Well, that was a few new layers of horror on top of everything Sam had surmised about what had gone on in that cell. Bad enough to imagine all the nasty shit Steve had gone through, worse when you realized the sick fucks had gone out of their way to make him get off on it. But more than that, it painted a really ugly picture of the how and the why. This wasn't a beating gone out of control or derailed by some pervert's bright idea, it was premeditated. It had never been intended to be anything other than what it was. And if Steve was still fighting off the drug, the ordeal hadn't ended when Sam broke him out of there. It was still going on. It had been going on the whole time. Steve was probably still running in crisis mode.
“Look,” said Sam, because it was the very least he could say, “if you need to take ten and go deal with the effects...”
“I can't,” Steve said, looking like he would rather be anywhere else than here having this conversation. “It scrambled something. You know how no matter how ticklish you are, it doesn't work if you try to tickle yourself?”
Oh, shit.
Steve looked so miserably reluctant to share any of this that Sam was trying not to think too hard about the implications, but it didn't exactly take a rocket scientist. Whatever evil shit they'd drugged him with hadn't just made him get off, it was engineered to make him dependent on outside help for any relief from...
Oh, shit.
Sam looked at Natasha and she raised her eyebrows a fraction. One of them had to say it. It would be the most awkward offer in history, but they had to at least offer. Ten-to-one odds that Steve was too stiff-necked or too traumatized to accept, but if he did end up toughing this out alone, it should be because that was an option, not because it was the only option.
“Steve,” he said finally, “there is no graceful way to put this, but...”
“If you need a hand, the offer's open,” said Natasha, blunt and businesslike. “Just to relieve the symptoms.”
“We're here for you, man. Not something I ever thought I'd say about awkward handjobs, but we are.”
Steve stared at them like a deer in headlights. “I can't ask you guys to do that.”
“You're not asking,” Natasha said. “We're offering.”
“No, you don't get it, I can't.” Steve was breathing even harder now, and in spite of himself he had started to look them up and down with poorly-concealed hunger in his eyes. But the rest of his expression was reproachful, even a little horrified. “I just... can't. Not if it would mean getting one of you involved in sex you wouldn't otherwise want to have. I've just been on one end of that, you think I want to go anywhere near the other?”
Sam took a deep breath and tried to choose his words carefully, because he was venturing into dangerous territory here. “Okay, look. I don't want to sound like I'm trying to get in your pants or anything, because that's not what this is about and now is really not the time. But... let's just say it wouldn't exactly be a hardship. Now, if you'd rather wait it out on your own than have anyone touching you right now, we can back the hell off, no problem. But if you're objecting on our behalf, I just want you to know, I'm not putting anything on the table that I'm uncomfortable with.”
Steve looked a little taken aback and Sam got ready to start kicking himself. But then Natasha shot Steve a meaningful look. “Yeah,” she said, “uncomfortable isn't the word I'd use.”
Somehow, those six words got across what Sam hadn't managed to impart with all his babbling and disclaimers. Steve relaxed a fraction. “It won't be pretty,” he warned them.
Both of them shrugged.
“Who do you want to do the honors?” Sam asked.
Steve stared at his feet. He squeezed his eyes shut, and for a second it looked like he wanted to cry, but it passed so quickly that it could just have been him agonizing over the choice. Finally, still unable to look at them, he let out a sheepish little laugh and said, “I... lost a lot of different kinds of virginity today. If there's a choice, I'd kind of like to hang on to what I've still got. And that's mostly with women.”
Natasha nodded, looking neither hurt nor relieved, and opened the door to go back in. “I'll make your excuses to the others,” she said. “Good luck. And Steve?”
“Yeah.”
“It's a wound.” She was looking back at them from the shadows of the doorway, her posture straight and her face stony, but Sam had the suspicion she was baring herself all the same. “It will hurt. It might slow you down in ways you weren't expecting. It will take longer than you want it to. But it will heal.”
Steve nodded.
Then Natasha was gone, and he and Sam were alone on the causeway.
Now that it was just the two of them and the crickets, Sam had a grand total of zero bright ideas for how to bridge the embarrassing gap between Point A and Point B. He felt kind of absurdly grateful when Steve set his empty mug down on top of the concrete wall and came over to stand side-by-side with him.
“Just out of curiosity,” said Steve, who was flushing and fidgeting more than ever but gamely keeping up a casual front. “Did you want to get in my pants before all this happened? It's okay, you can be honest. I... well. I'm not exactly in great shape right now. Sore in places I don't want to think about, definitely off the market for the near future. But I can still tell plain old interest apart from what happened today. I'm not going to run screaming.”
Sam raised his eyebrows and smiled despite himself. “I wasn't going to say anything unless you were interested.”
“But you were looking.”
“I'm not made of stone, man. And you were trying awfully hard to pick me up.”
Steve leaned against him, just a little, his arm and knee touching Sam's, and even that scrap of physical contact was enough to make him let out a ragged sigh and shift his hips uncomfortably. He still managed to smile. “It's called making friends,” he said, digging an elbow into Sam's ribs. “But okay, yeah, the possibility was open.”
“Past tense.”
“For now.”
“Then hey, it's a good thing you set up a fallback position in the friend zone.” Sam slung an arm around Steve's shoulders, loosely enough to let him shake it off without any trouble if he decided this whole touching thing was a terrible idea after all. But Steve closed his eyes and tipped his head back and slumped into the embrace, so that his back was half pressed to Sam's front. “Because right now I think you definitely count as a friend in need. We gonna do this?”
Steve's hand drifted to the fly of his jeans. “If you're up for it. But hands only.”
“Dude, hands were the only thing on offer. I might have been looking at your ass the other day, but right now it is like six counseling certifications above my pay grade.”
“Good to know. But it's not you I'm worried about.” Steve squirmed, looking more acutely embarrassed than Sam had seen him throughout this whole ordeal. He was sweating so hard his hair had gone dark at the roots. “This drug. It doesn't just kick your libido into high gear, it makes you really, really want to get fucked. I've been resisting it. Really hard, for a really long time. I don't know what kind of stupid crap will come out of my mouth once I let loose, but I can guess, and I want you to promise not to listen to me. Hands only. No matter what I ask you to do.”
FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 13/?
“Look,” said Sam, because it was the very least he could say, “if you need to take ten and go deal with the effects...”
“I can't,” Steve said, looking like he would rather be anywhere else than here having this conversation. “It scrambled something. You know how no matter how ticklish you are, it doesn't work if you try to tickle yourself?”
Oh, shit.
Steve looked so miserably reluctant to share any of this that Sam was trying not to think too hard about the implications, but it didn't exactly take a rocket scientist. Whatever evil shit they'd drugged him with hadn't just made him get off, it was engineered to make him dependent on outside help for any relief from...
Oh, shit.
Sam looked at Natasha and she raised her eyebrows a fraction. One of them had to say it. It would be the most awkward offer in history, but they had to at least offer. Ten-to-one odds that Steve was too stiff-necked or too traumatized to accept, but if he did end up toughing this out alone, it should be because that was an option, not because it was the only option.
“Steve,” he said finally, “there is no graceful way to put this, but...”
“If you need a hand, the offer's open,” said Natasha, blunt and businesslike. “Just to relieve the symptoms.”
“We're here for you, man. Not something I ever thought I'd say about awkward handjobs, but we are.”
Steve stared at them like a deer in headlights. “I can't ask you guys to do that.”
“You're not asking,” Natasha said. “We're offering.”
“No, you don't get it, I can't.” Steve was breathing even harder now, and in spite of himself he had started to look them up and down with poorly-concealed hunger in his eyes. But the rest of his expression was reproachful, even a little horrified. “I just... can't. Not if it would mean getting one of you involved in sex you wouldn't otherwise want to have. I've just been on one end of that, you think I want to go anywhere near the other?”
Sam took a deep breath and tried to choose his words carefully, because he was venturing into dangerous territory here. “Okay, look. I don't want to sound like I'm trying to get in your pants or anything, because that's not what this is about and now is really not the time. But... let's just say it wouldn't exactly be a hardship. Now, if you'd rather wait it out on your own than have anyone touching you right now, we can back the hell off, no problem. But if you're objecting on our behalf, I just want you to know, I'm not putting anything on the table that I'm uncomfortable with.”
Steve looked a little taken aback and Sam got ready to start kicking himself. But then Natasha shot Steve a meaningful look. “Yeah,” she said, “uncomfortable isn't the word I'd use.”
Somehow, those six words got across what Sam hadn't managed to impart with all his babbling and disclaimers. Steve relaxed a fraction. “It won't be pretty,” he warned them.
Both of them shrugged.
“Who do you want to do the honors?” Sam asked.
Steve stared at his feet. He squeezed his eyes shut, and for a second it looked like he wanted to cry, but it passed so quickly that it could just have been him agonizing over the choice. Finally, still unable to look at them, he let out a sheepish little laugh and said, “I... lost a lot of different kinds of virginity today. If there's a choice, I'd kind of like to hang on to what I've still got. And that's mostly with women.”
Natasha nodded, looking neither hurt nor relieved, and opened the door to go back in. “I'll make your excuses to the others,” she said. “Good luck. And Steve?”
“Yeah.”
“It's a wound.” She was looking back at them from the shadows of the doorway, her posture straight and her face stony, but Sam had the suspicion she was baring herself all the same. “It will hurt. It might slow you down in ways you weren't expecting. It will take longer than you want it to. But it will heal.”
Steve nodded.
Then Natasha was gone, and he and Sam were alone on the causeway.
Now that it was just the two of them and the crickets, Sam had a grand total of zero bright ideas for how to bridge the embarrassing gap between Point A and Point B. He felt kind of absurdly grateful when Steve set his empty mug down on top of the concrete wall and came over to stand side-by-side with him.
“Just out of curiosity,” said Steve, who was flushing and fidgeting more than ever but gamely keeping up a casual front. “Did you want to get in my pants before all this happened? It's okay, you can be honest. I... well. I'm not exactly in great shape right now. Sore in places I don't want to think about, definitely off the market for the near future. But I can still tell plain old interest apart from what happened today. I'm not going to run screaming.”
Sam raised his eyebrows and smiled despite himself. “I wasn't going to say anything unless you were interested.”
“But you were looking.”
“I'm not made of stone, man. And you were trying awfully hard to pick me up.”
Steve leaned against him, just a little, his arm and knee touching Sam's, and even that scrap of physical contact was enough to make him let out a ragged sigh and shift his hips uncomfortably. He still managed to smile. “It's called making friends,” he said, digging an elbow into Sam's ribs. “But okay, yeah, the possibility was open.”
“Past tense.”
“For now.”
“Then hey, it's a good thing you set up a fallback position in the friend zone.” Sam slung an arm around Steve's shoulders, loosely enough to let him shake it off without any trouble if he decided this whole touching thing was a terrible idea after all. But Steve closed his eyes and tipped his head back and slumped into the embrace, so that his back was half pressed to Sam's front. “Because right now I think you definitely count as a friend in need. We gonna do this?”
Steve's hand drifted to the fly of his jeans. “If you're up for it. But hands only.”
“Dude, hands were the only thing on offer. I might have been looking at your ass the other day, but right now it is like six counseling certifications above my pay grade.”
“Good to know. But it's not you I'm worried about.” Steve squirmed, looking more acutely embarrassed than Sam had seen him throughout this whole ordeal. He was sweating so hard his hair had gone dark at the roots. “This drug. It doesn't just kick your libido into high gear, it makes you really, really want to get fucked. I've been resisting it. Really hard, for a really long time. I don't know what kind of stupid crap will come out of my mouth once I let loose, but I can guess, and I want you to promise not to listen to me. Hands only. No matter what I ask you to do.”