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The Soldier feels groggy as he finally peels open his eyes. The room is dim, the only source of light being a small lamp in the kitchen one room over. He hears voices—someone is talking. He can't make out what's being said. When he shifts, he realizes there's someone else. Arms wrap around his waist as he tries to sit up.
"Lie back down," commands the voice of his new handler—of Rumlow. The Soldier complies. He feels trapped and uncomfortable as Rumlow doesn't loosen his grip and pulls the Soldier even closer. The blankets on the ground of the trashy HYDRA safe house are scratchy and the air is cold, but despite all that, he would prefer to sleep somewhere else. He wouldn't mind sleeping on the cold floor with no blankets and no one else to keep him warm if it meant he wouldn't have to be so close to them.
His former handlers didn't do this. They treated him like a dog, made him sleep in some random corner, snapping at him when he came too close without being told. To be fair, Rumlow also kind of treats him like a dog, but somehow differently.
"Close your fuckin' eyes and sleep. We need you tomorrow," Rumlow says, the Soldier getting goosebumps from his breath against his neck where Rumlow is pressed against him. He sounds tired and slightly annoyed, so the Soldier closes his eyes to not anger him more.
The Soldier lies still the whole night, not daring to move. He hates this. He doesn't understand why he hates the lingering touch, the closeness, the warmth, but he hates it. He wants to pull away; the hands feel like a constant itch on his skin, burning hot as if at any moment they might just reach through his skin and grab on to his insides.
But he doesn't do anything—of course he doesn't. He's good, he obeys. Always.
After many long hours, the Soldier feels Rumlow stir behind him. It startles him, but he tries not to show it, holding his breath and staying as still as he can as the hands finally pull away from him. He hears his handler grunt as he gets up and yells something over to Rollins and the rest of the team to wake them up.
They mostly ignore the Soldier while getting ready, only barking a quick task or order at him, which the Soldier does quietly without complaint. He doesn't complain. Ever.
They eat breakfast and then finally get their stuff to the van, the Soldier carrying a few bags of equipment. When they're all finally inside the car, Rumlow tosses the Soldier a protein bar, with the simple command, "Eat."
Then Rumlow settles down next to the Soldier in the back row of the van and they start driving to their next destination. The Soldier blocks out most of the conversations happening around him. They didn't tell him where exactly they're going, or how long it'll take, so it doesn't matter. If they had wanted him to know, they would have told him.
After maybe an hour, the Soldier feels a hand on his knee. He tenses slightly, wanting to pull away, but not daring to. It's the same feeling as the night before, the strong, burning itch making him want to tear off his skin and never feel anything again.
Rumlow smirks a little as he sees the Soldier flinch. "Seriously? I'm just touching your knee, Soldier. Relax," he says, and the Soldier forces his muscles to relax. He lets out a long, shaky breath and slightly turns his head to the side to look out of the dark tinted window.
He watches the trees fly by and tries to ignore the hand slowly rubbing circles on his knee, coming up to caress his thigh. It's even worse than the constant pressure on his waist, so much worse. It's distracting; he can't even block it out, no matter how much he tries.
The Soldier doesn't cry. Not really. He doesn't feel much these days. He's here to serve, to obey, to fight. He does just that—he eats, he sleeps, and that's mostly it. There's not much time to think, or... feel. So he doesn't. He's not supposed to. He doesn't have to. His handlers tell him what to do, what to think, what to feel. They tell him what he likes and what he dislikes. It should be as simple as that.
But this is the one thing he knows he hates. He can't remember if he hated it before all of this, he can't even remember if he hated it before he came out of the ice the last time, but he's pretty sure he did. He doesn't know why, but Rumlow's hand now slowly rubbing over his crotch hurts worse than any injury he has ever had. And he still doesn't know why. He can't understand. It's not physical pain, it doesn't feel the same, but it somehow feels worse.
He doesn't understand why Rumlow is doing this to him when it feels so wrong. He doesn't understand why Rumlow likes touching him so much—does it not feel as bad for him?
Rumlow licks his lip as he looks over to the Soldier. "Jesus, stop being dramatic, Soldier. I'm trying to do something nice for you here," he says, now clearly annoyed. The Soldier forces himself to turn his head towards Rumlow. One of Rumlow’s hands is palming the Soldier's dick through his tac pants, while his other hand is running up and down his high inner thigh, kneading and drawing small circles.
The Soldier feels nauseous. He wants this to stop, but even for him, biology takes over after minutes of aggressive rubbing, and Rumlow feels the Soldier harden under his hand. Rumlow grins. "Knew you like it. That feel good?" he asks and slowly pulls down the Soldier's zipper.
The Soldier's eyes widen. "No..." he quietly says. He doesn't know if he's answering the question or if he's trying to tell Rumlow to stop, but it's probably both. He hates this. He wants Rumlow to stop. He told him it doesn't feel good, so why doesn't he stop?
Rumlow just rolls his eyes. "You're clearly hard, Soldier, stop bitching around." With that, he frees the Soldier's dick, slowly stroking him up and down a few times. The Soldier squeezes his eyes shut as Rumlow keeps touching him. He hates it, he hates it so much.
Rumlow keeps pumping the Soldier's cock, running his thumb over the head every now and then, looking way too amused at the Soldier's state. The Soldier opens his eyes, watching as Rumlow mockingly grins and speeds up his strokes. He feels a weird sensation in his gut. It's not pleasant; it's warm and almost like he has to piss. He knows he has felt this before, and he knows that there were times when it felt good... but there were many, many times where it didn't feel good. Many times like these, and even if he can't remember what exactly happened, he still feels the burns of their hands on him.
The Soldier lets out a choked-off sob and his body shudders as he spills over his handler's hand.
After that, everything goes blank. He didn't pass out, he's moving, his eyes are open, but he doesn't feel real. He watches Rumlow's mouth move as he says something, watches him grin and bring his sticky hand up to the Soldier's mouth, watches him force open his mouth and smear the Soldier's cum over his tongue. A tear rolls down the Soldier's cheek, and then he just can't stop them anymore. He's quiet, doesn't sob, just silently sits there with his pants still undone, crying without making a sound.