hydratrashmeme | Trash Party Dumpster #1

Trash Party Dumpster #1

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

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

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

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

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GO TO TOWN, TRASHBABIES.

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

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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.”

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

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

"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.

Thanks! I'll try to make it good.

-a!a

hnnnnnnng god i can't wait for the next part

Thanks! It's in the works, want to make sure it lives up to its promise.

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?

Yay, glad you're liking the h/c! And I certainly hope the next part will be both awful and hot.

-a!a

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

Yuuuup. It's not the kind of thing you bring up in polite conversation, especially if you're Steve Rogers and think you can stoic your way through anything.

Thank you!

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.

!
!!!!!!!
with the tracing cuts and the talking and the platonic-not-platonic intimacy... <3

Thanks! ♥

-a!a

I don't even have the words for how good this is omg. This part was so hard to read, with Steve's quiet, dogged courage, refusing to let himself feel shame for what other people did to him and telling himself that he didn't let them break him... And yet he's still so painfully vulnerable right now, and you illustrated that perfectly; the stark contrast between how he is feeling and what his body is doing is so well done as you can hear the bitterness in his voice as he talks to Sam while his body betrays him in the most humiliating way. Sam handled it so tactfully and tenderly though ;_; I don't know if I'll be able to survive the next installment with the Big Bucky Reveal but I'll be waiting for it with baited breath.

Thank you! The Steve characterization in this installment--the fact that he's talking about his own vulnerability at all--was a gamble to try and write, and I'm glad you think it paid off. (If anyone asks, I will wave my magic wand and declare that it's drug-induced talkiness. Yuh-huh. Totally a thing.)

-a!a

A!A, I can't tell you how much I am enjoying this story. First, it was Steve characterization slipped in amongst the trash, and now Sam characterization! I love that nothing about this is ok, but he and Steve are 100% the solid dudes that they are.

My trash offering to you: a modernist sculpture made from torn bits of eggshell foam, a shattered plastic picture frame with the default black and white picture of a smiling couple still inside, and empty ice cream containers.

Thank you! Haven't written very much Sam before, so it's nice to hear that you like how he's turning out!

-a!a

Jesus christ. I don't usually go in for sex pollen stories but this shit is fucking amazing. All of the dirtybadwrong trash goodness and fuck

someone's getting a crown fashioned from beer bottle caps and soda tabs. and a throne of greasy pizza boxes.

Haha, thanks! "I don't usually like X but you've sold me" is one of my favorite things to hear. And sex pollen + dirtybadwrong "this is horrible I don't want to get off on it WHY AM I GETTING OFF ON IT" trash goodness is a lethal combination indeed.

-a!a

“Uh-oh. Does that mean I should skip the hitting and just shoot the bastard to make sure he's really dead?”

Steve shoved away from him and went to stand at the railing by his empty mug. The last ghosts of the evening light picked out his expression in faint, sparse lines: the jut of his jaw, the slash of a cheekbone, the angry slant of his brow. There was a faint tinkling noise, which Sam couldn't place until he padded up behind Steve and saw that Steve's hand was shaking around the mug handle, jittering it against the concrete.

Sam almost put a hand on Steve's shoulder and then thought better of it. Instead he stepped forward to stand next to him, giving him at least a foot of space between their bodies. “Never mind,” he said. “Forget I—”

“They made Bucky do it,” said Steve in a monotone.

Sam froze.

“Pierce made him do it. Twice. I didn't know who he was the first time. I hated him; I could've killed him. The second time, with the mask off...” Steve broke off, shuddering violently, his voice choked. Almost inaudibly, he said, “It was sick. And I couldn't even say his name.”

Sam edged closer and carefully slid an arm around Steve's waist. Steve barely reacted, lost in his own personal horror. “Did he resist?” asked Sam.

Steve closed his eyes and shook his head, then shrugged helplessly. “They brainwashed him. You should've seen the way Pierce talked to him, like a hypnotist. He didn't remember who he was, but he kept looking at me, like there was something on the tip of his tongue. He asked them who I was. Said there was something he was supposed to know that he'd forgotten.”

“I'm sorry.” Sam squeezed him gently around the waist, and Steve folded like a deck of cards and buried his face in Sam's neck. Sam brought his other arm up and wrapped Steve in a tight hug.

“He's still in there,” Steve said, muffled in Sam's shirt.

“If they got him to do that to you?” said Sam, hating himself for having to say it, knowing that if it were him in those shoes—if it were Riley come back from the dead—he wouldn't be able to hear it either. “I'm sorry, Steve, there might not be anything left to save.”

“No, I meant... okay, I meant that, too. He was trying to remember. If we could get him away from them... but what I meant was, they've still got him. He's still in there with those sick bastards. If they did all that to me, what have they been doing to him all this time?”

It was a rhetorical question that Sam knew better than to answer.

Steve pulled away with a sigh and tried to compose himself, tucking his dick—now drooping at half mast for probably the first time in hours—back into his jeans and shoving his hands into his pockets. He angled himself away from Sam, not quite looking at him, as though embarrassed to have cried, even figuratively, on Sam's shoulder. “It's funny,” he said in a voice like bile. “He was in there for half an hour at most. And I'd trade that half hour for the rest of the afternoon all over again. Walk right back into that cell if it let me erase everything but the knowledge that he's alive. A couple of beatings, six forced blowjobs, a dozen rapes, two guys' fists and an electro-stun baton up my ass, it'd be a bargain. I'd do it all week if it would get him out of their clutches.”

“An electro... the more details you let slip, the more I wonder how you're even alive.”

“I heal fast,” Steve shrugged, staring fixedly at nothing.

“Yeah, I figured. At least now I know what my nightmares will be doing for the next year.”

Steve glanced over, and Sam must've looked rattled enough to snap him out of his private dead-best-friend hell. “You okay?”

Sam snorted. “You're asking if I'm okay.”

“There might as well be one of us.” One corner of Steve's mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Seriously, you've already done a lot. If hearing about this is messing you up, take a break. I'll go trade horror stories with Natasha if I still feel like running my mouth.”

“I owe it to you to at least listen.”

“Sam. You don't owe me squat. And I owe you a whole lot. Don't do this to yourself.”

Sam shrugged. Maybe the crickets and the smell of the air were reminding him of that night in the church parking lot, which was one of those scenes that he could call up just as vividly twenty years later. Like his mom's hospital room, or Riley falling in flames from the sky, or—he suspected—finding Steve in that cell. “Maybe I owe it to someone else to get my dumb ass in line and listen when somebody needs me to.”

Steve laid a hand on his shoulder. “You have. You've gone above and beyond.” Then he raised an eyebrow. “Something you need to get off your chest?”

Sam shook his head. As masochistically tempting as it was to come clean with that bit of lingering guilt to someone who'd just been through similar shit, he couldn't, any more than Steve could bring himself to share the gruesome details of what Bucky Barnes had been made to do to him.“Not my story to tell. Not the specifics, at least.” He fidgeted and looked down, trying to figure out how much he could own up to without getting murdered next Thanksgiving dinner. “She's okay now. Successful, happily married, probably still hasn't forgiven me. Brave kid. Tough, brave kid. Raised the rest of us while Mom was sick. That's the thing about people who don't like to dump on anyone else. I should've realized that if she was asking for help, things were a whole lot worse than any of us thought. But I was immature and wrapped up in my own problems and I didn't want to think about the gory details, and I blew her off.”

The hand on Sam's shoulder gave a gentle squeeze, and when Sam finally dared look up at Steve, he didn't look angry or disappointed at all. In fact, he looked sympathetic, which only made Sam's gut squirm harder. “You ever try to make it up to her?” Steve asked.

“It's not the kind of thing you can ever make up for. All you can do is pay it forward.”

Steve nodded. “You have, you know.” His fingers had started to knead absently at Sam's shoulder, which he didn't even seem to realize until his thumb hooked under Sam's shirt collar and met bare skin. He jolted like he'd had an electric shock and yanked his hand back, then tried to disguise the gesture by running his fingers through his hair. “We should get back,” he said, glancing at the door. “We've still got the Insight helicarriers to take down and a lot of Nazi butt to kick.”

Sam was inclined to agree, but even though he couldn't make out much detail on Steve's black clothes in the dark, he was willing to bet that his not-so-little problem was back in full force. “You want one more for the road before we go?” he asked. And, since Steve was already shuffling and waving a dismissive hand and opening his mouth to insist he didn't need any more help, he added, “Because if you've got any more frustration we can burn off right now, I'd rather deal with it while we're out here than find an excuse for one of us to drag you back out later.”

It took a few seconds of squirming, but Steve relented. “I'll try to get it over with quickly,” he said with a pained smile. “And not talk too much.”

There was no need to find a shadowy corner now that there was only the half moon and the faint yellow haze of light pollution from the direction of DC. Steve unzipped his jeans right there on the bridge, and they both turned sideways and rested their left arms on the railing as Sam stepped up behind him and took him in hand.

For the first few minutes it was silent except for Steve breathing a little harder than normal. Then Sam brushed his thumb just so under the head of Steve's cock, and Steve choked back a moan. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“I don't mind you making noise,” said Sam, and did it again. Steve cursed under his breath and bucked forward into Sam's hand, just once, but it broke the spell of stillness and silence and after that he loosened up, shifting his hips around fractionally and keeping up a steady stream of soft noises and hitched breaths.

And now the awkward boner risk was becoming a real problem. Not because Sam had forgotten any of the horrors Steve had recounted to him, but because Steve's face betrayed no revulsion, no indication that those horrors were what was playing behind his eyes when he moaned and arched into Sam's touch—nothing, in fact, but pleasure and fierce determination. It was entirely possible that he was hiding his disgust for Sam's sake, but tell that to Sam's hindbrain. Still, he had the situation pretty well under control until Steve followed one particularly breathy moan with a murmured “Sam—yeah, like that.” At that point Sam had to take a half-step back and pray that Steve hadn't noticed his cock springing to full attention.

No such luck. Steve followed him backwards, seeking out Sam's body with his hips. Sam's hand faltered. And then—“Oh,” Steve said, and wriggled his ass against Sam's erection as though to make sure of what he'd felt. He reached down to curl his hand around Sam's, encouraging him to stroke faster. Sam bit his lip and braced himself to be carried along for the ride.

Soon Steve was outright grinding back onto Sam's cock, and Sam was letting slip a few embarrassing noises of his own. This was wrong. This was so, so wrong. He was supposed to be lending a hand to deal with a drug-induced medical condition. He definitely wasn't supposed to be getting off himself at a time like this. And to make matters worse, then Steve blurted out, “Sam, please,” and immediately stuffed his fist in his mouth in shame.

Sam took a deep breath and let it out. That, at least, was a bucket of ice water over the head about the kind of state Steve was in and what Sam's job was in dealing with it. “It's okay,” he said, low and steady. “I remember. Hands only.”

Steve melted back against him, shuddering all the while. “Sorry,” he said, “thought I could hold on, but... you feel so good.”

“It's okay,” Sam repeated softly. “Do what you have to.”

Steve reached back, and for a second Sam froze, thinking Steve was trying to get his pants open, but instead he was fumbling with Sam's hard-on through his jeans, nudging it until it was facing straight up towards his belly button. Sam wasn't sure why until Steve started grinding on him again, serious, dirty, fucking-through-clothes grinding with Sam's cock wedged into the cleft of his ass. “Oh God,” Steve groaned, “Sam—want you inside me so bad, but at least fuck me like this.”

That gave Sam pause. It wasn't that much heavier than anything they'd been doing before, but now that Steve put it like that Sam had to wonder if it was really in the spirit of their agreement. They were both still fully clothed, and Steve was still aware enough to preserve the technicality instead of trying to get Sam's pants off. And yet. “You think dry humping really counts as hands only?” asked Sam.

Steve made a strangled, impatient noise, but he slowed down. “We've been doing it since before I got this worked up,” he pointed out. “It's fine. No clothes off, no penetration.”

It still made Sam's conscience prickle. He could bring the whole thing screeching to a halt, drag Steve back towards full lucidity long enough to get a trustworthy response out of him, and then try to build back to where they were now despite the added load of self-conscious mortification. Or he could switch to doing it face-to-face to eliminate the temptation, and probably draw it out longer he had to. Or he could shut the fuck up, trust Steve to still be able to distinguish between what he wanted and what he wanted, and honor Steve's express wish to get this over with as quickly as possible. “Six counseling certifications above my pay grade,” he muttered, and thrust up to meet the backward jerk of Steve's ass.

“Oh,” Steve moaned, and “oh, yeah,” and “know it would be a terrible idea, still wish you could put it in me.” He rubbed himself up and down along the length of Sam's dick, trying to give them both the best approximation of the real thing he could manage through four layers of clothing. Sam swore and sped up his hand, wondering if he would have to resort to reciting baseball stats in his head to hold on until Steve was done.

“Want you to do it,” said Steve breathlessly. “Want to do everything, fuck you, blow you, get you to blow me, but oh God I want you to fuck me so bad and don't you ever tell another living soul I said any of this crap or I swear I'll hunt you down myself.”

“You're good,” Sam assured him, “you're good. Secret's safe with me.”

Steve bit his lip, rutting frantically back against him, and held out for a few long moments of silence before the words tore themselves out of his throat: “God, do it, fuck me, please, Sam, I want you to be the last one to have been inside me, please, please, fuck—” He choked on the last word, shuddered, and came.

i am gonna fucking weep. this fill is pure trash magic and i ADORE it.

FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 13/?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 14/?

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Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 14/?

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 14/?

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 14/?

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 14/?

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 14/?

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 14/?

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FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 15/?

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Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 15/?

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 15/?

Re: FILL: Hydra/Steve sex pollen gangbang 15/?