The Soldier may sound pissed, but he does what the Captain wants, and for a just a minute, that’s all that matters. It doesn’t matter if he’s not trying to be gentle or skilled — what matters is the double assault of gun- and knife-calloused fingers around his cock and the wet heat of a mouth on one aching nipple, a feeling he’d barely noticed until the press of a hot tongue against it brings something that’s both relief and something that feels like the opposite. It’s that hot, crackling, wild energy arcing through him, like his chest and his crotch are the anode and cathode, and the Soldier’s touch is electrifying him in a way the chair never could. This is kind of torture, the Captain thinks, that he would be willing to endure forever.
He lets out a sound that’s half-grunt, half-groan, body arching toward the Soldier’s as he continues to rock, to press. There’s a new war going on in his brain, where deep down he knows he needs to keep the upper hand, stay on top, dominate the Winter Soldier. But at the same time, some blind, untraceable urge is telling him he wants to be under the Soldier. He wants to be on the floor or against the wall and he wants the Soldier to be the one pinning him, because as much as the Captain is enjoying the position he’s in, there’s just something about it that’s not quite right.
This time, when he moves, it’s to snake arms around the Soldier and pull them even tighter chest to chest, heat blooming between them as any sliver of air that might have separated them disappears. It crushes the other asset’s hand against his cock, which is certainly nothing to scoff at, either — the shaft now feels as hard and straining as his nipples, like there’s sparks dancing under his skin, like he’s going to explode like ordnance and he won’t even care. He wants it.
Once the Soldier is firmly in his grip, the Captain rolls them like wrestlers, legs wrapping around the other’s waist as the slide to the side and the hard flood comes up and knocks the air out of him just as the dark shadow of the Soldier’s head, too-long lanky hair hanging down, comes up to blot out the too-bright overhead lights. All the Captain can see are the blue-gray eyes, whittled down to thin rings of color with the pupils blown wide, as he arches his hips up eagerly into the Soldier’s grip, encouraging.
Of course, even as one arms stays tight around the other’s torso, the other snakes down to find the hot, hard length of the Soldier’s cock pressed between them. A large, hot hand takes it up in a firm grip, sliding up and down almost maddeningly slow and steady. The Captain feels like he might fly apart, but this motion is nonetheless utterly calm and controlled. He might have put the Soldier on top, but the Soldier is not in control. This is still where the Captain wants him. And he gets only what the Captain wants to give him. “Keep touching me,” he demands, as if the other could even stop, pinned now with the Captain wrapped around him like he is.
The Soldier goes stiff as soon as he feels those strong arms loop around his body. This happened before, the Captain trapping him, powerful arms wrapping around his torso and squeezing - but it seems like this time there's something different planned, because the other asset doesn't crush the resistance out of him. Instead he's suddenly bodily jerked away from where he'd been pinned against the shelves. The Captain spins them together as one onto the floor, the Soldier surprised to find himself actually on top of the other man instead of pinned below, where he usually is when he's been made to submit.
The sheer shock of it is enough to prevent him from rolling off, lunging back to the shelf so he can get another tool - a weapon - to arm himself with.
Unable to roll off, the Soldier can't help but groan when the Captain ensures he can't escape easily by grabbing his cock jutting between them. A hand circles around it tight and while he doesn't squeeze to incapacitate, that could change at any time. Maybe he should get it over with, the Soldier's husky gasps taking on a frustrated edge at the slow - too damn slow - pace of the strokes, his grip just firm enough that he can't easily force the issue by pistoning his engorged shaft against his palm, its head weeping from its slit to glisten along the Captain's fingers.
Doesn't mean he doesn't try, his hip pushing forward.
Pinned like this, his torso and his cock trapped between their bodies, and the Soldier has no choice. His breath rushes hot against the other asset's face, disheveled hair hanging down, casting his worn face in shadow even as his wide eyes glitter. He needs more. He needs - wants? - the Captain to speed up instead of torturing him with these always slow, always even, always the same leisurely pumps of his hand circled around his throbbing cock.
Still gazing down at the Captain, his hand shifts position. Whether it's frustration at how trapped he is, the aphro warming his body and lighting each nerve on fire, or just a general kind of impatience - the Soldier decides the pants and underwear are in the way and have to go. Now. The fatigues are thin, not the thicker types for field work, and gripping the fabric in his titanium hand, he tears them with a sideways jerk that will draw angry red marks where the waistband dug into the Captain's sweat-slicked side.
His standard-issue underwear gets the same treatment from the Winter Soldier, the thinner fabric tearing much more easily than his pants. Now he can fondle the Captain free, his straining member hot and pulsing, his fingers pressing down against the softness of his sac, rubbing, exploring, not sure what to do but figuring that he will know from the Captain's breathing, if he flinches or he moans.
If he moans - without thinking, the Soldier leans down, hair tickling the Captain's face, and he'll capture his lips with his, tongue invading his mouth, the kiss rough, hard enough to crack the other asset's head against the floor all over again. At the same time he attempts to thrust his cock into the Captain's hand, maybe hoping to catch the other asset by surprise. To force him to do something - squeeze, pick up the pace - instead of keeping him in that awful limbo.
The Soldier can’t escape, but he can take advantage of his new position to push his hips against the Captain’s grip, clearly unhappy with the pace. The Captain doesn’t laugh — doesn’t even remember how, barely knows it’s a sound he can make, though the handlers certainly do — but there’s a quirk of his lips and a flash in his eyes that only the Soldier can see, so close, hidden from the cameras and the viewing window by the angle of their heads and the fall of the Soldier’s hair. It’s just as well, really. Any expression past determination on either asset’s face would certainly warrant punishment.
He doesn’t have long to enjoy his victory, though, before the Soldier is moving; not struggling to get away, but grabbing at the Captain’s pants with a sharp tearing sound that almost — but not entirely — masks the harsh, hitched gasp the Captain sucks in as the relatively cooler air of the room hits his heated cock, as the Soldier’s rough hand, just the right size, slides back over and down and around his dick and balls, unhindered now by the annoying fabric any longer. It may not be a moan, exactly, but there’s something on the tail end of the sound that must be close enough, because the next thing he knows, there’s chapped lips pressed against his and his head hits the floor with an explosion of sparks behind his eyes — and he likes it. It’s jarring and painful and there’s an almost angry hitch of the Soldier’s hips against his, as the other fights for what he wants and the Captain refuses to give up the upper hand. As the Captain doesn’t laugh again, but radiates a kind of satisfied smugness even as his lips, for just the briefest instant, yield out of something close to surprise.
But not for long. He bites at the Soldier’s lips in retaliation, tearing at the soft flesh and tasting a sharp little burst of copper on his tongue. It won’t bleed much or long, but it’s enough to smear both their lips with blood as the Captain growls into the Soldier’s mouth, writhing under him but never breaking his hold, never moving away far enough to ever risk losing the Soldier’s hand on his cock. He kisses and bites and sucks like he wants to swallow the Soldier whole and never come up for air. He kisses like it’s a contest — everything between them is — but also like it’s a lifeline and he never wants to let go.
The Soldier’s hips smack against his again, clear wanting in them and the Captain tightens his arm around the other asset’s back, a warning. And yet, kissing like this, with the Soldier’s free hand all over him and making him see sparks long after his head should have cleared from that hit, is making him feel… something. It couldn’t exactly be called generosity. Maybe more like curiosity, as the Captain’s eyes open, too close to the Soldier’s, everything out of focus even as everything in his body feels like it is focused, right now, on the aching, straining place between his legs. On what’s building there. On the way he wants the Soldier to feel it too, to react, to give himself over the Captain without pausing in the way he’s giving the Captain what he wants, too.
His legs slide down now from the Soldier’s waist, the Captain stretching out without giving ground, legs sliding along the Soldier’s inner thighs until he’s got the other asset pinned over him by the ankles, grip still as hard as iron. With both of the laid out, the Captain has the advantage again, bucking and arching off the floor while the Soldier should find it harder to keep up that thrusting. At the same time, though, the Captain’s strokes finally, finally speed up along the Soldier’s cock, fingers gliding easily, slick now with all the precome that’s been drooling over them, coating his hand and his belly. He tilts his head enough, shifts just enough for their lips to part and the kiss dissolve into harsh, panting breaths, that his eyes can focus fully on the Soldier’s, now. His gaze bores into them with a focused attention that demands to know if this reward will be appreciated, or if it will be fought. If he ought to keep going, speeding up ever so slightly with every stroke, starting to aim his hand so that their knuckles bump together every few pulls, cocks inches apart, or if he’s going to have to take away this gift again. If the Soldier will fight him on it. Because whatever this is… the Captain has still got to win.
Can’t escape. A flex of the powerful arm locked around his back – a warning that if he doesn’t take the right tactical approach that he could end up semi-conscious and drooling on the floor and not only will he lose the exercise and rack up more punishment, the Captain can just do what he wants regardless.
The Soldier’s as rigid as his cock weeping between them.
With the taste of his blood streaking across his lips and the press of the Captain's hungrily claiming his mouth, tongue surging, the Soldier has to fight off an ingrained reaction to submit trying to well up. The other asset's aggressive, domineering because of course he has to be, and his assault on his mouth is disorienting as the Captain groans with a demanding kind of need and his breath washes hot across his face when he pulls back to slop another kiss on, to bite at his lips until they're either bleeding or swollen and tinged pink, tender to the touch.
It's a distraction.
Before the Soldier can use that split second opening when the other man's thighs shift, he's suddenly repositioning his body and locking him down even further. He's still pinned, stretched out now, ankles hooked so he can't easily worm away and maybe it's an even worse position because the Captain has control of his feet and his cock's still gripped tight enough that he only has to squeeze hard to incapacitate any fight out of him. Disoriented, unused to physical pleasure warring with the need to fight back, to maybe not submit because the Captain's not a handler, but just another asset like him, the Winter Soldier bares his teeth in a snarl as soon as his mouth's freed. His teeth are tinged red with his own blood, lips stinging and plumped from the Captain's possessive bites and nips.
...But he's also speeding up those strokes with his hand pumping faster. Pleasure pulses in waves threatening to overwhelm his combat readiness. Despite himself, the Soldier wavers, the aphro he ingested orally and inhaled vibrating along his body taut with need and concentrating in his cock trapped in the other man's merciless hand.
Without thinking about it, maybe without realizing he's doing it, he finally concedes.
He matches the Captain's energy. If he strokes harder along his engorged shaft dribbling all over their stomachs and chest, then in return the Winter Soldier fondles the soft heat of his balls that much more. Rolling them. Palming them, sometimes teasing that line where it could be painful. He tries to meet the other asset's gaze, knowing he's staring up at him with his blue eyes glinting and assessing, but it's been a while - a long time, maybe - since he experienced pleasure. At all.
And the aphrodisiac he got dosed with only amplifies it.
His mouth hangs open as he gasps and grunts with each tug and twist of the Captain's hand. Hips jerk toward him, thrust, the shaft slick and throbbing in the other man's grasp. The Soldier's steadily losing the plot as he gives into the aphro burning him up from the inside, his face growing slack with sheer pleasure. A few times his eyes will start to roll up into his head with a flutter of dark lashes before he seems to catch himself and his face scrunches, confused, nose crinkling, his tongue slipping out to wet his mouth as he gives his head a little shake. Rallying, maybe, for a second wind...if the Captain gives him that opening.
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He lets out a sound that’s half-grunt, half-groan, body arching toward the Soldier’s as he continues to rock, to press. There’s a new war going on in his brain, where deep down he knows he needs to keep the upper hand, stay on top, dominate the Winter Soldier. But at the same time, some blind, untraceable urge is telling him he wants to be under the Soldier. He wants to be on the floor or against the wall and he wants the Soldier to be the one pinning him, because as much as the Captain is enjoying the position he’s in, there’s just something about it that’s not quite right.
This time, when he moves, it’s to snake arms around the Soldier and pull them even tighter chest to chest, heat blooming between them as any sliver of air that might have separated them disappears. It crushes the other asset’s hand against his cock, which is certainly nothing to scoff at, either — the shaft now feels as hard and straining as his nipples, like there’s sparks dancing under his skin, like he’s going to explode like ordnance and he won’t even care. He wants it.
Once the Soldier is firmly in his grip, the Captain rolls them like wrestlers, legs wrapping around the other’s waist as the slide to the side and the hard flood comes up and knocks the air out of him just as the dark shadow of the Soldier’s head, too-long lanky hair hanging down, comes up to blot out the too-bright overhead lights. All the Captain can see are the blue-gray eyes, whittled down to thin rings of color with the pupils blown wide, as he arches his hips up eagerly into the Soldier’s grip, encouraging.
Of course, even as one arms stays tight around the other’s torso, the other snakes down to find the hot, hard length of the Soldier’s cock pressed between them. A large, hot hand takes it up in a firm grip, sliding up and down almost maddeningly slow and steady. The Captain feels like he might fly apart, but this motion is nonetheless utterly calm and controlled. He might have put the Soldier on top, but the Soldier is not in control. This is still where the Captain wants him. And he gets only what the Captain wants to give him. “Keep touching me,” he demands, as if the other could even stop, pinned now with the Captain wrapped around him like he is.
no subject
The sheer shock of it is enough to prevent him from rolling off, lunging back to the shelf so he can get another tool - a weapon - to arm himself with.
Unable to roll off, the Soldier can't help but groan when the Captain ensures he can't escape easily by grabbing his cock jutting between them. A hand circles around it tight and while he doesn't squeeze to incapacitate, that could change at any time. Maybe he should get it over with, the Soldier's husky gasps taking on a frustrated edge at the slow - too damn slow - pace of the strokes, his grip just firm enough that he can't easily force the issue by pistoning his engorged shaft against his palm, its head weeping from its slit to glisten along the Captain's fingers.
Doesn't mean he doesn't try, his hip pushing forward.
Pinned like this, his torso and his cock trapped between their bodies, and the Soldier has no choice. His breath rushes hot against the other asset's face, disheveled hair hanging down, casting his worn face in shadow even as his wide eyes glitter. He needs more. He needs - wants? - the Captain to speed up instead of torturing him with these always slow, always even, always the same leisurely pumps of his hand circled around his throbbing cock.
Still gazing down at the Captain, his hand shifts position. Whether it's frustration at how trapped he is, the aphro warming his body and lighting each nerve on fire, or just a general kind of impatience - the Soldier decides the pants and underwear are in the way and have to go. Now. The fatigues are thin, not the thicker types for field work, and gripping the fabric in his titanium hand, he tears them with a sideways jerk that will draw angry red marks where the waistband dug into the Captain's sweat-slicked side.
His standard-issue underwear gets the same treatment from the Winter Soldier, the thinner fabric tearing much more easily than his pants. Now he can fondle the Captain free, his straining member hot and pulsing, his fingers pressing down against the softness of his sac, rubbing, exploring, not sure what to do but figuring that he will know from the Captain's breathing, if he flinches or he moans.
If he moans - without thinking, the Soldier leans down, hair tickling the Captain's face, and he'll capture his lips with his, tongue invading his mouth, the kiss rough, hard enough to crack the other asset's head against the floor all over again. At the same time he attempts to thrust his cock into the Captain's hand, maybe hoping to catch the other asset by surprise. To force him to do something - squeeze, pick up the pace - instead of keeping him in that awful limbo.
no subject
He doesn’t have long to enjoy his victory, though, before the Soldier is moving; not struggling to get away, but grabbing at the Captain’s pants with a sharp tearing sound that almost — but not entirely — masks the harsh, hitched gasp the Captain sucks in as the relatively cooler air of the room hits his heated cock, as the Soldier’s rough hand, just the right size, slides back over and down and around his dick and balls, unhindered now by the annoying fabric any longer. It may not be a moan, exactly, but there’s something on the tail end of the sound that must be close enough, because the next thing he knows, there’s chapped lips pressed against his and his head hits the floor with an explosion of sparks behind his eyes — and he likes it. It’s jarring and painful and there’s an almost angry hitch of the Soldier’s hips against his, as the other fights for what he wants and the Captain refuses to give up the upper hand. As the Captain doesn’t laugh again, but radiates a kind of satisfied smugness even as his lips, for just the briefest instant, yield out of something close to surprise.
But not for long. He bites at the Soldier’s lips in retaliation, tearing at the soft flesh and tasting a sharp little burst of copper on his tongue. It won’t bleed much or long, but it’s enough to smear both their lips with blood as the Captain growls into the Soldier’s mouth, writhing under him but never breaking his hold, never moving away far enough to ever risk losing the Soldier’s hand on his cock. He kisses and bites and sucks like he wants to swallow the Soldier whole and never come up for air. He kisses like it’s a contest — everything between them is — but also like it’s a lifeline and he never wants to let go.
The Soldier’s hips smack against his again, clear wanting in them and the Captain tightens his arm around the other asset’s back, a warning. And yet, kissing like this, with the Soldier’s free hand all over him and making him see sparks long after his head should have cleared from that hit, is making him feel… something. It couldn’t exactly be called generosity. Maybe more like curiosity, as the Captain’s eyes open, too close to the Soldier’s, everything out of focus even as everything in his body feels like it is focused, right now, on the aching, straining place between his legs. On what’s building there. On the way he wants the Soldier to feel it too, to react, to give himself over the Captain without pausing in the way he’s giving the Captain what he wants, too.
His legs slide down now from the Soldier’s waist, the Captain stretching out without giving ground, legs sliding along the Soldier’s inner thighs until he’s got the other asset pinned over him by the ankles, grip still as hard as iron. With both of the laid out, the Captain has the advantage again, bucking and arching off the floor while the Soldier should find it harder to keep up that thrusting. At the same time, though, the Captain’s strokes finally, finally speed up along the Soldier’s cock, fingers gliding easily, slick now with all the precome that’s been drooling over them, coating his hand and his belly. He tilts his head enough, shifts just enough for their lips to part and the kiss dissolve into harsh, panting breaths, that his eyes can focus fully on the Soldier’s, now. His gaze bores into them with a focused attention that demands to know if this reward will be appreciated, or if it will be fought. If he ought to keep going, speeding up ever so slightly with every stroke, starting to aim his hand so that their knuckles bump together every few pulls, cocks inches apart, or if he’s going to have to take away this gift again. If the Soldier will fight him on it. Because whatever this is… the Captain has still got to win.
no subject
The Soldier’s as rigid as his cock weeping between them.
With the taste of his blood streaking across his lips and the press of the Captain's hungrily claiming his mouth, tongue surging, the Soldier has to fight off an ingrained reaction to submit trying to well up. The other asset's aggressive, domineering because of course he has to be, and his assault on his mouth is disorienting as the Captain groans with a demanding kind of need and his breath washes hot across his face when he pulls back to slop another kiss on, to bite at his lips until they're either bleeding or swollen and tinged pink, tender to the touch.
It's a distraction.
Before the Soldier can use that split second opening when the other man's thighs shift, he's suddenly repositioning his body and locking him down even further. He's still pinned, stretched out now, ankles hooked so he can't easily worm away and maybe it's an even worse position because the Captain has control of his feet and his cock's still gripped tight enough that he only has to squeeze hard to incapacitate any fight out of him. Disoriented, unused to physical pleasure warring with the need to fight back, to maybe not submit because the Captain's not a handler, but just another asset like him, the Winter Soldier bares his teeth in a snarl as soon as his mouth's freed. His teeth are tinged red with his own blood, lips stinging and plumped from the Captain's possessive bites and nips.
...But he's also speeding up those strokes with his hand pumping faster. Pleasure pulses in waves threatening to overwhelm his combat readiness. Despite himself, the Soldier wavers, the aphro he ingested orally and inhaled vibrating along his body taut with need and concentrating in his cock trapped in the other man's merciless hand.
Without thinking about it, maybe without realizing he's doing it, he finally concedes.
He matches the Captain's energy. If he strokes harder along his engorged shaft dribbling all over their stomachs and chest, then in return the Winter Soldier fondles the soft heat of his balls that much more. Rolling them. Palming them, sometimes teasing that line where it could be painful. He tries to meet the other asset's gaze, knowing he's staring up at him with his blue eyes glinting and assessing, but it's been a while - a long time, maybe - since he experienced pleasure. At all.
And the aphrodisiac he got dosed with only amplifies it.
His mouth hangs open as he gasps and grunts with each tug and twist of the Captain's hand. Hips jerk toward him, thrust, the shaft slick and throbbing in the other man's grasp. The Soldier's steadily losing the plot as he gives into the aphro burning him up from the inside, his face growing slack with sheer pleasure. A few times his eyes will start to roll up into his head with a flutter of dark lashes before he seems to catch himself and his face scrunches, confused, nose crinkling, his tongue slipping out to wet his mouth as he gives his head a little shake. Rallying, maybe, for a second wind...if the Captain gives him that opening.