Happiness In HYDRA
Brock Rumlow/Grant Ward
Wardlow or RumWard… they're great ship names, more people should TOTALLY get on this bandwagon.
Theme Song:
Alice Cooper - Poison
Note: Yeah, they're both HYDRA in this. It's a Bad Guys HEA? So it's a bit dark, I guess. Mentions of Ward's past abuse at the hands of family members, in case anyone finds that triggering, and not-at-all-subtle hints of a future Dom/sub relationship. It's probably verging on M rating as well, so… read with caution?
There was a surprising amount of hidden HYDRA infrastructure still available for his use, Ward discovered. And the remaining soldiers were rudderless, desperate for leadership, frantically leaping all over themselves to accept his direction, obey his every command. It was a heady feeling, this power – but despite the air of certainty he projected for those now looking to him for leadership, deep inside him, Grant Ward was afraid.
Garrett had given him purpose. Direction, security, orders. Now he was the one giving the orders, and he was terrified of fucking it up. Every decision he'd made in the last few months seemed to have only plunged him deeper into the morass – he shied away from thinking about Kara, about the shocked look of betrayal in her eyes as she choked out her life in his arms, and even more from thinking about Skye, about the combination of hate and fear with which she'd looked at him on the Bus as he tried to explain. He'd been right in all his decisions, he was still sure of it – but somehow those decisions had ended with him in a place very different to what he'd thought he wanted.
Slamming the door to his commandeered office, Ward stalked across to his desk and looked bleakly at the paperwork strewn across it. Paper, for fuck's sake! Typed and printed on computers they didn't dare connect to any kind of network, because he knew only too well that Skye and her damned Rising Tide buddies would be in their networks, reading his plans, before he could so much as blink.
In a sudden rage, he flung the papers aside with a rough sweep of his arm, smirking with visceral satisfaction as the pile fluttered to the floor in a disordered, crumpled mess. Someone else could deal with it later.
He opened the top drawer of the desk. Set the tumbler on the scratched wooden surface and half-filled it with brandy. The expensive stuff, too; HYDRA had some impressive stores. Sitting down in the chair, he took a long swig before putting his elbows on the desk and his face in his hands.
The room was dark, lit only by the bright moonlight pouring in through the windows; plenty of light for Ward to see what he was looking at, but there were shadows in the corners. He hadn't bothered with his usual professional check of the room, certain that no-one in HYDRA would dare enter his office uninvited.
So he was taken completely by surprise when a thickly muscled arm locked around his throat, jerking him up and out of the chair, the man grabbing him a few inches shorter than he so that his back was painfully bowed as he scrabbled instinctively at the arm across his throat, choking.
"You lack discipline, pretty boy," a harsh, rasping voice hissed in his ear, and Ward froze with shock.
He'd been born with those words on his ass. His father had taken them as a perfect excuse to discipline his middle son any way he saw fit, usually with a belt or cane lashed down precisely across the words, highlighting the scrawled black words with stinging red lines.
He couldn't speak, couldn't get a sound out with the compression on his throat. Just garbled, frantic sounds as the oxygen depleted through his bloodstream, weakened him. And then he was flung to the floor, landing hard on hands and knees. A booted toe prodded between his legs.
"Huh. Garrett was right about you. Said you liked discipline."
Aroused and achingly hard, Ward closed his eyes with shame. A strong hand curved under his chin and his head was jerked up to meet the eyes of the man squatting before him.
"Think you've got the balls to be in charge of HYDRA, do you, pretty boy?"
It took a moment for Ward to place him. The scars on his face, the voice more rasping than he remembered… but he could never forget those eyes, the coldly calculating, assessing stare. They'd never spoken – Rumlow was far too senior to him in both SHIELD and HYDRA for him to dare – but Ward knew very well who the other man was.
"I thought you were dead!" Ward whispered, his throat burning.
A gloved hand lifted to touch one scarred cheek briefly. "So does everyone else. My enemies, in particular."
Captain America, of course. Ward had seen the footage. Toe to toe with a supersoldier in an elevator, and Rumlow hadn't backed down. Had damned near won. He was a hero within HYDRA, a legend – a martyr for the Cause – but he hadn't died.
Rumlow was looking at him curiously. "You said my words, pretty boy."
"And you said mine – sir." Ward could feel his whole body relaxing, accepting Rumlow's dominance over him gratefully. "What are your orders, sir?"
Rumlow stood, a smooth, graceful motion, a smile touching his scarred lips. "Well. This changes things. Get up." He sat down in Ward's chair, gestured to Ward to stand in front of the desk. Picked up the brandy glass and took a thoughtful sip, his hard eyes watching as Ward stood up and moved to stand where Rumlow indicated, hands folded in front of him, standing at parade rest.
Rumlow tapped a finger against his lips, his smile widening. "You'll be the face of HYDRA. The pretty one, smiling for the cameras. You can do that, can't you, Grant?"
"Yes, sir." That would be easy. He was, after all, everyone's type. "You'll tell me what to say, sir?"
"Of course." Rumlow patted his knee. "Come here."
He went without hesitation. Sat in the older man's lap, relaxed into his hold, curving his spine and his face into Rumlow's stubbled throat, breathing in his scent and sighing with contentment.
"Good boy," Rumlow crooned softly, stroking the small of his back. "There's a good boy. My pretty boy, smiling for the cameras, while I'm the nightmare in the darkness."
"Yes, sir," Ward whispered, relaxing even further. It had been so long since anyone had properly taken charge of him. Told him what to do. Commanded his trust.
"Why don't you call me Master? You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Oh yes please, Master."
"There's a good boy."
*hides face*
Sorry! Been reading too much HYDRA Trash Party!
But hey! It's technically a happy ending for Ward! Told you I could write one!
*runs away to hide behind couch*
