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 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 13/?

[(Anonymous)]

Oh, Nat. :( I hesitated to include that, because fandom's got enough creepy over-focus on Super Sexy Spy Natasha's relationship with sexual manipulation and vulnerability, but it's the trash heap and I figure she's seen some shit in her time.

-a!a

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

[(Anonymous)]

"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.”

...Oh. I'm really looking forward to that, nonnie.

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

[(Anonymous)]

Thanks! I'll try to make it good.

-a!a

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

[(Anonymous)]

hnnnnnnng god i can't wait for the next part

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

[(Anonymous)]

OP

Mmmm, I was enjoying the sweet sweet hurt/comfort and then WHAM, that last paragraph. This is going to be really awful and really, incredibly hot, isn't it?

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

[(Anonymous)]

UGH THE END! (..this means Steve was feeling that the whole time and saying nothing??!!)

*gasps and throws you multiple sandwich shop loyalty cards to sandwich shops to which I feel exactly no loyalty

FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 14/?

[(Anonymous)]

Sam swallowed. Okay, it was officially time to start filing everything Steve told him under 'deal now, freak out later,' because if he thought too hard about any of this he was going to start puking or turn into a giant green rage monster, and neither would be any use to Steve right now. The giant green rage monster slot on Steve's team was already full anyway. "Well, I guess you did tell me it wasn't going to be pretty," he said. "Hands only. I promise. And whatever stupid crap you need to get out of your system, go ahead, I promise I won't pretend it's anything but the drugs talking." Whether he was going to be okay listening to Captain America recite all the humiliating bullshit he'd refused to say to the two-faced rapist psychopaths who'd drugged him was a different story, but that was what 'deal first, freak out later' was for. Captain America was Steve, and right now Steve needed his help.

Steve looked down at the ground, squaring his shoulders and straightening his posture in one last moment of self-possession. "Never thought you'd do otherwise." He took a deep breath. "Okay, let's go."

Sam tugged him backwards into the shadows where the causeway met the building. It was late evening, dusk drawing on to night, and no one in the woods would be able to see what they were up to back there even if they hadn't been in the middle of nowhere. Steve shot a questioning glance towards the door, but Sam shook his head. He didn't know if he could do this in the dank concrete claustrophobia of the building; better to stay out in the breeze, with the sky still faintly purple behind the silhouettes of the trees and the smell of earth and greenery in the air, than in anything that remniscient of a bunker.

It was a relief when Steve grabbed Sam's hand from where it was resting uncertainly on his hip and guided it forward to cup his straining erection through his jeans. Sam curled his fingers around it, and Steve threw his head back and moaned aloud. "Sorry," he said raggedly, "it's gonna be embarrassing noises from here on out. And the first round will be fast. It'll take at least two or three to ease it at all."

"How fast is fast?" said Sam, popping the button on Steve's jeans and unzipping his fly. With his other hand he started digging around in his pockets for that half-full travel pack of Kleenex that always seemed to be lurking at the bottom among the loose change and wadded-up receipts. He reached into Steve's pants to pull his cock out and Steve tensed all over. For a second Sam thought oh, shit, that's set something off, why the fuck did I ever think this was a good idea, and then—

"Really fast," Steve choked out, and came all over Sam's hand.

Sam couldn't help noticing that while he was extracting the tissues from his pocket and wiping his hand off, Steve didn't start going soft or even flag the slightest bit. "Potent stuff, huh?"

"Oh yeah.” Steve was slumped back against him, pinning him to the wall with his weight, but he didn't look sated at all. His mouth was hanging open and he was breathing harder than ever, and his hips kept twitching, eager little jerks upward into the empty air. “And they kept giving me more of it. They thought that since I kept telling them to go to hell instead of begging to be fucked, I couldn't possibly be as desperate for it as I was supposed to be."

"Were you?"

Steve grabbed Sam's hand impatiently and guided it back to his still-hard cock. "I was pretty desperate," he said, and ground his hips backward against Sam. "Still am." Sam started jerking him off, loose and easy, and Steve continued, “I know we said hands only, but even with everything that's happened, if you did me up the ass right now I'd enjoy it. How sick is that? I'm so sore it hurts to sit down, but the pain doesn't stop me from getting off on it. Sure didn't stop me at the time. And some of them were definitely out to make it hurt.”

“I'm sorry.” Sam pressed his face into the back of Steve's shoulder and tried to keep the rhythm of his hand steady. “You know you got nothing to be ashamed of, right? Sounds like you fought as hard as you could.”

Steve's Adam's apple worked up and down a few times, whether in pleasure or around a lump in his throat Sam wasn't sure. “I know. They wanted me to be. Been fighting that, too, trying to keep it straight in my head. Ashamed is only when you've got something to feel guilty about, but then there's that feeling when someone walks in on you naked. Sees something private, something that wasn't for them to see.” He bit his lip, breathing hard in time with the motion of Sam's hand, and Sam was pretty sure he could fill in the blanks: touches something that wasn't for them to touch, takes something that wasn't for them to take... “I'm not gonna be ashamed of what someone else did to me—not even the sick crap they put in my head, not when I fought it and kept control of myself. They could make me like it, but they couldn't make me like it, you know? But it's still a hell of an embarrassing impulse to have to fight.”

“I know. I know. You do what you want with it, okay? You want to run off your mouth now that we're alone, you do that, I'm not gonna judge you for what they put in your head. But you don't have to. If that's not for me to see.”

“Some of it's... pretty disturbing.” Which apparently also meant 'arousing,' because Steve arched up into Sam's hand and had to stifle a groan. “You might not want to hear it.”

“Try me.”

“Okay.” Steve turned his head away, hiding his face, but even in the dark Sam thought he could see the flush creeping down his neck. “I told you I'd enjoy it if you did me up the ass right now, but even without the agreement, you probably wouldn't want to. I did my best to clean off after we got back here, but I... had a lot of guys shoot off inside me. I'm still kind of messy with it. It's disgusting, and it's driving me crazy, because I can feel it and how slick it is and I can't stop thinking about how easy it would be for someone to slide something up there. How I wouldn't be able to stop it no matter how hard I clenched up.” A drop of precome beaded on the tip of his cock, and he moaned softly when Sam rubbed it around with his thumb.

“That's fucked-up.”

“Told you you didn't want to hear it.” Steve was outright grinding against Sam's crotch now, which at any other time would've given him an instantaneous awkward boner, but even if that was what Steve wanted there was no risk whatsoever of it happening now. Because that was fucked-up.

Sam tightened his grip a little and sped up to keep time with the rocking of Steve's hips. “I said it was fucked-up, I never said I didn't want to hear it. I'll tell you one thing, it's making me really look forward to kicking some Hydra ass tomorrow morning. I want to find all these sons of bitches and personally kick them in the balls.”

Steve laughed. It was a humorless, extremely unpleasant laugh, and he wasn't smiling. “Get in line.”

“I'll hand them over to you while they're still clutching their nuts and squealing, how about that?”

“Sounds great. But let's take care of those helicarriers before we go hunt down twenty different guys, okay?”

“Hang on, twenty?”

Steve's lip twisted. “Yeah. Give or take. Six in the mouth—they had a gag with some kind of metal ring to hold my jaw open. Would've bitten down otherwise.” He took in a few harsh breaths, lips parted, and grabbed Sam's hand to guide him into a firmer hold on his dick. “Up the ass... I lost track. A dozen tally marks on my leg when I washed off, but they might've undercounted. Five from the STRIKE team, three lab techs—there were half a dozen, I think, but one chickened out and a couple more just jerked off on my face—plus a handful of guys who just wandered by.”

“Tally marks.”

“Yeah.” Steve's breath hitched. “Thought you saw. Fuck—” He thrust into Sam's fist, eyes closed.

“I was trying really hard not to look.”

“Here.” He seized Sam's other hand and pushed it up under his shirt, skimming over his stomach and chest, to land just under his collarbone. Sam could feel a set of scabby cuts under his fingers. “Two sets,” he panted. “One here, one on the back of my leg. They took the gag off midway through, that's why there aren't as many up here. They tried to make a game out of it. Said they'd take the gag off once they'd—” He stiffened and gasped, and Sam didn't even realize it was because he'd brushed his pinky over Steve's nipple until Steve grabbed his hand and made him do it again. He let Sam play with his nipples for a minute, getting so worked up his chest heaved with every breath, but eventually he grimaced and steeled himself to finish the sentence, in phrases punctuated by shuddering gasps: “Once they'd fucked me... so open... I had their come... dripping out my ass. Figured I'd be... hah... ready to beg by then.” He smiled in grim triumph. “Stupid of them, really.”

Sam pressed his hand flat to Steve's chest, unable to say anything to that. There were more scabbed-over cuts there. He started tracing them with his finger, spelling out the letters. It said 'Hydra fuck toy.' Fucking hell.

“I mean, they got there. Didn't get me to beg... but they got there. Took 'em a while. And a guy with a dick like a... goddamn baseball bat. First few could barely get it in me. Like being ripped open, every... goddamn... time. Started out a virgin. Rumlow, he went first... well, second... first on the STRIKE team... what were his exact words? Oh yeah...” Steve's face screwed up in something that wanted to be a grin but came out looking like he was about to be sick, and he exhaled slowly as he came all over Sam's hand. When he caught his breath again, his voice was low and hoarse but even. “'Son of a bitch could squeeze blood from a stone,'” he said bitterly. He was still hard.

Sam focused on taking deep breaths as he wiped his hand off. He was going to kill someone. A lot of someones. The knowledge was clear and cold in his head. He was going to punch, stab, maim, shoot, he was going to squeeze blood from them all. But he had to put his rage away for tomorrow morning, because right now there was no one there but Steve. “I'm sorry, man, I know it's not fair to you,” he said, “but if I run into any of these assholes I don't know if I'll be able to keep them alive long enough to hand them over to you.”

Steve slumped back heavily into his arms. “I'd be the last to blame you.”

“Can I ask you something? Just so I know who to hit hardest?”

“Sure.”

“Who did go first?”

Steve's entire body went rigid.

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