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The Downward Spiral

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He never remembered the impact. 

But at the bottom of the chasm, consciousness ebbed and flowed through Bucky like elusive smoke.  An indescribable combination of numbness and agonizing pain warred with his senses.  Cold itself was a living thing set on consuming him with icy teeth while it lulled him to sleep.  When he opened his eyes, a whiteness so bright that it was painful assaulted him.  He felt so tired, his body heavy with exhaustion, yet so cold as if his blood itself was half-frozen slush crawling sluggishly through his veins. 

The telegraph… it was on his thigh… Maybe, if he could just reach it, then he could signal the others.  But when he tried to move his arm, he was rewarded with only a fresh flare of pain and a flash of red behind his eyes as consciousness left him again like a breath.

*

Figures backlit against the bleak sun and snow crowded around him, murmuring in … Russian? 

Hope fluttered briefly through his heart, and then he was moving, being drug across the snow.  A smear of red…

*

Pain – more excruciating than being shot or stabbed hit him like a live wire.  It felt like someone had wrenched out his heart. 

Something’swrongsomething’swrongSteve’shurthe’shurthe’Sgonehe’SGONEHE’SGONE!!!

His body sat bolt upright as a scream tore from his throat “STEVE!!!!!”

<“Why is he awake?  It is too soon!  Put him back under!  Now!”>

This time he struggled against the hungry blackness, even though it was physically painful to be awake.  Something was wrong – something was terribly wrong with Steve.  It felt like he had been ripped out of him, it felt like… like… his thoughts grew sluggish and the clawing darkness was winning.  No, he had to get to him, he had to… had to…

to…

*

The next time Bucky woke, the crawl to consciousness was agonizing.  His thoughts drifted in and out of a mire of nonsense, half-dreams and confused, conflicting memories.  The sleep in his veins threatened to pull him back under even as he fought to focus his delirious mind on forming even a basic sense of identity and location. But ultimately, it was the pain that collected his scattered thoughts.  Cold had bitten him down to the bone, every muscle in his body ached, his skin stung as if sensation had newly returned to cold-deadened flesh, and the blood slogged through his veins as if it carried with it a million tiny shards of glass. 

Voices carried on a conversation around him, but the sounds were swimmy, as if he were listening to them from under water. 

Every defensive impulse in his body wanted to sink back into blissful oblivion, but three facts assaulted him, flooding him with panic and banished the threat of sleep. 

1. He had fallen impossibly far from the train.

2. He should be dead.

3. He wasn’t.

Those realizations unleashed a flood of memory, confusion and worry in a chain reaction.  How was he still alive?  Who had brought him here?  Where was here?  Where was Steve?  How long had he been out? 

As he attempted to shift, every joint protested, feeling stiff and “C-cold…” Bucky’s voice cracked weakly.  The voices cut off sharply, replaced with the sound of footsteps. 

Whiteness filled him as his eyelids were drawn open and a light shone in his eyes.  Hot fingers pressed against the side of his throat, taking his pulse.  And when the spots faded and the room stopped swimming, the dark shapes began to coalesce into people.    

Two men stood over him, wearing Soviet military uniforms, and seemed to be checking his vitals as they removed an IV line from his forearm. 

“Lay back, do not struggle.  You are still very weak.”  One of them said with a thick accent. 

Relief flooded Bucky.  He was safe.  The Soviets – God bless the fuckin’ Soviets. 

He rested back against the table, forcing himself to concentrate on his surroundings to keep from slipping back into sleep.  Bleariness gradually resolved itself into a large, round room with high ceilings, concrete floors and ducts and piping running over the walls.  A cart with a tray of medical tools was parked to his right next to the IV stand.  And beyond that, a man in an officer’s uniform stood near a large metal chamber with a frosted glass door, speaking to another soldier wearing a red beret and writing in a clipboard.  A few signs in Cyrillic confirmed his identification of his saviors.  He could just make out a second level with grated catwalks and metal railings before the fuzziness of his vision obscured any further details. 

Bucky rested his eyes, processing.  The facility looked industrial: not a typical medical bay; definitely military.  Maybe there hadn’t been time to get him to a hospital. 

Shit, had they seen?? Panic flooded him anew as he looked down at himself. 

Thank God: he was dressed and he could still feel the bindings around his tail.  Medical restraints had been secured around his wrist and ankles, his blue peacoat had been opened and the sleeves removed to run the IV, and…

And…

The room spun.  His left arm: where the FUCK was his left arm?!  He could barely feel anything other than the bone-deep bite of cold that had numbed everything else, but how could he not have noticed he was missing his fucking arm!?

A mosaic of memories assaulted him: Mr. Gershwin from the old neighborhood who had come back from the Great War as less of a man in both body and mind.  Crippled beggars who sat on the street corners panhandling for pennies.  The whispers and pity for poor David Laskier, and how could he provide for his wife and son after he lost his hand while working in the pencil factory?

He must have been shouting, because suddenly the man in the officer’s uniform was beside him, placing a hand firmly against his chest. 

“It was too mangled.  We did what we could, but we could not save your arm.   It was not a pretty sight, I assure you.  We had to keep you under and we were concerned that the infection would spread to your blood, you see…”  Bucky forced himself to focus on the officer and his deep, commanding voice rather than the stump, trying to quell the hysteria that was threatening to send him over the edge. 

No, not just an officer: if he was remembering correctly, that silver star against the gold was the Soviet Major General insignia.  He didn’t look to be much older than his late thirties judging by his face, but had prematurely salt-and-pepper hair and flecks of grey in his thick goatee.  But most striking was his intensity: from his piercing dark eyes to the set of his square-jaw; his athletic physique and the way he held himself implied that he was much more than a desk-jockey. 

Nope.  Not good enough.  Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing down the bile in his throat and focusing on his breathing, despite the fact that taking deep breaths still felt like knives in his lungs. 

Focus. Focus, you’re alive.  Your arm’s off, but you’re fucking alive, Bucky.  You’re fucking lucky is what you are to just be missing an arm after that fall that should have taken your lifeMaybe it should have taken it… what the fuck am I going to do now?  What use am I?  I couldn’t even die for Steve right.  What the hell am I going to do now?! 

You’re in the hands of our allies, and you’re safe.  For now at least… what if they find out what I am?  How the hell am I going to get out of here before they do?  You gotta get your ass out of here, Buck, before they find out… No no, breathe, Bucky.  Panic isn’t going to do no one a bit of good.  Just… keep things under wraps and you can be on your way. 

Bucky whet his lips, turning his head back to the general.

“You have been healing quite well, however, Barnes, is it not?” He asked with a tap on Bucky’s dog tags.

Bucky swallowed thickly, trying to even his voice, “Sounds like I owe you my life, but I know there’s a lot of folks probably worried and thinking the worst.  So, guess that means I’ll be on my way here soon, then, General…?”

“Ah, My apologies,” Was that a sardonic note in his voice?  Maybe just something in the accent.  “Aleksander Lukin.  And what is the rush, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky winced as he felt the first flush of heat in his groin as his body continued to thaw.  That.  That was the fucking rush.  He was hurt, bad, and that tended to lead to one hell of an uncomfortable situation. 

Don’t panic.  Don’t think about your fucking arm.  Just put on the charm, thank the man, and try to get the fuck out of here before shit gets bad

“No offense, General Lukin – quite the opposite in fact, but you gotta understand – nothing I hate more than being laid up in medical when I can be up and about.  Plus, no sense in tying up your beds and your doctors.” 

“Your recovery speed is quite impressive, Mr. Barnes.  Especially for a man who had a limb amputated and an extended period in stasis.” Lukin’s hand drifted over to the restraint around his right (his only, fuck) wrist, but instead of releasing him, he gave it an experimental tug.  And Bucky really, really didn’t like the sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“You guys must have some real bang-up physicians here, General Lukin.  Though I really don’t think those restraints are necessary any more now that the procedure’s over…” 

Lukin continued, speaking over Bucky, “Not to mention, after a fall such as yours, most people would not have left behind anything recognizable to even scoop out of the snow.  Zola’s ritual has made you quite resilient!” 

The ice was back in Bucky’s veins.  How did he…?  No, no no no.  He was Soviet; they were their allies.  But the unwelcome reminder that Lord Thornally had been British chewed at him.  There had to be another explanation!  “I… what?” Bucky’s brows drew together. 

“There is no need to insult us both and play stupid, Mr. Barnes.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” Bucky protested.

“The SSR believed that they knew the extent of Hydra’s influence, but in truth, they only glimpsed a small part of it.” No no no!  Bucky tried to keep his thoughts from spiraling as what was quickly becoming a nightmare-made-real threatened to engulf him in useless panic. Yet still, a part of him detached as Lukin set in on what could only be described as a fucking monologue.  “…Hydra is much larger, and much older, than the Red Skull would have people believe.  However, he did serve us well by drawing the attention away from some of our older and well-hidden cells.  And now with Schmidt out of the way, he will no longer be blocking our sunlight and we will flourish, stronger than before.”  His mouth twisted upwards as he patted Bucky’s cheek.  “And, apparently, some of the research he sponsored bore fruit.  Zola wasted so much of Hydra’s money on this project when I thought he should stick to the energy weapons. I spoke against it; perhaps I should not have been so hasty.”

Anger burned through his fear.  “You’re Hydra…” Bucky growled, jerking at the restraints.  But between his stiff, cold-sapped muscles, the post-amputation shock, and the restraints being much stronger than they appeared, he was held fast. 

Lukin snorted, “Even weakened as you are, you wish to fight me?  How charming.  I have heard tales of the exploits of you and your Captain America.  How ironic it is that Zola’s only success was not sent home after his capture, or locked up and studied, but there the whole time, fighting the war right in the spotlight.”

Bucky’s blood boiled.  Whatever sedatives they’d had him hooked up to were working out of his system, leaving in its place a mounting hurt in his left shoulder, the ache of numerous cracked or broken ribs and vertebra, and the painful pins and needles of returning sensation everywhere else.

“Look, asshole, you’re fuckin’ mistaken!  You obviously know Zola was crazy as a bag of cats.  Like you said, he was wasting Hydra’s fucking money on bullshit projects!”  Bucky took another crack at denial.  This guy was Hydra, which made him a madman by definition, but from what he was saying it sounded like he wasn’t directly involved in Zola’s research.  Maybe if he could convince this guy that he was wrong, well, he wasn’t going to let him go, but maybe he wouldn’t think he was worth this level of effort.  Because if this guy did know what he had his hands on… no, don’t think about that – don’t think about what Hydra wanted to do with him.  Don’t think about that poor bastard in Prague.  Don’t think about Austria.  He couldn’t go back to that! 

“You know, I’m afraid that even I was skeptical about Zola’s claims to be able to channel ‘demonic’ energy through the tesseract at first… and yet, here you are.  I suppose even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

“C’mon, ‘demonic energy’?  You know how insane that sounds!” Bucky spluttered, his tail coiling tightly underneath him.  And yet even having already heard it once before, those words sent a swell of fresh horror lancing through him… and reverberating in his cock with a distinct pulse.  His pain began to grow more distant in his mind as the flush of arousal started to take its place.  Things were rapidly going from bad to even fucking worse. 

Lukin finally seemed to hear what Bucky was saying, and had the gall to fucking laugh.  “Oh so you know nothing about that?  I find that hard to believe when you have this:” 

Bucky froze in helpless panic as General Lukin unceremoniously jerked his trousers down, revealing the tail strapped along his thigh.  “You may have been able to keep this secret from your military, but did you really think that you could hide something like this from us, Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky squirmed, flushing with humiliation and unwanted arousal.  What the fuck was he supposed to say to that?  Lukin had called his bluff and he had no cards left to play.  The un-fucking-pleasant reality of the situation settled over him as Bucky began to realize just how screwed he was.  Did anyone know he was here?  Did anyone even know he was still alive?  “Think a tail is evidence of fucking demons? You’re just as insane as Zola!  You buy that line of bullshit and I’ve got some oceanfront property in Indiana to sell you!” 

Lukin snorted as he cut the ties with a scalpel from the tray and picked up Bucky’s tail, causing it to coil reflexively around his hand.  An involuntary shudder passed over Bucky; it was so fucking sensitive – which was just one of many reasons Bucky tried to avoid handling it when he could.  And now, in his building arousal, it was even more so.  “It is a rather intriguing development, I must admit – though I can only imagine how humiliating it must be for you to have grown a tail like an animal.  Unless you are actually trying to insinuate that you had this beforehand?”   

“If anyone’s an animal or a demon here, it’s you sadistic bastards.  I’d rather have a damn tail than whatever malfunction you’ve got in your head to make you join Hydra!”

Lukin ran a finger gingerly down the length of his tail as he inspected it, and Bucky was barely able to bite his lip to keep himself from gasping.  He hated that it felt good, and he didn’t want to give them the fucking satisfaction of that realization.  But that didn’t stop his cock from twitching, a small spot of moisture darkening the front of his olive boxers.  “And that is not a normal reaction for someone injured and captured, is it Mr. Barnes?” Lukin gloated. 

“Fuck you” Bucky spat, beyond the point of caring about coming up with an original comeback.

“So eager,” Lukin mused with a smirk, “Don’t worry, Mr. Barnes, we’ll get there soon enough.”

SHIT!  He knew, he fucking knew!  Cold fear and hot desire crashed paradoxically over Bucky in waves.  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Bucky blustered.  “You just fucking told me you never subscribed to Zola’s batshit proposal.”

“You are right, Mr. Barnes: this was not my area of study, but I was aware of the basic premises of his project.  Would you like to hear what I do know?  I am sure you are dying to find out, and I’m a generous man.  Very generous, as you will soon learn.” 

Bucky swallowed a thick lump in his throat as he became aware of other soldiers filtering into the room. 

Lukin continued, “Assuming the ritual was successful and Zola was correct, you are in the process of becoming a demon.  You need sex to feed; to keep yourself alive.  And,” Lukin chuckled again as he glanced pointedly at his arm, “To help you recover from injuries?  We can assist you with that.”

“I don’t need your fucking help!” Bucky shouted all the while his cock gave another traitorous twitch at the idea of getting fucked by all those men.  Despite his protests, the more the sedatives were wearing off, the hungrier he was getting.  And, Bucky realized with a growing sense of dread, it was probably only a matter of time till his lust won out and drove him to do something utterly reprehensible.   

Desperate, Bucky realized that there was only one appendage that wasn’t secured.  With a sudden flick, Bucky wrenched his tail from Lukin’s grasp and whipped it back around, slapping him across the face. 

Lukin paused, surprised, as laughter reverberated around the room from the group of soldiers drawing closer. 

But Lukin seemed nothing more that mildly irritated.  In retaliation, he seized it again roughly, giving it a sharp tug that drew a long moan from Bucky that he was unable to bite down.  “I do not know which is more embarrassing,” Lukin sneered, “The ineffectiveness of that pitiable – what?  Escape attempt?  Or how little you can hide how aroused you are despite your circumstances.”  Lukin eyed the growing moist patch spreading across the front of his boxers.

“You… did something to me,” Bucky managed weakly. 

“Of course we did.  Well, Zola did when he created you.  The strange thing is,” Lukin continued, “Zola insisted that he was never able to complete the ritual.  And yet here you are: changed.  Someone must have done it.” 

Bucky’s brows knitted as his mind flashed back to the tumultuous, confusing time he was held in the Backroom in Kreischberg.  Zola had been there… the carving in his chest and pain… but the end of it?  Steve had rescued him.  Steve had floated into view like a damn angel… and then…?  Steve had bled on him and then there had been a flash and even more pain and… Oh God, that’s what had done it, hadn’t it?  Bucky swallowed down the memory, instead accosting Lukin with a defiant glare.  “You must be desperate if you’re asking me.  I was doped out of my fucking mind, and it ain’t my fault if your so-called scientists or magicians or whatever didn’t keep fucking records!” 

“It makes no difference.” Lukin shrugged, “I have no interest in wasting my resources trying to recreate his experiments when I already have you.  And believe me, Mr. Barnes, I know precisely how valuable you are.  We may have lost a great deal, but we are rebuilding and will be stronger than before.  We will open the door to a new world, and you will help pave the way.”

“Never.  You’re more deluded than Zola if you actually think I’m going to work for Hydra.”

“We will see.”  Lukin responded, nonplussed. “But surely you must be miserable.  And for now, all you need to do to let us help you is tell us: what is it that you need?  Men?  Women?  Perhaps we can give you your arm back.”

“You’re enjoying this, you sick fuck, aren’t you?  I don’t want anything from you!”  Were they just trying to humiliate him further by making him say it, or did they honestly not know what he needed?  Bucky wasn’t sure which was worse.  But his arm?  He’d regrown the damn tail, but was it actually possible to heal his lost arm as well?  Guilty strings of hope flittered through his chest.  He’d been ready to die when he fell from the train, but waking up alive but missing his arm and captured by Hydra had made the consequences of his actions really fucking real.  Maybe if he had his arm back, he could at least fight back.  No, no don’t even think about it.

“Mmm… Very well.  We Russians have learned the fine skill of great patience: something which you do not have the luxury of in your condition.  Eventually you will just drive yourself to madness as soon as you have fully thawed and the rest of the sedatives have worked their way out of your system.  Sooner or later, Sergeant Barnes, you must give in.  This is something you will learn.  In the meantime, let us take a look: are there any other developments?”

Lukin dug a hand through his hair, his fingers scraping Bucky’s scalp.  “Have you grown horns yet?  No?  Not yet.” 

Horns?  That was a joke?  Right?  That had to be a joke, but Bucky wasn’t sure that Lukin was even aware of the concept of humor.  He’d always been scared of the idea of getting worse; that the tail was just the start and he’d become some kind of obvious monster he couldn’t hide.  But he’d been so far in fucking denial about what he was since he found out that they’d turned him into a demon that it never occurred to him that that terrifying fact could have answered that awful question of what other changes might happen.  This wasn’t a fairy tale.  This wasn’t fantasy.  This was his life now.  And horns… Fuck, real horns.  Bucky swallowed down a tightness in his throat as he couldn’t help but picture it.

Don’t let them see – don’t let them see how scared you are.  Don’t let them fucking have that satisfaction. 

Bucky struggled in vain as large, rough hands reached around to grope his back before continuing to explore his exposed chest.  But damn if the hands didn’t feel good against his skin, and when the fingers brushed his nipples, they hardened as a plaintive noise slipped from Bucky’s nose. 

 “You are doing yourself no favors,” Lukin intoned as he gave his shoulder a squeeze.  The world went red as a scream tore from Bucky’s throat.  Agony poured through his veins as his body seized.  But as his heartbeat pounded in his ears, the pain faded fast, and the pulse echoed in his erection with renewed vigor.   “Why deny it any longer, Sergeant?  You are hurt.  You are already entering a sexual frenzy – a heat. If you don’t get what you need, you’ll go crazy, unable to stop yourself, or it will – eventually – kill you.  You’ll starve.  But you will give in long before that.  There is no point to this stubborn sense of pride.”

There was every point to his stubborn pride.  This wasn’t a quick and dirty dealing in a back alley.  This wasn’t even the traumatic assault in Gloucester when things went much further than he had planned.  This was Hydra.  The thought of being fucked by them was disturbing enough, let alone the concept of letting them.  And that’s exactly what they were trying to get him to do.  Break him: they were trying to fucking break him.  And the worst part of it was that he knew Lukin was right: he could only hold out so long.  Already the concept of being fucked by a group of men was turning him on despite how horrified he was by the concept.

And by the looks of things, he wasn’t the only one.  Bucky’s eyes were drawn to the eye-level bulge in the trousers of Lukin and a few of the closer soldiers as they started shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.  Fuck, he could make out the outlines of their erections and his mouth watered and his body ached for them.  When one of the soldiers awkwardly adjusted himself, Bucky’s tongue ran over his tingling lips. 

Lukin’s mouth drew up into a salacious smile, “You know, Mr. Barnes, demons are choosy creatures.  They need to be fed in a particular way.  Sex is not enough; they must feed on the orgasm of another: either by fucking… or being fucked.  And I believe that you have just answered my question, and how interesting it is that you seem to be the latter.  I would have presumed that it would have been the other way around seeing as you are a man.  It makes me wonder if there was something about you to begin with that brought this out in you.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped back up to Lukin’s.  “Says the guy with a bone on over a man strapped to a fucking table!” Bucky snarled. 

But Lukin only seemed more amused by Bucky’s ire.  “And to help them draw in their quarry, they produce pheromones… do you know what those are, Sergeant?”  When Bucky refused to answer, Lukin continued derisively, “Much as how a female insect produces chemicals to attract males to mate with her, your scent can stimulate arousal in your potential partners.” 

Even as Lukin described what he had thought of as his ‘sex perfume’ in clinical detail, the pressing scents of arousal and heat in his blood felt like it was cooking his thoughts away.  Bucky swore he was going to answer Lukin with another protest, but when his mouth fell open all he could utter was a guttural groan.  It was happening. 

Lukin leaned in, smiling in satisfaction as he held one of Bucky’s eyelids open.  “Your eyes have gone black, Mr. Barnes… I believe we are ready to begin.”  Lukin turned with a brusque wave of his hand, “The women are dismissed.  Sokolov, open the table.” 

There was a shuffle of movement as some soldiers filed out of the room and were replaced by others while Lukin slipped some kind of half-facial filter mask over his head.  The nearest soldier in uniform began to crank a winch on the side of the medical table, causing the lower half of the table to scissor open and spread Bucky’s legs apart. 

Bucky groaned again, but his attempted protests turned into a roll of his hips as his erection tented blatantly in his boxers.  He was so hungry, so horny, just get it over with!

Lukin moved between his spread legs, hooking a finger in the waistband of his shorts, but paused, barking another infuriating laugh.  “Well this is new: there are two spots on your drawers; are you wet Sergeant?”

What?

Scissors made short work of Bucky’s boxers and an intrusive finger pressed against his exposed hole.  “You are wet – like a woman!  There have indeed been other developments after all.  How interesting!”

And fuck – he was right!  The ring of muscle quivered and he felt a bead of liquid trickle downwards.  His cock twitched and leaked, his balls tightened, and Bucky’s body pressed back against Lukin’s finger.  But even though the heat Bucky knew he was entering into took him by the reins, it did not rob him of his shame. 

“Who else knew of this, Sergant?  How you grow wet and crave a man inside of you?  You must have been getting it from somewhere or else you would have gone mad and died by now.”

Bucky tossed his head.  “Nngh… shut the fuck up and just get it over with!” Bucky managed. 

Lukin hummed in satisfaction.  “You are correct.  We will have plenty of time for conversation later.  Although, I do wonder what your Captain might think if he saw you like this… begging to be fucked by Hydra soldiers?”

Lukin’s blow found its mark; Bucky’s gut churned with self-disgust as his face contorted into an anguished grimace.  He was disgusting, but this was their fault – they made him like this.  But the mantra was little help as Bucky’s hips rolled again, his cock drooling over his stomach.  His tail now free from Lukin’s grip, began to slide between his legs, wrapping around his cock in desperation while the soldiers drew closer and began to unbutton their flies.  Torturously, they held back, watching and laughing derisively as Bucky tried in vain to get some relief from his mounting need.  He wanted to hide, to cry, to escape this torture of being on display as he tried to jerk off with his fucking tail while they started to touch themselves, but he couldn’t stop himself.  It felt so damn good: the tail squeezing and spreading his own slick over the length of his shaft while being so sensitive itself.  But ultimately, it only drove him closer to the edge and didn’t grant him the satisfaction he needed.  Words spilled from his mouth, but while Bucky couldn’t have said what they were, he knew they must have been some mortifying plea for sex.

Finally, Lukin snapped his fingers and gestured to Bucky.  “Give him what he needs.” 

They moved in on him, their own pupils blown wide and faces flushed as they shoved each other to get access to an available orifice.  Bucky’s eyes rolled back in his head as a fingers spread him open before blunt cockhead found its mark.  A moment later, another salty, hot, delicious dick was in his mouth and Bucky began to suck greedily at it.  His mouth tingled as the first little teases of life-giving energy dribbled onto his tongue. 

Don’t think about what you’re doing, don’t think about what they’re doing.  Just get through this, just feel.  He squeezed his eyes shut and let his mind drift, escaping the details into a haze of pure pleasure. 

The first shot of pleasure came fast, making his whole body spasm as he came in concert; muscles tingled flashes of fireworks lit up behind his eyelids.  But it wasn’t enough.  He was still so hungry.  Bearing down, he rode it out, desperately draining every last drop before it was pulled from him, only to be replaced by another deep thrust.  His body was an impassioned furnace of desire, hungrily consuming every bit of energy that he was offered.  Even though his arm was bound, he leaned into the groin of the man feeding him his dick, burying his nose in thick hair as he swallowed him down.  His tail found its way to help prepare someone waiting for their turn.  And his pheromones were so thick as Bucky was lost to sexual frenzy that if the soldiers had had any reservations, there were no words of protest.  The few moments he had with his mouth free between blow jobs, pleas tumbled from his empty mouth to be filled with more, more, MORE.

And as Bucky’s mind drifted further away and time became a foreign concept, another new, pleasurable sensation ran through his body.  I was like his nerves had lit up and branched out to where his left arm had been, sending warm undulations of pleasure along phantom muscles.  Even the raw pain in his stump had converted into something glorious, sending him into a sensory-overload. 

It was both too much and not enough.  Pleasure became his very being. 

Until finally, darkness and exhaustion ate away at even the flashes of lights and colors behind his eyes, dropping him back into the warm embrace of oblivion.