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bakerstreet2025-06-23 06:27 am
baitings) wrote in bakerstreet2025-06-23 06:27 am
[ No nonconsenual or cheating. Also... she can shapeshift, make herself look as young as 13... or older than her true form. ]
{{No beastiality or underage, though big age/experience gaps otherwise are fine. Please check journal for Dark Urge content warnings.}}
[ Social class? Ceder is a fancy boy and can get pretty nasty. I imagine him as a local doctor’s apprentice or, like, travelling tonic salesman. Not super taboo compared fo the other stuff but I think it would be a fun jumping off point! Let me know what you think? ]
[ Okay, so Remmick miscalculated, but it isn't his fault. It's the fault of that motherfucking travelling salesman he ate who hadn't changed his watch for daylight savings. He thought he had another hour before the sun came up to find a place to crash, or a cosy patch of dirt to dig a hole in. He took his time disposing of his corpse where no one would find it, borrowing a spare shirt out of his case, cleaning the blood off of his face in the rim of a barrel that had caught the recent rain. He didn't get it all off his arms or his neck or his chest before the sky began to change color.
So he panicked. In his defense, he's in-between families at the moment, and it's always when he's alone that he's at his weakest. A family man without a family's just a lonely wanderer after all. So, he broke into this small town's doctor's office through the door in the back with the plan to hide among the bottles and boxes as the sun came up. Less likely to get caught here than in a shop. Less people to kill if he got caught here than if he got caught in a shop. He just needed to hide out here until morning. It would be fine. Just fine. ]
So he panicked. In his defense, he's in-between families at the moment, and it's always when he's alone that he's at his weakest. A family man without a family's just a lonely wanderer after all. So, he broke into this small town's doctor's office through the door in the back with the plan to hide among the bottles and boxes as the sun came up. Less likely to get caught here than in a shop. Less people to kill if he got caught here than if he got caught in a shop. He just needed to hide out here until morning. It would be fine. Just fine. ]
[ The proprietor of the only medical clinic in this tiny town is a lazy prick who leaves his practice largely to his young apprentice whenever he’s been deep in his cups, which is most days. Most everyone in town calls Ceder Doctor, and after a while he gave up trying to correct them. He’s done far more than he ever expected to here. But then, he was the one who decided to make his way out west rather than stay in the city where his father’s connections could have placed him at any number of prestigious hospitals.
Still, there’s a freedom to waking up with the roosters and making his way down Main Street to the clinic. He dresses how he likes, has his hair longer than his father ever would have allowed, and sometimes he has a beer with a tanned farmhand and offers his back room for the man to sleep it off for the night, then gets what he needs more often than not.
He unlocked the door to the clinic and slips inside, taking off his hat and jacket and hanging it on the hook by the door. Immediately he knew something was wrong, like coming into his childhood bedroom after his mother had been snooping. ]
Hello?
[ He stepped forward slowly, one hand on the revolver at his side (he’s a city boy, not stupid, he learned to protect himself after his trunk was stolen on the way out here). Slowly and carefully, he opened the door that leads back to the storage room. ]
Dr. Whitcomb? [ He called inside. ] You better not have gotten into the whiskey again- swear to Christ.
Still, there’s a freedom to waking up with the roosters and making his way down Main Street to the clinic. He dresses how he likes, has his hair longer than his father ever would have allowed, and sometimes he has a beer with a tanned farmhand and offers his back room for the man to sleep it off for the night, then gets what he needs more often than not.
He unlocked the door to the clinic and slips inside, taking off his hat and jacket and hanging it on the hook by the door. Immediately he knew something was wrong, like coming into his childhood bedroom after his mother had been snooping. ]
Hello?
[ He stepped forward slowly, one hand on the revolver at his side (he’s a city boy, not stupid, he learned to protect himself after his trunk was stolen on the way out here). Slowly and carefully, he opened the door that leads back to the storage room. ]
Dr. Whitcomb? [ He called inside. ] You better not have gotten into the whiskey again- swear to Christ.
[ Especially looking for age difference - magical girls extra welcome - and also open to incest, and most anything but giving noncon or violent. ]
[you had me at age difference and milf.
Interested in a scenario where the young rocker, Ruka (that's this gal!) Rizzes up on the older Junko and gets taught a thing or two~?]
Interested in a scenario where the young rocker, Ruka (that's this gal!) Rizzes up on the older Junko and gets taught a thing or two~?]
[ Sounds excellent. 10/10. Any other kinks you want are on the table. ]
[Okay... Ruka isn't old enough to drink. BUT!
She is a rock star, a famous one at that. So naturally she had to visit at least one. It only made sense in her weird mind.
Also! Pretty women visit bars, right? Right.
So NATURALLY Ruka just had to put on her best smile and most attractive moves on the first woman she saw!
Which somehow landed the, now very confused and flustered, rocker in said woman's lap... in a bar... with a glass in Ruka's hands held between herself and Junko.
A shield, it's a shield.]
You don't waste any time....
[GULP. For all her earlier bluster, Ruka folds relatively easily.]
She is a rock star, a famous one at that. So naturally she had to visit at least one. It only made sense in her weird mind.
Also! Pretty women visit bars, right? Right.
So NATURALLY Ruka just had to put on her best smile and most attractive moves on the first woman she saw!
Which somehow landed the, now very confused and flustered, rocker in said woman's lap... in a bar... with a glass in Ruka's hands held between herself and Junko.
A shield, it's a shield.]
You don't waste any time....
[GULP. For all her earlier bluster, Ruka folds relatively easily.]
[ Pretty women and rock stars visit bars.
Pretty young rock stars, approaching pretty older women who have a whiskey on the rocks, in the kind of gay bar where a girl in an older woman's lap just gets a bit of light teasing instead of real concern.
Multitasking too, taking a light sip of her whiskey with one hand and pushing the other up under the girl's skirt. ]
Seemed like you were the one in a rush just a moment ago.
Pretty young rock stars, approaching pretty older women who have a whiskey on the rocks, in the kind of gay bar where a girl in an older woman's lap just gets a bit of light teasing instead of real concern.
Multitasking too, taking a light sip of her whiskey with one hand and pushing the other up under the girl's skirt. ]
Seemed like you were the one in a rush just a moment ago.
( Not really all that interested in interspecies or bestiality. Otherwise, let's get depraved! )
( With these two?? Very. Any in particular strike your fancy? )
[SO MUCH. /o\ I'm very tempted specifically by: AU where they are teacher/student, some kind of magic/sorcery gone awry where Bruce is like half-wolf and Tim is half bunny (predator/prey kind of deal), early on in Tim's training with Bruce abusing his power (little touches that get progressively worse, gaslighting Tim that it's just training, etc) to see what he can get away with, pregnancy somehow.... idk, save me from these ideas.]
( I can't save you, but I'm happy to indulge! Let's do it! )
[any in particular calling your name? or should I just roll the dice?]
( Honestly, I'm into all of them. Mix and match as you want. 💛 )
[bless you, my filthy friend.]
Since agreeing to take Tim on (after basically being strong-armed into it by Dick), Bruce had been struggling with a lot of things. Things that he'd thought he'd certainly banished since Jason died, things about himself he'd rather not ever have to face again. Dark, horrible, desperate things that had nothing to do with The Mission and everything to do with how he felt for his new potential Robin. Filthy things that invaded Bruce's every waking thought like an endless nightmare, things he was ashamed to think of when he turned his shower on ice cold in the morning and jerked off against the wall. Things that distracted him from work at Wayne Enterprises.
Things that distracted him trying to train another goddamn child in the ways not to die and knowing he could easily fail this one too.
"Sloppy," he said, reaching out as Tim ducked a punch so that he could pinch the boy's lean side. They were both sweaty and tired, but Tim certainly moreso. His body wasn't used to the training Bruce had put him through. Which was half the point. "You dodge like that on the streets, you'd be dead." Bruce stepped back, looking Tim over, hating how much he liked what he saw. How exhausted Tim was. How eager to please. "Again. Come at me."
That was Tim, tired and sweaty but still desperate to prove himself. Dick believed in him. Alfred believed in him. And he wasn't like Jason, who he'd heard was quick to action without thinking every plan through to its fullest.
But Bruce hadn't been sure about taking on another Robin, and Tim wanted to show him that he could earn it more than anything in the world. It's why there was no complaint from him about the long training sessions that they logged. Sweat stuck his tank top and gym shorts to his skin, molded along muscle that was carefully being added to his naturally thin frame. It dripped from the ends of his dark bangs, sliding down his cheek and catching in his sharp collarbone.
Tim was exhausted and angry with himself for not getting it right. He panted softly for air, gave a quick nod of his head, and then did his best to attack. There was no way he'd ever match Bruce pound for pound--he wasn't a very good fighter--but he was quick, light on his feet, and did his best to analyze Batman's moves so he could adapt fast. It didn't help that his muscles were so tired that no amount of sheer force of will could make up for what he lacked. He spun, trying to use the angle to his advantage and land a blow to Bruce's throat.
But Bruce hadn't been sure about taking on another Robin, and Tim wanted to show him that he could earn it more than anything in the world. It's why there was no complaint from him about the long training sessions that they logged. Sweat stuck his tank top and gym shorts to his skin, molded along muscle that was carefully being added to his naturally thin frame. It dripped from the ends of his dark bangs, sliding down his cheek and catching in his sharp collarbone.
Tim was exhausted and angry with himself for not getting it right. He panted softly for air, gave a quick nod of his head, and then did his best to attack. There was no way he'd ever match Bruce pound for pound--he wasn't a very good fighter--but he was quick, light on his feet, and did his best to analyze Batman's moves so he could adapt fast. It didn't help that his muscles were so tired that no amount of sheer force of will could make up for what he lacked. He spun, trying to use the angle to his advantage and land a blow to Bruce's throat.
"No," Bruce snapped, batting Tim's hand away like it was nothing. "Wrong. Go again." This time, he didn't let Tim get away with a sloppily projected movement, grabbing the boy's skinny elbow before Tim could even get back into position. "This right here? You're broadcasting. We talked about this. Anyone with half a skill level at street fighting will see this coming a mile away." He shoved the elbow away, his jaw clenched, teeth gritted as he stood there looming over Tim and looking down on him. "You're tired. Aren't you?"
Bruce was an intimidating figure. Tall, strong, angry. But Tim didn't shy away from him, held his ground and the man's eye with a nerves of steel that had won Dick Grayson over to his side. "No." Tim lied without hesitation, even though he knew his mentor could tell the truth. He would do this a hundred more times tonight if he had to, would skip eating and sleeping like he wasn't still a growing boy. It was imperative that he show Bruce that he was just as serious about the mission.
Tim struck again, trying to use the element of surprise and hoping that Bruce was distracted enough to not see it coming. There had to be a way for him to break through.
Tim struck again, trying to use the element of surprise and hoping that Bruce was distracted enough to not see it coming. There had to be a way for him to break through.
"You're not a very good liar," Bruce said, although he did like the fact that Tim was willing to lie to get Bruce's approval. It reminded him of just how much he had over Tim right now, what an intimidating figure he must have cut to the boy to so blatantly try and sneak one past him so sloppily. Bruce stopped the next punch with an easily lifted hand. He was also tired, exhausted from a dayjob, his evening patrols, and whatever it was he was doing here with Tim. "Take five."
Bruce turned his back on Tim, dismissive as he hauled his own shirt off and used it to wipe the sweat on his brow and upper chest. His skin felt like a live wire every where he touched Tim.
An obsessiveness breeding in him for more. To see how far he could push.
"When you're done, take off your shirt and sit on the mat."
Displeasure pulled at Tim's features when Bruce called him out. In the best of situations, he was honestly a pretty good liar. It just didn't come quite as naturally when he felt so exhausted. He resisted the temptation to argue, just to be a brat. A voice in the back of his head reminded him that he needed to be a good boy so that he could get what he wanted easier.
It was only natural that his icy blues gazed at Bruce's bare upper half for a moment. The man had been akin to a god to him since he was a little kid. A lot of that reverence was still in there. Enough so that Tim didn't argue when he was told to take off his shirt. He peeled off the fabric, exposing flawless, pale skin not yet marred from being out in the field and cute little pink nipples pulled tight from how cool the cave was kept.
"What's next?" He asked as he took a seat, watching his mentor with curiousity.
It was only natural that his icy blues gazed at Bruce's bare upper half for a moment. The man had been akin to a god to him since he was a little kid. A lot of that reverence was still in there. Enough so that Tim didn't argue when he was told to take off his shirt. He peeled off the fabric, exposing flawless, pale skin not yet marred from being out in the field and cute little pink nipples pulled tight from how cool the cave was kept.
"What's next?" He asked as he took a seat, watching his mentor with curiousity.
Tim was undeniably beautiful. Perfect for the kind of build up that only Bruce could give his little body. Bruce would help him pack on muscles in all the right places while keeping his wiry, lean body. Not only to keep Tim fast but because it was how Bruce wanted him to look. A trim little waist, always easy to grab.
His eyes swept over Tim on the mat, the unblemished color of his pink flushed skin. Ripe enough to bite into. And then moved slowly behind Tim.
"Close your eyes. Put your hands on your knees. Focus yourself." They'd meditated before - or well, Dick had done that, as Bruce didn't have the time to sit around in his own tormented mind. But Tim would know how to do it by now regardless. "I want to hear you say what you did wrong. When I blocked you just now."
None of it felt that off to Tim. He had indeed meditated with Dick multiple times, and the guy was very touchy. They hadn't known each other for very long, but more than once Dick had yanked him into a fierce hug despite the annoyance on Tim's face. He was getting used to it. Sort of.
Tim simply obeyed Bruce's commands. His eyes closed without a second thought, and he took a moment to truly focus on his breathing and slow his own heartrate. It was only once he was sure that he had an acceptable answer that he allowed himself to speak. "I allowed myself to become too predictable because I was tired. If a combatant can forecast my move, they can easily out maneuver me, when I need to be the one out maneuvering them because of my size." He was not in denial about being tiny. "I need to be unpredictable without allowing unintended risk. It's a very fine line to balance. I have a lot of work to do, because I will get tired pretty often if I'm out all night." He was trying so hard to please Bruce by saying what he thought his mentor would say to him.
Tim simply obeyed Bruce's commands. His eyes closed without a second thought, and he took a moment to truly focus on his breathing and slow his own heartrate. It was only once he was sure that he had an acceptable answer that he allowed himself to speak. "I allowed myself to become too predictable because I was tired. If a combatant can forecast my move, they can easily out maneuver me, when I need to be the one out maneuvering them because of my size." He was not in denial about being tiny. "I need to be unpredictable without allowing unintended risk. It's a very fine line to balance. I have a lot of work to do, because I will get tired pretty often if I'm out all night." He was trying so hard to please Bruce by saying what he thought his mentor would say to him.
Bruce stood behind him, folding his arms as he listened. Tim was smart. Probably too smart, if he was honest. It reminded Bruce of himself, how his brain was always working overtime, no matter what. That kind of brain could get someone like Tim with something to prove in big trouble.
"No." He waited, let it sink in, and then bent down, his breath against Tim's ear. "You're overthinking. Looking for the textbook answer. You aren't paying attention." He paused, the scent of Tim so perfect up close. It made his mouth water. "You want to please me. Right?"
Tim didn't like being told he got it wrong, when he was sure he had hit the nail on the head. Even in their short time together, he'd heard plenty of lectures. He shrunk in on himself, just a little, and tried not to glower. If it wasn't that he was too predictable, what could Bruce's point even be? The man was smart enough to know that Tim could only do so much until he was fully trained up.
The breath against his ear brought a shudder. The smallest little alarm bell went off in his head, but it was quickly snuffed out. This was Bruce, his mentor who was doing what he could to make sure his Robin would be the partner he needed. There was no need for Tim to get weird. He shook it off and kept his voice incredibly plain and normal. "Yes. I want to please you." Straight up admitting made heat bloom across the bridge of his nose.
The breath against his ear brought a shudder. The smallest little alarm bell went off in his head, but it was quickly snuffed out. This was Bruce, his mentor who was doing what he could to make sure his Robin would be the partner he needed. There was no need for Tim to get weird. He shook it off and kept his voice incredibly plain and normal. "Yes. I want to please you." Straight up admitting made heat bloom across the bridge of his nose.
The beauty of Tim having his eyes closed meant Bruce could look at him to his heart's content. That little blush saying such a simple thing. So quiet and so very, very earnest. Bruce knew he was a monster to find the innocence attractive. To want to have it for himself.
"You don't sound so sure," Bruce said. He reached around, tapping Tim's lips. "Say it again."
There was a pause after Bruce tapped his lips. Tim was confused by the touch, and by Bruce doubting his sincerity. Hadn't he just worked himself to the bone to prove how badly he wanted to please him? Tim took a slow breath to center himself again. This had to be some sort of test, and if it was, he needed to pass it.
"I really want to please you." It was still embarrassing, he was still blushing, but there was more sincerity in his voice this time. "I know you're not sure about having me as Robin, but I want to show you I can earn it."
"I really want to please you." It was still embarrassing, he was still blushing, but there was more sincerity in his voice this time. "I know you're not sure about having me as Robin, but I want to show you I can earn it."
"Much better," Bruce said, his fingertips lingering on Tim's lips far longer than they should have. He had no excuse for it, but he also knew that Tim wouldn't dare ask about it. He was perfect really, easily obeying every command like a pup that wanted to please its master in obedience.
It shouldn't have turned Bruce on, but it did. His fingers swept over Tim's pillow-soft mouth. Imagining the ways in which he could spread the boy's lips apart and what he could put between them, already half hard just touching. He wasn't yet sure how far Tim would let him go before he started questioning things. Or worse, told Dick or Alfred.
"I need you to want nothing else but to please me, Tim. Do you understand? If there's an order that Dick gives that is different than one I give, you follow mine."
The confusion was evident on Tim's face, eyebrows furrowed and a slight frown on the lips that Bruce kept touching. Dick had never led him astray and it was hard to imagine he would. Still, he knew that the two of them didn't see eye to eye anymore. That was why Dick had refused Tim's plea to come back and be Robin. And it was Bruce taking him on as a sidekick, not Dick.
So he wasn't thrilled about the idea of being torn between the two mentors, but he knew where his loyalties had to lie. "Okay." Tim agreed after a moment, then nodded and said it with more confidence a second time. "Okay. Pleasing you comes first. Your orders come first." Robin had to trust Batman. Tim had to trust Bruce.
So he wasn't thrilled about the idea of being torn between the two mentors, but he knew where his loyalties had to lie. "Okay." Tim agreed after a moment, then nodded and said it with more confidence a second time. "Okay. Pleasing you comes first. Your orders come first." Robin had to trust Batman. Tim had to trust Bruce.
"Good boy." The words slid out soft and warm, approval heavy in his tone like a deep hum. He knew very well how that had always affected Dick, how just telling him he did good at something sent the boy into hysterics. Tim was different, but he was looking for the same affirmations from Bruce, and Bruce planned to take full advantage of it just now.
"The Mission is at the heart of everything I do and every order that I give. So you follow it blindly, or you're done here." Not that Tim had ever disobeyed anything Bruce had said or tried to go against his orders. He wasn't like Jason, who bucked against authority like a wild stallion. He was poised to be a good soldier, perhaps Bruce's best yet. And there Bruce was about to ruin it all because he wanted more.
His fingers slowly eased between Tim's lips, as if trying to pill a dog, prying his mouth open a bit and sinking a finger in to run along Tim's velvet soft tongue.
"Keep your eyes closed." As if he already anticipated Tim would want to look at him to see why he was doing all this.
It was true, there was nothing more important than the mission. Bruce's lengthy time serving as Batman proved it. He was no rebel like Dick or Jason, but there was still a small jolt in his body when the man pried his mouth open to shove his finger in. Tim had probably expected just about anything except that, and immediately his brain tried to piece together the logic behind the move. What was he being tested on? What was this supposed to accomplish?
The words washed away any vestige of Tim's budding anxiety. Grounded him with an order he had just agreed to obey without question. He was a good boy, and years of parental neglect made him a lot more willing to obey orders to keep his mentor from leaving, too. So his eyes stayed closed and he swallowed awkwardly, doing his best to breathe through his nose and ignore the discomfort of Bruce's finger resting against his tongue.
The words washed away any vestige of Tim's budding anxiety. Grounded him with an order he had just agreed to obey without question. He was a good boy, and years of parental neglect made him a lot more willing to obey orders to keep his mentor from leaving, too. So his eyes stayed closed and he swallowed awkwardly, doing his best to breathe through his nose and ignore the discomfort of Bruce's finger resting against his tongue.
"That's good," Bruce crooned, his voice lower than usual, close to the rumble of Batman's growl but gentle at the same time. Practically preening over Tim like a proud father might. Like Tim's own father surely never did, because Bruce had seen how distant the boy's parents were. He knew how starved Tim was for this, and he knew that he could take full advantage.
His free hand fell to Tim's shoulder, giving him a deep squeeze there, working the overstressed muscle and kneading into it with his thumb enough to feel the tendons shift beneath his touch. That thumb dug in, going down Tim's spine, his side, to the ever so gentle widening at his hips.
"Up on your hands and knees," he said, removing his finger from Tim's mouth to help get him into position.
Something still felt a little off as that hand slid down his spine, but not enough that he did anything to address it. Tim was willing to believe that most of it was in his head. Bruce was pretty clearly massaging the tension out of his body. And this was what it was going to take to be Robin, to be the partner that Batman needed. He'd promised himself to do whatever it took, and he meant that with everything in him.
So Tim continued to obey, getting on his hands and knees on the mat like a dog. It wasn't all that different from the bottom position in wrestling. Totally normal for Bruce to want him posed like that. "Are we going to wrestle?" Grappling was not a strong point of his and he had a lot of work to put in before he got there.
So Tim continued to obey, getting on his hands and knees on the mat like a dog. It wasn't all that different from the bottom position in wrestling. Totally normal for Bruce to want him posed like that. "Are we going to wrestle?" Grappling was not a strong point of his and he had a lot of work to put in before he got there.
(Hmmmm, what to do to little Replacements who don't know how to leave well enough alone.... If you're interested, of course.)
( You never even have to ask, the answer is always yes. 💛 )
(How would you feel about a 'kidnap Tim from the Tower to hold him hostage instead of almost killing him' scenario?)
It took months of work. Of gathering power and collecting people. Of watching with quiet, unending patience with eyes that missed very little. Of following and stalking and hacking into everything he could find on the boy who'd somehow found the audacity to sit in his spot at the dinner table. Sleep in the room right next to the one that had once been his. He'd watched his brother laugh and tease and train with the imposter. Watched Bruce look at the boy, acknowledge him in a way that he hadn't felt since Gonzolas. Watched the man he'd once called his grandfather serve the kid with the same little smile that he'd once given him.
He'd watched for months, all the little ways that Tim Drake had slipped seamlessly into the space that had once been his. Watched and waited and planned and scraped together a formidable foundation for himself in the one part of the city that he knew Bruce refused to look. Watched and learned and-
And it had been two weeks since he'd slipped past the security of Dick's precious Tower. Two weeks since he'd chosen the perfect time when he knew that the rest of the team that had never accepted him among their ranks wouldn't be paying attention to the little bird that had been so easily accepted. Two weeks since they'd fought and Jason had closed his hands around that thin, frail throat until those pretty eyes had fluttered and rolled.
He'd meant to leave the boy for dead in the place where his name should have been, his message for Bruce scrawled on the wall. He'd meant to be done with it, turn his back and get out of dodge before any of the numerous Supers heard the ruckus. He'd meant to do a lot of things. Instead, he'd smuggled the kid away. Stashed him somewhere safe, somewhere shielded and secure. Somewhere no one would find him until they went through Jason. Except no one did. No one reached out.
The first few days, he'd kept Tim tied securely to a bolted metal chair, scowling and yelling every time he had to actually take care of the kid. By the end of the first week, Jason had spent an afternoon hauling his shit around in his safehouse so that he could shove Tim into a spare room. Chained to a cot that he'd also bolted into the wall, but he'd at least given the kid a blanket and a pillow.
Sometime in the middle of the second week, Jason had just not bothered to secure that shackle back around Tim's ankle. Instead, he just secured the door, unlocking it to bring in food and water or to let the boy out to go to the bathroom. The yelling had mostly stopped. He hadn't hit him in the time he'd been locked up.
The tray was heavy as Jason balanced it with one arm, the other unlocking the bolts that kept the door secure. "I'm coming in. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. I will dump this on the floor and leave it."
No he wouldn't.
He'd watched for months, all the little ways that Tim Drake had slipped seamlessly into the space that had once been his. Watched and waited and planned and scraped together a formidable foundation for himself in the one part of the city that he knew Bruce refused to look. Watched and learned and-
And it had been two weeks since he'd slipped past the security of Dick's precious Tower. Two weeks since he'd chosen the perfect time when he knew that the rest of the team that had never accepted him among their ranks wouldn't be paying attention to the little bird that had been so easily accepted. Two weeks since they'd fought and Jason had closed his hands around that thin, frail throat until those pretty eyes had fluttered and rolled.
He'd meant to leave the boy for dead in the place where his name should have been, his message for Bruce scrawled on the wall. He'd meant to be done with it, turn his back and get out of dodge before any of the numerous Supers heard the ruckus. He'd meant to do a lot of things. Instead, he'd smuggled the kid away. Stashed him somewhere safe, somewhere shielded and secure. Somewhere no one would find him until they went through Jason. Except no one did. No one reached out.
The first few days, he'd kept Tim tied securely to a bolted metal chair, scowling and yelling every time he had to actually take care of the kid. By the end of the first week, Jason had spent an afternoon hauling his shit around in his safehouse so that he could shove Tim into a spare room. Chained to a cot that he'd also bolted into the wall, but he'd at least given the kid a blanket and a pillow.
Sometime in the middle of the second week, Jason had just not bothered to secure that shackle back around Tim's ankle. Instead, he just secured the door, unlocking it to bring in food and water or to let the boy out to go to the bathroom. The yelling had mostly stopped. He hadn't hit him in the time he'd been locked up.
The tray was heavy as Jason balanced it with one arm, the other unlocking the bolts that kept the door secure. "I'm coming in. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. I will dump this on the floor and leave it."
No he wouldn't.
Bruce and Dick had to be freaking out. Not just because their precious baby bird was missing, but because Jason Todd had been the one to pluck him from the nest. Kon, Cassie, and Bart were probably worried, too. Tim was sure they all had to be elbows deep in a plan to get him free, but he'd rather beat them to the punch if he could manage. Unfortunately, the time Jason spent with Bruce meant that his knowledge of how to keep someone secured was far more advanced than the average idiot criminal.
For someone raised in luxury, Tim wasn't bothered by the discomfort of his surroundings. He'd refused to sleep the first few days, but eventually his brain won out and he'd passed out on the nearest surface. Fortunately for him, that happened to be a cot. So, it was fine. His conditions weren't what he was worried about, not compared to being held ransom by a potential psychopath.
Because Jason was mad. Furious that someone could ever be Robin after him, as though Tim hadn't immediately run to Dick to try to convince him to be Robin again. Someone had to do it, Dick said no, and he had no reason to believe Jason would be back. He died. Logic, of course, did not seem to be the answer to Jason's big feelings about the issue. Tim was not good with big feelings.
"You won't." Tim answered immediately, defiant as ever. Those pretty blue eyes of his kept an eye on the door that his kidnapper would be coming through. It was Jason's clothing that clung to his lithe form, his own had gotten gross quick. They were too big on him, made him look smaller than he actually was, and that was good. The chains had been left unlocked thanks to him (mostly) behaving himself. If he led the recently returned second Robin to believe he wasn't going to try to run, maybe the door would eventually be left unlocked too. A false sense of security. It was the best plan Tim had at the moment, and it needed to be done very carefully.
So, it would probably be better if he stopped running his mouth, alas. "You won't get the pay off if I'm dead of starvation before Batman realizes where I am." There was a reason Jason was keeping him alive like this, and Tim assumed the worst. Bruce seeing him alive and relatively unharmed before harm came upon him would hurt a lot more.
For someone raised in luxury, Tim wasn't bothered by the discomfort of his surroundings. He'd refused to sleep the first few days, but eventually his brain won out and he'd passed out on the nearest surface. Fortunately for him, that happened to be a cot. So, it was fine. His conditions weren't what he was worried about, not compared to being held ransom by a potential psychopath.
Because Jason was mad. Furious that someone could ever be Robin after him, as though Tim hadn't immediately run to Dick to try to convince him to be Robin again. Someone had to do it, Dick said no, and he had no reason to believe Jason would be back. He died. Logic, of course, did not seem to be the answer to Jason's big feelings about the issue. Tim was not good with big feelings.
"You won't." Tim answered immediately, defiant as ever. Those pretty blue eyes of his kept an eye on the door that his kidnapper would be coming through. It was Jason's clothing that clung to his lithe form, his own had gotten gross quick. They were too big on him, made him look smaller than he actually was, and that was good. The chains had been left unlocked thanks to him (mostly) behaving himself. If he led the recently returned second Robin to believe he wasn't going to try to run, maybe the door would eventually be left unlocked too. A false sense of security. It was the best plan Tim had at the moment, and it needed to be done very carefully.
So, it would probably be better if he stopped running his mouth, alas. "You won't get the pay off if I'm dead of starvation before Batman realizes where I am." There was a reason Jason was keeping him alive like this, and Tim assumed the worst. Bruce seeing him alive and relatively unharmed before harm came upon him would hurt a lot more.
Oh, everyone had to be in an absolute frenzy. Right? Tim was their hand chosen new Robin, perfect and shiny and new. Everyone had to be scrambling to try and get the boy back. So, why had no one shown up yet? Why had there been no contact?
Whether it was Jason keeping that contact from Tim or it just actually not happening wasn't the point. The point was the fact that Tim was alone. Isolated. Carved away from his newly found and hard earned makeshift family and instead locked in some back room by a madman with more weapons than sense. Or perhaps that should have been 'more weapons than reasons to not use them'. On Tim or on himself.
He rolled his eyes at that ever present sass, but he didn't blame the kid. Robins were trained to talk back to everyone except Batman, after all. Their wits and speed and spry flexibility was what kept them alive. Or, in his case, dragged out their death to try and give Bruce time to find them.
"The fuck makes you think he doesn't know exactly where you are, Replacement?" He growled the words, flashing the boy a hard edged smirk as he kicked the door shut behind him. The tray was set on the nightstand. A bowl of stew, thick with meat, lentils, and chunks of vegetables. A hunk of bread that looked like it had been ripped off a larger loaf. Simple, easy to cook and cheap in bulk.
It was the same meal he'd been bringing the kid twice a day like clockwork, along with another hunk of bread in the morning and all the water he could drink. Three hots and a cot. The staple of imprisoned dining.
"Just because he knows where you are doesn't mean he's gunna come for you." He hadn't come for Jason, after all. And as perfect and shiny and new as Timmy was, it had been weeks already. Since when did it take weeks for Batman to find anything?
Whether it was Jason keeping that contact from Tim or it just actually not happening wasn't the point. The point was the fact that Tim was alone. Isolated. Carved away from his newly found and hard earned makeshift family and instead locked in some back room by a madman with more weapons than sense. Or perhaps that should have been 'more weapons than reasons to not use them'. On Tim or on himself.
He rolled his eyes at that ever present sass, but he didn't blame the kid. Robins were trained to talk back to everyone except Batman, after all. Their wits and speed and spry flexibility was what kept them alive. Or, in his case, dragged out their death to try and give Bruce time to find them.
"The fuck makes you think he doesn't know exactly where you are, Replacement?" He growled the words, flashing the boy a hard edged smirk as he kicked the door shut behind him. The tray was set on the nightstand. A bowl of stew, thick with meat, lentils, and chunks of vegetables. A hunk of bread that looked like it had been ripped off a larger loaf. Simple, easy to cook and cheap in bulk.
It was the same meal he'd been bringing the kid twice a day like clockwork, along with another hunk of bread in the morning and all the water he could drink. Three hots and a cot. The staple of imprisoned dining.
"Just because he knows where you are doesn't mean he's gunna come for you." He hadn't come for Jason, after all. And as perfect and shiny and new as Timmy was, it had been weeks already. Since when did it take weeks for Batman to find anything?
Tim had never been the sort to take much pleasure from food, especially as he'd gotten older. Most of what he was raised on was heated up meals dropped off by their maid when she stopped by once or twice a week, and the rest was frozen or something easy for a kid to manage. He'd never bothered with developing any cooking skills himself, either, so it wasn't like he had food he was meant to savor. Food was just fuel. Which benefit him now, because it didn't bother him at all to have the same thing repeatedly. Especially when it wasn't half bad.
He was a good boy. Ate most of what he was given despite the unease in his stomach, knew better than to be blatantly ungrateful so he didn't discourage further care. Having his wings clipped hindered him, would hinder anyone human, but he didn't let his mind slip into anywhere too dark just yet. Tim knew once he bought into the idea that Bruce wouldn't come for him, it might as well be over.
"He will." Tim answered back plainly, like it was simply a fact and not worth arguing over. "Or my friends will. You're either going to have your hands full of a pissed off Batman or a pissed off Super." He took the tray and ate slowly, unafraid to glance back up towards Jason to see if he was about to storm out. "Either way, you lose." Jason couldn't beat Bruce on his own, let alone some sort of team up. They both knew it. The difference between the two of them was that Jason hadn't been there to see Bruce absolutely lose his fucking mind in the wake of losing Jason. It was bound to be even worse to lose a second son.
"You could just let me go now, you know." The younger of the two told him as he set his tray aside, otherwise staying still so he wasn't registered as a flight risk. "I could probably convince them to go easy on you for my sake. It'll be a lot harder to do that if they find me still here, though."
He was a good boy. Ate most of what he was given despite the unease in his stomach, knew better than to be blatantly ungrateful so he didn't discourage further care. Having his wings clipped hindered him, would hinder anyone human, but he didn't let his mind slip into anywhere too dark just yet. Tim knew once he bought into the idea that Bruce wouldn't come for him, it might as well be over.
"He will." Tim answered back plainly, like it was simply a fact and not worth arguing over. "Or my friends will. You're either going to have your hands full of a pissed off Batman or a pissed off Super." He took the tray and ate slowly, unafraid to glance back up towards Jason to see if he was about to storm out. "Either way, you lose." Jason couldn't beat Bruce on his own, let alone some sort of team up. They both knew it. The difference between the two of them was that Jason hadn't been there to see Bruce absolutely lose his fucking mind in the wake of losing Jason. It was bound to be even worse to lose a second son.
"You could just let me go now, you know." The younger of the two told him as he set his tray aside, otherwise staying still so he wasn't registered as a flight risk. "I could probably convince them to go easy on you for my sake. It'll be a lot harder to do that if they find me still here, though."
He didn't have to watch the kid eat. In fact, he didn't most of the time. Just set the tray down, glared, and left. He'd collect the tray and the dishes later when he let the kid out to use the bathroom or when he brought in the next meal. Simple and easy.
Today, however, he dragged over a chair and watched Tim pick at the food. His eyes narrowed a little at the continuing sass, but he only scoffed instead of blew up. "You seem pretty damned sure of yourself, birdie. Tell me, if you're so damned important that people are looking for you," He leaned forward, grabbing Tim's jaw in his hand and forcing the boy to look up at him. "Where are they?
A pissed off Super? You really think he can't hear you right now? Kid, Supers can hear everyone at all times, all they need to do is listen. He's ignoring you." His grip tightened with his words, the anger in his eyes bordering on rage. "Just like they ignored me.
Daddy Bats could be here in half a day. He knows exactly where you are. It's been weeks and I bet he's enjoying his vacation from the sound of your voice. Though...I'm sure he's missing his piece of eye candy. You are very pretty, I'll give you that."
His thumb left the side of Tim's jaw to instead stroke over the swell of his lower lip, lingering for a moment before he gave the side of the kid's head a half-hearted slap as he got up and grabbed the tray, dragging the chair behind him on his way out.
Today, however, he dragged over a chair and watched Tim pick at the food. His eyes narrowed a little at the continuing sass, but he only scoffed instead of blew up. "You seem pretty damned sure of yourself, birdie. Tell me, if you're so damned important that people are looking for you," He leaned forward, grabbing Tim's jaw in his hand and forcing the boy to look up at him. "Where are they?
A pissed off Super? You really think he can't hear you right now? Kid, Supers can hear everyone at all times, all they need to do is listen. He's ignoring you." His grip tightened with his words, the anger in his eyes bordering on rage. "Just like they ignored me.
Daddy Bats could be here in half a day. He knows exactly where you are. It's been weeks and I bet he's enjoying his vacation from the sound of your voice. Though...I'm sure he's missing his piece of eye candy. You are very pretty, I'll give you that."
His thumb left the side of Tim's jaw to instead stroke over the swell of his lower lip, lingering for a moment before he gave the side of the kid's head a half-hearted slap as he got up and grabbed the tray, dragging the chair behind him on his way out.
Had Jason done enough research into Tim to know what a low blow those words were? Did he know that he'd been abandoned often as a child--his parents enjoyed their vacations--and he'd been left in an empty house wishing that anyone had cared enough to stay with him? Robin did his very best to stay rational, to not let the digs bother him. Jason wanted under his skin, he was smart enough to know that.
But fuck, did it hurt having a needle pick at a wound that never seemed able to heal. Now his mother was dead, and Tim would never have a chance to tell her how it really made him feel to be so isolated from the rest of the world. Just the perfect little heir to Drake Industries that could be trotted around like a dog at kennel show only when absolutely necessary.
Fury surged through his body, muscles tensing as his fists clenched. He wasn't going to stand for this, wasn't going to let Jason think he could just run his mouth however he wanted without consequences. It wasn't right. Tim took a deep breath and looked very much like he was centering himself again as he relaxed. He was good at wearing a mask, had never had to be taught that sort of thing. Oh, he'd deliver a blow back to Jason, but he'd do it while looking unbothered.
Anyone smart knew that looking like you couldn't be riled up only pissed people off more.
"I'm not like you." His voice was almost eerily calm as he spoke, dark eyelashes fluttering as he gazed at the older boy's retreating back. There was ice in his veins, and it practically glowed in his eyes. "The Titans wanted me on their team. Young Justice made me their leader even though Cassie is just as capable, and Kon is stronger. Bruce has told me how proud of me he is, and that he trusts me and my ability to do the right thing. Dick calls me his little brother." Tim sounded a lot more confident than he felt. "I'm not like you because they love me. That's how I know they'll come for me."
But fuck, did it hurt having a needle pick at a wound that never seemed able to heal. Now his mother was dead, and Tim would never have a chance to tell her how it really made him feel to be so isolated from the rest of the world. Just the perfect little heir to Drake Industries that could be trotted around like a dog at kennel show only when absolutely necessary.
Fury surged through his body, muscles tensing as his fists clenched. He wasn't going to stand for this, wasn't going to let Jason think he could just run his mouth however he wanted without consequences. It wasn't right. Tim took a deep breath and looked very much like he was centering himself again as he relaxed. He was good at wearing a mask, had never had to be taught that sort of thing. Oh, he'd deliver a blow back to Jason, but he'd do it while looking unbothered.
Anyone smart knew that looking like you couldn't be riled up only pissed people off more.
"I'm not like you." His voice was almost eerily calm as he spoke, dark eyelashes fluttering as he gazed at the older boy's retreating back. There was ice in his veins, and it practically glowed in his eyes. "The Titans wanted me on their team. Young Justice made me their leader even though Cassie is just as capable, and Kon is stronger. Bruce has told me how proud of me he is, and that he trusts me and my ability to do the right thing. Dick calls me his little brother." Tim sounded a lot more confident than he felt. "I'm not like you because they love me. That's how I know they'll come for me."
Edited 2025-06-30 20:50 (UTC)
[No bestiality (interspecies is okay so long as everyone is sentient), and age differences are okay but I'd prefer to avoid underaged unless both characters are 16/17. Otherwise I'm down for pretty much anything!]
( No to bestiality and underage. Open to discussing options! Would especially love a Sylar or Peter Petrelli for obvious reasons... )
Edited 2025-06-23 17:44 (UTC)
[Age is probably a given since he's in his early 50s. Also good with public, forbidden, loose, authority, and social seem to be in line for him. No dub/noncon, beast, or bathroom.]
[Alright! How would you feel about In-Public and perhaps Fertile? The idea I had involves some Orientation Play if you are into that. I'm thinking some scenario where Sun ends up getting a blowjob from Harper while thinking he's a girl because of what he's wearing? He only finds out the truth before or after fucking him (if Harper makes it clear he wants anal)? You into that at all?]
[Heck yeah! People mistake Harper for a girl 99% of the time, and he doesn't exactly help them to see otherwise. He likes giving blowjobs a lot, and if he knew Sun was 'straight' he might even play his femininity up a lot more and keep his gender hidden. Consequences be damed. hehe For fertile, do you want Harper to get pregnant? Or just the threat of pregnancy bc Sun thinks he's a girl? I'm happy with either.]
[Threat or the real thing, it is totally up to you! How would you like him to come about giving Sun a blowjob? I'm thinking they can be tucked away and hidden somewhere, be it a backroom, an alleyway, some trees, behind some cars or wherever!]
[If we're digging the semi-public, I looooove anywhere in school if they go to the same place. Or a dressing room at a retail store so they have to be quiet. Or a bathroom at a club. Alley or behind a shop where one of them works could also do. I'm very open to it. Harper would be thrilled to give a BJ to Sun, so it could be as easy as them making out and Harper just gets down on his knees without preamble. Or happy to have Sun kind of push him down too, like get to it.]
[We can do it at their school! Definitely open to some of the other places too, so we could hit them up eventually. Maybe Harper is new and has encountered Sun a few times getting his help with things. Harper stumbles across him as he's putting away things for the gym teacher in a storage room and that leads to an intense makeout session with Harper eventually dropping to his knees to blow him?]
Sun is definitely the best thing to happen to Harper in this school so far. The classes are fine, the teachers are okay, he's made a few friends...but Sun. He's gorgeous, first of all. Just Harper's type and Harper is positive way out of his league and Not Gay. But boys have made exceptions for Harper before, so he certainly had his hopes up every time Sun offered him help in class or out of it.
It was only natural for Harper to help Sun too, right?
"Here, I'll get that one," he says as he walks by the supply closet. Today's outfit is a short plaid purple skirt and a lacy pink top, stockings up to his thighs and platform heels, hair hanging long and loose down to Harper's swaying hips. "You're so good, helping Coach all the time." Harper gives Sun a sweet smile, a little flushed in his cheeks as their hands brush by one another. Even with the heels, Harper has to get up on tip-toes to reach the high shelves.
It was only natural for Harper to help Sun too, right?
"Here, I'll get that one," he says as he walks by the supply closet. Today's outfit is a short plaid purple skirt and a lacy pink top, stockings up to his thighs and platform heels, hair hanging long and loose down to Harper's swaying hips. "You're so good, helping Coach all the time." Harper gives Sun a sweet smile, a little flushed in his cheeks as their hands brush by one another. Even with the heels, Harper has to get up on tip-toes to reach the high shelves.
[comes in human or mech flavor. no bestiality, otherwise open to all prompts. go nuts.]
( Yes: age difference, incest, cheating, public, size, student/teacher, forbidden, authority, social, Stockholm, duties, fertile, innocence, corruption.
Maybe: noncon, interspecies, deviancy, violent.
No: bestiality, underage. )
Maybe: noncon, interspecies, deviancy, violent.
No: bestiality, underage. )
(Down for most of these, honestly. No cheating, bestiality, or outright non-con. Dub-con can totally be negotiated. I have a serious love for social classism trope. Think Pretty Woman, if that helps?)
Edited 2025-06-23 22:23 (UTC)
[ Here for any Winter Soldiers. ]
[ ooc: Continuing the awfulness from the past thread :D ]
It's a few hours after the "incident" in the shower. That's what the brief report will call it in this week's log: there was a minor "incident" between the Winter Soldier and the handler Rumlow, Brock requiring the use of an electroshock implant to temporarily knock the Soldier out of commission. No critical injures incurred by Rumlow. Instances of increased aggression and mental instability displayed by the Asset. Another sanitation round to clean up additional body fluids.
Otherwise, nothing of note to report.
Awake and clean (again), wafting the sanitizing fluids he had to get hosed down with a second time, the Soldier's herded to the room with his chair. The chair. It stands there in the center of the room, bolted to the floor so he can't break it and tip it over on accident, and there's the restraints, the monitors, the dark halo in its resting position behind the chair, ready to lower over his head. Seeing it sends something unnamed clenching in the Soldier's gut, makes it harder to swallow even though there's no obstruction in his throat.
As usual there are guards lined up against the walls in regular intervals, fingers resting on the triggers of assault rifles and acoustic weapons, ready to turn it his way in case...what, exactly, could happen, the Soldier isn't classified for the details. He usually isn't. He's just an asset, after all. But they're supposed to be there, he has the sense they're always there even if the individual faces change, and he can feel their eyes following him as he heads to the suppression chair with his head down, the dark tangles of his hair hanging in his face, and the guards' stares are cold, calculating. Searching for signs of weakness.
He's just sitting down, staring at nothing in particular, when there's a familiar voice at the door. Rumlow. His handler's unexpected presence is enough to drag the Soldier out of the fog wrapping itself around his mind. Blue eyes wander from where they'd drifted to some invisible spot on the concrete floor - an old bloodstain, maybe - and then they lift and he stares at Rumlow and he almost looks...puzzled that his handler's here.
One of the techs seems to have the same idea, scurrying over to intercept Rumlow with a hushed whisper. "Sir, are you sure? After today's incident, he's still...unstable. You could actually get hurt this time."
It's a few hours after the "incident" in the shower. That's what the brief report will call it in this week's log: there was a minor "incident" between the Winter Soldier and the handler Rumlow, Brock requiring the use of an electroshock implant to temporarily knock the Soldier out of commission. No critical injures incurred by Rumlow. Instances of increased aggression and mental instability displayed by the Asset. Another sanitation round to clean up additional body fluids.
Otherwise, nothing of note to report.
Awake and clean (again), wafting the sanitizing fluids he had to get hosed down with a second time, the Soldier's herded to the room with his chair. The chair. It stands there in the center of the room, bolted to the floor so he can't break it and tip it over on accident, and there's the restraints, the monitors, the dark halo in its resting position behind the chair, ready to lower over his head. Seeing it sends something unnamed clenching in the Soldier's gut, makes it harder to swallow even though there's no obstruction in his throat.
As usual there are guards lined up against the walls in regular intervals, fingers resting on the triggers of assault rifles and acoustic weapons, ready to turn it his way in case...what, exactly, could happen, the Soldier isn't classified for the details. He usually isn't. He's just an asset, after all. But they're supposed to be there, he has the sense they're always there even if the individual faces change, and he can feel their eyes following him as he heads to the suppression chair with his head down, the dark tangles of his hair hanging in his face, and the guards' stares are cold, calculating. Searching for signs of weakness.
He's just sitting down, staring at nothing in particular, when there's a familiar voice at the door. Rumlow. His handler's unexpected presence is enough to drag the Soldier out of the fog wrapping itself around his mind. Blue eyes wander from where they'd drifted to some invisible spot on the concrete floor - an old bloodstain, maybe - and then they lift and he stares at Rumlow and he almost looks...puzzled that his handler's here.
One of the techs seems to have the same idea, scurrying over to intercept Rumlow with a hushed whisper. "Sir, are you sure? After today's incident, he's still...unstable. You could actually get hurt this time."
Edited 2025-06-24 03:50 (UTC)
"I'm sure," Rumlow responds to the tech. He went over the plan with them already. Prepped them for what was going to happen here tonight.
It's unorthodox, but Pierce has always let him know- whatever it takes to keep the Asset in line. Rumlow might be taking that one step further, but he doesn't care. He has is own mission, his own goal here tonight. Neither the technicians nor the guards need to give any shit about it. He's above them in rank, and he'll use that power any way he sees fit.
"That's why we're gonna do this when he's already strapped down. I'll tell you when you start the wipe." And then the technician is dismissed, sent back to monitor the Soldier's vitals and prep him.
He approaches the Soldier, glaring down at him with hard eyes. "Do you remember what happened earlier? Do you know what you did?"
It's unorthodox, but Pierce has always let him know- whatever it takes to keep the Asset in line. Rumlow might be taking that one step further, but he doesn't care. He has is own mission, his own goal here tonight. Neither the technicians nor the guards need to give any shit about it. He's above them in rank, and he'll use that power any way he sees fit.
"That's why we're gonna do this when he's already strapped down. I'll tell you when you start the wipe." And then the technician is dismissed, sent back to monitor the Soldier's vitals and prep him.
He approaches the Soldier, glaring down at him with hard eyes. "Do you remember what happened earlier? Do you know what you did?"
You'd think it's hard to forget fucking your handler so hard into the floor that he's forced to knock your disobedient ass unconscious while you're still balls deep in him.
But the Winter Soldier has to actually think about it.
He almost looks like he wants to frown, his mouth twitching down with the effort it takes to dredge up memories that are already fracturing despite being only a few hours old. After a few seconds of effort, of very serious consideration that has his head pounding with rushing blood, he gazes up at Rumlow. The man's looming over him so close that he almost brushes against his naked legs as they're spread a little by two techs and then strapped to the chair at the ankles.
"I..." The Soldier can't tell if this is a test but he assumes it is. "You fingerfucked my mouth. Then I sucked you off: you seemed pleased." A pause to stare up at Rumlow, to see if he's forgotten anything critical. Since Rumlow doesn't correct him verbally or physically, he presses on, any confidence he had earlier withering when he approaches a foggy gap in his memory that he can't account for. "Then I was allowed to fuck you because I was being good. I was complying," he adds, but it sounds weak, unsure now. "I...was complying...?"
The Asset swallows nervously, wetting his lips, no longer swollen from when he'd had them wrapped around Rumlow's hot, thick shaft thrusting in his mouth. He was complying. He had to be. His only purpose is to comply. But Rumlow's pissed and disappointed with his substandard performance and it doesn't matter if he remembers or not, because the end result's the same. He breaks eye contact first, a hint of a confused flush coloring his cheeks that has nothing to do with the fact he's ass naked in front of the guards and the techs and everything to do with displeasing his handler. His mouth works slightly, lips parted, as his eyes drop to fix on Rumlow's combat boots.
But the Winter Soldier has to actually think about it.
He almost looks like he wants to frown, his mouth twitching down with the effort it takes to dredge up memories that are already fracturing despite being only a few hours old. After a few seconds of effort, of very serious consideration that has his head pounding with rushing blood, he gazes up at Rumlow. The man's looming over him so close that he almost brushes against his naked legs as they're spread a little by two techs and then strapped to the chair at the ankles.
"I..." The Soldier can't tell if this is a test but he assumes it is. "You fingerfucked my mouth. Then I sucked you off: you seemed pleased." A pause to stare up at Rumlow, to see if he's forgotten anything critical. Since Rumlow doesn't correct him verbally or physically, he presses on, any confidence he had earlier withering when he approaches a foggy gap in his memory that he can't account for. "Then I was allowed to fuck you because I was being good. I was complying," he adds, but it sounds weak, unsure now. "I...was complying...?"
The Asset swallows nervously, wetting his lips, no longer swollen from when he'd had them wrapped around Rumlow's hot, thick shaft thrusting in his mouth. He was complying. He had to be. His only purpose is to comply. But Rumlow's pissed and disappointed with his substandard performance and it doesn't matter if he remembers or not, because the end result's the same. He breaks eye contact first, a hint of a confused flush coloring his cheeks that has nothing to do with the fact he's ass naked in front of the guards and the techs and everything to do with displeasing his handler. His mouth works slightly, lips parted, as his eyes drop to fix on Rumlow's combat boots.
Edited 2025-06-24 04:31 (UTC)
Rumlow still feels the ache in his shoulder from where the Soldier bit him. That isn't the part that bothers him. No, he'll end up in bed tomorrow or the day after, rubbing that mark on his neck while he jerks off.
He can see just how much the Soldier is trying to focus, to pull up those memories from a few hours ago. How difficult it is for him. Yet he does so, all up until that last part. That's where it fractures. That's the part they're going to work on fixing here tonight. Rumlow wants to make sure that before the wipe, during, after, he'll be the person in the Soldier's head. He'll be the one connected to him in a way where no matter what happens, Rumlow's words will force him to stop.
"I gave you what you wanted, what you needed, and then you didn't comply," Rumlow says as he moves between the Soldier's legs to grab at his chin, fingers digging into his face, forcing the other man to look at him. "You didn't comply. What good are you if you can't even do that? I told you what would happen if you stopped following orders, didn't I." He squeezes harder, then lets go. "I told you, you would be punished. You see all those guards lined up along the walls?"
He smirks, getting in the Soldier's face. "They're ready to take you. The rest are waiting outside. They're gonna fill up every inch of you till you can't breathe. Is that what you wanted? Is that what you deserve for being so bad?"
He can see just how much the Soldier is trying to focus, to pull up those memories from a few hours ago. How difficult it is for him. Yet he does so, all up until that last part. That's where it fractures. That's the part they're going to work on fixing here tonight. Rumlow wants to make sure that before the wipe, during, after, he'll be the person in the Soldier's head. He'll be the one connected to him in a way where no matter what happens, Rumlow's words will force him to stop.
"I gave you what you wanted, what you needed, and then you didn't comply," Rumlow says as he moves between the Soldier's legs to grab at his chin, fingers digging into his face, forcing the other man to look at him. "You didn't comply. What good are you if you can't even do that? I told you what would happen if you stopped following orders, didn't I." He squeezes harder, then lets go. "I told you, you would be punished. You see all those guards lined up along the walls?"
He smirks, getting in the Soldier's face. "They're ready to take you. The rest are waiting outside. They're gonna fill up every inch of you till you can't breathe. Is that what you wanted? Is that what you deserve for being so bad?"
Edited 2025-06-24 04:49 (UTC)
The Soldier doesn't try to jerk his face away from that bruising grip. With how tight Rumlow squeezes, how he uses blunted pain to keep him focused on the here and now, and it's obvious what he's going to say must be important. His eyes fix on Rumlow, blinking quickly, struggling to stay in the present instead of slipping away into his mind's hazy recesses.
He trembles a little in Rumlow's grip at the news that he didn't comply. Doesn't matter if he can't remember what happened, it's his handler's word against his and he's not a reliable source. He's just a liability of an asset, according to Rumlow. A failure. So when his handler brings up punishment, his voice a low growl washing hot over his face, the Soldier instinctively preps himself for it, because it's coming no matter what and he's earned it with his inability to obey. The only thing that changes will be what form the punishment could take.
Despite the muted expression on the Soldier's face partially obscured by his unkempt hair, there's still a flicker of fear in his eyes when Rumlow points out the guards and their role today. Something sparks life back into the Soldier's features, his lips parting as his watery eyes dart around the room despite himself, suddenly registering all those guards that he'd filed away as just there, as necessary as the suppression chair and the techs. Now their presence hangs heavy as a threat of what's to come.
The Soldier's breathing more heavily now, naked chest heaving, nostrils flaring with animal terror.
"I deserve it for failing to perform to spec," he repeats what HYDRA's drilled into him over and over and over, voice dull. Resigned. And maybe that would've been that, but the Soldier's been malfunctioning for awhile, little bits of individuality coming to the surface, and he sneaks another look at the guards - each one fit, rested, ready - and then his eyes slip back to Rumlow. "...Are you going to punish me with the others?"
One of the techs rolling the IV drip stand closer shoots Rumlow a startled look over the Soldier's head.
He trembles a little in Rumlow's grip at the news that he didn't comply. Doesn't matter if he can't remember what happened, it's his handler's word against his and he's not a reliable source. He's just a liability of an asset, according to Rumlow. A failure. So when his handler brings up punishment, his voice a low growl washing hot over his face, the Soldier instinctively preps himself for it, because it's coming no matter what and he's earned it with his inability to obey. The only thing that changes will be what form the punishment could take.
Despite the muted expression on the Soldier's face partially obscured by his unkempt hair, there's still a flicker of fear in his eyes when Rumlow points out the guards and their role today. Something sparks life back into the Soldier's features, his lips parting as his watery eyes dart around the room despite himself, suddenly registering all those guards that he'd filed away as just there, as necessary as the suppression chair and the techs. Now their presence hangs heavy as a threat of what's to come.
The Soldier's breathing more heavily now, naked chest heaving, nostrils flaring with animal terror.
"I deserve it for failing to perform to spec," he repeats what HYDRA's drilled into him over and over and over, voice dull. Resigned. And maybe that would've been that, but the Soldier's been malfunctioning for awhile, little bits of individuality coming to the surface, and he sneaks another look at the guards - each one fit, rested, ready - and then his eyes slip back to Rumlow. "...Are you going to punish me with the others?"
One of the techs rolling the IV drip stand closer shoots Rumlow a startled look over the Soldier's head.
He watches that flicker of fear in the Soldier's eyes. The way his demeanor changes just the slightest, but enough to be noticeable to someone who knows him well. There's a part of Rumlow that despises this part, knowing he will be wiped clean. Even with the way the Soldier hurt him earlier, it's hard to say he doesn't want it.
He often wonders just how much he can push it- maybe that's why he's still here now.
The technician looks startled by the Soldier's ability to question, but Rumlow isn't. This is what he wants. This is an important part of what's about to happen here. He shoots the tech a look, waiting for him to set up the IV, then step away. Rumlow leans in close to his Soldier. "I'm not sure if I want to waste my time. I'm not sure if I even want to be your handler anymore. Maybe I'll let one of 'em take you." He motions with his thumb to the line of guards. "How about that?"
He's waiting for another slip in demeanor. He's waiting to see just how connected they really are. He's waiting for that desperation.
He often wonders just how much he can push it- maybe that's why he's still here now.
The technician looks startled by the Soldier's ability to question, but Rumlow isn't. This is what he wants. This is an important part of what's about to happen here. He shoots the tech a look, waiting for him to set up the IV, then step away. Rumlow leans in close to his Soldier. "I'm not sure if I want to waste my time. I'm not sure if I even want to be your handler anymore. Maybe I'll let one of 'em take you." He motions with his thumb to the line of guards. "How about that?"
He's waiting for another slip in demeanor. He's waiting to see just how connected they really are. He's waiting for that desperation.
Edited 2025-06-24 08:01 (UTC)
The question takes the Soldier by surprise. He opens his mouth to say what he's supposed to - that whatever Rumlow decides is best, that any new handler he designates to fuck him must be acceptable because he chose them - but he startles himself by frowning again.
This time it looks like a real person's frown. "...you're the most qualified," he mumbles.
Does it sound sullen? Quietly rebellious? Or is he just pointing out fact?
Exhausted by speaking so much, his fractured mind aching with the headache pulsing against his skull, the Soldier slumps back in his chair, as much as he can with the restraints, gaze dropping to the IV line taped against the back of his wrist. They'll begin feeding him some cocktail of drugs that he has no idea what they'll do this time. Or any time. Maybe he'll slip away in a haze and he won't feel what happens next. Squeezing his eyes shut, the Soldier opens them and stares up at Rumlow, leaning so close he could steal an unsanctioned kiss from his handler (soon to be former handler?) just by surging his head forward.
He doesn't. The guards are on edge: they might point firearms his way even with Rumlow standing there.
This time it looks like a real person's frown. "...you're the most qualified," he mumbles.
Does it sound sullen? Quietly rebellious? Or is he just pointing out fact?
Exhausted by speaking so much, his fractured mind aching with the headache pulsing against his skull, the Soldier slumps back in his chair, as much as he can with the restraints, gaze dropping to the IV line taped against the back of his wrist. They'll begin feeding him some cocktail of drugs that he has no idea what they'll do this time. Or any time. Maybe he'll slip away in a haze and he won't feel what happens next. Squeezing his eyes shut, the Soldier opens them and stares up at Rumlow, leaning so close he could steal an unsanctioned kiss from his handler (soon to be former handler?) just by surging his head forward.
He doesn't. The guards are on edge: they might point firearms his way even with Rumlow standing there.
Edited 2025-06-24 09:47 (UTC)
It's something, it's rebellious, but it's not what Rumlow hoped for. Not even nearly close to what he wanted. For a moment he thinks maybe he really will let this whole facility fuck his Soldier and teach him a good lesson, but the thought sickens him. The Soldier is his.
Maybe Rumlow will just have to coax it out of him.
He lifts his leg, pressing his boot between the Soldier's legs, against his groin, leaning in. "Why's that? Why am I the most qualified? Speak, Soldier."
The techs, the guards, they know to stand down. They know to let Rumlow do what he's here to do. The Soldier is in his chair, waiting to be wiped, but Rumlow is going to hammer this home.
"отлив." The trigger word to make the Soldier grow hard, Rumlow's boot still pressed firmly against him.
Maybe Rumlow will just have to coax it out of him.
He lifts his leg, pressing his boot between the Soldier's legs, against his groin, leaning in. "Why's that? Why am I the most qualified? Speak, Soldier."
The techs, the guards, they know to stand down. They know to let Rumlow do what he's here to do. The Soldier is in his chair, waiting to be wiped, but Rumlow is going to hammer this home.
"отлив." The trigger word to make the Soldier grow hard, Rumlow's boot still pressed firmly against him.
Restrained to the suppression chair there's only so far the Soldier can flinch away from the press of combat boot treads against his limp cock and balls. When Rumlow says that word, the Soldier sucks in a pained hiss between his bared teeth: just like that time in the shower, his body involuntarily reacts to the trigger, arousal coiling and hardening his shaft trapped underneath his handler's boot.
Even if his mind's doing its damnedest to slip to a place where he won't feel or remember anything, the pain jolting up from his crushed cock and balls drags him back to the present. Grimacing, pain awash across his features, the Winter Soldier's forced to concentrate thanks to the grind of Rumlow's heel. His chin dips down, naked chest heaving. He struggles to string together a few satisfactory words.
"Stronger than the - the others. Brutal. Ruthless," the Soldier gasps more than says the words out. Rumlow will find if shifts his boot that it'll color his asset's words, raise the pitch of them with agony clutching the Soldier's throat. "Better."
Reduced to grunting out his words, his hips trying futilely to writhe out from the relentless press of Rumlow's combat boot, the Soldier's openly panting now, sweat beading his temples and starting a glistening descent down the sides of his face. Usually silent - maybe a few monosyllabic words here and there if he's feeling downright conversational - and this is the most he's said around anyone else. Anyone else but Rumlow, who's capable of "encouraging" a full-blown dialogue out of him, coaxing it out like he'd milked him of his cum earlier.
Even if his mind's doing its damnedest to slip to a place where he won't feel or remember anything, the pain jolting up from his crushed cock and balls drags him back to the present. Grimacing, pain awash across his features, the Winter Soldier's forced to concentrate thanks to the grind of Rumlow's heel. His chin dips down, naked chest heaving. He struggles to string together a few satisfactory words.
"Stronger than the - the others. Brutal. Ruthless," the Soldier gasps more than says the words out. Rumlow will find if shifts his boot that it'll color his asset's words, raise the pitch of them with agony clutching the Soldier's throat. "Better."
Reduced to grunting out his words, his hips trying futilely to writhe out from the relentless press of Rumlow's combat boot, the Soldier's openly panting now, sweat beading his temples and starting a glistening descent down the sides of his face. Usually silent - maybe a few monosyllabic words here and there if he's feeling downright conversational - and this is the most he's said around anyone else. Anyone else but Rumlow, who's capable of "encouraging" a full-blown dialogue out of him, coaxing it out like he'd milked him of his cum earlier.
Edited (typos fixing part 2) 2025-06-25 02:33 (UTC)
It should feel good, hearing those praises, especially from his Soldier. It's what Rumlow knows he is. Stronger, brutal, ruthless, better. It's what the Soldier should feel when he looks at him- but that's what everyone else on this base thinks of him as well. Hearing the usually mute Asset tell it to him like it is, should feel like the best thing in the world.
But it's lacking that connection. It's void of that desperate edge. The fear of losing his handler isn't there. Somewhere between that sanitizing room and this chair, something has come undone. That angers Rumlow more than anything.
He grinds his boot against the Soldier's cock, "Come for me, Soldier. That's an order. Then try your answer again."
But it's lacking that connection. It's void of that desperate edge. The fear of losing his handler isn't there. Somewhere between that sanitizing room and this chair, something has come undone. That angers Rumlow more than anything.
He grinds his boot against the Soldier's cock, "Come for me, Soldier. That's an order. Then try your answer again."
The Winter Soldier struggles with the order at first.
The chair's restraints rattle when he instinctively tries to reach for his erection - or maybe he means to shove Rumlow's boot off it first, then grab his dick - only to remember he can't move either arm. There's that frown again, not a ghost of one, but a real, actual frown Soldier's not supposed to be capable of, another tell that his conditioning's been failing for awhile and why his ass is parked in this chair about to get his brain fried. Still frowning, the Soldier adjusts his approach. The only thing he can move right now is his hips, his thighs flexing as he braces himself against the chair, bare feet flat against the drain underneath the suppression chair, and then he'll begin swaying his hips.
Back and forth. Up and down. Whatever it takes.
Everyone in the room gets to watch the Soldier awkwardly get himself off with Rumlow's boot pinning his engorged cock against his taut stomach, that lost, puzzled expression on his face as he grinds up against it, balls squashed against the chair and his handler's heel. Even involuntarily stimulated by the trigger word, it takes a bit, the Soldier's progress tracked by how his breathing hitches into increasingly desperate moans and the head of his cock begins to weep, smearing against Rumlow's treads. Eventually he gives a spasm against the chair, thrusting forward to release onto his handler's boot, his own stomach, the floor.
Just like last time, there's more spilling out of him than a normal man. And just like last time in the shower, the Winter Soldier's still hard, with no signs of flagging. It only makes it easier for Rumlow to grind his throbbing cock against his slicked stomach.
Out of breath, the Soldier attempts to answer again. "It...it should just be you," he grunts. He doesn't know what else to say to get Rumlow's approval, if he didn't like the previous answer. Since his handler didn't say he had to keep trying to come, the Soldier stops rubbing his tortured cock against his boot, his hips stilling, chin resting against his clavicle as he swallows and catches his breath.
The chair's restraints rattle when he instinctively tries to reach for his erection - or maybe he means to shove Rumlow's boot off it first, then grab his dick - only to remember he can't move either arm. There's that frown again, not a ghost of one, but a real, actual frown Soldier's not supposed to be capable of, another tell that his conditioning's been failing for awhile and why his ass is parked in this chair about to get his brain fried. Still frowning, the Soldier adjusts his approach. The only thing he can move right now is his hips, his thighs flexing as he braces himself against the chair, bare feet flat against the drain underneath the suppression chair, and then he'll begin swaying his hips.
Back and forth. Up and down. Whatever it takes.
Everyone in the room gets to watch the Soldier awkwardly get himself off with Rumlow's boot pinning his engorged cock against his taut stomach, that lost, puzzled expression on his face as he grinds up against it, balls squashed against the chair and his handler's heel. Even involuntarily stimulated by the trigger word, it takes a bit, the Soldier's progress tracked by how his breathing hitches into increasingly desperate moans and the head of his cock begins to weep, smearing against Rumlow's treads. Eventually he gives a spasm against the chair, thrusting forward to release onto his handler's boot, his own stomach, the floor.
Just like last time, there's more spilling out of him than a normal man. And just like last time in the shower, the Winter Soldier's still hard, with no signs of flagging. It only makes it easier for Rumlow to grind his throbbing cock against his slicked stomach.
Out of breath, the Soldier attempts to answer again. "It...it should just be you," he grunts. He doesn't know what else to say to get Rumlow's approval, if he didn't like the previous answer. Since his handler didn't say he had to keep trying to come, the Soldier stops rubbing his tortured cock against his boot, his hips stilling, chin resting against his clavicle as he swallows and catches his breath.
Edited (typo) 2025-06-25 05:57 (UTC)
His Soldier puts on quite a show. Everyone watches, Rumlow is absolutely sure about that. He doesn't mind, let them watch. It's all they're gonna get tonight anyway, Rumlow already knows this.
The struggle, the emotion flicking across the Asset's face- it's important in this moment, even if it's dangerous. It's these small pockets of lucidity mixed with what's about to happen in the chair, that will hopefully get Rumlow what he wants. It's all an experiment though, really. Everything with the Soldier is.
Even this, watching to see just how far the Soldier will go to be able to follow Rumlow's order- it's brilliant to watch, even if the techs look worried- more for their own lives than anything else. No one actually cares about the Soldier. No one but Rumlow.
He smirks when the Soldier's hips start to move, trying to get friction from his boot. He can feel himself starting to get hard at the sight of it, the desperate moans equally encouraging. He presses his boot down a little harder when the Soldier spasms in the chair, and even so, he spills out everywhere. There's so much of it, and all Rumlow can think is that all of that was inside of him too. How can anyone deny that they're connected?
Rumlow lets out a low, satisfied sound at those words, loosening the hold his boot has on his cock, before he drops his leg back down so he can lean in close once again. "That's right. Just me. I'm the only person who gets to decide what happens to you. Now- you've been a good pet after all."
That being said, Rumlow starts to unbuckle his own belt, pushing his pants and underwear down enough so he can pull his cock out, already hard just from watching. He's pretty damn sure half the rest of these guards are fucking hard as well. "Would you rather just have me than all of them?"
The struggle, the emotion flicking across the Asset's face- it's important in this moment, even if it's dangerous. It's these small pockets of lucidity mixed with what's about to happen in the chair, that will hopefully get Rumlow what he wants. It's all an experiment though, really. Everything with the Soldier is.
Even this, watching to see just how far the Soldier will go to be able to follow Rumlow's order- it's brilliant to watch, even if the techs look worried- more for their own lives than anything else. No one actually cares about the Soldier. No one but Rumlow.
He smirks when the Soldier's hips start to move, trying to get friction from his boot. He can feel himself starting to get hard at the sight of it, the desperate moans equally encouraging. He presses his boot down a little harder when the Soldier spasms in the chair, and even so, he spills out everywhere. There's so much of it, and all Rumlow can think is that all of that was inside of him too. How can anyone deny that they're connected?
Rumlow lets out a low, satisfied sound at those words, loosening the hold his boot has on his cock, before he drops his leg back down so he can lean in close once again. "That's right. Just me. I'm the only person who gets to decide what happens to you. Now- you've been a good pet after all."
That being said, Rumlow starts to unbuckle his own belt, pushing his pants and underwear down enough so he can pull his cock out, already hard just from watching. He's pretty damn sure half the rest of these guards are fucking hard as well. "Would you rather just have me than all of them?"
The Winter Soldier immediately sags against the chair soon as Rumlow removes his boot, a ragged breath of relief shuddering up his whole body.
He's still recovering with his thighs vainly trying press together to protect his aching cock and balls when Rumlow poses the next question. Head drooping, his wild hair hanging in his face in a limp curtain, the Soldier sucks in a shaking breath, tries to steady it, and then he forces himself to look up because Rumlow's made it clear he wants him looking him dead in the eyes when he answers.
"Yes," the Soldier replies quickly, without having to think about it. It's the easiest thing his handler asked him to do today.
And maybe Rumlow agrees, he realizes with a dull feeling that doesn't dare to be hope, because the man's working his fatigues and underwear down to reveal the flex of muscle in his thighs, the same ones he'd been up close to when he'd knelt in front of him in the shower and he'd wrapped his lips around the heat of his waiting cock. That same cock's now in Rumlow's hand, hard and jutting, and the Soldier can feel his dry mouth starting to moisten again with saliva in some sort of instinctive response.
Rumlow said he's a good pet. He's got his dick out. Maybe he'll find his answer to his liking and it'll just be him instead of the whole base. With this in mind, the Soldier forces his cum-splattered thighs to spread, to give his handler better access as best he can when he's restrained to the suppression chair and his ability to display his body is limited.
He's still recovering with his thighs vainly trying press together to protect his aching cock and balls when Rumlow poses the next question. Head drooping, his wild hair hanging in his face in a limp curtain, the Soldier sucks in a shaking breath, tries to steady it, and then he forces himself to look up because Rumlow's made it clear he wants him looking him dead in the eyes when he answers.
"Yes," the Soldier replies quickly, without having to think about it. It's the easiest thing his handler asked him to do today.
And maybe Rumlow agrees, he realizes with a dull feeling that doesn't dare to be hope, because the man's working his fatigues and underwear down to reveal the flex of muscle in his thighs, the same ones he'd been up close to when he'd knelt in front of him in the shower and he'd wrapped his lips around the heat of his waiting cock. That same cock's now in Rumlow's hand, hard and jutting, and the Soldier can feel his dry mouth starting to moisten again with saliva in some sort of instinctive response.
Rumlow said he's a good pet. He's got his dick out. Maybe he'll find his answer to his liking and it'll just be him instead of the whole base. With this in mind, the Soldier forces his cum-splattered thighs to spread, to give his handler better access as best he can when he's restrained to the suppression chair and his ability to display his body is limited.
Edited (typo + changing wording) 2025-06-25 14:25 (UTC)
The Soldier makes a decision- he isn't ever supposed to, but he does, deciding that he'd rather have Rumlow than all the rest. He says yes, his eyes no longer hold the dead, cold stare, but are alive with something aching and rebellious. This is what Rumlow has been chasing all along.
"Good boy," Rumlow purrs lowly as the Soldier's legs spread for him. He'd
say the Soldier's body is on display well enough. He's seated, completely naked, legs spread- what more could he want? He motions for the chair to be tilted back and the leg spreaders pushed up to make the Soldier bend his knees up, giving Rumlow all the access he needs.
He grab the Soldier's hips and yanks them forward a little more, leaning in to gently drag his fingers along his Soldier's stubbled cheek while whispering against his ear. Words only for his Soldier. "Remember that. Remember who is giving you reprieve. Remember who you belong to."
As he does this, he swipes a good amount of the Soldier's cum from his stomach and shoves it into the Soldier's impossibly tight hole with two fingers to lube him up, just so he has an easier time to slide in. He doesn't waste any time after that, curling his fingers around his cock once again and guiding himself to the Soldier's entrance. Rumlow barely gives him a moment to think before he starts pushing in forcefully past each ring of muscle until he's completely seated inside, a long, low moan escaping him. He's never felt anything so tight in his life. His cock pulses immediately.
"There you go. Now you've got what you need." His hand brushes back the Soldier's damp hair so he can get a good look into his eyes. "Say thank you."
"Good boy," Rumlow purrs lowly as the Soldier's legs spread for him. He'd
say the Soldier's body is on display well enough. He's seated, completely naked, legs spread- what more could he want? He motions for the chair to be tilted back and the leg spreaders pushed up to make the Soldier bend his knees up, giving Rumlow all the access he needs.
He grab the Soldier's hips and yanks them forward a little more, leaning in to gently drag his fingers along his Soldier's stubbled cheek while whispering against his ear. Words only for his Soldier. "Remember that. Remember who is giving you reprieve. Remember who you belong to."
As he does this, he swipes a good amount of the Soldier's cum from his stomach and shoves it into the Soldier's impossibly tight hole with two fingers to lube him up, just so he has an easier time to slide in. He doesn't waste any time after that, curling his fingers around his cock once again and guiding himself to the Soldier's entrance. Rumlow barely gives him a moment to think before he starts pushing in forcefully past each ring of muscle until he's completely seated inside, a long, low moan escaping him. He's never felt anything so tight in his life. His cock pulses immediately.
"There you go. Now you've got what you need." His hand brushes back the Soldier's damp hair so he can get a good look into his eyes. "Say thank you."
The chair reclines, his legs hiked up and spread, the Winter Soldier's erection bobbing as he's tilted back in the restraints and he gives the room a good view of his ass, streaks of cum starting to slip along the firm lines of his thighs. His view of room cants. Staring mutely up at the ceiling, up at the suppression halo overhead in its resting place, the Soldier only seems to come alive again when Rumlow's fingers tease against his face.
Blinking, his lips part at that order to remember. He'll try. Maybe they've had this conversation before and he thought he'd try then too.
The Soldier barely has time to brace himself before he feels Rumlow's slick fingers diving into him. His handler isn't trying to ease him open - why would he, for an asset who can't reliably comply - and if it hurts, the Soldier bites it back, gazing up at the ceiling, hearing, feeling more than seeing Rumlow settling into position between his hiked up legs. It hurts when he forces himself in, the Soldier's back arching against the chair back slippery with his sweat, his jaw clenching to bite back any agonized sounds. Rumlow, after all, hadn't said he was allowed to make them.
He's beyond tight around Rumlow, his ring quivering around his member. If Rumlow had caught the Asset when he was coming off a wipe, he would've been limp, unresistant, easier to enter. But malfunctioning like this, the Soldier showing more instances of a person with funny things like thoughts and opinions trying to emerge through the cracks in his conditioning, and the Soldier's body fights back.
A man's shadow blots the overhead lights, blocking his view of the ceiling and the chair's halo waiting to lower, humming, over his head.
The Soldier blinks up at Rumlow with glassy blue eyes, his tongue flicking over his lips, his breathing shallow as he adjusts to the feeling of his handler filling him. "Thank you," he creaks out.
Even as Rumlow lodges himself almost balls deep, the Soldier's still clenching around his cock, muscles rippling, trying ineffectively to push him out. His hands ball into fists where they're restrained at the wrists and upper arm to the reinforced suppression chair. Now he's blinking quickly again, a tell that he's struggling to remain obedient, unresistant; compliant, as he needs to be for Rumlow. Tilted back, his cock hangs down a little, curving so that its weeping head can smear against his stomach with each breath.
Blinking, his lips part at that order to remember. He'll try. Maybe they've had this conversation before and he thought he'd try then too.
The Soldier barely has time to brace himself before he feels Rumlow's slick fingers diving into him. His handler isn't trying to ease him open - why would he, for an asset who can't reliably comply - and if it hurts, the Soldier bites it back, gazing up at the ceiling, hearing, feeling more than seeing Rumlow settling into position between his hiked up legs. It hurts when he forces himself in, the Soldier's back arching against the chair back slippery with his sweat, his jaw clenching to bite back any agonized sounds. Rumlow, after all, hadn't said he was allowed to make them.
He's beyond tight around Rumlow, his ring quivering around his member. If Rumlow had caught the Asset when he was coming off a wipe, he would've been limp, unresistant, easier to enter. But malfunctioning like this, the Soldier showing more instances of a person with funny things like thoughts and opinions trying to emerge through the cracks in his conditioning, and the Soldier's body fights back.
A man's shadow blots the overhead lights, blocking his view of the ceiling and the chair's halo waiting to lower, humming, over his head.
The Soldier blinks up at Rumlow with glassy blue eyes, his tongue flicking over his lips, his breathing shallow as he adjusts to the feeling of his handler filling him. "Thank you," he creaks out.
Even as Rumlow lodges himself almost balls deep, the Soldier's still clenching around his cock, muscles rippling, trying ineffectively to push him out. His hands ball into fists where they're restrained at the wrists and upper arm to the reinforced suppression chair. Now he's blinking quickly again, a tell that he's struggling to remain obedient, unresistant; compliant, as he needs to be for Rumlow. Tilted back, his cock hangs down a little, curving so that its weeping head can smear against his stomach with each breath.
It's interesting to see which orders the Soldier follows and which he doesn't. Which ones he is on the verge of breaking, but can't quite get there. He knows somewhere near by, medical personal are taking notes. They'd never turn down an opportunity to get data on their Asset, even at a time like this. Especially at a time like this.
The way the Soldier squeezes around his cock feels like he's pulling him in, even as his body is fighting it. Rumlow likes this fight. It means his Soldier is alive. He wont make the same mistake as he did earlier. It was always meant to be like this anyway- handler, seated deep inside his pet- but that struggle always gets him harder than anything else ever could.
With that thank you being utters out through chapped lips so easily, Rumlow pulls out, then drives himself back in. "Look at me." His hand closes around the Soldier's throat this time, putting pressure there. Not enough to make the Soldier's struggle, but enough for its presence to be known. "Remember who you belong to. Remember that I'm the one who gives you everything you need. Tell me. I want to hear it, over and over again."
Another slow pull out, then a thrust in all the way, before he starts to set up a steady rhythm, hammering into his Soldier to hammer those thoughts into his head as well. When the Soldier starts repeating those words and doesn't stop, Rumlow looks over at the technician and gives him a nod. "Begin the wipe."
The way the Soldier squeezes around his cock feels like he's pulling him in, even as his body is fighting it. Rumlow likes this fight. It means his Soldier is alive. He wont make the same mistake as he did earlier. It was always meant to be like this anyway- handler, seated deep inside his pet- but that struggle always gets him harder than anything else ever could.
With that thank you being utters out through chapped lips so easily, Rumlow pulls out, then drives himself back in. "Look at me." His hand closes around the Soldier's throat this time, putting pressure there. Not enough to make the Soldier's struggle, but enough for its presence to be known. "Remember who you belong to. Remember that I'm the one who gives you everything you need. Tell me. I want to hear it, over and over again."
Another slow pull out, then a thrust in all the way, before he starts to set up a steady rhythm, hammering into his Soldier to hammer those thoughts into his head as well. When the Soldier starts repeating those words and doesn't stop, Rumlow looks over at the technician and gives him a nod. "Begin the wipe."
Look at me. The Soldier obeys, keeping his eyes open and fixed on his handler's face leaning over him, observing how the other man's face tightens with concentration, with pleasure. How hard he needs to work to drive in today's lesson into a disobedient, unreliable asset.
The Winter Soldier's body rocks against the chair with each plunge of Rumlow's cock to punctuate his words. He doesn't try to shift his neck out of the way when his palm presses down on it, callused fingers curling around his throat. With his hand around his neck, the Soldier can't nod. The most he can do is grunt with each thrust, each little twist of Rumlow's hip as he pulls back - sometimes far enough away it almost feels like he'll slip out, slip away from the room, leave him alone with the guards no doubt waiting their turn - and the Soldier's babbling as soon as he's given permission to speak again, like a valve's been released.
He isn't sure what he says. It's a broken stream of thought, really, each pounding of that cock stuffing itself deep inside edging out more and more nonsense.
Something hums overhead.
Despite his standing orders to lavish praise on Rumlow, to illustrate why only he's uniquely qualified to be his handler, the Soldier suddenly shuts up when a shadow passes by overhead, eyes widening in terror. The suppression halo descends, an impending lightning strike in slow motion, so slow he can see each individual spark popping from the panels that'll fit over his head and then begin firing into his temples.
A tech darts in with a rubber mouth guard then, slipping it past his lips. Without thinking, operating on autopilot, the Soldier accepts the mouth guard even as he shrinks against the reclined chair, his whimper muffled. There's nowhere to hide between the restraints and Rumlow spearing him with his thick cock. There's no escape. There never is.
The halo embraces his head, obscuring one eye with a metal panel. Rumlow will know exactly when the wipe starts, because the Winter Soldier starts screaming and screaming around the mouth guard.
The Winter Soldier's body rocks against the chair with each plunge of Rumlow's cock to punctuate his words. He doesn't try to shift his neck out of the way when his palm presses down on it, callused fingers curling around his throat. With his hand around his neck, the Soldier can't nod. The most he can do is grunt with each thrust, each little twist of Rumlow's hip as he pulls back - sometimes far enough away it almost feels like he'll slip out, slip away from the room, leave him alone with the guards no doubt waiting their turn - and the Soldier's babbling as soon as he's given permission to speak again, like a valve's been released.
He isn't sure what he says. It's a broken stream of thought, really, each pounding of that cock stuffing itself deep inside edging out more and more nonsense.
Something hums overhead.
Despite his standing orders to lavish praise on Rumlow, to illustrate why only he's uniquely qualified to be his handler, the Soldier suddenly shuts up when a shadow passes by overhead, eyes widening in terror. The suppression halo descends, an impending lightning strike in slow motion, so slow he can see each individual spark popping from the panels that'll fit over his head and then begin firing into his temples.
A tech darts in with a rubber mouth guard then, slipping it past his lips. Without thinking, operating on autopilot, the Soldier accepts the mouth guard even as he shrinks against the reclined chair, his whimper muffled. There's nowhere to hide between the restraints and Rumlow spearing him with his thick cock. There's no escape. There never is.
The halo embraces his head, obscuring one eye with a metal panel. Rumlow will know exactly when the wipe starts, because the Winter Soldier starts screaming and screaming around the mouth guard.
Edited 2025-06-26 03:45 (UTC)
His soldier seems almost too lost now- even as he's saying what Rumlow wants him to say, over and over again. It's an overload to a mind that is finding pieces of itself again. But those are the pieces Rumlow wants to slip into. The places in that fractured mind between the Soldier and someone else. James Buchanan Barnes. That name is never to be spoken, but he remembers it well.
Rumlow thrusts into him hard and fast, deep enough to move the Soldier's hips with the motion. He only slows down a little when the guard is shoved into his Soldier's mouth, and the machine starts to shift and move, ready to swallow up the man under him.
The sound of the machine activating is almost sickening, the air crackling around them. Rumlow keeps up his thrust, moving his hands down to the Soldier's torso, fingers digging in. He wants the first and last thing the Soldier remembers to be him. Before and after the wipe. He'll be there.
When the screams are ripped from his Soldier's throat, there's a part of him that hates it, though. Hates that this is a thing being pulled out by someone else. Hates that he has to go through all this goddamn trial and error to get the Soldier to remember him. He hates the screams that aren't caused him alone- and that anger makes him fuck harder, relentlessly, as if he's the only thing he wants the Soldier to feel, even through the electric shocks of the mind wipe.
Rumlow thrusts into him hard and fast, deep enough to move the Soldier's hips with the motion. He only slows down a little when the guard is shoved into his Soldier's mouth, and the machine starts to shift and move, ready to swallow up the man under him.
The sound of the machine activating is almost sickening, the air crackling around them. Rumlow keeps up his thrust, moving his hands down to the Soldier's torso, fingers digging in. He wants the first and last thing the Soldier remembers to be him. Before and after the wipe. He'll be there.
When the screams are ripped from his Soldier's throat, there's a part of him that hates it, though. Hates that this is a thing being pulled out by someone else. Hates that he has to go through all this goddamn trial and error to get the Soldier to remember him. He hates the screams that aren't caused him alone- and that anger makes him fuck harder, relentlessly, as if he's the only thing he wants the Soldier to feel, even through the electric shocks of the mind wipe.
He can't see. Can't feel.
Fire searing through his skull. Shocks crackle at regular intervals, drowning out the pissed-off groans from his handler, the slap of his balls against skin. How blunt nails dig into his chest and stomach, drawing angry red lines against heaving skin.
Rumlow can fuck the Winter Soldier all he likes, cock slamming into his prostate hard enough to jolt his hips. But for now he's gone, lost in the embrace of the machine steadily wiping the slate clean, just like it has before Rumlow was born and will keep doing when he's gone, too, like all the other handlers before him. All that's left is the Soldier's naked, sweat-slicked body as he seizes up in the chair, digging new welts into his skin as he instinctively tries to convulse away from the electricity arcing into his head. Face partially obscured by the suppression halo, the Soldier's visible eye has rolled up until only the whites are visible.
It's a few minutes. Today's wipe goes a little differently - instead of it just going on and on and on, for however long it takes until the Soldier's reset to his pliable, default "setting", HYDRA tries something new.
The Soldier gets a "break". Just a few seconds, maybe a minute at most. An experiment to see if this will lead to better results regarding the Winter Soldier's future compliance. A gap, where Rumlow can insert himself in his asset's weakened state.
One of the techs reaches out to lower the discharge's intensity and frequency, the machine still locked around the Soldier's head while it drops to a low-level hum. A pulse - weaker, a shove to his raw brain instead of a piercing stab - revives him enough that he moans around the rubber bite guard. Drool edges down the corners of his mouth, tracking down his jaw. His visible eye blinks, unfocused, unsure where he is. Sagging against the restraints, his asshole loosens around Rumlow, whole body limp and boneless with animal relief. Tears of agony brim against his dark lashes and spill over. The sound of his wheezing whimpers, muffled by the rubber guard clenched in his teeth, fills the air, mingling with the obscene slapping sounds of Rumlow pounding into his twitching ass.
The tech who lowered the voltage will have her hand hovering over the dials, eyes on Rumlow, waiting for a signal to crank it back up and resume the wipe.
Fire searing through his skull. Shocks crackle at regular intervals, drowning out the pissed-off groans from his handler, the slap of his balls against skin. How blunt nails dig into his chest and stomach, drawing angry red lines against heaving skin.
Rumlow can fuck the Winter Soldier all he likes, cock slamming into his prostate hard enough to jolt his hips. But for now he's gone, lost in the embrace of the machine steadily wiping the slate clean, just like it has before Rumlow was born and will keep doing when he's gone, too, like all the other handlers before him. All that's left is the Soldier's naked, sweat-slicked body as he seizes up in the chair, digging new welts into his skin as he instinctively tries to convulse away from the electricity arcing into his head. Face partially obscured by the suppression halo, the Soldier's visible eye has rolled up until only the whites are visible.
It's a few minutes. Today's wipe goes a little differently - instead of it just going on and on and on, for however long it takes until the Soldier's reset to his pliable, default "setting", HYDRA tries something new.
The Soldier gets a "break". Just a few seconds, maybe a minute at most. An experiment to see if this will lead to better results regarding the Winter Soldier's future compliance. A gap, where Rumlow can insert himself in his asset's weakened state.
One of the techs reaches out to lower the discharge's intensity and frequency, the machine still locked around the Soldier's head while it drops to a low-level hum. A pulse - weaker, a shove to his raw brain instead of a piercing stab - revives him enough that he moans around the rubber bite guard. Drool edges down the corners of his mouth, tracking down his jaw. His visible eye blinks, unfocused, unsure where he is. Sagging against the restraints, his asshole loosens around Rumlow, whole body limp and boneless with animal relief. Tears of agony brim against his dark lashes and spill over. The sound of his wheezing whimpers, muffled by the rubber guard clenched in his teeth, fills the air, mingling with the obscene slapping sounds of Rumlow pounding into his twitching ass.
The tech who lowered the voltage will have her hand hovering over the dials, eyes on Rumlow, waiting for a signal to crank it back up and resume the wipe.
It's a powerful thing as he watches the Soldier start to lose it all. The fight, the rebellion, the hold on whatever fragments are there. It's a powerful thing, knowing that all throughout, he's still thrusting deep inside of him, owning him. He watches the Soldier he knows getting wiped nearly clean, the shift in that gaze and demeanor taking hold.
He feels as the convulsions wrack the Soldier's body and brain, leaving him slack and pliant under him. Everything loosens, and Rumlow is left to fuck into him relentlessly with nothing standing in his way. He loves it and hates it, but he knows what kind of power he hopes to yield with these results.
"It's okay... it'a alright. I've got you. I've always got you. I'll always take care of you. Just do what I say, follow my every word and I'll protect you." He purrs into the Soldier's ear, fingers digging in tight at his collarbone. "You're mine. Remember that. You'll always be mine." He drives it home with another deep thrust, and then he cries out, spilling into the Soldier, slicking his entrance with each thrust. When he does so, he gives a nod to the tech to continue, riding out his orgasm.
He feels as the convulsions wrack the Soldier's body and brain, leaving him slack and pliant under him. Everything loosens, and Rumlow is left to fuck into him relentlessly with nothing standing in his way. He loves it and hates it, but he knows what kind of power he hopes to yield with these results.
"It's okay... it'a alright. I've got you. I've always got you. I'll always take care of you. Just do what I say, follow my every word and I'll protect you." He purrs into the Soldier's ear, fingers digging in tight at his collarbone. "You're mine. Remember that. You'll always be mine." He drives it home with another deep thrust, and then he cries out, spilling into the Soldier, slicking his entrance with each thrust. When he does so, he gives a nod to the tech to continue, riding out his orgasm.
The break isn't long enough for the Soldier to get a second wind.
It's plenty long enough for Rumlow's words to wind their way into his tortured skull, agony wiping away all conscious thought and leaving an emptiness waiting to be filled with someone else's thoughts and desires. Orders to give him purpose. Those reassurances of Rumlow possessing him, taking care of him. Thinking for him. The Soldier, still out of it, barely conscious, only moans feebly around his bite guard when Rumlow releases into him, his unresistant body jerking with that final, powerful drive of his handler's cock stuffed inside.
Then the chair fires up.
The suppression halo sparks to life again, the Soldier spasms and bucks in the chair's embrace, starts screaming himself hoarse until he can't, until even his body finally gives out and he goes silent when he passes out. The chair sends a few spasms in his limp body until the machine's powered off and the techs cluster around him, checking test results, the IV feed in his hand, relaxed now against the chair's armrest. One of them will offer Rumlow a bottle of water, ice cold and crisp, a look of almost reverent awe on her face, her eyes wide as plates behind her glasses.
This man's fucked the Winter Soldier in the goddamn chair and survived. Jesus H Christ.
"Get something to eat, okay?" the tech says. "We'll get him situated in that cell you requested."
A few hours later, Rumlow can find the freshly wiped Asset lying in what HYDRA calls a "VIP cell" - it has an actual bed with actual sheets and actual blankets (thin), with a metal toilet in the wall instead of a hole in the ground. A slit for a window, too small for anyone to crawl through. Dawn's light filters through the bars, across the concrete floor and its new and old stains, and settles on the Soldier's unconscious form sprawled on the bed where HYDRA personnel dumped him and then fled, as if afraid their human weapon would suddenly jerk awake and start snapping necks. His face is still covered in dried drool and the salt of tear tracks.
Weirdly enough, someone (maybe in a bizarre fit of modesty), has wrestled the Soldier into a paper-thin patient gown. It'll show that he isn't tenting, the involuntary erection finally gone flaccid.
It's plenty long enough for Rumlow's words to wind their way into his tortured skull, agony wiping away all conscious thought and leaving an emptiness waiting to be filled with someone else's thoughts and desires. Orders to give him purpose. Those reassurances of Rumlow possessing him, taking care of him. Thinking for him. The Soldier, still out of it, barely conscious, only moans feebly around his bite guard when Rumlow releases into him, his unresistant body jerking with that final, powerful drive of his handler's cock stuffed inside.
Then the chair fires up.
The suppression halo sparks to life again, the Soldier spasms and bucks in the chair's embrace, starts screaming himself hoarse until he can't, until even his body finally gives out and he goes silent when he passes out. The chair sends a few spasms in his limp body until the machine's powered off and the techs cluster around him, checking test results, the IV feed in his hand, relaxed now against the chair's armrest. One of them will offer Rumlow a bottle of water, ice cold and crisp, a look of almost reverent awe on her face, her eyes wide as plates behind her glasses.
This man's fucked the Winter Soldier in the goddamn chair and survived. Jesus H Christ.
"Get something to eat, okay?" the tech says. "We'll get him situated in that cell you requested."
A few hours later, Rumlow can find the freshly wiped Asset lying in what HYDRA calls a "VIP cell" - it has an actual bed with actual sheets and actual blankets (thin), with a metal toilet in the wall instead of a hole in the ground. A slit for a window, too small for anyone to crawl through. Dawn's light filters through the bars, across the concrete floor and its new and old stains, and settles on the Soldier's unconscious form sprawled on the bed where HYDRA personnel dumped him and then fled, as if afraid their human weapon would suddenly jerk awake and start snapping necks. His face is still covered in dried drool and the salt of tear tracks.
Weirdly enough, someone (maybe in a bizarre fit of modesty), has wrestled the Soldier into a paper-thin patient gown. It'll show that he isn't tenting, the involuntary erection finally gone flaccid.
Edited 2025-06-26 06:22 (UTC)
He's finished. He pulls out with a wet slop, cum dripping out of the Soldier the same as saliva is drooling out of his mouth. The machine starts up again and the screams of his Soldier take the place of his moans. It's alright. It's only for a little while longer.
He takes the water from the tech, leering at her wide, reverent eyes. And then he brushes her off because she's beneath him. Beneath his Soldier as well. "Good," he tells her dismissively, and then goes to find something to eat.
He finds something. Maybe even bring something with him as he heads into the VIP cell. They really are trying something different here. He heads inside, guard standing outside the door, shock mechanism in his back pocket. When he heads inside he slams the door shut loudly so as to alert his presence. The Soldier might attack, but he wants to see what the reaction will be when he sees it's his handler. Not just any handler, but Rumlow.
Truth is, he realizes it'll probably be those cold, dead eyes. He'll work with that as well, until he can get every inch of his Soldier back.
He takes the water from the tech, leering at her wide, reverent eyes. And then he brushes her off because she's beneath him. Beneath his Soldier as well. "Good," he tells her dismissively, and then goes to find something to eat.
He finds something. Maybe even bring something with him as he heads into the VIP cell. They really are trying something different here. He heads inside, guard standing outside the door, shock mechanism in his back pocket. When he heads inside he slams the door shut loudly so as to alert his presence. The Soldier might attack, but he wants to see what the reaction will be when he sees it's his handler. Not just any handler, but Rumlow.
Truth is, he realizes it'll probably be those cold, dead eyes. He'll work with that as well, until he can get every inch of his Soldier back.
Edited 2025-06-26 06:30 (UTC)
The Winter Soldier doesn't bolt awake. He doesn't flinch.
Blue eyes drift open, unseeing at first, vision blurry as he stares up at the ceiling. Then details begin to resolve and even through the wipes, there are things that carry over: he instinctively knows how to handle a gun, a knife; he can remember how to move his limbs and how to sit up, which he does. He understands there are four gray walls and a gray floor. Swiveling on the bed, moving gingerly as if he's feeling his actual age and with his patient gown crinkling, the Soldier obediently turns toward the sound and the man framed in the cell's door.
Dark hair, short. Thick stubble. Brown eyes demanding his attention.
He can't identify why. Just seems like he should.
The Soldier's eyes are flat again without those little sparks of awareness, those brief glimpses of a man struggling to fight his way past the fog. When he looks at Rumlow now, his head aching with a howling kind of emptiness so vast it hurts, it's with the same recognition he's given anything else in the cell. The only hint that maybe something in the wipe held is that the freshly-wiped Soldier keeps staring silently at Rumlow, face still blank. Usually his glassy eyes would wander, unable to focus on any single thing or person without orders to fill the void of a reset mind.
Now he's watching Rumlow. Mute. Still, aside from his breathing. Waiting for input.
Blue eyes drift open, unseeing at first, vision blurry as he stares up at the ceiling. Then details begin to resolve and even through the wipes, there are things that carry over: he instinctively knows how to handle a gun, a knife; he can remember how to move his limbs and how to sit up, which he does. He understands there are four gray walls and a gray floor. Swiveling on the bed, moving gingerly as if he's feeling his actual age and with his patient gown crinkling, the Soldier obediently turns toward the sound and the man framed in the cell's door.
Dark hair, short. Thick stubble. Brown eyes demanding his attention.
He can't identify why. Just seems like he should.
The Soldier's eyes are flat again without those little sparks of awareness, those brief glimpses of a man struggling to fight his way past the fog. When he looks at Rumlow now, his head aching with a howling kind of emptiness so vast it hurts, it's with the same recognition he's given anything else in the cell. The only hint that maybe something in the wipe held is that the freshly-wiped Soldier keeps staring silently at Rumlow, face still blank. Usually his glassy eyes would wander, unable to focus on any single thing or person without orders to fill the void of a reset mind.
Now he's watching Rumlow. Mute. Still, aside from his breathing. Waiting for input.
Rumlow waits.
He's quiet as he waits, letting the Soldier cycle through it all. They're trying something different, something new. Rumlow thinks- no, he's almost positive this will make the Soldier more subservient. And maybe, just maybe... he has his own interest in mind as well.
When the Soldier sits and looks at him, Rumlow smirks, dark eyes boring into the pliant thing in front of him. He focuses, and it's perfect. Rumlow will make sure he zeroes in on him even more. He pulls out the book, staring the Soldier down.
"Желание
Ржавый
Семнадцать
Рассвет
Печь
Девять
Добросердечный
Возвращение на родину
Один
Товарный вагон."
He says the words slowly, breaks between each, watching as the Soldier reacts.
He's quiet as he waits, letting the Soldier cycle through it all. They're trying something different, something new. Rumlow thinks- no, he's almost positive this will make the Soldier more subservient. And maybe, just maybe... he has his own interest in mind as well.
When the Soldier sits and looks at him, Rumlow smirks, dark eyes boring into the pliant thing in front of him. He focuses, and it's perfect. Rumlow will make sure he zeroes in on him even more. He pulls out the book, staring the Soldier down.
"Желание
Ржавый
Семнадцать
Рассвет
Печь
Девять
Добросердечный
Возвращение на родину
Один
Товарный вагон."
He says the words slowly, breaks between each, watching as the Soldier reacts.
Edited 2025-06-26 07:12 (UTC)
There's always a reaction of some kind when that trigger sequence is used.
Unable to tear his eyes away from Rumlow, the Soldier at first just sits there on the bed with his elbows loosely resting on his thighs, mismatching hands relaxed as they hang down. Pliable. Absorbing everything and anything from the man in the room with him, commanding his attention. He might even look at ease, well-rested, if it wasn't for the streaks of dried drool and tears across his haggard face, the reddened skin where the suppression arc had seared electrical charges against his eye and cheek and temples.
It's only after Rumlow gets a few triggers words in, stringing the sequence together into a chain that wraps around the Soldier's mind, that he'll drag out those physical tells they're working:
A twitch of the Asset's dark head to the side, then a shake, like trying to get rid of dust and cobwebs. A spasm of his metal hand as it curls and uncurls into a fist. Hitched breathing; head tilting back slightly as his lips part and he gulps for air. His body quivers before he suddenly goes...still.
The Soldier doesn't lurch up from his position on the bed. The twitching stops, his breathing levels out and he's blank again, eyes fixed on Rumlow across the small confines of the VIP cell.
"Я готов отвечать."
Unable to tear his eyes away from Rumlow, the Soldier at first just sits there on the bed with his elbows loosely resting on his thighs, mismatching hands relaxed as they hang down. Pliable. Absorbing everything and anything from the man in the room with him, commanding his attention. He might even look at ease, well-rested, if it wasn't for the streaks of dried drool and tears across his haggard face, the reddened skin where the suppression arc had seared electrical charges against his eye and cheek and temples.
It's only after Rumlow gets a few triggers words in, stringing the sequence together into a chain that wraps around the Soldier's mind, that he'll drag out those physical tells they're working:
A twitch of the Asset's dark head to the side, then a shake, like trying to get rid of dust and cobwebs. A spasm of his metal hand as it curls and uncurls into a fist. Hitched breathing; head tilting back slightly as his lips part and he gulps for air. His body quivers before he suddenly goes...still.
The Soldier doesn't lurch up from his position on the bed. The twitching stops, his breathing levels out and he's blank again, eyes fixed on Rumlow across the small confines of the VIP cell.
"Я готов отвечать."
Edited (caught another typo) 2025-06-26 18:52 (UTC)
He's done this before, quite a few times now. Being the Soldier's primary handler has gotten him this privilege. It feels different this time though- or maybe that's just what he's hoping for.
It's the same as always in this capacity, though- the way the Asset's head tilts, the way he spasms, and the words start to take hold. The way a shudder runs through those limbs, breath hitching. The way everything goes blank inside, but this time the Soldier's gaze is steady on him.
Good.
Rumlow comes over to the bed, tucking the book away as he moves to loom over him. He wants to see if the Soldier's gaze follows.
"Do you remember who I am?" He asks, reaching out to rub at the dried drool from the side of the Soldier's mouth. He smirks softly at the thought of his cum still dry between his Soldier's legs as well.
It's the same as always in this capacity, though- the way the Asset's head tilts, the way he spasms, and the words start to take hold. The way a shudder runs through those limbs, breath hitching. The way everything goes blank inside, but this time the Soldier's gaze is steady on him.
Good.
Rumlow comes over to the bed, tucking the book away as he moves to loom over him. He wants to see if the Soldier's gaze follows.
"Do you remember who I am?" He asks, reaching out to rub at the dried drool from the side of the Soldier's mouth. He smirks softly at the thought of his cum still dry between his Soldier's legs as well.
"Yes," the Soldier says dully. "You're Brock Rumlow. My handler."
He doesn't pull his head away even as Rumlow rubs at the corner of his mouth with a callused thumb, something almost caring, maybe even possessive about the gesture. Bits of old saliva flake off. he gazes up, his handler gazes down, and he doesn't think to look away because...there is no because. He doesn't think, because he's waiting for Rumlow to tell him what to do, if he's permitted to look away or if he should maintain eye contact. Since he hasn't told him to get up or lie down, he remains sitting, his legs unconsciously spread to give Rumlow better access to get closer.
Freshly wiped and prepped with the trigger sequence, now primed to obey the man who tightened the leash around his mind, the Winter Soldier is the model of perfect obedience. Nothing behind the dim blue of his eyes, his mind hollowed out by the buzzing arc of the chair, his expression slack as he stares vacantly at Rumlow without that air of uncertainty and fear hanging over him like a miasma.
What's there to fear? An asset belongs to his handler; any difficult decisions (or decisions overall) will be entrusted to Rumlow and all he needs to do is comply.
He doesn't pull his head away even as Rumlow rubs at the corner of his mouth with a callused thumb, something almost caring, maybe even possessive about the gesture. Bits of old saliva flake off. he gazes up, his handler gazes down, and he doesn't think to look away because...there is no because. He doesn't think, because he's waiting for Rumlow to tell him what to do, if he's permitted to look away or if he should maintain eye contact. Since he hasn't told him to get up or lie down, he remains sitting, his legs unconsciously spread to give Rumlow better access to get closer.
Freshly wiped and prepped with the trigger sequence, now primed to obey the man who tightened the leash around his mind, the Winter Soldier is the model of perfect obedience. Nothing behind the dim blue of his eyes, his mind hollowed out by the buzzing arc of the chair, his expression slack as he stares vacantly at Rumlow without that air of uncertainty and fear hanging over him like a miasma.
What's there to fear? An asset belongs to his handler; any difficult decisions (or decisions overall) will be entrusted to Rumlow and all he needs to do is comply.
Edited 2025-06-27 00:37 (UTC)
"Good boy." Rumlow looks at him, pleased. "That's right. I'm not just your handler though, am I. I take care of you. You... you take care of me. We look out for each other." Because that's what this really is, isn't it? That's what he wants it to be.
He smirks when the Soldier's legs widen for him, and he steps in closer, his hand sliding up to push through his Soldier's hair, tilting his head back just a little more so he can fully look down at him. "What would you do for me, Soldier?"
He smirks when the Soldier's legs widen for him, and he steps in closer, his hand sliding up to push through his Soldier's hair, tilting his head back just a little more so he can fully look down at him. "What would you do for me, Soldier?"
When Rumlow says it, everything seems to just...fall into place. It makes sense - not that the Soldier should be the judge of that, because that's what his handler's for - and he knows that whatever the man wants, he'll provide it.
Rumlow will find that not only was the Soldier dressed for some reason, someone on the wipe team has actually tried to deal with the tangles in his overgrown, unkempt hair. Maybe it's the same person who stuck him in the thin hospital gown. Maybe it's because the Soldier was unconscious longer than usual. Whatever the case, when Rumlow threads his fingers through his hair it'll feel like he's catching on less tangles, the strands still brittle from the sanitation chemicals he got sprayed down with but at least there's significantly less mats.
His head tilted back, Rumlow's palm cupping the back of his pounding skull, the Soldier looks up at his handler. "Anything," he says without thinking about it. "Whatever you want me to do."
Rumlow will find that not only was the Soldier dressed for some reason, someone on the wipe team has actually tried to deal with the tangles in his overgrown, unkempt hair. Maybe it's the same person who stuck him in the thin hospital gown. Maybe it's because the Soldier was unconscious longer than usual. Whatever the case, when Rumlow threads his fingers through his hair it'll feel like he's catching on less tangles, the strands still brittle from the sanitation chemicals he got sprayed down with but at least there's significantly less mats.
His head tilted back, Rumlow's palm cupping the back of his pounding skull, the Soldier looks up at his handler. "Anything," he says without thinking about it. "Whatever you want me to do."
Rumlow will have to find that person. He's not sure what he'll do with them yet.
For now though, it's a good thing. He likes these longer strands when they're easier to hold on to. Easier to pull. He's feeling particularly kind right now. There has to be a difference when it comes to order and pain. There has to be that tantalizing care in between.
The words come so easily, mindlessly. Rumlow misses the turmoil in those blue eyes, but he can work with this too. Of course he can. He lets go of the Soldiers hair, tilting his head back down just a little and pulls a bottle of water from one of the compartments in his cargo pants, opening it up for his Soldier. "Open your mouth. Drink slowly. Look at me."
He tips the bottle so the water flows into the Soldier's mouth and he can drink, eyes not leaving those icy blues. He pauses to let the Soldier swallow, then keeps going that way until the bottle is drained. "Does that feel better?"
For now though, it's a good thing. He likes these longer strands when they're easier to hold on to. Easier to pull. He's feeling particularly kind right now. There has to be a difference when it comes to order and pain. There has to be that tantalizing care in between.
The words come so easily, mindlessly. Rumlow misses the turmoil in those blue eyes, but he can work with this too. Of course he can. He lets go of the Soldiers hair, tilting his head back down just a little and pulls a bottle of water from one of the compartments in his cargo pants, opening it up for his Soldier. "Open your mouth. Drink slowly. Look at me."
He tips the bottle so the water flows into the Soldier's mouth and he can drink, eyes not leaving those icy blues. He pauses to let the Soldier swallow, then keeps going that way until the bottle is drained. "Does that feel better?"
Complying, glassy eyes still locked on Rumlow, the Soldier opens his mouth, inviting his handler to pour whatever's in the bottle without question.
He drinks slowly. Or more, accurately, he tries to.
Maybe it's the recent wipe, his body still recovering even though outwardly he looks fine. It takes awhile to remember how to swallow, his tongue feeling thick and dry in his mouth, his throat clenching as he suddenly chokes on the first few sips, water splashing on himself and a few droplets beading against Rumlow's hand wrapped around the bottle. After that, though, the Soldier seems to regain control of his still-healing faculties, Adam's apple bobbling as he obediently swallows. He'll manage small drinks with his mouth open, tongue glistening, head tilted back a little, blue eyes fixed on Rumlow's through a few tangles of hair plastered against his face in dark curls.
After awhile there's no more water, the Soldier swallowing every last drop. He'll close his mouth once Rumlow lowers his bottle and asks for his input.
Tongue slipping out to catch a few beads of water against his upper lip, the Soldier considers the question. "I think so. Yes."
He drinks slowly. Or more, accurately, he tries to.
Maybe it's the recent wipe, his body still recovering even though outwardly he looks fine. It takes awhile to remember how to swallow, his tongue feeling thick and dry in his mouth, his throat clenching as he suddenly chokes on the first few sips, water splashing on himself and a few droplets beading against Rumlow's hand wrapped around the bottle. After that, though, the Soldier seems to regain control of his still-healing faculties, Adam's apple bobbling as he obediently swallows. He'll manage small drinks with his mouth open, tongue glistening, head tilted back a little, blue eyes fixed on Rumlow's through a few tangles of hair plastered against his face in dark curls.
After awhile there's no more water, the Soldier swallowing every last drop. He'll close his mouth once Rumlow lowers his bottle and asks for his input.
Tongue slipping out to catch a few beads of water against his upper lip, the Soldier considers the question. "I think so. Yes."
It's fine, Rumlow doesn't mind the mess. They've been in a lot worse than this together. Blood, cum, sweat. He waits patiently as his Soldier adjusts and swallows. It's good practice either way- and he likes being this person for him. The one who will re-teach what he already knows.
He moves the bottle away, thumb dragging along the Soldier's lower lip when he's done. "Good boy," he praises, then leans in close, letting his tongue lap along the Soldier's lower lip before he practically purrs. "Kiss me like you mean it."
The Soldier should have enough inherent training and brainwashing to know what that means. He's not the Winter Soldier for nothing.
He moves the bottle away, thumb dragging along the Soldier's lower lip when he's done. "Good boy," he praises, then leans in close, letting his tongue lap along the Soldier's lower lip before he practically purrs. "Kiss me like you mean it."
The Soldier should have enough inherent training and brainwashing to know what that means. He's not the Winter Soldier for nothing.
His lower lip still shining with a combination of water and Rumlow's saliva, still warm, the Soldier leans forward to close what little distance remains between them.
Compared to earlier in the day, back in the shower when he'd went rogue with awkward, fumbling kisses he hadn't been ordered to give, the Soldier this time isn't so clumsy. Rumlow's right in there's still latent training.
Now that the Asset isn't fighting off instability, his muscle memory conflicting with someone struggling to break through fracturing conditioning, he can kiss without slopping against Rumlow's lips, missing entirely, bumping noses, or with the bruising force of a hungry, desperate man. Instead he leans forward, tilts his head and closes his eyes, long lashes dark against his cheeks. His lips press against Rumlow's.
It's surprisingly chaste at first, gentle; he fits perfectly against Rumlow, his breath warm. Since Rumlow's order was open-ended, the Soldier defaults to kissing the way Rumlow likes it: he'll reach out, cupping a cold metal hand against the back of his handler's neck as he shifts forward on the bed, his mouth opening wider to give his handler whatever access he wants and he even moans into Rumlow, like he can't get enough of him.
Compared to earlier in the day, back in the shower when he'd went rogue with awkward, fumbling kisses he hadn't been ordered to give, the Soldier this time isn't so clumsy. Rumlow's right in there's still latent training.
Now that the Asset isn't fighting off instability, his muscle memory conflicting with someone struggling to break through fracturing conditioning, he can kiss without slopping against Rumlow's lips, missing entirely, bumping noses, or with the bruising force of a hungry, desperate man. Instead he leans forward, tilts his head and closes his eyes, long lashes dark against his cheeks. His lips press against Rumlow's.
It's surprisingly chaste at first, gentle; he fits perfectly against Rumlow, his breath warm. Since Rumlow's order was open-ended, the Soldier defaults to kissing the way Rumlow likes it: he'll reach out, cupping a cold metal hand against the back of his handler's neck as he shifts forward on the bed, his mouth opening wider to give his handler whatever access he wants and he even moans into Rumlow, like he can't get enough of him.
Rumlow can't deny how good this is as well. There's no rebellion, there's no fight- just exactly what his Soldier is supposed to do.
This big, blue eyes flutter closed, lips pressing in against his own. It's good. It feels like someone who knows what they want and goes for it. His Soldier, going for what he wants and needs without a second thought- even if that thought isn't his own.
The chaste kiss feels like his Soldier is feeling things out. Like he decides to take a chance at what he wants and go for it, licking into his mouth. It's just the way Rumlow likes it, and it urges him forward. He only wanted this kiss, but the Soldier moans into him without prompting, and Rumlow is taken with it.
He can feel his Soldier shift forward on the bed to get closer on him, and it has Rumlow's arms circling his Soldier, dragging him up to stand so he can get closer, hands gripping that firm waist under the gown.
This big, blue eyes flutter closed, lips pressing in against his own. It's good. It feels like someone who knows what they want and goes for it. His Soldier, going for what he wants and needs without a second thought- even if that thought isn't his own.
The chaste kiss feels like his Soldier is feeling things out. Like he decides to take a chance at what he wants and go for it, licking into his mouth. It's just the way Rumlow likes it, and it urges him forward. He only wanted this kiss, but the Soldier moans into him without prompting, and Rumlow is taken with it.
He can feel his Soldier shift forward on the bed to get closer on him, and it has Rumlow's arms circling his Soldier, dragging him up to stand so he can get closer, hands gripping that firm waist under the gown.
Edited 2025-06-27 08:18 (UTC)
Shifting his body, Rumlow will find that the hospital gown's tied loosely against his asset's body. Even just pulling him up to stand will have some of the knots already slipping, coming undone, the gown loosening to the point where it's really just hanging on by a few ties around the Soldier's neck and arms shoved through the short sleeves. His lower back and ass are completely exposed as the gown falls away and he presses up against his handler. The material's so thin that Rumlow can feel his limp cock hanging down between his thighs, rubbing against the crotch of his pants as he shifts in the other man's strong hold.
For a second a wave of dizziness rocks through his body, the Soldier's lips quivering against Rumlow's for a second before he can lock his knees and ensure he'll still obey that order to kiss like you mean it. Now that he isn't likely to pitch over, he focuses on kissing, his hand stroking lightly along the back of Rumlow's neck, metal thumb tickling against his hairline.
Rumlow seemed to like the moan, so the Soldier does it again, tongue slipping into the warmth of his handler's mouth in slow, leisurely pulses. His other hand settles against the curl of his handler's shoulder, feeling muscle through the thin black shirt he wears. He braces himself against that firmness, in case there's another incident of vertigo that could compromise his ability to keep following Rumlow's orders to his specifications.
For a second a wave of dizziness rocks through his body, the Soldier's lips quivering against Rumlow's for a second before he can lock his knees and ensure he'll still obey that order to kiss like you mean it. Now that he isn't likely to pitch over, he focuses on kissing, his hand stroking lightly along the back of Rumlow's neck, metal thumb tickling against his hairline.
Rumlow seemed to like the moan, so the Soldier does it again, tongue slipping into the warmth of his handler's mouth in slow, leisurely pulses. His other hand settles against the curl of his handler's shoulder, feeling muscle through the thin black shirt he wears. He braces himself against that firmness, in case there's another incident of vertigo that could compromise his ability to keep following Rumlow's orders to his specifications.
Edited 2025-06-27 11:14 (UTC)
This is the kind of thing that takes Rumlow's breath away. It's what keeps him alive and aching for his Soldier. He knows what the Asset is made for, and why he has to go back into cryo so often, but- the times when he's out here in the world are when Rumlow truly feels alive.
He gathers the Soldier against him, glad he doesn't have to do much to loosen the gown. His hands slide down to grip the Soldier's firm ass, fingers digging into the muscled flesh. It feels like his experiment worked, with the way the Soldier responds to him. The eye contact from earlier, the recognition of who he is, the way the Soldier's body seems to crave him at every turn. Even the way his limp cock rubs into him as if it knows what it wants.
His Soldier is impossible to resist, so he figures why not? One more go of it before they can both rest up for the mission ahead. It'll be a big one- which is why he wanted to secure as much of his time here with the Soldier as possible. One more reminder of who the Soldier belongs to can't hurt.
His Soldier moans into his mouth and Rumlow swallows it into another kiss, letting it grow deeper and more possessive as his starts to grind himself against that flaccid cock. He wonders if it'll get hard without the trigger word, so he slides his hand down, ripping the gown off along the way to let it fall aside, then starts palming at him. "You've been such a good pet. I want you to get hard. I'm gonna give it to you good, and I want to hear how much you want it."
He gathers the Soldier against him, glad he doesn't have to do much to loosen the gown. His hands slide down to grip the Soldier's firm ass, fingers digging into the muscled flesh. It feels like his experiment worked, with the way the Soldier responds to him. The eye contact from earlier, the recognition of who he is, the way the Soldier's body seems to crave him at every turn. Even the way his limp cock rubs into him as if it knows what it wants.
His Soldier is impossible to resist, so he figures why not? One more go of it before they can both rest up for the mission ahead. It'll be a big one- which is why he wanted to secure as much of his time here with the Soldier as possible. One more reminder of who the Soldier belongs to can't hurt.
His Soldier moans into his mouth and Rumlow swallows it into another kiss, letting it grow deeper and more possessive as his starts to grind himself against that flaccid cock. He wonders if it'll get hard without the trigger word, so he slides his hand down, ripping the gown off along the way to let it fall aside, then starts palming at him. "You've been such a good pet. I want you to get hard. I'm gonna give it to you good, and I want to hear how much you want it."
He doesn't flinch or vainly try to cover himself up when his handler suddenly grabs a fistful of the thin clothes barely hanging on him, and jerks. The rest of the ties come free, his hospital gown gets pulled off and for the third time in the span of less than 48 hours he's ass naked. The cold air of the VIP cell raises goosebumps along the Soldier's exposed skin, though it's still warm where that rough palm is fondling his cock, fingers teasing against the softness of his balls.
His hand slips away from Rumlow's shoulder. For a second the Soldier's eyes flicker open as he glances downward. For the first time he registers the skin around his wrist is inflamed, weeping a little, red and angry with new wounds rubbed raw where he'd been convulsing against the chair's restraints just a few hours ago. He can't remember how he got them; it doesn't occur to him to ask, to question the how or why or where because Rumlow gave an order.
Right hand drifting further down, the Winter Soldier fits his palm against the back of the other man's hand, tracing a path along his knuckles and fingers until he can grip the heat of his shaft at the base and begin stroking himself into hardness. Sure, it's not as quick as using the trigger word. But maybe it's more enjoyable if he isn't forced, if his body's allowed to do its own thing for a change instead of being subject to an involuntary erection no matter what he's doing, where he's at.
He steadily pumps his hardening shaft from head to base, lips parting. He doesn't need clarification what Rumlow means by give it to you good, today's test wipe imprinting an instinctive need for his handler's cock to be buried inside him even if he isn't in the chair this time and there's no longer the crackle of electricity to drive home Rumlow's lesson.
"Fill me," the Soldier grunts, panting. His cock's steadily hardening with each stroke, with each moment when he rocks forward into Rumlow's palm, trying to rub against the heat of his skin and pin his hand against the crotch of his handler's pants. "A good asset should have a clear mind - fuck me into clarity. No room for distractions."
Rumlow had fucked him stupid with the help of the suppression chair. Now the Soldier, in a way, is asking him to do the same, just the two of them in a room without the chair or the techs or the guards possibly dividing Rumlow's attention, taking it away from him. It's a tall ask, really, to request that his handler try to fuck a super soldier stupid all by himself.
As he speaks, half-hard cock thrusting against Rumlow, the Winter Soldier still has that monotone, face expressionless for the most part even as his breathing hitches and his dead eyes lift to fix on his handler's face.
His hand slips away from Rumlow's shoulder. For a second the Soldier's eyes flicker open as he glances downward. For the first time he registers the skin around his wrist is inflamed, weeping a little, red and angry with new wounds rubbed raw where he'd been convulsing against the chair's restraints just a few hours ago. He can't remember how he got them; it doesn't occur to him to ask, to question the how or why or where because Rumlow gave an order.
Right hand drifting further down, the Winter Soldier fits his palm against the back of the other man's hand, tracing a path along his knuckles and fingers until he can grip the heat of his shaft at the base and begin stroking himself into hardness. Sure, it's not as quick as using the trigger word. But maybe it's more enjoyable if he isn't forced, if his body's allowed to do its own thing for a change instead of being subject to an involuntary erection no matter what he's doing, where he's at.
He steadily pumps his hardening shaft from head to base, lips parting. He doesn't need clarification what Rumlow means by give it to you good, today's test wipe imprinting an instinctive need for his handler's cock to be buried inside him even if he isn't in the chair this time and there's no longer the crackle of electricity to drive home Rumlow's lesson.
"Fill me," the Soldier grunts, panting. His cock's steadily hardening with each stroke, with each moment when he rocks forward into Rumlow's palm, trying to rub against the heat of his skin and pin his hand against the crotch of his handler's pants. "A good asset should have a clear mind - fuck me into clarity. No room for distractions."
Rumlow had fucked him stupid with the help of the suppression chair. Now the Soldier, in a way, is asking him to do the same, just the two of them in a room without the chair or the techs or the guards possibly dividing Rumlow's attention, taking it away from him. It's a tall ask, really, to request that his handler try to fuck a super soldier stupid all by himself.
As he speaks, half-hard cock thrusting against Rumlow, the Winter Soldier still has that monotone, face expressionless for the most part even as his breathing hitches and his dead eyes lift to fix on his handler's face.
Edited 2025-06-28 03:35 (UTC)
Now this is something completely different from earlier in that sanitation cell, metal hand forced around the Soldier's cock to painfully jerk himself off. The Soldier is more controlled here, and yet- seems to have almost a life of its own. It's an interesting thing to watch, and Rumlow is eager for it.
The Soldier's hand replaces his own, and so he moves his hands to his own pants instead, undoing them and letting them hang open as he watches the other man get himself hard, just the same as any other flesh and blood man would. Maybe- he thinks to himself- this is better. There's a sense of autonomy here, even when there really isn't any, but Rumlow can easily pretend that part away. It's just him and his Soldier the way he wants, this lips parted and panting for him. In anticipation. Thats the part that gets to Rumlow the most.
The Soldier is anticipating getting closer to him. Getting filled.
Rumlow lets out a low groan, pulling his cock out giving his hardening shaft a few good strokes. When the Soldier rocks toward him, Rumlow makes sure the other man's hand drags along his cock instead, knowing how much he wants it. How much he seems to be craving it.
He leans forward and bites at the Soldier's lower lip, giving it a good tug before he lets go. "You ask so nicely with this dirty mouth of yours. How can I deny you what you want? Undress me, then get on the bed, on all fours." He wants the Soldier to keep talking. To keep telling him what he wants to hear.
He wants to see if the Soldier will keep it up without another command.
The Soldier's hand replaces his own, and so he moves his hands to his own pants instead, undoing them and letting them hang open as he watches the other man get himself hard, just the same as any other flesh and blood man would. Maybe- he thinks to himself- this is better. There's a sense of autonomy here, even when there really isn't any, but Rumlow can easily pretend that part away. It's just him and his Soldier the way he wants, this lips parted and panting for him. In anticipation. Thats the part that gets to Rumlow the most.
The Soldier is anticipating getting closer to him. Getting filled.
Rumlow lets out a low groan, pulling his cock out giving his hardening shaft a few good strokes. When the Soldier rocks toward him, Rumlow makes sure the other man's hand drags along his cock instead, knowing how much he wants it. How much he seems to be craving it.
He leans forward and bites at the Soldier's lower lip, giving it a good tug before he lets go. "You ask so nicely with this dirty mouth of yours. How can I deny you what you want? Undress me, then get on the bed, on all fours." He wants the Soldier to keep talking. To keep telling him what he wants to hear.
He wants to see if the Soldier will keep it up without another command.
Edited 2025-06-28 04:28 (UTC)
Unfortunately, today's wipe test has its limits: with his mind freshly hollowed out by the chair and bound to Rumlow by the trigger sequence, the Winter Soldier doesn't think to keep talking unprompted. He lapses into silence like he usually does even as he pulls away, lip throbbing and red where his handler bit him almost hard enough to draw blood.
He gets to work. Reaching out with both hands, he undresses Rumlow, tugging off his black shirt to reveal the hard lines of his body, old scars dotted here and there across his torso - likely from engagements with hostiles, not that he's been classified to know the details. There's no foreplay, no stolen touches even as his eyes settle on the rosy buds of nipples. The belt and the thigh holster go next, the Soldier bending down to carefully unlace his combat boots, just like he had in the shower. He even starts with the same one. Still kneeling, he finishes up by edging down Rumlow's pants and underwear, the cold metal of his titanium hand gently cupping a thigh or a calf as he helps his handler step out of them until he, too, is as naked as his brainwashed asset.
The order fulfilled, the Soldier moves onto the next one. There's always something especially cold and clinical when he's fresh off a wipe and today's no different: he moves to the bed, mounts it so that he's on his hands and knees, his hard cock jutting, leaking a few drops of precum against the sheets, his ass on display with the fading pink marks where Rumlow had gripped his cheeks tight, and then he stops.
And waits for the next order.
The only difference is instead of his head hanging down or his blue eyes gazing vacantly forward at nothing, as it generally does when he's been wiped, the Winter Soldier has his head shifted slightly, keeping tabs of Rumlow at all times like he can't resist.
He gets to work. Reaching out with both hands, he undresses Rumlow, tugging off his black shirt to reveal the hard lines of his body, old scars dotted here and there across his torso - likely from engagements with hostiles, not that he's been classified to know the details. There's no foreplay, no stolen touches even as his eyes settle on the rosy buds of nipples. The belt and the thigh holster go next, the Soldier bending down to carefully unlace his combat boots, just like he had in the shower. He even starts with the same one. Still kneeling, he finishes up by edging down Rumlow's pants and underwear, the cold metal of his titanium hand gently cupping a thigh or a calf as he helps his handler step out of them until he, too, is as naked as his brainwashed asset.
The order fulfilled, the Soldier moves onto the next one. There's always something especially cold and clinical when he's fresh off a wipe and today's no different: he moves to the bed, mounts it so that he's on his hands and knees, his hard cock jutting, leaking a few drops of precum against the sheets, his ass on display with the fading pink marks where Rumlow had gripped his cheeks tight, and then he stops.
And waits for the next order.
The only difference is instead of his head hanging down or his blue eyes gazing vacantly forward at nothing, as it generally does when he's been wiped, the Winter Soldier has his head shifted slightly, keeping tabs of Rumlow at all times like he can't resist.
There's a strange mix of the Soldier taking on a life of his own here one minute, and then just following blind orders the next. Rumlow is trying to find the difference here- the variation. It's all an experiment though, isn't it, and so far he can't say he's disappointed in the least.
His gaze is steady as the Soldier undresses him, watching for any slight variations. There's need there, there's want, but the orders are to be followed first. Rumlow thinks that maybe less is more, then his Soldier isn't just rushing to completely the mission, but at least he gets undressed quickly enough.
Rumlow doesn't need anything fancy as the Soldier gets on the bed. It's better than the cold, dirty floor. He licks his lips, tilting his head a little as he takes in the sight in front of him, then climbs on the bed as well, his eyes catching the Soldier's. "You stopped telling me how much you want this. I don't like that," he says, then gives the Soldier's ass a good smack, keeping his hand there for maximum pain.
His gaze is steady as the Soldier undresses him, watching for any slight variations. There's need there, there's want, but the orders are to be followed first. Rumlow thinks that maybe less is more, then his Soldier isn't just rushing to completely the mission, but at least he gets undressed quickly enough.
Rumlow doesn't need anything fancy as the Soldier gets on the bed. It's better than the cold, dirty floor. He licks his lips, tilting his head a little as he takes in the sight in front of him, then climbs on the bed as well, his eyes catching the Soldier's. "You stopped telling me how much you want this. I don't like that," he says, then gives the Soldier's ass a good smack, keeping his hand there for maximum pain.
The slap is loud enough to echo in the cell, jolting the Soldier's body forward with a grunt slipping out of him. His ass stings, the muscle quivering with the aftershocks of the hard smack until Rumlow's hand settles against him with his fingers splayed over the impact zone's heat.
It still wasn't a direct order. Usually the Soldier would've kept staring, unfocused, until he received an actual order, a demand; not just a remark, an opinion.
But that was before today's test. Before he'd literally lost his mind again while his handler kept pistoning away in his body. Something now pushes the Soldier to shift his usual approach, a tug in his still throbbing brain as he stares unblinking at his handler and suddenly there's a new thought that maybe he should resume speaking. Revisit previous orders that he'd thought were already complete. Before the wipe he would've looked vaguely confused, maybe even concerned. Now there's that blank wall, his face impassive, the Soldier still staring at Rumlow as he opens his mouth to try again.
"You're unhappy," he points out the obvious, just for the record, and there probably is one because most cells in the facility have cameras spying on any occupants. "I want you to be satisfied. If I'm not operating to your standards, I should be corrected immediately." His ass tightens against Rumlow's hand as if the Soldier's flexing the muscle there. "With prejudice."
He isn't sure if Rumlow will smack him again. Just in case, the Soldier squeezes his ass, tightens the firm muscle there so if he does, it'll hurt even more and drive in the lesson of pain he might wish to impart.
It still wasn't a direct order. Usually the Soldier would've kept staring, unfocused, until he received an actual order, a demand; not just a remark, an opinion.
But that was before today's test. Before he'd literally lost his mind again while his handler kept pistoning away in his body. Something now pushes the Soldier to shift his usual approach, a tug in his still throbbing brain as he stares unblinking at his handler and suddenly there's a new thought that maybe he should resume speaking. Revisit previous orders that he'd thought were already complete. Before the wipe he would've looked vaguely confused, maybe even concerned. Now there's that blank wall, his face impassive, the Soldier still staring at Rumlow as he opens his mouth to try again.
"You're unhappy," he points out the obvious, just for the record, and there probably is one because most cells in the facility have cameras spying on any occupants. "I want you to be satisfied. If I'm not operating to your standards, I should be corrected immediately." His ass tightens against Rumlow's hand as if the Soldier's flexing the muscle there. "With prejudice."
He isn't sure if Rumlow will smack him again. Just in case, the Soldier squeezes his ass, tightens the firm muscle there so if he does, it'll hurt even more and drive in the lesson of pain he might wish to impart.
Rumlow believes in his Soldier. He knows he'll get there. He digs his fingers into the flesh of his ass, look unwavering as the Soldier stares back at him.
And then it's as if it all clicks. There's something pushing his Soldier forward. Rumlow's serious, disappointed look shifts almost immediately, a smirk forming on his face now. "Immediately," Rumlow repeats, utterly pleased by not only the words, but the way his Soldier presents himself, his ass practically begging for it as it pushes into his hand.
There's the tight squeeze of muscle against his hand, and Rumlow pulls his hand back and smacks it again, as hard as he can manage, before he grabs the taught flesh and pushes his ass cheek to the side, showing him more of that abused hole. The Soldier heals quickly, of course- but just the same as the dried drool and tears on his face, Rumlow's dried cum is still there.
He grabs the other cheek with his hand, pushing apart as much as he can manage, then spits down onto that reddened hole, sliding his thumb through it. "Tell me how much you want this. Tell me how satisfied you want to make me. Tell me what you want me to do to you."
And then it's as if it all clicks. There's something pushing his Soldier forward. Rumlow's serious, disappointed look shifts almost immediately, a smirk forming on his face now. "Immediately," Rumlow repeats, utterly pleased by not only the words, but the way his Soldier presents himself, his ass practically begging for it as it pushes into his hand.
There's the tight squeeze of muscle against his hand, and Rumlow pulls his hand back and smacks it again, as hard as he can manage, before he grabs the taught flesh and pushes his ass cheek to the side, showing him more of that abused hole. The Soldier heals quickly, of course- but just the same as the dried drool and tears on his face, Rumlow's dried cum is still there.
He grabs the other cheek with his hand, pushing apart as much as he can manage, then spits down onto that reddened hole, sliding his thumb through it. "Tell me how much you want this. Tell me how satisfied you want to make me. Tell me what you want me to do to you."
The second smack's even louder than the first, the red mark against flesh blooming in the shape of Rumlow's hand. It bodily jerks the Soldier forward again, his freshly-brushed hair dangling in his face with the force of the blow shaking free more droplets of precum welling from his hardening shaft. A few more dots stain the rumpled blanket under him.
Since he wasn't told to move, the Winter Soldier remains on his hands and knees with one cheek stinging and pulsing with fresh pain even as his ass gets forced apart and his handler leans forward, and spits into his twitching entrance. When he smears his saliva into it, the Soldier's puckered ring quivers around his slicked thumb. Rumlow must be lubricating him so he can ease his cock in - not for the Soldier's comfort, obviously, but so the handler won't risk hurting himself. The thought that Rumlow could soon be buried inside him has the Soldier groaning, ass twitching.
"I want to be used by you," the Soldier says. Thighs tense, tighten, asshole shining with his handler's saliva. "My purpose is to..." he pauses, not to realize he doesn't know who he is or where he is, like back in the shower, the room with the chair, but come up with something he thinks Rumlow would like to hear. "To make you happy by doing anything."
It takes him a little longer to come up with a specific recommendation; the fact Rumlow asked for it seems to almost surprise the Winter Soldier, even through the fresh wipe scrubbing his mind raw of imperfections.
"...you should sit on my face," the Soldier adds, voice hitching in a soft, breathy gasp. "To instruct on how to use my mouth."
Nevermind it's one of the most vulnerable positions he could be in, pinned with his head trapped. Unaware he's stealing a glance over his shoulder at Rumlow, at his handler's broad shoulders and how tightly his strong hands pull his cheeks apart, his assessment is the other man looks heavy enough, strong enough, to get the job done.
Since he wasn't told to move, the Winter Soldier remains on his hands and knees with one cheek stinging and pulsing with fresh pain even as his ass gets forced apart and his handler leans forward, and spits into his twitching entrance. When he smears his saliva into it, the Soldier's puckered ring quivers around his slicked thumb. Rumlow must be lubricating him so he can ease his cock in - not for the Soldier's comfort, obviously, but so the handler won't risk hurting himself. The thought that Rumlow could soon be buried inside him has the Soldier groaning, ass twitching.
"I want to be used by you," the Soldier says. Thighs tense, tighten, asshole shining with his handler's saliva. "My purpose is to..." he pauses, not to realize he doesn't know who he is or where he is, like back in the shower, the room with the chair, but come up with something he thinks Rumlow would like to hear. "To make you happy by doing anything."
It takes him a little longer to come up with a specific recommendation; the fact Rumlow asked for it seems to almost surprise the Winter Soldier, even through the fresh wipe scrubbing his mind raw of imperfections.
"...you should sit on my face," the Soldier adds, voice hitching in a soft, breathy gasp. "To instruct on how to use my mouth."
Nevermind it's one of the most vulnerable positions he could be in, pinned with his head trapped. Unaware he's stealing a glance over his shoulder at Rumlow, at his handler's broad shoulders and how tightly his strong hands pull his cheeks apart, his assessment is the other man looks heavy enough, strong enough, to get the job done.
Rumlow waits for the response. He waits for the finality of that sentence, that desire. His purpose is to make him happy by doing anything, and Rumlow practically purrs at the utterance, his finger pressing in against that red, puckered hole.
It's possession, that's all. He wants to use his Soldier in every way possible- to make the man his. Only his.
He wants... to be wanted.
The Soldier's little suggestion is just as nice, though. It has Rumlow's eyebrow raising, a slow smirk forming on his face. "Is that so? I think I can give that to you, sweetheart." He scoots in close behind hid Soldier's ass, grabbing his cock and dragging it along his hole. "Maybe after I fill you up and fuck you into clarity, how about that? Here's your purpose."
He doesn't waste any more time after that. With the Soldier's ass stretched out with one hand, Rumlow guides himself in, pushing past that first ring of muscle before he thrusts in completely, groaning as his hips jerk forward. Once he's gone as deep as he can go, he rolls his hips in a circular motion as if he could get any deeper, fingers digging into the Soldier's skin.
"Is this what you wanted? Do you feel full?"
It's possession, that's all. He wants to use his Soldier in every way possible- to make the man his. Only his.
He wants... to be wanted.
The Soldier's little suggestion is just as nice, though. It has Rumlow's eyebrow raising, a slow smirk forming on his face. "Is that so? I think I can give that to you, sweetheart." He scoots in close behind hid Soldier's ass, grabbing his cock and dragging it along his hole. "Maybe after I fill you up and fuck you into clarity, how about that? Here's your purpose."
He doesn't waste any more time after that. With the Soldier's ass stretched out with one hand, Rumlow guides himself in, pushing past that first ring of muscle before he thrusts in completely, groaning as his hips jerk forward. Once he's gone as deep as he can go, he rolls his hips in a circular motion as if he could get any deeper, fingers digging into the Soldier's skin.
"Is this what you wanted? Do you feel full?"
At a first glance the Soldier might look fighting fit.
The truth is that he's still physically weak after the events of the last 24 hours - between getting shocked into unconsciousness in the shower and then having his brain practically liquefied by the suppression chair while Rumlow fucked him, and it's a miracle he's able to stand and speak at all. Typically when someone shoves an object up his ass, the Soldier can and will take it with minimal complaint, bite down any noises because an asset isn't allowed to utter them. To do otherwise would only distract from a handler taking time out of their busy day to instruct him.
This time, though, all it takes is a single shove of Rumlow's thick cock to drag out a pained gasp that he can't quite choke back in time.
Tears brimming against his dark lashes, his head hanging down as he grits his teeth, the Soldier struggles to nod.
"Yes," he says, his voice strangled.
Breathing heavily through his nose, nostrils flaring, the Winter Soldier trembles around Rumlow's shaft as he presses along seemingly every centimeter, every inch. His arms and thighs shake with the effort to remain upright and on all fours, as ordered. Behind him, he can feel Rumlow's fingers digging into his skin - trying to center him, maybe, to guide him away from little distractions like fatigue and dizziness.
The truth is that he's still physically weak after the events of the last 24 hours - between getting shocked into unconsciousness in the shower and then having his brain practically liquefied by the suppression chair while Rumlow fucked him, and it's a miracle he's able to stand and speak at all. Typically when someone shoves an object up his ass, the Soldier can and will take it with minimal complaint, bite down any noises because an asset isn't allowed to utter them. To do otherwise would only distract from a handler taking time out of their busy day to instruct him.
This time, though, all it takes is a single shove of Rumlow's thick cock to drag out a pained gasp that he can't quite choke back in time.
Tears brimming against his dark lashes, his head hanging down as he grits his teeth, the Soldier struggles to nod.
"Yes," he says, his voice strangled.
Breathing heavily through his nose, nostrils flaring, the Winter Soldier trembles around Rumlow's shaft as he presses along seemingly every centimeter, every inch. His arms and thighs shake with the effort to remain upright and on all fours, as ordered. Behind him, he can feel Rumlow's fingers digging into his skin - trying to center him, maybe, to guide him away from little distractions like fatigue and dizziness.
Rumlow knows the Soldier has barely had time to heal. He can feel it by how loose he still is from their last fuck. There are even still some welts on the Soldier's neck from where the collar from earlier cut into his skin. It's how things always are, though, so he doesn't take much notice. This is the job of the Asset. To perform under any condition, in any way.
The gasp has Rumlow groaning, giving one more small push forward to trap his balls between them, then pulls out completely.
"Put your hand out against the wall to brace yourself. It's gonna take a lot to clear your mind." To fuck his Soldier stupid. When he braces himself, Rumlow grabs at that ass again, spreading his cheeks as he plunges his cock back in, practically growling as he's seated fully inside again.
He doesn't stop this time. Doesn't tease any longer. He sets up a steady rhythm, pistoning deep inside his Soldier with every thrust. "C'mon, sweetheart, talk dirty to me. Tell me how much you love this. How much you wanna be used by me. I wanna hear it."
The gasp has Rumlow groaning, giving one more small push forward to trap his balls between them, then pulls out completely.
"Put your hand out against the wall to brace yourself. It's gonna take a lot to clear your mind." To fuck his Soldier stupid. When he braces himself, Rumlow grabs at that ass again, spreading his cheeks as he plunges his cock back in, practically growling as he's seated fully inside again.
He doesn't stop this time. Doesn't tease any longer. He sets up a steady rhythm, pistoning deep inside his Soldier with every thrust. "C'mon, sweetheart, talk dirty to me. Tell me how much you love this. How much you wanna be used by me. I wanna hear it."
His hand splayed against the wall and metal fingers curled a little to dig into the concrete, his body rocks with each insistent thrust from Rumlow's cock filling his channel, relentless and thick, the pace just predictable enough that the Soldier can concentrate on forming words instead of just mindlessly groaning at the physical stimulation.
The Soldier tilts his head back, swallowing as he works moisture into his mouth so he can comply.
"Need you - " a grind of Rumlow's head cuts him off, coaxes out a ragged moan. "Fuck me. Make it hurt. You...you said," the Soldier interrupts himself with a gasp hitching in his chest. "Order only comes...through pain...? Teach me."
That's about as far as the Soldier can go on the dirty talk front, still tired, his tortured ass twitching and clenching futilely around the cock spearing him over and over again. Rumlow's merciless in how he drives in deep every time, slamming himself to the hilt with enough force to jolt through the Asset's entire body, his own erection swaying and bobbing. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoes in the small confines of the VIP cell, borderline hypnotic. Even with his arm braced against the wall, the Soldier's wilted a little on the bed; instead of his body being parallel to the bed, he's sagged down, his right arm loosening so that his ass is now higher than his head and shoulders, and the only thing keeping him upright is his left arm, chrome fingers gripping furrows into the wall, and Rumlow's shaft lodged inside him, his handler's strong hands pawing against his tender ass.
The Soldier tilts his head back, swallowing as he works moisture into his mouth so he can comply.
"Need you - " a grind of Rumlow's head cuts him off, coaxes out a ragged moan. "Fuck me. Make it hurt. You...you said," the Soldier interrupts himself with a gasp hitching in his chest. "Order only comes...through pain...? Teach me."
That's about as far as the Soldier can go on the dirty talk front, still tired, his tortured ass twitching and clenching futilely around the cock spearing him over and over again. Rumlow's merciless in how he drives in deep every time, slamming himself to the hilt with enough force to jolt through the Asset's entire body, his own erection swaying and bobbing. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoes in the small confines of the VIP cell, borderline hypnotic. Even with his arm braced against the wall, the Soldier's wilted a little on the bed; instead of his body being parallel to the bed, he's sagged down, his right arm loosening so that his ass is now higher than his head and shoulders, and the only thing keeping him upright is his left arm, chrome fingers gripping furrows into the wall, and Rumlow's shaft lodged inside him, his handler's strong hands pawing against his tender ass.
Edited 2025-06-29 08:07 (UTC)
Rumlow lets out a curse into his moan as the Soldier speaks up, telling him exactly what he wants to hear. It's so real, so true, Rumlow lets it guide him through this experience- because yes, that's exactly what this is. The experience of having something to fully and completely that it belongs to you.
The Soldier clenches, pulling him in, and Rumlow begins to fuck him relentlessly, as those words die off. "I'll teach you. I'll make sure this is all you know."
That firm, muscled ass pushing up closer to him as the Soldier's body sags down, and Rumlow takes that as an invitation to fuck into him even harder, letting out a series of gasps and moans as the Soldier clenches right around him. He doesn't care about the Soldier's erection, not anymore. He just wants to claim what's his.
"Tighter." He says as he thrusts in, smacking again at his Soldier's ass. "Clench tighter around my dick. Milk me dry. I want you to make sure you get every last fucking drop outta me, you hear?"
The Soldier clenches, pulling him in, and Rumlow begins to fuck him relentlessly, as those words die off. "I'll teach you. I'll make sure this is all you know."
That firm, muscled ass pushing up closer to him as the Soldier's body sags down, and Rumlow takes that as an invitation to fuck into him even harder, letting out a series of gasps and moans as the Soldier clenches right around him. He doesn't care about the Soldier's erection, not anymore. He just wants to claim what's his.
"Tighter." He says as he thrusts in, smacking again at his Soldier's ass. "Clench tighter around my dick. Milk me dry. I want you to make sure you get every last fucking drop outta me, you hear?"
The Soldier nods - or, at least, he thinks he nods. Hard to tell when Rumlow's brutally pounding him hard enough that it hurts more than it feels good, shocks of fresh pain radiating out from his channel as his handler drives in again and again and again.
He complies as best he can with his mind swimming, a fresh wave of dizziness swaying the corner of the room and the bed. As ordered he clenches down on Rumlow, his muscles rippling around the heat of his hard shaft. Is that tight enough? It wouldn't do to hurt his handler in the middle of instruction -
With his ass clenched, the hard smack against his cheek jolts him out of his daze, briefly interrupts the hypnotic rhythm set by Rumlow plowing into him. The Soldier's actually startled by it, a surprised hiss escaping through his clenched teeth. This time he squeezes harder, longer; a roar of rushing blood in his ears as his head sinks down so his burning hot forehead rests against the pillow, teeth grit, his hand curled into chrome claws against the concrete wall. His ass serves as counter-balance, wantonly tipped up in the air as if presented for Rumlow to inspect.
The Soldier's head tilts sideways against the pillow, dark curls of his hair plastered to his brow and cheeks, strands now damp with fresh sweat. His lips part as he moans, still bodily squeezing and maybe they can share that pain because he's now squeezing hard enough that maybe it'll hurt for Rumlow, too.
He complies as best he can with his mind swimming, a fresh wave of dizziness swaying the corner of the room and the bed. As ordered he clenches down on Rumlow, his muscles rippling around the heat of his hard shaft. Is that tight enough? It wouldn't do to hurt his handler in the middle of instruction -
With his ass clenched, the hard smack against his cheek jolts him out of his daze, briefly interrupts the hypnotic rhythm set by Rumlow plowing into him. The Soldier's actually startled by it, a surprised hiss escaping through his clenched teeth. This time he squeezes harder, longer; a roar of rushing blood in his ears as his head sinks down so his burning hot forehead rests against the pillow, teeth grit, his hand curled into chrome claws against the concrete wall. His ass serves as counter-balance, wantonly tipped up in the air as if presented for Rumlow to inspect.
The Soldier's head tilts sideways against the pillow, dark curls of his hair plastered to his brow and cheeks, strands now damp with fresh sweat. His lips part as he moans, still bodily squeezing and maybe they can share that pain because he's now squeezing hard enough that maybe it'll hurt for Rumlow, too.
He's gonna fuck his Soldier stupid, he swears it. He's already half way there. Nothing else will exist but this, but him. Much like the Soldier, it's Rumlow's only thought as well. The two of them, existing for each other. In Rumlow's head it's a beautiful thing.
He moans loudly as the Soldier's body clenches tighter around his cock, pulling him in- as if he isn't deep enough already, blotchy red ass cheeks pressing up even more as the Soldier's body arches downward. It's acceptance, it's allowance, and Rumlow takes. If the Soldier squeezes tighter, Rumlow doesn't mind. The pain is all a part of the pleasure. He still has fresh bite marks on his shoulder to prove it.
"You're mine. You're mine." It's a statement as much as an order- something he wants to drill into that empty head. He wants to fill it up with himself, inside and out. He grabs at the Soldier's hair, yanking his head back to drive that thought home.
The sound that motion pulls from his Soldier pushes him over the end he gives one final thrust into the pliant body, grabbing on tight to his ass as he comes, spilling deep into the Soldier's hole for the third time today.
He moans loudly as the Soldier's body clenches tighter around his cock, pulling him in- as if he isn't deep enough already, blotchy red ass cheeks pressing up even more as the Soldier's body arches downward. It's acceptance, it's allowance, and Rumlow takes. If the Soldier squeezes tighter, Rumlow doesn't mind. The pain is all a part of the pleasure. He still has fresh bite marks on his shoulder to prove it.
"You're mine. You're mine." It's a statement as much as an order- something he wants to drill into that empty head. He wants to fill it up with himself, inside and out. He grabs at the Soldier's hair, yanking his head back to drive that thought home.
The sound that motion pulls from his Soldier pushes him over the end he gives one final thrust into the pliant body, grabbing on tight to his ass as he comes, spilling deep into the Soldier's hole for the third time today.
It's too bad there's no mirror - if there had been Rumlow would've had a great view of the Soldier's ass in the air, his head and neck bent back to where it has to be agonizing, the Asset's saliva-slicked mouth hanging open as he gasps and whines blindly with hitching breaths, eyes rolled up until there's only a hint of glassy blue.
Mostly he's awash in pain, muscles tight with it from how far he's bent back by that handful of hair, his body rocking with each merciless thrust pounding him into the bed. Sometimes it might seem like he's on the edge of graying out, still weakened from the wipe, his face going slack and senseless only for Rumlow to slam into his prostate and drag him back. When that happens, the Soldier's face scrunches a little, features tightening with the wave of pleasure. Blinking, he'll unconsciously tug back against Rumlow's fistful of hair for a moment or two before another thrust, another drive of his handler's cock from head to balls has him going limp with a kind of mute acceptance and his face goes slack again.
Pain, mostly. A few jarring moments of pleasure. The constant is Rumlow's rasping voice growling behind him, reminding him of his place in HYDRA, who, exactly, he belongs to and will always belong to.
He barely feels Rumlow flood into him, that warmth claiming his twitching ass. Bent back, a feeble moan edges between the Soldier's lips as he shudders around Rumlow's cock pulsing into him, still trying to comply and clench, to milk him as ordered of every drop so that when he eventually pulls free, there won't be any excess dripping from him.
Mostly he's awash in pain, muscles tight with it from how far he's bent back by that handful of hair, his body rocking with each merciless thrust pounding him into the bed. Sometimes it might seem like he's on the edge of graying out, still weakened from the wipe, his face going slack and senseless only for Rumlow to slam into his prostate and drag him back. When that happens, the Soldier's face scrunches a little, features tightening with the wave of pleasure. Blinking, he'll unconsciously tug back against Rumlow's fistful of hair for a moment or two before another thrust, another drive of his handler's cock from head to balls has him going limp with a kind of mute acceptance and his face goes slack again.
Pain, mostly. A few jarring moments of pleasure. The constant is Rumlow's rasping voice growling behind him, reminding him of his place in HYDRA, who, exactly, he belongs to and will always belong to.
He barely feels Rumlow flood into him, that warmth claiming his twitching ass. Bent back, a feeble moan edges between the Soldier's lips as he shudders around Rumlow's cock pulsing into him, still trying to comply and clench, to milk him as ordered of every drop so that when he eventually pulls free, there won't be any excess dripping from him.
It really is too bad there's no mirror, Rumlow would love to get a full view of that. Watching his Soldier's ass clenching around him as he plows into him is good enough, though.
His spent cock twitches inside the Soldier for a moment longer before he's pulling out with a wet sound, groaning as he does so. He lets go of the Soldier' hair, dragging his hands down the other man's back, then gives his ass one last smack.
"Did that clear things up for you, Soldier?" Cum drips from the Soldier's abused hole and Rumlow drags his fingers through it, pushing it back in. Maybe next time he'll get a plug to keep all his seed inside. To make sure the Soldier is unable to forget him in more ways than one.
His spent cock twitches inside the Soldier for a moment longer before he's pulling out with a wet sound, groaning as he does so. He lets go of the Soldier' hair, dragging his hands down the other man's back, then gives his ass one last smack.
"Did that clear things up for you, Soldier?" Cum drips from the Soldier's abused hole and Rumlow drags his fingers through it, pushing it back in. Maybe next time he'll get a plug to keep all his seed inside. To make sure the Soldier is unable to forget him in more ways than one.
The Soldier's so out of it, so disoriented, that when Rumlow suddenly releases his hair he doesn't try to catch himself; instead he slumps forward, head hitting the pillow as he wheezes into the fabric and when that slap jiggles his reddening ass, he only gives a spent grunt instead of tightening the sore muscle in case there's a second one incoming.
It takes awhile for the Soldier regain enough awareness where he can shift himself up from where he's collapsed forward, the puckered ring of his ass quivering, shining with spit and sweat and the pearly gloss of cum as the muscle trembles around Rumlow's fingers helpfully inserting themselves back so he doesn't fail that order to keep every drop inside.
A few seconds later, the Soldier's head shifts against the pillow, his dark hair fanning as he twists his face sideways. Movements sluggish, he manages to get his right arm under him. Lifting his head drags out a woozy groan. Rumlow was speaking. Saying something. Asking him something? For those few seconds when he'd been fucked into thoughtlessness, he'd felt empty of everything but the sound of his handler's voice, tight with pleasure, and he'd floated in a kind of void where he didn't have to do anything but lie there with a powerful cock filling him, its hypnotic rhythm stealing away any thoughts. All he needed was his handler.
Wetting his lips, the Soldier unknowingly compliments Rumlow: instead of immediately bouncing back with a reply, the Asset manages to only slur a dazed "what?".
It takes awhile for the Soldier regain enough awareness where he can shift himself up from where he's collapsed forward, the puckered ring of his ass quivering, shining with spit and sweat and the pearly gloss of cum as the muscle trembles around Rumlow's fingers helpfully inserting themselves back so he doesn't fail that order to keep every drop inside.
A few seconds later, the Soldier's head shifts against the pillow, his dark hair fanning as he twists his face sideways. Movements sluggish, he manages to get his right arm under him. Lifting his head drags out a woozy groan. Rumlow was speaking. Saying something. Asking him something? For those few seconds when he'd been fucked into thoughtlessness, he'd felt empty of everything but the sound of his handler's voice, tight with pleasure, and he'd floated in a kind of void where he didn't have to do anything but lie there with a powerful cock filling him, its hypnotic rhythm stealing away any thoughts. All he needed was his handler.
Wetting his lips, the Soldier unknowingly compliments Rumlow: instead of immediately bouncing back with a reply, the Asset manages to only slur a dazed "what?".
There's silence for a while after the slap rings out in the nearly empty room. Rumlow's words hang in the air as well, mixed with heavy breathing. He tilts his head, watching his Soldier try to situate himself again, a groan leaving his lips. He looks sluggish, worn.
It's only after a moment that the Soldier speaks up again, and it makes Rumlow smirk, feeling triumphant. Nice and clear, head empty. Nothing left but him.
He lets out a soft laugh, pushing at the Soldier's ass to make him fall over, then gives his next instruction. No, he's not done with his pet just yet. "Move onto your back. That's right, take a deep breath. Relax a little." It's not lost on him that the Soldier is still fully hard, beads of precum still clinging to the head of his cock. Rumlow ignores it, straddling the Soldier's body once he's on his back, shifting up on his knees till his spent and sticky cock is aligned with the Soldier's face.
"You wanted to show me what your mouth could do, yeah? So make sure my dick is nice and clean." Rumlow's hand is back in the Soldier' hair, caressing.
It's only after a moment that the Soldier speaks up again, and it makes Rumlow smirk, feeling triumphant. Nice and clear, head empty. Nothing left but him.
He lets out a soft laugh, pushing at the Soldier's ass to make him fall over, then gives his next instruction. No, he's not done with his pet just yet. "Move onto your back. That's right, take a deep breath. Relax a little." It's not lost on him that the Soldier is still fully hard, beads of precum still clinging to the head of his cock. Rumlow ignores it, straddling the Soldier's body once he's on his back, shifting up on his knees till his spent and sticky cock is aligned with the Soldier's face.
"You wanted to show me what your mouth could do, yeah? So make sure my dick is nice and clean." Rumlow's hand is back in the Soldier' hair, caressing.
It's clumsy and slow, the Soldier managing to flop onto his back, one leg bent, his metal arm curled over his head as if he'd been about use it as a pillow. It's an unconsciously sensual display with his chest still heaving with a fresh sheen of sweat, his hard shaft bobbing with the motion and dribbling pearls of precum against his groin and stomach.
The Soldier blinks mutely up at Rumlow, watching as his handler mounts him so that he blocks out the light spilling through the cell's tiny window and onto the bed, his softening cock swinging until it's hanging over him almost close enough to tease against his face, his parted lips. The Soldier's still good and fucked, the expression on his face one of vacant confusion as it takes longer than normal to usual to process Rumlow's new order.
With his head propped up by the pillow the Soldier complies as he always does...even if it's maybe not with his usual efficiency, because his right hand comes up, his fingers lightly bumping against the hard muscle of Rumlow's thigh before he manages follow it up to the V of his waist and then, finally, he locates his dick. Guiding clumsily it to his lips, his grip's loose and when he opens his mouth and tries to run his tongue along the shaft, he actually misses. The heat of Rumlow's shaft rubs its sticky length against his cheek instead of inserting itself into his waiting mouth.
It takes another attempt before he succeeds, the Soldier sloppily lapping at his handler's cock, trying to clean it to spec, his coordination shot because Rumlow fucked it out of him.
The Soldier blinks mutely up at Rumlow, watching as his handler mounts him so that he blocks out the light spilling through the cell's tiny window and onto the bed, his softening cock swinging until it's hanging over him almost close enough to tease against his face, his parted lips. The Soldier's still good and fucked, the expression on his face one of vacant confusion as it takes longer than normal to usual to process Rumlow's new order.
With his head propped up by the pillow the Soldier complies as he always does...even if it's maybe not with his usual efficiency, because his right hand comes up, his fingers lightly bumping against the hard muscle of Rumlow's thigh before he manages follow it up to the V of his waist and then, finally, he locates his dick. Guiding clumsily it to his lips, his grip's loose and when he opens his mouth and tries to run his tongue along the shaft, he actually misses. The heat of Rumlow's shaft rubs its sticky length against his cheek instead of inserting itself into his waiting mouth.
It takes another attempt before he succeeds, the Soldier sloppily lapping at his handler's cock, trying to clean it to spec, his coordination shot because Rumlow fucked it out of him.
It's a beautiful display. One that Rumlow won't soon forget. He takes it in, letting his gaze drag along the hard, sweaty lines of the Soldier's muscles. Even with how poorly HYDRA treats him, he still maintains this glorious look. It's as if his Soldier was made for this.
Rumlow doesn't mind the muted look or the disorientation. It just means he did he job, he got what he wanted. His Soldier is in a plank, pliable state. The slowness of it all feels languid, sensual. Rumlow can imagine this like a lover does, after being fully sated. Both of them in the right state of mind.
"There you go," Rumlow practically coos, all the hardness and force fucked out of him too, it seems. His hand moves to the Soldier's face, caressing it lightly as the other man is finally able to slide his tongue along his softening cock. It's still warm, inviting, very thorough as he laps up the mess he made. "You're so lucky to have all of this. You're so goddamn lucky I take care of you so well. Say thank you, and finish cleaning me off."
Rumlow doesn't mind the muted look or the disorientation. It just means he did he job, he got what he wanted. His Soldier is in a plank, pliable state. The slowness of it all feels languid, sensual. Rumlow can imagine this like a lover does, after being fully sated. Both of them in the right state of mind.
"There you go," Rumlow practically coos, all the hardness and force fucked out of him too, it seems. His hand moves to the Soldier's face, caressing it lightly as the other man is finally able to slide his tongue along his softening cock. It's still warm, inviting, very thorough as he laps up the mess he made. "You're so lucky to have all of this. You're so goddamn lucky I take care of you so well. Say thank you, and finish cleaning me off."
Rumlow handles all the thinking, all the planning, so an asset doesn't have to. It's a lot to ask of a man. A lot of work. And yet Rumlow's doing all this for an asset like him. Unaware what he's feeling is a dull kind of gratitude swelling toward his handler, the Winter Soldier does his best to lick him clean even with his head swimming, an emptiness howling in his mind and aching in his just-vacated ass.
The Soldier manages to mumble a "thank you", as ordered, the two words muffled because he slurs them into the base of his handler's shaft. In his semiconscious state, the Soldier probably takes longer than needed to lick Rumlow clean, mouthing and suckling at his semi-flaccid shaft instead of lapping at it, kissing out of some ingrained habit instead of swirling his tongue along the crown of his head. Eventually he gets there.
Every square centimeter of Rumlow's cock gets licked clean, glistening with the Soldier's saliva. The order complete, he sags back against the pillow, gazing up at his handler through half-open eyes, pale blue peeking through his dark lashes. Rumlow says he's lucky and taken care of and he must be right, because he's his handler and handlers are always right. At this point, dazed, well and truly fucked, and the Winter Soldier's the perfect plaything.
The Soldier manages to mumble a "thank you", as ordered, the two words muffled because he slurs them into the base of his handler's shaft. In his semiconscious state, the Soldier probably takes longer than needed to lick Rumlow clean, mouthing and suckling at his semi-flaccid shaft instead of lapping at it, kissing out of some ingrained habit instead of swirling his tongue along the crown of his head. Eventually he gets there.
Every square centimeter of Rumlow's cock gets licked clean, glistening with the Soldier's saliva. The order complete, he sags back against the pillow, gazing up at his handler through half-open eyes, pale blue peeking through his dark lashes. Rumlow says he's lucky and taken care of and he must be right, because he's his handler and handlers are always right. At this point, dazed, well and truly fucked, and the Winter Soldier's the perfect plaything.
Rumlow groans, a content feeling pooling in his stomach as his soldier cleans him up. That tongue is just as warm, just as thorough now as it's always been- and yet there's something just slightly different here too. The need to please isn't just this blank thing. There's a hint of reverence in those dazed blue eyes.
His Soldier can take as long as he wants, Rumlow is fully satisfied, watching him lap up every last bit of sticky cum. There are moments when it's almost too much, the soldier suckling at him, but he knows how to make his handler feel good and he doesn't need to stop.
"Such a good boy..." Rumlow smile as the Soldier's head falls back against the pillow. Those half lidded blue eyes look at him, and Rumlow can't even push the thought away. His Soldier is beautiful, perfect. No one is as lucky as he is.
"Who do you belong to, Soldier?"
His Soldier can take as long as he wants, Rumlow is fully satisfied, watching him lap up every last bit of sticky cum. There are moments when it's almost too much, the soldier suckling at him, but he knows how to make his handler feel good and he doesn't need to stop.
"Such a good boy..." Rumlow smile as the Soldier's head falls back against the pillow. Those half lidded blue eyes look at him, and Rumlow can't even push the thought away. His Soldier is beautiful, perfect. No one is as lucky as he is.
"Who do you belong to, Soldier?"
Good. Since an asset can't want anything, he can't want to be good, but he should always be good for his hardworking handler who has arranged time in his busy schedule to instruct him even though he must have other things to do. Rumlow must be exhausted having to deal with him, and that isn't accounting for any other assets, any other assignments he has to juggle, too.
The Soldier gazes up at his handler, expression empty as his mind, his lips tinged pink and a little swollen with how hard he'd been suckling against the heat of his shaft.
"You," he says dully, and the words come easy. "I'm your asset."
Without further orders he's left to go limp into the bed because he can't remember how to relax, the Soldier's hair forming a dark halo around his head against the pillow's cotton as he gazes through fluttering eyelashes at his handler. He's on display, ready, waiting, for the next input. His chest rises and falls, taut muscle, the peaks of his rosy nipples, his legs unconsciously spreading a little against the bed, and maybe his ass is still twitching, still quivering, as if still trying to clamp down on Rumlow's cock even though it's currently still hanging in front of his face, shining with his drool and licked clean of cum.
The Soldier gazes up at his handler, expression empty as his mind, his lips tinged pink and a little swollen with how hard he'd been suckling against the heat of his shaft.
"You," he says dully, and the words come easy. "I'm your asset."
Without further orders he's left to go limp into the bed because he can't remember how to relax, the Soldier's hair forming a dark halo around his head against the pillow's cotton as he gazes through fluttering eyelashes at his handler. He's on display, ready, waiting, for the next input. His chest rises and falls, taut muscle, the peaks of his rosy nipples, his legs unconsciously spreading a little against the bed, and maybe his ass is still twitching, still quivering, as if still trying to clamp down on Rumlow's cock even though it's currently still hanging in front of his face, shining with his drool and licked clean of cum.
"That's right, sweetheart." The words are kind, but the look on Rumlow's face is anything but. He's gloating, really. He's satisfied. Having control over the Asset is no small thing, not in the way he has control. Sure, any other handler can come along, but it won't be like this.
He drags his thumb along those wet, pink lips, just looking down at his prize. His possession.
"We've had a real long day, and I think I'm finally spent." He can feel exhaustion pulling at him too. He really was hard at work today. "Enjoy your new digs while you've got em. You're lucky enough to sleep on a bed tonight."
Rumlow lifts himself off of the Soldier's body, standing up. He lets his gaze rake across sweat slicked, quivering skin. Tomorrow there will be orders for a new mission. Right now there's just this. "Go to sleep." It's an order he's sure the Soldier will fall into easily, looking as fucked out as he does right now.
He drags his thumb along those wet, pink lips, just looking down at his prize. His possession.
"We've had a real long day, and I think I'm finally spent." He can feel exhaustion pulling at him too. He really was hard at work today. "Enjoy your new digs while you've got em. You're lucky enough to sleep on a bed tonight."
Rumlow lifts himself off of the Soldier's body, standing up. He lets his gaze rake across sweat slicked, quivering skin. Tomorrow there will be orders for a new mission. Right now there's just this. "Go to sleep." It's an order he's sure the Soldier will fall into easily, looking as fucked out as he does right now.
It's easy to obey Rumlow's order to rest. Exhausted in body and mind, ass quivering, brain raw and feeling loose and liquid and about to seep out through his fingers, and the Soldier eventually goes limp in his bed, dull blue eyes drifting shut, curled on his side in a fetal position on a bed he'd never have been given if it wasn't for Rumlow's soft spot for him.
Tomorrow he wakes up a new man. Literally.
Taken from the VIP cell, pumped full of a cocktail of new, experimental drugs and then reprogrammed, the Winter Soldier will eventually be transferred to a gurney in one of the patient wards on the ground level reserved for normal recruits. With a thin blanket draped over him, his dark hair spread on a pillow as he sleeps off the sedatives, he looks...normal. The medical gown's been replaced so that he's allowed to be dressed, to have the illusion of privacy when he wakes up and his new, improved deep cover mode will be activated as soon as he sets eyes on Rumlow.
It's almost noon when Rumlow's allowed to enter the patient room.
At first the Soldier will be sitting up in bed, his right hand resting on his thigh over the blanket, his left missing so there's only the chrome socket where titanium meets flesh, and he'll be gazing at nothing with that thousand yard stare he gets when he's fresh off a wipe and there's no one home in his fried skull. It's only when the locks disengage with loud thunks and the door opens that his head turns. Dull blue eyes lock on the man framed in the doorway.
Awareness suddenly floods into them. The Soldier becomes animated for the first time in years, the deep cover flawlessly activating as he makes a visual with Rumlow, and now he'll think he's "James" instead of a nameless shell of a man.
"Finally decided to visit, huh?" James smirks. "Took me losing my arm to drag you back from wherever you got posted this time."
He reaches up to slap his palm against where the prosthetic's supposed to be. Unaware he's had that metal arm for decades, James thinks he's just getting one for the first time, that he got lucky out of all the others to get some fancy tech that's supposed to be as good as the flesh one he'd just lost.
Tomorrow he wakes up a new man. Literally.
Taken from the VIP cell, pumped full of a cocktail of new, experimental drugs and then reprogrammed, the Winter Soldier will eventually be transferred to a gurney in one of the patient wards on the ground level reserved for normal recruits. With a thin blanket draped over him, his dark hair spread on a pillow as he sleeps off the sedatives, he looks...normal. The medical gown's been replaced so that he's allowed to be dressed, to have the illusion of privacy when he wakes up and his new, improved deep cover mode will be activated as soon as he sets eyes on Rumlow.
It's almost noon when Rumlow's allowed to enter the patient room.
At first the Soldier will be sitting up in bed, his right hand resting on his thigh over the blanket, his left missing so there's only the chrome socket where titanium meets flesh, and he'll be gazing at nothing with that thousand yard stare he gets when he's fresh off a wipe and there's no one home in his fried skull. It's only when the locks disengage with loud thunks and the door opens that his head turns. Dull blue eyes lock on the man framed in the doorway.
Awareness suddenly floods into them. The Soldier becomes animated for the first time in years, the deep cover flawlessly activating as he makes a visual with Rumlow, and now he'll think he's "James" instead of a nameless shell of a man.
"Finally decided to visit, huh?" James smirks. "Took me losing my arm to drag you back from wherever you got posted this time."
He reaches up to slap his palm against where the prosthetic's supposed to be. Unaware he's had that metal arm for decades, James thinks he's just getting one for the first time, that he got lucky out of all the others to get some fancy tech that's supposed to be as good as the flesh one he'd just lost.
Rumlow is given the full debriefing on what exactly it is they're going to do here. He knows it top to bottom, same as he always does- but even then, coming face to face with it is shocking. This mission will be a tough one.
He knows the Asset will only be activated by his presence. He takes a deep breath, then heads inside, trying not to react to what he sees in front of him. He's a professional, he knows exactly what to do, so he smiles as his Soldier- James comes to life. Rumlow's surprised they even attempted to use that name, seeing as how violently they shocked it out of him. He wonders if the person this empty shell used to be was anything like this man sitting in front of him with a smirk on his face, but he pushes that thought away.
There's no room for that here.
"Came as soon as I could. You know I'd rather be here anyway." He comes over, tilting his head to the side eying James's face. So much expression, so much emotion, and yet- still an empty shell. He has to keep reminding himself of that. "How're you feeling?"
He knows the Asset will only be activated by his presence. He takes a deep breath, then heads inside, trying not to react to what he sees in front of him. He's a professional, he knows exactly what to do, so he smiles as his Soldier- James comes to life. Rumlow's surprised they even attempted to use that name, seeing as how violently they shocked it out of him. He wonders if the person this empty shell used to be was anything like this man sitting in front of him with a smirk on his face, but he pushes that thought away.
There's no room for that here.
"Came as soon as I could. You know I'd rather be here anyway." He comes over, tilting his head to the side eying James's face. So much expression, so much emotion, and yet- still an empty shell. He has to keep reminding himself of that. "How're you feeling?"
[ Old faces, new situations. Krauser was a part of him that was meant to be dead and buried -- much to Leon's disappointment when the news trickled down the lines. Their time spent together was as rocky as the very island that serves as the ground for their reunion, but there was little stability in Leon's life at the time. Krauser ... he represented something different, a change that was sharp and drastic enough to remind the former police officer that his life couldn't be what it once was. Greedy, lustful touches were nothing like Leon indulged in prior to Racoon City, and that's entirely why it worked.
But then, he died. Another loss taken personally. Ha. Leon knew Krauser would've mocked him for the sentiment, but they were simultaneously the same and so very different.
Now, they stand as enemies. The parasite courses through Leon's blood, and Ashley is missing, leaving his mood far from hospitable when the large man drops in front of him. Still, the past doesn't simply vanish simply for a change in circumstances, no matter how drastic. ]
Great. Just what I don't need.
[ Leon straightens his posture as if he's under review. ]
Step aside.
[ He doesn't beg; Leon doesn't beg. Still, he doesn't want to fight Krauser for a lot of reasons, and only some of them are due to their current situation. If the man would just move, this doesn't have to happen. ]
But then, he died. Another loss taken personally. Ha. Leon knew Krauser would've mocked him for the sentiment, but they were simultaneously the same and so very different.
Now, they stand as enemies. The parasite courses through Leon's blood, and Ashley is missing, leaving his mood far from hospitable when the large man drops in front of him. Still, the past doesn't simply vanish simply for a change in circumstances, no matter how drastic. ]
Great. Just what I don't need.
[ Leon straightens his posture as if he's under review. ]
Step aside.
[ He doesn't beg; Leon doesn't beg. Still, he doesn't want to fight Krauser for a lot of reasons, and only some of them are due to their current situation. If the man would just move, this doesn't have to happen. ]
That all you have to say?
[To say he's been fixated would be an understatement, really. Leon was like an old wound that never really healed for him, and the moment he found out that he was the agent sent to recover the president's daughter, Jack slipped into tunnelvision. Saddler, the cult, their idiotic doomed-to-fail domination schemes don't matter anymore. All that matter is Leon. Getting to Leon. Seeing him again. Speaking to him again. Maybe, just maybe filling up that hollow inside him that nothing, nothing else has ever been able to.
And he can't help but be a little disappointed that that's all Leon has to say. All business. Maybe a little bitterness, too.
Krauser spins his knife between his fingers, more of a tic than any indication of an impending attack.]
After all this time I'd at least expect a greeting, rookie.
[To say he's been fixated would be an understatement, really. Leon was like an old wound that never really healed for him, and the moment he found out that he was the agent sent to recover the president's daughter, Jack slipped into tunnelvision. Saddler, the cult, their idiotic doomed-to-fail domination schemes don't matter anymore. All that matter is Leon. Getting to Leon. Seeing him again. Speaking to him again. Maybe, just maybe filling up that hollow inside him that nothing, nothing else has ever been able to.
And he can't help but be a little disappointed that that's all Leon has to say. All business. Maybe a little bitterness, too.
Krauser spins his knife between his fingers, more of a tic than any indication of an impending attack.]
After all this time I'd at least expect a greeting, rookie.
[ Krauser is the kind of dangerous that keeps Leon hyper aware. It's a strength that drew Leon to the man so many years ago, and it'd be a lie to say all of that magnetism was gone. Too many late, tired, desperate nights were shared for it to be swept away. Leon grieved for the death of the man standing before him, and now he's standing in front of him as an enemy? What the hell kind of game did life keep expecting him to play?
This is where he says the funny like, where he makes a quip and the fight begins. Leon knows the role, he's been trained well to act on logic and reason. The battlefield was no place for emotions. ]
I don't want to fight you.
[ The army could never full train that out of him. Instead, Leon vowed to become strong enough to go off mission to save the lone soul left behind. It's the same depth of feeling that finally breaks through as he stares into eyes that he'd seen darkened in lust not long before his supposed death. It was supposed to just be sex, but here he is, the idiot who could never separate emotion from intimacy. ]
You know why I can't back down, but you can. Don't make me have to handle your death a second time.
[ 'Come with me' would be so easy to say if Leon were stupid enough to believe there'd be a place for Krauser back in America. ]
This is where he says the funny like, where he makes a quip and the fight begins. Leon knows the role, he's been trained well to act on logic and reason. The battlefield was no place for emotions. ]
I don't want to fight you.
[ The army could never full train that out of him. Instead, Leon vowed to become strong enough to go off mission to save the lone soul left behind. It's the same depth of feeling that finally breaks through as he stares into eyes that he'd seen darkened in lust not long before his supposed death. It was supposed to just be sex, but here he is, the idiot who could never separate emotion from intimacy. ]
You know why I can't back down, but you can. Don't make me have to handle your death a second time.
[ 'Come with me' would be so easy to say if Leon were stupid enough to believe there'd be a place for Krauser back in America. ]
Following your orders, right? [He scoffs, laughing harshly under his breath.] What a good little soldier they made you. I made you.
[It's all so unfair that it sickens him. Seeing Leon now, here, in the last place on earth he ever expected to be found. Fighting for the very government that brought them together, but kept them apart-- the government that betrayed him, broke him, and abandoned him in the first place. It would have been easier if they'd sent someone else. Anyone else, who Krauser could kill and be done with. Not the one person in the world with a hold over him, all of him, and not just the parasite nestled inside him.]
You come to save the girl. But who can save you?
[It's all so unfair that it sickens him. Seeing Leon now, here, in the last place on earth he ever expected to be found. Fighting for the very government that brought them together, but kept them apart-- the government that betrayed him, broke him, and abandoned him in the first place. It would have been easier if they'd sent someone else. Anyone else, who Krauser could kill and be done with. Not the one person in the world with a hold over him, all of him, and not just the parasite nestled inside him.]
You come to save the girl. But who can save you?
[ His leg itches to step forward and close the distance between them. Krause never promised anything beyond those steamy nights, and Leon wasn't a child who didn't know the difference between love and sex -- even if he couldn't separate emotional ties from physical acts, he knew many could -- but did it all mean so little that Krause could cut his throat and leave him for dead?
Instead of taking that step, his hand tightens around the knife. This isn't only his life on the line; if he fails, the entire world is doomed.]
Me. You taught me that, too. I never thought I'd have to use it against you.
[ If he rushed in, Krauser could block his move. Leon's best hope is to wa --
Or is it? Is he stalling, hoping to see some flicker of something in Krauser's eyes? ]
Damn it! Don't make me use it against you!
Instead of taking that step, his hand tightens around the knife. This isn't only his life on the line; if he fails, the entire world is doomed.]
Me. You taught me that, too. I never thought I'd have to use it against you.
[ If he rushed in, Krauser could block his move. Leon's best hope is to wa --
Or is it? Is he stalling, hoping to see some flicker of something in Krauser's eyes? ]
Damn it! Don't make me use it against you!
[The knife keeps circling around his fingertips, round and round, and he seems unfazed by Leon's pleas.]
They'll use you up and spit you out. You'll end up like me. Another broken tool, thrown away when it's no longer useful.
[Abruptly he tightens his grip. The knife goes still, and Krauser stares intensely at him for a moment. His teeth grit. His hand moves... and his knife returns to its sheath at his chest.
There is the very slightest of wavers in his voice.]
I always wanted to save you.
They'll use you up and spit you out. You'll end up like me. Another broken tool, thrown away when it's no longer useful.
[Abruptly he tightens his grip. The knife goes still, and Krauser stares intensely at him for a moment. His teeth grit. His hand moves... and his knife returns to its sheath at his chest.
There is the very slightest of wavers in his voice.]
I always wanted to save you.
Save me?
[ With the knife sheathed, the situation calms slightly. Leon is finally allowed that step with the assurance that, should Krause go for the knife, he'd have time to react before he found a blade buried in his chest. The dark of the night and dim flickering of the candles offer little light, but when Leon pulls down the neck of his shirt to show more of his body, the dark veins are visible in his throat. ]
What they did to you was wrong. [ Leon won't justify it; he's pissed that somebody he admired was tossed aside like trash and not valued for the effort and service he offered his country. There's little in the way of defense, and he won't even try. ]
I'm running out of time before I become their puppet instead. By tomorrow, if I don't find her and the cure, I'll trade this outfit for a robe.
Did they do the same thing to you? If you're being controlled, if they have you stuck, say something, and I'll find a way to help you break out, too. They abandoned you... I didn't. I won't. Just tell me you're not really working for them.
[ With the knife sheathed, the situation calms slightly. Leon is finally allowed that step with the assurance that, should Krause go for the knife, he'd have time to react before he found a blade buried in his chest. The dark of the night and dim flickering of the candles offer little light, but when Leon pulls down the neck of his shirt to show more of his body, the dark veins are visible in his throat. ]
What they did to you was wrong. [ Leon won't justify it; he's pissed that somebody he admired was tossed aside like trash and not valued for the effort and service he offered his country. There's little in the way of defense, and he won't even try. ]
I'm running out of time before I become their puppet instead. By tomorrow, if I don't find her and the cure, I'll trade this outfit for a robe.
Did they do the same thing to you? If you're being controlled, if they have you stuck, say something, and I'll find a way to help you break out, too. They abandoned you... I didn't. I won't. Just tell me you're not really working for them.
[A faint, twisted smile settles on his lips as Leon keeps pleading with him. Offers to save him, too, even though Jack's been beyond saving for years now. It's just so like him. That wide-eyed, bighearted rookie, still there inside the perfectly trained and honed body of an agent.
If only Jack could tell him what he wants to hear.]
I'm not like you. Never was. I can't remember having what you have. Something that makes you... more. More than a weapon. More than a tool. [He absently reaches to touch his left arm, grazing a few fingers over the gnarled scar that peeks out beneath his shirtsleeve.
With a harsh, rueful chuckle, he takes a step closer.]
I did what I had to for survival. But you... change everything.
If only Jack could tell him what he wants to hear.]
I'm not like you. Never was. I can't remember having what you have. Something that makes you... more. More than a weapon. More than a tool. [He absently reaches to touch his left arm, grazing a few fingers over the gnarled scar that peeks out beneath his shirtsleeve.
With a harsh, rueful chuckle, he takes a step closer.]
I did what I had to for survival. But you... change everything.
[ Leon is no fool -- Krauser is an expert in close-quarter combat and should be misstep, everything he's worked toward is lost. The words and the step forward all lead into what Leon hopes to hear, but caution keeps his body alert. ]
Yeah? What do I change?
[ All he needs is a hint of change in Krauser, anything to suggest they were moving in a better direction. His feelings were laid bare with his previous plea, but Leon won't let this go further south to save some pride. Krauser has every reason to be angry and while Leon can't approve of his actions, he won't give up on him. ]
What are you gonna let me change?
Yeah? What do I change?
[ All he needs is a hint of change in Krauser, anything to suggest they were moving in a better direction. His feelings were laid bare with his previous plea, but Leon won't let this go further south to save some pride. Krauser has every reason to be angry and while Leon can't approve of his actions, he won't give up on him. ]
What are you gonna let me change?
[One step closer goes well enough. He dares to take another. They're within lunging distance now, but Krauser put his knife away. He keeps his hands out and visible for the moment, trying to keep Leon from seeing him as a threat... for all that it matters. They both know Krauser can kill a man with relative ease, armed or unarmed, and even Leon stabbing him may not stop him from doing so anymore.
But if he doesn't have to kill Leon... if Leon is...
He doesn't answer him. Just keeps on staring him down, then gestures at him with his chin.]
Show me your hands. Show me you mean it.
But if he doesn't have to kill Leon... if Leon is...
He doesn't answer him. Just keeps on staring him down, then gestures at him with his chin.]
Show me your hands. Show me you mean it.
[ The alarm bells in his head are a result of his training; the knot in his stomach can be tied to something more organic. Krauser has conceded some ground and if Leon wants to make some kind of connection, he'll need to do the same. It's a risky move for someone carrying the world on his back, but the world isn't some vague concept for him. It's the individuals inside of it with each person being an important component.
As if it wasn't even more personal than that. As if this isn't Jack Krauser, brought back from the dead.
The gun and the knife are both holstered. He can hear Krauser's voice telling him he's being too sentimental, that an enemy is an enemy, but Leon's had a way of going as rogue as someone can go while still following orders.
He holds up both hands. ]
You know trickery's not my style. I'm not hiding anything. I meant what I said.
As if it wasn't even more personal than that. As if this isn't Jack Krauser, brought back from the dead.
The gun and the knife are both holstered. He can hear Krauser's voice telling him he's being too sentimental, that an enemy is an enemy, but Leon's had a way of going as rogue as someone can go while still following orders.
He holds up both hands. ]
You know trickery's not my style. I'm not hiding anything. I meant what I said.
[There's a moment of agonizing stillness as Leon raises his hands, no indication that Krauser is going to respond or react at all.
Then he moves. Not quite a lunge, not quite a step, somewhere in between. It's quick and decisive, and he grasps one of Leon's hands by the wrist and shoves back, aiming to push him against the wall. The other hand, tellingly, does not reach for Leon's free wrist. It aids in the push until Leon thumps, pinned, then a fist lands right over his shoulder, alongside his ear.
Krauser's lips collide with Leon's in an instant, hungry kiss that only a good deal of force will discourage. His fist against the wall unfolds, then slips in to cup Leon's jaw and hold him into it.]
Then he moves. Not quite a lunge, not quite a step, somewhere in between. It's quick and decisive, and he grasps one of Leon's hands by the wrist and shoves back, aiming to push him against the wall. The other hand, tellingly, does not reach for Leon's free wrist. It aids in the push until Leon thumps, pinned, then a fist lands right over his shoulder, alongside his ear.
Krauser's lips collide with Leon's in an instant, hungry kiss that only a good deal of force will discourage. His fist against the wall unfolds, then slips in to cup Leon's jaw and hold him into it.]
[ooc: Open to discussion!]
[Interested in: In public, superfluous, fixation, size, unexpected (submissive), violent, authority, interspecies*, social class, duties
*interspecies is pretty much the default in arknights but I love me a monsterfucking if you wanna get freaky with it
I usually play Flamebringer as a switch so whatever you want is up to you. If they gotta fight to see who tops all the better. Otherwise I normally play him as having nonhuman dicks; let me know if you'd rather have human bits.
Perms
**Don't tag me if you have AI-generated icons, thanks!]
*interspecies is pretty much the default in arknights but I love me a monsterfucking if you wanna get freaky with it
I usually play Flamebringer as a switch so whatever you want is up to you. If they gotta fight to see who tops all the better. Otherwise I normally play him as having nonhuman dicks; let me know if you'd rather have human bits.
Perms
**Don't tag me if you have AI-generated icons, thanks!]
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