His hand closes over something flexible. The Winter Soldier has just enough time to register it in his peripheral - leather collar, the black leash attached to it vibrating unless he forcibly blinks it back into focus - before there's sudden movement before him. His head jerks toward it. The Captain. He's closed the gap, close enough now to strike, to finish this. To also help himself to whatever's on the shelf...not that he needs any of that to incapacitate the Winter Soldier when he's backed up against the shelves, still clawing the last shreds of his shirt off his shoulders and arms, lips parting, his glassy eyes fixed on the other asset.
The Captain crouches down. His hand reaches toward him.
He starts at the initial touch, fully expecting to have his head slammed back into the shelves or to be bodily hauled against the Captain's muscular frame in a sleeper hold. Muscle memory whispers both happened before. Not this. Not the Captain running his hand over his skin, tracing out where the Winter Soldier's metal fingers have raked angry red marks against his chest and his taut stomach. A little moan is dragged out when the Captain's palm runs over the peak of his nipple, stiffening and warm and more sensitive than it had been just a few minutes ago.
He goes rigid when the other asset touches his face, palm fitting against his jaw, thumb tilting his chin upward as if he's inspecting him. Even through the haze of the drug burning him up from the inside, making him want to squirm toward the touch, the thought swims up that he needs to defend himself. Use what's in his hand. It flits away the next second, something powerful and distracting surging in him. It's been so long since the Winter Soldier's felt want, felt need, that he doesn't identify it for what it is. All he knows is the heat's pooling, his pants are feeling all of a sudden tight, too tight against his swelling bulge. He needs to remove his fatigues.
He needs - ?
He wants.
The Winter Soldier suddenly surges forward, his metal fingers gripping the back of the Captain's head hard enough to dig into his scalp. Without thinking, acting just on thoughtless instinct, he crushes a bruising kiss against the other asset, his lips hot against the other man's mouth, saliva smearing, his stubble scratching against skin. The kiss itself is artless, nothing like the man he used to be could've managed; it's just pure force, pure animal need and the Winter Soldier almost forgets about the collar in his right hand.
Almost. Something wraps itself around the Captain's neck, thick leather that's been reinforced with metal filaments in the straps settling over his Adam's apple. The Winter Soldier keeps a solid grip on the black leash leading to the collar with his flesh hand, some part of him even through the drug realizing it's the only way he has to control the Captain's movements. His other hand slips down to fumble with his fatigues, fondling the heat of his aching cock free of his standard-issue underwear. It's a relief when it curls against his thigh, no longer constrained by fabric that feels too tight, too itchy. The relief's short-lived, however, when he registers how much it's throbbing, a pulse traveling from his limp shaft to his groin and up his stomach and seeming to pound against the sides of his skull so much that it's hard to think.
The Winter Soldier jerks down suddenly on the collar hard enough to break away the kiss, hard enough to cause the other man's breath to hitch, trying to forcibly drag the Captain's head down toward his legs spreading on either side of him, toward the insistent heat between them.
His tongue swipes out to lick at the corner of his mouth, blue eyes glazed. "Take it," he hisses through his teeth, the expression looking almost like a feral snarl. "Take me."
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The Captain crouches down. His hand reaches toward him.
He starts at the initial touch, fully expecting to have his head slammed back into the shelves or to be bodily hauled against the Captain's muscular frame in a sleeper hold. Muscle memory whispers both happened before. Not this. Not the Captain running his hand over his skin, tracing out where the Winter Soldier's metal fingers have raked angry red marks against his chest and his taut stomach. A little moan is dragged out when the Captain's palm runs over the peak of his nipple, stiffening and warm and more sensitive than it had been just a few minutes ago.
He goes rigid when the other asset touches his face, palm fitting against his jaw, thumb tilting his chin upward as if he's inspecting him. Even through the haze of the drug burning him up from the inside, making him want to squirm toward the touch, the thought swims up that he needs to defend himself. Use what's in his hand. It flits away the next second, something powerful and distracting surging in him. It's been so long since the Winter Soldier's felt want, felt need, that he doesn't identify it for what it is. All he knows is the heat's pooling, his pants are feeling all of a sudden tight, too tight against his swelling bulge. He needs to remove his fatigues.
He needs - ?
He wants.
The Winter Soldier suddenly surges forward, his metal fingers gripping the back of the Captain's head hard enough to dig into his scalp. Without thinking, acting just on thoughtless instinct, he crushes a bruising kiss against the other asset, his lips hot against the other man's mouth, saliva smearing, his stubble scratching against skin. The kiss itself is artless, nothing like the man he used to be could've managed; it's just pure force, pure animal need and the Winter Soldier almost forgets about the collar in his right hand.
Almost. Something wraps itself around the Captain's neck, thick leather that's been reinforced with metal filaments in the straps settling over his Adam's apple. The Winter Soldier keeps a solid grip on the black leash leading to the collar with his flesh hand, some part of him even through the drug realizing it's the only way he has to control the Captain's movements. His other hand slips down to fumble with his fatigues, fondling the heat of his aching cock free of his standard-issue underwear. It's a relief when it curls against his thigh, no longer constrained by fabric that feels too tight, too itchy. The relief's short-lived, however, when he registers how much it's throbbing, a pulse traveling from his limp shaft to his groin and up his stomach and seeming to pound against the sides of his skull so much that it's hard to think.
The Winter Soldier jerks down suddenly on the collar hard enough to break away the kiss, hard enough to cause the other man's breath to hitch, trying to forcibly drag the Captain's head down toward his legs spreading on either side of him, toward the insistent heat between them.
His tongue swipes out to lick at the corner of his mouth, blue eyes glazed. "Take it," he hisses through his teeth, the expression looking almost like a feral snarl. "Take me."
Another insistent tug on the leash.