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

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[God, having such a power house squirming was the best thing in the world. He couldn't currently think of anything better than it, and he worked his fingers deeper and stretched them open to see just how much the other man was going to squirm for him. They weren't even at the whole sex part yet, and already, he felt like rubbing on Steve's thigh for stimulation on himself.

He let Steve work on thrusting on his fingers, biting and sucking on parts of skin on the blond's back, watching each mark fade away only to add another. Soon enough, when they had a rhythm going and Steve was relaxing around his fingers, he added a third.]

If we weren't about to share everything, I would have done this so long ago...

[geriatric]

[ Steve squirms again, bracing his hands up on the bed to steady himself. It's not perfect, but it's enough for the moment and he's got the means to bear down, to rock his hips with each push of his fingers. The addition of a third isn't unexpected, but it punches a little noise out of him, Steve's back arching just a touch as he looks over his shoulder, hair falling in his eyes. ]

Wouldn't have been afraid of it if you'd done the right thing.

[ And yeah, the bedroom isn't the place to bring out the bickering but he can't stop himself. ]

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[Could squirming actually be that sexy? Apparently it could as his gaze feasted on the way that Steve moved with his fingers, and he was, by now, painfully hard and eager. The risk of losing it all was making this even worse too, and he ground himself on Steve's thigh for just a bit of teasing relief for himself as he stretched his bond with a little more urgency before snorting at the comment.]

I was doing the right thing. I was helping to make the world a better place.

[He twisted his fingers free and stroked lube on himself as he leaned over and bit little red marks across Steve's shoulders as he lined himself up.]

Last chance to refuse....

[geriatric]

It wasn't.

[ Apparently they are going to argue during this. Figures. Steve slips a hand down to himself and starts stroking, curling his fingers loosely around his dick to give him something to fuck into, if Brock's going to make him wait for it. When the other man grinds his dick against his thigh, Steve pushes back into it, trying to encourage him, to get more of the bites, more friction, more anything.

The loss of his fingers gets an even more frustrated noise out of Steve; he jerks his head around, giving him a thoroughly unimpressed look, even with the flush of his cheeks, the way his hair's sticking to his forehead. ]

Hurry up.

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[He was thoroughly enjoying arguing with Steve and turning the man into an absolute wreck at the same time because it was just so damn arousing and entertaining. Only he and Rogers would argue and push each other on the verge of taking the biggest step of their relationship here and now. It was so fucking typical, and he was going to laugh when he finally got through this and bite Steve until the guy bled.

He smirked at the look he was given, his tongue flicking out against previously abused skin. He did happen to give into the demand though as he lined his hips up and pushed into Steve probably faster than he normally would have done before that hot demand.]

Shit I hope you walk funny after this.

[geriatric]

[ It's one thing to know it's coming, it's a whole other to actually feel it. Rumlow'd stretched him, sure, but fingers didn't quite equate to the thick press of his prick. Steve's head hangs, one hand groping for the pillow so he can drag it close, brace himself against it and he bears down as best as he can until Brock's balls deep and Steve's sucking in a breath once it's done, trembling. ]

I heal fast.

[ It takes two tries to get his voice steady enough, but he manages, shifting up until he's back in the original position, shoulders square, braced like he's ready for a fight. His cock hasn't flagged at all, precome dripping down his cock. ]

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[It was one thing to almost be fisting another man, and it was quite another to feel the heat and tightness of the body meant for him around his erection. He hissed a long loud breath between clenched teeth, pushing his advance to conquer new territory like any good soldier. He would have made a "I claim this land" joke, but he was too busy gripping onto Steve like he needed to be carried out of a warzone. He kissed his way along Steve's spine until the man had regained the original position, one hand slipping around to tease at the blond's erection.]

There's my Captain... never flagging in the face of any situation.

[He stroked Steve's erection as he pulled himself out and then pressed back in, grunting in pleasure. It took him a few tries to be slow and careful before getting to a rhythm, his sweaty forehead pressed between the man's shoulder blades. He cussed dirty words even if he felt slight apprehension that they were finally doing this, finally about to share things he had shared with no other before.]

[geriatric]

[ He's not sure if it normally feels this good - logically, he thinks that it ought to be overwhelming, a little too sharp, a little too much, but between the overwhelming sense of relief and want, it's all jumbled up in his head. Doesn't matter what happens, part of him's just grateful he's got Rumlow there, fucked up as the thought is.

It takes him a few moments to get used to it; but he finally shifts back, rolls his hips back onto Brock's cock and catches the rhythm, toes curling. It's good, he knew it'd be good, always did, but he didn't realize just how good, listening to Rumlow mutter filth under his breath. Steve groans, muffled into the pillow and then shifts back, presses in to take Brock as far as he can and shoves at him. It takes some shifting, groping back for Rumlow to shove him back until the other man is kneeling and he slips out, but Steve's quick to drop a hand back and fix it, guide him back in. The position's a little more awkward, but back to front, riding Rumlow like this sure as hell isn't a problem. It gives him the ability to move as fast or as hard as he likes, lets Rumlow have full access to his cock. Steve shudders out a groan, groping for the headboard, using it to brace down on as he rises up and sinks back down, fucking himself on his cock. ]

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[The worse part of this already was that he was looking forward to the next time and time after that. He's looking forward to having something in his life that it's just a broken dream, a burned out promise, or a restricting suffocation with the illusion of freedom. In this, Steve was his alone, forced to endure as he did, forced to enjoy as he did. What better thing then screwing the man who had ruined twenty years of crawling and scraping up the ranks?

Just when it seemed that they had started to find a rhythm, Steve gave him a bit too hard of a shove that knocked him back a bit. He hissed at the loss of contact, sinking to his knees and grasping the man's hips before he gave in to the other man's obvious want and only nipped Steve's back when he was guided back into that constricting heat. His only revenge was picking up a pace that suited him as he drove himself to the hilt over and over again, his fingers tight on Steve's hips.]

Come on, Rogers, make some of that noise, would you?

[geriatric]

[ Far be it from him to resist the order; he wants to, but between the press of Rumlow's rough hand on his cock and the feel of him filling him up, Steve groans in response, grinds himself down. He's not sure how the process works; when the memories start shifting, but there's a scratch at the back of his head, something flickering behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes. He doesn't want that, though; it's not fair that this is what it comes to, that he can't just enjoy this, that he has to be spilled open, that Rumlow gets to see everything after what he did.

Steve grits his teeth against a groan, bouncing a little harder, grinding at the end of each slide down, fucking up into his hand when he rises up. ] Tighter-- [ Steve shivers out another little noise, dropping a hand down to grip Rumlow's wrist, to try and get him to jerk him a little harder. ]

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[If he let himself get distracted from the pleasure, he was aware of a pressure in his head, subtle at first but growing If he blinked his eyes, he almost thought that he saw things that had nothing to do with himself. His fingers clenched in response as the intensity of the situation began to ramp up, the danger and the lust when he realized that there was a chance that Rogers was going to know him better than anyone else. He huffed a moan of his own, picking up his pace to pound into the man riding him.

His hand fisted harder and faster on Steve's erection, his breathes coming in rising pants. This was almost uncomfortably tense, but he knew he wasn't strong enough anymore to resist. He just wanted the pleasure, the danger and the pain. It helped that Steve was as sexy as hell riding him like it was going out of style too.]

[geriatric]

[ It's easy to lose himself in this; in the thick press of his cock, in the way that he can feel Rumlow's breath sliding out along his skin from behind. Steve grips the headboard tighter, pulls it a little too hard to rise up and feels it crack right before he hears it. There's a pause, and he opens his eyes, grimacing at himself. This is why he needs to pay attention. A little glance back at Rumlow, and Steve pushes the headboard against the wall instead, hoping that'll hold it up while he rolls his hips back in a slow grind against Rumlow's.

Get you a new one, he mumbles quietly, and covers Rumlow's hand with his own. There's no way to resist the pull this time around; he can feel it dragging at the edge of his senses, flickers of faces and names and everything else starting to drip into his head. Steve stifles another groan, focusing on the physical sensations instead, tightening their hands until the heat finally builds up and he's left grinding helplessly onto Rumlow's cock, orgasm spilling over their hands in thick pulses. There's no being silent when it happens; he tries, but he's aware of his own voice, rough and unsteady, Rumlow, mn, mmm-- ]

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[He let out a bark of laughter when Roger's cracked his headboard, and it was so typical. He didn't care and certainly wasn't angry, but he had his revenge by slamming his hips harder against Steve's ass. For him, there was no slowing down, and his head tipped forward to rest against Steve's back, tasting sweaty skin when his tongue flicked out as the heat rose higher in him, the need for that ultimate quaking pleasure making his nerves hypersensitive.

The memory start though, hazy at first and flickering across his mind. It was a two-way street, but it was too late to have regret about it. Imagines came to him stronger as he stroked Steve to completion and groaned loudly when he drove himself to the hilt and released himself inside of the man. It felt like floodgates opening and even with his eyes half-opened, he was seeing a different, a different time, feeling the emotions that went with certain people, gaining understanding where he had not been interested before.

Steve had lived a hard life before the serum, different from his own hard life. It was impossible to miss the importance of Barnes - the Winter Soldier - and the strength of Steve's personality to get into the war, to be the man everyone expected and then to throw it all away for the Arctic only to come up with everything different. He sighed, his arms fastened tightly around Steve's waist as he cheek rested against the blond's strong warm back.

Odd, he didn't mind his secrets laid bare. He should, but he didn't. He expected resentment, but there was something freeing about it.]

[geriatric]

[ His own memories are a jumbled mess that he keeps locked down tight; it's hard to sort through Rumlow's, in addition to them. Steve sags against him when the other man finally comes, spilling hot inside him, wringing another choked noise out of him that he can't quite stifle. He ought to stop it here, ought to leave, but he can't bring his legs to work, not after this.

It's like drowning, all at once, ever bit of Rumlow's memories trickling in, first like drops of water and then sharp and overwhelming, a flood of them. Both hands go to the headboard, trying to anchor himself while he weathers the storm, feels Rumlow sink in against him.

He can't sort through it right now, it's too much, but he gets flickers, flashes of things that click, that make sense; reasons why Rumlow is the way he is. Not that it excuses it, but it makes sense. Steve shifts, finally back in his head a little more, and rolls his hips back, thighs starting to ache a little from the strain. ]

Let-- let me go a second, Brock.

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[It was going to take him a long time to put everything in order, but he had time on his hands. It really was that he had nothing else to do, and he noticed more than anything else that Steve really had no dark side, none of those little things that made a man scum of the earth someone. Great, he was bonded to the most perfect upstanding human being on the planet, and it would be hilarious if he wasn't half in some kind of dream state.

He groaned at the rolling hips, and his grip relented and slipped away, instead just flopping onto his back and letting Steve head off to wherever was necessary. All his HYDRA secrets, all those little hole-in-the-wall safe houses, all those codes, all those people now inside Steve's head.

And yet, the only thing he could really consider was when the next time they could screw around. Maybe he wouldn't even try to get Steve mad at him this time.]

...I think that's one of the first times you've called me that.

[geriatric]

[ He needs to sort through all of this, but he's got the uncomfortable realization that maybe he shouldn't do this here. There's enough of himself that was laid bare that he doesn't want to talk about it, and there's enough of Rumlow bouncing in his head that he needs time to sort that too.

Rumlow slides away and Steve rolls to his feet unsteadily, his whole body a low throb that's partially arousal and partially exertion from what they'd done. He needs to get to Fury, to Natsaha, get all of this out of his head and on paper so they can start working on the remnants of HYDRA. ]

It's your name.

[ It's a weak attempt at something like a retort, Steve visibly flinching when he feels how slick the insides of his thighs are. There's no waiting or asking for permission; he heads for the bathroom to clean himself up, coming out minutes later, still looking debauched as all shit. ]

I'll be back tomorrow.

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[The most he managed to do when Steve stood away from him was to stretch out his legs more comfortably, his eyes half-closed as he just let the aspects of someone else's life, the sheer rightness of a bond in full assault him. It should have offended him, should have raised his ire, but really, this was the best he had felt since the Triskelion tried to kill him outright.

Yet, he too noted the slink on Steve, but it was much the same for him. He let Steve go, aware that this was exactly as the man wanted, stealing his secrets and running off to yip at Fury about them. Whatever, they were never meant to be anything more than enemies until the fates had had a good laugh.

He managed to roll onto his side by the time Steve emerged from the bathroom, curled up lazily and track his bond' progress towards the door. He didn't even lift a hand to wave Steve out, just following the man with his eyes.]

Don't leave out any details, or no doubt this will be just another wasted effort on your part. And don't feel obligated to come back until it hurts you to stay away.

[Hell hath no fury like a spurned HYDRA agent lover.]

[geriatric]

[ He's doing his level best to keep it all at bay, not wanting to think too hard about it. It was much easier when Rumlow was an asshole who made shit decisions, but there's an added level to it and it itches at his bones.

Steve gropes for his clothing, shoving his feet into his boxers, into his jeans, and glances over at him. ]

You and I both know it's not as easy as just -- [ Just leaving. Steve knows he can't stay away forever. Rumlow can't either. It doesn't seem fair, either way. Steve shifts his shirt on, and doesn't look back as he heads for the door. ]

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[Well, to be fair, if he wasn't constantly being watched, he might have made his own attempt to leave. As it was, he was content to laze around for now, maybe sharpen one of his kitchen knives while thinking about Steve. No, that would probably get him hard again, and he should probably avoid that now that the bond was solid.

He watched Steve silently, letting his lack of words be the extent of his level of asshole for now. Only once Steve had gone did he move from his bed with its broken head board and go to shower himself. He had plenty of things to pick through and more than enough time to put it in order from all the jumbled mess that it was in his head.

Damn bond.]