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But You and I, We've Been Through That

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It doesn't hurt as bad as that time in Nice when he took shrapnel from a mortar shell to his abdomen. There was so much blood, and a surprising amount of pain. More than he'd felt since the serum. Jim patched him up while Bucky hovered over them, glowering at Steve for taking the brunt of the blast for him.

There's blood now, but not much. Not much, and it doesn't hurt as bad, so it's fine. He's fine.

(He tries not to think about Bucky).

They're not restraining him. They're making him pretend he has a choice in this. They made him pretend he had a choice when they held the pistol against the sobbing Austrian girl's head and told him "You or her" in thickly accented English. So he pretended to choose. He stripped himself and got on his hands and knees for the men while they hooted and jeered.

No one else is here to see. He's grateful for that. It doesn't hurt so bad, and no one ever has to know. He can pretend, if, when he finds that right partner that it's still his first time. As Captain America he does a lot of pretending these days, and that's it, isn't it? This isn't happening to him, to Steve Rogers. Hydra isn't doing this to him, it's doing this to Captain America.

The first man finishes, punishing fingers clutching Steve's hips in a way that would bruise anyone who wasn't a super-soldier. It surprises him, the hot, wet, mess he feels shooting inside him. It shouldn't surprise him. He knows how this ends. He's done it enough times by himself, bony hand sliding over his flesh, his teeth clenched so Bucky couldn't hear him through the thin walls of their apartment. So Bucky couldn’t hear Steve moaning his name.

(He's thinking about Bucky again. He doesn't want to think about Bucky).

It hurts less when the second man pushes inside. He figures by the time the last man takes his turn it won't hurt at all. With the way he heals, it should be easy to pretend it's his first time, with that right partner.

(Hasn't he given enough? He gives and gives, but it's not enough, they have to take this from him, too?)

Another stream of hot liquid paints his insides, and then a third man's taking his turn when Steve feels fingers between his legs. A hand cups his balls while another strokes at his wilted cock. He struggles then, for the first time, straining his neck to see. It's the first man. Maybe he got bored. He leers when he sees Steve looking at him.

"You like this," he says in English, pumping Steve's cock. To Steve's horror, he feels his cock stir with interest. "You like this, or girl dies."

They must do something to her, where Steve can't see, to make her cry out. He remembers her wide, tearful eyes, and how she can't be older than sixteen. He remembers to pretend. It's okay, it doesn't hurt, barely at all. It barely hurts, and it may even be pleasurable in a few moments. The first time he’s had someone inside him, and now the first time someone else has touched him in that way he’s imagined since he got old enough to discover how good his own hand felt on his cock.

(They have to take that from him, too).

He looks forward when a hand grabs his hair and yanks his attention to its owner’s hard cock shoved in Steve’s face. He doesn’t need to be told not to bite, but the man does anyway, his admonition punctuated by the girl’s broken sobs. Steve wonders where they found her, as his lips close over the man’s cock and he tries not to vomit when the length thrusts inside his throat. He resolves to get her out of this, no matter what.

(He’ll save her. He will).

His focus is split between the man fucking his ass, the man fucking his mouth, and the man trying to get him hard. His cock swells in that man’s hand, and it does feel good, about as good as when Steve touches himself, but the mild pain and the efforts not to gag are distracting. So, he thinks, this can’t count as his first time. When he finds his right partner it will feel amazing, much better than this. Hydra hasn’t taken this from him.

Hot wetness shoots down his throat, and it’s disgusting. Worse than the reek of the man’s pubic hair and the sour taste of his cock. His first time will be better, Steve thinks. It will smell good and taste sweet, not like this at all.

The third man to use his ass comes and a fourth takes his place. It doesn’t hurt anymore. The hand on his cock tugs insistently and Steve’s hips respond. He hears the men laughing. He tries not to let it bother him, because they’re just bullies. Just like the bullies he used face in back alleys before he had the muscle to back up his bravado. Bullies that Bucky helped him with whenever he could. Strong, confident, capable Bucky. His beautiful Bucky.

(Stop thinking about him).

His cock feels good. His ass feels raw, used to the point of numbness, but his cock feels good. He hates how good it feels. He tries not to let them take this from him.

“I think he likes this,” one of the bullies jeers. His English is impeccable. “Captain America likes taking Hydra dick!”

More laughter. The man between Steve’s legs gives his balls a gentle squeeze. Steve suppresses his responding moan. It comes out as a gravelly whimper.

“I tell him. He likes this, or we kill girl.”

He squeezes Steve’s balls again, and he twists his other hand as he pumps Steve’s cock faster. Steve sees stars, brighter than any patriotic accoutrement he’s ever been given. He feels himself climax, his hips thrusting like he had a choice in the matter. Hot, wet relief spills into the Hydra soldier’s hand and down onto the stone floor beneath Steve. It feels so good. He hates how good it feels.

(It should have been with Bucky. But, that thought is foolish. Bucky never would have touched Steve like this, he needs to stop thinking about Bucky).

The men are mocking him. The fourth rapist groans and follows Steve down the path of orgasm. He’s so full of Hydra semen now. It’s disgusting.

(It doesn’t count as his first time. There’s someone out there, waiting for him. It can’t be Bucky, but it can be someone else).

The fourth man leaves, a fifth takes his place. There’s a joke there, somewhere, Steve thinks absurdly. The first rapist’s hands have thankfully left his genitals. Another man is walking up in front of his face and unbuttoning his pants.

(There can’t be more than ten of them).

There’s the harsh report of a gunshot, and the girl’s sobbing cuts off. Steve’s not sure if she did something, tried to fight back, or if her guard foolishly decided that Steve was broken and wanted a piece of the action. It doesn’t matter. He’s already failed her, so he’s on his feet, pulling himself off the fifth rapist’s cock. The man in front of him dies with a blow to the abdomen. The man behind him dies when Steve whirls and puts his fist through the man’s chest. More blood, but not his. Bucky can’t get mad at him for this.

(Fuck, stop).

They all die. All nine of them. All nine bullies, twisted, bloody corpses at his feet. Steve doesn’t spare another thought for them, he’s already dressing himself. His body shakes, but he knows he’ll get over that. He’s had worse pain. He’ll be fine.

(Whoever’s out there, waiting for him, for his first time, he won’t let them down).

He finds the girl’s body, her face a mess of gore. He takes her in his arms and heads for the base’s exit. He failed to save her, but he’ll at least get her body out.

(More than he did for Bucky).

The Howlies are outside. Gabe, Dum Dum, Jim, Monty, Jacques, and- no, that’s it now. He needs to stop looking for Bucky to pop up behind the rest of them. Steve’s glad they didn’t make it here earlier. He lies to them. He tells them they need to burn the base to the ground and get this poor girl’s body to her family. Gabe takes the body from him, his eyes filled with sorrow. Like he knows, which is impossible.

(Yes, Captain America’s been tortured, but not Steve. Steve’s still fine. Steve’s still ready for his first time, with that right partner. This didn’t count).

Hydra’s taken so much from him, but not that. It already took the man he longed for, but not that. Steve can still have his first time, sweet and gentle and everything he’s dreamed of. That elusive right partner is out there, waiting for him.

In Nice, he healed very quickly. So quickly that Bucky didn’t stay mad at him for long. He’ll heal quickly now, too. He’ll heal from losing Bucky. He’ll heal from Hydra’s attempt to take his first time away from him. He’s fine. He can deal with this.

It barely hurts.

Chapter Text


"We need him, Steve," Tony says at the briefing. "We need the intel he has."

"Better you than me, man," Sam says later, in commiseration. "If it were up to me, I'd put a bullet in his brain."

Bucky doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. Steve sees it in his eyes. The meager, horrible details he's supplied to Steve about what HYDRA, and Brock Rumlow in particular, have done to him. All the things he hasn't said, so Steve's extrapolated, and what he's extrapolated might be far worse than the truth, but it still feels like the truth.

Now here he is. Captain America, in the field with Crossbones. Staking out this HYDRA base that the Avengers never would have found without Rumlow's help. That doesn't mean Steve has to like it.

Because it turns out the truth is far worse than his imagination.

“So, you and the Asset, huh?”

Steve bites back the retort of “his name is Bucky,” because that’s what Rumlow wants. Instead, he gives a grunt of concurrence, and Rumlow snickers.

“You know, me and it used to, uh, roll in the hay back in the day. Does he still scream out in Russian when you give it to him?”

Steve doesn’t answer. He fiddles with the dials of the super-tech binoculars instead, focusing on the outside of the base, scrutinizing for any activity. Bucky does occasionally cry out in Russian. Da, chert voz'mi!" and “trudneye, pozhaluysta!” Steve doesn’t want to admit, either to Rumlow or himself, how much that turns him on sometimes. That beautiful language, in Bucky’s gravelly voice, when Steve’s inside him.

“Yeah, that was nice,” Rumlow continues gleefully. “But that was when he was all Winter Soldier.”

Steve looks at Rumlow’s burnt face to see him doing an uncanny facial impersonation of Bucky when he’d been under HYDRA’s control. It makes Steve’s heart break and his blood boil.

“Personally, my favorite times were when he was all- confused,” Rumlow swirls his forefinger in an offensive gesture around his temple. “You know, when he started to remember shit between wipes. You should’ve heard him. ‘No, please, don’t,’ and ‘Who are you?’ and ‘Where’s Steve?’ But he still couldn’t help but obey. Bend over and take it. God, I’ve never come so hard in my life.”

Rumlow laughs and Steve feels the binoculars snap involuntarily in his hands.

“Sometimes he would cry, too.”

Steve can’t look at Rumlow anymore. If he does, he’ll kill him. He turns back to the base, pulling out his spare binoculars. Serendipitously, the big iron door is opening at that exact moment. Steve watches a HYDRA goon come out, and light up a cigarette. He wants to laugh. He’s just kicked the habit cold turkey, with much prompting from both Sam and Tony about lung cancer- which Steve isn’t worried about- and the dangers of secondhand smoke- which he is. Bucky will sometimes come in with the exhilarating scent of smoke on his clothes, but he’s conscientious enough not to light up in front of Steve.

“He gives a good blowjob, don’t he?”

Rumlow’s still talking, and Steve is reminded of how much HYDRA’s hurt Bucky. How much it took from him. How the man beside him is part of that, and how easy it would be to snap Rumlow’s neck and walk away.

“Those lips are to die for, huh?”

Steve hates the image Rumlow’s words conjure for him. Bucky’s lips, wet and swollen, parted in rapture. He hates that Rumlow has the same image filed away in his mind.

“Shut up.”

Steve immediately curses himself for playing into Rumlow’s hands. He can hear the grin on Rumlow’s face when he continues.

“Those big blues lookin’ up at you as you plow into his face? Mmm.”

The HYDRA goon is almost finished with his cigarette.

“He does sad so well, don’t he? It’s pathetic.”

Does Steve even need Rumlow anymore, really?

“It’s like he was made to be a little bitch.”

Yes, he does need Rumlow. Rumlow may not have the code to enter the base from the outside, but once they have that and get in, Rumlow has all the codes for what they want inside. So, he’ll have to put up with this.

“Just shut up,” Steve repeats in a growl, trying not to break his second pair of binoculars in lieu of Rumlow’s nose. “Focus on the mission.”

He thinks about Bucky, safe at the Tower. Away from HYDRA. Away from this piece of shit who touched him, hurt him, and used him. It helps Steve regain his focus.

The guard throws the butt of his cigarette on the ground and walks to the keypad. Steve concentrates, memorizing the 5-digit code as the man punches it in. The door opens, the guard disappears inside, and the door closes.

“What’re we waitin’ for, Cap?”

Steve follows Rumlow’s head start toward the door. They’ll complete the mission, and then Rumlow will die. Not by his hand, no. He’ll offer first dibs to Bucky. If Bucky doesn’t want the honors, Steve knows Nat will. She’s always had a thing for killing rapists, and he knows she’s heard every word over the comm link.

Steve smiles, and thinks of Rumlow dead and Bucky safe.

Chapter Text


The first thing Steve notices when he opens the door is the smell.

The apartment he and Bucky have shared for the past two years doesn't smell as it normally does. No musty laundry smell, or the way Bucky's cheap deodorant smells, or the smell of something burning in the microwave because Bucky burns fucking water if he tries to cook. The apartment smells different. Antiseptic.

The next thing Steve notices is Bucky himself, kneeling naked in the middle of the living room. Bucky's got his hands secured behind his back with high-tech cuffs, and Steve can see the black silicone handle of what he's pretty sure is a butt-plug sticking out of Bucky's ass. That's not his first priority, though, even though his treacherous cock likes the sight. Disregarding his cock, his mind's first priority is how Bucky's body is trembling like a leaf at the sight of Steve. How his head immediately bows and his eyes focus on the ground. How fucking terrified Bucky is of him.

"Bucky?" Steve tries, because he's having trouble formulating words.

Bucky says something to him in Russian, his eyes never leaving the floor. Steve's used to Bucky reverting to Russian at random moments.

"I don't speak Russian, man, I've told you that," Steve responds kindly.

Bucky chances a glance at Steve. There's utter terror in his eyes.

"R-ready to comply," Bucky translates. "Captain Rogers. I-I'm sorry, I'll speak in English for our- session. I know you like me to speak in English."

"What the hell are you talking about, Buck?"

Bucky shakes his head wildly, the hair flying around his face. His eyes have unfocused from Steve.

"I'm sorry, but- but that's not my name. Would you like me to respond to that name, sir?"

Steve's blood has gone cold. Bucky used to behave like this, right after Insight. Right after Steve, Sam, and Natasha had found him. He hasn't for over a year now, and Steve's been so relieved at the progress Bucky has made. Steve's worried about this level of regression. He's worried about the cause of it.

"What is your name, then?" Steve asks with a dry throat. "What do you want me to call you?"

"I am designate Asset," Bucky responds flatly to the floor. "Or Soldat- sorry, Soldier. Often it. But you can call me whatever you like, sir."

Steve's known this for years. Ever since Nat handed him that file with all the sordid details of Bucky's captivity. He knows what HYDRA's done to Bucky. He just thought Bucky had been getting better living with him.

"Bucky," Steve tells him, maybe a bit too forcefully. "Your name is Bucky."

Bucky cocks his head to one side, gazing introspectively at the floor.

"Yes," he says after a moment. "I remember now, Captain Rogers. You always liked to call me that."

"Bucky," Steve pleads. "You've moved past this, I know you have. You know who you are now. Don't you?"

"I'm whatever you want me to be. Sir."

Bucky speaks matter-of-factly.

"No," Steve almost yells, hating himself when Bucky flinches at his feet. "What- no, who do you want to be, Bucky?"

"I want to be of use," Bucky intones. "I want to be good for you."

"No," Steve repeats gently. "Why- what brought this on, Buck? You've been doing so good lately. Why are you like this now?"

"Like what, sir?"

"Like," Steve tastes ashes in his mouth. "Like what they made you."

"Agent Rumlow visited while you were gone," Bucky reports to the floor, obviously afraid to look at Steve. "He and some of his soldiers. He reminded me of what I am."

"And what is that?" Steve tries not to choke on his anger and grief.

"An asset. A thing. Nothing more than a tool to be used."

Bucky doesn't sound like he has an opinion on the matter.

"Did- did he- did they- use you, Bucky?"

"Yes," Bucky nods. "Rumlow took me on the sofa. Four of his men used me after he'd finished. And then Rumlow reminded me of how I've been failing you, Captain Rogers. He reminded me how much you used to enjoy using me. I'm ready to serve you now, if you'd like. I'm wet and open for you."

Steve pushes his murderous rage to the side. Later. He'll have Nat help him find that piece of shit Rumlow later, and then he'll turn him and his goons into shredded beef.

"No, Buck," Steve shakes his head, but realizes Bucky isn't watching him. He sinks to his knees in front of Bucky, bringing him to eye level. "Bucky, look at me."

"Yes, sir," Bucky obeys with obvious fear. He's still shaking.

"You don't have to call me 'sir.'"

Bucky cocks his head again, thinking.

"Steve," he decides after a moment. "You like me to call you Steve."

"Yes," Steve nods wildly with relief. "God, yes, Bucky. I'm Steve, and you're Bucky."

Bucky shuffles around on his knees so his back is to Steve. He drops his head to the ground, presenting his plugged ass to Steve as he presses his face against the carpet.

"Fuck me, Steve," he says with no emotion. "Fuck me however you want."

His entire body shakes with fear. It shakes harder when Steve moves to his side and raises him back to his knees.

"No, Buck," Steve tells him firmly. "We did- we used to- back when we were young and it wasn't allowed. We did it anyway. But not the way he told you. It was when I was small and sick all the time, and sometimes you made love to me, and sometimes I made love to you, but it wasn't like this. There wasn't any fear, Buck. Only love."

"You want me to love you."

Bucky's voice tremors on the statement.

"Only if you want to."

Bucky's eyes widen.

"I-I don't think I can fake that, sir. Please don't punish me. Please."

"No," Steve shakes his head, trying to quell his horror. "No punishment. Only love."

Bucky's watching him, half-terrified and half-intrigued. Steve wonders what ideas Rumlow put in his head. If he made an idea of Captain America that used and abused Bucky as bad or worse than HYDRA. He hates that he has to do damage control yet again. He hates that they'd found Bucky here in this place that was supposed to be safe and made it a place of fear.

"You only deserve love, my love," Steve tells Bucky, longing to hold him, or kiss him, but restraining himself. "Only love. 'Til the end of the line."

Bucky's eyes narrow at their familiar phrase. It worked once before, and it appears to be working again.

"Steve," he says slowly, differently than before. "Steve, they- they- "

Steve watches the light dawn in Bucky's eyes, and suddenly it's Bucky kneeling before him once more. His Bucky.

"Oh God, what did I do? Steve, what did they make me do this time?"

Bucky lurches forward into Steve's arms, and Steve holds him as he trembles, reaching around to undo the restraints around Bucky's wrists.

"Nothing, Buck. You did nothing, I promise. They got inside your head, but you're back again, and you didn't do anything."

Bucky presses his face into Steve's shoulder as his metal and flesh arms come around to hold Steve's lower back. He's still shaking.

"They told me- they made me believe- it was you. Hurting me. Using me. You doing it instead of them."

Steve's rage crests, but he pushes it aside again. Later, he reminds himself. Later. He'll make those fuckers wish they'd never been born, but later.

"It wasn't," he assures Bucky. "I promise you, Buck. It wasn't me."

"I know," Bucky sighs into Steve's shoulder. "I know."

"We'll get that thing out of you," Steve promises, not moving until Bucky's ready. "And we'll get you dressed, get you something to eat- "

"Not yet," Bucky breathes into Steve's shoulder. Steve can feel it vibrating in his skin. "Please, I can't yet. I have to- I have to remember you."

Steve nods and kisses the top of Bucky's trembling head.

"Okay," he promises. "Okay, my love. Just let me know when you're ready."

It's a long time before Bucky's ready. Before his panic subsides and his body stops shaking. Steve counts every second a blessing, holding Bucky in his arms. It's a blessing, how Bucky still remembers him. It's a blessing, how he can hold Bucky again. It's a blessing, and he wouldn't trade it for the world.

Chapter Text


"What is it?"

The Commander looked up from the papers on his desk at the young lieutenant. The man had rushed into his office with a perfunctory knock and now stood before him, breathing heavily.

"Sir...the... Soldier," the man gasped out. "The Soldier. Injured... doctors..."

The Commander's focus sharpened at the mention of the Soldier. He stood, indicating to the man to lead him to the Soldier.

"What happened?"

"During the last mission, sir," the lieutenant walked briskly beside the Commander, his words and breath coming back to him. "He stopped working. The training slipped."

"What? How?"

They rounded a corner, heading for the medical wing.

"We needed information from the leader of the anti-Hydra faction in the Eastern quadrant. He has a wife. Had a wife."

"You set the Soldier on her. In front of him," it wasn't a question. They'd done it before. "What of it?"

"He stopped. While he was... inside her. He got confused, and he stopped. Refused to obey. He attacked our men. He was..."

They could see the doors of the operating room. There were screams echoing behind them. The Soldier's screams were a familiar sound to everyone in the facility.

"He was?"

"Sobbing, sir. We dragged him back here, to his cell, but before they could prep the chair he..."

The Commander entered the operating room, the lieutenant a step behind. The lieutenant trailed off, letting the gruesome visual fill in the blanks for the Commander. The Soldier was strapped to a gurney, thrashing and screaming as the surgeons worked. There were scraps of ragged, bleeding skin where his genitals had been. There was flesh and blood smearing the gleaming metal of the Soldier's left hand.

"He ripped off his own..."

It was the Commander's turn to trail off. His face was pale. The lieutenant glanced at him, surprise ghosting over his face to see the feared Commander silenced by horror. The Soldier's screams were quieting.

"Crushed them, then ripped them off," the lieutenant elaborated with a shudder. "Killed two guards that tried to stop him."

The Soldier let out a keening moan as the scalpels sliced between his legs. The Commander considered the scene, color slowly returning to his face.

"Recalibrate the chair. Up the juice. Even without his manhood, he can still be useful. It can still be useful."

The lieutenant let out a harsh, cruel laugh. On the gurney, the Soldier's moans had died, giving way to guttural whimpers. Tears streamed down his cheeks, spilling from wide blue eyes that shone in the bright overhead lights.

"It can still be useful," the Commander repeated. "This may even make it more useful. Easier to control."

"Yes, sir."

The Commander turned abruptly and left the room. The lieutenant stayed, watching with morbid curiosity as the surgeons began discussing how best to save the Soldier's ability to urinate. Soon after, the screams started up again.

Chapter Text


Bucky watched the horde of jet black aliens sweeping across the Wakandan field. He lifted his gun as he ran with his army toward them, waiting for them to come into range. He didn't want to be here.

He couldn't have been anywhere else, and he knew that, had resigned himself to it, but he didn't have to want it. Just like the first War he'd been thrown into a lifetime ago, there hadn't been a choice. He was needed, so here he was.

There were aliens to fight instead of Nazis. Some alien dictator called Thanos wanted to kill a shit-load of people and had sent a shit-load of his four-armed attack dogs to Wakanda. Bucky loved Wakanda. He didn’t want to fight, but he did want to protect what he loved. That was something he’d always wanted to do, as far back as he could remember. 

He used the gun Shuri had personally made for him. She’d teased him about his fondness for guns when there were so many better weapons she could make for him, but then she’d hugged him and whispered “Be careful, White Wolf,” making him miss his little sister and his little Stevie in the same breath. He sometimes wondered whether Shuri cared for him as more of a science project than a friend, but either way, he loved her. He wanted to protect her.

The aliens were vicious. He watched warriors ahead of him get ripped apart by teeth and claws. He shot as many aliens as he could. Head shots when he could, and he usually could. That made him smile as he fought. He’d always been a good marksman, whether with a slingshot or a sniper rifle. He hadn’t used his skills in years, but they hadn’t rusted. He was proud. He shouldn’t be allowed the pride, not after all the good people he’d murdered with his skills, but he was proud. The middle of a battle was no time for self-evaluation.

He tried to keep an eye on Steve, but lost him quickly in the melee. He wasn’t very worried. Steve could take care of himself now. He didn’t need Bucky. Bucky could focus on others that needed his protection. He saved a Dora from an alien that had her pinned. She returned the favor by spearing an alien that almost got Bucky from behind. They nodded their thanks at each other and returned to the fray. 

The waves of aliens kept coming from beyond the broken energy barrier. They ran on all six of their appendages, like galloping insects. Sweat dripped into Bucky’s eyes. He was weary. So weary, and still they came. He could feel the tide turning. He fought on. His gun popped and aliens fell, oozing black blood from their eyes and foreheads. He fought on. It was all he could do.

Two of them flanked him. He killed one but wasn’t quick enough to get the other before it knocked his gun from his hand. The force of its blow staggered him backward, and it used the momentum to knock him flat on his back as it pounced on him to go in for the kill. He used his new vibranium arm to hold its throat and keep its teeth at bay while he reached for the knife at his thigh. He stabbed blindly at the creature’s head and chest, both of them flailing in the dirt. The alien gained a measure, its horrible teeth so close to Bucky’s face. The alien’s nostrils flared as it took a deep sniff of Bucky’s skin. Its eyes widened and it froze.

Bucky kicked up from the ground and headbutted the alien up and away from him. He scrambled to his feet, finding his gun a few meters away and gauging how quickly he could get to it before the alien came for him again. He had no idea what the thing had smelled to make it so distracted, and he didn’t care. He wanted to kill it and move on to the next one.

The alien threw back its head and made a warbling sound deep in its throat. Bucky dove for his gun, but another alien grabbed him unexpectedly by the leg and tossed him away from his weapon. He lost his knife as he rolled. He landed on his back and reached for the second one in his boot. Yet another alien wrenched his arm away, and held it this time. Bucky beat at it with his unrestrained vibranium arm as it started to make the same warbling noise. That noise was everywhere, reverberating inside his skull. He didn’t understand, and he was afraid.

A third alien appeared and grabbed his vibranium arm with all four of its hands. He wasn’t strong enough to fight it off. He was held down, arms spread by the warbling aliens. The first alien approached, crouched low to the dirt. Its eyes were narrowed and its warbles had become softer and higher. Between its legs, Bucky saw its previously hidden genitals unsheathing, and he understood.

“No!”

He kicked and bucked, trying to escape from the creatures holding him down. He screamed profanities and threats that he knew they didn’t understand. His cries joined the sounds of the battle around him and were lost.

“No.”

He’d been in this position before. Various members of Hydra had raped him over his long life, starting with that guard in the Austrian work factory and ending with that STRIKE team in D.C. after the Winter Soldier had failed to kill Steve a second time. He’d thought he’d made peace with that, but the shame, horror, fear, and rage all came flooding back as he watched the alien’s cock engorge. He’d never thought to be in this position again, and he realized now how stupid he’d been. This was what he was. Something about him made this happen, not only in men, but in goddamn fucking aliens as well.

Bucky was sobbing. He didn’t know when he’d started, but the tears ran hot down his face and he gasped raggedly for air as the snot ran down his throat. One of his captors leaned down and licked his cheek with a veiny tongue. If it was a gesture of comfort or pity, Bucky didn’t want it.

“Get the fuck off of me!”

He twisted his hips and kicked at the first alien who’d now reached him. Black blood trickled from superficial wounds Bucky had inflicted with the knife. Not deep enough to kill or incapacitate. Not good enough. He’d never been good enough.

The first alien held his ankles. Its cock was obscene. Bucky stared at it with horror. Probably half a meter long, and thick as a good-sized eggplant. It shone all-over with some self-made slick, but no matter where it decided to stick that, it was going to hurt like a bitch. That was fitting. He was a bitch. Something about him. The alien had smelled it.

The alien kept two hands on Bucky’s ankles and used the claws on the other two, shredding Bucky’s brown fatigues like tissue paper. He fought, struggling in the dirt, until the alien's claws reached the protective cup at Bucky’s groin and removed it. Bucky’s breath hitched as the alien fondled his genitals, first his soft cock then his loose scrotum. Bucky stayed as still as he could, pleading silently for the alien not to damage him there. The alien leaned its face closer between Bucky’s legs and Bucky could feel its breath as it warbled softly and took a deep sniff. It let go of his balls and made one last trilling cry before it and the other two aliens became silent. It pressed its chest against Bucky’s, and Bucky remembered to struggle again.

He howled wordlessly as he fought the thing spreading his legs with its bottom arms while its top arms held Bucky’s shoulders against the ground. Bucky felt its wet cock slither, hard yet sinuous against his naked legs. This was a nightmare. He didn’t want to be here. Why did he have to be here?

The blunt head of the alien cock found his asshole. It seemed to pulse and quiver, like a living organism separate from the alien. Bucky could feel it contract to slip inside his ass, and he felt stupidly grateful for that. The gratitude was short-lived as he felt centimeter after centimeter slithering inside him. When that movement stopped, he felt the cock begin to expand to its full width inside him. Slowly, but painfully, he was filled up with the alien’s monster cock until he thought it might fill him completely. He imagined the thick oozing thing pushing through his rectum to his intestines, then his stomach, and maybe up his throat until his mouth was split open on the end of it. He imagined Steve or Shuri finding him that way. His waning tears flowed freely once more.

The alien on top of him began to hump and thrust. It made little trills of pleasure that pierced Bucky’s soul. He was stuffed with the alien’s cock, and it was using him for its pleasure. Just like he’d always been used. Just like he was meant to be used.

He stopped his pointless struggles. He closed his eyes and waited for it to be over.