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A Better Ride

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“I could get you a better one, if this ride isn’t to your liking, James.”

Although he could hear Zemo’s voice perfectly over the wind, Bucky ignored him. Or tried to, anyway. He may be in the driver’s seat of the stolen motorcycle, he had no control over his treacherous body’s reaction to his passenger, and even less control over the passenger in question. He could feel Zemo’s fur collar against his nape, a teasing brush of luxurious softness that might have distracted him had the baron himself not been plastered against him from thigh to brow.

Bucky wished he could have snapped at him to keep a polite distance, or something, but his passenger wasn’t a supersoldier, and would probably get very hurt if he got thrown off the bike at such speeds. Now that Bucky thought about it, the baron should be wearing an actual helmet, not that purple mask he fancied so much that merely hid his face. Of course, a helmet wouldn’t shield him from bullets. Unless it was made out of vibranium, but Bucky wasn’t in T’Challa or Shuri’s good books these days.

He pushed the bike harder, and felt Zemo’s grip tighten reflexively.

“A fan of speed, aren’t you, James?”

Bucky was mostly a fan of keeping Zemo all in one piece, but the baron must know that already. He just enjoyed riling up Bucky - without the specific words that would make it cheating. Ever since Bucky had broken his former handler out of jail, he’d been subjected to so much playful jesting and casual touching that he was always a thread of self-control away from grabbing the flirty man by the throat and wipe that knowing smirk with a bruising kiss.

Zemo was practically begging for such a shift in their association. The way he held on so tightly to Bucky wasn’t merely a display of survival instincts. Zemo wasn’t afraid. He clearly wasn’t concerned for his own life at all, Bucky realized when one of Zemo’s hands migrated down his leather-padded chest to rest on his right thigh instead.

“Stop that, Zemo.”

The baron’s adventurous hand flew back to Bucky’s waist as the bike swerved abruptly off the main road. Bucky zigzagged between trees and bushes, heading for the small stretch of river a few yards away. He could feel every inch of Zemo pressed against him through leather and jeans and linen, could feel the heat of him, familiar and vulnerable, and there was so much adrenaline in his veins he felt light-headed from it.

Bucky accelerated abruptly and held his breath as the motorcycle lifted off the riverbank and glided over the not-quite-so-narrow stretch of river. The harsh landing must have rattled Zemo’s very bones, but the baron’s voice was joyful if a little breathy when it reached Bucky’s ears.

“That was close.”

His heart was beating very fast now, and Bucky assumed that the excitement of almost dying every few minutes for a whole day was catching up with even an adrenaline junky such as him. Breaking into a Hydra base, dismantling their informatic equipment, and setting the bomb that had turned it all into ruins had been as natural for Zemo as incapacitating the armed opposition had been for him. Natural, but exhausting. They worked hard and well as a team…

… and it was increasingly obvious to Bucky that there was already more to their association than revenge, and his constant concern for a man who’d once used him as a mean to an end - and whom Bucky had treated exactly the same not so long ago - made it a challenge to focus on the mission. Which was far from ideal right now, with a hoard of Hydra goons in pursuit, bullets flying all around, civilians moving out of the way much too slowly, and the authorities and Shield hot on their tracks.

Now was not a good moment for Bucky to consider how much breathier he could make Zemo, but apparently, he was skilled at multitasking even out of the Winter Soldier’s mindset.

“Hold on!” he told the baron as he drove the bike straight through a window.

Zemo was already making his best impression of an octopus, and yet the crash through glass and the harsh descent that followed almost threw the baron off his seat.

Bucky’s metal arm let go of the handlebar just as Zemo was about to fly off.

“I said: hold on.”

Zemo huffed. “I only have average human strength, James,” he said, but he didn’t sound exactly displeased, and he made no effort to shake off Bucky’s grip.

Maybe he wanted a mark there, a bruise in the shape of Bucky’s hand to treasure in the skin of his bicep.

Bucky sure wanted to leave one.

“We’re almost there,” he said, rather than all the other things that would expose the way he felt.

He didn’t let go of Zemo’s arm for the seventeen minutes it took for them to lose their tail, and when he turned off the engine and got off the bike, he did so with his fingers still wrapped around the baron’s arm, lifting the other man off his seat with familiar ease, eyes raking over the other man’s form for wounds.

“You didn’t get shot somewhere I can’t see, did you?” His nostrils flared at the flicker of pain in Zemo’s eyes. He waited impatiently for the other man to take off his mask. “I don’t smell fresh blood, but-”

“James.”

“Yes?”

Zemo covered Bucky’s metal hand with his own. “You may want to spread the use of your strength over space rather than time.”

Bucky released Zemo’s arm at once, and flinched at the expression of relief on the baron’s face. “Sorry.” The reason for the apology felt like barbwire was caught in his throat. “It’s-”

“You only half-listened to what I said, James.” Fondness laced the words. There was fondness in Zemo’s features, as well, softening all those edges sharpened by sorrow and determination under the moonlight. “This part of my body is well marked now, but the rest of me has yet to be claimed by you, James.”

These words may be just words, and yet Bucky felt like a door was being unlocked in his mind. In the next heartbeat, he was on Zemo, almost tearing the baron’s coat to pieces in an effort to get to skin faster.

“I am not attached to the rest of my clothes,” Zemo clarified, lips caressing the shell of Bucky’s ear.

With a low groan, Bucky stopped trying to be careful - with the clothes. Only when Zemo stood naked in front of him did he slow down, torn between want and concern at the sight of the purple mark he’d carved in the other man’s skin.

Zemo didn’t look or sound torn at all. “You look amazing in leather,” he said firmly, pushing Bucky’s leather coat off his shoulders, “and I shall buy you a new outfit with no bullet holes in it. Or several, since we can’t exactly visit my tailor that often.”

“I don’t care about the clothes.” Bucky lifted Zemo off the ground with one hand, the other already pushing the door of their safe house for the night.

With a strangled noise, Zemo gripped Bucky’s shoulders for supports, tights squeezing around Bucky’s waist on instinct. The hard line of Zemo’s cock against his belly - the heat of his ass in the palm of his hand - wiped Bucky’s mind clean of everything that wasn’t the man he held. He didn’t even try to find the bed or the couch, just lay Zemo down on the first horizontal surface he could find that wasn’t the floor.

“The table kitchen.” Zemo panted as Bucky spread his legs wide with barely any effort. “I’ve always found the idea appealing-”

“What idea?” Bucky tore at his own pants. A sliver of amusement glided through the haze of arousal at the flash of disapproval on Zemo’s face. “Tell me.”

Zemo licked his lips. His hair was a mess, his lips were shiny with spit, his eyes dark pools of wonder, and they’d barely started.

“For all that I usually despite any and all display of super soldier strength, I must confess I’ve always been eager to feel yours for myself, дорогой.”

If Bucky thought he was aroused before, it was nothing compared to now.

“Your mouth,” he gasped, and took a fistful of Zemo’s hair, pulling at the other man’s hair just hard enough to watch his eyelids flutter close and his lips part on a moan. “Your fucking mouth.”

Zemo’s eyes flashed open. “It is merely the part of me you like best so far because you are not acquainted with the rest,” he taunted in a hoarse whisper.

Bucky kissed him deep and hard then, laying claim to every inch of Zemo’s mouth while he let his hands roam over the baron’s chest and thighs. Zemo moaned into their kiss, and arched his back with a muffled groan as Bucky grew bolder and took hold of his erection. It was a conscious decision, to use his metal hand, and he wrapped the vibranium digits around Zemo’s straining cock, leashing his strength as best he could as Zemo returned the favor.

“Очень… приятно.” Zemo’s hips bucked wildly. “Yes, да, perfect…”

Bucky picked up speed, still careful about his strength. He’d had half a mind to find something that passed for lube around here, but Zemo was leaking so much it was hardly necessary. He wanted to taste him, so much, but it would mean taking his metal hand off him - and his other hand had already ventured past the other man’s soft sack, teasing the silky skin of his taint. Zemo was making the most beautiful noises, and he wanted more, and he got more as soon as he tightened his grip the tiniest bit on the baron’s dick.

“Fuck, you’re not kidding,” he managed to get out, and mouthed at Zemo’s throat, worrying the tender skin over his pulse point, marking him there, as well. “You really like it.”

“I…” Zemo’s other hand slammed down onto the wood of the table almost hard enough to crack it. “I really… like you, James.”

Bucky spilled in Zemo’s fist with a choked whimper. A second later, Zemo reached his own climax, and Bucky felt the warm slickness of his lover’s cum trickle down his metal fingers and wrist. He rested his brow against Zemo’s, heart pounding for more than one reason.

Lover.

“Do not worry about naming this, James.” Zemo cupped his cheek with his free hand, the caress as soft as the look in his eyes. “I promised you I would never again use any word to control you.”

“You don’t need to use words to have a hold on me,” James said, but there was no anger in his tone, and later, when he rode Zemo's cock in the cheap bed upstairs with their fingers interlaced, there truly was only one word for the feeling blooming in his chest.