Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Sir, we’ve found a short-acting supersoldier serum we can isolate for our soldiers.”

Pierce looks up from his computer. “And? Why are you telling me this instead of working on making more?”

The scientist fidgets. “It’s, ah, sourced from the Winter Soldier.”

“And?” Pierce says impatiently when the scientist pauses again. He has no time for these spineless bugs, but they clearly have a purpose after all.

“It’s isolated from the soldier’s ejaculate,” the scientist says in a rush. 

Pierce blinks. How did they…? No, he doesn’t want to know. 

“Keep the soldier out of cryo and healthy while you isolate more of it,” he orders instead. “As long as it gets done, I don’t care how you do it. Without damaging the soldier.”

The scientist looks relieved and bobbles his head, backing out of the room and closing the door behind him. 

How they do it is not his problem, as long as it gets done.

***

After several very awkward meetings, the science team decides to order a milking machine for the soldier. It’s the easiest way to obtain and collect the source material they need, and this way they can just tuck him in the corner of the room and work on other things while he gets off. It’s a little strange at first, but they all adjust. 

For a while, everything proceeds nicely. The soldier is a strong producer, and they have more than enough material to work with. As time goes on, the yield decreases and they start to worry. The soldier seems to be getting bored, or at least adjusting to the stimulation quickly. It takes longer to obtain samples and they get less and less material. 

Panic starts to set in around the lab - no one wants Pierce to be unhappy, and if they lose this source of the serum he will definitely be unhappy. The frenetic bustle of the lab draws in a returning combat team. They’re always fascinated by the soldier, especially now that he’s out of cryo constantly. The scientists are too busy nervously coming up and discarding plans to care. 

“Like a kicked beehive in here,” one of the combat specialists says with a laugh. 

Their commander walks over, eyeing the mess of the lab and the soldier still in the corner. 

“So fucking weird,” another soldier mutters under her breath, and the commander makes a noise of agreement. 

Eventually, the scientists shoo the combat team out, returning to check in on all of their attempts to stimulate the soldier again. One goes to adjust the soldier’s restraints.

“Hey!” he almost shouts. “Come look!”

The rest of the team bustles over at the barely hidden excitement in his voice. They circle the soldier, poking at him. 

“We’re back!” one of them crows, throwing his hands up. 

“But what changed?” the lead says, running a hand through her hair. “We need to keep this up, one time isn’t enough.”

They huddle, desperate to figure out the sudden change.

***

It takes them longer than it should, but in their defense, who would have thought the soldier could be attracted to someone? 

After the better part of a month, they’ve sorted out their experimental setup. In order to determine who the soldier reacts the most to, they’ve compiled a slideshow of all the female agents in the base. They’d considered using employees across all the bases, but access is more important. The soldier can’t possibly be that picky. 

The tools to measure the soldier’s heart rate and temperature are easy to come by. The instrument to measure his eye dilation, less so. But it’s critical to their access to the serum source. With Pierce’s mildly confused assent, they send a team to record the voices of the agents as well, in case the soldier is stimulated by sound more than sight. 

The soldier is already basically a staring machine, so they skip the eyelid clamps. They’d been drawing straws for who had to put those on when one of them pointed it out. The group sigh of relief had been measurable. 

“It’s rather Clockwork Orange, isn’t it,” one observes. 

“Well, that worked, didn’t it?” another says with a shrug as she wheels the screen in front of the soldier. 

They’re prepared for anything. Monitoring all of the smallest physical reactions, prepared to collect - hopefully - copious amounts of sample when they hit on the correct stimulation. 

The hours pass. The photographs and voice samples play on, scroll on, and the soldier doesn’t react. Without the milking machine, he’s not even hard. The panic starts to ramp up in the room again as they steadily run out of candidates. 

“If it’s not this, what is it?” one says, his hair standing on end from all the times he’s run his hand through it in frustration. 

The lab falls into silence with only the background noise of yet another vocal sample. 

“Guys,” the lead says with tired realization. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Guys. He’s gay .”

“Ohhh,” the rest chorus, looking gobsmacked and then scrambling to organize and reset the experiment with the correct options. It doesn’t take long this time to collect the photographs and vocal samples they need, and they settle in with bated breath for the soldier’s reactions. 

It’s an immediate difference. 

They start with the lower tier agents, the soldier is a fairly dominant force even if he’s been brainwashed into perfect compliance. There’s no doubt he’d prefer a more controllable partner. The soldier reacts measurably, pupils dilating and heart rate increasing. He’s even hard without external stimulation, and excitement buzzes around the lab. 

Yield has improved, but they’re still not back to optimal levels. They continue the slideshow, spacing out the candidates over multiple days to capitalize on the mild success. It’s better than nothing, but still not good enough. They’re getting into the higher up agents, and they’ll need a sure trigger candidate in order to get Pierce to approve the plan if it involves someone at this level.

They’ve mostly got the instruments running without supervision by now, letting the noises and flickering images play in the background as they continue other work. The soldier’s sudden choked noise startles all of them. 

“Wha-” one starts, as they all rush over to where the soldier is slumped in the chair, only the restraints holding him up. “Shit.”

“Pause the slideshow,” the lead orders immediately, staring at the absurd amount of cum the soldier just produced. “We have our candidate.” 

They turn in unison to look at the screen. 

“What.” she says. “Him?” 

She looks back at the readings. They’re unmistakable. 

“He’s not submissive,” another scientist says dumbly. “Why does the asset think he’s breedable?”

“Not our problem,” the lead declares after a moment. “I’ll talk to Pierce.”

***

“Sit,” Pierce says.

Zemo’s not sure why he’s been called up to see Pierce. None of his team’s missions have been anything but perfect. Pierce is too busy to involve himself with the minutiae of the combat teams, but he obeys the summons. 

“You’re being reassigned,” Pierce says, steepling his fingers and looking at Zemo steadily.

“Reassigned?” Zemo repeats blankly. “Sir.”

“Yes,” Pierce says, expression unmoving. “The science division has found a way to produce short-acting supersoldier serum, and it seems you are an integral part of the process.”

“Ah,” Zemo says, unsure of what any of that means. 

“Report to the science lab tomorrow, and follow their instructions,” Pierce says. “Whatever they need. You do it.”

Zemo nods. “Yes, sir.” 

“Dismissed,” Pierce says, going back to his computer and ignoring Zemo as he leaves the office. 

***

He reports to the science lab the next day as ordered. It’s calmer than the last time he was here, but the soldier is still in the corner in his weird little contraption. The head scientist perks up when she sees him.

“Good, good, you’re here!” she says, excitedly bouncing over. 

Zemo is a little taken aback. No one’s ever been that happy to see him. 

“Come over here,” she says, reaching towards his arm and then abruptly jerking it back before she touches him. She gestures instead, walking over to the corner where the soldier is. “We just need you to sit here.”

“You need me to sit,” Zemo repeats. 

“Yes,” she nods, looking pleased. “You can do paperwork or anything you need, but we need you to stay right here. And maybe talk if you want to.”

“Okay,” Zemo says, his eyebrows climbing as he sits in the chair as directed. It’s right in front of the soldier, and that stare is somewhat unnerving. It’s more unnerving that the soldier is naked and restrained and in some sort of weird sex-bondage chair. 

The lead sees him eyeing the soldier. “Ah, we need to collect his ejaculate to make the short-acting serum,” she says, as if that isn’t incredibly weird. “Don’t worry about him.”

Zemo nods slowly, and pulls out his paperwork. The scientists buzz happily around him and the soldier while he works. It’s odd, but if he just needs to sit here, it could be much worse. 

***

He manages a week of this before demanding that they move him to a more comfortable room. If he’s going to be part of this all-important science work, then they can give him a quiet room and a nicer chair. They agree immediately, and he kind of wishes he’d asked sooner. 

The room is small and generically pleasant. The scientists install the soldier and his contraption in the corner, facing the desk Zemo is sitting at. The soldier had been making some odd noises in the beginning of Zemo’s forced desk work, but after a week he’s nearly entirely silent. 

The bustle of a pack of scientists interrupts Zemo, and he glares at them. They ignore him, circling the soldier and muttering nervously. He taps his pen irritably. 

The lead straightens, and fixes him with a stern look. 

“He’s not producing as much. Fix this.”

Zemo stares at her. “Fix…what?”

“Whatever,” she says, gesturing vaguely at the soldier. “Get him back to optimal production levels. We need this serum.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Zemo snaps. 

“Whatever it takes,” she shoots back. “We’ll get Pierce involved if we have to.” 

The threat of Pierce makes Zemo back down. He doesn’t need special attention from the head of HYDRA. 

“Fine,” he grits out. “I’ll figure it out.” 

She nods at his capitulation, and the gaggle of lab coats trails her out of the room, shutting him in with the soldier once again. 

He glares at the motionless figure in the chair. Isn’t it enough he’s been taken off combat duty and given a desk job, being stared at by some apparently horny robot? For ‘science’? It’s a losing battle though, and he knows he has to figure out what’s gone wrong. Not that he understands what went right in the first place, which would surely help. 

Zemo walks over to the soldier, mouth set in a thin line. It still unsettles him a little how the soldier is so doll-like, content to sit naked and tied up in a room for hours. Maybe content isn’t the right word. Whatever the word, it’s downright weird. 

The soldier tracks him with wide eyes as he gets closer, and Zemo suppresses a shiver. He’s never worked with the asset in the field before, but his reputation precedes him. He doesn’t like unknown quantities, and this entire situation is a mystery. 

“So what’s wrong with you,” he muses, staring at the soldier with his arms folded. 

The soldier stares back, eyes darkening. His bare chest is glistening, rising and falling faster than Zemo thinks is healthy. He’s just sitting there, why is the soldier panting? He looks around, but no scientists come bursting in. It must be fine then, considering the amount of monitoring equipment they have attached to the soldier. 

“How about you get back to normal?” Zemo says, annoyed that he’s talking to the equivalent of a statue. “Go on, behave.”

The soldier’s body flexes and he whimpers, eyes locked on Zemo. The amount of cum that fills the machine is honestly kind of impressive. Zemo really hopes this satisfies the scientists and also fixes the soldier. He didn’t spend all those years training to be a glorified fluffer. 

“Good,” he says absently, turning away and missing the second orgasm wracking the soldier. 

***

The scientists are positively delighted. 

“Whatever you did, keep doing it,” one says fervently. 

Zemo doesn’t really know what he did, so he returns to doing paperwork again, ignoring the soldier.

“Fix it!” a scientist throws the door open and yells at him. “He’s not producing! Fix it!” The door slams shut as he disappears again. 

Zemo blinks at him, startled beyond words. He shoots a glare at the motionless soldier. 

“Fine,” he snaps, getting up to stalk over to the soldier. The source of all his annoyance and suffering. He stops in front of the soldier, his dark eyes staring up at Zemo almost hungrily. 

“What is wrong with you,” Zemo growls. He jabs a finger into the soldier’s chest, irritated beyond reason. “Fucking come already.”

The soldier climaxes like it’s a command, eyes fluttering shut and a muffled moan tearing out of his mouth. Zemo feels a trap closing around him. Once was just happenstance, twice is…twice is not good. He grits his teeth, and pokes the soldier again. The soldier shivers, body leaning against the restraints like he’s trying to get closer. Zemo hopes they hold. 

“Stay,” he orders, just in case that works. 

The soldier whines. How is he supposed to get anything done if he has to sit here and tell the soldier to get off? Maybe he can get him to come a few times in a row, and then the scientists will be satisfied and he can get a break from this room. 

“Come,” he orders, and the soldier spasms again, filling the machine. Where the hell is he storing all that? 

Right on schedule, a white coat pops in, looking positively thrilled by the amount of cum in the machine. 

“Is that good enough?” Zemo asks, hoping he can escape. 

“It’s great!” the man enthuses. “Keep doing it!”

Zemo sighs. 

***

When the results from ordering the soldier to come slow down again, Zemo wants to slam his head against the wall. Why must this always escalate? What does he have to do this time?

He taps his fingers on the desk, and the soldier’s eyes follow his hand hungrily. Zemo groans. This cannot be his life. But no, the soldier is all but drooling on himself watching Zemo’s fingers move. 

“Do we really have to do this?” Zemo says to the soldier as he stands in front of him, trying to decide what exactly he has to do. 

The soldier looks like a kicked puppy at his disapproval, and Zemo rubs his eyes. 

“You better not fucking bite me,” he warns the soldier, who looks even more pathetic at the threat in Zemo’s voice. 

He reaches a hand towards the soldier’s chest, and the soldier is practically vibrating in his restraints. He strokes a single finger down the center of the soldier’s chest, feeling it rumble underneath his touch as the soldier strains towards him. Not enough then, he muses, and flicks one of the soldier’s nipples.

The soldier yelps and comes, still pushing into Zemo’s touch. It’s strangely hot that the Fist of HYDRA is so needy for his touch, desperate to obey him and falling apart under his fingers. He shouldn’t be thinking like this, but the near-worship in the soldier’s deep blue eyes is hard to ignore. 

“Good boy,” he says, and the soldier turns pink and looks at Zemo adoringly. 

HYDRA really did a number on him, Zemo thinks as he continues to twist and pull at the soldier’s nipples to make him come again and again. He uses both hands, and eventually the soldier is a whimpering puddle in the chair, face red and coated in sweat. Zemo lets him go at last.

“Probably enough for the day,” he says, patting the soldier on the head. 

***

It’s not enough, it’s never enough for long, Zemo thinks as he runs his hand down the soldier’s stomach, feeling the muscles bunching and flexing under his fingers. He skirts around the machine and the soldier’s hard cock, the soldier whining as he drags his fingers down the inside of the soldier’s thighs. They’re so pale and soft, it’s mesmerizing. So much power, yet so open to Zemo. It’s heady to have him dissolving under his fingertips. 

“Are you going to be a good boy for me?” he asks absently as the soldier bucks in the restraints. 

The soldier makes a particular whimpering noise he’s come to associate with assent. 

“Good,” Zemo says approvingly. The praise encourages the soldier to new heights and it’s an easy addition for Zemo. “That’s it, come for me now.”

The soldier does, his legs twitching on either side of Zemo where they’re bound. Zemo had dragged his chair over in front of the soldier once this got more involved, and he waits a moment for the soldier to recover. If this serum is the most important thing, then his superiors can eat shit if his paperwork isn’t getting done. 

He continues to trace his fingers absently around the soldier’s hips and thighs, the little whines and mewls deeply satisfying. He runs a finger up the side of the soldier’s cock, impressed how hard he still is. The soldier jerks under him, coming instantly at the first time Zemo’s touched him that way. Zemo wonders if the serum enhanced this too, or if the soldier had always been alarmingly well-endowed. He wraps his hand around the base, curious how girthy it is. He can’t touch his fingers together and he swears under his breath at the unexpected surge of desire that rises in him.

He lets go like he got burned, and the soldier whines at the loss of his touch. 

“So needy for me, aren’t you,” Zemo murmurs, and the soldier moans. “Be good for me and stay put?”

The soldier nods rapidly, body tensing and going completely still in his restraints. Zemo works the milking machine off his dick, separating it from the collection device. He probably shouldn’t be doing this, not if it isn’t needed, but he… he needs to do this. He ignores all the warning bells clanging in his head and wraps his hand around the soldier’s cock again.

He gives the soldier’s cock a firm stroke, fascinated by the way the soldier trembles violently but stays in place. He’s so hard and leaks so much at every brush of Zemo’s hand. They’re both staring at the way Zemo’s hand is struggling to handle the soldier’s cock, the way some of the precum even leaks out around the collection part still suctioned to the head. It’s downright filthy and Zemo has to swallow several times and get himself back under control. 

The soldier’s nose is flaring, like he’s scenting the air but Zemo’s not sure what he’s smelling. The room smells the same as it always does. He shifts a little in his seat, wishing he could adjust his own hard dick. These pants are constraining but he has no intention of getting off in front of the soldier. Or admitting to anyone but himself how much this is turning him on.

He works the soldier to completion twice before having to switch hands. The more he gets out of the soldier, the longer they leave him alone. He doesn’t particularly want to be stuck in this room forever, jerking the Winter Soldier off for science, and he hopes at some point they’ll be done with this part. For now, he watches as the soldier dissolves into a wordlessly pleading sweaty mess for him over and over. 

***

Zemo’s taken to doodling on his pointless paperwork in between jerking the soldier off. He can only do it for so long before his arms tire too much, and it seems to help if the soldier has some time to recover. He shifts and curses as his pen rolls off his lap, bouncing away and under the desk. 

He crouches next to the desk, trying to fish it out but he can’t quite reach it. He swears again, dropping to his knees and tilting his head against the floor to look under the desk. He can almost see it when there’s a loud noise behind him and a sudden weight pushing him into the floor. 

“Wha-” he gets out before he’s crushed under even more weight, the air forced out of his lungs. 

Hands wrap around his hips and yank him backwards, his knees being spread around something solid. He turns his head and it's the soldier, pinning him down with one hand on his shoulders as he undoes Zemo’s pants with the other, yanking them down his thighs. 

“Soldat!” Zemo tries to say, breaking off on a gasp at the finger prodding at his hole. 

The soldier is completely naked, his skin is so hot where it presses up against Zemo’s exposed thighs. Zemo yelps at the dry finger forcing its way inside him, and then breaks off on a moan as the soldier spits on his hole and works the saliva into him. 

It’s so filthy and he can’t hold back another moan. He shoves his hips back instinctively, trying to take more of the soldier’s finger inside. It’s not enough. The soldier pulls his finger out and Zemo whines. The hard, slick head of the soldier’s cock bumps up against his hole and he tenses, remembering how absurdly thick the soldier is. The soldier is undeterred, and steadily pushes against Zemo’s ass until he forces his way inside. 

Zemo chokes back a scream at the stretch, the only slide due to the residual cum on the soldier’s cock from earlier. It burns, he’s never had anything this large inside him before and the soldier doesn’t wait for him to adjust before fucking him relentlessly. He’s like a machine, pounding Zemo into the floor and holding Zemo up with an iron grip on his hips. 

He hoists Zemo up a little more, pulling him back so his legs are spread wide around the soldier’s hips and he has no leverage to move. He’s being used like a fucktoy and it might be the hottest experience of his life. The new angle has the soldier’s cock rubbing against his prostate relentlessly and Zemo bites down on another scream as he comes abruptly. 

The soldier groans behind him and he can feel his ass being filled with cum as the soldier finishes inside him, so much it’s dripping out around the soldier’s cock where he’s still spreading Zemo open, still hard. 

This might make it hard to collect any of his cum Zemo thinks semi-hysterically as the soldier starts fucking him again, having barely paused after his first orgasm. The wet sounds of the soldier fucking his own cum out of Zemo’s ass is so dirty he can barely handle it, unable to do anything but just take what the soldier is doing. 

He thinks the soldier is on maybe his fourth or fifth orgasm inside him, without pulling out, when the door bursts open and a scientist rushes in.

“What’s gone wron-” he stutters to a stop, staring at the scene.

Zemo can imagine what it looks like. He’s undoubtedly red, sweaty, covered in cum, and being fucked into the floor by a very naked Winter Soldier. 

“If you want to collect any of this,” he tries to growl as the soldier forces the air out of his lungs with a hard thrust, “you better bring some condoms in here.”