Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Every time boots passed in the hallway Bucky flinched. 

Steve knew he had a good reason for it. He knew that being locked in a cell on a HYDRA base again was Bucky’s worst nightmare. He wanted to reach out a hand, take Bucky in his arms, and find some way to offer comfort.

Bucky had been pretty non-receptive to those offers in the past, so Steve kept his hands to himself. 

"They'll find us soon," Steve said. 

Bucky glared at him. 

So Steve kept his thoughts to himself too, but comforted himself with the reminder that the suit had trackers in it. Even if HYDRA had ripped it off and tossed it into the Atlantic Ocean when they decided to haul Steve and Bucky back to their home base the trackers would still register the suit being checked out, then stalling in the middle of nowhere. The Avengers or SHIELD or somebody would start looking for them soon. 

Probably. 

That thought had lost some of its comforting edge when Rumlow limped in front of their cell and threw in a handful of MREs. 

"Eat up, sweetheart," he said, leering through the bars and letting his eyes settle on Bucky. The sneer on Rumlow’s face was shiny with scars. "You've got a big day ahead of you."

Steve closed his eyes and settled back against the bars, projecting aloof disinterest as hard as he could. The endearment made his skin prickle. He wished they'd given him something to replace the discarded stealth suit, but refused to cross his legs or cover himself or show his discomfort in any way. Bucky was trying a different approach, cringing against the back of the cell, curled up so the metal arm covered as much of him as possible. 

"You could save yourself a world of trouble if you just cut us loose. There's no questions you could ask us that you don't know the answers to." Steve opened his eyes and cocked his head at Rumlow with a wry little smile. "Sort of takes the fun out of an interrogation, in my experience."

Brock was staring at Steve like he'd just announced it was Christmas. His eyes snapped back to Bucky.

"Oh, honey, he doesn't know, does he?" 

Bucky curled up in a smaller ball. 

"Don't tell him on my account, then. Surprise parties are the best parties, after all."

Brock was limping down the hall and Steve was looking like a worried golden retriever and Bucky was going to throw up or explode or spontaneously combust or something. 

Brock was right. Steve didn't know what was coming. He didn't know what the Soldier was good for, he didn't know about all the ways that HYDRA had ruined and broken Bucky, he didn't know because Bucky hadn't told him. He'd wanted to hold onto and hide away this one little piece of hurt so maybe Steve could still respect him, maybe he wouldn't be disgusted with him. Maybe he'd still let Bucky close enough to his life to let Bucky keep loving him in his small, broken, secret way. 

And all of that was going to go away because Steve was here. He was going to see what HYDRA thought Bucky was good for and he was going to see that maybe HYDRA was right about that one thing. They were going to use him, they were going to have their stupid fucking party, and Bucky was going to get off on it like he had every time since the Soviets started the tradition. 

It wasn't fair. He'd gotten healthy. Ish. Healthy-esque. He'd done therapy, he'd done mindfulness and yoga and checked in with his body. He'd eaten superfood salads and acai smoothies while he let Stark tweak the arm until it barely hurt. He'd learned to sleep in a bed instead of on the floor. He took vitamin supplements. 

And none of it was going to matter because they were going to put him on his knees and he was going to come and cry and suffer through a conga line of HYDRA goons and Steve was going to see it . 

And then there would be no pretending he was okay, no more rides on Steve's bike or movies with the team, just the permanent distance of well-deserved judgment. 

Steve kept looking at him. He had very expressive eyebrows, which were currently doing the eyebrow equivalent of standing up and shouting "Wanna tell me what the fuck is happening here, Barnes?!"

Bucky did not want to tell him what the fuck was happening.

"It's gonna be okay, Steve. Like you said. The team is out looking for us. We'll be fine. They'll leave you alone."

That was the wrong thing to say. Steve set his jaw. Steve setting his jaw had been bad news ever since Bucky had first seen him do it when Tommy Carmichael tripped him on the front stoop in nineteen twenty-six. 

"Bucky," he said. He'd pulled out his Very Serious tone. This day was getting better and better. 

Bucky forced himself to uncurl a little, lifting his head. 

"They fuck me. That's what the parties are. They got me trained good. But they don't have you trained, so they'll leave you out of it. Just. Don't watch, if you can help it. I don't think I could stand that."

Steve's face went white, then red.

"Okay, Buck. Anything you say. I won't watch." The muscles in his jaw were ticking like a clock. Bucky felt his heart clench a little. What a dumb, tough asshole he'd hitched his wagon to. 

He chewed his lip a little. "You serious?"

One of those talkative eyebrows lifted. 

"Anything I say, you mean it?"

Steve nodded. 

"They use the trigger words to get me to be good for them." He saw Steve processing that, and hating it. "But there are other trigger words."

Steve had gone very still.

"You had to learn them as a condition of my release." Bucky had started to feel something like hope, even if Steve was upset. "If you use the shutdown words I won't feel it. I won't remember a thing."

Bucky was looking at Steve like a revelation.

It was a shitty thing to do to a friend. He'd be leaving Steve alone to deal with HYDRA, he'd have to be a coward to do a thing like that. 

But if he wasn't conscious they couldn't make him like it. Steve wouldn't see the low, craven thing they had made out of him. 

"Steve. Steve, knock me out. They'll still play with me but they're less rough when I can't react, please, I don't want to feel it."

Steve wasn't arguing, for once. His face was blotchy and pink, there was water standing in his eyes, and he looked like he was chewing rocks, but he was nodding.

"Sure, Buck. Anything you say."

Back when, Steve sometimes fell down when he stood up. 

He'd have been drawing, or sitting at the table to cut vegetables for soup, or just tying his shoe. Then he'd stand up and the world would go more colorless than normal and he'd fall. Most of the time he'd be able to swing one foot out and catch himself, the world sharpening into reality before his shoe landed. 

But sometimes, when they'd been stretching a ham bone for a week or it had been a hot summer, the world would just keep falling and he'd open his eyes on the ground and be looking up to a patched ceiling or a clear blue sky. 

Saying Bucky's shutdown words felt like that. 

One minute he was there - frightened and miserable, shaking in a corner, but undeniably present. Then you said the words and it was like having the ground knocked out from under you, being betrayed by the universe. He was gone. Shut down. 

It was the trigger they'd used to prepare him for storage. 

He'd talked about it, Steve had seen the videos of his intake interviews. They'd shut him down so he was safe to handle. It made it easier to clean him out, dry him off, and stick him in the freezer.

HYDRA had to be careful, freezing him. Any water on his skin could burn away little pieces of him. The different expansion rates from freezing his flesh and his arm caused problems and the process to get there had many possible failure modes. 

Better to do it without distractions. 

Buck was on the ground, relaxed, primed with the first four of the five words. Steve wanted to time it right. The shutdown only lasted twelve hours and he didn't want to waste three hours of that on the relative safety of the cell. 

When they heard raucous voices and the clang of stun batons on bars down the hall they knew it was time. 

Bucky squeezed his hand and smiled, sickeningly grateful that at least he wouldn't be awake through this abuse.

Steve tried to smile back, fairly certain the expression looked less awful than it felt on his face. 

"Aurora," he whispered, and Bucky's grip went slack and his face went empty. 

"Mother fucker ," Rumlow shouted as STRIKE team nimrods filled the hallway behind him. 

Steve put a real, biting smile on his face. If he was going to do this alone, he could at least try to do it with style. 

The problem was that they were all busy people. 

Attempting to fix this fucked-up world didn't come without a fight and it was hard enough getting the band back together for the annual reunion, let alone getting respectable numbers for an impromptu project. 

Brock had four former STRIKE team members, which was barely enough to get the Soldier warmed up, and it's not like they had infinite time. The KO Code pushed this from a fun day trip to a goddamned chore for everyone. 

And Rogers appeared to know that. He had a shit-eating smirk plastered all over his pretty, poster-boy face and looked ready to do a little casual murder. 

So Barnes must have told him what to expect. 

Brock thought fast, unholstering his sidearm and firing it through the bars just slow enough for Rogers to drag Barnes back from the line of fire and watch the bullet bury itself in concrete. That self-satisfied smile disappeared real quick. 

"What the fuck," Rogers gasped, and tried to hide the dead weight of the Soldier behind his own body. 

"If you've ruined the entertainment there's no reason to keep it around, Cap."

"Don't - I - Jesus, fuck, don't shoot him." Rogers looked satisfactorily terrified. His eyes were wide and frightened and he was clutching the Soldier like an enormous teddy bear, which did nothing to hide how hard he was shaking. 

Brock sighed and crossed his arms. "Actions have consequences, Steve. He's no good as a weapon since the programming degraded and we don't have unlimited time to wait for him to be fun to play with. Say goodbye and put him down or I'll shoot him through you."

Rogers sputtered and his eyes got big and wet and he squeezed the Soldier harder. "Don't, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, hurt me instead, fuck me instead, just don't shoot him."

Rogers' voice was high and watery. His back was a mosaic of tension. Brock scoffed at him and gestured to Rollins to pull back the hammer on his .38. The oily, metallic sound of it made Rogers flinch and hunch further over the Asset's body. 

"Fat fucking chance," Higgins sneered, catching on and releasing the safety on his semiauto. "All of us know not to trust you as far as we could throw you. I'd love a go at that ass, but not until we've put you through the chair a few dozen times."

Brock winked at Higgins and tried to make his voice sound considering when he spoke. "You know, it could be fun to put that ass to work. Maybe if you put on a good show for us we'll let sleeping beauty live long enough to wake up."

Rogers nodded and kept clutching the Soldier. It was a little pathetic. "Alright, Steve. Put the Soldier down."

"You're not going to kill him?"

Brock smiled. "If I kill him I don't get to hold him over you anymore, do I? So put him down and let's see what kind of song and dance you'll do to keep your buddy alive."

Steve wasn't thinking clearly. He could feel himself not thinking clearly but he couldn't make himself think more clearly because this was not what he and Bucky had discussed, and instead of feeling defiant or disgusted or depressed like he'd anticipated Steve just felt blind panic. 

Rumlow was supposed to rape Bucky. Steve had tried to prepare himself for that, tried to hold that idea in his head, and he had hated it but he had managed. He was not prepared for Bucky to die and he knew he was revealing huge, exploitable weaknesses, but he couldn't stop himself. Couldn't control himself. All he could do was try to keep Bucky alive because if Bucky died in front of him Steve would never, ever recover. He knew. He'd tried it before. There was no coming back from that for him. 

So whatever they asked, he'd do it. It was inevitable. 

Rumlow waved at Murphy and Vasquez and they disappeared down the hall to reappear a moment later with five folding chairs that they arranged in front of the cell, making it into a perverse little theater. Vasquez also had what looked like a plastic shoebox that he handed to Rumlow. 

Steve had set Bucky down against the back wall of the cell. He tried to keep himself in front of the prone form as much as possible, and had carefully curled the vibranium arm around Bucky's head, saying a hasty little prayer that would protect him if Steve failed to do so. 

"Quit fucking around and let's have a look at you, sweetheart."

There was that pet name again, curling itself out of Rumlow's mouth to hook into Steve. He hated it, hated Rumlow calling Bucky sweet, insincere things and hated hearing the same words directed at himself. It made him feel ill as he turned to face his former squadmates.

"Get on your knees," Rumlow instructed. Then: "hands behind your head" and "c'mon, arch your back a little, show us that figure, baby."

Steve blushed, and did as he was told. The resulting round of catcalls landed hard in his gut and he realized he was blinking tears out of his eyes. 

"That makes your tits look real pretty, Cap." Higgins was talking. Higgins had always traded the cheese in his MREs for the jam in Steve's. He felt an odd doubling, hearing an echo of Higgins talking about his twin daughters in the quinjet while the man in front of him moved his mouth around vulgarities. "Put your hands on them, push them together, I wanna see your cleavage outside of one of your tight little shirts for a change."

Steve put his hands on the outside of his pecs and shoved them together, wanting to curl up and hide from the hooting that followed. Murphy was blatantly cupping himself and leaning forward while Higgins and Vasquez jeered. Rollins looked like a mannequin, but Rumlow was lounging back like a king in his throne, his scarred face contorted in a savage smile. 

"Those fucking shirts," Murphy groaned, "they don't hardly leave nothing to the imagination, do they?"

Vasquez laughed. "Well, I guess they hide the color. Play with your nipples a little, boss. We all seen 'em enough."

Steve hesitated, cringing and pulling in a shaky breath. 

"Do it," Rumlow said. "Be rough about it. Make them red for us."

Steve dropped his handfuls then hesitantly pinched at his chest, exploring with his hands. He'd never really touched himself like this before. 

His nipples were sensitive, and he gasped slightly as his fingers moved over them. He pinched them gently and a tingle of pleasure moved through him, shocking a surprised "- oh " out of his mouth. 

"Does that feel good, baby?" Rumlow crooned. "Don't be too nice to them. Grab on harder."

Steve pinched harder and felt his cock start to take an interest. He hated the serum sometimes. It was a heavily guarded secret that the suit had strong forming and control panels built in because just the pressure of the Kevlar-reinforced vinyl-and-canvas pants was enough to get him to pop wood on TV, and when your erection was just as jacked on superserum as your arms were it took more than a basic jock to contain it. 

"I think he likes it," Vasquez said. "Twist 'em, Rogers. Make it hurt."

Steve was blushing all down his chest now. It didn't do anything to hide the way his nipples were peaking as they got darker and harder the more he touched them. 

Rollins finally moved, then snorted. "Stop being such a fucking pussy, Steve. I've seen you bend steel. Grab on and make it fucking hurt. I'm getting bored here." He crossed his legs, loosely holding his revolver and making sure it was pointed vaguely at Bucky as he did so. 

Steve could take a hint. He took each nipple in between his thumbs and the bent side of his forefinger and clamped down. He didn't think about letting go; didn't even consider it as an option.

The pain was shocking and bright. Steve moaned around it and wanted to hide away from the sick heat that moved in a direct line from his nipples to his dick. 

The men in the hallway were laughing, telling him to pinch harder, twist farther. It must have been only minutes but it felt like ages until Rumlow stopped him. 

"Let go of them, baby. Put your hands behind your head again, I wanna see if you're still pretty."

Steve let go, and that might have hurt more than the pinching had. As he lifted his hands he looked down at his chest and saw that he'd bruised both sides black, and had broken the skin on the right side of his chest. A fat drop of blood trailed away from the nipple and traced a line down his stomach. Steve hung his head and let them look. 

They were quiet for nearly thirty seconds before Murphy broke the silence. 

"Christ, I thought he was big when he was soft."

Steve's traitorous, serum-driven dick had taken a definite interest in the cavalcade of sensations his body was experiencing. It had fattened up considerably and was hanging half-hard between his thighs. The pulsing, stinging pain from his bruised chest might have chased his erection into nothingness if he was a normal goddamned human, but he wasn't a normal goddamned human and as the bruises tipped over from sharp hurt to tender aching his body just got more interested in what was happening. 

"Touch it, sweetheart," Rumlow said. "Take down one hand and give it a stroke."

Steve closed his eyes and felt more water run from them. He lowered his left hand and let it circle his cock. His breathing hitched and his hips bucked forward involuntarily as he moved his loose grip over the shaft. 

"Again."

"Tighter."

"Keep going."

"You can do better than that."

"Fuck your fist."

"Looks real cute, baby."

"Stop."

Steve let their orders wash over him, obeying without thinking of where he was or what he was doing. By the time they told him to stop his cock was hard and full, pointed at the ceiling but too heavy to slap against his belly. 

Somebody whistled and Steve wished he was unconscious in the corner with Bucky, which made him feel sick and guilty. Bucky was unconscious because these assholes and the people they worked for had programmed an off-switch into him for easier storage . Steve could handle whatever they threw at him. He could at least do that much for Bucky. 

"Fucking hell," Vasquez said, "where do you even keep that thing in your tac suit?"

Steve didn't have an easy answer for that, so he didn't say anything. 

"Okay, screw his ass, I wanna see him put that thing through its paces," Higgins said. 

Steve had a lot of practice being objectified by the US government. This certainly wasn't the first time anybody had treated him like a piece of meat but this was maybe the least he'd been wearing when it happened. He struggled to keep his hands still at his sides, where they itched to cover him. He'd never been naked and hard around another human being, let alone around five men who had just forced himself to show off and injure his body under the threat of violence. 

"Yeah, I think that's the kind of show I want outta mister chorus line," Rumlow said. He rummaged through the plastic box in his lap and came up with a bottle of clear liquid that he tossed to Steve through the bars. 

"Personal Lubricant," the bottle said. Steve stared at it stupidly. 

"Rogers," Rumlow shouted. He'd maybe been shouting for a minute, actually. It was hard to tell. Steve's ears were ringing. "I said go get the Soldier."

Steve looked at the bottle, then back to Rumlow, then back to the bottle. "What?"

Brock rolled his eyes then spoke loudly and clearly, lifting a finger with each instruction, like Steve was a particularly idiotic toddler. 

"Bring the Soldier here, put him in front of you, wet up his hole, and fuck him. We wanna see what that monster can do, and I promise, the Soldier can take it."

"No?"

It felt ridiculous to say no to something that absurd. Obviously Steve wasn't going to do that. There was no way that was going to happen. 

Rumlow lifted his gun and aimed it at Bucky. "Yes, sweetheart."

Rogers was unfairly beautiful. Hard and confused, with mangled tits and red eyes, he looked like some kind of abused angel. 

Brock wanted to be in the cell with him. To get his own hands on the sunset of bruises decorating his chest. To find the kind of pain that would make that obscene hard-on deflate.

This would have to do, at least until they saw how he took to the programming. 

They'd scared Rogers into cowering over the Soldier again, which was annoying. Steve would probably survive if they shot the Asset through him but it wasn't worth the risk. He didn't know that, though, and it seemed like a threat to Barnes was about as effective as the chair would be at cutting off his access to abstract reasoning.

"Steve," Brock said, "he won't remember it. Won't know what happened. But that doesn't matter if you don't get your dick in him in the next minute because I'll fucking kill him."

Rogers was shaking his head and whining into the Soldier's scarred skin. “Please,” he sobbed. “Please, I’ll - look, I’ll be good for you, okay? Please don’t do this.”

Brock almost considered it. Rogers looked good, and they probably could convince him to lay back and think of America if they kept a gun on the Asset. If this was the Tasmania base, or Montana, where they had the parahuman-rated restraints, his decision would have been different.

"Forty five seconds, baby. Is this the way you want to remember him?"

Rogers actually dropped Barnes to come kneel at the bars. He spread his knees wide and put his hands behind his head. He was shaking like a frightened puppy and crying like a crocodile. “Please,” he said. “Isaac, Brian. Please, tell him you want me. I’ll do what you want.”

Murphy whistled low and looked nervously at Brock, but Higgins knew how order worked. “I think you got about thirty seconds to say goodbye if that’s the line you want to run with, Cap.”

“Dave -” Rogers said, and cut himself off when he saw the glee glowing in Vasquez’s eyes. “Jack. Jack, I know this isn’t you. You aren’t like this.”

“You don’t know shit about me, Steve,” Jack said. “You never did.”

Rogers dropped his arms and curled protectively around the Asset again. “Please,” he whined, and His arms tightened convulsively around Barnes. 

“Ten seconds, sweetheart,” Brock said, and shifted his stance to raise his gun just a little. It was the last piece of the puzzle.

Rogers took three shuddering breaths and moved. Cast around frantically to find the lube. Once he located it he knelt behind the Soldier's ass, and put a hand on his hip. He flipped the cap on the bottle open, then went perfectly still with a look of panic on his face. His eyes darted between the Soldier and the Bottle, he was keening and pinned in place by indecision. Brock realized that something beautiful was happening. 

"Steve, breathe. The countdown is paused." The look of frightened gratitude Rogers shot him was definitely going in Brock's spank bank. "Sweetheart, have you ever done this before?"

Rogers managed to turn even more pink. 

"Oh my god," Murphy whispered. 

Higgins had already unzipped his pants, Vasquez was biting his lip. Even Rollins was shifting in his seat and that asshole only got hard during blue moons and solar eclipses. 

Brock was so, so glad he'd had the foresight to spring for the expensive, high definition cameras to record this. 

"Hey, buddy, that's okay. I'll tell you what to do. You don't want to hurt him."

Rogers laughed. It was a terrible sound, empty and dead. "Someday there won't be bars between us and I'm gonna kill every last one of you."

"Later, baby. Right now it's time to get him open for you."

All that mattered was that they both needed to survive this. Everything else was unimportant and Steve could break down over it later. He just had to get them through today and everything else could wait.

So Steve listened to Rumlow and did what he said. 

"Start by getting your hand slicked up, use plenty of lube, we'll give you more if you need it, I know you're working with a lot there."

Steve felt his face burning to the tips of his ears as he squeezed clear gel into his hand. It squelched obscenely, which was the only sound in the room until Rumlow gave his next instruction. 

"Get your hand covered pretty well. You wanna make sure there's no dry spots that might tear him." 

Steve shuddered and coated his fingers.

"Okay, now you're a big boy, so you're gonna need to open him up real wide, go ahead and push into him with three fingers to start."

Someone coughed and Steve looked up to see if it was an instruction or a criticism or a warning. When nobody said anything he put three fingers against the tight muscle between Bucky's legs and pressed gently. Nothing happened. 

"You have to push hard, don't worry about hurting him, you have enough lube that he'll be just fine. Just push in hard, and don't go too slow."

Steve exerted more force and Bucky's body reluctantly submitted to the penetration. His skin was tight on Steve's hand, strange in a way that was intriguing and terrifying. 

"Good. Thrust it in and out a few times. Long strokes, make sure to spread your fingers open a little on the withdrawal, you're gonna need to add a fourth pretty quick to make sure he doesn't close back up on you."

Steve frowned and tried to coordinate his limbs to attempt the complicated motion, opening his fingers when he pulled almost all the way out then pressing them together to thrust back in without hurting Bucky. Each time Steve's arm moved back it got easier.

Rumlow was leaning forward on his elbows and nodding encouragingly. "Perfect, now, pull back and before you push in, add your little finger. Try to make your fingers into a cone, that'll make it easier to push in up to your knuckles. And add a little more lube. You wanna be careful with him, I know."

Steve nodded unconsciously and opened the little bottle again, following Rumlow's instructions to twist his hand palm-up so he could use his fingers like a funnel to fill in the tight space. It was harder, this way. Steve could feel the resistance from Bucky's body and it seemed like the cone shape of his fingers wanted to slip out more. Rumlow seemed impressed, though. 

"You're doing real good, sweetheart. Start pushing in all the way up to your palm, when you're almost there stop for a second."

Steve was sweating with the effort of holding Bucky's body in place with an arm around his hips while pressing his other hand into the slowly relaxing hole. He was glad of the chance to breathe when Rumlow told him to stop.

"Okay, this next part is tricky," he said. "You've got to be careful, and you can't hesitate. Add more lube to your hand. Make sure you're slick up to your wrist."

Steve stopped moving, visualizing the outcomes of that process. There was no way. He looked down at his hand and saw how tight and stretched Bucky was around him. 

"Wait," Steve panted, "it won't -"

"It'll fit just fine," Rumlow interrupted, sounding irritated. "Trust me, I know the Soldier and that ain't gonna break him, but if you try to put that fucking horse cock in him without stretching him right he's gonna get hurt."

Steve took a deep breath and nodded, mostly to himself. He took the bottle in his free hand and it shook as he carefully slathered the slippery stuff on himself. He felt his shoulders and his legs shaking too, and wondered if maybe the whole world was shaking. He finished covering his hand and looked to Rumlow. 

"Good, baby. You're taking good care of him," Rumlow said. 

Whatever expressions Steve had known on his face were twisted out of recognition by the scarring. Steve knew he saw amusement there, and cruelty, and was hurt to see something like the pride and camaraderie they'd shared in training and battle.

"Tuck your thumb down against your palm and make your hand as small as you can. You're gonna get it into him in one big push now; if you go too slow or panic and pull out it could tear him."

Steve wanted to throw up. He couldn't do this.

"Please," he whispered. 

"It'll be okay, Steve, one big push."

"I can't," he moaned, trying to keep his jaw clenched on the sobs that wanted to work their way out of his chest.

Rumlow sneered. "If you wanna shred him on your cock, be my guest. I don't mind when he bleeds; this is all for you, princess."

Steve wanted to duck his head and hide his face, but he had nothing to hide it with. One hand was wrapped around Bucky's waist and the other was almost inside of him. Steve pressed his face into the muscle and bone washboard of Bucky's spine and begged. 

"Please, please I can't do this." He wasn't going to cry for these assholes. He refused. But he could beg. "Just stop. Please, use me and just let him be, please I'll do anything you say, please."

"If you pull your hand out I'll kill him right now." Rumlow's voice was hard and bitter. "You're doing what we want. I don't want to fuck you, I want to watch you fuck the Soldier. It's that or I'm gonna make a hole in his useless skull and maybe I'll fuck that. Do you understand me?"

Steve swallowed hard and his stomach hitched like he was going to throw up. He nodded against Bucky's back. "One big push," he mumbled. 

"That's right baby. I'll give you another countdown, huh? Make it fast and smooth for him. Okay? Three, two, one, now."

Steve's arm moved on Rumlow's mark.

It was harder than he'd expected, the tight hole putting up so much resistance that he had to pull with his free arm while pushing his other hand into Bucky. It was awkward and inelegant and when he came to rest with his whole hand inside of Bucky he was keening and sweating and when he looked down and saw blood on his wrist the last of his resolve evaporated and he sobbed as he curled around Bucky as best he could.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he cried, and that was all that he could think about for a while. 

Brock's dick didn't work so great these days. Having a building dropped on you is life-changing for a number of reasons, at least one of which is "burn scars are a bitch." So most of the time it was kind of a hassle and involved a lot of time, patience, and moisturizer to have a boner-inclusive experience. 

Watching Rogers cry while fisting Barnes was hot enough that his dick didn't seem to care that being hard hurt. He was flying full mast and damn the torpedoes, because when Steve had dragged the rag-doll Soldier over his knuckles Brock had nearly creamed his jeans. 

It was such a pretty little tableau that Brock let Rogers have a moment to catch his breath. 

That didn't seem to bother the boys none, either. Murphy was lazily stroking himself while Vasquez and Higgins sat on the edge of their seats. Rollins was mostly watching Brock, but he was just waiting for the after-party to really get his licks in. 

"Oh, that's a shame," Vasquez said with a nasty smirk. Rogers lifted his head and managed to glare and cower at the same time. "You're gonna have to get hard if you plan on sticking it to him, Cap."

Rogers hadn't exactly gone soft, but he wasn't sporting the same rosy ramrod he'd been wielding when he was playing with his tits. He looked boyish and hurt with his big sad eyes peeking out from under his sweaty bangs. Brock wanted to eat him alive. 

"That's okay, baby," Brock said, "you're real easy. We'll get you there. Let go of the Soldier, he'll stay up well enough now that you've got a hand in him."

Steve unwrapped the Asset's waist and made a noise that would have been a wail if he hadn't choked it down to a low whine. His chest heaved and he grasped the Soldier's hip. "He's bleeding," he said in a tiny voice. 

"You'll just have to be more careful, then. I've seen the Soldier on Rollins' fist with no injuries, because Rollins knows what to do with him. You gotta listen to me, baby. I said no hesitation, and then I saw you struggle."

"One big push," Rogers muttered. 

"That's right - and that's what you did wrong. I saw you lose it when he started to slip away from you," Brock tried to sound stern and wasn't sure if he'd managed to cover his glee. "But I don't see any blood from here, so it's just a little tear. He'll heal soon. Don't think about that right now. Think about your own problems. Put your hand on your dick and stroke yourself hard again, sweetheart."

"Fuck," Rogers growled, looking down at himself. It was a shame he couldn't appreciate the view. He was stunning; misted with sweat, sweetly pink, and the fading bruises on his chest made his tits look mangled and soft in a way that really got Brock's motor running, the blood like shadows accentuating the obscene curves of him. 

Watching Rogers try to keep Barnes upright with just the hand in his hole while also trying to shake some life back into his flagging erection was like stumbling across a clown car full of strippers, both erotic and hilarious. He was clearly exceptionally sensitive and would zone out when he got in his head over the hand on his dick, then Barnes' limp body would slump or shift and Cap's eyes would go big and frightened as he tried to reassure himself that his buddy wasn't about to get torn in two. It didn't take him long to get hard again - fucking supersoldiers. 

"Okay, sweetheart, now you're gonna pull out of him nice and easy, you wanna go slow, this time."

Rogers was looking pretty checked out as he started to draw his arm back. His eyes were glassy and his mouth was red and wet, hanging open as he panted. Brock figured he could push his luck a little. 

"You wanna make sure to keep him on your knuckles for a minute, otherwise he might be too tight. Get him to the widest point then twist your hand around a few times."

Steve paused.

"Fuck you, Rumlow."

Steve didn't actually know what he was doing. He didn't know what kind of prep someone needed to safely take his ridiculous, useless, terrifying super-dick. Peg, God love her, had actually laughed at it, and all the star-spangled dancers who had dragged him into cloakrooms and alleyways got cold feet once they'd put a hand down his tights. Steve had gotten used to the idea that penetrative sex, like anonymity and the ability to find shirts that fit, was something he'd sacrificed to the serum. 

He hadn't even let himself think about it, hadn't looked at the fascinating variety of pornography available in the 21st century because he figured why torture himself? He did just fine with his hand and his imagination and the hair trigger the serum had given him. 

And, while he was certainly regretting his ignorance of the standards and practices of anal sex, he was pretty goddamned sure that if Bucky's body could handle his wrist then Bucky's body could handle his dick. 

So the rest of the HYDRA assholes watching this sordid scene like the Greek tragedy that it was guffawed at Rumlow while Steve extracted his hand from - Jesus Christ - Bucky's body as carefully and gently as he possibly could. 

What he saw when he was done made his heart and his stomach hurt. 

Steve had wanted Bucky for as long as he'd known how to want. His first wet dream had been about his best friend moving a toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other with his nimble tongue and smiling like a cracked whip. Bucky's body and mouth and hands and eyes had haunted Steve's sketchbooks since nineteen twenty nine. He'd dreamed about Bucky on his lips, Bucky in his hands, Bucky in his bed. 

What Steve saw in front of him was like the shape of what he'd wanted all his life, crystal and pure, a perfectly crafted vessel, filled to the brim with liquid dogshit.

Bucky's rim was red and swollen, still bleeding from where it had been split on Steve's hand. The tight muscle had been battered into submission and hung slightly slack, showing a dark, glittering maroon shadow that both beckoned to and repelled Steve. He'd imagined himself inside of Bucky before, but he'd never imagined Bucky's pale thighs dripping with lubricant while his ass bled down his balls because Steve had broken him open when he was unconscious and helpless. 

There was an odd and twisted tension to this moment. He still wanted Bucky more than he'd ever wanted anything, but he wanted nothing to do with this. 

He didn't want to give the men holding them any further chances to make the situation worse. Steve lifted his dick and pressed it against the soft gape of Bucky's overtaxed hole.

Pushing into Bucky was like nothing he'd ever experienced. It was wet and hot and slick and glorious and terrible and heartbreaking. The physical sensation of it was revelatory; it had been a good thing that Steve had kept himself ignorant of this, now that he would know to want this he'd want it forever. As Steve moved more of himself inside it felt like a celebration, and it felt like coming home. 

Of course, it also felt like Steve was about two seconds away from blowing his load while raping his unconscious, severely abused and formerly enslaved best friend. The fact that it did feel so good, that he could enjoy hurting Bucky like this, made Steve wish that Rumlow had just shot him instead of staging this farce. It finally made Steve understand what Bucky meant when he talked about the kindness of the Chair.

The pleasure Steve could feel while raping Bucky was something he wished that he could unknow about himself, maybe even if it meant the eradication of his self. 

He'd stalled at the sensation, and at a wave of self-loathing, with only the head of his cock penetrating his best friend. As the ringing in his ears and the blackness in his eyes from the first overwhelming crest of sensation faded, Steve heard their captors jeering and looked up to see a panel of sadists staring intently at them, some openly masturbating while others dispassionately observed Steve's abuse of Bucky. 

Rumlow had a mean little smile on, and spoke almost gently. "He feels real nice, doesn't he, baby? It's okay. Take a breath, get yourself under control. You wanna take your time with this, huh sweetheart? Savor it, make it last."

And that was the hell of the thing - he did want to take the time to savor being inside of Bucky. When Bucky was awake and present and wanted him too. He did want to take it slow and enjoy his first time. With someone who cared for him, not someone unconscious and forced. 

Suddenly Steve was breathing very fast, like his respiration was trying to outrun the sobs that wanted to claw their way out of his throat. 

This wasn't what he had wanted. He had hoped for better things for himself. But because this felt so good and so blindingly right it was probably what he'd always deserved. 

A good friend would be disgusted, would go soft in horror. A good friend wouldn't want to thrust forward so badly that he ached with it. 

If Steve could enjoy this, could get off on this, he didn't deserve to call himself Bucky's friend. 

He could feel terrible later. Right now what mattered was surviving and not hurting Bucky more than he could help it. 

Steve eased himself another couple of inches into Bucky and paused again. He didn't know if it would be better for him to finish quickly and pull out or if he needed to be slow and careful. There was so much he didn't know.

In the end he decided not to risk taking too much time or making too much space. Steve closed his eyes and concentrated, rolled his hips one time and came. It was a relief. He could be done with this terrible part of this terrible day. 

"Bullshit," Brock hissed. "Stop fucking moving."

Rogers froze in the middle of pulling out, the expression on his face roughly the same as you might find on a golden retriever caught in the act of humping a toy poodle: satiated and guilty. 

"I know that's not all you've got in you, and you know you're dreaming if you think that's a good enough show to make up for costing us the use of the Soldier. Stay right the fuck where you are and grind into him until you're hard again or I'll shoot him and watch him die on your cock."

Rogers clenched his jaw. His face flushed with suppressed rage and his hands tightened on the Soldier's hips, digging in deep pink furrows before he realized what he was doing. He relaxed his hands but dragged Barnes back tighter against his crotch.

"It's a shame you knocked him out, Cap." Murphy sighed. He'd been at himself hard enough that his cock had gone red and shiny with precome when it wasn't obscured by his rapidly moving hand. "It's like his ass is vacuum-powered when he's having a good time with the programming. Grabs onto you like a suction cup."

"And that's nothing on his mouth," Higgins chimed in. "We wouldn't have left you out, buddy. He loves it from both ends, we would have let him suck you when his cunt was getting stuffed."

Rogers couldn't seem to decide whether to shout, spit, or shit, so he just vibrated with rage while pumping his hips in tiny movements and pushing into the Soldier a centimeter at a time. 

"We're not mean to him, sweetheart," Brock crooned. "When he's awake he loves it. Can't get enough. Comes until he cries then sticks his ass in the air and begs for more."

"Shut up," Rogers snapped. His eyes were burning into the scarred skin between the Asset's shoulders and his pretty pink lips were pressed into a hard line. 

Of course, that just gave Brock a better incentive to keep going. "I bet he'd be real good for you. He likes it big. You should see him begging Jack sometime. It's insulting. The rest of us will be sniffing around like slobbering dogs and Barnes makes the cutest face to try to get Jack to give it up. He'd be going crazy for it if you hadn't shut him down."

Steve shook his head and rocked his perfect body further into the Soldier's warm, wet embrace. 

"He'd love you," Brock crooned, knowing it was true and that Rogers would hate it. "He'd want you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and he'd want to take your fist for dessert."

"Shut up," Rogers bit out. He'd come to a stop, his hips flush against the Soldier's ass. 

“He remembered you sometimes. Did you know that? He’d ask for you when we woke him up.”

It was clear that Steve was already hard again, and hating himself for it. He was still against the Soldier, breathing hard and staring into infinity. The simple, small motions of his respiration were enough to set his hands twitching and his abs clenching at the stimulation - he was really sensitive on a good day, hearing conversations from insane distances and able to see in near complete darkness, he must have been really spun up in the clenching heat of the Asset’s body less than two minutes after popping his cherry.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” Brock crooned, “get started slow. Pull back just a little then push into him real gentle. I know you wanna be good to him.”

Rogers was shivering and flushed as he mechanically followed orders. It was like his brain was functioning at half capacity, too distracted by what he was feeling to put up the boy scout, goody-two-shoes front he normally wore like armor. 

Brock had seen him drop that mask a few times over the years. On missions gone wrong, in quiet moments in the locker room. The Steve under Captain America’s face was a captivating mystery to Brock - he’d hoped that they’d be able to get him to see the light and switch sides so that the fascinating, bitter man under the smiling propaganda could bloom. It wasn’t meant to be, but Brock was watching that man’s face right now. This wasn’t Captain America; this was a starving, selfish, lonely man who was drowning in the feeling of a helpless body on his cock. 

Brock didn’t know what to do with Captain America, but he sure as hell knew what to do with this.

“Perfect, baby,” he said, “do it again, a little bit further and a little bit faster. Lift his hips up a little, get a better angle.”

Steve did as he was told, sliding a couple inches out before fucking back in smoothly. He adjusted his grip on the Soldier, pulling him up so that his legs were straight and his back was beautifully bowed. The Soldier’s face was turned to the side, his head nodding senselessly as it was rocked by Roger’s motions. 

“Just like that. Doesn’t he feel good? Don’t you love how deep his cunt is on you? Speed up a little.”

It was incomprehensibly hot to say words and watch Rogers make them happen. Steve was letting himself be a dumb puppet to Brock’s will and it made Brock feel like a god.

“He’s hard, baby. Even knocked out like this his pussy likes you.” It was true. The Soldier couldn't always get hard when he was under the knockout trigger, but when he did it was for Jack or some of the bigger toys they kept around. The Soldier was a fucking parody of a size queen. “Lean down, get a hand around him. See if he squeezes back.”

The way that Steve gasped and unconsciously bucked into the Asset let everybody know that the Soldier’s body had reacted.

“Aww, that’s sweet,” Brock crooned. “Keep stroking him. It’s okay if you slow down, just stay inside of him. Make him feel good, baby. He likes it.”

Rogers bit his lip to keep a moan inside his mouth. His body was beginning to learn what it wanted to do when a hot hole was wrapped around it. His hips set up a slow, deep roll as he moved his hand over the Asset’s cock. Brock was fascinated. Rogers should have been clumsy and confused and ridiculous but he wasn’t. He was slow and beautiful and profound. It was heartbreaking the way that looking at a sunset or a caged tiger could be. 

Steve sped up as he got a handle on the motions that felt good. His hand moved faster on the Soldier’s cock and suddenly Barnes’s spine was stiffening as he came. That dragged a real moan out of Rogers, who dropped his hold on the Asset’s cock to grab at his hips with both hands and slam into his body hard and fast for a handful of strokes until he was going still and blind-eyed while his balls emptied into the Soldier a second time.

“Jesus Christ,” Murphy whispered as Rogers caught his breath. The others were all watching him with the same expressions of awed reverence that Brock felt mirrored on his face.

It was like they’d walked back here expecting a donkey show and found Michelangelo’s Pietà instead. Which wasn’t exactly what Brock wanted, so he pulled the fun-gun out of the box and fired a dart right between Rogers’ pretty tits.

Steve sat back on his heels so suddenly that his dick slipped out of Bucky with a nauseating slurping sound, leaving a gaping hole dripping fluids in its wake.

That was concerning, but, for the first time since he’d been in this gross little cell, he was more concerned for himself than for Bucky. 

“What the fuck,” he mumbled, and reached up to pull the steel projectile out of his chest. It was light and hollow and had an absurd puff of pink at one end and a needle at the other end. Even moving as quick as Steve could, it was empty by the time he’d ripped it loose from his skin.

“What the fuck is this?” he demanded, shaking the empty cartridge at Rumlow. As his hand moved he could see a ghostly afterimage trailing behind it that distracted him and made it hard to hear what Brock was saying.

“- a little toy from the Asset-handling kit. It should be interesting to see if it hits you the same way it hits him. Probably not, because he’d already be on all fours and crying. But maybe that’s just training. We’ll get you there, sweetheart.”

Brock’s voice sounded - it was hard to think how it sounded, but it sounded good . Thick and rich and low and almost doubled and self-harmonizing. 

“What,” Steve said, then had to stop speaking. His voice ached in his throat and slipped into a sweet, tingling fever. He tried to take a closer look at the dart in his hand, but when he turned it over the pink pom-pom brushed his fingers and he dropped it as the plush, whisper-soft velvet touch swallowed him and shivered along his nerve endings. 

Everything felt incredible and overwhelming. Breathing made his skin sing, the buzz of fluorescent lights over the cell flooded him with honey, the concrete under his legs was licking a fire into him that was setting his whole soul alight. He sobbed at the ecstasy and the ecstasy of that sob made him writhe in place with the want and need it awakened.

He felt like he’d been filled with ice and the ravening joy that every new sensation brought him was the only way to melt away the cold inside and make him human again. Being still hurt; moving and sighing and touching things made the pain fade even as it filled him with a pleasure too big to think past. 

“I think he’d be sweet to us if we played with him like this.” That was Vasquez. His voice tripped into Steve like butter and made his mouth wet with want.

“Nah,” Rollins’ deep voice was a crystal prism full of sapphire light. “We’ve got no idea how long it’ll last. Besides, I want him awake the first time we open him up. It’ll make it easier to get him in the chair if we give him something he really wants to forget.”

Deep in Steve’s mind he knew that should frighten him, but right now he was just overwhelmed with the thought of how good it would feel if someone was touching him. They would put their hands on him - in him - and it would hurt and be awful but it would also stroke along his skin and fill his mouth with sugar and suffocate him in sweetness. He wanted that so badly that it hurt, that the ice inside of him froze the breath in his lungs until he realized that he could touch himself.

His hand on his cock was a rainbow of waves that radiated out from the center of him and lapped at his nerves. It sent a ringing through him from head to toe and melted the cold in his lungs in one sudden, wet wash of want. He whined and the immensity of the feeling and let go - it was good but it was wrong . Steve didn’t want his hands on himself, he needed someone else to touch him and thaw the building cold inside of him.

“Sweetheart,” Rumlow’s voice rumbled, “you’ll feel better if you keep playing with the Soldier. He’s right there, he’s all ready for you.”

The diamond and glass castle of euphoria that had been building itself around Steve collapsed into a pile of shards that stabbed his heart and his guts and his tongue. He looked down and saw Bucky, still unconscious and open and leaking Steve’s leavings onto the concrete, lying at his knees with his legs spread wide.

The want that had been subtly flickering inside of him suddenly rasped at his nerves like sandpaper and wet cotton, the cold in his chest surged to his throat and the haze of the dart cleared for a moment.

They’d given him this want so that he could pour it into Bucky. They’d drugged him and made him feral and empty so that he could savage this sacrifice, a lion loving Daniel as it ate him whole. 

Steve scrambled back away from Bucky until he hit the far wall of the cell, then tried to claw his way through the concrete. He couldn’t let this diseased need pour into his friend and fill him with the same ice - Bucky had been frozen enough.

Rogers took to the Asset’s aphrodisiac like a fish to water. His eyes went big and wide, his cheeks flushed, and he stopped seeing everything around him as he fell into sensation. Brock wanted to get in there and get his hands on Cap so bad that it hurt.

Unfortunately that would have been a potentially lethally stupid decision. Even drugged, Rogers could tear normal humans to pieces.

Watching him scramble away from the Asset was funny. Watching him slowly lose his fight to stay away from the Asset was beautiful.

“He’d feel so good on you, baby. You know how hot and soft he is inside.”

Rogers cringed further into the concrete wall, gritting his teeth and visibly shivering. His skin was pink and flushed, his forehead was damp with sweat - it was clear that he wasn’t actually cold but that didn’t matter with the way the drug worked. He’d be hallucinating whatever felt the worst until he was able to get some skin-to-skin contact; and once he’d touched someone it would make him hurt worse until he was fucking or getting fucked. 

“You don’t even have to stick it in him, sweetheart. Wouldn’t you feel good if you were just cuddling him? Don’t you want to hold onto him and keep him warm too?”

Rogers whined through his teeth and locked down all his muscles at once. Yeah. He wanted that a whole lot.

“He’s gotta be so cold on the concrete there, sweetie. Just pick him up and hold him. He needs it just like you do.”

“Fuck you,” Rogers ground out. It was remarkable that he was capable of speaking at this point in the process. Brock had gotten a tiny dose of this stuff once and had been out of it for sixteen hours straight.

“Steve, baby. Fighting it is just gonna make it worse. Just hold on to your friend, sweetheart. It’ll be over soon enough.” It would be over in about three heartbeats, at least the first time. Cap’s cock was cherry red and dripping a continuous stream of clear fluid beneath him. 

“I can’t,” Rogers wailed, and grasped at the ground so hard that the concrete crumbled under his fingers.

Brock heard Jack swear quietly and saw him tense up in the periphery of his vision. He panted out a few breaths and moaned quietly as he removed his wet hand from his pants. Freak.

“Shhh, Steve, it’s okay. I know it hurts, baby. It’s okay, you can touch him.” Rogers was shaking his head and staring blankly at Barnes’ prone form. Brock made his voice sharp. “Steve, look at me.”

Wet, red eyes looked up. Brock held eye contact and tried to make his voice kind.

“Sweetheart, he’s not going to remember it. You can do what you need to do and it won’t hurt him. He’ll never find out.”

Rogers’ resolve crumbled like a sandcastle under a wave. It was hard to tell Brock’s words had broken the dam or if he was just too far gone to keep fighting the drugs. He reached out one shaking hand and gently closed it around Barnes’ ankle, then he was dragging the limp body closer to him and moaning deep in his chest. He pulled the sagging Asset up until he was cradled with his back against Rogers’ chest and Rogers was holding him tight around his waist as he sobbed into the crook of his neck. 

His hands roved restlessly, moving faster and gripping harder until a low scream tore itself out of Rogers’ throat and he was folding the Soldier’s body down to its knees and lining up behind it. Even then, Rogers hesitated. His hands gripped the Soldier’s hips and Brock could see bruises forming under the surface of the skin. Rogers bit his lip until it bled and keened as a wave of pain rocked itself through his body. His cock was so swollen and red that it looked like a wound.

His mouth moved, either whispering or gasping for air, and he lost his battle with his body.

Steve Rogers was a sharp guy; clever and funny, quick witted. There was none of that in his face as his hulking body moved the unconscious Asset to a more convenient position and fucked into it with as much force as he could muster. 

The supersoldier in the cell was all brute strength and stupid need as he pulled the Asset down onto his prick and rutted mindlessly for a few strokes until he was grunting out an orgasm while the rag-doll body he was fucking into slid gracelessly over the floor, a puppet on the string of his cock. 

Cap froze when he had finished. He knelt over the Soldier, his mouth open and drooling on Barnes’ back, as his eyes went wide and his face flushed with color. He whined and started moving his hips again, sighing in relief when that chased away whatever phantom pains the drug was driving into his brain.

By then, the party was all but over.

Murphy and Higgins had already come and cleaned themselves up. Jack was doing the weird housewife bullshit he did, passing out wet wipes and water bottles. Vasquez was lazily jerking his arm and hitching his hips in a way that said he was close as he watched Rogers fuck his way toward a fourth orgasm. 

Brock felt a little helpless and a lot angry. These two assholes had dropped a goddamned building on him and now he couldn’t even get off with his team the way he used to. His cock was hard and it hurt and he didn’t want his team to see the melted, useless, little length of him. He wanted to fuck Rogers. He wanted to fuck Barnes. He wanted to hurt them and make them cry and make them feel small and torn open and emasculated. They deserved it. It’s what they’d done to him. 

Dave’s hand went still in his pants and he gasped out a quiet curse and Brock kept glaring at the wet mess of the floor show he’d set up. Rogers was soaked in sweat and tears, Barnes was leaking blood and come. Everyone had gotten what he’d come for except Brock, who was still hard in his jeans and too scarred and small to tent the front of his pants. 

He smiled at the others anyway. Stood up and stretched, walked Vasquez and Murphy back to the hangar and shot the shit with Higgins while he filled up the tank of his bike. Jack was staying here with Brock, of course. They’d knock Steve out in a little while and throw him in the chair. Maybe if they wiped Rogers first Barnes would be easier to control. 

The others were busy people. Functional people. They had places to be, and Jack and Brock were just sad old relics in this ruin of a base trying to capture a couple past-their-prime assets for the crumbling remnants of the empire Brock had once hoped to lead into a bright future.

Long after the others had gone he sat and stared into the cell, watching the helpless way Rogers’ and Barnes’ miraculous bodies moved. They were supersoldiers, they were strong, they were devastating. And they’d been turned into amusing toys through the application of a few words and a complicated chemical. If he couldn’t have them how he wanted, he could have them like this - even more pathetic and damaged than he was.

Brock stood beside the bars of the cell and watched Rogers crying as he came up from the aphrodisiac. He checked his watch. Barnes had been under the trigger for about five hours, Rogers had been fucking him relentlessly for just about three of those hours. It would be at least another six before Barnes woke up. 

Steve was almost sober as Brock watched him screwing into Barnes for the god-knows-how-many-th time. Rogers was raw, so torn up from the friction that the head of his cock was cracked and bleeding when he pulled out. Barnes’ top half looked just as cool as a cucumber but Brock could see the bruising and the messy glaze of jizz at his entrance even if he was at the wrong angle to see the full devastation to the Soldier’s hole. 

Rogers collapsed back on his ass, and had the mental faculties in him to push away from the Soldier and dig himself into his safe concrete corner. He looked up at Brock and the haze over him was lifting enough that Brock could see the murderous hate taking root in his expression. 

Brock smiled sweetly, fired another pink dart into Rogers’ chest, turned off the light, and walked upstairs.