(Thank you so much! I love playing in the garbage, and I'm glad I'm not alone :D This got lengthier than it was supposed to, so this is part 2/4.
Don't be fooled by the gentle beginning, it's just Brock's games, it gets way nastier.) ----- In the days after the showers encounter, Rumlow doesn't mention anything. If anything, he's even chummier, even chattier. His teasing is on the verge of cruel, but it never crosses the line exactly. And Steve never lacks the sass to respond. Is this supposed to be flirting? Steve isn't sure, but he's determined to forget the whole thing.
He can't.
Did Brock's phone really ring, back then? Steve is pretty sure he didn't hear anything, but then again, he was focused on other things: The fingers up his ass, rough and hurting, still making him leak and blush; his own arousal and shame. Of course he wouldn't have noticed a phone ringing. Besides, why would Rumlow go through all that trouble, trying to get Steve off, and then just walk out? That doesn't make any sense. And who would do such a thing that on purpose, anyway?
A week later, perhaps, Rumlow corners him in a rarely used filing room at Triskellion. That's the first time they are completely alone again. Rumlow comes in after Steve and shuts the door behind him. All of a sudden he's standing too close. "We got interrupted last time," he says and grins at Steve. Steve's heart is beating in his chest. He can't tell if it's excitement or panic.
"Shouldn't we talk about this?" Steve asks as Rumlow runs a splayed hand down the middle of his torso. Rumlow throws his head back and laughs. Humiliation is hot and instant, and Steve bristles. Rumlow crowding him like this, breathing into his face, makes him feel painfully inadequate.
"Don't we talk all the time?" Rumlow murmurs, his voice husky. He's not laughing any longer. He even smiles at Steve, and his palm is resting against Steve's stomach, right above the belt buckle. It weakens Steve's resolve by a few degrees.
"Still, I think..." he tries. But, unfairly, Rumlow slips a hand under Steve's T-shirt. Steve can feel it, warm and dry on his skin. The contact itself makes him weak in the knees, it makes his whole body burn for the touch. Rumlow pushes his palm up in a slow caress, and then stops, right where Steve's heart is hammering against his breast bone. Slow strokes of Rumlow's thumb, back and forth, are what undoes Steve completely. There's a clump in his throat. There's water in his eye, threatening to spill out. This is what he wants – someone to touch him like this, to put their arms around his body, to hold him close, to... Not Rumlow, necessarily, Rumlow is just there, but God, he's so close, and his hand is so gentle.
Then his other hand flutters over Steve's fly. Steve feels it like butterfly's wings over the fabric of his pants. Steve's dick gets hard all the way, straining the fabric, trying to get more contact. And there's that too, Steve also wants that – someone to touch him there, to touch him to completion. No one ever has. Filled with hot need, he shudders, he pushes his hips out, chasing the hand because, for a moment, he can't help it.
Brock's grin looks utterly predatory for an instant, when Steve catches his eye, but then, just a second later, it's just a friendly grin, and Steve thinks he's imagining things. Brock's palm actually pressing against his dick, massaging lightly, makes him forget everything about it anyway. He gasps for breath, but he grits his teeth.
"We can't," he manages. "Not here, not..." They are at work, it's inappropriate, it's...
"It'll take only a minute," Brock says squeezing his dick a tad more roughly.
"Someone is going to walk in," Steve pants.
"No one ever comes in here," Rumlow counters, and Steve can't make himself push him away, because one damn hand is stroking his torso ever so gently, and every time it brushes against Steve's nipple, his cock jumps a little; and the other damn hand is squeezing him through his pants, and Steve's knees are shaking like twigs.
"Stop... please," Steve whispers. It's his last line of resistance. "I don't want..."
Brock pulls Steve's fly open instead. "I'd say your cock begs to differ," he laughs. When he fumbles it out through the front of Steve's boxers, it's hard and leaking. Just a few strokes, but they are fire. Steve gulps, tries to breathe. He throws his head back and closes his eyes, leaning against the filing cabinet because he doesn't trust himself to stand. How can he be this needy? But Brock's hands on him are everything at this moment, and all he wants is to give in to the gentle touches.
"Wow, Cap, I never thought you'd be this selfish." Rumlow's voice cuts through his trance harshly. Steve jerks back to his senses.
"I... What?"
Rumlow's eyes glint with mockery. "Gotta give something sometimes too. You only want to take and take." His lips twist in a smirk. "Can't be all about you all the time every time." Rumlow delivers it as a joke, but also not. His mouth is laughing, but his eyes are sharp.
Embarrassment washes over Steve in a hot wave. It makes his stomach turn. He opens and closes his mouth. And of course Brock is right, Steve hasn't even touched him, hasn't offered anything in return, not the last time, and not now. His cheeks are burning. He's not like this, he's not. He is just so overwhelmed and confused. If he tries to explain it, it will sound stupid.
"Sorry," he mutters. It's not enough, and he finds himself at a loss for what to do. He reaches for Rumlow vaguely, but Rumlow steps out of the way. He's not touching Steve any longer, just looking him up and down with near coldness in his eyes. All of a sudden Steve feels on display. He's blushing fiercely, disheveled, with his dick sticking out of his pants. And Brock is still not saying anything.
"What..." Steve begins. "Tell me what.. tell me what I should do?"
Rumlow steps closer now. 'You don't have to do anything," he says lightly. "I'm not gonna insist. Unless you want to, there's really no point."
"Oh, I want to," Steve assures him quickly. It's mostly guilt speaking, he realizes . He's ambivalent about all this. He's especially ambivalent about Rumlow, and it makes him feel guilty, after getting this far. He wants this, or something close enough. He's not at all sure he wants it with Brock, though, but Brock has been the only one that's instigated anything. And besides, backing out now would really not be fair. Wouldn't be right, and Steve wants to do right by him. He steels his resolve. "I want to make it good for you," he says, frankly, because anything else would just be wrong.
"Well, then." Brock's smiling again, so Steve relaxes a little. How bad can it be, after all?
"What, um, what do you like? To do?" Steve asks shyly.
That predatory grin again. "You really want to do a fella a good turn, you get down on your knees." He presses Steve's shoulders down. He can't really push him down physically, but the suggestion is very clear. "Thought everyone knew that."
Something close to panic cuts through Steve. He's perfectly clear on what this means. That – having someone in your mouth, a guy – sounds intimate and a little revolting. He's not sure he can do it at all, but backing out now would be bad. He gulps and gives Rumlow a pleading look.
"Hey, hey," Rumlow says, touching his cheek. It's difficult for Steve not to lean into his palm, because it's there and it's comforting. "It's all about reciprocity, isn't it? You do this, I'll make it so good for you afterwards." His hand is caressing Steve's dick again, stroking, massaging precum into his slit. It's right. Rumlow's right. And if Steve can make him feel this good too, he should. It's all about reciprocity.
Reluctantly, he sinks to his knees. Rumlow watches him for a moment, kneading his own dick through his trousers. Steve feels distinctly uncomfortable like this, on his knees before him, looking up. It's all sex, he tells himself. Sex games. That's just the way it is.
"Move back," Rumlow tells him. "Sit back on your heels. Rest the back of your head against the filling cabinet for support, yeah, that's very good." He sounds... patient. Caring.
His back straight, Steve is leaning against the cabinet, and when Rumlow steps closer, crowding him with his body, it makes him feel nearly claustrophobic. Then Rumlow shoves his still clothed junk in Steve's face, and Steve has to suppress his fight or flight instincts. He tries taking a deep breath while Rumlow rubs himself against his face, Standing over Steve like that. Brock's hand on his cheek steadies him. It's gentle, but it stays there only for a barest moment. Then Rumlow unzips his fly and the next deep, panicked breath Steve takes is filled with pungent smell of dick and soap. It makes him gag.
It can't be that bad, he tells himself. It's pleasuring someone. A nice thing to do.
Rumlow fists himself a few times, right in front of Steve's eyes, studying his face from above. "Your lips are so pretty," he says, and Steve thinks he should feel complimented, but he just feels uneasy. "They're going to be even prettier, all stretched around my cock."
It's the sex talk again, like the last time. It's coarse, but Steve can pretend not to hear it. If only it wasn't filling him with such deep shame, making him feel so mortified.
He opens his mouth and, moves forward, reaching for Brock's erection because that's the only thing left to do at this point. A hand pulls him back by the hair, knocking his head against the filing cabinet. "You don't have to do anything, really." Rumlow's voice is kindly, unlike the rough motion of his hand, still pulling at Steve's hair. "Just sit still and enjoy. And," he laughs a little, "you know, suck like a hungry baby."
Another shudder of mortification goes through Steve. It almost brings tears to his eyes, but he steels himself again.
Bravely, Steve open's his mouth as far as it would go and takes what's coming to him. Rumlow pushes his cock in slowly. It feels big – bigger in girth than Steve expected. He never thought it could take up so much space, never expected the smell to be this overpowering. It's not bad, he supposes, just male, but as he breathes around the thing in his mouth, he draws the scent all the way into his lungs. It's like smelling someone's sweat very intimately, from up close. It makes him gag. As if in response, Rumlow rubs and presses the head of his dick into Steve's tongue, making him taste precum. It's bitter and sort of sweaty; disgusting. Steve makes a small choking noise in the back of his throat.
"Are you gagging already, Cap? Wait till I actually start fucking you."
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Rumlow stroked his cheek, his hair, if he murmured soft reassurances. Instead he chuckles and starts pulling out and pushing in, poking and stretching Steve's cheeks from the inside, grinding into his tongue as Steve tries to move it out of the way. Suddenly it feels like there is not enough space for his tongue in his own mouth.
Then he remembers what he's supposed to do – he's not that clueless. He tries to close his lips around Rumlow instead of sitting there, gaping around him. He tries to lick at his shaft. He feels clumsy.
"For fuck's sake, it's sucking cock, not rocket science," Rumlow snaps, glaring at Steve from above. "So, you're a useless virgin, so what? Haven't you ever watched porn? Close your mouth and suck. How hard can that be?"
Re: Steve/Rumlow or whoever. Jizz in the Captain's suit.
Don't be fooled by the gentle beginning, it's just Brock's games, it gets way nastier.)
-----
In the days after the showers encounter, Rumlow doesn't mention anything. If anything, he's even chummier, even chattier. His teasing is on the verge of cruel, but it never crosses the line exactly. And Steve never lacks the sass to respond. Is this supposed to be flirting? Steve isn't sure, but he's determined to forget the whole thing.
He can't.
Did Brock's phone really ring, back then? Steve is pretty sure he didn't hear anything, but then again, he was focused on other things: The fingers up his ass, rough and hurting, still making him leak and blush; his own arousal and shame. Of course he wouldn't have noticed a phone ringing. Besides, why would Rumlow go through all that trouble, trying to get Steve off, and then just walk out? That doesn't make any sense. And who would do such a thing that on purpose, anyway?
A week later, perhaps, Rumlow corners him in a rarely used filing room at Triskellion. That's the first time they are completely alone again. Rumlow comes in after Steve and shuts the door behind him. All of a sudden he's standing too close. "We got interrupted last time," he says and grins at Steve. Steve's heart is beating in his chest. He can't tell if it's excitement or panic.
"Shouldn't we talk about this?" Steve asks as Rumlow runs a splayed hand down the middle of his torso. Rumlow throws his head back and laughs. Humiliation is hot and instant, and Steve bristles. Rumlow crowding him like this, breathing into his face, makes him feel painfully inadequate.
"Don't we talk all the time?" Rumlow murmurs, his voice husky. He's not laughing any longer. He even smiles at Steve, and his palm is resting against Steve's stomach, right above the belt buckle. It weakens Steve's resolve by a few degrees.
"Still, I think..." he tries. But, unfairly, Rumlow slips a hand under Steve's T-shirt. Steve can feel it, warm and dry on his skin. The contact itself makes him weak in the knees, it makes his whole body burn for the touch. Rumlow pushes his palm up in a slow caress, and then stops, right where Steve's heart is hammering against his breast bone. Slow strokes of Rumlow's thumb, back and forth, are what undoes Steve completely. There's a clump in his throat. There's water in his eye, threatening to spill out. This is what he wants – someone to touch him like this, to put their arms around his body, to hold him close, to... Not Rumlow, necessarily, Rumlow is just there, but God, he's so close, and his hand is so gentle.
Then his other hand flutters over Steve's fly. Steve feels it like butterfly's wings over the fabric of his pants. Steve's dick gets hard all the way, straining the fabric, trying to get more contact. And there's that too, Steve also wants that – someone to touch him there, to touch him to completion. No one ever has. Filled with hot need, he shudders, he pushes his hips out, chasing the hand because, for a moment, he can't help it.
Brock's grin looks utterly predatory for an instant, when Steve catches his eye, but then, just a second later, it's just a friendly grin, and Steve thinks he's imagining things. Brock's palm actually pressing against his dick, massaging lightly, makes him forget everything about it anyway. He gasps for breath, but he grits his teeth.
"We can't," he manages. "Not here, not..." They are at work, it's inappropriate, it's...
"It'll take only a minute," Brock says squeezing his dick a tad more roughly.
"Someone is going to walk in," Steve pants.
"No one ever comes in here," Rumlow counters, and Steve can't make himself push him away, because one damn hand is stroking his torso ever so gently, and every time it brushes against Steve's nipple, his cock jumps a little; and the other damn hand is squeezing him through his pants, and Steve's knees are shaking like twigs.
"Stop... please," Steve whispers. It's his last line of resistance. "I don't want..."
Brock pulls Steve's fly open instead. "I'd say your cock begs to differ," he laughs. When he fumbles it out through the front of Steve's boxers, it's hard and leaking. Just a few strokes, but they are fire. Steve gulps, tries to breathe. He throws his head back and closes his eyes, leaning against the filing cabinet because he doesn't trust himself to stand. How can he be this needy? But Brock's hands on him are everything at this moment, and all he wants is to give in to the gentle touches.
"Wow, Cap, I never thought you'd be this selfish." Rumlow's voice cuts through his trance harshly. Steve jerks back to his senses.
"I... What?"
Rumlow's eyes glint with mockery. "Gotta give something sometimes too. You only want to take and take." His lips twist in a smirk. "Can't be all about you all the time every time." Rumlow delivers it as a joke, but also not. His mouth is laughing, but his eyes are sharp.
Embarrassment washes over Steve in a hot wave. It makes his stomach turn. He opens and closes his mouth. And of course Brock is right, Steve hasn't even touched him, hasn't offered anything in return, not the last time, and not now. His cheeks are burning. He's not like this, he's not. He is just so overwhelmed and confused. If he tries to explain it, it will sound stupid.
"Sorry," he mutters. It's not enough, and he finds himself at a loss for what to do. He reaches for Rumlow vaguely, but Rumlow steps out of the way. He's not touching Steve any longer, just looking him up and down with near coldness in his eyes. All of a sudden Steve feels on display. He's blushing fiercely, disheveled, with his dick sticking out of his pants. And Brock is still not saying anything.
"What..." Steve begins. "Tell me what.. tell me what I should do?"
Rumlow steps closer now. 'You don't have to do anything," he says lightly. "I'm not gonna insist. Unless you want to, there's really no point."
"Oh, I want to," Steve assures him quickly. It's mostly guilt speaking, he realizes . He's ambivalent about all this. He's especially ambivalent about Rumlow, and it makes him feel guilty, after getting this far. He wants this, or something close enough. He's not at all sure he wants it with Brock, though, but Brock has been the only one that's instigated anything. And besides, backing out now would really not be fair. Wouldn't be right, and Steve wants to do right by him. He steels his resolve. "I want to make it good for you," he says, frankly, because anything else would just be wrong.
"Well, then." Brock's smiling again, so Steve relaxes a little. How bad can it be, after all?
"What, um, what do you like? To do?" Steve asks shyly.
That predatory grin again. "You really want to do a fella a good turn, you get down on your knees." He presses Steve's shoulders down. He can't really push him down physically, but the suggestion is very clear. "Thought everyone knew that."
Something close to panic cuts through Steve. He's perfectly clear on what this means. That – having someone in your mouth, a guy – sounds intimate and a little revolting. He's not sure he can do it at all, but backing out now would be bad. He gulps and gives Rumlow a pleading look.
"Hey, hey," Rumlow says, touching his cheek. It's difficult for Steve not to lean into his palm, because it's there and it's comforting. "It's all about reciprocity, isn't it? You do this, I'll make it so good for you afterwards." His hand is caressing Steve's dick again, stroking, massaging precum into his slit. It's right. Rumlow's right. And if Steve can make him feel this good too, he should. It's all about reciprocity.
Reluctantly, he sinks to his knees. Rumlow watches him for a moment, kneading his own dick through his trousers. Steve feels distinctly uncomfortable like this, on his knees before him, looking up. It's all sex, he tells himself. Sex games. That's just the way it is.
"Move back," Rumlow tells him. "Sit back on your heels. Rest the back of your head against the filling cabinet for support, yeah, that's very good." He sounds... patient. Caring.
His back straight, Steve is leaning against the cabinet, and when Rumlow steps closer, crowding him with his body, it makes him feel nearly claustrophobic. Then Rumlow shoves his still clothed junk in Steve's face, and Steve has to suppress his fight or flight instincts. He tries taking a deep breath while Rumlow rubs himself against his face, Standing over Steve like that. Brock's hand on his cheek steadies him. It's gentle, but it stays there only for a barest moment. Then Rumlow unzips his fly and the next deep, panicked breath Steve takes is filled with pungent smell of dick and soap. It makes him gag.
It can't be that bad, he tells himself. It's pleasuring someone. A nice thing to do.
Rumlow fists himself a few times, right in front of Steve's eyes, studying his face from above. "Your lips are so pretty," he says, and Steve thinks he should feel complimented, but he just feels uneasy. "They're going to be even prettier, all stretched around my cock."
It's the sex talk again, like the last time. It's coarse, but Steve can pretend not to hear it. If only it wasn't filling him with such deep shame, making him feel so mortified.
He opens his mouth and, moves forward, reaching for Brock's erection because that's the only thing left to do at this point. A hand pulls him back by the hair, knocking his head against the filing cabinet. "You don't have to do anything, really." Rumlow's voice is kindly, unlike the rough motion of his hand, still pulling at Steve's hair. "Just sit still and enjoy. And," he laughs a little, "you know, suck like a hungry baby."
Another shudder of mortification goes through Steve. It almost brings tears to his eyes, but he steels himself again.
Bravely, Steve open's his mouth as far as it would go and takes what's coming to him. Rumlow pushes his cock in slowly. It feels big – bigger in girth than Steve expected. He never thought it could take up so much space, never expected the smell to be this overpowering. It's not bad, he supposes, just male, but as he breathes around the thing in his mouth, he draws the scent all the way into his lungs. It's like smelling someone's sweat very intimately, from up close. It makes him gag. As if in response, Rumlow rubs and presses the head of his dick into Steve's tongue, making him taste precum. It's bitter and sort of sweaty; disgusting. Steve makes a small choking noise in the back of his throat.
"Are you gagging already, Cap? Wait till I actually start fucking you."
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Rumlow stroked his cheek, his hair, if he murmured soft reassurances. Instead he chuckles and starts pulling out and pushing in, poking and stretching Steve's cheeks from the inside, grinding into his tongue as Steve tries to move it out of the way. Suddenly it feels like there is not enough space for his tongue in his own mouth.
Then he remembers what he's supposed to do – he's not that clueless. He tries to close his lips around Rumlow instead of sitting there, gaping around him. He tries to lick at his shaft. He feels clumsy.
"For fuck's sake, it's sucking cock, not rocket science," Rumlow snaps, glaring at Steve from above. "So, you're a useless virgin, so what? Haven't you ever watched porn? Close your mouth and suck. How hard can that be?"