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.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

alright so i don't care about background details, but give me anything where Rumlow comes down the back of Captain America's stealth suit, and for ~reasons~ the suit gets zipped back up and Steve has to manage until he can get cleaned up.
Would also be happy with a group of hydra goons going in there. Throw in any characters you want as long as Captain JizzSuit hates it. Buckets of mouldy apples if there's a scene where he has to run around with it all oozing around inside his suit with him.

wow i agree wholeheartedly

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.
------

Shameboners!! Ilu author!anon! Looking forward to the next part.

Now THIS... this is what it's all about. Flawless Rumlow/Steve grade-a good trash, hot damn.

(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?"

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.

AMAZING. Touch starved Steve is my favorite...

This is absolutely fucking incredible, the tip top peak, Rumlow's dickbaggery + calculated seconds of kindness versus Steve's all time low levels of emotional defenses, I mean that combo is one of my favorite fandom tropes but this execution specifically... wow... When Rumlow has his hand on Steve's chest... And Steve trying to be a halfway decent partner in all this, and that being exactly what Rumlow uses against him... Hot fucking damn

um HI
OP here
just have to take a wee moment for myself
while i somehow get over Steve the fucking desperate cockslut and his adventures in jizzland

and i just
nope, still there with the edging and the mind games

my trash heap has been blessed this day

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

Steve/Rumlow or whoever. Jizz in the Captain's suit.

Re: Steve/Rumlow or whoever. Jizz in the Captain's suit.

Re: Steve/Rumlow or whoever. Jizz in the Captain's suit.

Re: Steve/Rumlow or whoever. Jizz in the Captain's suit.

Re: Steve/Rumlow or whoever. Jizz in the Captain's suit.

Re: Steve/Rumlow or whoever. Jizz in the Captain's suit.

Re: Steve/Rumlow or whoever. Jizz in the Captain's suit.

Re: Steve/Rumlow or whoever. Jizz in the Captain's suit.

Re: Steve/Rumlow or whoever. Jizz in the Captain's suit.

Re: Steve/Rumlow or whoever. Jizz in the Captain's suit.