AN: Um… This deserves an explanation. I guess you could consider this fic advertisement for the FireWhiskeyFic community on live journal. They have a drunk writing night once a month where they give you a few prompts, open up a discussion thread, and participants proceed to get shit-hammered and write at the same time. Any fandom, any genre, fan fic or original, really anything goes as long as you include one of the prompts.
This was my entry which, I'm ashamed to admit, won "Most Coherent". *hangs head* I'm not really sure how I pulled that off since I was slurring my words, typing sideways on the floor and I could only keep one eye open. There are witnesses. And yet I still managed to not misspell anything and it slightly makes sense? Most other entries are far less coherent (and hence more amusing) than this so… Yea. Regardless of the end product it was a lot of fun and I recommend all writers of legal drinking age try it out at least once.
And while it is "Most Coherent", there are still things that don't quite synch up with canon. Of course that is the sweet tea vodka talking. Hope you enjoy it regardless. Check out the LJ comm.! /plug
"May day, may day, this is Captain Rogers on the commandeered Horten H IX V3, I'm losing power, the engines are failing, may day, may day! Can anyone hear me?"
Steve gripped the rudder control, pulling it back as hard as he could. It just groaned and vibrated in his super-human grip, unresponsive as the nose of the plane stayed resolutely dipped just below the horizon. He was still miles into the upper atmosphere, he had a long way to fall and as long as he could keep the plane up from a nose dive at least he had more than a few minutes before he landed in the glacier expanse of Greenland.
Still, it wasn't a fate he greatly admired, not after going through Vita-Ray experiment, proving himself a capable soldier and taking down the Nazi supervillain Red Skull. He was a hero darn it, and while self sacrifice was a inherent quality of said heroship (and his own original personality, shrimpy body and all) waiting for his own inevitable demise was far different than taking a bullet for his fellow soldier.
He yanked back, muscles trembling with exertion, palm burning from the pressure, and the plane just groaned and shuddered under his hand, not giving an inch; after a moment it felt like the craft would shake itself to pieces before leveling out. He finally let off with a gasp. If his enhanced muscles couldn't budge the plane it was clearly not going to shift anytime soon.
He was doomed.
And yet he didn't panic. He was calm, collected. It felt like he had trained his entire life for this mission; wounds, and lost comrades and plane crashes and all. There wasn't anything he could do and he was too far away for anyone to help him.
He settled into a relaxed slouch. He'd saved the world; that would go down in history for sure. They would probably make collectible cards in his effigy; he would be a household name, beyond the trained monkey gig they had him strapped in for war bonds. People wouldn't remember a fool who sold them a stock, but a hero? That was stuff of legends.
He was all alone, everyone was either fighting or dead or far beyond his reach but he was satisfied.
Suddenly the radio crackled, flared to life with a static sputter and Steve jumped forward to grab the speaker and press it desperately to his ear.
"Hello, hello? Is anyone there? This is Captain Rodgers. May day, may day, I am in a decline over the coordinates-"
"Steve? Can you hear me? It's Peggy."
He dropped the speaker in shock, of all the people who could have grabbed his transmission, it had to be his sweetheart, the woman he wanted to see the most yet would never be able to. Never speak to her, never kiss her, never touch her. She was just a doomed figment to a downed hero like himself.
"Peggy?" He gasped desperately.
"Steve? You're there? Thank goodness! I'm so worried about you. Please tell me you'll be alright!"
He pulled the speaker away, swallowed painfully, mind whirring,
"I- I'm gonna meet you in America. Time Square, six o' clock this Friday night."
"You'll really be there?"
Another painful swallow, clenching his eyes shut.
"Yeah, I'll make it."
Somehow the obvious ribbon of lies didn't bother either of them, they both knew he was going to die, either in the crash or drowning or freezing to death afterward. She was a smart woman and he could already calculate his eventual coordinates. There was no one to save him in Greenland and they both knew it.
"I-I love you," Peggy murmured, and he couldn't tell if the stumble was static or a hitch in her breath.
"I love you too," he responded, radio flaring indignantly with static before shorting out completely.
He was alone once again.
It was obviously his last message. As high an agent as Peggy was, they still wouldn't let her onto the radio instead of instructions if there was any way to salvage the situation. No, that was a farewell from headquarters if he ever heard it and it was obvious he wasn't going to get any other love letters from the radio.
He clicked his speaker back in place and simply sat back as the horizon slowly dipped lower. He still had a long time before he crashed and no one else was going to call him. He thought of all the things he had done, all the things he might have done, and the first thing that came to his mind was Peggy's sweet face.
He felt himself stirring and it surprised him. Certainly he had been aroused before, but the venereal disease track in basic camp was very thorough, even m-masturbation was frowned upon. Peggy had never hinted at it, never even looked below the level of his eyes, but there was definitely an inescapable desperation as he slowly began to realize this was his last hour.
Peggy's voice was the last he would ever hear. He had no fear of going blind (or worse) due to self-pleasuring; he was going to die a hero no matter what he did from this point on. With that refreshing liberty in mind, he let the heel of his palm drag heavily over the swell in his leather outfit.
He groaned out loud, shivering as the pleasure trembled through his limbs. Secrecy, and inevitable death, made everything precious and free of guilt; he rubbed himself harder until he was rocking in the leather-bound pilot seat. He double checked his coordinates, his radio, and every other control before slowly lowering the zip over his swelling cock. Even with imminent impact he was still nervous and it took a few moments of silence before he was able to take himself in hand with a few well-earned strokes.
Pleasure billowed through him, it was far beyond anything he'd felt before, and when he pictured Peggy in his mind, her soft brown curls, the cherubic angle of her features, he had to choke back a gasp as his cock twitched in appreciation.
He knew he was going to die, that there was no one to save him, but it was hard to care with his cock straining and leaking against his wet palm. He pulled back, licked the pads of his fingers before grabbing himself again, circling his two fingers and thumb into a rough triangle-circle depending on how he focused on it. He squeezed tight and lifted up, taking the loose pleasurable skin with him, dragging it up and down in a suddenly unstoppable rhythm. It felt so good, better than the silent, guilty masturbation in his army tent, better than Howard's iron-encased hand, better than even Peggy's soft lips upon his own.
This was a different world, a world of engine grease, of sweat and blood and regimen and testosterone even in the face of death.
Steve twitched, groaned, held tightly onto the quivering rudder shaft with his free hand as he continued to jack off without shame.
Just as the light faded from his cock pit, the horizon finally swallowing his view of the setting sun, he jerked and cried out, hand moving frantically over his spurting length; only thing in his mind was an engineer's hand, a woman's face, and his country's flag.
His essence spilled across the dashboard in milky ribbons and he didn't even have the wherewithal to wipe it clean.
What was the point?
The ice loomed, a glacier front of death, and as Steve zipped himself back up he nudged the rudder down. Suddenly he was facing a sheer wall of refracted mirrors, the wing-length of his commandeered ship grinned back at him and he couldn't help cracking a doomed smile himself.
He picked up the radio speaker again, though he knew no one could hear him, and murmured into the muted weave:
"This is Captain America, signing out. God bless the U.S.A".