Canon Characters:
Brock Rumlow

Original Characters:
Hampton Fletcher

Crash, boom, bang, pop, pop, fizz, fizz, sizzle, sizzle, burn, bang, falling, falling, down…

April 2010

Blinding light blazed against Brock Rumlow’s eyes as a feeling of heat washed over him. However, just as fast as it came, it vanished, but the light continued to burn out his eye sockets. Blinking, he held a hand in front of his face. As the light came closer, it transformed into two orbs in front of a sedan. The car eventually cruised by leaving the darkness of Downtown DC.

“Turn off your fucking high beams, dumbass,” Rumlow growled. For a moment he looked around him, a tad bit disoriented. He forgot how and why he was behind the wheel of the SUV. Then it dawned on him that he was immensely horny and in need of being filled that night.

Rumlow was forty-four. Maybe it was time for him to turn in his slut card and stop cruising for sex. Maybe find a nice little HYDRA chick to settle down with and have a proper fascist elitist family. Hell no…First of all, little HYDRA chick? Nah, Rumlow liked a woman with some meat on her bones. Shit, some meat? He liked them stacked and juicy. Like hip hop star Big Chel-C said in her song,

“He said he likes them

With big bones and meat

He said he likes them

Juicy and sweet

He likes those big girls

Those big girls

Big girls.”

In all honesty, Big Chel-C was too small. Being a lover of big women, Rumlow could tell a woman’s size just by looking at her. Big Chel-C, whose real name was Chelsey Chisolm, was a big beautiful woman, meaning she was around two hundred to three hundred fifty pounds. Beautiful, but still too skinny for him. His perfect woman was a supersized big beautiful woman. A supersized big beautiful woman weighed in at about three hundred fifty to six hundred pounds. He’d appreciate a woman between three hundred fifty and four hundred and he knew someone who fit the bill. Shonterelle Johnson. He was her superior.

Johnson had a nice golden ebony complexion, like chocolate honey. Her dark eyes were captivating and almond-shaped, seizing Rumlow up in an instant when she passed them over him. Her hair was wavy and dark, twisted into two French braids that hung past her rump. Though she had an easy, sweet delicate voice, people shouldn’t underestimate her. She was a STRIKE operative who rose through the ranks, was recruited into HYDRA, and successfully made it to Alpha Squad. She could hold her own in any combat situation and he had seen her in action several times. She was merciless, efficient, and relentless.

Stacked like a brick house, Rumlow reckoned one of Johnson’s breasts was bigger than his head. He was certain she wore a size H bra, which meant she had to order them from specialty plus-size stores online. He knew his way around the whole plus-sized world. Damn, big women were beautiful.

However, after being stationed in the middle east, Rumlow had gone off of females. It was guilt that kept him away from them. While serving in the Army, he sustained a head injury when a grenade went off in front of him. His brain was injured, and he was never the same again. A complete three hundred sixty. When he was well enough to return to battle, he commanded his unit to do some of the most horrid things and they complied without question. It was these actions that got him recruited by HYDRA and he had been a faithful follower of their edict since the nineties.

Anyway, back to reality. Rumlow wasn’t cruising for chicks, he was cruising for dick. He swore off women, but his appetite for men was insatiable. He would be considered a nymphomaniac, though sexist motherfuckers would insist that only women could be nymphos. Anyway, he thought about sex every second of the day, even when performing a task. Lewd, raunchy, steamy, and messy scenes played out in the back of his mind like a video minimized on a desktop. Hard bodies and smooth flesh thrusting and humping against each other…He stirred in his seat.

Rumlow had been cruising around the gay bars and clubs trying to decide which one would suit his needs that night. He needed to be filled deeply, needed to be dominated. Instinctually, one hand lifted from the wheel and tugged at the leather harness he wore under his shirt. He was a dominant man at work, but there were times he needed to submit.

About every man in HYDRA had a bitch. Daniel Whitehall had Sunil Bakshi, John Garrett had Grant Ward, and Senator Stern had Jasper Sitwell…though Rumlow kind of believed that Sitwell was Alexander Pierce’s bitch. Truth was, Pierce was the straightest man in HYDRA. Rumlow had offered to be his bitch several times. It had only resulted in Pierce looking at him like he was a zombie fish or some shit.

Rumlow loved Pierce…Well, loved to drive him crazy with his bat-shit ways. Whenever the Winter Soldier was awoken, he would be there at the scene waiting with his dick out while Pierce recited the trigger words. Several times Pierce had gone off and beat him with a billy club like he was some sociopathic beast that needed to be put back in its cage. Well…he was sociopathic…

Anyway, STRIKE Alpha Squad was the top STRIKE squad that reported directly to Rumlow. They were made of HYDRA’s most loyal, most ruthless, and most fierce agents. There were fifty-five members, of which nine were women. When Rumlow became STRIKE commander, he instituted an initiation process. New members of Alpha Squad had to bottom out to all the men. They ran a train on them. This initiation was only for males. Rumlow didn’t tolerate anyone disrespecting or using the female members. Now, whatever personal relationships the females and males had with each other, that was on them.

Passing Kinky Boots, a gay BDSM club, Rumlow groaned in annoyance. The problem with finding dominant gay or bisexual males was that most were switches and spoke with sissy lisps. He had been in Kinky Boots several times and he just couldn’t bring himself to endure latex chaps, latex police caps, black jockstraps, mirror police sunglasses, and black work boots with spurs on them. Seriously, a fucker would wear all that shit and expect him to bottom out to them. Besides, the name of the place was just as fucked up.

Rumlow couldn’t endure the foo-foo shit that night. He needed a hard, rough, abrasive love. Hard, stacked meat, thick body hair. A fucking gorilla, a beast, a fucking bear, hell, an orangutan. A big beast of a man that would rip his ass apart.

A beep sounded in the SUV to alert Rumlow to an incoming call. He loved company cars. Nick Fury was pissed and griped about him taking one, but Pierce had spoken up for him. The image of Fury bitching about him taking a company car home brought a smile to Rumlow’s face. Fury indeed needed to get him some cock, ass, or pussy. Though Rumlow suspected that he was pumping Phil Coulson’s tight little hole with his big black dick. He laughed aloud, almost forgetting about the incoming call.

“On screen,” Rumlow directed the SUV.

In the corner of the mist-coated windshield, Hampton Fletcher’s big bald pink head appeared with other digital on-screen options.

“What, Piggy?” Rumlow asked.

Yeah, Fletcher’s nicknames consisted of Porky, Porker, Pork Chop, and Piggy. Why? Because he was a six-foot and five inches porker of solid fat. Punching the fucker in the stomach did absolutely nothing. However, the nickname came about because he loved eating cock and ass as if his life depended on it.

“Hey, why don’t you come back in tonight?” Fletcher suggested with optimism. “The guys are gonna hit sublevel twenty. Have a party, fuck fest, ball-draining.”

The Triskelion had several hidden and secret rooms, some of which were the sublevels. On sublevel twenty was a room that Alpha Squad used when they got horny on the job. The whole floor was stocked with useless, old, and broken office furniture and equipment. The overhead lights were mostly broken and somewhere along the way, someone had dragged an old mattress down there.

“Nah, I ain’t feeling it tonight,” Rumlow replied as he kept cruising through the crowded streets. It was early April and people were already flocking to the nightlife and crowding the fucking bars and clubs.

“Come on, man,” Fletcher shamelessly begged. “I can go for a cyanide capsule tonight.”

“Ha!” He laughed.

Among Alpha Squad, cyanide capsule was code for cum in my mouth so I can drool it over my face. The code words were obvious to anyone who had seen a HYDRA agent take a cyanide capsule when in custody. They started foaming at the mouth and shit like they had rabies. The use of cyanide capsules for suicide was popular during World War II but not so much nowadays, especially since HYDRA was so fucking underground, they were sharing a hot tub with Lucifer and sucking his dick. The idea was stupid as fuck to Rumlow. If he was going out, he was going to take someone with him.

“Come on, Rumlow,” Fletcher beseeched. “You got the best fucking capsules.”

“Is that right?” Rumlow smiled smugly though he knew it was too dark in the SUV for Fletcher to see it on his end.

“Hell yeah. Fuck yeah,” he groaned. “I need that dick tonight. Seriously, you just got back from Madripoor. We fucking missed you. You came in and were in Pierce’s office all damn day and then left.”

“Yeah, fucking debriefing.”

“I’m fucking hungry and horny, Rumlow.”

Rumlow tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he stopped the car in front of Colts bar and grill. A nice gay bar with decent food and drinks. Most of all, no fucking loud ass tripped out techno moshed up club music.

“Nah, go to sleep. Rumlow out.” Rumlow shut down the communication without waiting for Fletcher’s reply.

Peering out the rain-speckled window of the SUV through the equally sprayed window of the red brick bar, Rumlow was drawn to the warmth of the golden glow from the overhead lights bathing the room. The inside was like the old neighborhood bars back in New York where he grew up. Inside were wooden tables, walls, chairs, and a wooden bar.

Rumlow smiled and scanned the crowd. It was packed at the bar where men were mingling, some sitting on stools while others stood. A few couples and singles were in booths, and he saw a few that were empty. Thinking that they wouldn’t be empty for long, he pulled the SUV into the tight crowded parking lot on the side of the building and was lucky to find a spot.