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Little movements, twists and presses forward, his cold nose rubbing rhythmically into the meat of his thigh; enough to make it look like he was lavishing attention on him, salacious and indulgent groans of pleasure barely muffled by the heavy material of his tactical trousers.
To anyone else, it would look convincing. There was not a single doubt in his mind that Zemo was putting every ounce of effort into making it look uncomfortably intimate for a shadowed corner in a seedy club's backroom. Booming music droned on in the background, breaking through the air in sharp bursts as the door was opened and closed, the rustle of clothing and idle chatter as people passed them without much thought. Except for the one.
He didn’t know when these social-climbing scumbags would learn that he was off the market. It would almost be enough to make him lose his temper if his mind wasn’t grappling with the fact that it had led him here: Zemo on his knees in front of him, debauched moans and stunted little rolls of his hips into the air.
It was clear that this was an act Zemo was extremely familiar with, or at least had been at one point in his life. The barest touch of muscle memory lingered in the press of the other's head back into his hands; hazy images of pretty men in crisp shirts and suspenders stirred.
He allowed his fingers to flex that little tighter into the silky strands, caught in a type of misplaced awe at the softness he found there. In the precious seconds his mind pulled towards thoughts of the past, Zemo lurched forward as if suddenly unbalanced, his head tilting in his grip as though jarred at a different angle by his own hands and his chin dug firmly into the zip of his pants, a gargling retch so magnificently realistic coming from the man in front of him that Bucky had to look down to confirm the other hadn't shoved something down his throat for the sake of appearances.
The <oh fuck,> soft and whimsical, that leaves Bucky's mouth might well have come out without the press of unwanted eyes. He couldn't tell; all he knew was that Zemo was continuing those suggestive little twirls of his head, frustrated and wanton groans thick and suppressed in his throat loud enough to sound choked out.
And he looked absolutely ruined. Not in the way that came with being deliciously and thoroughly facefucked in the danger zone as unsavoury criminals hovered nearby would, but in the lustful debauchery in his eyes as they flicked up to Bucky’s, half-lidded and blown dark. A heated blush spread out over his cheeks, nose long gone warm against the crease where crotch met thigh though be it from the friction of frantic rubbing or a product of his desire-flushed skin, was a question Bucky didn’t need the answer to.
He grit his teeth as he tore his eyes away, throwing his head back into the wall behind him with a deep, heaving breath, and hoped with everything in him that today wouldn't be the day his cock would decide to come out of retirement after several decades inactivity. Because it was feeling like it was going to be a close call; those wonderful moans coupled with soft hair shifting in his grip, the warm breath the other huffed out through his nose directly against the open zip of his pants. Fuck.
Zemo’s hands, which until that moment had been resting on his lap, trailed up the sides of Bucky’s legs in a single, slow stroke. Fingers provided enough pressure to the knife strapped to his outer calf by the ample straps on his boots to let him know that Zemo had taken the time to familiarise himself with where it was, should he suddenly need it.
They stopped when they got to his hips, open palms warm and firm gliding around until they were gripping around the back of his thighs; the muscles in his arms flexed as if to mimic a yearning, pulsing grasp that Bucky barely felt the ghost of on his actual body.
He had known the other man was a performer and he was holding up his end of it exceptionally well… too well. Bucky could feel the flames of desire kindling in his lower stomach, the type of sensitive ache that made him want to retreat and chase in equal measure.
So little separated them. One thick layer of denim and a thin layer of cotton. Not even that, with his fly spread open. He could almost imagine he felt the heat from the other’s mouth soak into his skin. It was dangerous to entertain the idea, that those pretty, vocal lips pressed together in an imitation of being muffled by skin was a small head tilt away from closing around the fabric of his boxers and pressing all that sleek, liquid warmth directly onto him.
The moan that he let out then was no less real than the last one; the sudden up kick in his heart was neither. Most incriminating was that his cock seemed to actually be twitching to life; where the rest could all be passed off as acting, that certainly couldn’t.
When he saw the man they were waiting for finally approach them, a sob of frustration almost took the place of another moan. It had been so long since his body had provided him with the sensation and selfishly he wanted to embrace it. He ground his teeth together and tried to push away just how much he wanted Zemo to continue until he eventually, eventually put those lips where Bucky wanted them most.
“He’s eager, isn’t he?”
Bucky didn’t reply; the man was talking to Zemo, not him. The Soldier wouldn’t reply even if it was directed at him, and that was who they all seemed to think he was around here. The Soldier on the messy Baron’s leash, ready to be reclaimed by those whose links to his previous owners were tenuous at best and delusions of grandeur at worst.
They couldn’t help themselves. They kept their distance as he and Zemo stood observing the room, eyes full of venom and desire to elevate themselves above their station. With no illusions of how they would fair in combat, they awaited their chances to pounce fervently. Every time, without fail; he was long past being surprised that they hadn’t learned the lesson from their fallen comrades.
Their presence wasn’t always apparent when they were out doing reconnaissance, but it put one Hell of a spanner in the works when they did. Usually, it wouldn’t have taken this much; a suggestive wink and a curl of Zemo’s leather-clad fingers, the suggestive motion towards a backdoor corridor or alleyway. Maybe, if they were inexperienced enough to be cautious, a small stroke of a hand over his cheek, sell the product.
It never usually went this far; the asshole had lingered by the doorway, proficient enough to know when to wait for a proper opportunity rather than get lured by suggestion, stupid enough to still be tempted; he waited for the chance to run his knife across Zemo’s neck and steal him away like a thief in the night.
Zemo's hands had stroked up his chest, warm and mailable, a quick glance over his shoulder to the one who followed at a distance, be it intentionally provocative or a silent invitation left in the air between them and the man, then his eyes were flicking back to Bucky, dark and seductive.
A part of him expected him to say <I’m going to use you, Soldier,> in his low, gravelly Russian that effortlessly induced such a haze in his mind. Instead, Zemo had shoved him back into the raw-brick wall, his knees had hit concrete, cushioned enough by his stitched in kneepads that the dull thump hadn’t sounded painful, and his hands were tugging open his belt as Bucky watched, raptured.
The man lurked closer, coming into the room. A lust for power as well as sex swirled in his expression. Thank goodness for low lighting.
<Soldier.> That time his voice expressed what Bucky had already seen play out across his face. Zemo was completely ruined; it soaked into his words and dripped from his lips. Wet. <Show him a good time.>
The man smirked in response, his Russian comprehension good enough to pick up on the suggestion in the words as he took a final step forward… directly into the knife that Zemo’s dexterous fingers removed from his boot.
.
When all was said and done, and Zemo stood a little too gracefully from his knees, there was a moment of collected silence.
Zemo quirked an eyebrow as he made a show of trailing his eyes painfully slow down the front of Bucky's body, coming to rest on the obvious bulge in his pants before trailing back up again with a smile of approval. He was so pleased with himself that it could be considered indecent. "Enjoy yourself?"
Bucky narrowed his gaze, tilting his chin towards the exit sharply, and kicked the crumpled form on the floor by his feet as he started towards the door. “Just move.”