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.

Organization: hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive maintained by greenkirtle. If you fill a prompt, drop a link at the fill post. Discussion threads now have a chatter post.

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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: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 8/?

[(Anonymous)]

(I... I feel like I should apologize or something for luring people in with Steve/Bucky feelings when the rest of this is nothing but irredeemable filth. Sorry for the bait and switch, folks, we will be back to feelings shortly, in the meantime plz accept this offering of as many nasty garbage kinks as I can fit into one gangbang.)

Higgins had his knife back out. The long red lines from where he'd cut Rogers' clothing off had long since scabbed over, so he was busy carving newer, deeper ones. When Rumlow looked down from his little standoff with the lab tech, he couldn't help laughing, because the words 'HYDRA FUCK TOY' were carved fresh and bleeding into Rogers' chest.

“Who gets to nail him next?”

“Blackwell, you wanna enjoy the fruits of your labor?”

“Don't have to ask me twice.” Blackwell really had to force it in. Rogers was already wound up pretty tight from the pain, and he groaned and tensed up even further at the feeling of yet another cock getting shoved into his abused ass. The letters on his chest rippled whenever he flexed his pecs.

Higgins was hard at work on Rogers' thighs, and Rumlow couldn't resist going over to take a look at his handiwork. There was a dripping-red 'HAIL HYDRA' in big angular letters on the back of Rogers' right thigh, and on the left, Higgins was midway through an inscription that Rumlow was pretty sure would eventually say '|||| MORE SHALL TAKE ITS PLACE.'

“Tally marks?” Rumlow snorted. “You sick fucks.”

“No, what's sick is that he's leaving an extra blank line for them just in case.”

“No, what's really sick is that he's counting Stern. Poor bastard's still out cold.”

“You gonna do another one for his mouth?” asked Rumlow.

Higgins' grin was savage. “Don't see why not.”

Just then, the kid in the lab coat finished down Rogers' throat with a gasp. Shit stamina, but Rumlow envied him anyway—he'd probably be back up and ready to go again in no time. “Tell your friends to come join the party,” he said as he back-thumped the little squirt right out the cell door.

Harris had already abandoned his restraint-holding duties to Rollins and Anderson and knelt over Rogers' face. Before he shoved in, he slapped him a few times—open palm on one cheek, backhand cracking across the other. “Lab boy didn't want to look at you getting your face fucked,” he growled. “I got no such problem.” Instead of grinding down, he kept his dick in one place and grabbed Rogers by the hair, pulling his head forward and working it back and forth. As face-fucking went, it was pretty brutal. Rogers, who'd long since gone kind of zen about deep-throating anything they stuck in his mouth, started choking a couple minutes into it. With his face tilted forward not all the spit made it to the back of his throat, and before long he was drooling uncontrollably. Harris periodically pulled out to slap him around the face some more, and he kept up a steady stream of invective the whole time—called Rogers cocksucker, greedy little slut, pumped-up twink bitch, nothing but a warm hole, filthy cum dumpster. Rogers mostly just braced himself against the onslaught, but Rumlow could've fucking sworn he saw him roll his eyes at the last one, even if it was followed by a fit of choking and coughing.

Harris didn't last long. Too intense for his own good once he got going. When he finished, he took Anderson's advice and went for the hair, working it in with his fingers as he came in messy spurts.

Higgins, meanwhile, had sliced another set of tally marks just below Rogers' left collarbone, next to an arrow pointing in the general direction of his mouth. Harris grabbed the knife off him and added the diagonal fifth tick himself. “You want him next?” he asked.

“Sure, why not,” said Higgins. “Was waiting for a shot at his ass, but Blackwell is taking his sweet time.”

“Damn right I am, now that he's finally opened up enough to fuck him properly.”

“You mean he's gonna be loose and leaking jizz by the time you're through with him.”

Anderson laughed. “I'd pay to see that.”

“I'll see what I can do, sweetheart.”

Higgins was grunting and straining, trying to force his way into Rogers' mouth, but the gag wasn't wide enough. His dick wasn't anything to write home about in terms of length, but damn was it thick. “Give it up, man,” said Rollins, “you want to end up with the world's most awkward cock ring? Just sit back and wait for Blackwell to be--”

“Done,” said Blackwell, and pulled out with a sigh. “Aw, seriously? How's he holding it all in? You'd think it would be dripping out his ass by now.”

“Come on, Rogers, push it out.” Anderson slapped his ass right below the bleeding 'HAIL HYDRA.' “Let us see.”

“Yeah, if you're a good little slut for us we might even take the gag out.”

Rumlow rolled his eyes. “I can practically see him clenching up from over here. That's not the way to get what you want from a stubborn bastard like him, you jackasses.”

“Good,” said Higgins, dropping down to take up position at Rogers' ass. “Keep him gagged until he's so fucked-out and full of come he can't hold it in anymore. Fun little game for him, more time for these guys to have fun with his mouth.” He jerked his head towards the cell door, where the rest of the lab techs were lurking. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he hollered. One of them scurried forward and immediately got busy. Higgins turned back to the task at hand; his cock looked ludicrous lined up with Rogers' hole, like it couldn't possibly fit.

“You're gonna fuckin' destroy him, man,” said Harris with poorly-disguised awe.

“Yeah, but that's not the impressive part.” Higgins slipped a finger inside Rogers and felt around until he found something that made him twitch and moan. “The impressive part is I'm gonna make him like it.” He slicked his hand in some of the come plastered all over Rogers' body and started jerking him off, slow and deliberate, until he'd wrung another climax out of him, then just as Rogers slumped and went boneless he pushed the head of his cock inside. It was mesmerizing, watching Rogers' asshole stretch and eventually swallow up an intrusion it should never have been able to accommodate. There was a choked-off cry from up where the head technician was having his way with Rogers' mouth, redoubled when Higgins kept on stroking at his oversensitive cock. “Hurts, doesn't it?” said Higgins. “But it hurts so good.” He angled his hips to thrust at whatever he'd found with his finger, and Rogers started shaking and didn't stop.

Higgins worked him methodically, following each thrust with a long, slow tug upwards on Rogers' dick. A few drops of fluid leaked from the tip at every stroke. At first Rumlow thought he was making him come over and over again, spent little mini-climaxes like the one that had seized him when he'd had his balls shocked, but the shaking and whimpering didn't wax and wane with the rhythm of the fucking. Instead it was more like Higgins was pumping the semen out of him by force, a little bit at a time, and Rogers was just along for the ride in a state of continuous overload.

Rumlow would've happily listened to him make those pathetic little broken noises for hours, but Higgins' patience wasn't infinite. After a while his own pleasure won out, and although he kept on aiming for the sweet spot that made Rogers totally lose it, he started slamming into it roughly, making Rogers grunt and flinch instead of arching involuntarily into the thrusts. But just to rub it in how thoroughly he'd reduced Rogers to his own personal desperate cockslut, he started jerking him off again at the height of the ass-reaming and within thirty seconds he had him shooting off all over his own abs. Rogers' moan was so drawn-out and obscene that the guy fucking his mouth succumbed to the vibrations almost instantly and went still. Higgins lasted a couple minutes longer, pounding into him through the aftershocks, before burying himself to the balls and groaning his release.

When he pulled out, Rogers' ass was red and gaping. “Feast your faggot eyes, Anderson,” said Higgins as an errant muscle twitch sent a mess of bloodied come trickling out his hole.

“I'll do better than that,” Anderson said, and whipped out his phone to snap a picture of the whole lurid tableau: Steve Rogers with his legs bent back and his assets on full display, asshole loose and dripping, cock still hard, mouth stretched wide by the spider gag, tally marks and obscenities cut into his flesh, semen everywhere like runny icing—his ass, his stomach and chest, face covered so thickly he was almost unrecognizable, hell, even his hair was spiky with it. His eyes were closed and he looked dead to the world, except that when Anderson reached in to squeeze his balls he still, despite everything, arched up into the touch. “Christ, he's insatiable. Somebody get the gag off, I want to hear him beg for it.”

Rumlow did the honors. He kind of wondered what the hell Rogers could possibly have to say to them now, if he was even coherent enough to form words.

Once the gag was off, Rogers cracked his jaw, rolled it from side to side a few times, and spat on the nearest available target, which was Rumlow's boot.

Rumlow kicked him in the teeth. “Clean that up.”

Rogers closed his mouth and said nothing.

He stepped on Rogers' face to force him to keep his head turned to the side, leaving a dirty bootprint in the mess of tears and come that was already caking his cheek. “I said, clean it up,” he ordered, and when Rogers still didn't react he grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head into place. He smashed those obstinately-closed lips against the gob of thick whitish spit on the toe of his boot, and smeared it around like he was shining his own shoes and Rogers' face was the brush.

Anderson grabbed Rogers' dick and started stroking, trying to wring a better reaction out of him. A shudder ran through Rogers' body and he made a funny noise through his nose, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Did you want something, Cap?” Anderson leered. “It's okay, come on, tell me. We all saw how desperate you are. Bet you're feeling pretty empty with nothing in your ass.”

Silence.

“I can feel you trying to fuck yourself on me, you eager little slut,” said Anderson, rubbing the head of his erection around the rim of Rogers' hole and pulling back whenever Rogers' hips twitched forward. “Just say it. Tell me where you want me to put my dick.”

Rogers coughed. His voice was gravelly with disuse and abuse. “A meat grinder would make a good start,” he said.

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 8/?

[(Anonymous)]

OP

oh my god this is everything i've ever wanted

the tally marks jesus christ and the stun batons and name-calling and nasty comeplay and overstimulation and the unasked-for but deeply appreciated boot!kink bonus

and Steve, i love that he has had exactly one line in the last however many thousand words and it makes you want to airpunch and cheerlead for him

i'm dead, bury me in this landfill so i can roll around in gangbang garbage for all eternity

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 8/?

[(Anonymous)]

Hooray, so glad it's what you wanted out of this prompt! And glad the unsolicited boot!kink did it for you.

-a!a

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 8/?

[(Anonymous)]

So, this might seem like a weird thing to zero in on for a fill overflowing with this much hot trash, but I am actually loving all the sneaky little mixups of scenes from canon? The Winter Soldier taking Rumlow's place as the one glancing back while he and Pierce walk away and leave someone to get tortured, the evil reversal of the tech caught between Rumlow and Captain America's appeal to his better nature, the persistence of "but I knew him." Plus all the fucked-up triangulation shit like "good right-hand men are hard to come by" and Pierce keeping Bucky all Winter-Soldier-ified by literally blocking and replacing his view of Steve. Fucked. Up.

The trash is hot too, but the little authorial flourishes creeping into all the straight-up porn are making me grin and go "i c what u did thar."

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 8/?

[(Anonymous)]

*snuggles this comment* Thank you! "i c what u did thar" is the feedback that every author secretly longs for, and yes, I got totally carried away entertaining myself with twists on canon the entire time Pierce was onscreen. He's such a fun villain to write.

-a!a

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 8/?

[(Anonymous)]

This fill continues to be glorious. It's like one stop shopping where I can get all the trash on my shopping list done in a single trip bless u for this masterpiece

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 8/?

[(Anonymous)]

Thanks! It's been fun seeing how many kinds of trash I could cram into this monstrosity.

FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 9/?

[(Anonymous)]

“You just don't quit, do you?” said Anderson, disgusted, and shoved his cock into Rogers like a reprimand. “Still trying to pretend you don't want it.”

“No, I don't.”

“Quit, or want it?”

“Got it in one.”

Rumlow swore under his breath. He'd underestimated Rogers. They all had. He'd been judging the whole thing too much on Rogers crying and losing control of his body as the Winter Soldier defiled him, on his screams when he was tasered and the pathetic whimpering noises that had torn their way out of his throat when Higgins had been at work on him. Maybe Anderson was the only one dumb enough to think he was really broken enough to beg, but Rumlow should've been paying more attention to his endless, endless fucking resistance and all the signs that he was still lucid. Not the torch he was carrying for Barnes or the stupid shit his body did when he lost a battle for control.

Not that the stupid shit wasn't entertaining. But evidently it didn't strike enough nerves to wear Rogers down, and they'd all been a pack of idiots to think you could wear a guy like Rogers down by brute force rather than by finding his buttons and pushing them for all you were worth.

Now, the STRIKE team was mostly muscle. Well-trained and combat-sharp muscle, but not very well equipped to be smart about figuring out which buttons to push. But lucky for them, they'd been working with Rogers for months now. Rumlow had a pretty good idea of where to start poking.

“We still gonna chain him up when we're done and leave him out for anyone to have a turn?” he said conversationally to nobody in particular. “Sounds like a good eye-opener for you, Cap, lots of familiar faces. You'll get to see how many of us you've been working with all along.”

Silence except for Anderson's heavy breathing as he pounded Rogers' ass.

“Hey, didn't that Milstein kid get assigned to this facility? You stood up for him against Fury once, didn't you, when he got creative with his orders and took the chopper in to extract Blackwell. Course, Blackwell only got himself left behind so he could pick up coolant for the cryo tank off the books. Wouldn't want the Winter Soldier thawing out before we needed him. But we appreciated the good word you put in. Be sure and say hi to Milstein if he drops in to get his rocks off.”

A muscle twitched in Rogers' jaw. “Knock it off, Rumlow, you're trying too hard.”

“Hit hard or go home, buddy.” Rumlow grinned. “I'm surprised you didn't start asking about the assassin the instant we took the gag off. Hell of a looker, isn't he? And the impression he made on you. You looked like you'd seen a ghost.”

Rogers didn't even react when Anderson slipped a finger in alongside his dick just to see if he could, but hell of a looker made him tense up all over. Carrying a torch? Wondering who else in Hydra had noticed Barnes' good looks? Both? In any case, his mouth compressed into a tight line and he sounded legitimately pissed off when he got himself under control enough to say, “You know, that's the problem with you guys. You should never have let the two of them go first. After that, the rest of you scumbags are just a bunch of stinging gnats.”

Anderson took the opportunity to wedge two more fingers in and hiss, “Does that sting, you son of a bitch?” Rogers didn't even dignify that with a shrug. “He's mouthing off too much, I think it's time for another shot.”

Rumlow was inclined to agree when Rogers looked down at the needle going into his leg and let out an exasperated oh here we go again sigh. Less than a minute later he was flushed and panting, grinding down onto Anderson's cock and fingers combined, but it still left a sour taste in Rumlow's mouth. “You should've seen us testing this shit,” he said viciously. “We never did get the dosage to play nice with the super-serum enhancement, but it wasn't for lack of trying. The number of times I asked myself what my life had turned into, that the Winter fucking Soldier was begging for my dick...”

Ah, there it was. Rumlow didn't think he'd ever seen someone reach orgasm by sheer force of rage before.

Rogers carried Anderson over the edge with him, but Anderson kept his fingers in after he'd pulled out, and added a fourth with no trouble whatsoever. “You think it'd count as two ticks if I can get my whole hand in him afterwards?” he said as he gouged his contribution to the tally marks into Rogers' thigh. Rogers' cock gave a satisfying jerk at the prospect.

“Try it,” said Harris. “Worst that can happen is you rip him up more than we already have.”

He didn't look all that ripped up, actually. There was no fresh blood on Anderson's hand even as he twisted his fingers back and forth and plunged them in almost to the last knuckle. Soft tissue and accelerated healing—it explained a lot, once you thought about it, about why Rogers was still coherent, why he kept getting off over and over again no matter what they did to him, why the pain wasn't bad enough to cut through even the effects of the drugs, why they hadn't managed to damn well fucking rape him to death. The injuries healed over and the muscle memory of getting stretched open stuck around. He might as well have been a virgin when Rumlow took him, and now look at him, gritting his teeth to keep from fucking himself on Anderson's fist.

Anderson had his knuckles in now and his thumb tucked into his palm, and the others were cheering him on as he worked on getting the widest part of his hand inside. Rogers kept forgetting to breathe, and when he did it was in huge desperate gasps. Suddenly he gave a shout of pain, the torrent of filthy encouragement swelled, and when Rumlow looked down he saw Anderson's wrist disappearing into Rogers' ass and Rogers coming without so much as a hand on his cock.

His phone dinged. It was a text from Pierce: 'Playtime's over.'

“All right, guys,” said Rumlow, “it's been fun, but duty calls. Insight briefing in ten minutes. Clean up and clear out.”

It was a tribute to the kind of loyalty Hydra inspired that nobody even grumbled.

Rollins jerked his head towards the super-soldier-shaped mess on the floor, who was moaning as Anderson extracted his fist. “What do we do with him? We still gonna leave him out as a fuck toy?”

“Might do him good,” said Higgins, “maybe he'll be more willing to beg for it when he has to wait for new customers to drop by.”

Rumlow sighed. It would be safest just to shoot him, but the idea of leaving Captain America trussed up for all of Hydra to use sure was appealing. And the lab techs had been waiting so patiently for their turn. “Three minutes. If you can secure him, you can leave him.”

Two minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, Steve Rogers, his hands and feet still locked in the spreader bar, was turned around so his ass pressed right up against the bars of the cell and anyone who wanted to could fuck him from outside. The restraints were secured to one of the horizontal bars of the cell with a sturdy length of chain wound around them both. When Rumlow left, one of the lab techs was already unzipping his fly.

He flashed Rogers a final cocky grin on his way out. “See you soon, I hope. Hey, maybe I'll bring your friend the assassin back for another round. Nothing like a familiar face.”

FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 10/?

[(Anonymous)]

(AND THAT'S ALL FOLKS except wait I promised a rescue and some h/c sex pollen dubcon. If you're just here for the gangbang and have no interest in getting Steve to a hot shower, wrapping him in blankets, feeding him soup, and angsting over emotionally-fraught handjobs, then you can safely stop reading here.)

Sam never signed up for this.

He was supposed to be firepower and air support. Those jobs he was good at, those jobs he'd done a thousand times. This, though? Jailbreaking Captain America from a beyond-top-secret bunker underneath Rock Creek Park? Infiltrating a vast Neo-Nazi conspiracy reaching to the highest levels of government? Passing himself off as the asshole who took them all into custody after the freeway shootout, using a fake face Cap's superspy friend got off the not-so-assassinated head honcho of freakin' SHIELD? Sam was a soldier—kind of an unusual soldier, but he'd never been good at all this spook shit. He was going to fuck this up.

On the other hand, he got to rescue Captain America and infiltrate a vast conspiracy wearing a fake face. Spook shit was cool.

Natasha was the one who should've been handling this, but they didn't even know any female SHIELD agents who were unquestionably Hydra, let alone ones they had enough footage of to program the photostatic veil and voice modulator. This Brock Rumlow dude had done enough training videos that the facial recognition software had something to work with. Sam was going to have to go in in full uniform and gloves, but he figured he would've had to do that no matter what if he wanted to stay inconspicuous. Not a lot of black guys signing up for vast Neo-Nazi conspiracies.

What he realized from the moment he entered the bunker, the thing that was maybe going to make this entire crazy rescue possible, was that everyone was scared shitless of Rumlow. The security desk didn't even ask for ID. People walked faster to avoid him. Nobody asked him his business, not even when he rode their coattails through doorways to get around the biometric access controls. All he had to do was stride around looking purposeful and glare at anyone who looked too long. He should've figured it was too easy.

When he saw the first 'Steve Rogers, this way' sign taped to the wall, handwritten on printer paper and complete with an arrow pointing to the right, it crashed down on him that the whole thing was undoubtedly a trap.

He stared at it for so long that someone actually approached him, tentatively, to ask, “Sir, is there a problem?”

Sam made himself breathe. Just because it was a trap didn't mean they knew he was here yet. Least he could do was bluster his way out of this one. “Who the hell put this up here?” he snapped.

“Um, Karsh, sir, he just figured—since anyone can—okay! Okay, we'll take it down.”

Sam ripped the sign down, crumpled it in his fist, and handed it to her slowly. He almost felt bad about how terrified she looked before he remembered that everyone in the bunker was Hydra. “No more security breaches,” he said, and headed down the hallway to his right, so paranoid he felt like he was going to jump out of his skin at any second. Since anyone can what? he wondered, and chewed on that until he hit the second handwritten sign. This one had an arrow on it, too, and said 'Want a turn with Captain America?' His gut went leaden.

He hadn't even entertained the possibility that it might be worse than a trap.

He was bracing himself for some fucked-up torture shit when he hit the laboratories and heard a muffled cry of pain from beyond one of the open doors. Nothing could have prepared him for what he actually found.

There was just one guy. One guy in there with Steve. One paunchy middle-aged office worker in slacks and a collared shirt, kneeling outside the cell that took up half the room, and... well, it was pretty obvious what he was doing, but something in Sam's brain locked up and refused to accept it until he'd burst in and was standing five feet away from the guy and had the whole atrocity laid out in front of him. Even then, it was really hard to convince himself that was Steve lying there covered in blood and spunk until Steve's voice, cracked and hoarse but familiar, spoke right past the guy fucking raping him oh god like he wasn't even there and addressed Sam, radiating scorn.

“What's the matter, Rumlow? Is it harder when you don't have any friends around to impress?”

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 10/?

[(Anonymous)]

This is the most glorious trash! It is a shining, stinking, pulsating sand castle of rotten garbage. It gets better ever time.

Breaking from my usual style of trash commenting - holy hell, Steve being unbroken still and still being a defiant, awesome motherfucker is the best. You snuck some A+ characterization into this fic, a!a.

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 10/?

[(Anonymous)]

ooh yeah i totally agree- author's characterisation of Steve is perfect! As lovely as broken & begging can be, this just...fits Steve so well, I'm glad!

(also poor Sam, he is pretty put-together but he's gonna have a tough time helping Steve through the aftermath of this...)

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 10/?

[(Anonymous)]

Heh, some people get off on broken and begging, I get off on mouthy and defiant till the end. It's a convenient kink to have if you're writing Steve!

(h/c aftermath: the part where NOBODY IS OKAY AND EVERYTHING HURTS.)

-a!a

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 10/?

[(Anonymous)]

BLESS THAT KINK! (and bless your contribution to the trash pile)

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 10/?

[(Anonymous)]

Thank you!

Stoic, defiant, not-going-to-let-these-assholes-see-him-break Steve is my #1 bulletproof kink in this fandom, it's just lucky for me that I also get to pass it off as characterization porn.

-a!a

FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 11/?

[(Anonymous)]

Sam narrowly avoided throwing up. He thumbed the switch on the fake face, damn the consequences, damn the spy shit; all he knew was that he couldn't exist for one more second in Brock Rumlow's skin. The miserable sack of shit on his knees in front of the bars looked over and his eyes bulged ludicrously. That was all the reaction he got before Sam, cool and deliberate but somehow almost watching himself from somewhere outside his body, unholstered his sidearm and shot the man between the eyes.

The silence rang louder than the gunshot.

Then Sam rushed over to Steve, ready to shoot the lock out of the cell door, ready to wreak whatever destruction he had to to get him free. But the door swung open under his hand, and there was the key to the restraints, clipped to one of the horizontal bars at head height. Jesus. He started fumbling the padlocks open, hoping to hell he could get Steve free before somebody sounded the alarm.

“Sam...?” said Steve unsteadily. “Oh no. Oh, God, no, Sam, not you too.”

Sam wrenched the first ankle cuff open and felt his stomach turn over. “Steve, man, it's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm here to get you out of here.”

A faint laugh from behind him as he kept wrestling with the locks. “...Right. Sam. Oh man. Listen, either things just got really weird, or I'm in some kind of shock. You can give me shit for it later, okay?”

“No, trust me, things are pretty weird.” There were the wrists free, and now it was just one ankle holding Steve to the bars. Sam's hand was shaking.

“Sorry to freak you out, I thought...” murmured Steve, mostly to himself. “I don't know what I thought. That they did something to your head. Were going to make you...”

The lock clicked open, and Steve was free. The first thing he did was draw himself up to a sitting position, leaning heavily back on his hands. Sam crouched down beside him. Steve glanced down at his own body, taking in the whole mess, and his lips twisted ruefully before he looked over at Sam. “Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey, man,” said Sam, and tried to smile.

“You mentioned a rescue.”

“Yeah, let's get you out of here, looks like the hospitality stinks.” He slung one of Steve's arms around his shoulders and helped him carefully to his feet. Steve seemed pretty with it, considering... well, everything, but especially the fact that he'd just seen one of the apparent orchestrators of this travesty walk into the room, switch his face off, and turn into Sam. Sam was about to conclude that he was just disoriented, not out of his head with shock, when Steve grabbed him by the collar like he'd just remembered something incredibly important.

“Bucky,” he said, and Sam tried not to let his heart sink.

“Sorry. Not Bucky,” he said as he helped Steve out of the cell. “21st century, remember? Not the war. You're not in the war anymore. Now come on, let's...”

“No, the assassin. The Winter Soldier. It's Bucky. They've got him, and I have to...”

An alarm went off down the hall, and Sam swore and activated the little transponder that would signal their ride to come get them. “Dude, right now the best thing you can do for him is get the hell out of here and regroup. You know where your clothes are?”

“In pieces on the floor.”

Both of them looked at the dead man. Steve looked at Sam, wrinkling his nose. Sam looked at Steve and shrugged helplessly. “Sorry. I didn't bring extras.”

-

Backup got there just as things were starting to get exciting. There was a gunshot that didn't come from behind them, a scream and a thump as one of their pursuers went down, and then Natasha emerged from around the corner and shouted, “Catch!”

It was a pair of gas masks. Sam tossed one to Steve and awkwardly tried to pull his on as he ran; Steve took his arm off Sam's shoulder so he could get his on quicker, which halved their pace but probably spared them an even more unpleasant ending to the afternoon, because they didn't even have them fully on when the tear gas canisters started whizzing by.

They rounded the corner and ran into Maria Hill, who was pulling more gas canisters off her belt as Natasha provided covering fire. Sam couldn't see their faces under the masks, but he could've sworn that when Natasha glanced over at them her posture shifted slightly at the sight of Steve. He was in more-or-less clean clothes and they'd wiped the worst off him, but Natasha wasn't stupid, and putting herself in the hands of people who wanted to humiliate her was apparently one of her specialties. If she knew enough to manipulate them, she probably knew...

Enough not to comment on Steve's condition or the fact that he was staggering along with his arm around Sam's shoulders again. All she said was, “Here, present for you,” and she grabbed Steve's shield where it was leaning against the wall and tossed it to him.

A little bit of the slump went out of Steve's shoulders when he strapped it onto his arm. “That stuff lethal?” he asked Hill as they all started running down the corridor.

“Not unless you use more than we've got.”

“Use all of it.”

Hill was already turning to fire another canister behind them as they ran. “Steve, what the hell was going on in there?”

“Trust me,” Sam broke in during the long awkward pause, figuring Steve could use someone to run interference on this one, “you do not wanna know.”

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 11/?

[(Anonymous)]

oh god he thought they brainwashed Sam I'm gonna die

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 11/?

[(Anonymous)]

brb prompting this

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 11/?

[(Anonymous)]

Yeah, after Bucky, and the endless parade of betrayals from people he trusted who turned out to be Hydra, I figured the logical interpretation of Sam turning up unannounced in a STRIKE uniform would not be "rescue." :(

-a!a

FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 12/?

[(Anonymous)]

None of them said much else until they were out and safely back in the van, Natasha behind the wheel. As soon as they were seated, Hill stripped off her gas mask and said, “If either of you need to get to medical—oh my God, it smells like a peep show booth in here.”

Sam shrugged. “I told you you didn't want to know.”

For a second Hill looked sick, but she took a deep breath and snapped into brisk efficiency faster than Sam would've thought possible. “Right. Medical it is. We--”

“Like hell,” said Steve. He stripped off his own gas mask. Underneath, he was pale and he looked kind of like he wanted to shudder right out of his own skin, but brisk efficiency was a language he could speak even when the rest of the world was coming apart around his ears. “I don't need it. All the physical damage is stuff that'll heal on its own by tomorrow morning.”

“Steve, Insight goes up tomorrow morning.”

“I know. Which is why we need to spend our time tonight coming up with a plan. Especially because... look, there's stuff we didn't know that we have to take into account now. Someone we all thought was dead.”

“Funny,” said Natasha dryly without taking her eyes off the road, “I think Hill was trying to figure out how to tell you the same thing.”

-

Steve spent most of the car ride in silence, either trying to wrap his head around what had happened to him or just dragging himself slowly back to the land of the living. Back at Fury's hideaway, the whole group spent a few minutes exchanging just enough information to get everyone on the same page before Steve took off for the showers. “You guys probably don't want to spend an entire meeting having to smell me,” he said with a halfhearted parody of a grin. “Won't be long. If I'm not out in fifteen minutes, come haul me out.”

“You can take longer if you need to,” said Hill. “There's time.”

Steve shifted on his feet, visibly tempted and visibly fraying. He scratched a flake of nobody-wanted-to-know-what off the side of his face. “I, uh. No. No, it's all right, we've got business to get down to. Fifteen minutes.”

Sam was still only starting to learn Steve's particular dialect of 'feelings, what are feelings?' but he was pretty sure that translated to '...or else I may never want to come out.' Which no one would blame him for doing, but Sam also wasn't hypocrite enough to blame him for finding mission planning a more appealing prospect than standing around wallowing in his own misery indefinitely. “Fifteen minutes,” he said, “then I come by to make sure you haven't drowned.”

He gave it twenty before he knocked on the bathroom door. “Steve, you alive in there? I borrowed some clean clothes off Fury. Hope you look good in black.”

The water turned off inside. “Thanks,” Steve said through the door, sounding a lot more flat and subdued than the horrible false animation that had carried him through the first little group chat. “Just a minute. Don't come in, okay? Just hand 'em through the door.”

Sam did so, kind of relieved—for the sake of Steve's privacy? for the sake of his own squeamishness?—that he didn't have to look. He'd seen the bloody graffiti on Steve's body when he first rushed into the lab, but Steve had been kind of a mess all over and Sam hadn't stared long enough to make out what it said. He had the feeling he didn't want to know. He had the feeling Steve wouldn't want him to know.

“Sam?” came Steve's voice, quiet, just on the other side of the door.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for getting me out of there.”

Sam's throat constricted. “Good to have you back.”

Steve opened the door and stepped out. His skin was pink from hot water and vigorous scrubbing, and if his eyes were a little red-rimmed, it wasn't past the point of plausible deniability. Fury's old t-shirt and black jeans didn't fit him right; they weren't any more constricting than the two-sizes-too-small athletic shirt he'd been wearing when Sam first met him jogging on the Mall, three days and a lifetime ago, but now it felt wrong to look. He was walking funny. Whether it was down to his injuries, or having to move around in jeans that were too small around the hips and thighs, he moved like he was trying to hide an awkward...

...oh, shit, those jeans hid nothing.

“You need another couple minutes?” Sam asked. “We're still waiting on a pot of coffee before we start planning anything. It's going to be a long night.” It was the last thing would've expected to see, but dude, if the VA group sessions had taught him anything, it was that one person's counterintuitive was another person's most logical way to deal. If Steve had been in there jerking off to try to get the metaphorical bad taste out of his mouth, that was his goddamn business and the best thing Sam could do was try and give him a gracious way out to finish the job.

But Steve shook his head. “Nah, let's get cracking.”

All through the initial stages of the planning, Steve was fidgety and distracted. Too quiet, too, except when he was talking about Bucky Barnes. Even then, he went in stops and starts, letting loose floods of information only to pull back and start dancing around the details of how he knew things. “He was kept in cryo between missions, it's why he hasn't aged. They said he was given some version of the serum. Zola experimented on him during the war, that must've been what he was researching. Must've helped Bucky survive the fall.”

“And they just... told you all this?” said Fury dubiously.

“Why would they have been lying? They thought I was about to die. Why bother?”

“Why bother telling you?”

Steve clammed up.

It was Natasha who eventually said, “They were gloating. Weren't they.”

“Yeah,” Steve muttered.

“Okay. The details you've given us—the cryo, the serum—were they what was supposed to bother you? Could they have been made up to get under your skin?”

“No.” Steve took a deep breath and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “One of the... stories could have been a lie. I hope it was. But those things were just incidental details. Rumlow would have no reason to make them up.”

Natasha glanced sidelong at Fury. “If it were my interrogation, I'd take it.”

Not long after, they took a break for more coffee, since Steve was knocking it back at such an inhuman rate that there wasn't much left for anyone else. He looked like he could use a break and some fresh air, anyway. Sam didn't think it was particularly stifling inside, not enough for him to be sweating and tugging at his shirt collar like Steve was, but he'd already noticed that the safe house's resemblance to a bunker was putting him on edge. And he'd only spent half an hour, tops, getting in and out of that Hydra hellhole. He and Steve fell into step side by side and by unspoken agreement headed out to the causeway.

“You want me to see if Fury's got any camomile tea stashed away somewhere? Maybe some hot chocolate?” said Sam once they were out in the breeze. He nodded to the mug in Steve's hand, half-full of the burnt dregs from the bottom of the last pot of coffee. “You look pretty wired. I'm pretty wired, and I haven't even been trying to keep up with you.”

One of the corners of Steve's mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “This stuff's better comfort food than hot chocolate. It's almost as bad as Army coffee.” They both laughed at that, and Steve added, “Anyway, that's one of the side effects of the serum. Can't get drunk, can't get wired.”

“You are drugged, though, aren't you?” said a voice behind them. They turned around and saw Natasha leaning back against the closed door, her arms crossed.

Steve said nothing, so Natasha continued, “I don't know any interrogation drugs offhand that would get around the serum protection, but you've been showing symptoms ever since we got you out. Sweating, flushing, restlessness. Dilated pupils. And I've seen you run five miles without getting that out of breath. What did they give you, some kind of hallucinogen?”

“Why would they give me interrogation drugs?” Steve said, glaring at the ground. “It wasn't an interrogation.” He stretched his cramped posture out a little and leaned back against the causeway railing.

Sam didn't realize that was supposed to be an answer until he looked at him, really looked, and saw his silhouette from the side. With his legs uncrossed it was painfully obvious that he was still erect.

“Aphrodisiac,” Natasha said grimly, and Steve nodded.

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 12/?

[(Anonymous)]

*digs around in bag for appropriate trash offering, whispers "there's more. sweet Garbage Mod in heaven, there's more.."

*presents you with a wizened apple from the neighbor's tree, three twist ties, a handful of bottle caps, and a t-shirt used to clean up cat urine

Will this be posted to A03 when it is done? It is one of my favorite things in the trash heap!

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 12/?

[(Anonymous)]

Thank you! *solemnly accepts trash offerings*

Yes, it is totally going up on AO3 once it's done.

-a!a

FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 13/?

[(Anonymous)]

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.”

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 13/?

[(Anonymous)]

Oh, no. Oh, Nat. It is a testament to the trash heap that this coda appears sweet and fluffy and adorable.

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 10/?

[(Anonymous)]

Is it wrong that my only thought during that last part has been 'poor Sam, you sure never signed up to find out and deal with this'?. Because damn, spooky shit will never be fun for him ever again, will it?!

But seriously, anon, this entire fic has been brilliant in the most horrible ways so far, and as other nonnies already said, your characterization of Steve in particular is so, so good!

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 10/?

[(Anonymous)]

Yeaaah, I think Sam might be the best-qualified person to cope with getting Steve the fuck out of there, but it's still a hell of a thing to deal with. And after this he will most definitely be "more of a soldier than a spy."

Thanks! *hugs Steve and wraps him in blankets*

-a!a