Shit, he fucked up. Totally misread the room. It becomes real quick he shouldn't have said anything because now Rumlow looks legit pissed that he doubted him despite everything the man's done for him today. Despite just promising him he'd do better. Should've just kept silent, his mouth shut and wrapped around that cock, like usual. Too late to take it back -
Because now Rumlow's rough - really rough - as he hauls him up to his feet by the hair. Scalp screaming, he can't bite back the startled grunt of open pain, his hand groping to wrap his fingers around Rumlow's wrist as if he can relieve the pressure...but even half-blinded by pain he doesn't squeeze flesh to bone. Doesn't really try to defend himself. The problem with only having one arm is James is a lot easier to manhandle, his hips slamming forward into the sink hard enough that a jolt of white hot agony explodes when his own cock gets pinned with his own body before he could stop himself with the arm he doesn't have anymore.
Dazed, bent over the sink hard enough that he's almost able to kiss stainless steel, he doesn't put up a fight when Rumlow exposes his ass to the kitchen and its open window. The sweatpants jerk down around his calves, drawing them together like flimsy restraints. James has just enough time to squirm futility, his hand dropping to splay against the sink, before Rumlow gets down to business.
James cries out when Rumlow rams his spit-slicked fingers into his ass with absolutely zero preparation or mercy. It drives James to surge forward, crushing his own dick against the counter out of some animal instinct to escape. He ends up gasping into the sink's basin, cheek pressed hard against the stainless steel as he squeezes his eyes shut, involuntary tears brimming.
It's hard to speak with Rumlow's fingers jammed up him, his own cock pinned. Moaning, his exposed thighs clench as if he's trying to force out the intrusion.
"Y-you're right!" James isn't even sure what he's saying. It's like going on some kind of autopilot. "You're right, you're right," he whines into the sink.
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Because now Rumlow's rough - really rough - as he hauls him up to his feet by the hair. Scalp screaming, he can't bite back the startled grunt of open pain, his hand groping to wrap his fingers around Rumlow's wrist as if he can relieve the pressure...but even half-blinded by pain he doesn't squeeze flesh to bone. Doesn't really try to defend himself. The problem with only having one arm is James is a lot easier to manhandle, his hips slamming forward into the sink hard enough that a jolt of white hot agony explodes when his own cock gets pinned with his own body before he could stop himself with the arm he doesn't have anymore.
Dazed, bent over the sink hard enough that he's almost able to kiss stainless steel, he doesn't put up a fight when Rumlow exposes his ass to the kitchen and its open window. The sweatpants jerk down around his calves, drawing them together like flimsy restraints. James has just enough time to squirm futility, his hand dropping to splay against the sink, before Rumlow gets down to business.
James cries out when Rumlow rams his spit-slicked fingers into his ass with absolutely zero preparation or mercy. It drives James to surge forward, crushing his own dick against the counter out of some animal instinct to escape. He ends up gasping into the sink's basin, cheek pressed hard against the stainless steel as he squeezes his eyes shut, involuntary tears brimming.
It's hard to speak with Rumlow's fingers jammed up him, his own cock pinned. Moaning, his exposed thighs clench as if he's trying to force out the intrusion.
"Y-you're right!" James isn't even sure what he's saying. It's like going on some kind of autopilot. "You're right, you're right," he whines into the sink.