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Who: Brock Rumlow & Sam Wilson
When: A few months post-TWS
What: Rumlow's out of the hospital without supervision, and he decides to pay someone very special a visit to take on his threat.
Warnings: Violence, dubcon sex... more to no doubt be added later.


Rumlow chewed on the toothpick at the side of his mouth, sighting down his sniper rifle at the quaint little house in that quaint quiet middle class suburb. He was using the house next to Wilson's, aware that the owners were on holiday after he had seen them packing and yapping far too loudly about how long they would be gone for. People still had no survival sense whatsoever, but it saved him having to slit their throats in the middle of the night and bury their corpses in the backyard.

As it was, he was using the fall of their giant weeping willow to his advantage for cover to perform surveillance on Wilson's home, aware the guy had to come back more often than Rogers. He counted on the fact that Wilson had personal attachments more than Rogers to draw the man back to Washington between various missions sniffing after the cold trails left by the Soldier. Those two were pathetic in the attempts, but it had allowed him opportunity to end up where he was.

Of course, maybe his recent escape from the hospital had drawn them back? He supposed that it hadn't been subtle killing his nurse and painting the HYDRA symbol on the wall with her blood and mockingly left her corpse laid out on his old bed. It had still been fun after months of boredom, pain and continual glares as if he were some animal for his part in Project Insight. People just failed to understand the beauty of that kind of freedom, but his loyalty to HYDRA remained and he didn't want anyone to forget it.

He'd used his underground contacts to get a few things that he needed to make his life bearable, which included clothing that wasn't too rough on his overly sensitive skin. Burns were a bitch, but he didn't mind the scarring much. People tended to avoid him because of it, when he bothered to appear at all, sometimes just enough to let old SHIELD facial recognition programs catch him. Laying a false trail on his activities while he spent most of his time laying in wait for far, far more important matters.

Like the fact that Wilson was home. His index finger stroked the trigger, aware he could put the man away with a single glorious shot. It was almost tempting, but he wanted this to be far more personal for them, seeing as Wilson was the reason that he had failed to put a bullet in Hill's pretty forehead and stop the Insight protocol. It wasn't a delay that he had appreciated until he had lay roughing shit out of his lungs.

Easing down from his perch on the house, he abandoned his rifle there on the roof where he would retrieve it later. Instead, he slipped over the fence, his black army fatigues whispering against his legs and the faint jingle of metal-on-metal in his pocket. He crept forward under the cover of darkness and slipped up to the backdoor, trying it first before he enjoyed himself picking the lock. Ah, old skills never failed to come in handy, especially when it came on the heels of revenge. He had come prepared for that, and it would be a painful but enjoyable lesson.

He eased the door open and slipped inside from the deck, locking the door so that there was no easy escape for the time being. His ratty sneakers had just enough sole to pad his feet but allow him to still feel the surface he walked across as he moved in search of his quarry, sliding the combat knife from the sheathe on his belt. He wanted things real close and real personal.

Comments

[airfoil]

His hands were busy but his feet were still free and he wasn't married to the food, not with Rumlow lunging and the bag full of all sorts of things he could have a field day with. Sam shoved it to the side with his feet, not yet dropping his plate but right on the edge of it. Potential trouble? Was that cutting off avenues of slipping out or dealing with someone?

Couldn't tell.

"I'm sure that's right up there in your guys' handbook," he shot back, body angled to block Rumlow's line and the plate finally dropping. A butter knife was going to do shit but that's about all he had for the moment.

"This isn't for you. Sorry, Christmas' is a few months out, man." And there's a lot of doubt Rumlow would be on the good list.

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He managed to get his fingers around a strap of the bag, and yet it was too trapped by Wilson's feet to be able to come to his possession easily. He pulled on it anyway because even if something broke inside of it, it wasn't his stuff and thus had less priority. It had been important enough to go and retrieve, which at least made it interesting enough to investigate while Wilson ate.

"You make it sound like I get anything for Christmas," he replied sardonically. He didn't; there was no one to get a gift for outside of the yearly staff Christmas party. He spent Christmas on mission if he could.

He still jerked on the strap, raising his eyebrows at the distinct sound of something breaking inside. It sounded like glass, so probably some cologne? "What do you have in there, hmm? Something real interesting if it's breaking."

[airfoil]

"I'm sure you don't." Which probably made him such a jerk, though you had to be one to end up in that position -which really just made a self-perpetuating cycle. Them's the breaks.

Sam's curled irritation and wariness snapped over to honest surprise at the sound of glass cracking. Shit. Shit. How could he have forgotten about those and what sort of shitty glass was HYDRA using for their test vials if they broke that easily?

"No, shit- seriously stop-" Sam stood up, shoving Rumlow back but even as the bag lifted he could see the damp spot on his carpet (god help him he better get whatever that is out) and there was a sudden strange sweet scent hitting his nose. Like honeysuckles but strong.

"Damn it." And this was exactly why you should never hold enemy unmentionables because your loosely designated tech support was caught up with something else. "Have you smelled this before?"

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He was shoved backwards, hitting the arm of the couch but not dropping his weapon in the process. He snarled before his own nose picked up the tell-tale sweet scent that came from Wilson's bag and shoved himself away from the couch. Wilson wouldn't be stupid enough to have HYDRA experimental shit in that bag, right? No one was dumb enough to just tout that stuff around when it wasn't approved.

But they had been raiding HYDRA facilities. No, no it was damn perfume or something!

"Is that perfume," he snapped, looking at the bag with suspicion. If it wasn't and it happened to be HYDRA goods, he had a few ideas what that smell could be based on a few reports he had read before the Triskelion had hit rock bottom. "Tell me you don't have HYDRA merchandise in that bag."

[airfoil]

The tight set of Sam's mouth and the flat look was all Rumlow needed as an answer. Yeah, he knew it was dumb - quite possibly the dumbest goddamn thing had ever done in a history of some really outrageously stupid shit but this was definitely going to take the cake.

He just hopped he wasn't going to end up put down because of it all.

"Not what I asked you, man."

Sam glanced at the bag one more time before deciding everything in it wasn't worth saving if it meant greater exposure. He dragged in one more shallow bit of air and snagged the bag, hauling it out from the middle of his damn living room and down the hall towards the bathroom, throwing it in there and slamming the door shut.

"Duct tape, kitchen. Third drawer door down by the door."

He could already feel...something. Warmer.

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Rumlow immediately lifted a futile hand to his nose to limit what was breathing in, but if that was what he thought it was, it was too little too late. His actual best case scenario was getting the hell out of this place, but then he would lose the element of having the upper hand and who knew what (or who) he'd be driven to get all excited over.

"Shit, you have HYDRA merchandise in there," he said, hauling himself off of the couch and stepping around it. "That stuff wasn't light green liquid, was it?" Please be blue, please be blue. Blue was tolerable, green was going to be a mess to deal with. It was hot under his collar suddenly, and he bit off a curse.

He abandoned the need to just shoot Wilson and went off to get duct tape, grabbing the roll in the allotted spot and returning. "This is fucking ridiculous. Lock your doors and windows right now if you want this contained."

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"You had to mess with my bag." Sam was practically snarling it, his irritation mounting almost as fast as whatever was working its way from his lungs into his bloodstream. "You had to break into my house and try to play this game."

He looked back up from staring at the door when Rumlow came back from the kitchen, grabbing the tape and spooling out a generous measure for the bottom gap. As far as he was concerned this was one-hundred and one percent Rumlow's fault. It never would have happened if he hadn't created a situation for them.

"Green," he bit out once the tape had been placed and pressed down. He hauled himself back up to his feet from the crouch. "It was green. The hell does that mean?"

The tape was slammed into Rumlow's chest and Sam hitched for a moment with his eyes widening and narrowing at the contact even if it was just touching the man's shirt before he was pushing off to check all the windows and snag his phone. Even as he moved away though he could still feel the sensation like lingering sparks on his fingertips, like an itch that spread up his arm.

"I am not turning into the Hulk."

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"You had to bring the bag and stash HYDRA shit inside of it," he replied testily because he was not dealing with this when his mission had been plain and simple. Not it was going to hell like all missions apparently involving this asshole. Next time, he vowed to just shoot the guy through a window and be done with it, assuming they weren't about to rip into each other here and now.

Fuck, of course it was green. Of course. Just great. There went the rest of his week, and he hoped the whatever small mercy existed that no one was going to come looking for Wilson and find them fucking like crazy. He'd hide under the bed like some dirty secret if he had to.

"It means we're in trouble," he said with a curl of his lip as he hissed with the sudden hit to his chest because that shouldn't feel that good. It did. He muttered to himself as he marched off to set the locks on the doors and moved whatever heavy objects he could in front of them to prevent an easy escape in case they got a little too excited and wanted other people to join the party.

"No, you will not thankfully. However, you are about to get more horny than you have ever been in your life," he said maliciously. "And you're going to screw anything with a hole, maybe even the wall." He shoved the couch towards the wall along with the coffee table, hoping to prevent too much from getting broken. God, his pants were feeling tight already.

[airfoil]

Tight and getting more uncomfortable with each heartbeat that was starting in a fresh new drumming ache between his legs. Sam swore, coming back from the kitchen where he locked up, and secured the windows to glare at Rumlow's working form shoving his couch in front of the door. Was that seriously necessary? If they're just going to end up sex crazed did that mean they needed to bar themselves in or keep everyone out? God, but it was fine. Let him bend over like that, the thick muscles of his arms flexing as he shoved. A true and righteous asshole but he wasn't that-

Fuck. This.

"You're telling me out of all the damn things they could be working up HYDRA sat around and made some sort of sex...drug?" Sam dragged his eyes away and went to the table where his phone still laid, snatching it up and pressing in the passcode so he could at least text Steve. Though it was hard to do with just one hand - the other one drifting down to palm and knead at his dick for some sort of relief. Just that bit of harsh friction had him smothering a hard groan into his shoulder, gripping himself tightly and jerking again with the sentence he was typing out left half done.

Trouble. Yeah. Felt like it.

"How long does it last?" His voice dragged rough as he looked over again, not quite letting go of himself until he forced it -- finding compromise with at least undoing the button to his pants, unzipping a little -- and started to type again.

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His fatigues were loose enough to allow him easy movement but still confining enough where he was limited on how much of the material he could rip on various obstacles to getting to his target. Right now though, they were feeling itchy, hot and tight as his ardor rose alarmingly within him, and he knew from the reports that they had only a few minutes before they wouldn't care where they were or anything else. They just would want each other as hard and fast as they could, like a bunch of damn animals.

"Do I look like I work in the science department? No," he replied through gritted teeth as he maneuvered the couch where he wanted it and dropped it, rubbing his hand over his brow and making the mistake of looking over at Wilson. "There was a America chemical made by Howard Stark in the mid-40s that caused people to go berserk and tear each other apart. They've been tinkering with that formula for years to see what they could..." he trailed off as his mouth felt suddenly dry with Wilson palming himself and no act had ever looked so damn arousing in all of his life. "Jesus Christ, stop that!"

His brain was thoroughly derailed from the topic of conversation as he rubbed his now sweaty palms down his thighs and tried to remember what the hell they had been talking about. He really just wanted out of his clothing. Why had he worn so many belts and buckles anyway? "How long does what last?"