Rumlow wasn't sure what the point of the exercise was if Hydra's resident Bucky clone kept his mask on, but by now he knew better than to question Pierce's plans. The others were crowding around to watch now, but Rumlow'd been there first, and he had a front row seat as the Winter Soldier knelt over Cap's face and opened his fly. You had to hand it to Rogers, he took it like a champ. No undignified groaning or whimpering, he just started breathing hard through his nose and closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the cock being forced into his mouth. From time to time Rumlow saw his jaw working as he tried to see if he could dislodge the gag, but the gag was designed not to go anywhere, so there wasn't much risk of anyone coming out of this with bite marks all over his dick. Not that that mattered to someone like the Winter Soldier, who didn't mark and didn't scar and healed almost as fast as Rogers himself.
“Don't just leave it there,” said Pierce in annoyance, “fuck his throat. Make him gag on it.”
The Soldier obeyed, fucking Rogers' face in sharp little thrusts that made him choke and gasp. After the first time he choked, his eyes flew open, and if Rumlow thought the glare he'd been given was pure hatred, that was fluffy bunnies and rainbows next to the way Rogers looked at the man who was brutally and dispassionately raping his mouth for no other reason than that he'd been ordered to.
After a few minutes, Pierce asked, “If you come in his mouth now, will you be able to get it up again soon?”
The Winter Soldier nodded without hesitation.
“Do it. Not too deep. Get it on his tongue, make him taste it.”
And just like that, the Soldier came. The first spurts painted a broad white stripe over Rogers' tongue, which the rest of them could see as he pulled back, letting the rest of it hit Rogers' lower lip and the underside of his tongue while he frantically tried to swallow what was already in his mouth. His jaw was forced open too wide for him to do anything about the mess all over his tongue, so he just had to lie there waiting for it to drip back down towards his throat as he choked and swallowed as best he could. Rumlow wasn't sure whether to be sick or cream his pants.
The Soldier pulled back and stood up to await orders, his dick glistening with spit and come and not actually flagging all that much. Fuckin' super-soldiers.
It took a minute for Pierce to tear his eyes away from the sight of Cap glaring daggers as he choked down a mouthful of come. When he did look up at the Winter Soldier, though, his grin was so wide that Rumlow sensed the coup de théâtre approaching. “Good. Very good. Now you're going to get him ready to get fucked. Use your tongue. Get his asshole covered in spit.”
There was a collective indrawn breath from the handful of STRIKE team members who knew who the Winter Soldier was, or at least who he looked like. Harris, oblivious idiot that he was, let out a low whistle and said, “Now that's filthy.” The Soldier just inclined his head, as though to indicate the obvious barrier between him and the proper execution of his orders.
“That's right,” Pierce said, “you'll need your face uncovered.” Even Rogers looked up in curiosity at that. Pierce settled one hand on the mask and the other on the back of the Soldier's neck, and slowly, gently pulled the mask off.
There was a long moment of flat, wide-eyed shock from Cap. Then two syllables tore their way out of his throat, completely shapeless and unintelligible of course, but it wasn't hard to guess what they were supposed to be. Then he started thrashing with all his strength.
The Winter Soldier, completely indifferent to the cries of a struggling prisoner, grabbed the spreader bar to hold him still. Rumlow joined him. “I'll keep him under control,” he said. “You've got a job to do.”
He'd been half-wondering if the Soldier was going to refuse—sure, forcing your dick in a guy's mouth and fucking his throat weren't exactly normal assassin activities, but that was in a whole different league from getting down on your hands and knees and eating out his ass. But either someone really had been having some illicit fun with him, or the drugs they'd been testing on him destroyed any sense of sexual boundaries he had left, because he got right down there and went to town on Steve Rogers' ass.
The noise Rogers made was like a dying animal. He wasn't thrashing and struggling anymore so much as trying, inch by inch, to flinch away from what the Winter Soldier was doing to him. Which was made considerably more difficult by the way his hips kept jerking involuntarily towards the source of pleasure. Same thing with his face—he kept alternating between craning his neck forward to stare down in rapt horror at what Barnes (or the Barnes lookalike, or whatever the fuck he was) was doing between his legs, and throwing his head back, eyes squeezed shut, as tears leaked down his cheeks and cries of ecstasy spilled out of his mouth. The mouth that was still dripping with Barnes' come. What a beautiful fucking trainwreck.
“That's enough,” said Pierce, just as the Soldier did something with his tongue that made Rogers stiffen all over, bang his head once on the floor, and come with an awful sobbing wail. Nobody had even touched his cock, but apparently he'd been just that fucking desperate, and now there was another load of come glistening on his abs to match the one drying on his chest. The Soldier pulled away and sat back on his knees to await further orders, which came immediately: “Okay, now you can fuck him.”
Choked-off noise from Rogers, and then the Soldier, not one to waste time, grabbed him by the thighs for leverage and started pushing in. Even with a fuckload of aphrodisiacs and a thorough rimming, it was slow going—Rogers must've been tight as anything. Pierce, apparently entertaining similar thoughts, said, “Any of you gentlemen know if he's a virgin?”
Rumlow shrugged. “As far as I know.” Which was all you could say about someone like Cap, who was always politely evasive about locker-room talk—he'd join in on the harmless stuff, drop out if he disapproved, and turn into an amiable brick wall if his personal life was involved. He always gave the impression of someone who'd never had a serious partner and didn't go in for casual hookups, but what the fuck did any of them know? It's not like he was the type to kiss and tell on Peggy Carter. For all they knew he could've spent the whole war banging her or having a torrid gay love affair with Bucky Barnes or both. What a thought.
Rogers sure wasn't going to give them any answers. He'd stopped making any noise whatsoever and was just lying there taking it, eyes screwed shut and mouth stretched wide open, thrashing his head around whenever the Winter Soldier shoved himself deeper into his ass. Rumlow couldn't even tell if it was pain or pleasure. Finally Barnes-or-whatever-he-was withdrew until only the head of his dick was still inside, spat on his hand and rubbed it all over the shaft, and forced himself in to the hilt in one rough motion. That got a cry out of Rogers. After that he started rocking his hips, small motions at first and then actual thrusts as Rogers started to loosen up despite himself. It was hard to tell for a while, whether Rogers was really figuring out how to take cock or whether the Soldier was just getting more impatient about forcing his way past the resistance, but no, Rogers was getting into it and that was utterly destroying him. He kept bucking his hips up for more, freezing when he caught himself doing it, and groaning as his face—the top half of it anyway—crumpled up in disgust.
At one point Rumlow noticed that Rogers had his eyes open again and was staring wide-eyed at something—something off to the side that wasn't the Winter Soldier pumping in and out of his ass with an expression of total indifference on his face. He tried to follow Rogers' gaze but didn't see anything except the blank cell wall and, closer, the Soldier's right hand clamped around his thigh.
Suddenly, it clicked, and Rumlow almost let go of the spreader bar in shock at the implications. There was a jagged three-inch scar running along the side of the Winter Soldier's flesh hand. The Winter Soldier didn't fucking scar, so it probably dated back to before he'd been enhanced. And Steve Rogers was staring at that scar like he'd seen a ghost.
Well I'll be damned, thought Rumlow. No lookalikes or weird cloning shit—the Winter Soldier was literally Bucky Barnes. Never mind that there were a dozen reasons that was impossible. Bucky Barnes was alive and committing assassinations on command for Hydra, and whatever they'd done to turn him was so thorough that right now he was violating Captain America on command without the faintest glimmer of emotion or recognition. What a trip. Hail Hydra.
FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 4/?
“Don't just leave it there,” said Pierce in annoyance, “fuck his throat. Make him gag on it.”
The Soldier obeyed, fucking Rogers' face in sharp little thrusts that made him choke and gasp. After the first time he choked, his eyes flew open, and if Rumlow thought the glare he'd been given was pure hatred, that was fluffy bunnies and rainbows next to the way Rogers looked at the man who was brutally and dispassionately raping his mouth for no other reason than that he'd been ordered to.
After a few minutes, Pierce asked, “If you come in his mouth now, will you be able to get it up again soon?”
The Winter Soldier nodded without hesitation.
“Do it. Not too deep. Get it on his tongue, make him taste it.”
And just like that, the Soldier came. The first spurts painted a broad white stripe over Rogers' tongue, which the rest of them could see as he pulled back, letting the rest of it hit Rogers' lower lip and the underside of his tongue while he frantically tried to swallow what was already in his mouth. His jaw was forced open too wide for him to do anything about the mess all over his tongue, so he just had to lie there waiting for it to drip back down towards his throat as he choked and swallowed as best he could. Rumlow wasn't sure whether to be sick or cream his pants.
The Soldier pulled back and stood up to await orders, his dick glistening with spit and come and not actually flagging all that much. Fuckin' super-soldiers.
It took a minute for Pierce to tear his eyes away from the sight of Cap glaring daggers as he choked down a mouthful of come. When he did look up at the Winter Soldier, though, his grin was so wide that Rumlow sensed the coup de théâtre approaching. “Good. Very good. Now you're going to get him ready to get fucked. Use your tongue. Get his asshole covered in spit.”
There was a collective indrawn breath from the handful of STRIKE team members who knew who the Winter Soldier was, or at least who he looked like. Harris, oblivious idiot that he was, let out a low whistle and said, “Now that's filthy.” The Soldier just inclined his head, as though to indicate the obvious barrier between him and the proper execution of his orders.
“That's right,” Pierce said, “you'll need your face uncovered.” Even Rogers looked up in curiosity at that. Pierce settled one hand on the mask and the other on the back of the Soldier's neck, and slowly, gently pulled the mask off.
There was a long moment of flat, wide-eyed shock from Cap. Then two syllables tore their way out of his throat, completely shapeless and unintelligible of course, but it wasn't hard to guess what they were supposed to be. Then he started thrashing with all his strength.
The Winter Soldier, completely indifferent to the cries of a struggling prisoner, grabbed the spreader bar to hold him still. Rumlow joined him. “I'll keep him under control,” he said. “You've got a job to do.”
He'd been half-wondering if the Soldier was going to refuse—sure, forcing your dick in a guy's mouth and fucking his throat weren't exactly normal assassin activities, but that was in a whole different league from getting down on your hands and knees and eating out his ass. But either someone really had been having some illicit fun with him, or the drugs they'd been testing on him destroyed any sense of sexual boundaries he had left, because he got right down there and went to town on Steve Rogers' ass.
The noise Rogers made was like a dying animal. He wasn't thrashing and struggling anymore so much as trying, inch by inch, to flinch away from what the Winter Soldier was doing to him. Which was made considerably more difficult by the way his hips kept jerking involuntarily towards the source of pleasure. Same thing with his face—he kept alternating between craning his neck forward to stare down in rapt horror at what Barnes (or the Barnes lookalike, or whatever the fuck he was) was doing between his legs, and throwing his head back, eyes squeezed shut, as tears leaked down his cheeks and cries of ecstasy spilled out of his mouth. The mouth that was still dripping with Barnes' come. What a beautiful fucking trainwreck.
“That's enough,” said Pierce, just as the Soldier did something with his tongue that made Rogers stiffen all over, bang his head once on the floor, and come with an awful sobbing wail. Nobody had even touched his cock, but apparently he'd been just that fucking desperate, and now there was another load of come glistening on his abs to match the one drying on his chest. The Soldier pulled away and sat back on his knees to await further orders, which came immediately: “Okay, now you can fuck him.”
Choked-off noise from Rogers, and then the Soldier, not one to waste time, grabbed him by the thighs for leverage and started pushing in. Even with a fuckload of aphrodisiacs and a thorough rimming, it was slow going—Rogers must've been tight as anything. Pierce, apparently entertaining similar thoughts, said, “Any of you gentlemen know if he's a virgin?”
Rumlow shrugged. “As far as I know.” Which was all you could say about someone like Cap, who was always politely evasive about locker-room talk—he'd join in on the harmless stuff, drop out if he disapproved, and turn into an amiable brick wall if his personal life was involved. He always gave the impression of someone who'd never had a serious partner and didn't go in for casual hookups, but what the fuck did any of them know? It's not like he was the type to kiss and tell on Peggy Carter. For all they knew he could've spent the whole war banging her or having a torrid gay love affair with Bucky Barnes or both. What a thought.
Rogers sure wasn't going to give them any answers. He'd stopped making any noise whatsoever and was just lying there taking it, eyes screwed shut and mouth stretched wide open, thrashing his head around whenever the Winter Soldier shoved himself deeper into his ass. Rumlow couldn't even tell if it was pain or pleasure. Finally Barnes-or-whatever-he-was withdrew until only the head of his dick was still inside, spat on his hand and rubbed it all over the shaft, and forced himself in to the hilt in one rough motion. That got a cry out of Rogers. After that he started rocking his hips, small motions at first and then actual thrusts as Rogers started to loosen up despite himself. It was hard to tell for a while, whether Rogers was really figuring out how to take cock or whether the Soldier was just getting more impatient about forcing his way past the resistance, but no, Rogers was getting into it and that was utterly destroying him. He kept bucking his hips up for more, freezing when he caught himself doing it, and groaning as his face—the top half of it anyway—crumpled up in disgust.
At one point Rumlow noticed that Rogers had his eyes open again and was staring wide-eyed at something—something off to the side that wasn't the Winter Soldier pumping in and out of his ass with an expression of total indifference on his face. He tried to follow Rogers' gaze but didn't see anything except the blank cell wall and, closer, the Soldier's right hand clamped around his thigh.
Suddenly, it clicked, and Rumlow almost let go of the spreader bar in shock at the implications. There was a jagged three-inch scar running along the side of the Winter Soldier's flesh hand. The Winter Soldier didn't fucking scar, so it probably dated back to before he'd been enhanced. And Steve Rogers was staring at that scar like he'd seen a ghost.
Well I'll be damned, thought Rumlow. No lookalikes or weird cloning shit—the Winter Soldier was literally Bucky Barnes. Never mind that there were a dozen reasons that was impossible. Bucky Barnes was alive and committing assassinations on command for Hydra, and whatever they'd done to turn him was so thorough that right now he was violating Captain America on command without the faintest glimmer of emotion or recognition. What a trip. Hail Hydra.