hydratrashmeme | Dumpster #5: We didn't start the trashfire

Dumpster #5: We didn't start the trashfire

Welcome to the latest, greatest, scummiest iteration of

hydratrashmeme. Come on in and please check your sense of shame at the door.

Rules in brief: Don't be a jerk except to fictional characters. Warn if you want, but read at your own risk, because this is emphatically not a safe space. Link your fills on the fill post. Unprompted fills: make a prompt or a header comment and reply to it with the full text. Continuations of fills from earlier rounds: just make sure you link in both places.

What's on-topic: Filthy and perverted twists on all the quality whump served up by Cap: Winter Soldier. Noncon, aftermath, uncomfortably sexualized violence, mind control, inappropriate uses of Bucky Barnes' metal arm, bad guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves.
What's off-topic: a/b/o, D/s-verse, soulbonds, mundane AUs, shippy/romanticized noncon, MCU heroes repurposed into OOC or edgydark delivery vehicles for your fave's suffering. If you've got a prompt for one of those burning a hole in your brain, head on over to

mcu_trash.

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TW: Racism

So there is this post on Tumblr (http://fatcr0w.tumblr.com/post/145276026644 the whole discussion is great, if you've got some time to read it) which makes a pretty convincing argument that Sam was the prime candidate for being tortured for information on the Raft.

So let's run with that. Ross is being pressed for results. So he tells the prison guards to get the info out of Sam. At any costs.

I think Ross is enough of a piece of shit that it doesn't fall into evil good guys, but if the mods don't consider him enough of a villain, maybe he just doesn't bother to check how the guards are gonna do it as long as he gets what he wants.

+Sam expected some form of torture but not this, and doesn't really think they will rape him until they do.
+He tries to keep himself from freaking out too badly by talking to himself in his mind, using calming techniques he'd use with his vets.
+He doesn't let Clint and Scott know what they're really doing. They think it's just beatings.
+One or both of them offer to take his place, but Ross has specifically ordered the guards to go for Sam.
+Racist slurs

Oh, and by Ross I mean Thaddeus Ross, I forgot Martin Freeman' character is Ross too.

That post is chilling. And the dumpster always needs more Sam.

I can imagine him thinking as he's eyeing the security cameras in the interrogation room that when these tapes get out he is going to become another damn hashtag, but that won't help him right now.

This made me cry, I love it.

fuck, OP, that post keeps me tossing and turning at night and this is exactly what I need to work through those dread feelings

Yeah, I read it a while ago and it just stuck with me, and then I'm rewatching all of the MCU and I saw The Incredible Hulk, and the Harlem scene reminded me of it (although Ross doesn't actually tell the soldiers to take the Abomination to Harlem, he says "get to Harlem", so I think he was already there/on his way). But the post makes so much sense anyway, and it's such a real thing that it makesme really sick too.

Sam had known when he told Steve they weren’t all getting out of there that this wasn’t going to be pretty. True, he hadn’t thought he’d end up in super hero Gitmo, but he’d know there weren’t going to be Miranda rights and a call to his lawyer. He thought the guys who showed up under Ross’s command—US Marshalls in blue came and bulletproof vests—might even execute them right there at the airport and save themselves the hassle of detaining them. But Ross had apparently decided not to unilaterally shoot them all, at least not in front of the Leipzig police.

But when Sam had his face “accidentally” shoved against a van door as the Marshalls were loading them, he figured they’d been rounded down to international terrorists, and would be treated accordingly. Three of them didn’t have actual superhuman abilities to speak of, so at least they were all the same amount of vulnerable, all other things being equal. But of course, all other things were not equal.

When they’d all been processed—strip searched, hosed off, and dressed in detainee uniforms that looked like medical scrubs—the guards, armed with M4s, hustled them into individuals cells on sub level eight. Sam saw Wanda when they marched her in, staggering like she was drunk or drugged.

“Wanda, you OK?” Barton asked from somewhere to Sam’s right. There came a muffled reply that Sam couldn’t make out.

Before they had time for anything else, the doors at the far end of the room whooshed open to admit Secretary Ross, perfectly neat and orderly in a uniform that certainly wasn’t standard military issue. He’d have looked sharp, if not for the smug expression on his face. A swarm of guards followed him into the room and took up positions behind him.

“One of you,” Ross said, turning slowly to look at each of them, “is going to tell me where Captain Rogers is going, or you won’t like the consequences.”

Sam kept staring at the floor. He couldn’t see the others, but he knew no one would talk. They weren’t nearly there yet.

“You’re wasting your time,” Clint said.

That made Sam smile, at least. It was nice someone was feeling brave. He wondered if any of them had done the tactical calculus on who would bear the brunt of Ross’s “consequences.” Not Wanda, with her unpredictable abilities and wide, soulful green eyes. Not Clint, with a photogenic family on a farm in a swing state. Not even Scott, who already had a criminal record, since an adorable daughter helped balance the scales. But Sam knew that the mug shot they’d taken on the way in, Sam’s face smeared with blood and dirt, so haggard and exhausted he could barely stand, would be re-tweeted a thousand times by people who saw nothing but a thug.

“No answers? Fine. Have it your way.” Ross turned to the guards behind him. “Take Wilson.”

Sam had already pushed wearily to his feet to face to cell door. When the guards pulled him out, he didn’t struggle, and he looked straight ahead as they led him out of the room.

holy shit anon holy shit my heart's... fucking pounding... better comment to follow but wow thank you, smelling salted handkerchief to my nose and fainting couch handy, need to avail myself of them

back to say, by better I mean slightly more detailed I guess, that specifically But of course, all other things were not equal and, agreeing with anon below, the moment Sam is already standing up when Ross names him... Wow. Ouch and wow. And just the grim realism of Sam already thinking They weren’t nearly there yet,, because he's probably the only one (other than Clint) systematically trained in resisting torture, so this strange place of him knowing intellectually what's going on, but not having experienced it, and then we know he's being realistic but is also WRONG about what they're planning... WOW, author anon, the fucking tension

OP HERE AND I'M SO EXCITED!!!
First of all, this is the first time a prompt of mine gets answered, so a huge THANK YOU!

But Sam knew that the mug shot they’d taken on the way in, Sam’s face smeared with blood and dirt, so haggard and exhausted he could barely stand, would be re-tweeted a thousand times by people who saw nothing but a thug.

This broke my heart! Lovely start, a!a, I'm really looking forward to the next part.

Yay OP! I hope this lives up to your expectations! I am having fun playing with Sam's emotions-- wait, I mean grinding his heart into powder-- wait, I mean... uh...

Omg. The way he was already getting up because he knew he'd be taken? !o!

Re: Fill: untitled Sam trashing (1/?)

(Anonymous) - 2018-06-07 03:39 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Fill: untitled Sam trashing (1/?)

(Anonymous) - 2018-06-09 04:20 (UTC) - Expand

As they led him into a room off of the main corridor, all sorts of enhanced interrogation techniques that Sam had heard rumors of, or read about in leaked manuals, or seen cited in Facebook rants welled up in his mind. There was no bright light shining on his face, no stainless steel tray of surgical instruments. Just a bare room with smooth metal walls and a bolted-down table at which they pushed him into a chair.

Ross came in just as the two guards took up stations next to the door, and dropped into the chair across from Sam. “I don’t have a lot of time, so we’re going to cut right to the chase. Where is Rogers?”

The hardest part, Sam thought, would be keeping his smart mouth shut. That was the thing about interrogations—you start talking, even just to tell the bastards to shove it, and it’s hard to stop. Best to stick to name, rank, and serial number, or better yet, nothing at all. He settled back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Think about something else. Like how hopefully Steve and Barnes were halfway to Siberia by now.

“I’ve been looking at your service record,” Ross said, as he opened a folder stuffed with paper. “I still have friends in the Pentagon. It wasn’t hard to get.”

Was this supposed to be impressive, how influential and connected Ross was? He was a former Army general. Of course penetrating military bureaucracy wasn’t a problem for him. Sam didn’t find it difficult to remain unimpressed.

“Six Letters of Reprimand,” Ross tapped the folder. “Looks like you’ve always had a problem with authority. Explains why you viciously attacked Colonel Rhodes.”

Sam looked down at the table and didn’t say a damn thing. Ross was trying to draw him out, push his buttons so he’d start running his mouth. He didn’t viciously attack anyone. And besides, he didn’t regret a single one of those LORs.

“Training in resistance to interrogation,” Ross read from the file. “That’s useful. Looks like you were never captured by the enemy, so you might not have anything to compare this to, but let me assure you, we’re much more efficient at this than the Taliban.” Ross looked across the table at Sam. “And as far as the US Government is concerned, Wilson, you are a terrorist, which means you’re an extrajudicial detainee.”

Sam supposed that was meant to scare him, but he’d figured by the lack of due process that this wasn’t anything so benign as an actual arrest, so it was nice to have his suspicions confirmed. It did make his stomach churn a bit to think he might have even fewer rights than he would if he’d been arrested.

Ross looked back down at the papers. “Pararescue, hm. Maybe you think you’ve seen the worst things that can happen to a human body. Maybe you think you know how to deal with pain.” Ross leaned in across the table, and Sam raised his head to look at him. “But I am in a hurry here, so let me assure you that I have no qualms about violating your body in every way it is possible to do so until you tell me what I need to know.” He settled back in his chair. “Now, where is Rogers going?”

Ross’s expression was cold and implacable, but Sam stared right back. No matter how absurdly phrased, a threat was still just a threat, and every moment Ross kept talking, Steve was getting further away.

“Fine.” Ross pushed to his feet. “Bennett, Hampton, he’s all yours. Call me as soon as he talks.” Ross strode out of the room without a backwards glance.

Bennett and Hampton stepped up between Sam and the door. They carried side arms and batons, but not rifles. Nothing easy for a prisoner to grab. Not that Sam was going to try to escape. His job was not to bust out; it was to stall, which he’d known when he suggested this plan in the first place. That didn’t mean it was easy to just sit quietly and wait for something to happen.

“Get up,” said the one on the right—probably Bennett.

When Sam didn’t move fast enough, Bennett grabbed the front of Sam’s shirt and hauled him to his feet, then stepped back and glared.

“Get your clothes off.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at him, but the man stared back, expressionless. Sam had known guys like this in the Air Force. No one in his unit, thankfully, but he’d run into guys whose main personality trait seemed to be their sense of their own importance. They generally displayed a bit too much enthusiasm for following orders, and a righteous hatred of anyone who didn’t. Sam had never gotten along with that type.

“Now,” Bennett growled.

Sam didn’t particularly want this guy to do it for him, so he pulled his shirt off, folded it, and laid it on the table. Slowly, telegraphing his motions, Sam bent down to slip off his shoes. He’d already been naked in front of guards—these or some others, he wasn’t sure—earlier, so rather than give them the satisfaction of ordering him to do it, he pushed down his pants and briefs and stepped out of them. Those he folded and added to the pile, with the shoes on top. Then he looked back at the guards.

He wasn’t going to cower in front of them, naked or not. He figured if this was their first move, he was in for some Abu Ghraib-style bullshit, maybe some photo ops before they started up with the more painful enhanced interrogation techniques. Sam could deal with that. He’d prefer humiliating photos to waterboarding, personally.

Bennett and Hampton were looking him up and down. “I thought black guys were supposed to be bigger,” Hampton said, making a crude gesture.

“I knew those wings were compensating for something.”

They both chuckled. Sam focused on the wall ahead of him, and felt his hands form into fists. He couldn’t afford to get mad. They were going to say horrible shit, of course they were. Didn’t mean anything. Time was passing, and that was the point.

“Take all that to the cabinet over there,” Bennett said, and pointed. Sam turned and shuffled over to a recessed storage unit, taking the opportunity to examine the room: the table and chairs, all bolted down; one exit, the one Bennett and Hampton were blocking; riveted metal walls, ceiling and floor, which was fucking cold on his bare feet; an air vent in the center of the ceiling, ten feet up, less than a foot wide. Sam opened the door to put his clothes in. There was nothing else there, not even dust.

“Hey Wilson, you ever fuck any of the other Avengers?” Bennett asked.

“Yeah, like Black Widow,” Hampton put it. “You get a taste of that pussy?”

Sam turned back just in time to see Hampton waggling his tongue obscenely.

“No, man. She’s tough as hell,” Bennett laughed. “She’d probably snap his little dick right off.”

“Maybe he’s butt buddies with Captain America,” Hampton said with a grin. “That sparkly outfit is gay as hell.”

“I’m telling you, the dude’s, like, a hundred years old. They didn’t even have gay people back then.” Bennett glanced back at Wilson. “Stand there.” He pointed to a spot in the middle of the room. “Don’t move.”

“If you could fuck any one of the Avengers, who would you fuck?” Hampton asked.

“That Scarlet Witch girl.”

“She’s not too skinny for you?”

“Maybe a little, but think about it. Right now she’s drugged halfway out of her mind. Totally doesn’t even know where she is. I could fuck her like that, and she’d be all sweet and plaint, like, oh, oh, oh!” Bennett made his voice high-pitched and did a terrible imitation of Wanda’s Sokovian accent.

Hampton laughed. “I bet she likes a nice fat cock. Bet she’d like to suck it.” He mimed pushing a head into his crotch and grunted. “Ungh, ungh, ungh—“

Sam didn’t realize he’d stepped forward until both the guards moved at once. Bennett landed a solid punch in Sam’s gut, right up under the ribs, and knocked the air out of him. Hampton darted behind Sam and wrenched his arms up behind his back.

“No goddamn manners,” Bennett said. “We were in the middle of a goddamn conversation.” He produced a thick pair of cuffs and settled them onto Sam’s wrists, locking his forearms together behind his back, then stepped away. When Sam tested them, he thought they were probably strong enough to hold Steve, let alone a regular, non-super-powered human. He needed to calm down, try not to listen. They were just getting started—he shouldn’t be making rookie mistakes and letting them get under his skin.

“Where were we?” Bennett asked.

“Ungh, ungh, ungh—“ Hampton grunted, pumping his hips.

“No, with him.” Bennett inclined his head toward Sam, standing alone in the middle of the room and shaking a bit with the remnants of his adrenaline rush.

“Oh. Strip search,” Hampton said. “Making sure intake didn’t miss anything.”

Oh god. This is so good and I am filled with so much dread.

I love the two guards’ personalities. You’ve captured the exact sort of asshole who would do something like this.

God this is so terrifying and so SAM, the letters of reprimand and trying to keep all this control over himself in such insane circumstances... I freaking love every word

I'm still getting random shivers throughout the day just thinking about this, them making him put away his own clothes and still pretending it's just a search

(OP)
I love everything about this. Your Sam voice is amazing and the two guards as well. Their conversation is terrible and disgusting and exactly what I wanted. It's the kind of thing you expect from assholes who'd work at that place.

I’m telling you, the dude’s, like, a hundred years old. They didn’t even have gay people back then.

That made me snort, though, when were gay people invented, the 70s?

I'm not so good at leaving feedback, I just want you to know that I'm loving every word.

“Turn around.” Bennett said.

Sam thought for a minute about refusing, but he could still feel the ache in his chest from Bennett’s punch, and decided this wasn’t the time to seek out trouble. He turned.

Bennett made a show of removing a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and snapping them on, then stepped up beside Sam and began patting him down, starting from the top of his head.

“You sure you’re not hiding anything you want to tell us about?” Hampton stood with crossed arms a few feet away. “It’ll be easier if you just talk.”

Sam didn’t both to respond to that, even with a look.

Bennett finished rubbing his gloved hands down Sam’s arms and torso. “Spread your legs,” he said, shoving Sam close to the table. “And bend over.”

Sam leaned over, bracing his chest on the cold metal table. It wasn’t a comfortable position with his hands behind him, but he managed. Hampton walked around to the opposite side, shaking his head in mock concern. “See,” he said. “If you hadn’t been so rude, we wouldn’t have needed to cuff you.”

Sam kept staring at the surface of the table. There were scratches in the bright blue paint, like someone had clawed at it with their nails. He tried to concentrate on counting the scratches while Bennett pried his ass cheeks apart and pressed a finger against his entrance.

“Why are you defending Captain America, anyway?” Hampton asked. “He clearly doesn’t give a shit about you. Ran off and left you to take the fall for him and his buddy.”

Because I told him to, asshole, Sam thought. This was his damn plan, after all.

Hampton stepped closer and leaned down to Sam’s face. “How does it feel to be replaced as a sidekick?”

“I mean, can you blame Cap?” Bennett asked. His finger had breached Sam and was twisting into him. “This one’s just a guy in a bird costume. The other one has a badass metal arm.”

Sam knew he should try to tune out their words so he wouldn’t lose his temper again. Trouble was, that left him focused on his body, and he wanted to ignore Bennett’s slippery finger pressing into his ass. But Sam’s mind refused to stay blank, his attention returning again and again to the strange discomfort of being penetrated. In the grand scheme of things, this wasn’t so bad, he reminded himself. As long as they were jerking around with this nonsense, trying to intimidate him, they weren’t hurting him in ways that would really break him down. Let them keep talking.

“Hey, Walton, did you—“

“I thought it was Wilson,” Bennett said.

“Huh.” Hampton shrugged. “I can never remember the names. They all look alike, y’know?”

“Right,” Bennett chuckled. He pulled his finger out of Sam and commenced running his hands over the rest of Sam, down to his feet.

Hampton dropped into a chair at the table, close enough to touch if Sam hadn’t been restrained. “Wilson, we’re in a bit of a time crunch, so I’m gonna level with you. You don’t tell us where Rogers went, we’re going to fuck you.”

Sam’s brain took a few seconds to process what was off about that threat. His eyes darted to Hampton, who grinned at seeing he had Sam’s attention.

“That’s right. We’re gonna fuck that tight little ass of yours until you scream.”

Sam kept looking at him. He shouldn’t have given Hampton his attention in the first place, but looking away now would just suggest he was scared. He wasn’t. This was part of the process: inducing fear in the person you’re interrogating was more effective than pain alone. Interrogation was all about mind games, and knowing that was half the battle.

“If you don’t want that to happen,” Hampton said, standing and walking around the table to get closer to Sam, “then tell us what we need to know.”

“Maybe he wants it.” Bennett, standing upright again, grabbed Sam’s hips and pressed up against Sam’s ass, grinding against his bare skin. “See what a real man’s like for once.”

Sam tried to shake off the anger that was building. Talk was just talk. If they thought Sam was going to give up before they even started the real torture, they were going to be disappointed.

“Is that it, honey? You want a taste of this nice white dick?” Hampton shoved his crotch against Sam’s face. Sam snapped his teeth, making Hampton jump back.

Hampton delivered a stinging slap across Sam’s face, but it didn’t wipe away Sam’s smile. He knew he shouldn’t be antagonizing the interrogators. He was supposed to remain detached. But damn if it didn’t feel good to get a lick in once in a while.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that,” Bennett said, chuckling.

Hampton stepped back, still glaring at Sam, and said, “Go on.”

Bennett let go and stepped away, and Sam braced himself for another blow. Instead, he heard the sound of a zipper. For a moment, a sense of vertigo held him as his understanding of the situation tilted and faltered. They’d brought Sam here to torture him. He was expecting pain, had braced himself against it. He was prepared to deal with pain.

Hampton pulled a square packet from his uniform pocket, ripped it open with his teeth, and passed it to Bennett. There was a moment of rustling and the stretch of plastic, and then Bennett’s hands were back at Sam’s waist, the heat of him looming behind.

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. But Sam had thought it himself, hadn’t he, about Abu Ghraib. Soldiers could justify all kinds of things when they didn’t see their prisoners as human. Sam looked up to see the anger in Hampton’s eyes, and realized he didn’t count as human here, not the way Wanda would have, or even Clint. Sam was utterly disposable.

“Take him,” Hampton said.

Bennett jabbed into him in a single, forceful push. Sam’s scream echoed off the metal walls, destroying the careful silence he’d held onto. His fists clenched and unclenched uselessly, and he tried to pull away. Hampton braced his hands against Sam’s shoulders from the opposite side of the table, holding him still, with no relief from the intrusion. Bennett’s cock had only just breached Sam, and he kept pushing forward, fingers digging into Sam’s hips. The pain radiated out from that point.

So this was just pain after all, Sam told himself. No different from them pulling his fingernails off. Just pain. He could take it.

Bennett stopped with his hips snug up against Sam, uniform material scratchy against Sam’s bare skin, and the full length of Bennett’s cock, huge and hot, forced inside.

“Christ he’s tight,” Bennett hissed.

“Maybe that means you’re the first one to teach this little bitch his place. What do you think, Wilson?” Hampton asked. “You ready to talk, or you want some more of Bennett’s dick?”

“Fuck you.” The words escaped Sam in a rush of breath, without his permission. He’d just been trying to breathe, but it was hard to concentrate. Hampton’s face lit up in a grin, and Sam pressed his mouth closed. He hadn’t meant to talk. He knew better.

“I don’t think so,” Hampton said. He looked over Sam’s head at Bennett. “Go on. Break him open.”

Omg I was just trying to think of a way to ask about an update for this without sounding pushy and then I came here and there was one THANK YOU

Really want a scene where Cap bursts in and knocks the two rapists’ heads together

holy fucking shit, you have me hiding under my bed emotionally

(OP)
Oh, I somehow missed this update!

This continues to be amazing! The casual racism makes me want to crawl under my blankets, and I love that they try to rattle Sam by doubting his friendship with Steve. And the last line, shit. I love this fill so much.

This is horrifying and really, really great.

Sam wasn’t going to make noise. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. When Bennett started slamming into him, jarring him against the table with every ruthless thrust, Sam clenched his jaw to hold back the shout of pain threatening to vibrate out of his throat. To block out Hampton’s obscene grin, Sam squeezed his eyes shut. A tear may have escaped to roll down his cheek, but he did not scream.

“You like that Wilson?” Hampton asked. “Taking his big cock?”

“Yeah, I can tell he likes it.” Bennett chuckled, and Sam felt the movement against his body. “Boy’s just been waiting for me to come along and show him how a real man does it. Ain’t that right, Wilson. You want to be my little fuck slave?”

Sam didn’t realize he was struggling until Hampton slammed him back down against the table with a hand on the back of his neck.

“That’s it, wiggle. Just makes it feel better for me. Bennett slowed his pace, pulling all the way out after each stroke, then shoving in to the hilt by brute force. “Yeah, just like that.”

Sam concentrated on breathing in a square. In and out, slow and steady, like he used to tell people all the time in group. But the jarring impact of each entry drove his concentration away. Finally he just gritted his teeth and waited for it to be over. Hang on just another five seconds, he told himself. When he’d counted them out, he decided he’d hold on another five, and he counted those out as well. On it went, until he felt Hampton’s hot breath against his face.

“You tell us where Cap is, and we’ll stop. You’re gonna keep getting fucked up the ass until you tell us what we need to hear. Is that what you want?”

Behind Sam, Bennett groaned extravagantly, and his fingers dug harder into Sam’s hips. Coming, Sam realized. The guard was coming inside of him, and this would be over. Bennett pulled out and stepped back, leaving Sam wet and gaping.

Without anyone holding him, Sam slid off the table, but managed to catch himself before he completely collapsed. His legs felt numb and rubbery, as if they’d fallen asleep. As he tried to stagger upright, Hampton delivered a firm kick to his chest, knocking the air out of Sam and sending him sprawling. He struggled up onto his knees, and then froze, realizing there was nowhere to go.

“As long as you’re down there, you might as well give me a turn.” Hampton unzipped his pants and took a step towards Sam. A half-dozen smart replies swam up through the haze in Sam’s head, bringing wonderful clarity along with them. Before he could unleash one, Sam heard the ringing metal of a knife coming out of its sheath, and saw Hampton’s smile widen.

Bennett knelt behind Sam, and idly dragged the blade down Sam’s bound arm. From this angle, Sam could see it was a clip point, with a partially serrated edge, probably a Ka-Bar. Sam first thought was that Barnes had at least half a dozen that are better, but then Bennett started running his mouth again.

“You aren’t thinking of misbehaving, are you?” He traced the tip of the knife down the vulnerable curve of Sam’s side and across his thigh, then tapped the flat of the blade against Sam’s penis. “Used to be, if a young buck like you got too out of hand, the master would castrate him to make him more manageable.” Bennett reached around Sam to grasp his soft dick and tug it upwards, so he could rest his knife against Sam’s balls. “You think we should do that to you?”

Sam tried to stare at the far wall, a featureless blank. It should have been funny—these two assholes and their completely unoriginal, garden-variety racist nonsense. But. Sam could feel Bennett’s semen slowly oozing out of his ass as he knelt on the cold metal, and if he was pretty sure this guy wasn’t going to cut his balls off, well, he’d also been pretty sure this guy wasn’t going to hold Sam down and stick his cock in him, so what did Sam know? He reached for the detached amusement that had always been his defense against school teachers who thought they knew him just by looking, or bigoted fellow Airmen with big mouths, or belligerent jerks on the DC Metro. But it melted away even as Sam reached for it, leaving him cold and alone inside his own head.

“You listening, boy?” Hampton asked. “Are you gonna be good and suck my cock? Or you think Bennett here should help you out, make you a bit easier to handle?”

Sam wasn’t supposed to say anything, he knew. Even if he’d been able to think up a smart remark, he wasn’t supposed to speak during an interrogation. That’s what this was, just an interrogation.

“Answer the man when he talks to you,” Bennett hissed. “Do you want to get fixed?” He tightened his grip on Sam’s cock, and the cool line of the knife pressed in against Sam’s skin, sharp and ready to cut.

“Well?”

“No,” Sam whispered. He could barely get the word out, and he realized he’d stopped breathing. He gulped in a shallow breath, careful not to jostle Bennett. “No.”

“No what?” Hampton prompted.

Sam kept staring at the wall. It didn’t matter, he told himself. These guys were sadistic bullies, and who gave a damn what they thought of him. Still, it was hard to choke out the words. “No, sir.”

“That’s better.” Bennett relaxed his grip on Sam’s cock, but kept the knife in place. “Now suck him.”

This is killing me!

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Dumpster #5: We didn't start the trashfire

Sam gets trashed for information on the Raft

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