Archive of Our Own ^beta

Zemo smiled at James. “Trouble?”

“I’m going to help Sharon with the preparations,” Sam said as he sighed and moved towards the stairs. Halfway up, he turned to them. “For the love of all that is good in this world, please don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

He sounded utterly done with everything. James didn’t blame him. He felt the same way. He'd noticed something was off when they had gotten to Sharon's. Sometimes the moments came after something triggered his PTSD. Sometimes they just came without warning. 

“Of course not,” Zemo reassured him. The grunt Sam gave didn’t sound convincing. 

He had to focus on masking it. Luckily Sam hadn't noticed and was leaving just in time for him to wait out the episode. Zemo was of course still a problem.

“James?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” he muttered, eyes trained on the baron.

The door closed behind him, but Zemo held his gaze, drinking on quietly. When he set down his glass, he glanced at the floor and cleared his throat. “What Sharon said, I—”

“Shut up, Zemo.” Better to stop him before he even had the chance to start. Besides, he needed the quiet right now. He’d already felt his mind spiraling when he’d sat down on the damn sofa. None of the words exchanged thereafter had made him feel any better. All those comments... the pet psychopath... killed everybody he'd ever met...

He had to stop thinking about it. But he knew that never worked. Now wasn't the best time though. The episodes usually hit him at night, or after therapy. He hoped his shrink never noticed that.

He hoped Zemo didn’t notice it now. The way his thoughts melted like sand between his fingers. He couldn’t focus on anything other than that exchange. Not that it was Sharon’s or Sam’s fault. They’d been  joking. Making light-hearted jests. Nothing deep or anything. And yet it haunted him still. And he was alone—

“You have never been a psychopath in my eyes. Even less so a pet.”

Bucky sighed and let his eyes close to hold back the sudden spike of rage that threatened to spill out, his vibranium fingers twitching against his hand. He couldn’t deal with the baron right now. “Zemo.”

“The others do not understand what you have gone through—”

Bucky glared at him, this time unable to hold back. “And you do?”

He gave a half nod. “I like to think so.”

“If there is a single person on this godforsaken earth that knows me the least, it would be you.” He got up and turned to the wardrobe, pretending to look for something appropriate to wear for the party. What he really needed was the feel of fabric between his fingers to ground him.

Killed everybody.

“James. I know you’re having an episode. I can see your shaking fingers from here.”

James cursed under his breath. Of all the people that could have noticed, it had to be fucking Zemo. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if he wanted Zemo to leave or if he wanted him to stay.

Maybe he can help.

Maybe he’ll make everything worse.

“I’m sorry.” He heard Zemo get up behind him. James’ heart was racing in his chest as he gripped one of the shirts. God help me if that man steps any closer. “I spend a lot of time observing others. My fascination with you doesn’t help.”

James was kept staring at the open wardrobe. “I told you to shut up.”

His fingers were still shaking. And Zemo was stepping closer. Close enough to really see it now. See him vulnerable. They both knew he could use it to his advantage. The fucking baron could say the words right now and Bucky was sure his months in Wakanda would have amounted to nothing. Nada.

He could almost hear the words like ghosts behind his ears.

He whipped his head to his left but there was just the dark window. He swore he had heard someone whisper from next to him.

“James.” As soon as the hand touched his right shoulder, he grabbed it and twisted, whirling Zemo around and smacking him stomach-first against the nearest wall, arm pressed to his back.

James leaned forwards, resting his right hand against next to his face, and whispered in his ear. “The next word out of your mouth I swear will be your last.”

Zemo panted with his cheek pressed against the wall, but at least didn’t speak. When their gaze met, James realized how close they were. He was just about to let him go when Zemo’s free hand grasped his wrist.

“What are you—” James looked at the hand wrapped around his wrist, the touch firm. Though he hated the guy, it was oddly grounding. His hand was warm.

James met his steadfast gaze. It was like his eyes were ordering him to calm down. But that was definitely just his imagination. The baron’s breathing was obnoxiously loud.

He leaned back and Zemo used the occasion to turn and face him. He didn't say a word as he lifted his hand to press it against his chest.

James could have snapped again. Should have, maybe. But he froze instead.

He was clearly still out of it, after hallucinating that whispering.

Zemo’s loud breaths brought him back to the present.

That’s when James realized he was breathing like that on purpose. Because he wanted James to breathe along with him.

“Don’t tell me what do to.”

He thought he saw Zemo’s lips twitch into a smirk for half a second. He put more pressure on his chest, and his loud breathing continued. He hated that the touch was soothing in a way he couldn’t put to words.

Fine.

James slowed his breaths, forcing himself to go along, breathing in through the nose, holding it for a few seconds, and out through the mouth. Just as his therapist had told him to do. Not that he had ever followed the advice.

His heartbeat started slowing down.

“Better?” Zemo asked, finally breaking his silence.

James wanted to slap him, knock him against the wall. But instead, he continued breathing with him. The spiraling sensation finally dimmed and he felt like was back in the present.

He met his gaze. “You’re playing with fire, Zemo. You better watch yourself or you’ll end up with a couple of broken bones.”

“Didn’t Sharon and Sam just say something about not getting into any trouble?” He sighed, eyes darting to his lips. “I won’t make any trouble if you don’t.”

“You’re the one—”

“Causing all your troubles?” A smile appeared on his lips. “Now we both know that’s not true, James. Didn't I just help you?”

“Fine. Most of my troubles.”

Zemo gave him a look. “You give me too much credit. Twenty percent, at most.”

“At least fifty.”

“Forty?”

James chuckled in disbelief as he looked around the room. “Fine. Forty.”

“Believe me, James, I will do everything in my power to lower that number.”

“Sure you will.” James sighed. He felt so much better now. “Like you don’t secretly enjoy it.”

He thought he saw Zemo’s breath falter for a second before he gathered himself again, tilting his head ever so slightly with that little frown. “Bold of you to assume.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

Zemo gazed up at him with the hint of a smile. “Hmm. Touché.”

“See?” James whispered, feeling a smile on his own lips. “Well, good thing I don’t mind it.”

James’ grin only grew at Zemo’s quick inhale, at the dart of his eyes to his lips. The way the grasp on his shirt tightened momentarily, like an instinct. His hand was still pressing against his chest, he realized.

As if realizing it at the same time, Zemo looked down at his hand. “You are very warm.”

They stood there for a while longer, neither pulling back. Both slowly realizing the same thing at the same time.

That he could move away any time. As could Zemo.

But neither did.

“Zemo…” James started. But Zemo kept his gaze on his chest. It was getting harder to breathe. He didn’t want to go, but all of his rationale was yelling at him to step away before it was too late. “Look at me, Zemo.” That did it. His gaze lifted to meet Bucky’s, faces inches apart. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” Zemo whispered.

“You know what.” James lifted his vibranium hand to ghost along Zemo’s throat. James watched him tense up before bringing his hand to the back of his neck, pulling him just a tad closer before holding him in place.

Zemo’s voice was barely a croak. “I could ask you the same thing, James.”

“And what am I doing?” James asked innocently as he leaned in slowly, watching Zemo’s lips part ever so slightly. He paused to smile in satisfaction. Zemo tilted up towards him, but he wrapped his fingers in his hair and pulled his head back.

Zemo almost growled at him. “Do it, James.”

“Do what?” James asked in feigned ignorance.

Zemo’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t say anything. He probably knew if he gave away how much he wanted this, Bucky was just going to toy with him more. Too bad James could tell by his breathing, his pulse, and those heart eyes, that he was already a lost cause.

“Whatever you want,” Zemo said.

Then Zemo dared another attempt, with more fire this time. Their lips barely brushed before Bucky yanked his hair back fast enough to make him gasp in surprise.

“No, Zemo,” James scolded, despite the smirk on his face.

“Please?” he breathed, staring at his lips.

James couldn’t believe it. How long had Zemo been thinking about this?

For a moment he considered how this gave him the advantage for once. That the baron’s neediness could be used against him.

If only he didn’t feel the exact same way.

James cupped his cheek while still holding his neck. “I’m the one in control now, you understand?”

Zemo tried to nod but Bucky’s grasp was too tight. “Y- yes,” he managed to whisper.

“Good.”

James captured his lips, refusing to let Zemo set the pace. It was James who first rolled his tongue into Zemos’ mouth, who elicited his little moan of surprise. But Zemo was fast to reciprocate, hands aimlessly trying to find purchase, grasping at Bucky’s shirt.

James marched backwards, pulling Zemo along with him, not breaking the kiss as he moved towards the sofa and pushed Zemo down on it. The baron pulled him down on top of him just as fast, knees encasing his legs as he dove back in.

At every roll of their tongue, Zemo made a little sound, rolling his hips like he was desperate for more. James had never come down so fast from an episode only to feel like he was floating in bliss moments later. Zemo was like a fucking antidote. No, maybe a drug.

A door clanged. James wiped his mouth and stood fast as the wind, Zemo still completely out of it, sprawled back on the couch, his eyes glazed over, his breathing coming out in an unsteady rhythm.

Sam hurried down the stairs. “You guys alright?” he asked without really looking at them.

“Yeah,” James managed, surprising himself with his steady voice. He'd never felt this alive.

“The party is starting soon,” Sam told them, his back to the couch as he grabbed a glass of water. “Are you guys joining, or am I going to make a fool of myself on my own?”

“We’ll be there,” Zemo said, gazing up at James in a way that had his heart galloping. A gaze that meant only one thing: trouble.