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Rumlow was fascinated by the way the Soldier still fought back.
Even after all these years, after all these decades – he never seemed to learn. Instead of taking everything like the good weapon he was supposed to be, he still kicked and cried and screamed whenever anyone touched him in the wrong spots. Not that Rumlow minded. It was more exciting like this anyway; watching the growing panic in his eyes when he realized what was happening to him, watching him struggle, watching him break. Every memory wipe left him in the same emotional state, with the same blissful innocence waiting to be destroyed over and over again.
Stupid thing, nothing inside that pretty head of yours.
With the right trigger words, the Soldier remembered his primary functions and could be sent into the field pretty much immediately, no further activation needed. He knew his objective once briefed, he could take the perfect shot and walk out of a burning site without a single scratch. But he rarely remembered anything else; only with a STRIKE agent balls deep inside of him might he recall his secondary functions. Some of his team members had once complained that those constant setbacks kept the Soldier from acquiring noticeable pleasuring skills – and had even tried to forward it to the techs – but Rumlow had reprimanded them when he’d gotten wind of it.
If you want your dick sucked, pay a fucking whore.
This wasn’t about some chick with a talented tongue. This was about anticipating the moment in which the Soldier realized that he was fucked.
In the truest sense of the word.
*
The Soldier stood up from his cot when he heard the creaking of an opening door.
The mission had been a success, he’d been debriefed and granted permission to clean himself up and given new clothes, and now he was simply waiting for further commands.
“Alive and well,” Rumlow said as he walked into the room.
Something about his commander’s voice irritated the Soldier. In the field, Rumlow would bark out orders to his team, quickly and firmly, and the Soldier knew that he could always rely on STRIKE.
Now he sounded different. Almost mocking.
The Soldier tried to swallow down the uneasy feeling in the back of his throat, but the presence of Rumlow’s second-in-command Jack Rollins didn’t make it easier. He always seemed to hover over his commander, in and outside of the field, a silent shadow that followed him everywhere.
“So which one do you want? The mouth?” Rumlow asked.
After a brief moment of confusion, the Soldier realized that this question had been directed at Rollins.
“No,” Rollins replied.
“Daring today, are we,” Rumlow scoffed and stepped forward, looked up at the Soldier and smiled. “Get down. Let me give you your medicine.”
The Soldier complied, slid down to his knees and tilted his head, exposing his neck so the medicine could be injected.
“That’s gonna sting a bit,” Rumlow warned as he pulled out the syringe.
Rollins’s smile turned outright malicious when the Soldier felt the familiar pain of a needle piercing through his skin.
*
It took only a few seconds until the Soldier’s posture changed. He almost collapsed on the floor and only barely managed to break his fall with his metal hand.
“Hey, what’s going on? You’re okay?”
Rumlow squatted down in front of the Soldier, grabbed his chin and forced him to look up. The Soldier blinked, weak and confused, but nodded.
Of course he wasn’t. The injection suppressed the effects of the super-soldier serum, leaving him in an unfamiliar state of weakness. It never lasted longer than an hour, but that was all they needed.
“Ready for a special mission?”
The Soldier blinked and nodded again. Rumlow smiled. It was one of those moments in which he allowed himself to marvel at the Soldier’s beauty. His bright blue eyes, his red lips, and the dark brown hair that framed his pale face, so lank that he could never tell if it was still wet from the shower or from sweat or just greasy.
This unsuspecting human weapon in front of him, theirs to be used and ruined.
He turned to Rollins and nodded. Rollins moved quietly behind the Soldier and waited for a few more seconds, giving Rumlow an additional moment to envision what they were about to do. Then Rollins grabbed the Soldier’s hair and violently yanked him upright.
*
The pain came so suddenly that the Soldier didn’t react right away.
He knew that he should be better than this, should respond faster than this, but he felt too weak, too drained. Before he even realized what was going on, he’d been pushed against the wall, face first, and it hurt again. It all happened too fast, the cuffs clicking and fixing his wrists to a spot above his head, another set of cuffs around his ankles, and he suddenly couldn’t breathe anymore, his entire body pressed against the concrete.
“Sloppy,” he heard Rumlow say.
The Soldier’s heart was racing; his slowed-down thinking demanded that he freed himself from the cuffs, that he kicked Rollins off of him. This had to be a test, and he was failing.
“Too slow.”
Rollins kicked him in the back of the knee, so painfully that the Soldier flinched and had to bite back a scream as his reflexes forced him to squat down, but the cuffs around his wrists kept him in place. He could feel Rollins pushing him against the wall with all of his weight, and something hard being pressed against his lower back.
The Soldier didn’t know what to do, didn’t know the parameters of what was happening, wasn’t even sure what kind of situation that was. He only knew that it felt wrong and he felt trapped and he just wanted to ---
In a skilled, smooth movement, Rollins unbuckled the Soldier’s belt and pulled down his pants, and then he felt cold and ---
Pain. Invasive.
The Soldier screamed.
*
Rumlow usually preferred to be the first one to use the Soldier, but he couldn’t deny the appeal of watching Rollins take his turn before him. He’d always had a thing for his S.I.C. – not that he’d ever admit it – and watching him thrust into the Soldier was such a fucking pretty sight; his tac pants were already feeling a bit too tight.
Rollins was silent, as expected, only letting out a single grunt or a suppressed moan every once in a while, but the Soldier fucking whimpered, only interrupted by broken noises that sounded like stop and please. He even turned his head and looked at Rumlow, silently pleading and asking for help.
Pathetic.
“Please what?” Rumlow mocked. “Harder?”
The Soldier whined as Rollins thrust into him more violently; distressed noises only accompanied by the sound of skin slapping against skin. The Soldier still tried to fight, Rumlow could tell by the way his muscles clenched, but he was too weak and too restrained to achieve anything.
*
The pain was overwhelming and the Soldier wanted it to stop.
He didn’t know why Rumlow just stood there and didn’t do anything; he didn’t know what it all meant; he just wanted it to end.
All of a sudden, something changed; Rollins grunted and the Soldier felt a sickening sensation inside his body. Then it was over, only emptiness and pain left, and he barely heard the sound of a zipper being pulled up behind his back over the noise of his own breathing.
He was caught off guard by Rollins uncuffing him, robbing him of any kind of support and making him drop to the floor, exhausted and shaking and terrified. He just wanted to close his eyes for a second, wanted it to end, but a relentless boot on his neck didn’t even let him finish his thought.
“Are you trying to fucking sleep in here?” Rumlow asked and nudged him with his boot until he laid on his back. “We’re not worth your attention, huh? Is that what you think?”
He pressed his sole down onto the Soldier’s neck. The Soldier gasped for air; his surroundings blurred from pain and from the struggle for breath and from his own heartbeat echoing in his ears.
“Get up on your fucking knees.”
*
Of course the Soldier was too weak to get up by himself, so Rumlow grabbed his hair, just like Rollins had done before, and yanked him upright. The Soldier whimpered.
“Shut the fuck up,” Rumlow shouted and hit him in the face to make his point very fucking clear, causing him to topple over and end up on the floor once again, wheezing and whimpering.
That’s how Rumlow liked him best: on the ground, confused and hurt and shaking, and with a familiar gleam in his eyes. Welling tears.
“What’s that?” he barked. “You’re crying? I’ll give you a fucking reason to cry.”
He finally allowed himself to free his aching cock from his pants, grabbed the Soldier’s hair and pulled him up to his knees again.
“Open your mouth.”
Just as expected, the Soldier didn’t comply, so Rumlow parted his lips with his fingers and forced his cock inside his mouth. Now sheer horror filled the Soldier’s eyes, and he gagged as Rumlow pushed deeper, trying to free himself from Rumlow’s grip, but he was too weak and Rumlow too relentless. He tried to fight, Rumlow could see it in his face; fight not only him but also the tears and the memories that were surely beginning to resurface at this point. Rumlow pushed his head back and forth, and, damn, did it feel good to fuck his throat like this – the most skilled assassin in the world, a myth and a legend, held on his knees and forced to take it all, without a single chance to escape any of it, almost crying from pain and humiliation.
When the Soldier finally let out a heartbreaking sob, a shiver went through Rumlow’s body. The first tears spilled over, ran down the Soldier’s cheeks and left shimmering marks.
“I told you to shut the fuck up,” Rumlow panted, well aware that the Soldier was way past the point where he could control his body’s reactions.
The Soldier sniveled, visibly trying to pull himself together, but it didn’t work; he kept sobbing and crying and tried to breathe while Rumlow forced his cock down his throat, again and again. His face was already glistening with tears, so fucking pretty, his eyes overflowing with reluctance and panic.
Rumlow buried his hands in the Soldier’s greasy hair as he felt himself getting close, drawing another distressed noise from his mouth. Then he pulled out to finish himself off and came across the Soldier’s face. The Soldier shuddered from what was probably disgust, so used and helpless, poor fucking thing.
Rumlow caught his breath and put himself back in his pants before he allowed himself to marvel at the work of art kneeling in front of him. Still shaking and whimpering, red-rimmed eyes looking up at him and seeming utterly betrayed, face stained with drying tears and cum.
“Useless fucking slut,” he spat out and gave the Soldier a push.
The Soldier toppled to the ground again, every bit of physical resistance drained from his body; he just curled up into a ball and kept sobbing, his chest shaking with every breath.
It didn’t take long until the sight grew too pathetic; Rumlow looked at Rollins and nodded towards the door.
He’d got what he’d come for. Everything else would be the maintenance team’s problem.
*
The Soldier couldn’t stop crying. He simply couldn’t. It had been too much – too much pain, too much discomfort, too much contempt. His body didn’t feel like it was under his control anymore – too weak, too used. Every spot where they’d touched him burned like fire, and he wanted it to stop.
His face felt wet and sticky and disgusting, as did his mind – unsettling contours slowly assumed shape, but he couldn’t reach out, he didn’t know what they were trying to tell him. The ghost of a name on his tongue where he still tasted Rumlow; the faint idea of a series of numbers and the vague notion that if he said them out loud in the right order and did it often enough, someone would come along to save him.
He tried to open his mouth, but he was too weak and his tongue too heavy to speak.