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

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

A/N: Thanks for the kind comments! <3

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The man wastes no time in wrestling Bucky down against the counter, pinning him there by the hips. Bucky tries to throw the man off, tries to gain some semblance of purchase, but the angle is all wrong, he can't get any traction; the man's entire weight is bearing down on him, and -

Suddenly, like this, Bucky can feel the man's cock, hard and surprising at his back.

Bucky twists and struggles, determined to break free, but - all he can really do is grind back into the hips that pin him there, worsening his predicament, driving the cock harder and deeper against him, despite his best efforts. The shameful futility leaves Bucky blushing red, all the way to his ears and down his chest.

The man fists one hand in Bucky’s hair, wrenching his head back. The other wraps tight around Bucky’s exposed throat, choking him. First lightly, barely there, then harder, much harder - then light again. Whittling the air out of him, little by little, until Bucky is gasping for breath once more.

Bucky knows how he must look like this - contorted and wriggling, body bent, caught by the throat. Leather fingers trace over his jugular, slow and deliberate, playing with him, teasing. (He's been thinking for a while about asking Steve to use a knife, and now suddenly imagines what the metal might feel like, cold and sharp along his bare, vulnerable neck.)

Then both hands let go, changing targets. The man tugs Bucky's pants down without warning. Bucky's boxers snag and slip down too, only halfway, an afterthought. Bucky squirms and scrambles, reaching around to cover himself up, but the man catches Bucky's wandering arm, twists it painfully behind his back.

The man's hips snap forward, insistent, erection grinding against Bucky's ass through the layers of fabric between them. Bucky can feel his own cock hardening, pinned helplessly against the cold counter. “Oh,” Bucky gasps, as the man thrusts again, shocked at how quickly desire is mounting deep in his belly, scrambling for a way to twist out of this trap. “No, no, stop -”

But the man does not stop, not for a second. He tightens his hold on Bucky's pinned arm, moving his free hand to Bucky's mouth. Two fingers slip between Bucky’s lips, ignoring the desperate protests spilling forth, the leather earthy and sharp on Bucky's tongue. The fingers force his lips open wide, filling up his mouth, rutting around in there, until a stray dribble of saliva slides down Bucky’s chin.

“Stop, let go,” Bucky chokes, voice muffled around the probing fingers. He knows what he is supposed to do here, suck the fingers down to the knuckle, get them nice and slick, make this easier for himself. But today, he’s - he’s not so sure he wants it to be easy.

“I won’t do it, you can't make me,” Bucky insists, still squirming wildly as the man grinds into him. But his wet mouth closes around the fingers with every syllable, inadvertently sucking them deeper into his mouth. Just take it, whispers his shadow self, something ghostly and half-forgotten inside him. You know how, you’ve done it so many times before, you’re so good at it -

“No, I won’t,” he says again, shakier this time. The man slides a third finger into Bucky’s mouth, sloppy and cruel, wrenching Bucky’s jaw wider until his words are just wet, garbled sounds. Bucky feels drool all down his chin now, hears how pathetic and incomprehensible he sounds, but he can’t stop the words - noises - from tumbling out. “Please, I won’t, I won’t -”

Please. Already begging. He feels himself flush even hotter.

Bucky twists again, tries to throw the man off, but he has no traction, and his bad shoulder is too pinched at this angle, really beginning to hurt. The man is bearing down on him too hard, too close, smothering him, his grip on Bucky’s forearm tight enough to bruise. His breath is hot and heavy against the back of Bucky’s neck. Bucky twists in the other direction, but is only rewarded with a fourth finger breaching his mouth, harsh and deep, almost enough to make him gag.

Fine. Time for another approach, Bucky thinks, and bites down, hard.

Bucky hears a low, angry hiss of pain and the man’s hand snaps away in a flash. The surprise gives Bucky just enough leeway to wrench himself free, out of the man’s hold.

Bucky frantically tugs his pants back up, waistband catching briefly on his half-hard cock. Once covered, he whirls around to face the man, who is - of course - blocking the one way out of the small kitchen, leaving Bucky cornered. He watches Bucky very closely, waiting for his next move.

Without hesitation, Bucky lunges, knocking the man backwards. Enough to make him stumble but not to knock him down. Bucky comes in with a kick from the side, then a punch from the other, then positions himself to rush the man with his good shoulder, wrestle him down.

But the man sees him coming. He dodges just as Bucky dives. Momentum takes over, and Bucky, unable to catch himself in his soft, stupid socks, finds himself tumbling forwards. Shit.

But to his surprise, the man catches him mid-fall. His arms wrap tight around Bucky’s middle once more, dragging him back, back into the kitchen, back to where they just were, back to the inevitable end. Idiot. This is what happens when you fight, the ghost inside him says, as the man throws Bucky roughly against the counter, near the sink this time.

The next few seconds happen very fast.

Bucky notices a small puddle beneath him on the tile, barely visible. He remembers his overflowing glass of water earlier, his poorly-cleaned mess. He also notices the man coming up behind him, gripping the back of his neck, pushing his head down and -

Before Bucky can put two and two together, his face is already slamming into the counter, and the water is already hitting his nose.

His entire body goes cold with panic. Wait, he wants to say, but suddenly can’t. Wait, this isn’t right. He opens his mouth to plead, but no words come out, his whole body freezing up, failing him. The man does not seem to notice what is wrong, still holding Bucky down by the neck, raking his other hand down Bucky’s spine.

Wait, no, please -

Bucky struggles hard then, thrashing around wildly, fighting the man, fighting the sudden burn in this throat, the sting in his eyes. He does not want to drown. No one has made him drown in so long, and he can’t do it, not now, not again. “Please,” he keens, finally finding his voice. He doesn’t want to say the word, doesn’t want this to end, but he can’t, he can’t -

“Please, please - Yellow - ”

Everything stops.

The man immediately lets go of his neck and steps away. Bucky scrambles to right himself, swaying for a moment, lightheaded from the sudden lack of contact. He closes his eyes tight, pressing his palms flat against the counter, focusing on the cold granite beneath them, counting his deep breaths - nineteen - twenty - until he can finally trust himself to speak.

There is a warm touch on his shoulder. A gentle squeeze. “Not - here,” Bucky finally says quietly. He does not turn around. “Not in here this time.” Another squeeze, in assent.

Bucky looks down at the counter and there’s - well, there’s barely anything there, he realizes now. Hardly even a splash, certainly not enough for anyone to fucking drown in, and he is suddenly terribly embarrassed by his theatrics. Sorry, he wants to say, but apologizing isn’t part of the game. So he says nothing.

"Okay." Bucky swallows, does not allow himself any more time to recover. “Okay, green.”

The man is ready. He grabs Bucky by the hair, drags him back to the living room. Bucky kicks and fights the whole way, but the man will not let go. Bucky begins to shout, something newly awakened in him by his panicked outburst. “Fuck you,” he yells, scrambling at the fist in his hair. “Get off of me, get the fuck off of me, fuck off - ”

When the man finally lets go, Bucky is ready, knocking him backwards with all his might. The man stumbles and falls back onto the couch. Bucky dives atop him, straddling the man’s hips, hitting as hard as he can, over and over. But the victory is short-lived; the man wraps his legs around Bucky’s body and flips them both, rather painfully, to the floor.

Dazed from the fall, Bucky feels his shirt being torn from his body with ease, ripped clean down the middle.

“No, no,” Bucky shouts, slamming his fists anywhere they will land, but the man is pressing his full weight down on Bucky’s body, and will not budge. The man throws open the shirt - now in tatters - revealing Bucky’s bare chest. Bucky scratches and hits and struggles and writhes, digs his nails in wherever he can, shouts obscenities between ragged, wordless yells.

And Bucky imagines, fleetingly, his former self. Hardened and unresponsive. Kneeling without hesitation, removing his clothes as efficiently as he could disassemble a gun. No light behind his eyes. He was so good at being quiet. They told him this, many times. He was praised and rewarded for being quiet, given a ration or a sip of water he would have otherwise gone without.

But sometimes, he was not quiet enough. Sometimes, little things escaped. A grunt. A hiss. A moan. And so sometimes, they gagged him: with their belts, with electrical tape, his own underwear.

But there is no gag, not anymore. He is through with being good, being quiet.

Bucky screams then, really screams, a horrible, primal noise, pounding desperately on the man’s chest. “Stop, stop,” he howls, aware that he is wearing himself out, that he is wasting his energy. He is barely even hurting the man anymore, is really only hurting himself at this point. “Stop, no, let me go -”

But the man does not let go. Bucky spits in his face and he does not even flinch, slapping Bucky open-palmed across one cheek, backhanding the other in quick succession. His hands drag down, down, down Bucky's body, undeterred, stopping at nothing until they reach their destination.

He tips Bucky’s hips upward and yanks sweats and shorts down together, leaving Bucky completely exposed, all at once. The vulgarity of this reveal, the cool sudden air against Bucky's erection, his pants lying artlessly at his knees, his shirt still half-tangled around his shoulders - it all makes Bucky’s throat close up, his eyes begin to sting.

“Please, please,” Bucky hears himself say, smaller and smaller, again and again, squirming helplessly. A deer shot full of arrows, bleeding out. “Please, no, I don't want to.”

The man’s fingers are in his mouth again. Bucky realizes that he is sucking them down instinctively before he can stop himself. “No, no,” he moans around them, hating himself for it, fighting back tears of humiliation. He does not want the fight to be over, but he is suddenly exhausted, delirious, limbs failing him one by one.

He can see the edge just before him, the cliff he is about to throw himself off of, into the beckoning darkness beyond. The fear wraps around him so tightly, covers him like a blanket.

Let yourself feel it, the fear says. All of it. Let go.

It’s a long way down.

Loving it. The tension, the arousal, the fear, despite reminders that it's just a game - even to the point of using a safeword! And he called yellow! I don't think I've EVER read someone call yellow in fic before...it's always just green or red. Refreshing! I also loved how you brought in the early detail of the spilled water to become a plot point. Gotta fire that gun if you hang it up!

I’m so in love with this fic! It’s so raw. Steve is so dedicated to being as merciless as possible and Bucky fights back with such passion... Just wonderful! The slapping is great for the inevitable flashback to Pierce and Hydra. I loved that it was just a bit of water that made Bucky say yellow in the end. It seems like such a little thing but it reminds you of the real danger in a scene as intense as this while also emphasizing that Bucky‘s still completely in control here.

This is amazing goddamn

This is amazing--so well done! I am here for every second of this scene.

I've read this far too many times already but I still love every little bit of it. The fear, the sounds, the tension, and the negotiation!!! Thank you, a!a, this is absolutely delightful.

Keep it up I'm in love with this <3

Is there going to be a part 4 and some after care? I love all three parts with a passion but I’d love to read about them discussing the scene afterwards, too!

This is SO GOOD!!!

rereading this today and it's still so good <3 <3 <3

That last line, holy God.
AA, I love every word of this and if you feel moved to continue I will be here with bells on. It's so, so good.

Hi perverts. On the crazy off chance that anyone is still tracking comments in this thread/post... this story is now complete and posted here on AO3. (https://archiveofourown.org/works/63742927)

Seven years later! Something came over me and I got the urge to see this one through. (Note that it now has a new title to avoid confusion with another story with the same name — inadvertent on my part.)

Enjoy!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

where the fire burns hot and bright [ 3 / ? ]

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Re: where the fire burns hot and bright - COMPLETE (!) on AO3