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?".