Okay, maybe not without the faintest glimmer of recognition. What Rumlow had taken for indifference at first glance was more like mild puzzlement. Barnes still didn't look the least bit interested in what he was doing, but there was a furrow in his brow, and he kept glancing sidelong at Rogers and frowning, like a man trying to remember where he'd misplaced his car keys. At length he looked up at Pierce and spoke. “This man,” he said. “Who is he?”
Rogers gargled on another string of vowels, but Barnes wasn't looking at him. All his attention was on Pierce, whose posture had straightened suddenly but who was otherwise calm. “He's your target. And you're performing your mission just fine.”
“There was something I was supposed to know about him.”
“Not anymore.” Pierce stepped forward, one foot on either side of Rogers' head. “You don't have to worry about him.”
Steve Rogers apparently had a thing or two to say about that, and the outrage was intelligible even if the words weren't. But he shut up when Pierce, with a sigh and an audible cracking of joints, lowered himself to his knees straddling his prisoner's face.
“Sir...” one of the STRIKE team members said hesitantly.
Pierce waved off the concern. “When I said stress relief, did you think I wanted to do it without getting my hands dirty?” he said, unzipping his fly. “Some things are worth killing your knees for.” And he actually winked, looking not at all like a man about to revenge-fuck his worst enemy, except there was a faint curl to his lip as he looked down at Rogers that he would never have allowed on his public persona. Rumlow had spent enough time with his boss behind the scenes to recognize that look. For all his pleasant talk of practicalities, there was a side of Pierce that downright enjoyed getting his hands dirty. It was one of the things Rumlow liked about him.
Pierce rammed himself down Rogers' throat in a single, brutal thrust. He didn't bother moving more than that, just stayed buried to the hilt and let the choking, gagging convulsions of Rogers' throat do the rest of the work for him. In fact, as soon as he was situated he all but ignored Rogers and raised his eyes to where Barnes was still plugging away at his assigned task. Once all of Rogers' face besides his chin was covered by Pierce's body, Barnes seemed to lose interest; his gaze slid away and his frown dissolved back into blankness, though the furrow in his brow remained. Even that smoothed out as Pierce caught his eye and gave him a long, steady look. It was like watching a snake charmer at work: all distractions fell away, and the Winter Soldier had eyes only for Alexander Pierce.
Rumlow was starting to wonder if he should take bets on whether Rogers would pass out for lack of air before he got his gag reflex under control. When it happened, it happened so suddenly that he couldn't even tell at first which one it was: one second Rogers was spluttering and gagging around Pierce's cock, his throat working frantically, and the next second he went slack and silent. Rumlow didn't think it had been long enough to render a guy with Rogers' enhanced lung capacity unconscious, but he wasn't sure until Barnes shifted his angle, shoving Rogers' thighs down until his knees were practically pinned to his shoulders, and Rogers moaned so loud that a couple of the STRIKE team members jumped. Hah. He was awake all right, and deep-throating like a pro.
“Would you look at that,” Rumlow muttered. “You're a natural, buddy.” His voice sounded loud in the all-but-silent room. Even the guys who had no idea who the Winter Soldier was seemed to be taking their cues from the ones who did, or at least they were intimidated enough by Pierce and the Soldier to work out that this was a good time to shut their fucking mouths and save the trash talk for later. Higgins elbowed him in the ribs. Pierce didn't seem to care, though, because Rogers was moaning around his cock at every thrust now, and god only knew how long anyone could last like that.
Not very long, apparently. “When I give the word, you're going to jerk him off with your left hand until he comes,” he said to Barnes, who hadn't broken eye contact the entire time. “When he's done—and only when he's done—you can finish inside him.”
Barnes nodded, and it wasn't very long before Pierce said, “Now.”
Rogers' hips jerked when the metal hand closed around his cock. All it took was a couple strokes and there he was, spurting all over the Winter Soldier's state-of-the-art cybernetic fist. Must've been clenching that sweet ass pretty hard, too, because even the Soldier had to close his eyes and grit his teeth to hold out until Rogers was done. Pierce's lips parted as he drank in the sight. It was like a chain reaction: Rogers gave a final pulse and fell still, Barnes thrust roughly into him a few more times before ramming himself in deep and staying there, and Pierce waited for the whole show to draw to an end before closing his eyes and letting go. He shoved in as far as he could and held himself in place, so deep that Rumlow could've sworn he saw the head of his cock distending Rogers' throat, and when he tucked himself back in and buttoned up his fly there were two damp crescents of spit and come staining the fabric of his very expensive suit.
Pierce stood, and the Winter Soldier's eyes drifted right back to Rogers' face, which was screwed up like he was trying to get a foul taste out of his mouth. “Did I tell you to let him come on your hand?” Pierce said to the Soldier in disgust. “What a mess. We'll have to take you to the technicians. But for now, just get him to lick your fingers clean, that'll take care of the worst of it.”
Barnes was still kneeling there with his cock softening inside Rogers. He reached up to stick two fingers into Rogers' mouth, and at first Rogers refused to play ball, stubbornly keeping his tongue curled towards the back of his throat. But after a sharp poke made him open his eyes, he caught sight of Barnes staring at him with his brow furrowed and that bemused frown tugging at his lips, and like the sap he was, Rogers couldn't help but keep eye contact. He couldn't say anything, of course, but that didn't stop him from trying to impart fuck-knows-what with his eyes as he slowly licked his own come off Barnes' metal fingers. It was deeply weird, watching the two of them stare at each other like the rest of the world had stopped existing, and Rumlow was kind of relieved when Rogers swiped a final drop of jizz off Barnes' thumb with his tongue. Barnes still looked baffled when he pulled away.
As a final victory lap, once the Winter Soldier had stood up and retreated to the door, Pierce crouched down where he'd just been and slipped a finger inside Rogers, checking on his pet's handiwork. It came out coated in semen and, surprisingly, only one thin streak of blood. Pierce smiled as he wiped it off on the underside of Rogers' still-erect cock and stood up to join his shadow at the door. “Gentlemen,” he said, “it's been a pleasure, but duty calls. He's all yours now.”
FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 5/?
Rogers gargled on another string of vowels, but Barnes wasn't looking at him. All his attention was on Pierce, whose posture had straightened suddenly but who was otherwise calm. “He's your target. And you're performing your mission just fine.”
“There was something I was supposed to know about him.”
“Not anymore.” Pierce stepped forward, one foot on either side of Rogers' head. “You don't have to worry about him.”
Steve Rogers apparently had a thing or two to say about that, and the outrage was intelligible even if the words weren't. But he shut up when Pierce, with a sigh and an audible cracking of joints, lowered himself to his knees straddling his prisoner's face.
“Sir...” one of the STRIKE team members said hesitantly.
Pierce waved off the concern. “When I said stress relief, did you think I wanted to do it without getting my hands dirty?” he said, unzipping his fly. “Some things are worth killing your knees for.” And he actually winked, looking not at all like a man about to revenge-fuck his worst enemy, except there was a faint curl to his lip as he looked down at Rogers that he would never have allowed on his public persona. Rumlow had spent enough time with his boss behind the scenes to recognize that look. For all his pleasant talk of practicalities, there was a side of Pierce that downright enjoyed getting his hands dirty. It was one of the things Rumlow liked about him.
Pierce rammed himself down Rogers' throat in a single, brutal thrust. He didn't bother moving more than that, just stayed buried to the hilt and let the choking, gagging convulsions of Rogers' throat do the rest of the work for him. In fact, as soon as he was situated he all but ignored Rogers and raised his eyes to where Barnes was still plugging away at his assigned task. Once all of Rogers' face besides his chin was covered by Pierce's body, Barnes seemed to lose interest; his gaze slid away and his frown dissolved back into blankness, though the furrow in his brow remained. Even that smoothed out as Pierce caught his eye and gave him a long, steady look. It was like watching a snake charmer at work: all distractions fell away, and the Winter Soldier had eyes only for Alexander Pierce.
Rumlow was starting to wonder if he should take bets on whether Rogers would pass out for lack of air before he got his gag reflex under control. When it happened, it happened so suddenly that he couldn't even tell at first which one it was: one second Rogers was spluttering and gagging around Pierce's cock, his throat working frantically, and the next second he went slack and silent. Rumlow didn't think it had been long enough to render a guy with Rogers' enhanced lung capacity unconscious, but he wasn't sure until Barnes shifted his angle, shoving Rogers' thighs down until his knees were practically pinned to his shoulders, and Rogers moaned so loud that a couple of the STRIKE team members jumped. Hah. He was awake all right, and deep-throating like a pro.
“Would you look at that,” Rumlow muttered. “You're a natural, buddy.” His voice sounded loud in the all-but-silent room. Even the guys who had no idea who the Winter Soldier was seemed to be taking their cues from the ones who did, or at least they were intimidated enough by Pierce and the Soldier to work out that this was a good time to shut their fucking mouths and save the trash talk for later. Higgins elbowed him in the ribs. Pierce didn't seem to care, though, because Rogers was moaning around his cock at every thrust now, and god only knew how long anyone could last like that.
Not very long, apparently. “When I give the word, you're going to jerk him off with your left hand until he comes,” he said to Barnes, who hadn't broken eye contact the entire time. “When he's done—and only when he's done—you can finish inside him.”
Barnes nodded, and it wasn't very long before Pierce said, “Now.”
Rogers' hips jerked when the metal hand closed around his cock. All it took was a couple strokes and there he was, spurting all over the Winter Soldier's state-of-the-art cybernetic fist. Must've been clenching that sweet ass pretty hard, too, because even the Soldier had to close his eyes and grit his teeth to hold out until Rogers was done. Pierce's lips parted as he drank in the sight. It was like a chain reaction: Rogers gave a final pulse and fell still, Barnes thrust roughly into him a few more times before ramming himself in deep and staying there, and Pierce waited for the whole show to draw to an end before closing his eyes and letting go. He shoved in as far as he could and held himself in place, so deep that Rumlow could've sworn he saw the head of his cock distending Rogers' throat, and when he tucked himself back in and buttoned up his fly there were two damp crescents of spit and come staining the fabric of his very expensive suit.
Pierce stood, and the Winter Soldier's eyes drifted right back to Rogers' face, which was screwed up like he was trying to get a foul taste out of his mouth. “Did I tell you to let him come on your hand?” Pierce said to the Soldier in disgust. “What a mess. We'll have to take you to the technicians. But for now, just get him to lick your fingers clean, that'll take care of the worst of it.”
Barnes was still kneeling there with his cock softening inside Rogers. He reached up to stick two fingers into Rogers' mouth, and at first Rogers refused to play ball, stubbornly keeping his tongue curled towards the back of his throat. But after a sharp poke made him open his eyes, he caught sight of Barnes staring at him with his brow furrowed and that bemused frown tugging at his lips, and like the sap he was, Rogers couldn't help but keep eye contact. He couldn't say anything, of course, but that didn't stop him from trying to impart fuck-knows-what with his eyes as he slowly licked his own come off Barnes' metal fingers. It was deeply weird, watching the two of them stare at each other like the rest of the world had stopped existing, and Rumlow was kind of relieved when Rogers swiped a final drop of jizz off Barnes' thumb with his tongue. Barnes still looked baffled when he pulled away.
As a final victory lap, once the Winter Soldier had stood up and retreated to the door, Pierce crouched down where he'd just been and slipped a finger inside Rogers, checking on his pet's handiwork. It came out coated in semen and, surprisingly, only one thin streak of blood. Pierce smiled as he wiped it off on the underside of Rogers' still-erect cock and stood up to join his shadow at the door. “Gentlemen,” he said, “it's been a pleasure, but duty calls. He's all yours now.”