a moment, nearly concerned. It just proves his previous words were some kind of sex talk.
"N-no," Steve manages. "It's fine. Look, we shouldn't be doing this, I..."
"Hush," Rumlow says. "That's okay. Don't think about it." His hand is still on Steve's cock, it never let go, but it's kinder now, slower. Steve is week in the knees. He lacks the resolve to push it away.
"Hands on the wall, Cap. Spread your legs."
Steve obeys, even though he's unsure why. The rhythm Brock sets is slower. He takes his time bringing Steve back to where he was before the nail accident. It was an accident, Steve is sure. Brock sounded so apologetic about it, after all, and he's trying to make it more pleasurable for Steve now, isn't he?
Steve is rocking gently into the touch. His legs are water. Brock is going so excruciatingly slow, and Steve is getting closer, closer, but he can't get close enough somehow, and the tip of his cock is still throbbing painfully from the scratch.
"Please," he whispers, because he needs to come, needs to have this. He'll think about the implications later.
"Tell me what you need, Cap." There's muffled laughter in Rumlow's voice, but Steve doesn't pay attention.
"More," he whispers in reply.
He can feel something in the crack of his ass, a hand. Pressing against his anus, which is... revolting, even though it sends a shiver of pleasure up his dick.
"No, not that, what are you...?" That's all Steve manages to say. When he said 'more', what he certainly didn't have in mind was a soapy finger shooting all the way up his asshole. It hurts, but it's not just that. Steve knows pain. This feels... like he needs to go to the bathroom, and it's not a good feeling. And yet, somehow, it makes the hand on his dick burn all the more hotly.
His own thoughts are sickening. When Rumlow pulls the finger nearly all the way out, and then forces it back in, they evaporate.
"Unclench, for fuck's sake," Rumlow snaps. "What are you, a virgin?"
Steve is, and it makes him go hot in the cheeks all over again. When Rumlow says 'virgin', he makes it sound like a swearword. Brock senses something, though, and latches onto it. "Are you, though?" he goes on, mocking. "Never found anyone worthy enough to wreck this ass, eh? Or did no one actually want to?"
He starts fucking Steve with his finger. Steve has no other word for it. It's harsh and unnerving, and it hurts. He clenches his teeth.
"Shit, take it out, Rumlow, what are you doing?" he hisses. Rumlow is rougher than he needs to be, Steve thinks. Or maybe he isn't. Maybe it's supposed to be like that.
How can people do this, Steve thinks weakly, even as he's rocking into Brock's teasing palm. Because, impossibly, the nerves deep inside him are making his dick sing, and he's that much closer to orgasm now. He's going insane. He's going to come.
"Shut up, Rogers. I'm doing this for you. What do you think, that I like having my finger up some dude's shithole?" Rumlow sounds exasperated.
He's got a point, Steve thinks. It must be disgusting.
And then there's more stretch, more burn. It's another finger in there, Steve thinks, and he wants to say no, stop, I don't even like this. Two fingers are too much, he can feel his hole being stretched unnaturally. Rumlow, however, curls his fingers in a different way, and explosion of pleasure shoots through the pain and discomfort. He's touched something sweet in there. Steve pushes into his fist with a yell, and he nearly loses his footing. He almost comes right then, but Brock spreads the fingers inside him, and the abrupt pain is too sharp to let him get over the edge.
Too soon, Brock starts fucking his fingers in and out, driving Steve's dick forward into his fist. He's jacking him off harsher, and by now Steve's been at the very edge twice already, only to be turned back without satisfaction. He can't take it any more, doesn't care any more. He does his best not to think about the fact he has another man's fingers up his anus, which is hard, since they are slamming into him. Is it really supposed to hurt like this? Now and then they hit the sweet spot, though. Steve is deeply ashamed of his whimpers when that happens, but, illogically, shame somehow adds up to pleasure. There's something exciting in being this vulnerable, this shivery against a wall. As long as the fist is still pumping his dick, he'll take anything.
The fist lets go, just when Steve is about to go over the edge. Steve growls in pure frustration. He whips his head around to see Rumlow, face contorted, jerking himself off frantically. The fingers of his other hand are still in Steve, pushing him against the wall, shooting in and out of his asshole at a punitive pace. They are somehow not hitting the sweet spot right now. They are just brutal. Steve's dick is swollen and achy. It twitches up and down helplessly.
Steve closes his eyes and, very self-consciously, reaches for his erection.
The fingers pop out of him almost instantly, and Brock shoots hot and sticky come all over Steve's ass.
"Sorry, Cap, I think my phone is ringing," he tosses over his shoulder. It's evident by his voice that he's grinning. Quick as a lightning, he's out of the showers, leaving Steve there, alone and unsatisfied and still bursting with disappointed lust.
At some point Brock must have turned the water off. Steve hasn't noticed, but now he does, because the disgusting jizz is crawling down his ass cheek, down to where it meets his thigh, and then onto his balls. It's oozing slowly, it tickles, but Steve can't bring himself to touch it, wipe it off. His stomach turns. He always found even his own cum gross and nasty, for some reason, and this is a million times worse. It makes him want to throw up.
He never wanted this. Never asked for it to happen like this. And yet he wanted it. The soap up his ass is starting to sting and burn. It's very unpleasant. You're not supposed to put soap up there, everyone knows that. Still, his dick is painfully hard still. Disgusted with himself, he jacks off, quick and businesslike.
It's not the same.
He lets Rumlow's jizz trickle down his balls, his leg, as a form of penance. He doesn't wash it off til the very end. ------
Re: Steve/Rumlow or whoever. Jizz in the Captain's suit.
I won't warn for anything but internalized homophobia.
Rumlow messes about with lonely, touch-starved virgin Steve. He's very... Rumlow about it. (pre CA:WS)
----
The first time it happens, they are in the showers, alone. After the mission, they went directly to report in, so by the time they are finished, the other guys are already done and the showers are deserted.
Steve doesn't think about it. It's just Rumlow, and the communal showers are communal showers.
He'd expect a hand on his back to make him jump, but instead, it sends a shiver all the way through him. It's a deep quiver, potent but melancholic, and it makes his heart constrict painfully. No one has touched him that way since he came out of the ice. Directly, skin-on-skin, and not on his hand. It's intimate and... wrong, he tells himself, wrong, because it's Rumlow, and he doesn't especially like Rumlow, even. The man is a good agent, but he's too arrogant by far.
The hand on his back is moving up and down now. It's calloused, but it glides over Steve's skin, slick with running water. Every inch of Steve aches for more contact. It's making him feel warm and oddly vulnerable, but that's not a bad feeling. He doesn't move away. Still, he's blushing and he can't make himself turn around to look Rumlow in the eye. He doesn't know where this is supposed to go, doesn't know if he wants any of it – he doesn't. What he wants is those hands on his back, though, touching everywhere – just touching. Five more seconds, Steve thinks.
A hand wraps itself around his dick and Steve bites his lip so that he wouldn't scream, so that he wouldn't ejaculate on the spot, because, because... This is not something he does. Not with guys. Not, for that matter, with anyone. And certainly not casually, like this, it's just wrong for him, it's...
Another person's touch down there is completely different than his own. He's never felt anything like it. The hand is rough and oblivious, it doesn't know how Steve likes it, doesn't know all those special little moves he treats himself with. His own palm is comfy. Rumlow's hand is fire and hot glass, more skin on skin, coarse tugging where Steve is most sensitive. It's too fast and uncaring. It's exhilarating.
"No, don't..." It's Steve's voice, he's forcing the words out even though he doesn't want the sensation to stop. "I don't want..." But he's hard as steel in Rumlow's palm, on the edge of bursting already. He's pushing into the hand. Brock jerks him with merciless roughness.
"Oh, shut up. You're so hot for it, look at you. You can't hold out for two minutes." Steve blushes even harder at these words. He thinks how he should push the hand away, but he can't make himself do it. "You have no stamina, do you? Does Captain America ever jack off, even? Or is that too dirty for you?" Brock's voice is low in Steve's ear, mocking, but his hand is hot and it's moving, and the cruel words do nothing but pool somewhere in Steve's belly, making the burn even fiercer, even better. He's ashamed that he's letting Rumlow do this, ashamed he had never done it before, ashamed...
Rumlow presses his body against Steve's back, and the touch is so overwhelming Steve's knees almost give out. A wave starts, somewhere in his groin, a rising flood from the aggressive hand on his dick, and it sweeps Steve up, and...
A harsh thumbnail scrapes down the slit on top of his cock. The pain is so sharp and unexpected that Steve gives a muffled yelp. It turns the flood back down, nothing happens, he shivers with pure frustration and doesn't come.
"Oh, sorry, Cap, did I hurt you?" Brock sounds nearly normal for a moment, nearly concerned. It just proves his previous words were some kind of sex talk.
"N-no," Steve manages. "It's fine. Look, we shouldn't be doing this, I..."
"Hush," Rumlow says. "That's okay. Don't think about it." His hand is still on Steve's cock, it never let go, but it's kinder now, slower. Steve is week in the knees. He lacks the resolve to push it away.
"Hands on the wall, Cap. Spread your legs."
Steve obeys, even though he's unsure why. The rhythm Brock sets is slower. He takes his time bringing Steve back to where he was before the nail accident. It was an accident, Steve is sure. Brock sounded so apologetic about it, after all, and he's trying to make it more pleasurable for Steve now, isn't he?
Steve is rocking gently into the touch. His legs are water. Brock is going so excruciatingly slow, and Steve is getting closer, closer, but he can't get close enough somehow, and the tip of his cock is still throbbing painfully from the scratch.
"Please," he whispers, because he needs to come, needs to have this. He'll think about the implications later.
"Tell me what you need, Cap." There's muffled laughter in Rumlow's voice, but Steve doesn't pay attention.
"More," he whispers in reply.
He can feel something in the crack of his ass, a hand. Pressing against his anus, which is... revolting, even though it sends a shiver of pleasure up his dick.
"No, not that, what are you...?" That's all Steve manages to say. When he said 'more', what he certainly didn't have in mind was a soapy finger shooting all the way up his asshole. It hurts, but it's not just that. Steve knows pain. This feels... like he needs to go to the bathroom, and it's not a good feeling. And yet, somehow, it makes the hand on his dick burn all the more hotly.
His own thoughts are sickening. When Rumlow pulls the finger nearly all the way out, and then forces it back in, they evaporate.
"Unclench, for fuck's sake," Rumlow snaps. "What are you, a virgin?"
Steve is, and it makes him go hot in the cheeks all over again. When Rumlow says 'virgin', he makes it sound like a swearword. Brock senses something, though, and latches onto it. "Are you, though?" he goes on, mocking. "Never found anyone worthy enough to wreck this ass, eh? Or did no one actually want to?"
He starts fucking Steve with his finger. Steve has no other word for it. It's harsh and unnerving, and it hurts. He clenches his teeth.
"Shit, take it out, Rumlow, what are you doing?" he hisses. Rumlow is rougher than he needs to be, Steve thinks. Or maybe he isn't. Maybe it's supposed to be like that.
How can people do this, Steve thinks weakly, even as he's rocking into Brock's teasing palm. Because, impossibly, the nerves deep inside him are making his dick sing, and he's that much closer to orgasm now. He's going insane. He's going to come.
"Shut up, Rogers. I'm doing this for you. What do you think, that I like having my finger up some dude's shithole?" Rumlow sounds exasperated.
He's got a point, Steve thinks. It must be disgusting.
And then there's more stretch, more burn. It's another finger in there, Steve thinks, and he wants to say no, stop, I don't even like this. Two fingers are too much, he can feel his hole being stretched unnaturally. Rumlow, however, curls his fingers in a different way, and explosion of pleasure shoots through the pain and discomfort. He's touched something sweet in there. Steve pushes into his fist with a yell, and he nearly loses his footing. He almost comes right then, but Brock spreads the fingers inside him, and the abrupt pain is too sharp to let him get over the edge.
Too soon, Brock starts fucking his fingers in and out, driving Steve's dick forward into his fist. He's jacking him off harsher, and by now Steve's been at the very edge twice already, only to be turned back without satisfaction. He can't take it any more, doesn't care any more. He does his best not to think about the fact he has another man's fingers up his anus, which is hard, since they are slamming into him. Is it really supposed to hurt like this? Now and then they hit the sweet spot, though. Steve is deeply ashamed of his whimpers when that happens, but, illogically, shame somehow adds up to pleasure. There's something exciting in being this vulnerable, this shivery against a wall. As long as the fist is still pumping his dick, he'll take anything.
The fist lets go, just when Steve is about to go over the edge. Steve growls in pure frustration. He whips his head around to see Rumlow, face contorted, jerking himself off frantically. The fingers of his other hand are still in Steve, pushing him against the wall, shooting in and out of his asshole at a punitive pace. They are somehow not hitting the sweet spot right now. They are just brutal. Steve's dick is swollen and achy. It twitches up and down helplessly.
Steve closes his eyes and, very self-consciously, reaches for his erection.
The fingers pop out of him almost instantly, and Brock shoots hot and sticky come all over Steve's ass.
"Sorry, Cap, I think my phone is ringing," he tosses over his shoulder. It's evident by his voice that he's grinning. Quick as a lightning, he's out of the showers, leaving Steve there, alone and unsatisfied and still bursting with disappointed lust.
At some point Brock must have turned the water off. Steve hasn't noticed, but now he does, because the disgusting jizz is crawling down his ass cheek, down to where it meets his thigh, and then onto his balls. It's oozing slowly, it tickles, but Steve can't bring himself to touch it, wipe it off. His stomach turns. He always found even his own cum gross and nasty, for some reason, and this is a million times worse. It makes him want to throw up.
He never wanted this. Never asked for it to happen like this. And yet he wanted it. The soap up his ass is starting to sting and burn. It's very unpleasant. You're not supposed to put soap up there, everyone knows that. Still, his dick is painfully hard still. Disgusted with himself, he jacks off, quick and businesslike.
It's not the same.
He lets Rumlow's jizz trickle down his balls, his leg, as a form of penance. He doesn't wash it off til the very end.
------