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“Right. I’m exhausted,” Sam sighed as he put his phone away. One of the many pros of a jet like this was internet connection, but it seemed even Sam had had enough of scrolling around for hours. Not that the pros made up for the fact that Zemo had organized this flight. Or that it was his fucking plane.
James glanced outside as Sam rose to his feet and stretched. The sun had set, an ominous line of orange on the horizon, the clouds dark as they moved slowly below.
“Good night.”
“Yeah,” James managed to mumble as Sam made towards the back of the lounge. He tried not to think about the one person who would be left behind once Sam was through those doors.
James watched in solemn silence as he entered the cramped bedroom and the door shut with a whoosh behind him. Another dumbass pro of a jet like this. What useless luxury. He had no idea how Sam thought he could sleep on a plane. Let alone a plane with Zemo on it.
The very man he was now sharing the cabin with. Alone. What could go wrong?
Forcing a steady exhale, James dared to shoot him a glance, readjusting himself in his seat to get more comfortable. Zemo barely moved at all, still reading. James reckoned it was just a front. He was probably scheming.
He wondered if Zemo was going to say anything. Crack a joke, try to get a rise out of him, or just make conversation.
But he didn’t.
He quietly read on as if he wasn't even there.
James tugged at the collar of his sweater. The air had gotten warmer and his throat was dry. But even a swig of cool water did not ward off the uneasy feeling.
So he simply tried to ignore the claustrophobia as he leaned back and tried to find where he had stopped in his book.
He still had some catching up to do. He had followed Steve’s footsteps, listing movies, books, songs, anything he needed to catch up on. All in that little notebook Zemo had somehow snatched from him. At least now, the notebook was safely back in his own pocket. He had spent a good half hour after his confrontation with Zemo unable to concentrate on the words on the page, too busy trying to figure out at what point Zemo had pick-pocketed him. How he had known where the notebook even was. How long it had been gone. How much time Zemo had spent reading through it.
Bucky had come to the sure conclusion that Zemo must have read through all of it. Because only then would he have admitted that he had stolen it in the first place.
Zemo was smart that way. But he was also a complete idiot.
He could have just inconspicuously placed it back without a fuss. But no, he had to be all dramatic, to really rub it in that he had snatched it away like that.
The arrogance.
Focus.
James forced his attention back to the words on the page. Why did he keep thinking about Zemo? What was wrong with him?
He shook his head. He had to finish this book instead of thinking about Zemo of all things. Or the fact that he was now alone in the cabin with him. This tiny stupid cabin.
James tugged at his collar again but finally found his line. He didn’t have much more to read. He was on the last few chapters of Return of the King.
He shot up another glance at Zemo just to make sure he was still reading.
He was.
He went back to his own book. It was probably the descriptions of Mordor that were getting to him. He swore it was getting warmer.
James tried to regulate his breathing and ignore his sense of dread.
All the same, he couldn’t help but glance in Zemo’s direction every once in a while. He had to keep an eye on him after all. Check what he was up to. Because he always had something up his sleeve.
But he was reading, seemingly fully immersed in his novel, and didn’t utter a word.
It must have been around a good half hour after Sam had left them that it slowly dawned on James that this was maybe some twisted game in Zemo’s mind. Like a staring contest, only instead of the loser being the first to look away, the loser here would be the first to utter a word. A speaking contest. Who could hold their tongue the longest? Who would break first? Which of them would say the first word?
Nah, you're just making shit up, he told himself, forcing himself to keep reading.
They sat in quiet solitude for a whole hour.
At last, James gave up on his reading, placing the book aside to look out of the window. It was truly dark now. The only things he could make out were the blinking of the strobe lights and the stars.
“When are we landing?”
He hated that he had lost the game.
You just made the game up, he told himself. Zemo probably forgot you were even here.
“About five hours,” he replied. James glanced at him. He still had his eyes on his book. “Maybe you should get some sleep as well.”
Something between a grunt and a chuckle left his throat. “I don’t sleep much.”
“Nightmares?” Zemo asked, still reading.
James ignored him and looked back outside, biting the inside of his lip. His chest ached. Fucking Zemo with his stupid—
“I’m sorry,” Zemo muttered. James frowned but didn’t turn to him. His chest tightened further. How would Zemo know about the nightmares? Was James that transparent? Or was it just an easy guess? And why could Zemo read his discomfort so easily? Did this man have a degree in psychology? Was he just a psychopath? “If it is any consolation, I get them too.”
“It’s not,” he grumbled, glancing at Zemo without meaning to.
His breath faltered at the sight of Zemo gazing at him with those stupid eyes, no longer reading.
This flight was going to be the death of him. Forced in such close proximity with Zemo and for so many hours... And to think this had been his idea to begin with.
What a dumb idea breaking him out.
“And I’m sorry about your notebook.”
James gave him another look. “Like hell you are.”
Zemo tilted his head, placing his book in his lap. “I had noticed you taking it out when you thought I wasn’t looking, reading through it like some religious text. I may have overstepped with my curiosity.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of boundaries.”
Zemo gave him a smile. “I crossed a boundary. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you can say sorry all you want.” James forced himself to go back to reading even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on a single word if he tried.
“James.” There it was again, that tightening of his throat. That rush of ache in his chest.
This time James didn’t look up from his book, pretending that he didn’t care. Pretending that he could focus on anything other than Zemo. “What?”
“I was hoping to get some shut-eye myself. You are welcome to have the second bed in the bedroom, I can take the divan here,” he nodded at the couch behind his seat.
James frowned. “Okay? I don’t care.”
“Well, you wouldn’t mind if I dimmed the lights, would you?”
James sighed in annoyance as he set down the novel.
“If you wish to read, I understand. I can make do.”
“It’s fine.”
James went back to looking out of the window. He didn’t want to go into the back and risk waking Sam, but was sitting alone in the cabin while Zemo slept a few steps away any better?
Zemo turned down the lights to a soft blue. James watched from the corner of his eyes as Zemo settled onto the divan, attempting to make himself comfortable. When he was sure his eyes were closed fully, James allowed his head to turn fully watch him.
He didn’t look half bad like that, quiet, not creating havoc. Peaceful, almost. His eyes ran over his body, the way he had his one hand propping up the pillow, the way his chest moved at every breath.
Maybe breaking him out hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.
“I can feel your eyes on me, James,” Zemo mumbled without opening his eyes.
James immediately looked back outside, the stars suddenly very fascinating. He was glad for the dimmed lights when he felt his cheeks redden.
“Are you sure you do not want to sleep?”
He only gave a grunt in reply. In truth, he knew the moment he lay down somewhere, anywhere, he’d be gone instantly. But he couldn’t allow that. Not here and not with Zemo close by. He couldn’t risk nightmares or sleepwalking. At best they’d scare the shit out of Sam. At worst he might actually hurt someone.
Zemo opened his eyes again. James didn’t have to look to know it because he could feel his eyes now. “So, are you going to sit there and brood for the remaining hours of this flight?”
“Yeah,” he replied, disinterested.
“You are a mystery, James,” Zemo mumbled as he closed his eyes again.
James couldn’t help himself. His eyes darted back to him. It wasn’t like Zemo could magically know what it felt like for James, watching him lie there. It wasn't like Zemo could hear his heart pounding from across the cabin. His face looked so relaxing–
“James,” he warned again.
This time he didn’t look away. Even when Zemo finally reopened his eyes, James held his gaze without saying a word. With a small sigh, Zemo sat up against the wall. “Is there something you need?”
James ignored his question, keeping his gaze.
“What is it James? Why are you staring at me?”
James actually laughed before looking outside the window again. “I'm not staring.”
“And he lies to himself.”
James gave him a look. “I’m keeping an eye on you, making sure you don’t do any stupid shit.”
“Sure you are.”
Zemo reached into his jacket pocket and James braced himself. But he only pulled out a small notebook.
James frantically checked his own pocket before glaring at him. “You bastard.”
Zemo looked way too happy with himself. “You get sloppy around me, James.”
James actually chuckled through his rage, breaths measured as he stood and dangerously strode his way to Zemo, who looked as calm as anything, keeping his gaze.
James could barely hear anything over the rush of his heartbeat. Oh that man.
“I told you I would kill you.”
Zemo held the notebook up to him, beckoning him to take it. “Knock yourself out.”
Bucky snatched the notebook and tucked it away. “You wanna see what I can do? You wanna try me?”
“Give me all you’ve got, but try not to wake—”
He couldn’t finish his sentence before Bucky was on him. Zemo’s hands came up in instinctual self-defense. But that only helped James. He grabbed his wrists and twisted. Before he knew it, he had hauled Zemo’s whole body around, forcing him face down into the pillow, one of Bucky’s knees on his back pressing him into the divan so hard he could hardly breathe. James could tell from his wheezing gasps.
James bent down, his face only inches above Zemo’s. “Still wanna try me?”
Zemo struggled for air through his mouth. Surely he would give in—
“I’m always game... if you are.”
“God you’re hopeless. It’s almost like you want this.” When no reply came, it clicked in Bucky’s head. He relented his hold. “You have a problem.”
Zemo breathed hard as soon as the pressure on his chest subsided. Before he could snap a smart reply, Bucky grabbed his shoulders and flipped him back around, forcing him onto his back.
He inhaled sharply but James gave him no time to get away, bringing his knee back up to hold down his pelvis while he pressed his right arm across his chest, pushing him into the divan. Not hard enough to choke him, but hard enough to give him next to no wiggle room.
He lowered his face so close to Zemo’s that his hair would have grazed his forehead if he had kept it long. “What’s your endgame here Zemo, huh? You rile me up, I knock you down, and on and on, until you end up knocked out or dead?”
Zemo’s hand came to grasp at his arm across his chest, still breathing heavily, but he did not reply. Instead he merely gazed up into his eyes.
James pressed down harder. “Is it that you enjoy seeing me lash out? Do you get a kick from seeing me fight? Do you find gratification in getting under my skin?”
“I’m a masochist, James, not a sadist.”
Zemo’s whole body jerked when James punched the pillow right next to his head. Zemo glanced at the vibranium hand, only inches from his face. Now he looked afraid. Good.
“Stop taking my shit.”
He was about to pull away when Zemo grabbed his collar and tugged him back to him.
The air left Bucky’s lungs.
Zemo glanced at his lips before focusing on his eyes. He almost looked angry now. “I’m not going to stop riling you up and you know it. So better to get it done with now.”
“Why are you so eager for me to kill you?”
Zemo once more held his tongue, his breaths quickening as he heaved air through his mouth, pupils so blown James could barely see the golden caramel of his irises.
James actually chuckled as he made a half-attempt at prying Zemo's hands from his sweater. “I’m not going to kill you, Zemo.” He took his time saying the words, knowing how much this was going to frustrate him, if this was actually what he wanted. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Zemo's grasp returned, holding him down tight. “You’re not sorry.”
“Oh but I am,” he lowered himself just an inch more, to really drive it home. “I would have loved to kill you.”
“How would you have done it?” Zemo whispered, glancing at his lips. Then he met his gaze again, almost eager. “Strangled? Broken neck?”
Why did he sound so excited?
“I was thinking gutted.” James looked down at his stomach. Slowly, he ran a metal finger along his stomach to draw a line. The way Zemo inhaled and shivered sent a wave of exhilaration through Bucky, his head heady with confusion while his mind slowly pieced together exactly what kind of exhilaration that was.
Even if he already knew.
He’d known it for a while.
“Or cutting your throat,” James found himself continuing, trying to control his breathing. Trying not to make any sounds as he exhaled stuttering breaths. It felt like he was being choked for some reason.
Zemo eyed Bucky’s hand before tilting his head back to give him better access to his throat.
James hesitated. What was he doing? What was this? Zemo was clearly turned on by this. And what was worse was that this was turning him on too.
He looked at Zemo’s neck and slowly ran his cold thumb over it. Zemo twitched at the contact with a quick inhale. When James carefully wrapped his hand around his throat, he swore he heard a soft high-pitched sound come from his lips.
“Tell me more,” Zemo whispered desperately.
James smiled down at him, a swirling sensation growing in the pit of his stomach. A part of him was screaming at him, yelling at him to stop. But that panic was fading with every passing breath, the burning need to get closer surging through him. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to. “Do you often think about me killing you?”
Zemo shifted underneath him. “All the time.”
“You really are insane.”
Zemo glanced at his lips as his own formed a smile. “Just a little, James.”
James had to fight the urge to lower himself further. They were so close. So damn close.
He tried to regulate his breathing. He was sure the air had left the cabin a long time ago. But he couldn’t let his vulnerability show. Not when he was this close. “You’re a maniac with a death wish.”
“Maybe.” Zemo drew a shaky inhale. He gently pressed his throat up against Bucky’s hand. “Or maybe I’m just trying to find excuses for you to get your hands on me.”
James couldn't hold back his gasp at Zemo’s admission. The warm ache swirling in the depths of his stomach raced through him, impossible to ignore now. No matter how much he tried to push it aside, it was only getting worse. And those eyes Zemo was giving him weren’t helping. Nor the literal confession—
James should have seen it coming, but his reflexes weren’t fast enough, his mind too lost in trying to push his own hunger away.
He was too slow to react to Zemo’s hands grabbing the sides of his head. Too surprised to react to Zemo launching upwards. He had loosened his hold on his throat too damn much.
His lips crashed against his before he could push him away. It was so quick, so sudden. Yet somehow the kiss felt like it lasted forever.
Then, just as fast as he was up, Zemo was down on the divan again, gazing up at him with those big eyes, inhaling rapid breaths through his mouth. If James hadn’t known better, he would have thought Zemo looked terrified.
Did that really just happen?
“James?” His voice was soft and uncertain.
James wondered if he had hallucinated what had just happened, but Zemo’s warm hands were still holding onto his cheeks. It felt like time had stopped. James was frozen in place, unable to piece together what had just happened. That it had been real.
“Wha...” he croaked. He couldn't even begin to formulate a word, let alone string them together into anything coherent.
Did Zemo really just—
“Do it, James,” Zemo whispered with new resolution, his hands holding him hard, pulling him closer. “Do it. Kill me.”
James was lightheaded, his mind unable to move on from that kiss, the heat that had once been only in his stomach now coursing through him like fire. He was out of his mind. He couldn’t think, gazing down at those pleading eyes.
He didn’t know what he was doing when his head dipped down. He couldn’t think. It was gravity. Yes, gravity that pulled him down, slowly and then fast.
He pressed his nose to Zemo’s cheek, letting out an exhale that he felt he had been holding ever since Sam had left the room. He didn’t need to fight Zemo. He didn’t need to fight himself. His arms relaxed, fingers falling from Zemo throat to rest next to his head, his silky hair brushing along his skin. James breathed in the sweet lavender scent of Zemo’s aftershave. Or was it cologne?
Zemo, for once in his life, was quiet. All James heard from him now were his quickened breaths that he could feel against his own cheek. Zemo tentatively tilted his head up, trying to get closer. That was when James realized the hands holding his head were trembling.
“I won’t kill you,” James mumbled against his cheek. He had an inkling Zemo already knew this, but he could not fault him for being afraid of him anyway. It was kind of endearing. And it was justified.
He put one hand over Zemo’s to hold him steady as he ran his mouth along his cheek, inch by inch until at last he brushed against Zemo’s lips, smiling into them when he felt him open up. For once, he was so damn quiet.
James almost wanted to tease him, to make him wait, maybe even beg for it. But the rush of his own burning need pulled him in like magic. The kiss was slow, Bucky’s vibranium fingers exploring his hair, the other still holding his hand steady. Zemo followed his lead, moving in time with him, like he was terrified of James pulling back.
But he didn't. He kept going, tasting the faint traces of champagne, Zemo's lips softer than he had expected, melting into him like butter.
Zemo still did not utter a word when James pulled back to catch his breath. All he did was gaze at his lips. James had no idea Zemo could be so compliant. If James had only known… If he had known it would be this easy to get him to shut up, to get him so docile. If he had known it would be this easy to get what he himself wanted and leave that unresolved frustrating tension behind.
James tilted his head to the side before dipping down to him once more. This kiss was faster, greedy, deep enough to draw a tiny whine from Zemo. The whimper moved through James like a current, a hot flame inside of him. He lifted himself onto the divan to fully straddle Zemo and used the moment to pull his own sweater off, throwing away to leave only his light tee shirt.
“James, I—” Zemo’s hands were grappling to grab a hold of whatever part of Bucky’s shirt he could, tugging as if he needed him to breathe, like nothing else mattered. “Please.” He sounded desperate, writhing underneath him, chasing any friction he could find.
God he was so needy.
James rested on top of him, unable to help the smile from forming, watching him become so eager.
If he had known how very desperate Zemo had been to get his hands on him… talk about leverage!
“James please.”
“Shhhhh,” he cooed as he bent back down, Zemo’s hand urgently weaving into his hair, attempting to pull him closer. “You’re going to wake up Sam.”
Zemo nodded furiously, trying in vain to draw him in, close enough so he could capture his lips again.
But James didn't let him get his way, carding his fingers through Zemo’s hair, forcing his head back down onto the pillow.
“James,” Zemo pleaded in a whisper.
James lazily ground himself against Zemo, smirking as he watched his reaction. His eyes fluttering, his whole body squirming underneath him, seeking him out. Those beautiful little whines coming from Zemo’s lips.
“Shhhh,” he whispered again, at last appeasing him as he dipped down, kissing him with new fervor, trying his best to swallow the moans that were like music to his ears.
Zemo’s fingers grasped his hair hard while they kissed before moving aside and pulling James down to lay him down next to him. James didn’t fight him, letting him yank him down, settling in without breaking the kiss, pulling him closer, pressing one leg between Zemo’s. He followed his lead and pressed against him.
They didn’t stop kissing. They couldn’t.
Their surroundings dissolved like a faraway dream. The hum of the jet engine dulled to a calm quiet, replaced by the sounds of their mouths moving in tandem.
The plane was gone. Even the divan wasn’t there anymore. It was just him. All he could feel or think of was Zemo's warm lips, his silky hair, the feel of his body against his.
When the first waves of desperation dimmed, James slowed down, instead taking his time to capture his lips and roll his tongue against Zemo’s. A mad rush of excitement coursed through him every time his tongue dove in deeper, claiming Zemo as his own. And Zemo’s hands clenching his hair to that pace only drove home the message that he felt the exact same way.
He wrapped his arms around him to pull him as close as he physically could. But it still wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
James let his tongue languidly explore while Zemo’s fingers ran through his hair, sending tingles up his spine. He couldn’t reconcile the tender touch or the way it made him feel with how he was supposed to feel around Zemo.
He was supposed to hate him. And he did. But he was fucking crazy about him too. And it was messed up. But it wasn’t really. And Zemo burned for him too. And he wasn’t that bad. Not like James was a saint either.
James ran his lips along Zemo’s cheek, breathing heavily through his mouth.
“Don’t stop,” came that tiny whisper, a plea in the semi-darkness. But even in the dim light, James could see how blown his pupils were. He had never seen a more beautiful sight.
“How much longer?”
Zemo inhaled sharply. “Until what?”
“Until we land.”
He froze for a moment before answering. “I don’t know.” He took a deep breath. “Four and a half hours?”
James smiled at him. Good.
He closed in again, ever so slowly, teasing Zemo until he whined. Then he let his tongue explore again while Zemo eagerly pushed himself into him.
“Not a word to Sam,” James snarled against his soft skin. “You hear me?”
The rush of ordering Zemo from so close... no way he was ever going to forget this.
“My lips are sealed, James.” Zemo whispered frantically, pulling him closer still. “For everyone but you.”