James recoils, open hurt blooming on his face in a way it's never done as the Winter Soldier.
"...okay, sure," he says softly. "I'll get cleaned up then."
Christ, he really fucked up, didn't he? Rumlow doesn't want him. He's always wanted him. But now Rumlow's upset, pissed enough to not even want a blowjob despite how painfully hard he must be, and that means the direct order from earlier wraps around his mind like a leash and pulls...and this time James doesn't try to fight it in some subconscious attempt to protect his handler. He releases Rumlow's elbow, his hand dropping to his side, jaw clenched as he turns and obediently heads to the bathroom without another word.
A few minutes later, the door closes and there's the sound of running water, James figuring out the shower configuration without the usual guards to handle everything for him or the collar to chain him to the floor. It'll give Rumlow time to recover, do whatever he needs to around the house now that he doesn't have an emotional human-sized distraction all up in his business. The bugs and the cameras planted all around the kitchen will have caught every sound, every angle of what just happened - and didn't happen - in the room.
Rumlow's order means that James doesn't shut down as soon as he's out of sight. Not at first. He makes it into the shower, gets cleaned up, toweled off, and he even locates the clean pair of boxers and the shirt that Rumlow set out for him. Gets dressed. Exits the shower.
Instead of shutting down immediately out there in the hall, James makes it to the guestroom/office. He sits on the edge of the bed, stares out the window, frowning, and that's about as far as he makes it before he goes on standby. Waiting for the next order to bring him alive, for his handler's presence and the gravelly rasp of his voice to give him purpose and meaning.
slight timeskip
"...okay, sure," he says softly. "I'll get cleaned up then."
Christ, he really fucked up, didn't he? Rumlow doesn't want him. He's always wanted him. But now Rumlow's upset, pissed enough to not even want a blowjob despite how painfully hard he must be, and that means the direct order from earlier wraps around his mind like a leash and pulls...and this time James doesn't try to fight it in some subconscious attempt to protect his handler. He releases Rumlow's elbow, his hand dropping to his side, jaw clenched as he turns and obediently heads to the bathroom without another word.
A few minutes later, the door closes and there's the sound of running water, James figuring out the shower configuration without the usual guards to handle everything for him or the collar to chain him to the floor. It'll give Rumlow time to recover, do whatever he needs to around the house now that he doesn't have an emotional human-sized distraction all up in his business. The bugs and the cameras planted all around the kitchen will have caught every sound, every angle of what just happened - and didn't happen - in the room.
Rumlow's order means that James doesn't shut down as soon as he's out of sight. Not at first. He makes it into the shower, gets cleaned up, toweled off, and he even locates the clean pair of boxers and the shirt that Rumlow set out for him. Gets dressed. Exits the shower.
Instead of shutting down immediately out there in the hall, James makes it to the guestroom/office. He sits on the edge of the bed, stares out the window, frowning, and that's about as far as he makes it before he goes on standby. Waiting for the next order to bring him alive, for his handler's presence and the gravelly rasp of his voice to give him purpose and meaning.