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“So you told him, what do you think that’s going to do?” Rumlow asked as Bucky looked around the small room he seemed to be trapped in. He doubted the same applied to Rumlow, although there were no doors or windows in the room.
His fingers felt around every seam and crack in the wall. He didn’t even know where the light in the room was coming from, or the air. There were no vents or light fixtures, yet the white room was suffused with a light that was neither too bright nor too dim. In fact, the light seemed to come from everywhere, keeping the room from having any shadows.
“Shut up,” Bucky growled, continuing to feel along the bottom of the wall.
“You know what you aren’t facing, right?”
“Didn’t I just tell you to shut up?”
“Do you even remember? Do you know why I’m haunting you?” Bucky paused and turned to look at Rumlow.
“You’re not real. I’m dreaming again,” Bucky replied, and Rumlow waved a hand, making a table and chair appear in the room.
“Might as well have a seat and we can talk while I’m lucid. I doubt it’ll last long,” Rumlow said, hopping up onto the table. Bucky turned the chair around and sat with his legs splayed, his arms crossed on the back.
“What are you talking about?” He asked gruffly, concealing his discomfort and confusion with rudeness. Instead of replying, Rumlow reached forward and tapped Bucky’s temple. Bucky jerked away from the touch.
“You have to remember, I can’t tell you. What I can tell you-” Rumlow held up a hand to keep Bucky from interrupting, “-is that I’m not going away until you do. I will have to haunt you until you remember, and to be honest, it’s getting boring.”
“I remember everything you’ve ever done to me…” Bucky snarled in low tones, trying to keep his temper.
“But do you remember what you did to me?” Rumlow asked calmly, completely unaffected by Bucky’s attempts at intimidation. Bucky paused and thought for a moment.
“I didn’t do anything to you,” He replied, and Rumlow shook his head.
“I was afraid of that,” Rumlow shook his head, “Think harder. I know they scrambled your brain with the chair, but try. I can’t move on until you remember.”
“...You’re actually haunting me?”
“Yep,” Rumlow replied, nodding with an unimpressed expression, “You’re not getting this very quickly, and I don’t have much time. He’s going to realize that I’m talking to you, instead of torturing you pretty soon. Then we’ll both be fucked.”
“Who will?” Bucky demanded, “Someone is making you do this?”
Rumlow looked behind him for a moment, as if checking the wall for… something. He sighed heavily and got off the table. He crouched down to Bucky’s level.
“Yes. You know him, it’s-” Suddenly, Rumlow jerked and fell to the ground, convulsing as though he’d been hit with a shock stick built for The Asset. Bucky fell on his ass as the room changed around him and the chair disappeared.
He crawled forward towards Rumlow carefully, but before he could touch him, Rumlow’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the jaw.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Bucky closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, missing the punch to his temple that knocked him fully to the ground. He rolled with it, shoving himself off the floor with his metal arm to avoid the expected kick to the ribs. At least this time he knew he was dreaming.
Rumlow was fast though, impossibly fast, impossibly strong, and Bucky found himself choked up against the wall, his feet barely skimming the ground. Rumlow pressed against him as Bucky struggled to get his grip off his neck, his eyes wide as he tried to kick and fight.
The look in Rumlow's eyes was worlds away from the person he'd been talking to just moments ago. Bucky lowered his arms slowly, realizing fighting was useless. Rumlow's sadistic grin widened as Bucky stopped struggling. The grip got tighter.
Spots were swimming in his vision. He could barely hear Rumlow chuckling over the rushing, roaring sound of blood and the pounding of his heart.
Rumlow palmed his cock.
"Such a good boy for me, so hard," Rumlow slowly let him down to his feet and let go. Bucky struggled not to cough as Rumlow freed both their cocks, then fisted them together in one hand. Bucky couldn’t help but rut against the touch, his back arching even though he was still dizzy.
He put his hands on Rumlow’s chest, leaning his head on his shoulder. He couldn’t fight him off, Bucky knew, even though his whole being screamed for him to punch the smug smirk off his face. His arms felt too heavy to move, and the pleasure humming inside him was… less.
Bucky blinked. What? The last few times he’d had a Rumlow dream, the pleasure had been insurmountable, an obstacle to clear thinking.
The pleasure had been… inhuman. Maybe the earlier idea that Rumlow was an incubus hadn’t been so far-fetched. He pulled back, trying to see Rumlow’s face.
Rumlow slammed his head into the wall with such force Bucky literally saw stars. His hands curled into the harness Rumlow wore, gripping it as tightly as he could manage with the pain and leaden weight of his arms.
Surprisingly, the pain hadn’t reduced his raging erection in Rumlow’s hand, and Rumlow was still working them together. Bucky’s hips moved involuntarily, fucking into Rumlow’s hand. He chanced a glance up through his lashes, and Rumlow’s face was nothing like the way it had been when they had been talking. The look on his face was almost comforting in its familiarity, the same face he’d seen age for years as his handler.
The slap across his face wasn’t entirely unexpected either. Rumlow always knew when he wasn’t paying attention. He closed his eyes. More hits would come. Bucky just had to hope he woke up soon. Instead of focusing on the slaps, he tried to remember. He tried to remember as a knee slammed into his ribs, as the touches stopped and he was thrown across the room, as he curled into himself, probably coughing up blood as his body was barraged by blows, his hands over his ears, kidneys kicked as he drew his knees in tightly, as sobs fell from his mouth from pain, he tried to remember.
He awoke to sunlight shafting onto his face from the window behind the tv, his blankets tangled around him, covered in sweat and tears and torn from his struggle.