#winterrollins

Jack doesn’t wince, but it’s a near thing. He inclines his head, a small acknowledgement, then waits for Bucky to continue.

The only sound is Bucky’s metal fingers tapping lightly on the wall behind him, a strange mix of patterns. Jack picks out some morse code, American Sign Language, the tune of a couple of those old 40s songs Rogers used to hum unconsciously, and the rapid tap of Bucky’s trigger finger firing on reflex.

“What can I do for you?” Jack says finally, and Bucky’s gaze snaps up from where it had drifted to the floor, wide eyes blinking rapidly at Jack before his head ducks again, eyes fixed on his shoes.

“I… I just need…” Bucky starts, arms coming up to curl around himself. “I just want to…” He exhales shakily, forces himself to meet Jack’s eyes, if only for a few seconds. “Please don’t make me ask for it.”

Jack pushes his chair back from the table, suddenly grateful for the lack of restraints (he’d come voluntarily, so they hadn’t be necessary), and places his hand on his knee, palm out towards Bucky.

Bucky is across the room and on his knees nuzzling into Jack’s hand so fast that Jack can barely register the movement, and Jack lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, brings his other hand up to stroke through Bucky’s hair. Bucky whines softly, burying his face in Jack’s knee, and for a moment it almost feels like before, like nothing’s changed.

It takes a few minutes before Bucky raises his flesh hand, runs his fingertips across the ring on Jack’s hand. “He’s alive, you know,” Bucky says quietly. “Still in ICU, but alive.”

Jack nods. “Yeah, I know. Waited until I could confirm that before I came here. Had to know.”

There’s a long pause, and Jack almost misses Bucky’s words. “He scares me.”

“I’d be surprised if he didn’t.” “You don’t though. I trust you. You’re safe.”

Jack shakes his head. “I’m not. I hurt you too.”

Bucky makes a noise, shakes his head. “No. You helped me. You didn’t do what he did. It wasn’t the same.”

Jack grabs his chin, forces Bucky to meet his eyes, ignores the way Bucky gasps, eyes wide with fear. “It was the same. I enjoyed it. It doesn’t matter what I did after.”

Bucky swallows hard, squeezing his eyes shut. “I love you.” His voice wavers, words barely above a whisper.

Jack smiles. It’s not right for him to say it back. He doesn’t care. “I love you too.”

The door bursts open, and they both look up to see Steve stomp into the room, Natasha slipping in beside him.

“Natasha has questions for you,” Steve says to Jack, staring right through him, “Buck, I need to talk to you.”

Bucky nods, metal arm tapping three times at the side of Jack’s leg, out of Steve’s sight. It’s an old code, one that Jack and Brock had taught to Bucky, to Winter, a simple message for when they couldn’t say it out loud around other people: ‘I love you.’ Jack gently scratches Bucky’s scalp three times, repeating the message back, and Bucky stands, follows Steve out of the room.

Natasha smiles at Jack, nothing friendly about it, as she settles into the chair across the table from him. “This won’t take long.”

The only time Winter ever failed a mission was when faced with Steve Rogers, and Pierce had personally ordered Winter’s handlers not to execute Winter if that was the case.

While Winter never failed missions, he did disobey orders from time to time, and almost every time the response was the same: he would remove the nine millimeter from his left boot, hand it to the handler in question, and wait for the handler to make their decision. Winter would take the gun back, place it back in his boot, and continue back to base with the team for debrief.

Until Rumlow and Rollins.

The first time Winter disobeyed one of Rumlow’s orders, he handed Rumlow the gun, took the bullet to the knee, and put the gun back in his boot. But on his seventh mission with Rumlow, when he disobeyed another order, he handed Rumlow the knife from his belt, and the entire team stopped dead, staring at Rumlow.

Rumlow had driven the knife into and out of Winter’s side quickly and efficiently, handing the knife back and turning to frown at the rest of the team. “What?” he’d asked, and one of the other agents shook their head in disbelief.

“He’s never handed someone a knife before, and definitely not that knife. That knife is like his kid, sir, he doesn’t let anyone touch it, ever.”

Rumlow shrugged. “So what? Maybe the gun’s out of bullets, who cares, let’s go.”

But the next time Winter disobeyed on a mission, he disobeyed both Rumlow and another agent’s orders, and he handed the gun to the agent, took it back, and then handed the knife to Rumlow.

Then Rollins joins the team, and Rumlow accepts Rollins into the fold almost immediately, promoting the man to second in command.

And the first time Winter disobeys one of Rollins’ orders, Winter hands Rollins the knife.

“Is there a reason you always give us this knife specifically?” Rumlow asks one day, and Winter shrugs.

The Soldier is left with Rollins for the last few hours of the mission, something that Rumlow has to do alone, and despite the Soldier’s best efforts to sit calmly on the bed by the door and watch the tv Rollins is focused on, it can’t help the way its gaze constantly drifts to the door, looking for Rumlow even though it knows that Rumlow won’t be back for a while.

Rollins notices from where he’s leaning back against the headboard of his own bed, snorting. “What, are you some fucking puppy with separation anxiety? Can’t wait for your owner to come home and give you a scratch behind the ears and call you a good boy?”

The Soldier barely contains its flinch, because it’s ashamed of itself. It knows it’s supposed to listen to whatever handler it’s with, but it really has become kind of attached to Rumlow, the soft way Rumlow sometimes interacts with the Soldier if it’s done really well.

Rollins sighs. “Okay, okay. Get over here.”

It sounds like a command, but it also sounds like a reprimand, and the Soldier hopes its hesitation isn’t obvious. It curls up against Rollins’ side, and when Rollins starts to run a hand through its hair, it buries its face in Rollins’ shoulder, whining softly.

They stay like that for a while, long enough for the Soldier to finally relax, when the hand in the Soldier’s hair turns from soft petting to a tight, painful grip, and the Soldier whimpers as Rollins pulls the Soldier’s head back by the hair, forcing the Soldier face to face with Rollins.

The Soldier tries not to make eye contact, but Rollins just grips its jaw hard enough to bruise until the Soldier looks at him, wide eyed.

“There you go. I don’t know why Rumlow spoils you so much. Clearly you need a firmer hand, don’t you?”

The Soldier doesn’t know what the right answer is, and it’s still trying to formulate a response when the hand on its jaw moves to backhand it across the face, the movement tugging painfully on the Soldier’s hair still in Rollins’ grip.

“Don’t you?” Rollins repeats, and the Soldier nods, even if it hurts, because that must be the correct answer, compliance and agreement is the answer. Rollins releases his grip, kicking the Soldier off the bed. “Kneel in the middle of the floor, hands behind your back, eyes closed.”

The Soldier complies, and it hears Rollins make a noise of approval. “Good boy. Stay. No noise.”

The Soldier tries to ignore the warmth in his chest from the praise, focuses on his orders. Rustling noises as Rollins digs in the bag they’d brought for the mission, clinking sounds as he brings something over. The heavy metal cuffs lock in place around the Soldier’s wrists, the Soldier’s muzzle clasped over its face.

The Soldier’s hair is pulled back and tied with something, presumably a rope, which is tied to the cuffs, the rope taught enough that it rips at the Soldier’s hair. The Soldier tips its head back to ease the strain, only to have Rollins tighten the rope again, leaving the Soldier off balance, chest thrust forward and eyes watering.

Rollins pushes the Soldier’s pants down around its thighs, and the Soldier is confused until it feels something cold, hard, and stiff pressed against its hole, and the Soldier jerks in its restraints, whimpering at the pain the movement causes.

“I thought I said no noise. Guess you’re going to need a much firmer hand, if you can’t follow basic orders,” Rollins says, shoving what the Soldier assumes is one of the stun batons into the Soldier’s ass without any preparation.

The Soldier cries out, tears leaking from its eyes as it smells and feels the blood dripping from its hole. Then Rollins turns the baton on, and the Soldier screams into the muzzle, writhes in a desperate attempt to get away.

“We don’t have much time, so we’ll have to see what we can do,” Rollins says, and the Soldier hears the clink of metal and the rustle of fabric and leather as Rollins takes off his belt. The belt comes down on the Soldier’s ass, metal buckle first, and the Soldier cries, whimpers and pleads into the muzzle as Rollins beats him, pausing occasionally to fuck the Soldier with the baton, turning it on and off at random, sometimes leaving it on while he continues beating the Soldier.

At some point, Rollins starts carving words into the Soldier’s body with a knife, and the Soldier just sobs as it feels the blood dripping down its back, chest, arms, and legs, almost no part of the Soldier’s body unmarked.

The door to the room opens, and the Soldier perks up at the thought that Rumlow is back, and Rumlow takes care of it, there’s no way Rumlow will be okay with this, Rumlow will help the Soldier, of course he will.

“Rollins, what the fuck did you do?”

“Just reminded your favorite pet of its place.”

There’s a sigh, and then there’s a hand cupping the Soldier’s cheek, and the Soldier whines, leans into the touch even if it hurts to move, because it would recognize that hand anywhere.

“Here, let’s get you out of this, hmm?” Rumlow says softly, untying the rope and undoing the cuffs, sliding the baton out of the Soldier’s ass and taking off the muzzle. “There you go, good boy,” Rumlow says, and the Soldier sobs, throws itself into Rumlow’s arms and shakes as Rumlow holds it, running a hand through its hair gently.

“Good boy Winter, there you go. You’re going to keep being a good boy, aren’t you?” The Soldier nods frantically, and Rumlow laughs. “Okay, alright. Stand up, compose yourself, it’s time to go home.”

When the Soldier is back in cryo, their initial reports are filed, and they’ve both showered and changed, Rumlow takes Rollins out to dinner, then they go back to Rollins’ apartment, Rollins hooking his phone up to the tv and playing back the video of the Soldier while they drink beers on the couch.

Because of Rumlow’s (and more recently, Rollins’s) clear authority over Winter, and their ranking as Winter’s two best handlers, Rollins is given Spider as his asset after Spider has been given the serum and brainwashed, all of his memories repressed deep within him and his trigger words programmed.

The four of them make one hell of a team; Winter and Spider’s lethality and enhanced abilities make them perfect for difficult missions, and Rumlow and Rollins’s control over them is spectacular. The more they work together, the closer they get, and with Rumlow and Rollins already having used Winter together before, it only makes sense to add Spider to the mix.

So after one particularly long day of nothing but meetings, with all four of them itching for something more to do, Rumlow and Rollins take Winter and Spider back to Rollins’ place for the night.

“Undress each other,” Rumlow orders once they’ve reached the bedroom, and both assets comply, undressing the other efficiently until they’re both naked, turning back to face Rumlow and Rollins and wait for further orders.

Rollins is the one who laughs. “Jesus, I knew he was a kid, but look at him, his cock is so tiny,” he says, and Spider shifts uncomfortably. Rumlow just shrugs.

“Well, it’s not like he was going to be topping anyone anyway, he’ll just be even more fun to fuck because he’ll probably come really quick, I doubt he’s ever seen any action.”

Rumlow takes the gun out of the holster on his hip, popping out the clip. He walks over to Spider, gripping the boy’s chin. “Open your mouth,” he says, and Spider complies, gags as Rumlow fucks Spider’s mouth with the gun.

“Make sure you get it nice and wet, because I’m planning on fucking you with this,” he says, and Spider whimpers around the barrel, nods.

Rollins grabs Winter by the hair, takes the blade off his belt and trails it lightly down Winter’s chest and stomach. “And you, sweetheart, are going to finger Spider open while I carve your back up all nice and pretty, how’s that sound?” Winter moans, nodding. Winter’s played this game and similar ones with Rumlow and Rollins in the past. He puts two of his fingers in his mouth, sucking on them and coating them in saliva before shoving both into Spider roughly.

Spider cries out around the gun in his mouth, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. It’s nowhere near safe or gentle, and it hurts, but Spider does not get to complain. Neither of the assets do. So Spider just whines and whimpers around the barrel of the gun, gags when it hits the back of his throat.

In the meantime, Rollins starts to carve up Winter’s back, digging the knife in deep as he puts words into Winter’s back, some of them on top of words from previous nights; “SLUT” is carved over the word “WHORE,” and blood drips down Winter’s back and shoulders, pooling on the bed beneath him. “HAIL HYDRA” is carved in the same spot as previous times, and the mass of scar tissue bleeds profusely as Rollins digs the knife into it.

Winter’s movements stutter, already getting weak from blood loss, and Rollins sighs, pats Winter’s back on top of the fresh wounds, causing Winter to flinch.

“God, I though you were supposed to be a professional, Winter, but you can’t even handle a couple little cuts. Pathetic. Well, since you’re bleeding and useless anyway, use the blood to lube your fingers, at the very least you can make this nice for Spider.”

Winter lets out a hiccuping sob, but he reaches back and coats his fingers in his own blood, then uses them to continue fingering Spider open.

“I want Spider’s mouth,” Rollins says, and Rumlow nods.

“Hold on, I want to try something.” Rollins watches as Rumlow cocks the gun in Spider’s mouth, and Spider’s eyes go wide. Rumlow grins. “I never checked the chamber. What do you think, Spider? You think there’s a bullet in there? Shall we test it?”

Spider shakes his head, but Rumlow just shrugs, pulling the trigger.

Spider flinches, eyes squeezed shut, but nothing happens, and after a moment Spider opens his eyes, sobbing as he realizes that he’s fine.

“Okay, all yours,” Rumlow says, taking the gun out of Spider’s mouth and tossing it aside. Rollins grins, takes Rumlow’s place on the bed and unzips his pants, taking out his cock.

“I know you don’t have any experience since no one would fuck someone with such a tiny little prick, but that’s fine, I’m planning on fucking your face so all you need to do is keep your teeth out of the way, alright?”

Spider is still sobbing, but he nods, opening his mouth for Rollins to push in.

Rumlow taps Winter’s shoulder. “You get to fuck Spider. Make sure you hit his prostate, I wanna see if that little cock of his can manage to cum. And be rough with him.” Rumlow grabs a bottle of lube from the nightstand, slicking himself up. “I know you’re a slut, so you don’t need any prep for me to fuck you.”

Rumlow waits until Winter has started to fuck up into Spider, Spider whimpering around Rollins’s cock as Winter’s long, thick cock fills him up, and then Rumlow fucks into Winter, Winter crying out, his metal arm reaching up to grab Spider’s throat in a desperate attempt to hold on to something. Spider chokes, Rollins’s cock and Winter’s hold on his neck too much for him to be able to breathe properly.

Winter leaves hickey’s trailing down Spider’s neck, collarbone, and chest, and Spider just thrusts up into the air, desperate for release. As predicted, Spider cums first. The vibration of his moan sets Rollins off, and the way he clenches around Winter gets him off, too. Rumlow’s not far behind, filling up Winter before pulling out, all four men collapsing on the bed in a mess of limbs.

“We’re doing that again,” Rollins says after a few minutes, and Rumlow laughs.

“Oh hell yes we are.”

They discover the change because at first, Winter started harming himself, using a knife to stab his own flesh arm, and when Rumlow had reached out to put a hand on Winter’s shoulder to make him stop, Winter had reached up and grabbed Rumlow’s wrist with the metal arm, shattering the bones there with the close of his fist.

With Rumlow, normally Winter’s best handler, being in the infirmary, they’d sent Rollins and a team to go get Winter back to the chair so they could wipe him and try and get their obedient Asset back.

They wiped Winter, but that only made it worse. The second the restraints were off he had lunged at the nearest doctor, grabbing the man by the neck and throwing him up against the wall so hard that the doctor was lucky he wasn’t paralyzed.

So the plan changes, and Rollins is sent in with a straitjacket to restrain the Asset until further notice. They already have Winter sedated since the incident with the doctor, but with the serum, time is running out and they need to get Winter restrained quickly.

Rollins walks over to where Winter is curled up on the floor, yanking the jacket over Winter’s head. He tightens it more than is strictly necessary in his own spite about Winter breaking Rumlow’s wrist, because sure, Rumlow always favored Winter over Rollins, but Jack still loves Brock, and no one hurts his boyfriend, not even his other boyfriend.

So Rollins tightens the straps down Winter’s back until it’s practically suffocating Winter, forces Winter’s arms through the loops and pulls the strap between his legs, and secures Winter with his arms behind his back until he can’t move arms almost at all.

Rollins is just checking the straps at the top of the jacket when Winter turns his head, biting down on Rollins’ arm and ripping off a small chunk of flesh, spitting it out and baring his teeth at Rollins, mouth covered in Rollins’ blood.

Rollins swears, looks at the damage done to his arm, then glares at Winter, grabbing the Asset by the hair and dragging him to his feet. “You want to act like a rabid fucking dog? Fine. I’ll muzzle you like a fucking dog,” Rollins spits, dragging the Asset growling and snapping to the storage room for Hydra’s dogs.

He grabs one of the metal basket muzzles from the counter, then shoves Winter to his knees, wrestling the muzzle over the Asset’s face and clasping it behind the Asset’s head, connecting the strap that goes over the top of the Asset’s head to the strap in the back, securing it in place.

Winter still turns and snaps at him, but Rollins just hauls him up by his restrained arms and starts marching back to the doctors he’s supposed to deliver the Asset to, gripping Winter’s hair in one hand and his bound arms in the other. Winter stumbles and falls on the way there, and Rollins just keeps walking, dragging Winter into the room full of doctors by the hair.

“Here’s your fucking bitch, I’m going to go get my arm looked at,” Rollins says, throwing Winter into the middle of the room, and then he turns and leaves without a word. He has an arm that needs fixing and a boyfriend he needs to check up on, and he doesn’t have time for this bullshit.

Rumlow went on a mission yesterday and hasn’t come home yet, and in the meantime, Winter has been acting up in anyway he can think of. Rollins knows that he isn’t Winter’s preferred handler, that he’s been Rumlow’s asset for a longer time, but come on.

Rollins rolls out of bed, follows the sound of the bell down the hall to the dining room, where he finds Winter perched on the table in nothing but his collar, batting all of Rollins’ paperwork off the table and pouting.

“Hey!” Rollins calls, and Winter pauses, meets Rollins eyes, face devoid of all emotion, and Rollins is pissed. He’s pissed because he knows, knows, that Winter can move carefully enough not to make the bell on his collar jingle, that Winter could hear him coming from the moment he started walking down the hall, that Winter is well aware that he’s being an asshole.

“You gonna get off the table and take your punishment, kitten, or are you going to keep making things worse?” Rollins asks, and Winter stares at him and, without breaking eye contact, swipes the last of Rollins’ paperwork off the table and hisses.

Rollins is too tired for this. “Come here,” he says, walking towards the table, but Winter just leaps out of reach, landing on the floor across the table from Rollins and meowing loudly, eyes narrowed.

Actually, scratch that. Rollins has fucking had it. Rollins jumps the table in one smooth motion, tackling Winter and grabbing him by the collar, dragging him hissing and clawing to the living room. Rollins forces Winter to his knees and takes his dick out of his boxers, fills Winter’s mouth as soon as Winter opens it to hiss again.

“You want something to do with your mouth? You want some fucking attention? Focus on this, and I swear to god if you act up again, if you so much as move before Brock gets home, you will not like the consequences.”

Winter, for his part, seems to get the message. He lets Rollins maneuver him so he’s deepthroating Jack’s cock, nose pressed against Rollins’ stomach, and he stays there, breathing steadily through his nose.

Winter doesn’t move the entire time, Rollins putting on the tv at low volume for something to do while Winter keeps his cock warm. At some point, Rollins had grabbed the blanket on the couch and tossed it over himself, covering Winter in the process, but Winter didn’t move, just closed his eyes and focused on staying put.

When Rumlow comes home, he doesn’t see Winter at first, just notices Rollins on the couch and frowns. “You’re awake early,” he says, and Rollins nods, moving the blanket to reveal Winter, eyes open and looking up in Rumlow’s direction.

“Someone missed you, and took it out on my paperwork.”

Rumlow sighs, walking over and dropping himself onto the couch beside Rollins. “Figures. Either of you cum yet?”

Rollins shakes his head. “Honestly? I’m not in the mood.” Rollins taps the back of Winter’s head. “Okay, you can move.”

Rumlow watches as Winter pulls back, working his jaw and whimpering softly. “How long has he been there?”

“Three hours? Give or take?”

Rumlow hums, thinking. “Winter, you thirsty?”

Winter nods, and Rumlow pats his thigh to call Winter over, unzipping his pants and pulling himself out. “Then come get some milk, sweetheart.”

Winter crawls over, bell jingling, and starts licking and sucking at Rumlow’s cock, hands partially curled to mimic paws and resting on the cushion between Rumlow’s thighs as he works Rumlow over.

He has his lips around Rumlow’s cock when Rumlow cums, and Winter swallows everything, then carefully licks Rumlow’s cock clean after. Rumlow tucks his cock away again, zipping up his pants as he looks down and sees Winter’s cock curved up against his stomach, hard and leaking.

“You want some help with that, kitten?” Rumlow asks, and Winter nods, meows and looks up at Rumlow with pleading eyes. Rumlow just shrugs. “Too bad. You want to cum, you don’t act up next time, you understand?”

Winter whimpers, but nods.

“Good. Well, I need a shower. Jack, you coming?”

Rollins shakes his head. “No, I’ll make breakfast.”

Rumlow nods. “Okay. Come on, Winter, you’re getting a bath first.”

Winter’s stomach sinks, because he knows his bath is going to be a lot colder than Rumlow’s shower, but he also knows that it’s his fault. He crawls behind Rumlow to the bathroom, climbs into the bath when told, and does everything Rumlow tells him, even as his teeth chatter and his body shivers.

When his bath is done and Rumlow’s dried him off and put his collar back on, he crawls out to where Rollins is cooking in the kitchen, rubs his head against Rollins’ leg, purring when Rollins scratches him behind the ears.