garbage all the way down (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trashmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hydratrashmeme2014-05-30 05:23 pm
trashmod) wrote in hydratrashmeme2014-05-30 05:23 pm
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 riskof 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 bygreenkirtle. If you fill a prompt, drop a link at the fill post. Discussion threads now have a chatter post.
If you want email notifications for new comments here, sign up for a Dreamwidth account and click the little bell icon at the top of this post. To read new comments chronologically rather than in threads, use flat view.
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.
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
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.If you want email notifications for new comments here, sign up for a Dreamwidth account and click the little bell icon at the top of this post. To read new comments chronologically rather than in threads, use flat view.
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.
Re: Taking Care of Toys... 1989 pt 2
(Anonymous) 2014-10-08 02:00 am (UTC)(link)Wearily, the asset looked up. "Very nice," Rumlow said. "I want those pretty blue eyes on me. Understood?"
The asset nodded.
"I can't hear you."
"I understand." The asset’s voice was hoarse and gravelly.
Rumlow slowly smiled. "Damn, but I love your spunk." He slid his fingers lightly down the asset’s chest causing goosebumps to raise in their wake. “I know you have better manners than that,” he chided. His fingers slid around, finding the abused hole and he ran his fingers over it so lightly, they barely made contact.
The asset whimpered and arched away from his touch. Rumlow tsked and ran his thumb nail across the swollen flesh as the asset choked out, “Sir. I understand, Sir.”
Rumlow smiled, “Good,” he said. He pressed his nail a bit harder and watched as involuntary tears flowed down the asset’s face. Rumlow’s smile widened and his cock twitched when the asset did not break eye contact as he had been ordered. Rumlow continued to pressed even harder, sliding a knuckle into the torn flesh. A ragged sob escaped the asset's throat but those blue eyes did not move. Rumlow felt a thrill of delight at such obedience. What a fine creature this was!
Rumlow reached up with his other hand to touch the asset's face, running his thumb along the asset’s cheeks and brushing away the tears that flowed from his eyes. “You,” he commented with wonder, “are a superb thing.” He paused to run his hand down the hard body again, his thumb stroking the asset’s swollen nipples. The asset sucked in a breath between his teeth as he rubbed the bruised skin. “I am going to clean you now. I would like to do it without the restraints because I will be able to do a better job, and a tool like you deserves nothing but the best upkeep. However, I can leave you in cuffs if it is necessary.”
The asset started to drop his head, to look at the floor, but Rumlow corrected him with a light touch to his chin. “Ah…ah…eye contact, Soldier.”
The asset lifted his head and met his eyes again.
“So, is it necessary? Or will you behave?” Rumlow asked.
The asset seemed confused so Rumlow clarified. “If I release you, will you behave?”
The asset frowned, lifting his head. Was it affront that crossed his eyes? “I’ll behave, sir,” he answered.
“Good. Keep your eyes on me.”
Rumlow kept the asset’s eyes captive as he reached out and wrapped his hands around the asset’s right wrist. He gently massaged the abused muscles, smoothing his fingers across the knots until they softened under his touch. He worked his way down the arm, the neck, the shoulder. He wrapped his arms around the asset and rubbed from the sides to the center, his fingers meeting at the asset’s vertebrae, and then slid back out. He knelt and worked his way down each leg. The asset’s legs were coated and sticky, which was unpleasant, but Rumlow ignored that for now. The muscles in the asset’s calves and instep were spasming under the stress of supporting him in this unnatural position and Rumlow patiently rubbed them until the twitching muscles stilled. He was rewarded with a soft whimper and he looked up to see that the asset was still looking at him, his eyes bright and wide.
Straightening up, he used the back of his hand to smooth away a tear that had escaped the asset’s eyes. “It’s okay to cry,” he murmured. “You are doing so well. I am going to let you down now. Stand if you can, drop to your knees if you have to. Keep your eyes on me. Understood?”
“Sir,” the asset whispered.
Rumlow released the catch on the chain. He had planned to lower the asset to the ground slowly, but he was unprepared for the weight. The chain slid through his slippery hands. The asset crumpled to his knees and fell forward on his hands, panting. Rumlow walked back over to him and crouched down, touching his chin again. “Look at me,” he corrected.
The asset looked up, “Sorry, sir.”
“Don’t do it again.” He draped the asset’s human arm over his shoulders and wrapped his arm around his waist. “Let’s get you to the shower.”
With his help, the asset staggered to his feet and they made their way to the bathroom. Rumlow turned the shower on warm, testing the water temperature. As he waited for it to adjust, he stripped off his own clothes. He was about to step into the shower when he looked back at the asset, considering. “Any issue with getting your arm wet?” he asked.
The asset shook his head. “Not unless the casing is damaged, and it’s not.”
“Good.” He stepped into the shower, rinsing off his hands and then he guided the asset into the spray. “Face the wall and put your hands on it. Lean in. Spread your feet.” He put his own foot between the asset’s nudging them a bit further apart, a bit further from the wall, so the asset was held off balance. He lifted the sprayer from the shower head. “Now, stay still.”
As with the massage, he took his time, working his way down the asset’s body. He soaped and rinsed, methodically cleaning and shining and polishing, just like he did with his guns. He took the asset’s hand and scrubbed the mission’s dirt from his fingernails. He shampooed his hair. He worked the dried blood from his legs. He lifted the asset’s foot and ran the abrasive scrubby across his instep, watching as his toes curled. The asset’s body gradually began to relax under his touch and the rock hard muscles grew pliant under his fingers.
He was nearly done. There was an attachment for this showerhead he had never seen before, but it’s function was clear enough. Smooth, bullet shaped and a bit thicker than his finger, it had sprayers at the pointed end.
Rumlow reached over the asset’s arm and pulled a lock of hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear. He rested one hand on the asset’s shoulder, gripping it firmly. “This is going to sting like the dickens,” he said. “You can cry out.” Rumlow nudged the asset’s feet slightly further apart, slightly farther from the wall. He pressed the smooth end against the asset’s hole and coaxed the point in, activating the sprayer.
The asset screamed, his knees going weak and he started to fall. “Stand!” Rumlow growled, holding the sprayer still for a moment while the asset straightened his knees and resolutely repositioned his hands on the wall. Rumlow squeezed his shoulder and continued pressing the sprayer in. Bloody water poured out around the sprayer. The asset’s finger’s dug into the wall and the metal hand cracking the tile it rested against. Rumlow felt his cock stir again and a smile curled his lips.
He kept it there until the water ran clear and the asset was trembling with the effort of standing still. Drawing the wand out, he commented, “Clean, inside and out.” The asset looked at him through a curtain of hair, but did not reply.
He shut off the shower. “Let’s finish up. You stay there a moment.”
Rumlow stepped out and picked up a towel, drying himself off. He admired his handiwork, the lines of the soldier’s body as he leaned into the wall, unbalanced and vulnerable, the way his hair curtained his face, the way his legs trembled with the strain of holding the position. He gripped his own cock and stroked it, feeling it harden under his hand as he looked.
He grabbed another towel. “Come on out, Soldier.”
The asset reached out for the towel as he stepped out, but Rumlow shook his head and gestured for the asset to stand. He was not going to miss another chance to handle this body. As he finished, he used the corner of the towel to wipe the remaining drops from the asset’s face.
The asset met his eyes and glanced down at Rumlow’s erection. Rumlow smiled at him. “Do you want to do something about that?” he asked.
The asset’s brow furrowed, not sure how to answer. Rumlow watched his confusion with amusement. He touched the asset’s chin and he lifted his eyes. The asset stammered, “I...I don’t…I do...”
Rumlow chuckled softly knowing he was pushing at the edges of the asset’s programming. “You command STRIKE on a mission. You are telling me you can run a ten man assassination squad but you can’t tell me what you are going to do about this?” The helpless, lost look was almost too much.
Solving the problem for him, Rumlow grabbed his hand and led him over to the cot. He sat and spread his knees. The asset sank down between Rumlow’s legs and kneeled with his hands clasped his hands behind his back, as he must have been trained. Leaning forward, the asset buried his face in Rumlow's crotch, licking his balls, lipping the underside of his cock. Rumlow fisted his hair, pulling him onto the shaft and watched the asset work, sucking, licking and swallowing it deep into his throat. He was good and it was not long before Rumlow felt the pressure build and he shot off into the asset’s mouth. The asset swallowed and sat back on his heels, looking up.
Rumlow carded his fingers through the asset’s hair and then fondly patted his cheek. “Well done.”
The asset blinked at the praise, “Thank you, sir.”
There was a syringe with sedative waiting on a side table, and as Rumlow stood, he picked it up. "On your feet," he ordered and the asset stiffly unfolded himself. “You are done for now, Soldier,” Rumlow said. The asset watched him as he uncapped the needle and pressed it into his leg, without commentary.
“Is there another mission?”
“There is always another mission, but for you, I think it will be a while. I heard they were putting you back in cryo tomorrow.”
The asset nodded once, his balance faltering as the sedative took effect. Rumlow reached out and put a hand on him. “Lie down before you fall down.”
The asset settled on the cot and Rumlow spread a blanket over him.
Rumlow sat next to him and traced his fingers along the asset’s earlobe. “You did good, today, Soldier. Out on the mission, you were like nothing I have ever seen. Powerful. Decisive. The way you slid through the shadows, the way you flowed from one target to the next with the knife.” Rumlow stroked the asset’s cheek and the asset's eyes fluttered closed. “And in here, so beautiful. Yielding, submitting, and still so powerful.”
The asset’s breathing slowed and Rumlow figured he was asleep. He stood and finished cleaning up. Sloshing a bucket of water on the floor, the blood and cum flowed down the drain. He tossed the towels in the hamper and left the spreader bar and chain coiled up in the corner.
When he walked out into the control room, four members of STRIKE were sitting around the security monitors with their feet on the desk. Every monitor was switched to a camera from the asset's cell. “Gonna bring him flowers?” the captain asked.
“You two sure were sweet in there,” another commented.
“It’s cause he is a bleedin' sadist. Were you watching what he did to the Soldier before? What he got off on?"
Rumlow shrugged. He was satisfied as he had never been before, no girl had ever made him feel like this. The sound of the Soldier’s whimpers echoing in his ear, the tears he had caused to flow still tingling on his hand. The willingness to please, even after what he had done to him.
“You’re just jealous,” he said. “He sucked me off because he wanted to.”
The captain scoffed, “You are just insane, letting his teeth anywhere near your dick.”
Rumlow laughed. “Probably. See you tomorrow, sir.”
Re: Taking Care of Toys... 1989 pt 2
(Anonymous) 2014-10-08 03:55 am (UTC)(link)Re: Taking Care of Toys... 1989 pt 2
(Anonymous) 2014-10-08 11:03 am (UTC)(link)Re: Taking Care of Toys... 1989 pt 2
(Anonymous) 2014-10-08 07:19 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Taking Care of Toys... 1989 pt 2
(Anonymous) 2014-10-09 02:49 am (UTC)(link)Re: Taking Care of Toys... 1989 pt 2
(Anonymous) 2014-10-13 06:36 am (UTC)(link)Re: Taking Care of Toys... 1989 pt 2
(Anonymous) 2014-10-15 10:40 pm (UTC)(link)It's also up on ao3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2427527/chapters/5372171
Anyway, thank you for commenting! Moldy strawberries are the best!