hydratrashmeme | Dumpster #4: I Don't See How That's a Party

Okay, kids, you know the drill. Don't be a jerk except to fictional characters. Warn if you want, but read at your own risk, because

hydratrashmeme is about as far from a safe space as you can get. Garbage we like: noncon, whump, aftermath, violence, mind control, inappropriate uses of Bucky Barnes' metal arm, bad guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves. Garbage you should find a different trashcan for: a/b/o, D/s-verse, soulbonds, mundane AUs, OOC evil!good guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves, rotting leftovers dressed up as a romantic gourmet meal. Nothing wrong with 'em, but this isn't the crowd you should be pitching to if you're trying to sell Brock Rumlow as anything but a human dumpster fire.

Link your fills on the fill post, post unprompted fills as replies to a header comment so the wall o' text is collapsible, and let me know if you're interested in helping out with the Pinboard archive.

[Rules in full] [Round 1] [Round 2] [Round 3] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive (maintained by

greenkirtle)] [Round 4 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]

All prompts or fills that contain Infinity War spoilers must go on the Infinity War spoiler post until May 26th. Spoilers in the main dumpsters will be deleted.

Round 4 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 5.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It’s warm, and sticky, but by no means intolerable. He’s able to open his eyes; the Commander is laughing, hushed and blissful.

“Don’t give me that look,” - whatever ‘that look’ might mean - so he rearranges his face to be neutral. “Aw….” The Commander stretches carelessly and grabs a tissue, wiping his face clean. “There. Better? Ok, go to bed. I’m not squashing in here with you, you’ve got your own bed. Go.”

Climbing the ladder, he rolls himself into the now-chilled blankets and curls up, deliberately shivering to regain some heat. Below, he can hear the Commander turning off the phone and rearranging the items on the bedside table, taking some water, settling down to sleep. The others have not been disturbed.

He wakes a couple of hours later from a dream of something like tar, making no sound and clawing at his face with his left hand. No damage is sustained, but it makes him uneasy. Maybe in the next place, they will have separate rooms.

Possibly the most heartbreaking porn I’ve ever read. That’s a compliment.

(cross-posted from Ao3 because I accidentally another chapter)
In the next place they do have separate rooms, but then again the rooms are designed for two people each.

He has the top bunk again, which might still be a good thing. In the smaller space, warmer and with better sheets, he stays very still and almost sleeps. Agent Crabbe and Agent Rollins are in the other room. If he was there, he could sleep on the floor beside them.

“Come down here,” and he folds the blankets back neatly and climbs down the ladder, not concerned about waking the others this time. He knows he may be expected to get into the bed, but waits for the order, to be sure.

“What’re you waiting for? C’mon.”

The Commander barely moves over to make space for him. The darkness is nearly absolute, except for the light from the phone. The blankets are thick. He closes his eyes. He hasn’t been authorised to sleep, but neither can he think of anything else to do.

“Hey. Wake up.” A sharp jab in the ribs from the Commander. The screen is showing the same thing as before - not quite the same; the men are different. One of them is small and blond and his voice if they could hear it would be deep for his size, hard-edged with determination and a kind of hidden spite which only disappears when he’s sweet on someone, someone like her, or him.... “How about it, huh?”

It’s not a direct question, so he doesn’t answer.

“Christ you’re useless sometimes. Look, I’ve had a long fucking day,” which is true for all of them, “I don’t wanna do everything around here. So why don’t you help, for once?”

“What should I do?” Because then maybe he will get some instructions. The Commander lets him ask for instructions. He doesn’t have to guess too much. He only gets laughed at, if he gets it wrong.

“Get your hand down there, and help. Clear?” It’s certainly clear where he’s indicating, even in the near-pitch-blackness. “Not like that!” The Asset freezes in place. The Commander sounds almost afraid, which is odd. “Other hand! The other hand, Jesus….”

He understands, and switches to his right. He knows how to do this, but it’s true: he has never managed it with his left hand no matter how much he tried, and the Commander cannot expect him to solve it now, on a different body. The right is softer and warmer. The left used to be - it used to be soft, it was cold, but he doesn’t know when.

“Yeah, that’s it…” the thoughts about his hand have made his pace quite slow, but that’s not a mistake, it’s a good thing. “Keep that up.” The Commander rubs the back of his head, scratches his scalp gently, petting him. “Just like that.” This is praise. It feels quite pleasant. He can just about hear the sounds from the phone, being transmitted through the earpiece, but doesn’t listen too hard. He knows the kind of sounds (and the blond man’s voice is wrong).

A hand closes over his, giving him more direction, which he accepts. The Commander will want things a certain way; he just has to do it. It’s simple.

“Fuck, you’re good at this. Where’d you learn, huh?”

“That’s what you get if you hang out at the docks,” he says, and it’s an icy jolt down deep in his spine and he doesn’t know why, why he said that where did he when did it get so cold…. He knows he’s stopped his task.

“Hey, hey.” The Commander is stroking his hair and guiding him back to work - a grip on his wrist and the touch is enough to ground him. “Don’t leave me hangin’.” Not angry. Not yet. As long as this gets finished, he won’t be angry. That’s incentive enough to continue, if nothing else. “That’s right....”

He isn’t expected to watch the screen, which is better for his neck, and means he can close his eyes and rest his face on the pillow and breathe in soap and clean linen (lines above the streets, all flying in the breeze, harsh froth between his fingers as he scrubs bloodstains) beside the heat of the Commander’s skin. The sense of luxury is almost obscene; almost enough to eclipse the hitch of breath and the slick hot spill across his fingers and the “Fuck yes” hissed into his ear.

The quiet, after that, is good. He lets his hand be cleaned, and doesn’t mind when he’s dismissed back to his own bed. Maybe in the past, he’d have wanted something in return. It seems like a silly concept now. All he wants now is to be left alone, just for while, and to fall asleep thinking of how the small blond man was just somehow not quite right.

Yes for more fill!!! and wait...there is AO3 version too? would you mind to link us so we can save it too?

*setting more used cardboard boxes just in case*

Ao3 work:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/9463586

Dumpster #4: I Don't See How That's a Party

Bunk Bed Porn - Fill 6/6

Re: Bunk Bed Porn - Fill 6/6

Bunk Bed Porn - Fill 7/6

Re: Bunk Bed Porn - Fill 7/6

Re: Bunk Bed Porn - Fill 7/6