[Brock was always assured by the men who maintained the asset that the weapon was programmed well. He'd probably have to rail and ride the Winter Soldier's ass in the field with unnecessary force to provoke a violent response, though he was of the opinion it didn't entirely matter if the asset hissed and spat like an enraged cat. It might even be entertaining. He hadn't sparred with the asset before, and it might feel good to bloody his knuckles... but not today. It was hotter than hell's asshole in here.
His fingers relaxed on that column of neck, stroking with an edge of affection like the kind a man bestowed on his favourite gun. He slipped his fingers around to force the asset's chin up higher before he leaned in and grasped an area of skin on that pale throat and sucked, applying teeth only enough to worry the skin to create a purple bruise. He ran his fingers along the underside of the weapon's chin.] Don't say I never do anything for you.
no subject
His fingers relaxed on that column of neck, stroking with an edge of affection like the kind a man bestowed on his favourite gun. He slipped his fingers around to force the asset's chin up higher before he leaned in and grasped an area of skin on that pale throat and sucked, applying teeth only enough to worry the skin to create a purple bruise. He ran his fingers along the underside of the weapon's chin.] Don't say I never do anything for you.