part 3/4 I'm also posting this whole fic on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13601082/chapters/31223337
Rumlow's scowl, the fact he's towering over Steve, pressing him into the locker, his harsh voice – it all twists together in Steve, into a rope made of anger and shame. It burns hot in his belly, and he shouldn't be feeling it in his cock, but somehow it makes him harder.
He should push Rumlow away, tell him to go fuck himself and walk out. Steve can't move. Something in him keeps him pinned down. Instead, he presses his lips around Rumlow's head and starts sucking diligently.
The hand in his hair gets gentler, starts massaging his scalp, and Steve melts a little, his anger subsiding. "There you go," Rumlow says in a softer voice. "That's nice. We'll turn you into a proper cocksucker yet. Do you like it? Isn't it nice?"
For obvious reasons, Steve can't reply. He tries, however, to feel it – tries to relish the closeness, the fact that he's pleasuring someone, but what's burning in the back of his head is still the useless virgin and proper cocksucker. The comments are Rumlow through and through, and Steve hates it.
The smell and the taste are still overpowering, but he's getting used to them. When Rumlow actually starts moving, Steve realizes how big a dick actually is and how hard to fit in a mouth. Holding Steve's head firm in his hands, Brock pushes in towards the back of Steve's tongue. Steve realizes sucking is not going to be enough for Rumlow. It's just a start. He wants to screw Steve's mouth for real is what he wants to do.
As soon as he hits the uncomfortable spot, somewhere around Steve's tonsils, he starts pulling back, dragging his shaft across Steve's tongue. Steve does his best to provide both suction and friction. The sooner he makes this over, the better.
Rumlow is pushing in again. Steve tries to tell himself he's resigned to it. He doesn't like the uneasy, tingly feeling in his belly, that gets tuned up to a million by the fact that his head is trapped in a small space between the locker and Rumlow's fists in his hair. He's actually turned on by the fact that Rumlow is fucking him in the face, upping the pace gradually. It's going straight to Steve's cock, making it twitch and ache, making his cheeks grow hotter by the minute.
Rumlow is driving his dick in harder now. On each go, he pulls it out to the very tip, and then forces it back deep. Every thrust makes the back of Steve's head knock against the locker.
"That's right," Rumlow is saying, his voice getting breathy. "Hold still while I fuck your face. Just be still. Just sit and take it. Take my cock, there's nothing you can do about it anyway." His movements are getting more erratic, his words choppier. "Are you blushing, Rogers? I think you're actually blushing. Is it because you're on your knees or because you actually like it? Love the taste of dick, do you? I'm going to make you taste it all the way in your throat."
Steve doesn't like it, but every word is hitting too close to home anyway, making him quiver with mortification. His own cock bounces a little with every thrust of Rumlow's. It's bursting and needy and makes Steve blush even harder. In a way, it was easier while he wasn't enjoying it. That way, he was doing it for someone else, and that can't be so bad. He didn't have to ask the squiggly, uncomfortable questions, like why Rumlow's denigrating comments are getting him so much closer to the orgasm.
He can't take it any longer, and there is no reason to. If he's doing this, he might as well get something out of it. He lets his hand sneak towards his own dick, wraps around it comfortingly. Gives it a frantic, shuddery stroke, then two.
Rumlow pulls out of his mouth abruptly and slaps Steve across the lips with his cock. Steve stares at him aghast.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Rumlow says, sounding genuinely outraged. He's looking at Steve's hand on his dick, and Steve lets go reflexively. "Don't do that, that's disgusting, you're not alone here," Rumlow goes on. Steve is confused for a moment, but it makes sense, in a way. Masturbation was always a taboo, and Steve isn't really too familiar with social norms when it comes to sex, especially gay sex. He's never discussed that with anyone. Maybe touching yourself like that really isn't done.
"Sorry, I..." he begins. His voice is hoarse.
"Hands where I can see them," Rumlow snaps. "No, you know what, hands on your nipples. Go on, Cap, pinch them, I want to see."
Steve's cheeks are on fire and he has no idea why he just doesn't get up and go. He could. Before he knows, though, he's touching his own nipples, and it feels so good, so nice to tease them with his fingertips, even though it makes his cock feel even needier. That must be exactly what Rumlow wants.
"What are you, a girl?" Rumlow says with a sneer. "You're petting them. Pinch them, I said."
Steve pinches. The pain in his breasts is sharp but pleasurable, and it's definitely more intense.
"See, that's better," Rumlow says as he thrusts back into Steve's half-open mouth. Steve sucks and pinches, pinches and sucks until he's out of breath. Every time he squeezes the tender nubs between his fingertips, pain shoots through him like a lightning, straight to his cock, making it leak, making it want. Rumlow is pulling at his hair harder now, driving forcefully into his mouth, hitting the spot somewhere behind his tonsils that makes Steve gag helplessly.
"Tweak your tits, that's right. Twist them, crush them, make them hurt," Rumlow is chanting, shoving his cock harder and harder. "You can bench-press a small truck, come on. Pinch them harder. Make yourself feel it. Make it hurt!"
Steve squeezes his eyes shut, driving his nails into his own flesh, squeezing and twisting his nipples so hard it makes his eyes water. Rumlow is battering against the entrance of his throat mercilessly, but try as he might, he can't force his way past the muscles of Steve's throat. Steve's gag reflex is spasming constantly and tears are leaking down his cheeks from his body unsuccessfully trying to cough the intruder out. "You're crying like a girl, what kind of wuss are you, yes, cry, let me see the tears, you're such a fuckhole, I'm gonna fuck you until you choke," Rumlow is blabbing now in a nasty, throaty voice. Steve twists his nipples again, brutally, and almost comes at Brock's horrible words. "I'm gonna come in your mouth, I'm gonna fill you with jizz, I'm gonna..." And he pinches Steve's nose shut, and drives his cock in as hard as he can, banging Steve's head against the locker audibly.
I'm gonna come in your mouth. The words turn Steve's stomach. He should have thought about that, but somehow he hadn't. He didn't allow himself to. As the first squirt hits the back of his throat, his head jerks violently away, tearing his hair out of Rumlow's grip. There's a streak of cum on his tongue. He can taste it, bitter and salty and thick. Bile rises in his throat so he almost throws up. He coughs, as another spurt of the revolting stuff hits his cheek. He looks up, to see Rumlow jacking off right into his face, onto his face, with an ugly expression. Steve feels the vile stuff trickling from the corner of his mouth, feels it creeping down his cheek and onto his neck. He gags, repeatedly, fighting not to lose the contents of his stomach. He can still taste the filth on his tongue.
Rumlow milks out the last spurt, then, and it hits Steve right in the eye.
It stings like hell. It burns like someone threw acid in there. Steve knows rubbing won't help. Still on his knees, still spluttering and thoroughly revolted, he rubs at his eye anyway and makes it worse. Suddenly he feels like garbage. Suddenly, all he wants is to get out of here.
"Oh, did I hit you in the eye?" Brock's voice is all concern. He's pulling Steve up, on his feet, peering into his face with a worried frown. "I'm so sorry, Cap, honestly didn't mean to. Why the hell'd you pull away like that? You okay?"
Steve nods. It's an instinctive reaction. It's not quite true either. As he catches his breath, Brock's hands on him are gentle and soothing. Steve gives in to them, relaxing a fraction. "Shhh, don't rub at it," Brock is saying now as Steve tries one more time to get the cum out of his eye. It burns. "Just leave it, it will stop hurting in a minute." Steve is falling for this, for the concern and the comfort. He's a sucker an he knows it, but he can't help it. It just takes a few intimate touches and soft voice, and he's ready to forget all the ugly words from a minute ago.
Still, they ring in his head. You're such a fuckhole, I'm gonna fuck you until you choke, I'm gonna fill your mouth with... He wants to throw up, and his eye stings like crazy. All of it is making him so hard and confused that he can't think straight. He can feel his cock straining, leaking. He could easily cry from shame and all the mixed emotions. He fumbles for a paper tissue to wipe the cum from his face at least.
"Oh, leave the eye alone, don't be such a baby about it. It's just a bit of cum. Now, do you want me to suck you off or do you really want to groom and doll up instead, right now?" Brock asks, seeing the tissues in Steve's hand. Some of that sneer is back in his voice, but he's already sinking to his knees in front of Steve. A part of Steve relaxes. He was worried Brock would walk out on him, again, but that won't happen now, surely.
"You're rock hard," Brock says, staring right at his dick. "You're so hard for me. You really like being roughed up, eh?"
Steve doesn't, except that, evidently, he does. His own reactions nauseate him. But Brock mouths at the tip of his dick, letting it sink slowly inside, and Steve forgets all about everything else. His eye still stings as if full of nettle, but Steve focuses on the slow, teasing lips hugging his shaft, and it's all good.
Brock is slow and thorough about it – so slow that it's almost torment at this point. Soon enough Steve is trembling with excitement. His knees are shaking, barely able to hold him up. When he grabs at Brock's head uncontrollably, Brock orders him to keep his hands by his sides. Steve obeys. The agonizingly languid licking and teasing continues. Steve feels like he's been on edge for ages. His hands are shaking, his eye is leaking copiously, his breathing is reduced to whimpers. Cum is sticky on his face, his neck, trickling into the neckline of his t-shirt. But Brock is lapping at his slit, pushing his tongue into Steve's pee-hole, sucking lightly at the head only. It drives Steve crazy with need, and does nothing to satiate it. Rumlow rarely sucks more than the head of Steve's cock into his mouth, but when he does, it's heaven. He swallows it nearly whole, stays like that, letting Steve moan and whimper. Then he pulls back, and it's the light teasing again.
Brock glances at his watch once or twice, but it doesn't seem he's in any hurry. He's turned Steve into a gasping, needy mess, barely able to stay on his feet. When he finally – finally – starts sucking in earnest, Steve's dick is red and raw. Every inch of skin feels sore to the touch. The contact hurts, and if Steve wasn't so desperate to come, he'd ask Brock to stop. He's not even sure he can orgasm any more. But he has to, or else he'll go crazy. It's building inside him, inching closer. He can tell it's going to be white-hot when it happens. It's nearly there, it's...
Steve hears the steps first. Approaching rapidly down the corridor. He doesn't say anything because any second now...
Then, right before he gets over the edge, right before the bliss finally hits, he's suddenly out of Rumlow's mouth. Cold air on his hot cock is harsh and too real. "Shit, someone's coming. Cover your junk, quick," Rumlow tells him urgently. Just for a moment, Steve imagines he can hear glee in his voice, but that makes no sense.
Rumlow is on his feet and looking presentable in seconds, somehow. Steve's hands shake as he fumbles with his fly. Forcing his cock back into the pants is agony. It's hard to the point of seriously hurting by now, but Steve's only option is to shove it in roughly and quickly. His head scrapes against the zipper, and Steve grits his teeth, swallowing pain. All the while, Rumlow watches him with an arched eyebrow.
Someone pushes the door open. It's Rollins, of all people. He surveys the scene, expressionless as ever. Steve imagines his eyes linger for a moment on the place where Steve's cock is swelling and straining against the fabric. It must be very visible.
Rollins says something to Rumlow, but Steve doesn't register what. Rumlow responds easily, grabs some files and he's out, just like that, as if nothing happened.
Steve is left there, shaking like a leaf, wanting to cry with frustration. He feels queasy and lonely. Used. Fabric against his tender cock is torture when he tries to move. His eye still burns like all hell. It must be red and swollen. Everyone's going to know what you've been doing, a voice inside his head tells him, and the hot shame almost does make him tear up. Then he realizes he is still all sticky with cum. Drying now, on his cheek, on his neck. It's too much. He sinks to the floor, burying his face in his hands in pure, raw humiliation. He allows himself just one bitter sob.
author's note: If you're wondering what exactly happened here, in my head Rumlow told Rollins "I'm going to mess with him. Come get me in 45 minutes exactly", and then he went after Steve. Timed everything perfectly just the way he wanted it.
Also, sperm in your eye indeed burns like hell, and needs to be washed out immediately, with water. Shouldn't be left in there, like Rumlow suggested. I won't stop hurting on its own, at least not quickly. Tears would wash it out eventually I guess. But it's hell. Just wanted to point out this was Rumlow being a dick, not Steve being a wuss.
Re: Steve/Rumlow or whoever. Jizz in the Captain's suit.
http://archiveofourown.org/works/13601082/chapters/31223337
Rumlow's scowl, the fact he's towering over Steve, pressing him into the locker, his harsh voice – it all twists together in Steve, into a rope made of anger and shame. It burns hot in his belly, and he shouldn't be feeling it in his cock, but somehow it makes him harder.
He should push Rumlow away, tell him to go fuck himself and walk out. Steve can't move. Something in him keeps him pinned down. Instead, he presses his lips around Rumlow's head and starts sucking diligently.
The hand in his hair gets gentler, starts massaging his scalp, and Steve melts a little, his anger subsiding. "There you go," Rumlow says in a softer voice. "That's nice. We'll turn you into a proper cocksucker yet. Do you like it? Isn't it nice?"
For obvious reasons, Steve can't reply. He tries, however, to feel it – tries to relish the closeness, the fact that he's pleasuring someone, but what's burning in the back of his head is still the useless virgin and proper cocksucker. The comments are Rumlow through and through, and Steve hates it.
The smell and the taste are still overpowering, but he's getting used to them. When Rumlow actually starts moving, Steve realizes how big a dick actually is and how hard to fit in a mouth. Holding Steve's head firm in his hands, Brock pushes in towards the back of Steve's tongue. Steve realizes sucking is not going to be enough for Rumlow. It's just a start. He wants to screw Steve's mouth for real is what he wants to do.
As soon as he hits the uncomfortable spot, somewhere around Steve's tonsils, he starts pulling back, dragging his shaft across Steve's tongue. Steve does his best to provide both suction and friction. The sooner he makes this over, the better.
Rumlow is pushing in again. Steve tries to tell himself he's resigned to it. He doesn't like the uneasy, tingly feeling in his belly, that gets tuned up to a million by the fact that his head is trapped in a small space between the locker and Rumlow's fists in his hair. He's actually turned on by the fact that Rumlow is fucking him in the face, upping the pace gradually. It's going straight to Steve's cock, making it twitch and ache, making his cheeks grow hotter by the minute.
Rumlow is driving his dick in harder now. On each go, he pulls it out to the very tip, and then forces it back deep. Every thrust makes the back of Steve's head knock against the locker.
"That's right," Rumlow is saying, his voice getting breathy. "Hold still while I fuck your face. Just be still. Just sit and take it. Take my cock, there's nothing you can do about it anyway." His movements are getting more erratic, his words choppier. "Are you blushing, Rogers? I think you're actually blushing. Is it because you're on your knees or because you actually like it? Love the taste of dick, do you? I'm going to make you taste it all the way in your throat."
Steve doesn't like it, but every word is hitting too close to home anyway, making him quiver with mortification. His own cock bounces a little with every thrust of Rumlow's. It's bursting and needy and makes Steve blush even harder. In a way, it was easier while he wasn't enjoying it. That way, he was doing it for someone else, and that can't be so bad. He didn't have to ask the squiggly, uncomfortable questions, like why Rumlow's denigrating comments are getting him so much closer to the orgasm.
He can't take it any longer, and there is no reason to. If he's doing this, he might as well get something out of it. He lets his hand sneak towards his own dick, wraps around it comfortingly. Gives it a frantic, shuddery stroke, then two.
Rumlow pulls out of his mouth abruptly and slaps Steve across the lips with his cock. Steve stares at him aghast.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Rumlow says, sounding genuinely outraged. He's looking at Steve's hand on his dick, and Steve lets go reflexively. "Don't do that, that's disgusting, you're not alone here," Rumlow goes on. Steve is confused for a moment, but it makes sense, in a way. Masturbation was always a taboo, and Steve isn't really too familiar with social norms when it comes to sex, especially gay sex. He's never discussed that with anyone. Maybe touching yourself like that really isn't done.
"Sorry, I..." he begins. His voice is hoarse.
"Hands where I can see them," Rumlow snaps. "No, you know what, hands on your nipples. Go on, Cap, pinch them, I want to see."
Steve's cheeks are on fire and he has no idea why he just doesn't get up and go. He could. Before he knows, though, he's touching his own nipples, and it feels so good, so nice to tease them with his fingertips, even though it makes his cock feel even needier. That must be exactly what Rumlow wants.
"What are you, a girl?" Rumlow says with a sneer. "You're petting them. Pinch them, I said."
Steve pinches. The pain in his breasts is sharp but pleasurable, and it's definitely more intense.
"See, that's better," Rumlow says as he thrusts back into Steve's half-open mouth. Steve sucks and pinches, pinches and sucks until he's out of breath. Every time he squeezes the tender nubs between his fingertips, pain shoots through him like a lightning, straight to his cock, making it leak, making it want. Rumlow is pulling at his hair harder now, driving forcefully into his mouth, hitting the spot somewhere behind his tonsils that makes Steve gag helplessly.
"Tweak your tits, that's right. Twist them, crush them, make them hurt," Rumlow is chanting, shoving his cock harder and harder. "You can bench-press a small truck, come on. Pinch them harder. Make yourself feel it. Make it hurt!"
Steve squeezes his eyes shut, driving his nails into his own flesh, squeezing and twisting his nipples so hard it makes his eyes water. Rumlow is battering against the entrance of his throat mercilessly, but try as he might, he can't force his way past the muscles of Steve's throat. Steve's gag reflex is spasming constantly and tears are leaking down his cheeks from his body unsuccessfully trying to cough the intruder out. "You're crying like a girl, what kind of wuss are you, yes, cry, let me see the tears, you're such a fuckhole, I'm gonna fuck you until you choke," Rumlow is blabbing now in a nasty, throaty voice. Steve twists his nipples again, brutally, and almost comes at Brock's horrible words. "I'm gonna come in your mouth, I'm gonna fill you with jizz, I'm gonna..." And he pinches Steve's nose shut, and drives his cock in as hard as he can, banging Steve's head against the locker audibly.
I'm gonna come in your mouth. The words turn Steve's stomach. He should have thought about that, but somehow he hadn't. He didn't allow himself to. As the first squirt hits the back of his throat, his head jerks violently away, tearing his hair out of Rumlow's grip. There's a streak of cum on his tongue. He can taste it, bitter and salty and thick. Bile rises in his throat so he almost throws up. He coughs, as another spurt of the revolting stuff hits his cheek. He looks up, to see Rumlow jacking off right into his face, onto his face, with an ugly expression. Steve feels the vile stuff trickling from the corner of his mouth, feels it creeping down his cheek and onto his neck. He gags, repeatedly, fighting not to lose the contents of his stomach. He can still taste the filth on his tongue.
Rumlow milks out the last spurt, then, and it hits Steve right in the eye.
It stings like hell. It burns like someone threw acid in there. Steve knows rubbing won't help. Still on his knees, still spluttering and thoroughly revolted, he rubs at his eye anyway and makes it worse. Suddenly he feels like garbage. Suddenly, all he wants is to get out of here.
"Oh, did I hit you in the eye?" Brock's voice is all concern. He's pulling Steve up, on his feet, peering into his face with a worried frown. "I'm so sorry, Cap, honestly didn't mean to. Why the hell'd you pull away like that? You okay?"
Steve nods. It's an instinctive reaction. It's not quite true either. As he catches his breath, Brock's hands on him are gentle and soothing. Steve gives in to them, relaxing a fraction. "Shhh, don't rub at it," Brock is saying now as Steve tries one more time to get the cum out of his eye. It burns. "Just leave it, it will stop hurting in a minute." Steve is falling for this, for the concern and the comfort. He's a sucker an he knows it, but he can't help it. It just takes a few intimate touches and soft voice, and he's ready to forget all the ugly words from a minute ago.
Still, they ring in his head. You're such a fuckhole, I'm gonna fuck you until you choke, I'm gonna fill your mouth with... He wants to throw up, and his eye stings like crazy. All of it is making him so hard and confused that he can't think straight. He can feel his cock straining, leaking. He could easily cry from shame and all the mixed emotions. He fumbles for a paper tissue to wipe the cum from his face at least.
"Oh, leave the eye alone, don't be such a baby about it. It's just a bit of cum. Now, do you want me to suck you off or do you really want to groom and doll up instead, right now?" Brock asks, seeing the tissues in Steve's hand. Some of that sneer is back in his voice, but he's already sinking to his knees in front of Steve. A part of Steve relaxes. He was worried Brock would walk out on him, again, but that won't happen now, surely.
"You're rock hard," Brock says, staring right at his dick. "You're so hard for me. You really like being roughed up, eh?"
Steve doesn't, except that, evidently, he does. His own reactions nauseate him. But Brock mouths at the tip of his dick, letting it sink slowly inside, and Steve forgets all about everything else. His eye still stings as if full of nettle, but Steve focuses on the slow, teasing lips hugging his shaft, and it's all good.
Brock is slow and thorough about it – so slow that it's almost torment at this point. Soon enough Steve is trembling with excitement. His knees are shaking, barely able to hold him up. When he grabs at Brock's head uncontrollably, Brock orders him to keep his hands by his sides. Steve obeys. The agonizingly languid licking and teasing continues. Steve feels like he's been on edge for ages. His hands are shaking, his eye is leaking copiously, his breathing is reduced to whimpers. Cum is sticky on his face, his neck, trickling into the neckline of his t-shirt. But Brock is lapping at his slit, pushing his tongue into Steve's pee-hole, sucking lightly at the head only. It drives Steve crazy with need, and does nothing to satiate it. Rumlow rarely sucks more than the head of Steve's cock into his mouth, but when he does, it's heaven. He swallows it nearly whole, stays like that, letting Steve moan and whimper. Then he pulls back, and it's the light teasing again.
Brock glances at his watch once or twice, but it doesn't seem he's in any hurry. He's turned Steve into a gasping, needy mess, barely able to stay on his feet. When he finally – finally – starts sucking in earnest, Steve's dick is red and raw. Every inch of skin feels sore to the touch. The contact hurts, and if Steve wasn't so desperate to come, he'd ask Brock to stop. He's not even sure he can orgasm any more. But he has to, or else he'll go crazy. It's building inside him, inching closer. He can tell it's going to be white-hot when it happens. It's nearly there, it's...
Steve hears the steps first. Approaching rapidly down the corridor. He doesn't say anything because any second now...
Then, right before he gets over the edge, right before the bliss finally hits, he's suddenly out of Rumlow's mouth. Cold air on his hot cock is harsh and too real. "Shit, someone's coming. Cover your junk, quick," Rumlow tells him urgently. Just for a moment, Steve imagines he can hear glee in his voice, but that makes no sense.
Rumlow is on his feet and looking presentable in seconds, somehow. Steve's hands shake as he fumbles with his fly. Forcing his cock back into the pants is agony. It's hard to the point of seriously hurting by now, but Steve's only option is to shove it in roughly and quickly. His head scrapes against the zipper, and Steve grits his teeth, swallowing pain. All the while, Rumlow watches him with an arched eyebrow.
Someone pushes the door open. It's Rollins, of all people. He surveys the scene, expressionless as ever. Steve imagines his eyes linger for a moment on the place where Steve's cock is swelling and straining against the fabric. It must be very visible.
Rollins says something to Rumlow, but Steve doesn't register what. Rumlow responds easily, grabs some files and he's out, just like that, as if nothing happened.
Steve is left there, shaking like a leaf, wanting to cry with frustration. He feels queasy and lonely. Used. Fabric against his tender cock is torture when he tries to move. His eye still burns like all hell. It must be red and swollen. Everyone's going to know what you've been doing, a voice inside his head tells him, and the hot shame almost does make him tear up. Then he realizes he is still all sticky with cum. Drying now, on his cheek, on his neck. It's too much. He sinks to the floor, burying his face in his hands in pure, raw humiliation. He allows himself just one bitter sob.
author's note:
If you're wondering what exactly happened here, in my head Rumlow told Rollins "I'm going to mess with him. Come get me in 45 minutes exactly", and then he went after Steve. Timed everything perfectly just the way he wanted it.
Also, sperm in your eye indeed burns like hell, and needs to be washed out immediately, with water. Shouldn't be left in there, like Rumlow suggested. I won't stop hurting on its own, at least not quickly. Tears would wash it out eventually I guess. But it's hell. Just wanted to point out this was Rumlow being a dick, not Steve being a wuss.