Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9371180.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Captain_America_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Alexander_Pierce/Brock_Rumlow
  Series:
      Part 1 of NonCon_Trash_(Brock_has_Bad_Times_because_he_is_my_Trash_Son)
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-01-17 Words: 2114
****** Be a Good Boy and Do As I Say ******
by Moons_of_Avalon
Summary
     Alexander Pierce takes advantage of a teenage Brock Rumlow, the first
     step in Brock's Hydra initiation
Notes
     this is abject trash that should definitely not be read by
     anyone…consider yourself forewarned…
See the end of the work for more notes
“So today’s your birthday is it?”
Brock nods as Pierce’s hand slides across his shoulders, pulling him closer on
the backseat of the limo. It’s been almost six months since Pierce first showed
up at the group home the system had tossed Brock into after his mother’s death.
He’d been told when he first arrived that Pierce did that from time to time:
came by to pick out a new boy as his protégé. Brock had expected to be
overlooked the way he always has been since birth. He isn’t particularly smart
like some of the other boys, isn’t good at sports or music or art, either. He’d
always been average, boring, and silently fuming with anger at the injustice of
it all.
And yet, Pierce had walked into the shabby little dorm room, looked right past
all the other boys, and smiled at him. Him, out of everyone else. Brock had
been so shocked that when Pierce had asked his name, he hadn’t been able to
respond at first. Pierce had seemed to like that, because he’d cupped Brock’s
chin and laughed, saying they would have plenty of time for introductions later
if he didn’t feel like talking now. And ever since that day, Brock’s been taken
out to dinner, shopping for new clothes, and out to plays and museums almost
every weekend. Somehow, it’s never boring with Pierce’s arm around his
shoulders, the older man talking enigmatically about all sorts of things.
There’s just something about his voice, no matter what he’s saying, Brock’s
enraptured by every word.
Now he’s being allowed to spend the weekend at Pierce’s home in Washington DC.
Pierce had sent a private jet to fly him in from New York, and Brock had been a
ball of energy the whole flight, doing his best to fight back childish giggles.
That effort had failed when Pierce had been there to pick him up from the
airport, and he’d very nearly run into the man’s arms.
“Remind me how old you are, Brock?”
“Fifteen,” Brock murmurs, glancing up and feeling heat rise in his cheeks when
Pierce smiles at him.
“Fifteen?” Pierce repeats, and Brock nods quickly, a lopsided grin spreading on
his face when Pierce chuckles. “Turning into a handsome young man, aren’t you?”
Brock rolls his eyes, looking down to hide how his face just gets redder.
Pierce’s hand rubs his shoulder, and Brock finds himself leaning his cheek
against Pierce’s chest, the way he sometimes does after they’ve been out late.
“Is it alright if we go back to my home first?” Pierce asks. “I have something
special in mind for your birthday.”
“Ok,” Brock mumbles. He never cares where they go anyway. 
Pierce lets Brock lean against him during the drive, moving his hand slowly up
and down Brock’s back. By the time they’ve arrived, Brock’s blinking lazily and
fighting off a yawn.
His eyes go wide, however, when he sees the mansion Pierce calls home. His
mouth falls open as he stares up at the glass paneled walls, revealing
glistening, streamlined furniture. Pierce just laughs softly, his arm finding
it’s way around Brock’s waist as he waves off his driver. 
Pierce lets Brock wander away from his side once they’re in the house, letting
the boy marvel at his new surroundings before pointing him towards the stairs.
Brock rushes up without hesitation and when Pierce shows him to a spare bedroom
and tells Brock’s it’s his for the weekend, Brock can’t resist leaping onto the
bed and burrowing in among the feather soft blankets and pillows.
“God, why can’t I stay here forever?” he mumbles. He hears Pierce laugh and
raises his head when the door clicks shut.
“I wish you could,” Pierce says. Brock smiles, sitting up as Pierce crosses the
room towards him. “You’re very special to me, Brock, you know that right?”
Brock shrugs weakly, his face heating up once again as Pierce sits down on the
edge of the bed. “I-I’m not all that special…” he mumbles.
“I think you are.” Brock bites his lip when Pierce cups his chin, his thumb
moving over Brock’s jaw. “I think you could be very special to me for a very
long time.”
Brock’s breath catches in his throat, but his lack of response doesn’t seem to
matter, because Pierce is pulling him closer, until the scent of his expensive
cologne surrounds him. 
“You know I do very important work for our country, right?” Pierce asks, and
Brock nods immediately. “So you understand that I need people I can trust
around me. People who trust me in return.”
“Y-yeah,” Brock nods. Pierce smiles and Brock’s heart skips a beat. 
“Do you trust me, Brock?”
“Course,” Brock murmurs. Why wouldn’t he? Pierce has done so much for him…
“Do you think you can prove that to me?”
Brock falters this time, his mouth hanging open for a few moments. “H-How?” he
finally whispers. Pierce smiles, chuckling low in his throat. 
“Just be a good boy,” he says. “And do as I say.”
Brock nods, but flinches when Pierce’s hand moves down to the collar of his
shirt, skillfully popping open the first few buttons. “W-what are you doing?”
“I want to have a look at what a strong man you’re growing into,” Pierce
replies, one button after another falling open while Brock stays frozen to the
spot. “That’s very important you know, I need strong men as well as trustworthy
ones.”
Brock wants to argue, but Pierce fixes him with a suddenly firm look, and all
he does is bite his lip, staying silent as the last button pops open. Pierce
sits up a little straighter, pushing the shirt down Brock’s arms, and tossing
it onto the floor. Brock shivers as Pierce’s hand slides down his chest, and
his hands bunch into fists as he resists the urge to lean away.
“Very nice,” Pierce murmurs, his eyes drifting up and fixing on Brock. “You’re
a very pretty boy, Brock.”
Brock doesn’t know how to respond, caught between shaking his head and
shrugging off the compliment. Pierce laughs and Brock gasps softly when he’s
pushed back against the bed. 
“W-wait!” he chokes out when Pierce reaches for his belt buckle, pulling his
legs up to cover himself. Pierce just fixes him with that hard stare again.
“I thought you were going to be a good boy?” he sighs, and Brock flinches from
the sting of rejection.
“I…” he whimpers, desperately searching Pierce’s suddenly stern face as he
starts to tremble. “W-why are you doing this?”
“I told you,” Pierce starts. “I’m having a look at you, that’s all.” Brock
still hesitates, and Pierce sighs again. “Brock, if you can’t trust me with
this, then I really have no use for you.”
Horror curls in Brock’s stomach, a weak sob sticking in his throat. How could
Pierce just toss him aside like that? He doesn’t have anything without Pierce,
he can’t lose him…
Shakily, he lays his legs against the bed, opening himself up for Pierce’s
hand. Pierce smiles at him again, and it offers a moment’s consolation before
Pierce is unbuckling his belt and undoing his fly, tugging his pants down his
legs. His underwear follow shortly after and Brock bites down on his tongue to
keep from whimpering.
“Good boy,” Pierce murmurs. Brock just squeezes his eyes shut while Pierce’s
hand slides along his belly, and whimpers when that same hand wraps around his
cock. 
Pierce strokes up and down, and Brock moans as his body reacts immediately.
Blood rushes between his legs, and he pushes his hips up, whining at the drag
from Pierce’s dry hand.
Pierce pulls away and Brock peeks an eye open to see him digging in a bedside
drawer. When he turns back around, Brock sees him drop a bottle on the bed just
before his now slick hand covers his cock again. Brock moans louder this time,
gasping and tossing his head to the side while Pierce’s hand moves up and down,
gradually tightening and picking up speed. Brock’s hands fist the bedspread and
he feels his toes curl before heat suddenly rushes through him, towards his
belly, erupting in spasms that roll throughout his body, making him shake as
more moans pour past his lips.
“Very good,” Pierce nods, pulling away while Brock’s still panting. “Now spread
your legs for me.” Brock frowns, but Pierce’s patience is obviously wearing
thin. “Trust me.”
Brock bites his lip, but slowly does as he’s told, flinching when Pierce places
one hand on his chest, the other moving between his legs.
Two fingers push inside him, pain tearing through him, and he cries out,
thrashing and trying to pull away.
“Stop it!” he cries, but Pierce just pushes him into the bed. Brock’s eyes go
wide when those fingers push deeper, more sparks of pain ripping through him.
“Be a good boy,” he hisses and Brock whimpers, grasping at Pierce’s wrist. But
Pierce’s fingers just keep moving inside him, in and out, and he whines in pain
each time. 
Finally, Pierce pulls away, but Brock has no time to move before he’s frozen
again by the sound of Pierce’s zipper being pulled down. Pierce moves on top of
him, pressing his legs back, and all Brock can do is shake his head
desperately.
“Please stop,” he begs. He shoves at Pierce’s chest, but can’t bring himself to
use any real force. He feels more pressure between his legs, and when Pierce
forces his way into him, he screeches.
Pierce thrusts inside him, panting now, and Brock’s hands ball into fists as he
shoves at the man.
“Stop!” he yells, tears welling up and pouring down his cheeks. 
“You got yours already,” Pierce mutters, his voice thick and ragged. “You’ve
gotten so much from me, and now it’s time for me to get mine. Now be good, and
take it.”
Brock sobs, but his hands suddenly feel weak, the fight bleeding out of him
with each painful thrust. “It hurts…” he whimpers. Pierce just scoffs.
“Pain builds character. You’ll get used to that.”
Brock squeezes his eyes shut, more whines and whimper falling from his lips.
Pierce’s hand runs through his hair and Brock feels lips against his neck, but
they only make him sob more. And yet he still can’t help but drink up each soft
touch and each tender word that Pierce begins to murmur to him, telling him
he’s a good boy, telling him this is just the first step, telling him he’ll be
taken care of for the rest of his life, as long as he behaves.
When Pierce finally goes still, Brock groans at the wetness inside him, nausea
turning his stomach. But Pierce still pets his hair, and Brock whimpers when a
soft kiss is placed against his cheek as the man pulls out, one last flare of
pain wracking Brock’s body before a dull ache settles in.
“See? That wasn’t so bad,” Pierce smiles. Brock glances up at him, but says
nothing. Pierce sighs, cupping Brock’s cheek gently and wiping away a few stray
tears. “It only hurts the first few times. You’ll learn to enjoy it, I
promise.”
Brock shakes his head, whimpering. He never wants to do that again, he never
wants to enjoy it! But Pierce just hushes him with a kiss to his forehead, and
Brock bites his tongue.
“Get cleaned up, and rest a while,” Piece says. “When you feel better, I’ll
take you out to eat.”
“Ok.” Brock doesn’t know why he says it. Doesn’t know why that, of all the
things bubbling just under the surface in him now, that’s the only thing to
rise to the top. It doesn’t even sound like his own voice, but Pierce nods all
the same, petting down Brock’s body one more time.
“You’re a good boy,” he murmurs, standing and straightening his clothes. “That
will serve you well with me.”
Brock barely manages to nod, staying perfectly still until he hears the door
close behind Pierce. As soon as he’s alone, another sob drags out of him, and
he rolls onto his side, reaching out for one of the pillows and tucking it
close against his chest.
It’s his own fault, he thinks as he lays there, curled around a pillow that
isn’t his, in a bed that isn’t his, surrounded by cast off clothes that he
could never have bought for himself. It’s his own damn fault for thinking that
all this wouldn’t come with a price.
He digs his teeth into the pillow, barely resisting the urge to tear it open.
He’s never going to be that stupid again.
End Notes
     You can find me on tumblr at moonsofavalon.tumblr.com
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