Trash Party Dumpster #1

[trashmod]

(Will be continued in a Dumpster #2 post if by some unholy hell-miracle this post hits the 5000-comment limit.)

Filthy anon dumpster for sad hobos to fling moldy pizza crusts, raccoon eye makeup tips, and garbage about their sad trash kinks at each other.

AKA the Hydra Trash Party kinkmeme. One hundred percent Hydra Party Favor Bucky Barnes, Is It Sexy Violence Or Violent Sex?, and Bad Guys Do Bad Things To Your Faves: Winter Soldier Edition. BLANKET NON-CON/DUB-CON WARNING, not safe for work, not safe for life, not safe for anyone, read at your own risk of becoming one of us.

Rules in brief: don't be a jerk except to fictional characters, warnings for particularly fucked-up garbage are nice but not required, thou shalt not judge the trashiness of thy neighbor's kinks unless thy neighbor is trying to pass off their rotting banana peels and half-eaten pizza crusts as a healthy romantic dinner for two, off-topic comments may be chucked out of the dumpster at management's discretion, management's discretion decrees that omegaverse, soulbond AUs, D/s-verse, non-superpowered AUs, etc. are off-topic.

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GO TO TOWN, TRASHBABIES.

Unholy hell-miracle achieved! Round 1 is closed; comments and fills in existing threads are still welcome, but all new prompts go to Round 2.

Comments

FILL: Winter Soldier/Prisoner REVISED [1/2]

[(Anonymous)]

So this is like, from forever ago, but have a thing anyway! Also, I'm reposting the whole thing because I made some changes. Hope it's okay.

****

Rumlow shoved the bitch they picked up into the room, and didn’t bother stopping a smile when she stumbled and fell to her knees with a gasp of pain. He stepped aside to allow guards to file in after her, already hauling her shouting, flailing ass to the wall to chain her arms to the floor. He slammed the door shut behind their prisoner and turned to the Winter Soldier standing by his side, eyes forward, impassive as always behind the mask.

But he was shifting. It was slow, deliberate movement, but movement nonetheless. He rolled his shoulders once, lifting his chin before settling his gaze front and center again. Rumlow frowned at him.

Anyone else, and Rumlow would have ignored it. But the breathing weapon hardly blinked without first receiving authorization to do so, let alone exhibit something as banal as discomfort. He never even fucking scratched his nose. Rumlow cocked a brow at him and crossed his arms.

“Something wrong?”

Rumlow gave him a once over, at first assuming he may have been injured, which, considering he was his temporary handler for the forty-eight hour mission, meant it would be on his hide. But other than the blood that wasn't his own sticking in clotted clumps to his face and hair, streaking rivulets into the mesh of his mask, there was no sign of injury. Rumlow knew for a fact that blood came from the spurting artery of a slashed throat. He wondered if he could taste iron on his tongue

The Soldier said nothing to his question, eyes still forward. He rarely spoke outside of protocol, and only seemed to engage in any short conversation with Pierce. If it wasn't necessary, then he did not waste the breath.

Rumlow's mouth twitched regardless, but kept his cool. The asset was breathing a little hard, chest heaving faster behind the leather armor. Hell, Rumlow still felt the adrenaline burning through his veins from their hunt, and the screaming girl on the other side wasn't helping his case.

The mission was a success. Rumlow's team were called in as back up for the Soldier, a failsafe in-case their weapon had any obstacles. Honestly, they were the pick-up crew. The Soldier never needed any fucking help.

There were in a remote location in Montenegro, assigned to take down a convoy transporting a diplomat incompatible to Hydra's interests. The Soldier took each car down with the skill of an artist, and personally sliced the throat of the diplomat before sending the vehicle hurling to the rocks below the cliff side. An unfortunate accident in a country few other nations cared much about.

However, their intel had not told them about a second convoy, this one with the diplomat's daughter trailing ten minutes behind. Rumlow and his team had just come in to retrieve the asset when they rounded the corner, and a second blood bath began. Their asset handled it beautifully, but their team extracted extra baggage they hadn't prepared for, now chained up in one of their holding cells. With no orders to kill or question, Rumlow had her brought in, kicking and screaming until he received confirmation from Pierce. She would die anyway, but Rumlow knew better than to shoot without asking permission first.

Normally, the Soldier would have been taken immediately away to get cleaned, calibrated, and debriefed before his next mission or put on ice. But they had to wait for orders to come back from the States on what to do with the extra baggage. So Rumlow was ordered not to let the asset out of his sight, and to take care of any complications. The Soldier fidgeting and now, what the fuck, swallowing hard like his throat was sore certainly meant a complication.

“What, you getting sick or something?” Rumlow grabbed his arm to turn him. Big mistake.

Quick as a flash, the Soldier had him slammed up against the door, knife pressed tight against his throat and using every souped-up muscle of his modified body to keep him pinned from chest to knee. His eyes were on fire, pupils blown and flashing and Rumlow, as distinct as a punch in the gut, felt the thick line of the Soldier's erection ground up against his thigh.

Rumlow blinked. Back-pedaled, and tried to process that reeling thought.

Well, color him surprised.

But it made sense, oddly enough. God, even Rumlow's blood still burned hot from that mission. He often got that thrill from a job like this, burning heat and primal want through his gut. Sometimes he acted on it, sometimes he didn't. He'd learned how to ignore a hard-on and continue with his job.

It wasn't that much of a stretch to think their weapon would follow the same. He still had a dick and who the fuck knows when he last had a release. It wasn’t exactly mission protocol. Usually.

Rumlow jutted his chin up slightly, pulling the skin taught against that knife but holding his gaze on the Soldier.

“Easy there, soldier,” he breathed, lifting one hand up so the soldier could see it. “Stand down.”

Rumlow then slid his hand down, slowly so that his jugular would remain intact, over the asset’s chest and between their bodies. His brow furrowed, knife pressing up tighter, confusion making his eyes dart down and then back up to Rumlow. When Rumlow cupped his hand between the soldier’s legs, and ground his palm down, the asset's breath caught, his hold on the knife faltering enough to slip from his hands. It landed with an echoing clatter the same moment his hips jolted forward, seeking out more friction of Rumlow's hand.

He didn't give it though, just kept his hand there, and fought the urge to smile.

“That feels painful,” Rumlow said conversationally, as if his hand on their trigger's hard dick was the most natural thing in the world and there wasn’t a screaming bitch echoing out curses in the other room. Honestly? Rumlow had done weirder.

The asset relaxed with a slow, shaking breath, and choked back a groan when Rumlow pressed down again. He rocked up into his hand, and Rumlow held still, letting him grind against his palm until his hips started to stutter.

“Stop,” Rumlow commanded, adrenaline burning satisfaction up his spine when the soldier stilled immediately. Concrete screeched where metal fingers curled into a tight fist. He looked up at Rumlow with icy eyes, and Rumlow shivered at the control he had over Winter.

Rumlow pushed at his shoulder and the soldier immediately stepped away. Rumlow gave a cursory glance down to the hard ridge tenting the asset's uniform, already leaking come at the tip to make the darker patch in his already pitch black pants. Oh, this was just too good.

“Tell you what,” Rumlow said, and the asset tilted his head, icy eyes unblinking but intent. Rumlow grinned, “Since you did such a fine job today, how about I let you blow off some steam?”

The asset just stared at him with those damn unblinking eyes, waiting for more, expectant for a protocol. Jeez, did he even know how to use his dick?

“What are my orders?” The asset asked, and nearly threw Rumlow for a loop. It took him all of three seconds to gather himself, arms crossing as he nodded to the Soldier, and more importantly, that persistent problem not flagging in the slightest.

“Orders? Shit. Alright. You get to fuck our prisoner. Make her scream real nice and good. My treat to you.”

The asset studied him for a solid ten seconds, before dragging his eyes to the door. Rumlow swore the corner of his eye crinkled in a smile. It was gone in a flash though, face as impassive as before under that mask.

Just when Rumlow thought he would have to explain what fucking was, the Soldier spoke again.

“Understood.”

Rumlow grinned as he pushed open the door, and held out his hand in gesture for the asset to walk in.

“Take all the time you need.”

Their prisoner was sitting on her ass, her shouting paused when the door started to open. She was a pretty little thing, honestly. Her curly hair had ripped it out its ponytail now, sticking to her face from her sweat and tears. When Rumlow and the soldier walked in the bitch rolled up to her knees and lifted her head to glare daggers at them with those sweet chestnut eyes. Rumlow just smiled, and the soldier said nothing, impassive as always but Rumlow could almost feel him standing on his toes, ready for the order to start.

The moment she saw the soldier walk in her eye’s widened. She scrambled back against the wall, as far away from him as possible and started stammering and sputtering in her own language, shaking her head and screaming something about the devil. She finally wailed out in English, “K-keep it away from me!”

Rumlow was having a really good day here. He stalked up to her and wrenched her away from the wall by the chains on her wrists, making her skid across the concrete and shred the skin on her knees.

“You’re not in a place to be barking orders, baby.” Rumlow grinned at her. She tried to back away again but Rumlow merely yanked the chain back to him, and grabbed her face by the jaw and squeezed.

“You’re a cute one.” He said then, and the girl spat, narrowly missing his face when Rumlow reared back.

“They'll find me. You're screwed,” the bitch snapped, even as she flinched when Rumlow dropped to his haunches next to her, hand still wrapped tight around one chain.

Rumlow clicked his tongue and grabbed her by her neck, hauling her up and squeezing until she whimpered and clawed uselessly at his hand.

“I'd be more worried about yourself, doll face,” Rumlow cooed, and then smacked her hard, letting her go so she would collapse back to the ground. She yelped from the pain of the concrete but braced herself against the ground, throwing up another enraged glare. Rumlow watched a thin rivulet of blood stream from her temple. He felt his dick throb.

Rumlow didn’t bother with any more formalities. He was practically shaking from how much he wanted to break this bitch in himself, but he took in a slow breath. It would be worth it so much more if he let the “devil” take the reins.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t help.