Rogers apparently took that as his cue to redouble his attempts to fight back. Blackwell only got as far as unzipping his fly before a headbutt to the face sent him staggering back, clutching his broken nose. Stern fared a little better--he lunged in from behind and managed to yank Rogers' pants and underwear down to his knees, but then he got too close, Rogers' arms jerked outwards, and Stern found his face pinned ignominiously to Rogers' bare ass by the handcuff chain around his neck.

For a few seconds there, it looked like Stern was about to get his neck broken. Then the physical contact did its work, and the entire room was treated to the sight of Captain America's perfect porn-star dick shooting off another load untouched. Snickers and scattered applause from around the room, and the star of the show went slack just long enough for Stern to wrench his arms away and break free.

The problem was, there shouldn't have been a few seconds there. He should still have been at the point where a light breeze would set him off instantly. Rumlow swore and grabbed the syringe the techs had set out just outside the bars when he asked for it. Fuck overdosing, Cap was metabolizing this shit so fast they should put him on an IV drip of it if they could get him to lie still long enough. Speaking of which--"Can't you dumbfucks find some better restraints?" he snapped at whichever technician was nearest. He didn't wait for an answer, just took the syringe back to the STRIKE team pile-on that Rogers was currently at the bottom of.

Rogers let out an honest-to-god, full-throated moan when Rumlow jabbed the needle into his outer thigh, and his cock twitched, but he didn't come again. Full-speed ahead to Phase Two, then, half an hour ahead of schedule. Just to make sure, Rumlow dug his fingers into the inside of Rogers' thigh, inches from his balls. Rogers shuddered and made a funny choked-off noise, but that was it. Yup. Hair-trigger frenzy over. From now on he'd need stimulation--and boy would he ever be desperate for it.

"Aw," said Rumlow, "I'm hurt, I thought you liked the pain. You sure there wasn't anything you wanted from us? Cigarette? Last meal? Cock up your ass?"

Rogers' breath hitched so loud everyone in the room heard it, but instead of caving, he visibly screwed up his resolve and spat on Rollins' boot. "You taking requests?" he panted. "Because I'd like my shield back."

Rollins snarled, pulled out his stun baton, and shocked Rogers in the gut.

"Okay, how about the key to these handcuffs?"

Another, longer shock, and Rogers was gasping and all but writhing on the floor now, but he started laughing the same dry, hacking laugh as before.

"Apple pie?" Rollins' boot connected with his face, and now Blackwell was getting in on the taser action. "Dodgers tickets?" Harris, whose foot was inches from Rogers' elbow, kicked him hard in the funny bone, but he just kept laughing. "Liberty and justice for all? Life in prison for every single one of you sadistic goose-stepping traitors? I could go on."

Fuck it, Rumlow thought, and forced a hand between his legs to grab him by the balls. Rogers' half-hysterical laughter subsided into a series of ragged, heavy gasps. His dick was so red and straining it hurt just to look at it. "You done?" Rumlow asked. "Ready to talk about what you really want? Because Christ, just look at you. We know you're desperate for it."

"Yeah," said Rogers through gritted teeth, and for just a second Rumlow thought they were getting somewhere. "Of course I am. Good job. Nice drugs. You think that's enough to make me beg you to rape me? I'd rather lie here like this until my dick rots off."

Oh, man, Rumlow was going to enjoy rubbing that one in his face once he cracked. Right now, though, his patience was wearing thin. "Ain't rape if you beg for it," he pointed out with a shrug. He jerked his head at Higgins, who already had his knife out, ready to add it to the reprisals if Rogers kept backtalking. "You. Just cut his clothes off already."

Higgins left a trail of bloody lines in his wake, not over-careful of how deep he cut. Rogers shuddered under every touch of the knife like it was the caress of a lover. When Higgins went to slice open the sleeves of the sweatshirt, though, he sprang back with a panicked cry. "Sir, he's--"

Rogers was already loose and staggering to his feet.

He punched Blackwell right in his already-broken nose with the hand that still had a pair of handcuffs dangling from the wrist. Then he followed up with an uppercut from the other fist, but not as hard, and with a grimace of pain--must've dislocated his fucking thumb to get out of the cuffs. Rollins and Stern, working together and with a running start, almost succeeded in slamming Rogers up against the wall, but Rogers pivoted and shook free of Stern's grip.

And then Rollins did the sensible thing and grabbed Rogers by the dick. The orgasm hit him like a freight train. He was bent almost double when Rumlow and the others grabbed him, two to each limb, and pinned him to the wall.

There was some kind of commotion going on on the other side of the bars. Rumlow figured it was just the techs panicking now that Rogers was loose, but then, from the doorway, an affable voice cut through the noise, leaving silence in its wake. "I heard you boys were having some trouble with restraints."

Rumlow froze. Oh man, they were fucked.

Alexander Pierce stood in the doorway, and behind him, a masked, menacing shadow, was the Winter Soldier.