![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Who: Steve Rogers & Brock Rumlow
When: Pre-TWS
What: Because some sleeping dogs just need to be called 'big guy' with a wink and lewd suggestion. It may as well be Rumlow to do so.
Warnings: Rumlow being Rumlow. Shameless flirting. Maybe dirty sweaty man sex.
Rumlow was still flicking slugs off of his armour when they disembarked from the quinjet. If he ever had to go back to Loreta, Columbia, he was sleeping in the trees with the damn jaguars rather than in the tent with the slugs. Damn things made a mess of everything.
Of course, the next mess was juggling twenty-four guys in a confined locker room who all were intent on getting out of their disgusting body armour and uniforms and leaving after a quick shower. He was one of the last ones in the cramped quarters, but really, compared to the quinjet they just disembarked from, it was pretty much home sweet home. At least there was less chance of getting slugs up the trousers or leeches in ones boots. Actually... as he looked around, there was plenty of opportunity for both. Home sweet home, indeed.
He pushed members of STRIKE Echo out of his way, but he simply wiggled passed members of his own team. People were making their way to the showers, which thankfully left him room to get to his locker. Captains were on the far end, including Rogers apparently, and he had a clean line of sight as he jostled his way to his locker to start stripping off his gear. Of course, he had to go passed Captain Rogers, which was always a goddamn treat. Only man who looked that good in underwear.
"Out of the way, Jenkins," he ordered, elbowing the lesser from loitering too close to Rogers. Kid just wanted a picture every single time. "Showers because you stink," he added, sending the youngest member of his team off but without a playful shove from the other guy. Just as planned.
He stepped backwards and bumped into Steve, his right hand going backwards as if to catch himself but really, it was so he could set it right on Rogers' right ass cheek. Damn fine. He pushed off as if correcting his balance and pretended to glare at Jenkins who was now hurrying off, leaving this area relatively alone.
"Sorry about that," he said, though he didn't mean it one bit. "Nice ass, big guy," he said with a wink as he reached out to open his locker and started to shrug out of his gear.
When: Pre-TWS
What: Because some sleeping dogs just need to be called 'big guy' with a wink and lewd suggestion. It may as well be Rumlow to do so.
Warnings: Rumlow being Rumlow. Shameless flirting. Maybe dirty sweaty man sex.
Rumlow was still flicking slugs off of his armour when they disembarked from the quinjet. If he ever had to go back to Loreta, Columbia, he was sleeping in the trees with the damn jaguars rather than in the tent with the slugs. Damn things made a mess of everything.
Of course, the next mess was juggling twenty-four guys in a confined locker room who all were intent on getting out of their disgusting body armour and uniforms and leaving after a quick shower. He was one of the last ones in the cramped quarters, but really, compared to the quinjet they just disembarked from, it was pretty much home sweet home. At least there was less chance of getting slugs up the trousers or leeches in ones boots. Actually... as he looked around, there was plenty of opportunity for both. Home sweet home, indeed.
He pushed members of STRIKE Echo out of his way, but he simply wiggled passed members of his own team. People were making their way to the showers, which thankfully left him room to get to his locker. Captains were on the far end, including Rogers apparently, and he had a clean line of sight as he jostled his way to his locker to start stripping off his gear. Of course, he had to go passed Captain Rogers, which was always a goddamn treat. Only man who looked that good in underwear.
"Out of the way, Jenkins," he ordered, elbowing the lesser from loitering too close to Rogers. Kid just wanted a picture every single time. "Showers because you stink," he added, sending the youngest member of his team off but without a playful shove from the other guy. Just as planned.
He stepped backwards and bumped into Steve, his right hand going backwards as if to catch himself but really, it was so he could set it right on Rogers' right ass cheek. Damn fine. He pushed off as if correcting his balance and pretended to glare at Jenkins who was now hurrying off, leaving this area relatively alone.
"Sorry about that," he said, though he didn't mean it one bit. "Nice ass, big guy," he said with a wink as he reached out to open his locker and started to shrug out of his gear.
no subject
The whole lower half of his body was bursting with pleasure, every single cell tingling with how good it was. It was so much so fast that part of him almost wanted to ask Rumlow to stop so that he could get his bearings, while the other part of him would probably cry out in outrage if Rumlow moved away from his pulsing erection.
And pulsing it was. As Rumlow's tongue worked at the tip, Steve whimpered while precome started to bead there. Rumlow was going to taste that, he realized, and that only made the situation that much hotter. Before Steve knew it, he was using the momentum he had from his hands braced on the mattress to start pumping his hips up, pushing himself further into Rumlow's mouth. Not the nicest thing to do to someone who was already doing him a huge favor, but Steve no longer had any coherent thought left in his head. All he could think about was how incredibly good this was, and how much he wanted to get off.