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Bucky awoke in a dark room, his hands chained above his head, and he shook his head. Someone had gotten the jump on him, but they clearly didn’t know much about him if they thought chains would hold him. He pulled slightly, testing the strength of the chains that held him, lifting his whole body weight with them. Well, the chains were sturdy, and so was whatever connected them to the ceiling.
It was dark enough and the connection was far enough above him that he couldn’t see it, even with his enhanced senses. He rattled the chains, setting off a trap of some sort that pulled the chains, making it pull his arms apart, and he grimaced.
Stupid. He thought to himself. He tried to use his left hand to grab the chain itself, giving him some leverage. The mechanism sounded old, so perhaps he could break it. He braced himself and started trying to pull with his vibranium arm.
A familiar scent -sandalwood, leather, gunpowder- made his knees go weak and his breath hitch in surprise. He moaned reflexively as something thin and sharp stroked his back.
The sound of ripping fabric was loud in the relative silence of the room, and cool air hit his back. Bucky shivered. Thoughts of escape had fled, leaving behind only confusion.
“You’re usually pretty charming… what’s with the silent treatment?” he asked sarcastically, even though his heart had leaped into his throat as the rest of his shirt was torn away. Rumlow stood behind him, solid chest against his back, breath against his ear… lower than usual.
As the dimmed lights came up, he saw Rumlow on a couch in front of him, stretched out lazily, smirking. Bucky turned his head, but the knife flashed in his periphery, and he turned back to look at Rumlow.
Rumlow stripped off his coat, rolling up his sleeves as he sat forward, elbows on his knees, and smirked wickedly.
“I am charming,” Rumlow laughed quietly, “and so is my friend,” He added, gesturing behind Bucky. Bucky kept still, feeling the knife scraping against his chest.
“Good boy,” Rumlow purred, “hold still. The more you fight, the more it will hurt.”
“What if I want it to hurt?” Bucky asked immediately, his eyes narrowed, glaring at Rumlow. The scowl stayed on his face, even as his mind backtracked his statement. What the actual fuck was wrong with him? He held still as commanded, having challenged Rumlow more than he dared already with that strange outburst.
“Oh sweetheart, you really are a treat. The thing is…” he said, standing up, “it doesn’t matter. You will be in pain regardless.”
Rumlow stalked towards him. “Now, the question is, when will you beg for mercy?”
“For mercy? Never. Give me your worst.” Rumlow tutted softly, shaking his head with a smile, before leaning forward and grabbing Bucky by the jaw, forcing his mouth open with a painful grip.
“Oh, you know, if I wanted to, I could really… hurt you now.” The knife slid against his skin, reminding him it was there, the point against his skin as the hilt was turned to face Rumlow. He took the blade, teasing against his nipple with the tip. “However, I need to know how obedient you’ll be. We may be able to come to more of an… understanding… if I know you aren’t just going to try and run or lash out. So please, tell me. Are you going to be obedient?”
Was he? He knew his cock was heavy and thick with want, leaking pre already. Still, he’d been captured, and by Rumlow. As much as his body craved this treatment, he didn’t know if he should… if he even could behave. As if Rumlow could read his thoughts, he shook his head in mock disappointment.
“Well, aren’t you a stubborn one?” He asked, chuckling softly, “I’ll have to be more straightforward with you then.” Rumlow dipped the blade into a bubbling, hissing bucket that was slid to him by the person behind, and then pressed the edge of the knife into his abdomen, just above his navel.
A sharp pain cut through him, but the worst part is the cold, reminding him of falling asleep in the cryo chamber, and he could only barely contain the hard shudder that cut through him, even as his skin blistered under the frigid liquid nitrogen enhanced cold.
Despite the cold, a moan tore through his lips, and his head would have dropped back if Rumlow didn’t still have a grip on his jaw.
Rumlow licked into his open mouth, kissing him hard, and Bucky found himself responding, pressing forward into the kiss, and Rumlow had to pull the blade back before Bucky forced it into himself. Rumlow dropped his grip on Bucky’s jaw and stepped back, dipping the blade back into the nitrogen quickly, then pressing it against Bucky’s abdomen once again, making an X. Bucky dropped his head, unable to keep the moan from escaping him once again.
Rumlow lets the cold metal touch one spot on Bucky’s skin for a few seconds, watching his reaction with almost clinical precision. His expression is guarded, but still, he smirks slightly, as if something about Bucky’s reaction is amusing to him.
“Well? Obedient? Or would you like to learn more about pain?”
A whine escaped Bucky’s throat.
“Can’t I have both?” He asked breathlessly, limp in his chains.
“Oh, I think we can arrange that,” Rumlow murmured, pleased, but still, his smile was cold, “I have just the thing.”
Rumlow left the room. The body behind him wrapped arms around him, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to his neck, hands sliding down his chest, around the blisters on his abdomen, to the button of his jeans, popping them open and wrapping a hand around his fully hard cock.
“I never would have imagined that this sort of treatment was what it took to get you to respond, James,” Zemo whispered, and Bucky jumped. “Is it the degradation of it? Or is it the pain alone?”
“Zemo…” Bucky whispered back softly, half-afraid to respond. He wasn’t even sure what the truth was, but his cock was already starting to droop in Zemo’s gentle grip.
“Do I need to call you a good boy?” Zemo asked, raking the nails of his other hand over the wounds Rumlow had caused, and Bucky hissed, his cock immediately returning to its full hardness. “I know I need to hurt you, but what kinds of pain do you desire?”
“I-”
“He needs me to teach you, Zemo. Don’t you, baby?” Rumlow asked as he stepped back into the room. “My Soldat doesn’t want you to ask him questions about what he wants. That confuses him. He needs you to just know how to treat him, how to degrade him. Questions should have a right answer, and he should know them without having to think.”
Rumlow stood in front of Bucky now, holding a syringe of pink liquid.
“Wh… what is that?” Rumlow returns his gaze to Bucky.
“Not your concern. Just hold still. I will get this in, eventually.” He gripped Bucky’s hair, pulled his head to the side, and injected him, right into the side of Bucky’s neck.
“It’ll take a second,” Rumlow clarified, “Just… keep quiet, and still.”
Bucky closes his eyes and holds still, trying not to make noise, though he wants to whimper.
A few moments passed, then the small amount of pain he was feeling from the blistered skin dulled, and so did the pain from the chains. In fact, Bucky can feel his whole body starting to… relax? Rumlow’s voice comes back, sounding almost… mocking.
“There. Much better, I think. No more pain?”
His body warmed, and even as his body melts into the relaxation caused by the injection, he whines at the loss, squirming in place.
“Rumlow…” He hates himself for how breathless and needy his voice is.
In contrast, Rumlow’s voice is light, almost playful.
“Don’t worry, pain will still come. In time. We can’t have you getting too spoiled. But while we have you like this, how should we have fun with you?”
The lack of pain drew all the fight out of Bucky’s body, leaving him loose and pliant. He didn’t care, as long as it was Rumlow doing it to him. His mind stopped. No? Zemo was here. He should care about that more, care about Zemo. But he could smell the musk of Rumlow in front of him, whatever cologne he normally wore absent, and the smell of Rumlow’s cologne and gunpowder behind him, and he only wanted what was in front of him.
Maybe it was the strangeness of Zemo’s missing scent that got him, confused him, and kept him from being able to want him.
Rumlow had asked a question.
Questions should have a right answer, and he should know them without having to think.
And that’s what he’d been doing, wasn’t it? Giving the correct answer, whether or not he’d thought about it or been able to stop himself? It hadn’t been strange at all, in retrospect, Rumlow had conditioned him to respond with desire for years. That’s all he’d been doing.
How could he fight what he wanted, in the end? His arms were loosened, and he sank to the floor until he was half sprawled, legs under him as he almost knelt, hands now on the floor, his eyes staring at the metal floor. Why fight this? Rumlow would always have the upper hand. Even now as his wrists were being unrestrained, there was no desire for anything but what the next thing Rumlow wanted to do to him.
“However you’d like, Sir…” Bucky replied, his voice sounding broken, even to himself. Because he was. Rumlow had broken him a long time ago. He didn’t look up as Rumlow walked out of the room.
“Is he right, James?” Zemo whispered. “This is what you want?”
“It's what I need,” Bucky replied, silent tears streaming down his face.
Rumlow put a pair of headphones over Bucky’s ears, and Bucky lifted his head to look up at Rumlow in confusion. Rumlow raised an eyebrow.
“Close your eyes,” Rumlow commanded, and Bucky immediately obeyed. Music started filtering through the headset, and Bucky listened, swaying a little to the sound. There were no words, just classical music, something uptempo that Bucky was unfamiliar with. Rumlow is being so nice right now, and while that’s disorienting, Bucky can’t help but feel good regardless.
Rumlow crouched in front of him, he can feel the warmth from his skin. His fingers trail down Bucky’s chest, his senses heightened, and Bucky’s not sure if it’s because his eyes are closed and he can’t hear over the music, or the injection, or just his attunement to Rumlow, but he moans at the soft touches, his legs pressing closer together as Rumlow’s finger trails ever downward.
The finger trails down his thigh just as the music crescendoes, and Bucky knows he’s panting with desire, his hands curling into fists.
And as the bass scrambles his brain, a hand wraps around his cock and squeezes.
The world whites out with the force of his orgasm.
Rumlow gently takes the headphones off his head.
“You might need the pain to get off with him, but what you really need is me.” Bucky jerks his head up and opens his eyes-
And wakes up sitting up on the bed he shares with Zemo. He presses a fist to his mouth, tears immediately coming forth unbidden, ignoring his state. It isn’t long before the shaking sobs wake Zemo, but he can’t stop crying.
He might be in love with Zemo, but he couldn’t deny the truth.