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Zakrichit	By : HarlotOhara Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Ultimate Avengers Views: 1276 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Kaprov makes Winter Soldier crawl to him on his hands and knees, moving forward slowly and pointedly like a bitch in heat. His bright eyes are glassy with want and his lips part when the man slaps him across his face when he’s within arm’s distance. The sniper growls low in his throat like an animal, looking up at him with all the wild hate and abandon that he’s always shown when he’s beaten. It never ceases to amuse him that somewhere in the back of “Bucky’s” mind he knows he can’t stand Kaprov but yet he still worships the man like a god, because “Bucky” no longer exists as more than a vague hallucination. Kaprov can strike him, rape him, ruin him as many times as he would like and Winter Soldier would only grind his teeth in response.
James nuzzles the hand that hit him now, cheek smooth and baby soft against the rough knuckles of the man. It drives a rush of electric desire through Kaprov and he runs a hand through the dark auburn hair as the reward for that sensual sensation, his fingers moving in a gentle and affectionate massage. James seems to like that, and he makes a soft pleased noise because Master is not angry at him now. Today, Winter Soldier had seen to his own appearance and is the same beautiful young man that all the Amerikan propaganda portrayed him as. He often seemed to forget that his own body required attention at any point other than when he was ordered to tend to it; but Kaprov doesn’t like the feel of his stubble and he hates to find cuts he hadn’t made left to scar because they were of no interest.
“Bark.” Kaprov demands now because he’s interested to see that struggle appear on James’ face again; he loved to see that constant fight to obey. Confusion comes over the sniper first, and he repeats the question, his Russian accent all Moscow, “Bark?” He confirms, and his eyes take in the other man’s nod with contemplation before he understands what is wanted of him. He doesn’t want to bark, he hates the idea of it, hates the concept of it, hates the feeling of the self-loathing of doing so. He barks, however, quiet and subdued because he doesn’t want to be heard. “Louder.” Kaprov orders then, because he won’t allow a half-assed response to any demand. He wants James to want to do his best when he responds, with no hesitation, and no self-interest anywhere in his mind.
The sound comes again, more rough and forced because Winter Soldier can see that the lack of immediate obedience is making his master angry. It’s one of the few moments that rage is gone from his expression, because he wants more than anything to make his master happy with him. Kaprov’s lips turn up when he sees that and he picks up that day’s Izvestia and throws the newspaper across the room, motioning to it. “Fetch.” He orders and James stands up in a motion to obey mindlessly; fetch is an order he understands simply as Winter Soldier, not as a ‘pet’, and he is desperate to do as he is told in one way at least. Kaprova smacks his thigh sharply, however, and shakes his head. “Down on your hands and knees, Winter Soldier.” He orders, “Get the newspaper so I can beat you with it.” He demands, because he likes James to know that he is forced to obey even when it harms him.
The man kills not just with ease, but with pleasure at each job well done, he is immune to torture, immovable by manipulation, but completely terrified of disobeying his Master, and no amount of hatred filling those dark eyes at being forced to play this game hides the fear of making him mad. James falls to his hands and knees in a quick elegant motion and he crawls forward, moving forward to pick the paper up with his mouth; it seems he can learn after all. Winter Soldier is not ashamed to do this, he is unhappy, but he doesn’t understand shame as most do. Kaprov watches him return with pleasure; James wants to be stroked, he wants to be loved and since it is becoming clear he will not be, he is angry like a child. It is clear in those eyes, with their mixture of rage, disdain and disappointment, that he is still the sidekick somewhere beneath the Soviet secret.
Kaprov knows exactly how to make this perfect and he opens the drawer of his desk, finding a thick leather collar which had once belonged to a well-trained German Shepherd who had spent the majority of its life murdering as well as its human replacement now does. He waits for Winter Soldier to return to his side and pulls him up to his knees by a fistful of soft auburn hair, sliding the worn collar around his neck and fastening it slowly. The pleasure and adoration in those normally cold eyes now is pathetic, and there could be no greater joy than how much of a joke the man is as a symbol of patriotic pride. Kaprov twists the medallion on the collar to read the inscription, before he drops his hand away. “You needn’t look so pleased, Winter Soldier; you’ve been bad.” He scolds, and he takes the newspaper out of his pet’s mouth now as those eyes lose their pride.
“I think you should piss yourself to begin with; show me that your master has complete control over you.” Kaprov decides, and Winter Soldier growls in annoyance and hatred once more. It is his Master’s favorite punishment to make him soil his own pants, because Kaprov can enjoy James’ anger at being mocked. He knows that Winter Soldier dares not disobey, but he knows how much he wants to when it puts him in this position. He has been made to do this in front of others, and the near black out of hatred he felt at their laughter is almost unbearable in his memory. He makes fists out of his hands now, and meets Kaprov’s eyes with enough anger that it gains him a hard slap across his cheek with the rolled up newspaper. It stings, but what really hurts is the displeasure of his master which earned the slap, and knowing that makes him angrier still so that he can almost see spots. He growls again in response, because he doesn’t want to obey this request no matter how much his Master demands it.
Winter Soldier’s hesitance was endearing at first, but it still angers Kaprov to see that he is not as mindless as most might believe, so he is pushed to the ground to be beaten with the paper like an unruly dog. He struggles to avoid the beating, yanking away and crying out indignantly when he realizes the collar that he had been so momentarily proud of is what is holding him there. It doesn’t hurt much more than a sting and the loud sound of the paper startles him, but yet he hates the feeling of being pushed to the floor like this. “Now.” Kaprov demands and this time he obeys the request without another warning. The feeling is uncomfortable at best, absolutely disgusting at worst, and Winter Soldier’s hands shake against the floor at the feeling. He wants to hurt his own master and that scares him. Kaprov laughs with glee because he can see the heat in the boy’s face, and the anger in his eyes for having to humble himself like that.
It’s only minutes before Winter Soldier’s face is back against the ground, however, and Kaprov is pushing into him as he’s forced into the puddle of his own urine. He’s using hand lotion as lube, just enough to keep from tearing his little pet, but little enough to be sure that it will hurt for having fought him earlier. Yet, somehow it doesn’t matter, because Winter Soldier loves to be fucked by his master like the dirty little sodomite he is. He moans at being taken, and pushes back to take all of Kaprov’s length into him like a cock-hungry whore, yet his hands claw at the floor desperately as if to get away from it. His eyes look dreamy and relaxed finally, though they still dart up to check the room when he hears the steps of passing soldiers in the hall. Tonight, pushed to the floor and humiliated, he still finds his own arousal with his cold metal hand and works himself with an almost graceful movement to the fevered pace. His shapely lips are parted and he pushes back against Kaprov to take him all the way in again with each thrust; the man is tight and tense despite being used to this treatment by now and it makes each thrust forward all the more pleasurable.
Winter Soldier is quiet at first, but soon as his prosthesis finds his own arousal, he starts to make demands like “Harder!” and “More!” with that perfect Moscow twinge to his words. He writhes prettily, each roll of his shoulder showing the strength beneath his form. He doesn’t seem to recall how he has been treated, and he is the one who makes demands now that he is on his knees; he doesn’t seem to realize this is not a reward. When he comes, Kaprov still buried deep inside of him, he still cries out in English. “Captain!” He shouts, and he doesn’t know why that makes his Master laugh so hard.
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Zakrichit