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.

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.

Comments

Fill: Rank Has Its Privileges 4/??

[trashbaby1918]

Brock looks him over and sighs.

'You're a mess, aren't you?' he says, as gently as he can manage while the soldier is still shaking and hanging from the table. 'Let me get you cleaned up. Geez, what would you do without me?'

The soldier sniffles like some sort of sticky toddler as Brock takes the clamps off him and wipes his face with a tissue.

'There’s something you want to say to me, you better say it,' he says firmly, dabbing at the soldier's cheeks for longer than is strictly necessary.

'I'm sorry,' the soldier says in a small voice. 'Thank you for touching me, sir, and I'm sorry I disobeyed.'

Fuck, Brock loves this moment. One of these days, he's going to get the soldier down on his knees and fuck his mouth while it's still wet with tears.

'You're gonna be good now, aren't you? Gonna let me clean you up nice and gentle and maybe I'll get you some food?'

The soldier nods and tries not to whimper. Brock pats his hip before he turns away to the second major perk of his office. The bar fridge in the corner has been converted into a freezer, and the bag of crushed ice has been waiting there since Monday. The soldier has been pliant enough so far that Brock even wraps the bag in his spare undershirt before pressing it against the soldier's groin.

The soldier muffles another sob, trembling as his dick slowly shrinks and retracts under the freezing pressure. A couple of last tears leak onto his cheeks and Brock wipes them away with his thumb.

'That's better,' Brock says cheerfully as he takes the ice away and stows it back in the freezer. 'Now you won't embarrass me if we go outside, will you?'

The soldier shakes his head frantically. Rumlow reaches under the table and presses the code to release the cuffs, catching the soldier as he slides free and peeling him out of the sleeve of his uniform.

Once the soldier can stand on his own, Brock ruffles his hair and tugs on the leash until he goes to his knees on the carpet. Brock positions his arms so he's on all fours and the soldier stays, staring blankly at the side of Brock's desk.

'This is how you move in the office when your collar is on,' he explains. He starts to cross the room with the leash in his hand, and the soldier crawls after him, hanging his head.

They circle the room until Brock is satisfied and the soldier has stopped sobbing quietly with every other breath. Then Brock leads him to the desk and sits down in his chair. The soldier stops at his feet.

'Good. Now when you’re not following me, sit up and cross your legs and put your hands behind you.'

The soldier obeys and Brock smiles at the way it exposes him to inspection. He's not even starting to get hard again, but Brock has a pretty good idea how his balls ache right now.

Brock opens his laptop and pulls up xtube because you can never have too much inspiration. Every so often, he reaches down to stroke the soldier's hair or tug on the leash. The soldier settles quietly beside him and leans into every touch, and Brock lets the time pass.

At six-thirty, he closes the laptop and tugs the soldier to his feet. He might as well be in a trance for all the resistance he gives as Brock dresses him in his uniform again and leads him to the door.

'You've been pretty good so far,' he says. 'So if you promise to do as you’re told, I'll take off the leash and we can go get some food.'

The soldier nods eagerly, apparently not completely hypnotised after all. Brock unclips the leash, because it would probably attract more weird comments than he cares to hear in the halls, and goes as far as releasing the collar by a notch, because it's so easy to make the soldier adore him pathetically.

'Follow me,' Brock instructs. 'And don't speak unless I say so.'

The soldier nods, his eyes blue and wet and still fixed on Brock's face. Brock leads him down to Medical just in time for seven o'clock, but this isn't going to end for days.

Janet? Whatever, the same tech is in the unit and she's low-ranking enough that he doesn't even have to ask why she's working double-shifts. She doesn't ask anything about the soldier's collar and the soldier drinks his shake while staring pitifully at Brock's hands. It's almost too easy.

All Brock has to do is lead him back to the office and he has another twelve hours of peace and quiet, and the soldier just follows him like a lost pup. When Brock locks the door behind them, he orders the soldier to strip right away. He's not waiting any longer.

The soldier undresses as efficiently as they've trained him to do everything, but he hesitates when he's done, as Brock clips the leash back onto his collar.

'Will you touch me again, sir?' he says uncertainly, and technically that isn't breaking a rule but Brock is not remotely interested right now.

'We'll see,' he says, yanking the soldier to his knees by the leash and pushing two fingers into his mouth. 'You're gonna suck me real good, and I'll think about it.'

Brock pulls his fingers from the soldier’s mouth, unzips, and forces his cock in instead. The soldier takes it obediently, sucking on the head and lapping at the tip, so Brock buries both hands in his hair, pulling it back from his face and forcing himself deeper at the same time, watching those pink lips stretch around him.

The soldier gives head like he's been tortured into it every day for years: flawlessly, but with his eyes scrunched shut like he hates himself for it. It's too pretty for Brock to last more than a minute, so he pushes deep into the soldier's throat until he chokes, muscles spasming tight and hot. The soldier swallows and gasps for air when Brock releases him, but he's more than half-hard and that's all Brock needs to see. He wants to put the soldier back on the table right away, but he also wants it to last.

When he yanks the leash, the soldier twists onto his hands and knees and crawls to the desk behind him, still breathing hard. Brock pulls the handcuffs from the box and leads him toward the en suite, then drags the soldier back to his feet.

'Use the bathroom,' he says, cuffing both wrists behind the soldier's back, 'and don't do anything to make me unhappy again.'

The soldier usually remembers that he's not allowed to touch his own genitals, but he's not as predictable in the state, so the cuffs will serve as a reminder. The soldier nods meekly and steps into the little room, and Brock pulls the door closed behind him.

After a few minutes, he hears the soldier's footsteps again and goes in to find him standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. He ducks his head when he sees Brock, hands fidgeting behind him as he stares at the floor.

Brock pulls the hand towel down from its hook and drops it in the sink, running warm water over it. He crooks his fingers at the soldier who shuffles over behind him, hair hanging over his face, and unlocks the cuffs again, stuffing them into his pocket.

When the cloth is soaked, Brock makes sure the sink is empty of water—there's no quicker way to make the soldier lose an erection than putting his face near water—and says 'Put your hands on the edge and bend over.'

The soldier does, his right hand shaking, and Brock has to prod his legs apart until he's in position to be wiped down.

It probably isn't necessary, but the soldier tenses and trembles at the careful, insistent cleaning, and Brock pays special attention to the head of his dick, wiping over the slit until he's sure it's clean. The soldier clings to the porcelain and pants for air, whimpering when Brock finally slides the cloth along his ass. Brock takes his time, being especially gentle with every movement.

He's done when the soldier is fully hard again and the sink threatens to crack under his grip. Brock tugs him upright with the leash and uses it to pull the soldier closer, until they're face-to-face and the soldier's unsteady breaths are warm against Brock's mouth. He keeps the soldier still with a firm grip on the leash and runs the cloth tenderly over his straining cock again. The soldier's mouth drops open and he tries to look away but Brock doesn't let him, tugging him close and stroking again so his eyelids flutter half-closed.

'You want to get back on the table for me?' he offers and the soldier nods without hesitating. Brock cleans the precome from his dick and tosses the cloth back into the sink, letting out the leash so the soldier can crawl back into the office behind him.

Instead of taking him to the table, Brock stops by the desk again and rummages through the chest. He's got something of a collection of plugs now, since the soldier proved himself capable of getting off if there was anything longer against his prostate for too long. The plugs keep him mindful of his position without any risk of that. Brock picks out a fat acorn-shaped plug, big enough that he can't quite wrap his fingers around it.

The soldier is sitting at his feet, in the new position Brock set, so he hauls him up and shows him the plug, dangling from its ring between his fingers. The soldier tenses and presses his lips together anxiously, so Brock wraps his other hand around the soldier's dick as an incentive.

If his involuntary shudder and the twitch of his hips is any indication, it's a good one. Brock strokes him once, feather-light, and holds the plug up in his face.

'You want me put this in your ass?'

It takes two more torturously light strokes before the soldier's face crumples and he nods reluctantly.

'Ask me,' Brock demands, and the soldier opens his mouth but no sound comes out.

Brock strokes him a little slower, a little firmer, and he whimpers, hands curling into desperate fists at his sides. Brock reaches for the leash as a reminder, and the soldier breaks.

'Please will you put the plug in me, sir?' he says hoarsely and Brock traces one finger over the head of his dick again until he throws his head back and strangles a plea.

'Ask me better than that,' Brock advises and the soldier struggles for words between gasps.

'Please,' he pants, and it seems to be all he can manage. 'Please... sir, please.'

Brock turns him around and bends him over the desk and the soldier doesn't resist but neither do his hands uncurl.

'Keep begging,' Brock recommends as he squirts lubricant onto his fingers.

The soldier relaxes a little with his chest pressed against the wood of the desk and Brock's dry hand trapping the trailing leash against his spine. At least, he manages coherence.

'Please will you put the plug in me, sir? I'll be good, I want to be good, please!'

Brock slides his palm down the soldier's back to spread his cheeks and smear the lubricant over his hole, and the soldier's hips twitch back toward the touch.

'Please,' he groans. 'Please, sir, I want it in me.'

His voice breaks as he stresses the word and Brock pushes two fingers into him as a reward. The soldier pushes back and clenches around him, and Brock wonders just how many times he's done this before that he can still be brought so low and desperate by touch. It's disgusting, really.

Brock pulls his fingers out at the thought, plunges them back in and twists in one movement, curls his lip as the soldier clutches at the surface of the desk and moans.

'P-please,' he begs, gasping, so Brock adds a third finger and twists them deeper into him. A pale drop of precome hits the carpet between the soldier's feet and Brock grins.

He pulls his fingers out roughly, and the soldier makes a wounded sound at the loss. He arches his back in a wordless, desperate plea and Brock forces the plug into him while he's still whimpering, pulling back to let him struggle with the sudden fullness and whine at the cold metal.

When the soldier can breathe again, Brock drags him off the desk and forces him to his knees, nearly choking him with the collar and dragging his head down by the hair. The soldier makes a miserable noise as the plug shifts with every movement, but his eyes go wide and pathetic when he sees the carpet in front of his face.

'You gonna make a mess?' Brock says sweetly. 'That how you're gonna thank me?'

The soldier goes limp in his grip, staring at the spot on the carpet in horror. He's breathing even faster now, shallow and frightened and hardly daring to look up.

'I'm gonna have to clean that up,' Brock says, sounding disappointed. 'And I thought you wanted me to touch you tonight.'

'I'm sorry,' the soldier says, sounding so ashamed that Brock wants to fuck his mouth all over again. 'I didn't mean to.'

Brock sighs and loosens his grip on the soldier's hair.

'I know you didn't. You've been such a good puppy, haven't you?'

The soldier flinches at the name, staring at Brock with something between fear and disgust. Brock considers that, and helps him to sit up and the soldier immediately crosses his legs and folds his hands behind his back, throwing terrified glances at the tiny mark on the floor. Brock strokes his hair and gives him a disappointed look.

'Get up on the table and stay out of the way while I clean up,' he orders, and the soldier goes without hesitating, locking his arms back into the cuffs, balancing on his toes and watching Brock, still hopeful and exhausted.

Brock follows him over, ignoring the confused look he gets and taking the soldier's cock in his hand. The soldier shifts, his lips parting, and Brock squeezes gently until the his eyes half-close with want.

Re: Fill: Rank Has Its Privileges 4/??

[(Anonymous)]

"Fuck, Brock loves this moment. One of these days, he's going to get the soldier down on his knees and fuck his mouth while it's still wet with tears."

THAT LINE...The ICE.. Brock watching porn in front of the soldier..forgetting Janine's name - I honestly couldn't tell you which is my favorite part. Ok.. maybe it is Brock watching porn on company time with the soldier leashed at his feet..

I just love how you've written Rumlow - he's flawlessly awful with just enough gentleness and creativity to keep me on my toes.

Your OP is so grateful!! *throws plastic carrier bags and peanut shells in the air in celebration

Re: Fill: Rank Has Its Privileges 4/??

[dira]

Ohhhh my God, what a way to start the day. This is such a masterful blend of the dirty and the hot and the wrong, I had to stop reading and hide my face for a minute when Brock offered to be ~nice and gentle~ gahhhhhh.

Re: Fill: Rank Has Its Privileges 4/??

[(Anonymous)]

Your Brock is so totally awful yet so superficially sweet and it's just the best thing and I can't handle it.

Re: Fill: Rank Has Its Privileges 4/??

[(Anonymous)]

"One of these days, he's going to get the soldier down on his knees and fuck his mouth while it's still wet with tears."

"The soldier gives head like he's been tortured into it every day for years" ...this hit me harder than I thought it would... similes that are literally true are my actual favorite (and this one is unbelievably trashy I mean look at it, it's clearly very at home in its dumpster)