Most societies have certain mores that are unspoken rules; humanity itself even has such conventions, grilled subconsciously into our minds for our own safety. Don't go out alone at night. Avoid getting wet when it's cold. Don't pick fights with those stronger than you...okay, some of us missed the boat on the last one, but the point still stands. Society's rules tend to be more variable, though they apply to most aspects of life - including sex. In fact, bending the rules on what's considered acceptable in romance and sexual encounters can lead to anything from ostracization to death, depending on the time and culture.
So, play it close to the chest if you're going to do a big, big, big t a b o o. Is it worth the risk?
How to Play
- Comment with your character and preferences. Be sure to include what you want and what you DON'T WANT. Blank comments are fine; info is even better!
- Reply to others.
- Be fun and respect others, as this will deal with some heavy topics and potentially triggering material s.
Prompts
A G E ( DIFFERENCE ) - light of my life, fire of my loins. you're supposed to stick to those your own age, but you can't resist.
I N C E S T - you're of the same blood, yet something draws you together. you'll keep your secret thicker than water.
C H E A T I N G - when you were young, they should have taught you to not take things that belong to other people.
I N ( PUBLIC ) - to involve unsuspecting others in your sex is insidious, but you can't resist it.
S U P E R F L U O U S - some conservative societies view sex outside procreational purposes as taboo. that means anal, oral, and toys are all no-go.
F I X A T I O N - you're nearly obsessed with one part of your partner - breasts, ass, lips...whatever the case may be, you always focus on that.
D E V I A N C Y ( IN SUBURBIA ) - there are some things that should be sacred. the home should be one of those. should.
S I Z E - pick on someone your own size. couples with large size difference, be it height or weight, can be looked down upon; don't let that get you down.
P H O B I A - unfortunately, in some societies, being with someone of the same gender is a taboo, no matter how much progress the modern world has made.
F E T I S H - some just can't get off without their fetish, and the varieties run the gamut: feet, crossdressing, autoerotic asphyxiation, foodplay, bondage...it goes on and on.
U N E X P E C T E D ( DOMINATION/SUBMISSION ) - the masculine must be dominant. the feminine must be submissive. what if you're dominant in life, though, and just want to be submissive in the bedroom.
V I O L E N T - more than mere lover's spats, what goes on between you two is dangerous. if people knew, they'd be horrified. still, you can't stop.
F O R B I D D E N ( LOVE ) - your relationship may be taboo, but there's genuine love in your copulation. this isn't merely a thrill.
L O O S E - monogamy isn't what you're after. no matter how looked down upon it is, you're going to have fun while you can.
S T U D E N T / T E A C H E R - what goes on between the sheets is not an appropriate subject matter to teach. there's so much to lose; is it a smart game to play?
A U T H O R I T Y - perhaps they're the boss, the president, the king, but you, you're a lowly peon. are they using their powers over you or is this something you both want?
I N T E R S P E C I E S - kind finds kind, and don't you be a traitor by being with one of them.
B E S T I A L I T Y - one of the most primal taboos. will you go into that moral wilderness?
S O C I A L ( CLASS ) - the rich. the poor. it's like they're in two different worlds. what will the uppercrust say if they saw their golden child with a tramp?
C E L I B A C Y - you are supposed to keep your chastity, but things are never that easy.
S T O C K H O L M - prisoners should never fall for their guards.
D U T I E S - whether it be saving the world or being the world's best bodyguard, your sworn quest and purpose keeps you from enjoying the sins of the flesh - especially with your charges.
I N N O C E N C E - one of you is much more worldly, and to ruin the "innocence" of the other feels unclean.
F E R T I L E - you aren't supposed to find mothers or fathers sexually alluring. however, there's something so enticing about fertility...perhaps even pregnancy.
C O R R U P T I O N - society expects you to treat your partner well, not try to destroy them through sexual degradation.
N O N C O N S E N S U A L - consent is rightfully important to a healthy sexual relationship. to break that trust is taboo. |
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bakerstreet2025-06-23 06:27 am
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
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.
no subject
"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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
and slight timeskip
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
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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?"
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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."
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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?"
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timeskip to Deep Cover Bucky :D
:D
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slight timeskip
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