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.