The S.H.I.E.L.D Academy was full of the best, the brightest and the most loyal.
They had also admitted Grant Ward.
He'd passed all his exams and had a shining recommendation from Agent Garrett, a respected senior agent. "That boy is capable of great things, he'll surprise you when you least expect it." Garrett's report read. "Should do well in Black and Specialist Operations. Exceptional hand to hand skills, needs work playing well with others."
They were dedicated to serving their nation against all threats by prevention and strategic action.
So was Grant Ward. But he wasn't dedicated to the bloated, aging husk of S.H.I.E.L.D.
The cadets didn't know how deep the threat ran. Children, innocent children in adult bodies. S.H.I.E.L.D was using them, so Ward had no compunctions about doing the same thing. It was his mission.
Part of the reason he didn't socialize much with the rest of the cadets was that he couldn't stop watching them, trying to figure out their weaknesses and how to exploit them.
That one was prideful, eager to succeed at any cost. Another only wanted love. Ward shook his head. Too easy, he needed a challenge.
Sometimes his prey would catch him while he was observing them and Ward would flash them a smile with gleaming white teeth and a head nod. Just checking you out, his body language would say and then he'd have to deal with the inevitable awkward conversation in the hallway and quick fumbling fornication in a dark corner. Sure, there were cameras everywhere. Let them watch, Ward thought, my proclivities just make me more flexible, a more valuable asset.
He looked forward to the hand to hand fighting classes. Karate, krav maga, judo... many difficult and different variants. His form wasn't perfect but it was lethal. Fellow cadets refused to be his sparring partners because of his single-minded focused mayhem. Garrett had taught him well, Garrett had taught him everything.
They had a visiting Agent as an instructor today. Standing at attention at the edge of the mat, Ward carefully paid attention, not just to the instructions but to the man himself.
Agent Brock Rumlow was a STRIKE team leader that rumor had working at the right hand of Steve Rogers, Captain America. Impressive.
He walked towards the cadets with sure, deliberate steps and a nonchalant grace. Dark tousled hair, scruffy stubble on tan skin and muscles born from hard, dirty work under a black T-shirt criss-crossed by a nylon harness. Worn black leather gloves.
First impression: Dangerous. Second impression: Fucking hot.
"Funny thing kiddos," Rumlow paces slowly, taking measure of his students, "Is that nobody attacks you out there in a gymnasium with a padded floor. I'm not even a real instructor. I'm one of those faceless guys who sneaks up on you in a dark hallway, slits your throat, drags you behind some boxes and lets you bleed out. Wham. Bam. Thank you Ma'am."
Ward's eyebrows twitch and the corner of his mouth curls, Did he really just say that? He's downgraded now. I bet I could take him. Ward pretends to be overconfident and Rumlow catches his facial tic just like Ward wanted him to. I want to make you bleed.
"You there. Pretty Boy. Wanna spar?" The invitation is purred with a coating of menace, Ward swallows in spite of his training and steps onto the mat.
"Bring it." Ward assumes his stance, then quickly strikes. Rumlow deflects the blow and Ward narrowly avoids losing his teeth, black glove leather grazes his cheek.
There is no attempt to disguise the fight as a sparring match. Heels fly, punches connect hard in guts. Ward gets a lucky strike in with a quick slap to the face, Rumlow's lip starts to bleed. He licks the blood, narrows his eyes and Ward returns the hard stare. Too bad there's an audience, Ward thinks.
The cadets step back from the mat for their own safety, unconsciously.
Ward tries to grab the nylon harness on Rumlow's chest for leverage, but discovers that that is just what Rumlow expects. Ward gets a mouthful of mat for his trouble. The full weight of the STRIKE leader's muscular body lands on Ward's back and his lungs whoosh out. Arms pinned in a full Nelson, Ward can only lay on his belly and squirm. With each wriggle, Rumlow forces his arms painfully upward until he is on the verge of dislocating a shoulder and Ward yields.
Rumlow leans down and whispers into Ward's ear with hot breath, hidden from the stunned cadets, "We'll finish this later, Pretty Boy," then he bites Ward's earlobe, worrying it with his teeth. Ward would gasp, if he could draw breath.
Rumlow stands, wipes his bloody mouth with the back of his glove and smiles at the cadets. He opens his arms welcomingly and asks, "So, who's next?"
There are no volunteers and Rumlow chuckles.
Ward stays flat on his belly, not because he's terribly injured, but because he is trying to hide the massive hard-on within his sweatpants. And Rumlow knows it. "I suppose everyone who doesn't want to try me should go out to the track and run a few miles. Let's make it five." There's a mad dash to the gymnasium door and Rumlow returns to the mat, offers Ward his black leather gloved hand.
"Do you need the infirmary?" Rumlow looks over Ward with undisguised appreciation and hunger.
Ward takes his offered hand and lurches to his feet, erection still terribly hard. "No. Do you want to go again?" Ward huffs out.
Rumlow rewards his bravado with a grin and his eyes flicker downward, then back up. "So they don't teach that at the Academy, who gave you special lessons?"
"Agent Garrett." Ward shakes his arms, working the blood flow back into his limbs, his fingertips tingle.
Rumlow purses his lips and nods. "Guy's a legend. A real hero. He's your mentor, recruited you?" The question is innocent enough, but Rumlow gave everything away to Ward.
Rumlow is HYDRA, just like Ward is and that makes the thrill even more insidiously delicious, more subversive. A HYDRA agent working alongside Captain America.
Reevaluation: Totally fucking hot.
"Yes," My everything, Ward thinks. "Why do you wear the harness?" He touches the nylon belts crisscrossing Rumlow's chest and lets his fingers trace the muscles beneath the black t-shirt.
"Carries my spare garrote," Rumlow steps close to Ward, invading his personal space and stares the young man in the eyes. "So where to you want to take this?" To punctuate the query, he pulls Ward's hips close to his and Ward feels his mutual arousal.
"As far as I can take it," Ward's eyes glitter.
There is no attempt to disguise this as a dalliance or a fumbling encounter. Kisses are hard and full of teeth, Rumlow's stubble racks across Ward's face, burning. Ward's t-shirt and sweatpants are flung across his bedroom, only clad in his compression shorts that do nothing to disguise his arousal. Rumlow strokes Ward's cock through the spandex fabric with leather clad hands, Ward groans and rolls his eyes heavenward and shimmies out his shorts.
Rumlow starts to take off his harness, but Ward stops him. "Leave it on, leave it all on." Rumlow raises his eyebrow and pushes Ward up against the wall, face first.
"So you wanna feel it do ya, Pretty Boy?" Rumlow smells of sweat and cinnamon, leather gloves gripping Ward's flesh, bruising fingertips and raking teeth. A different sort of brutality than the fight in the gym, but no less destructive. Two men serving the same secret master coming together as clandestine allies.
"Top drawer," Ward says breathlessly and Rumlow finds what he needs, smearing slickness over his condom sheathed cock. Ward gasps at the intrusion of thick slippery wet leather-clad fingers, working him open wide. The buckles and straps on the harness dig into Ward's back, scratch and tear at the skin. It feels cathartic, wonderfully raw. Rumlow grips Ward's hair with one hand as he thrusts, grinding his pelvis against Ward's ass, sheathing and unsheathing. His other hand wraps around Ward's cock, still slippery with lube until Ward comes with a gush, spilling over the black leather. Rumlow shudders and bites into Ward's shoulder, spasming with hard jerks.
Rumlow catches his breath and pulls out. He pulls off the condom, knots it and tosses it in the waste bin. Zipping up, he strips off his ruined gloves. He drops them on the floor and sneers, "Sure you don't need the infirmary, Pretty Boy?"
"No. Do you want to go again?" Ward bonelessly sinks down to the floor, leaning his head against the wall. Rumlow leaves without another word and Ward thinks, If Rumlow is the type of man who swears loyalty to HYDRA, then SHIELD won't stand a chance when the revolution comes. And he laughs, he laughs until his belly aches and tears drip from his eyes.
Hail HYDRA.