For geriatric

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Who: Brock Rumlow & Steve Rogers
When: After Soul bond - Timeskipping to Post-TWS
What: Rumlow and Steve deal with the shitty fall out of being stuck together after all that crap went down. They might even have sex for once.
Warnings: Maybe sex?


[He'd kissed Steve once after the Lemurian Star mission, but they'd made it no further than that in the year that they had known they were bonded. There were close calls, frustration and more than his share of horrible hard-ons that always seemed to appear whenever Steve walked into the room with him. They had gotten worse too, and the painful resistance only made his blood run hotter for the national icon.

No one knew about them.

And then HYDRA had been exposed, Insight had been destroyed, the new world order set to bring about peace in shambles and Brock Rumlow found himself confined to a hospital bed under going more skin grafts than he thought he had skin for. Like everyone involved in STRIKE and HYDRA, his name had been blown right open with some of the missions he had done, some of the missions where he had aimed the asset to set the world on a set future. Well, like his skin, everything had burned.

Steve, good guy that the man was, hadn't decapitated him. Most of their meetings involved asking him for information or sitting in silence with only the soft beep of machines their music. He hadn't apologized, not for any of it. It hadn't been personal, though he recognized that the only reason he was staying out of jail or worse was because of Steve's influence and the fact he was set to be the poor bastard's soul bond. Good guy, Rogers... too bad they stood on opposite sides of the scale.

So he'd recovered and mostly looked the same, though the scarring was evident in certain light or if he ever got wet. His life's work was gone in flames, and the only reason that he didn't kill himself was because of Steve. Even as unbonded as they were, he knew at this stage in the game the ripping of a compatible soul - which was laughable at best - would probably reduce Rogers to shambles for a little while. So he didn't; his one perhaps non-selfish act so far. He hoped Rogers didn't plan for more because he wasn't giving any more.

He also totally had it bad for Steve now that he had a body that wasn't about to fall apart on him. He had, by now, given up trying to hide his attraction. It was pointless. He'd either bone the guy soon or eat that bullet he was owed.]

Comments

Your suffering is beautiful, Steve

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Asking, huh?

[He paused in his stirring, going over everything that had happened since he had been released from hospital into Steve's care, though the boxload of people who followed in the man's wake was nauseating. He would never have freedom, but had he ever had it to begin with? The world was a piece of shit and freedom was just an illusion to comfort the weak. It was better without this kind of freedom.

Yet... he wondered how much of this arrangement was just for his benefit. Steve had come to the hospital often, more than was required. The man had always been loyal; he valued that.]

Any agent worth their salt won't talk. It's the lesser bottom feeders that will make noise, but they know nothing of use. [He slowly turned his head to regard Steve sitting on the counter across the way.] Are you going to take the information from me, Steve?

none of this is okay

[geriatric]

They'll talk.

[ Steve isn't naive, isn't an idiot. Torture is vile and disgusting and something he wishes didn't happen, but he's not an idiot. He knows that while HYDRA did it, SHEILD without HYDRA's influence would, too. The government would. There were plenty of ways they'd try to get their information. ]

How do you think we found out about Zola's algorithm? Maybe most won't, but I don't think the government or what's left of SHIELD is willing to play with gloves on.

[ There's no pleasure on his face at the idea of it, no smugness, just bleak surety. ] You know it'll happen if we - [ His jaw clenches a moment, and he exhales. ] It was suggested I use the bond to my advantage, to dig for what there is. I can't- I won't do that, but I'm not an idiot, either, Rumlow. The only thing keeping us apart the first time around was concern about where we stood. And while-- while I hate what you did to Bucky, while I hate everything you were a part of, I can't change the bond. I wish I could.

Yet we're enjoying it anyway

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Information under torture isn't accurate.

[He shrugged his shoulders, aware that a few who were left that hadn't escaped would probably have to talk a bit. However, talking and actually getting the information to work, to hack the system, to pin down all the moving cells within the country. That would take an active agent working against the system, someone he knew how HYDRA worked from the inside. It had to be willing and that was why it probably would never work out unless someone defected.]

Fury was a smart man, paranoid about everything. His secrets have secrets, his back-up plans have back-up plans. He'll I'm sure he has contingency plans sewn into his spare pair of underwear. Anyway... you need a defection, not a torture victim.

[Oh he knew very well that them sleeping together, that one of them slamming the other down and making good on all those silent promises they had made to each other would undo most of his resistance. However, the information would take time; it's why soul bonds were typically young... less information to sort through. He was forty and Rogers ninety-five; that was a lot of baggage to handle.]

Keep wishing then, but it won't work. For whatever reason, our souls bonded, which is probably the biggest middle finger to us both. You hate what I am but you can't hate me. That's a bitch.

[geriatric]

[ Steve says nothing for a while, knowing that he's right about some of it, but he still has faith that they'll figure something out, much as he might not like it. In the meantime, though, he's left with this. With being unable to fight his own nature, his own disgust. The serum might've made him stronger, but it made every other urge a million times stronger, too. ]

People'll do the right thing if you give them a chance. Most of them, anyway.

[ He's not so naive as to think that all will, but he has to believe - he has to think that some will. And Rumlow's right, anyway. He hates this whole situation, but there's nothing he can do about it because he's not capable of hating Rumlow himself. ]

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[He returned to cooking, slow and steady about it, not caring much for the silence. He stirred the rice that he had put on and returned to his vegetables, moving them around as he felt his awareness of Steve pique. It always did in such silences, his longing building to frustration at their separation, and the painful want of his own flesh and soul for the one sitting on the counter. The pain was just as much a thrill though.]

I was doing the right thing; I was building a better world for those good enough to see it through. The scum would finally pay for their transactions... but nope, now I cook barefoot in my own kitchen and think about what position to sleep in tonight.

[He sighed and shifted his shoulders, feeling the pull of scarred skin, a testament of a failed dream. Ah well, dreams failed all the time.]

Why don't you throw me in a burlap sack and run off in search of him?

[geriatric]

[ It's tempting just to reach out, to wind an arm around Rumlow's shoulders and drag him back, slide his hands down scars and skin and soak it all in, but he won't. Doesn't.

He keeps his hands to himself and breathes through it. ]

You and I have very different ideas of the word better.

[ it doesn't take a genius to realize which "him" he means, either. Steve glances away, not quite a flinch, but close enough. ]

Because unlike HYDRA, I don't believe in making choices for other people to that extent. You might be a criminal, but I'm not dragging you across the country to find him. [ I'm not putting you anywhere near him after what you did. ]

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I know, but that doesn't make mine any more wrong than yours.

[Because he didn't honestly believe that he was wrong, that he had dedicated himself to something that he wouldn't do again if given the chance. It wasn't wrong to want a better world, to make the illusions of safety no longer illusions.

Instead he sighed, flicked off the stove and stepped away from it to grab two bowls. He returned with two steps the other way and dished out rice and then put the vegetable stirfry on top. He served Steve first.]

Ah, you don't want to risk what I might do to him, huh? Because you don't know what I can do to him if I get close enough. Smart... but also very stupid.

[He turned around, closing the distance and pressing the bowl into Steve's hands, caressing his scarred fingers against the top of the other man's hand. Utensils were in the drawer just to Steve's right.]

[geriatric]

It does when you were willing to be complicit with a plan that included murdering millions because of a madman's algorithm.

[ He takes the food without saying anything, petty, and unable to voice the word thanks, not after what he'd done. Fury didn't begin to describe what he was feeling, but it was useless to him, which was the worst of it. He couldn't do anything, goddamnit, he couldn't be objective where he needed to. Not when that little brush of fingers against his skin makes his stomach tighten with want.

Silently, he slides off the counter and forces himself not to get into Rumlow's space, grabbing himself a fork. He slides into a spot at the kitchen table, watching him silently as he starts to pick at his food. ]

Because what you did to him - what you helped them do-- he shouldn't have to be reminded of that. Shouldn't have to be exposed to it again.

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Millions of people who were clogging up the world with their horrible existence. Greedy pieces of shit, criminals, wastes on the system where good people could have finally lived free of the insanity and violence that our world has become.

[He knew it was a pointless argument, that he could never speak his belief enough to ever change Steve's mind on anything. It was better that they never spoke on their differences of opinion on Insight and HYDRA, but it was hard when he wanted Steve to believe him, believe that he had had actual intentions aside from just murder. Some people had to get their hands dirty to make the better world happen; he was one of those men.

Still, he eased away without pressing any possible advantage and returned to get his own meal, letting Steve leave the kitchen to go to the table nearby before he grabbed his own fork and seated himself opposite. He dug in without hesitation, knowing better than that by now.]

So throw me in some dark place for a few days; it won't hurt us that much. You can go looking for him and I'll get some peace from your constant disapproval. [He hadn't masturbated this much since he was sixteen after all.]

[geriatric]

That doesn't mean you get to be judge, jury or executioner. You don't have everyone's best interests at heart, Rumlow, and I know HYDRA doesn't either.

[ Don't feed him that line, don't feed him that bullshit. ]

If they were willing to torture you, just to get to me, how much do you really think they care about anything regarding loyalty?

[ He digs into the meal, not because he's grateful, but because he's hungry and he needs something to do before he loses his shit at the other man. ]

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Of course it doesn't. That's what the algorithm was for. I have your best interests at heart then and especially now.

[That last part came in a rush, the usual sort of thing that burst from him just before he realized he'd put his foot in his mouth. He grumbled and immediately went back to eating. It was angry eating like Steve was doing.]

To control you. HYDRA is about control and order. I accept that I'm just a cog in the machine, that I might have to sacrifice to get a better world.

[geriatric]

That shouldn't be how it works.

[ He was in the military - sure, he was a cog, and sure, he knew that he was ultimately something they might have to sacrifice, but he'd make those calls himself. He'd sooner put himself down on the line than let someone else have to make that call. After the WSC nearly nuked New York, he'd been so disgusted he hadn't even had words for it. ]

The algorithm would have wiped away children. Babies, expecting mothers. You can't guess what someone will do by -- by their bank records, by social media, by whatever things Zola was using. You can't determine someone's worth like that.

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[He frowned around the mouthful that he was chewing, and he had taken more than his share of hits for someone else, made calls that he had learned to let go for his own sanity. He'd been a punk and then a soldier, and he knew how to lay down on the wire so everyone else could crawl over. He wasn't going to ask someone to do something he himself wasn't willing to do.

He somehow managed to swallow, but it tasted horrible and his appetite had fled.]

How do you know what the algorithm would have wiped out? It tracked people with DNA. If you had something that could tell you that Hitler was going to murder so many people and start a second world war before he crawled out from between his mother's legs, would you want him dead before he wiped out good people in the way he did? Death camps? Bullets to the brain? Good men fighting other good men.

/squints. unless i'm misremembering how this worked

[geriatric]

It wasn't just SHIELD data released when Natasha let everything out on the Internet.

[ This part, he's not certain about. Rumlow may not know about everything that's happened- about what Natasha did. They've kept him locked down after finding him and hadn't let him have much exposure to things like the news, or anyone besides a select few. Maybe he doesn't know. ]

Stark was on the list. I'm fairly certain they've moved out of the weapons making business, and don't tell me that the Iron Man suit counts. They were wiping out people in the way, not just your so-called bad men.

Sounds good to me!

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[He knew data was released on the internet, though he had never been given computer access to check into it himself. They didn't give him much in the way of technology when he was in the hospital save the television remote. Even then, they had some kind of lock on his television so he couldn't watch anything like the news. He was restricted to the kid's channel and the music channel. It was a pain.

Still, he slowed in his eating at the information, chewing as if he might be trying to break down glass shards. He had no love for Stark or the Avengers, but he didn't know the full scope of the algorithm. He recognized sacrifices would be made; hell, he bet his name was on that list somewhere.

He hunched his shoulders, staring avidly at his food to avoid having to meet Steve's gaze.]

...you can't tell me Stark is innocent...

[geriatric]

[ Steve digs his fork in a little harder with a chink of glass on metal, and glances up at him. ]

I can tell you he's a good man, a better man than the ones who you were following. He's not perfect, but at least he didn't try to kill millions of people based on some lines of programming and a monster telling them it was for the good of the world.

[ He's suddenly not too hungry anymore, but he forces himself back to eating, knowing it's only worse when he DOESN'T. ]

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No, he just helped design weapons that were sold to other people to kill millions. I guess people change enough to erase what they did a few short years ago.

[He gave up eating because there was no point to it anymore. He wasn't hungry and while he knew he had to eat in order to heal up quickly, he wasn't about to when they were arguing over world philosophy.

He stood by what he did. He didn't shuffle it off and pretended to suddenly reform. He wouldn't.

Instead, he shoved his bowl and fork away from him, crossing his arms over his chest and looking stubborn.]

We should agree to disagree unless you want this to start getting ugly.

[geriatric]

Wouldn't want to waste my breath.

[ He finishes his meal with sheer determination and by focusing all his irritation away, into something semi-productive. It's not the best use of his time, no, but at least he's got something in his stomach. Why is he even here, though? This is a waste of time, a waste of his breath. Rumlow isn't going to change over night and Steve - well. Steve's still bonded to him no matter what, which is infuriating, too.

Once it's done, he takes it over to the sink, washing the dirtied dishes with sharp, precise movements, the only indicator how how pissed he is. ]

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[He held his silence, though his own anger was boiling under the surface, and he thought he had a better handle on it than Rogers did right now. He said nothing when the other man got up and rampaged to the kitchen to clean the dishes, remaining seated and savouring the heat of Steve's anger.

It really was arousing to see it come into play. There were few people who could ever provoke such a response, but Steve just naturally was in the element in righteous anger. Ah, he was going to sleep well tonight.]

...you staying over tonight, or have you made your time quota of seeing me?

[geriatric]

[ That makes him pause, at least. It's an ache in his bones, an itch under his skin to be apart from him, much as he hates it. He can do missions, he can make this work, but it's next to impossible to say no, no matter how hard he wants to.

Steve's shoulders draw up tighter, and he finishes the dishes without saying anything, waiting until they're all in the drying rack before turning. ]

I shouldn't, for both of us.

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[Steve never stayed over night with him and he had made the offer more than once just to pain them both with it. He knew the answer before it had been said, and he nodded his head slightly with it, his anger slowly tampering away to settle to the usual sense of horrid sexual frustration that lurked in his body.

He pushed himself out of his chair, scrubbing his hair with a hand so that it looked even more messed up than it usually was nowadays. He had stopped caring so much about his appearance, just kept the rumpled look more often than not.]

Ah well, once you had the information you wanted from reducing yourself to that, I'd finally be able to eat that bullet I've been intending to.

[geriatric]

[ He looks like hell, but then so does Steve, arguably, and there's this awful little part of him, this fucked up part that wants to make him even more messed up. That'd enjoy this, fighting and fucking at the same time, and it twists his stomach even worse than the guilt over not seeing the betrayal before it happened did. ]

Don't -

[ He can't stop his head from jerking up, eyes wide as he hears that. That's the last thing he wants - he knows it's fucked, okay, he knows, but hearing it is sobering in a way he hates. Steve takes three quick, long steps over and fists a hand in the front of Rumlow's shirt. ]

You don't get to do that. You chose this - you made these decisions, and you live with it. It's the least you can do.

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[Brock released a soft throaty chuckle like this was all part of the plan, the one he had made laying in a hospital bed with nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and reflect how everything but Steve had been stolen from him. Whatever, life was a piece of shit and they all made the most of it even when it all came crashing down.

The refusal only made his body flush with heat, made far far worse when Steve bore down on him. He shuddered and bared his teeth in some old feral gesture as he grasped the other man's wrist tightly.]

Don't be fucking naive, Rogers. I live, you can't be even close to the one you want to be. I know you two had something going on. [He shoved hard at Steve's chest with his free hand.] You screw me, you pick out all the information Fury wants you to have, then I kill myself and you're free after you pick up whatever pieces happen after that shit. But you're free...

[He smirked his old cocksure smirk.]

I told you I have your best interests at heart. I do even when you're too fucking good-hearted to admit it.

[geriatric]

[ He knows he gets wound up too easily - knows that it's different with Rumlow and he ought to swallow it down, but he can't quite make himself do it, no matter how hard he tries. Rumlow pushes his buttons and Steve reacts, every goddamn time. The fact that there's enough sexual tension to choke both of them isn't helping matters - Steve's half caught up in wanting to argue, and wanting to stifle Rumlow's mouth with something else, which - no, no, he's not going to do that. ]

You know, well as I do that it doesn't matter what I want. [ Not with this, not with the bond. Sure, he and Bucky had something, but it's not the same, it's not like this. This is something in their heads and god knows he'd scratch it out if he could, he'd get in a fucking chair like that and let them burn it out, but it's not that easy. ]

I already asked. About how to burn the connection out, how to erase it. There isn't a way. We both know that if you do that, I follow you a few years later. That's not really best interests, is it.

[infligere]

[And there went Steve being all naive again, but he supposed he couldn't blame the man at all. There were some great secrets that weren't entirely explored, but he had seen a few that had showed promise. They were HYDRA secrets though, not to be revealed but much of anyone or anything, but he could give up the goods while he was either nailing Steve or getting railed somewhere himself.

He shifted his hand up Steve's wrist to pry at the man's fingers gripping his shirt. They hadn't been this close and in their faces in so damn long, and damn if it wasn't making him think very naughty things. It was hard to focus, but he forced himself to anyway.]

There is a way. HYDRA found it, but it isn't pleasant. Hurts like hell from what I saw. [He was still smirking.] I guess that's a sacrifice you're willing to make to scrub it out, though, aren't you? You can't hate me, but you can hate what I'm standing between you from.