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It hasn’t been more than twenty-four hours since Zemo’s effortless prison break, and Bucky is at his limit and regretting he's part in it.
He snatches the red leather-bound notebook from Zemo’s possession who makes no protest at the aggressive response. Much to Bucky’s frustration, the man appears amused.
Since the international criminal’s seamless escape from prison, he has made goading Sam and Bucky his favourite hobby. All the more frustrating is that his little barbs are disguised beneath layers of wit and shrewdness and so casually articulated that oftentimes it takes them both a moment to process and appropriately react when they realise what has been said. By then, Zemo is already prattling on about something else and they are left with little option but to scowl at the man.
Nevertheless, Zemo’s antagonistic inclinations, particularly toward Bucky, are proving difficult to ignore despite Sam’s occasional words to mitigate rising tensions. They are all on edge, perhaps excluding their merry companion. Bucky’s leg jitters and he clenches his fists in an effort to dampen the anger of an old grudge.
He is well aware Zemo baits him and takes delight in the act, and with each sly comment spoken with the intention to provoke him, Bucky feels his self-control erode, whether to Zemo’s knowledge or not. He doesn’t know how much longer it’ll be until he snaps.
Zemo has since engaged in a surprisingly civil conversation with Sam, discussing music of all things. Bucky couldn’t care so long as the Sokovian doesn’t use him for sport again. But even now, he can’t relax around the man despite his attention being engaged elsewhere. His senses are acute and wired. In a state of constant alertness, though he tries to act otherwise.
When Zemo excuses himself to use the restroom, a sudden idea flares to life in Bucky’s mind. There’s no pause to consider whether he should, there’s only the impulse. He counts the seconds; one, two, three. And it’s on the fifteenth that he rises from the plush armchair and makes for the bathroom.
“Bucky—” Sam warns.
“It’s fine,” he dismisses, ignoring Sam’s eyes following him toward the rear of the cabin.
To his surprise, the door isn’t locked, but that only makes it all the easier. Bucky slips into the bathroom and flips the latch to ensure they’re not interrupted.
It is a spacious bathroom, and to be expected on a private plane. Zemo is at the basin washing his hands. He glances up and acknowledges Bucky in the mirror's reflection.
“Were you impatient to use the restroom, James?” Zemo asks, grabbing a towel to dry his hands. “Or did you want to be spared Samuel’s disapproval of our little exchange?”
“It’s Bucky,” he corrects, “and Sam, for that matter. We have preferred names. I don’t want to hear any more of this James crap.”
“You are James Buchanan Barnes, are you not? Your friends call you Bucky. I would not presume to be afforded the luxury to call you such, so it is only appropriate that I call you by your given name.”
Bucky hates to admit that Zemo is correct. He is no friend of his, that’s for damn sure, and with that in mind, he doesn’t want to extend the Baron licence to use it casually. But there is something about the way the husky Sokovian accent pronounces his name that makes his skin itch.
Bucky decidedly offers no reply and Zemo accepts his silence with a smug smirk. He turns around and addresses Bucky directly.
“So how will this play out?” Zemo ask, splaying his hands wide before him. “Will you throw me against the wall? Hit me? Kill me?”
“Is that what this has been about from the beginning? You want me to kill you?”
Zemo chuckles. “My death will come for me one day, as it does for us all. But by your hands? No.”
“How can you be so sure?” Bucky flexes his vibranium hand none too subtly, drawing the Baron’s attention.
Zemo smiles but it isn’t mocking. “But could you live with yourself, James? Your list is long indeed, and I would not want to add another burden to your conscience.”
“What would you know?”
“My dear James. I know of the cruelty and suffering you experienced at the hands of your masters. And I know you shoulder the burden of those atrocious acts they forced you to commit as if you did so of your own volition.”
Bucky scoffs. “Wow, Zemo, it almost sounds like you care.”
“I do,” the man affirms. “In an unforeseeable turn of events, I now have an invested interest in your wellbeing. More than what other interested parties would claim to have.”
“Yeah? Well, you have a sick way of showing it.”
“On the contrary, do you consider the actions of those you call friends any better?”
Bucky frowns. He doesn’t know where this is headed, but knowing Zemo’s tendency to get under his skin, he knows he won’t like it.
“Tell me, James, how is it that Steve Rogers’ happy ending didn’t include you in it?”
Bucky’s expression shutters immediately. They’re treading on a sensitive subject, and one he doesn’t like to address with others when he can avoid it, let alone himself, and Zemo wields Steve’s name like a weapon.
Heedless of the careful blankness of Bucky’s expression, Zemo continues. “This is true, is it not? As it is written in histories texts, the bond you both shared withstood a millennium. He defied the world for you, James. And when the world you both so nobly sacrificed your lives for was assured peace and you could finally fashion the future you so desired, he chose another.” Zemo tilts his head, peering at the motionless soldier, analysing his microexpressions. “Isn’t that so—”
Zemo isn’t afforded another second to finish before he’s slammed up against the wall, Bucky’s arm pressed against his neck. Nose to nose they can sense their quickened breaths buffet each other’s face, and they can read the shock and anger in the others eyes.
“You like hearing yourself talk, don’t you?” Bucky hisses, his voice quivering. “It’s got me thinking if there’s another use for that smart mouth of yours.”
“James—“ the Baron wheezes.
“Заткнись!”
Zemo swallows thickly and Bucky can feel the bob of his throat under his arm. There’s an undeniable satisfaction at having the man at his mercy, quiet and yielding. He should have done this sooner. Put Zemo in his place and leash his stray tongue.
“An invested interest in my wellbeing, you said.” He leans back marginally to regard the Sokovian with calculated interest. “Well, Helmut, Покажи мне, чего стоит твоё слово.”
Bucky doesn’t know what to expect, but he knows what he wants. He wants Zemo beneath his hands. Submissive, but willing. Muzzled, preferably. Any other time he would feel ashamed of this desire, but he’s one comment away from breaking the man’s jaw. If he doesn’t take care of this now, there’s no guarantee what he’ll do.
He releases the pressure against Zemo’s throat and takes a shuddering breath. Then, without further provocation on Bucky’s part, Zemo sinks to his knees and Bucky watches as the man’s dexterous fingers work the fly of his pants open and pulls his cock free, hard and fierce with need. There's no second guessing, no rational pause to consider if they are prepared to cross this line with each other. They were far beyond that. Then Zemo licks the head of his cock.
A hiss passes Bucky's lips. He can’t remember the last time he touched himself, let alone allowed someone else to. A smirk plays on Zemo’s lips as if he, too, suspects the same, and it makes Bucky silently question who has the power here before his cock is swallowed whole.
He cries out, hands fisting in Zemo’s hair, seeking a physical tether. God, it’s almost too much, he thinks. Something so simple almost has him coming undone and he’s loathed to give the Baron that satisfaction so easily. But Zemo isn’t a man of half measures, that much is certain as Bucky watches him.
He bobs on Bucky’s cock, cheeks hollowing as he sucks. As he does, his devilish tongue slips and slides up and down his aching length. It shouldn’t surprise Bucky that Zemo is as silver-tongued here as he is with his words. And as if to justify his adeptness, Zemo swirls his tongue about the top of Bucky’s cock, and the hand in his hair grips tighter.
Fuck, he looks pretty like this, Bucky thinks. Peering up at him, heavy-lidded, his lips stretched around his girth. Then he does something truly obscene. Eyes locked and open-mouthed, Zemo leisurely drags his tongue down the length and back and down again until he stops to suckle beneath the base of Bucky’s cock. Bucky’s vibranium fist collides with the wall, not caring that he leaves a dent. He clenches his stomach, trying to hold back.
“Open. Now,” he growls, and obediently, Zemo welcomes him.
He bucks into the scorching heat of the Baron’s mouth and hears the man gag, prodding the back of his throat. Any guilt he should feel is overwhelmed with hunger, but he’s not without control. Carefully, he rolls his hips, steadying the Baron’s head and revelling in the sensation as his throat opens for him. Zemo is complacent throughout, enthusiastically so, working his tongue in tandem with Bucky’s thrusts.
He’s close. Fuck, he was close from the beginning, but he can’t hold out anymore.
“I’m gonna—” Bucky warns, but then he’s spending himself into the open mouth.
Dazedly, he watches the man swallow his spend and feels oddly satisfied. Zemo sits back on his heels and wipes the corners of his mouth with the mannerism of someone who has just finished a Michelin star meal. Bucky tucks himself away and steps back to allow the man space.
Bucky never used to have a problem with pillow talk and thought himself pretty good at it, but then again, he has never hate-fucked his enemy's mouth before either. Zemo thankfully saves him the concern, rising to his feet with a smirk that reads ‘the cat that ate the canary’. Only Bucky is the canary.
“It appears you got your happy ending,” Zemo says, smoothing back his unkempt hair.
Bucky’s buzz dissolves immediately, replaced by the sudden desire to throttle the smug man. Instead, he crushes their mouths together.
It’s tactless, all teeth and tongue and deliciously filthy. Bucky can taste himself but he doesn’t care. It only excites his satiated need once more. He shoves Zemo up against the wall and is upon him again. He kisses the breath from Zemo’s lungs until they’re panting into each other's mouths.
Out of curiosity, his hand wanders down to grope the prominent arousal in Zemo’s pants and squeezes teasingly. He almost smiles when Zemo moans and holds onto him fiercely. He continues to tease the smaller man, delighting in his reception to his touch, but he won't give the man the satisfaction. With a final and shameless caress, Bucky steps back.
Zemo slumps against the wall, lips red and wet, and still in a state of disarray that Bucky wants to see more often. They stare at each other, a silent exchange passing between them. This won’t be the last time, and they both know it.
With that known, Bucky turns his back and leaves Zemo to fix himself, closing the bathroom door behind him. He falls into his designated chair and doesn’t bother to acknowledge Sam. He doesn’t think Sam suspects, but then again, Sam isn’t stupid either.
They sit there without a word, the ambient droning of high altitude filling the silence.
Eventually, Sam looks up from the magazine he is no doubt pretending to read. “Do I wanna know?”
“No,” Bucky replies curtly, and Sam doesn’t press the topic further.
It’s several minutes later Zemo rejoins them and, for once, without the need to announce his presence or make a witty quip. Bucky pointedly ignores him for the remainder of the flight, which somehow transpires in relative silence. But now and then he senses the Baron’s eyes glance over at him, and he has to resist doing the same.