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.]

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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.]