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The glass shattered with a sharp tinkle, scattering glittering shards across the polished floor and causing Zemo to shoot an exasperated look Bucky’s way.
“Could you possibly lumber around less like a tank? A little grace wouldn’t hurt.”
The two of them were in the now deserted gallery, ostensibly helping clean up after the party; Zemo suspected Sharon and Sam were simply sick of the sight of them and wanted them out of the way for a while.
“Oh, you wanna talk about grace after that display at the party?” Bucky smirked across the room, leaning against the bar that was littered with half-empty glasses of what was surely the finest crystal.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zemo sniffed, but a treacherous flush crept across his cheeks.
“Oh yeah?” Bucky brought his arms up, close to his muscular chest, doing a little mocking dad dance.
“That is not how I dance,” Zemo retorted haughtily.
“Give me a refresher then,” he shot back, an amused note of challenge in his tone. When Zemo didn’t move, Bucky crossed over to the speaker setup at the front of the gallery and spun through the selection on the attached device before settling on a playlist. Dance music began to pump through the room, a heady mix of pounding bass and high notes that rose and fell in the typical waves of music played in dark and dingy clubs. Not exactly Zemo’s own personal choice of ear candy; Chopin would be turning in his grave.
Grabbing an unopened beer bottle from the counter, Bucky flicked the cap off with one vibranium finger then sashayed into the middle of the room, taking a pull as he went.
Zemo spoke over the music, tone dry, “I thought ballroom would be more your style.”
“Had a lot of time to branch out since those days. C’mon.” He beckoned, still swaying in time with the beat, hips drifting effortlessly.
Zemo rolled his eyes, but shuffled over to join him in the space between the display case holding works of (very real, very expensive, would look very nice in his own quarters) art.
“Okay, now we’re talking! Show me what you’ve got.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Zemo gave a ‘what the hell’ shrug and began to move, rocking stiffly from side to side, arms held straight down at his sides.
Bucky watched him for a moment, clearly wondering what the hell had possessed him to try and rectify this sorry state of affairs.
“First things first, you’re way too tense. You’ve gotta loosen up those muscles or you’ll be stuck looking like a fuckin’ rocking horse.”
“Rocking horse? You’re showing your age, James. Children these days don’t have time for such quaint, corporeal toys,” Zemo tutted.
Bucky ignored him, instead stretching out his human arm and shaking it to demonstrate. “See? Loose and limber. Same goes for your legs.”
Grudgingly, Zemo copied his actions, shaking his arms out and hopping from leg to leg. Bucky regarded him dubiously, but at least refrained from making any sardonic remarks.
“Next most important part is feeling the music.” Bucky took another pull of his beer, eyelids drooping to half cover his steely blue eyes as he let the electric pulse vibrate through his body.
“And then… move your hips.” He started to swing his hips from side to side.
Zemo attempted to copy the soldier’s movements, but somehow his own motions were jerky, like his brain wasn’t properly connecting with his limbs. Yet he was a skilled fighter, light and agile whenever he needed to escape from a sticky situation—so why was this so difficult? After a few minutes more of trying to feel the music in his bones, to little success, he fell still, focusing his attention on the dancing man before him.
Lost in the moment, Bucky’s eyes were now almost fully closed, his body moving hypnotically. As Zemo watched, he brought his vibranium arm up to his head, a habit he must have gained from constantly pushing back long, unruly hair. Finding no stray hairs to tangle in, his hand instead drifted down his body, fleeting across the muscled planes of the pecs and abs straining beneath his black T-shirt, down to his waist, then floating out gracefully into the air again. Zemo’s eyes traced its every move.
“You make it look so easy…” Zemo murmured lowly, his gaze lingering on Bucky’s hips, mesmerized by their rhythmic movements.
Bucky opened his eyes, pinning Zemo with his cool gaze. “It’s not that hard. Here.” Moving forward, he reached out across the space between them and hooked a finger into Zemo’s belt loop, pulling him closer, then trailed the same hand around to rest on the upper edge of his hip, feeling the solid bone beneath the metal of his hand.
Downing the rest of his beer, he tossed the bottle into a trash can half way across the room, sinking it with perfect aim and freeing up his right hand to pin down Zemo’s other hip. Slowly, he started to push one way, then the other, moving the other man’s body in time to the beat. At first, there was some resistance before Zemo relaxed into his grip and allowed himself to be moved, fluid like water.
“That’s it,” Bucky murmured encouragingly, looking down at Zemo through dark lashes.
A few minutes passed as they moved in tandem before Bucky noticed that Zemo’s arms were still dangling uselessly at his sides; at least they were loose this time, though, rather than stiff like boards.
“What’s going on here?” he teased, running his hand lightly down one wooden arm. Zemo shivered slightly beneath his touch, an involuntary response that happened before he could suppress it.
Tentatively, Bucky laced his fingers through Zemo’s so he could lift his hand into the air, pulling it out to the side and moving it back and forth in abstract movements while he kept his other hand on the man’s hip. Zemo went along with it, bemused but still not entirely sure what this was supposed to accomplish.
“You know, if you really don’t know what to do with your arms, you can put them here.” Bucky lifted the arm he was currently holding and hooked it around his neck, then maneuvered the other to his waist, pulling Zemo even closer to him. Zemo could feel the taller man’s breath ghosting across his cheek, warm and sweet with the hoppy scent of beer.
Something electric seemed to be building between them like static, intangible and hard to define, but definitely there. Or maybe it wasn’t—maybe it was simply the influence of the damn music, the noise of it pulsing through him like a living thing and scrambling his brain. Yet his uncertainty didn’t stop the heat from pooling in his stomach, like he’d just swallowed a glass of smooth, fine cognac; and it didn’t stop the stirrings of arousal even lower down.
Their chests were almost touching, and Zemo was sure Bucky would feel the hammer thud of his heart even under the vibration of the beat emanating through their bodies. He was so distracted with trying to act normal, he was barely even aware of what Bucky was doing until he felt a solid metal arm snake around his waist and drift down to rest lightly on his ass. He shuddered, and Bucky laughed, a throaty rumble he felt as much as heard.
The proximity, the music, the tension crackling in the air—it was all too much. Zemo’s breathing quickened and his heart almost stopped as Bucky’s light grip on his ass grew firmer, pulling him in too close, and oh god, Bucky was going to be able to tell what this was doing to him—
Bucky smirked as Zemo’s hard cock pressed against his thigh. For an instant, Zemo felt like everything had stopped, the music dimming until it was no more than a buzz in his ears, his world shaved down to the edge of a knife. The moment stretched on, filled with infinite possibilities, until at last, it converged on just one.
“Turn around.” Bucky’s voice was low and husky in Zemo’s ear, and he quickly did as he was asked, trying not to show just how eager he was.
Bucky’s hands returned to his hips, digging in to find proper purchase. Then he tugged Zemo back against him until his back was flush against Bucky’s chest, warm and solid behind him. His ass pressed against Bucky’s groin as Bucky started to circle his hips, moving them both as one.
Chest heaving, he tipped his head back against Bucky’s shoulder, hia pale neck arched and exposed. Bucky lowered his head to the smooth flesh above the clavicle then dragged his tongue along the expanse of skin right up to his ear where he nibbled on the lobe. When he moved back down to the area where shoulder met neck and grazed his teeth across it, Zemo gasped, throwing up an arm to hook around Bucky’s neck and keep him in place. Bucky obliged, biting down then sucking on the patch of skin until it blossomed red beneath his tongue.
He could feel the taller man’s erection pressing against his ass and he shifted slightly until the bulge nudged between his cheeks. Bucky growled into his shoulder, fingers digging in harder as he pulled Zemo even closer, grinding himself against him. Then his hand slid forward to cup Zemo’s aching groin. He moaned at the brief sense of relief it brought, then moaned again as an even stronger arousal surged through him.
Bucky palmed his cock through his trousers, moving his hand to the music in slow measured strokes as sure as his dancing. Every now and then he interspersed his massaging with a squeeze, and each time it almost tipped Zemo over the edge before Bucky coaxed him back down again, and goddamn if he wasn’t about to come in his pants.
Thankfully he was spared that humiliation, as the next moment Bucky whispered against his throat, voice hoarse with need, “Wanna fuck you. Can I fuck you?”
Something seemed to be lodged in his throat, trapping the words there, so he just nodded desperately and hoped that got the message across: Yes, yes, please, I want nothing more.
Bucky wasted no time. In one smooth motion he had Zemo’s belt unbuckled, trousers unzipped and pooled around his ankles. Then he bent Zemo over the nearest table, vibranium hand holding him firmly in place while his other struggled with his own zipper, shaking slightly, before finding success and freeing his own cock. He spat into his hand and jerked it a few times, spreading the saliva around until the flushed head glistened.
Zemo waited as patiently as he could, legs spread as wide as they’d go with his pants tangled around his feet. Bucky grabbed a cheek in each hand, pushing his fingers into the plump flesh and massaging them then spreading them apart to display the puckered hole between.
Abruptly, he crouched down and leaned in, sinking his teeth into one juicy cheek. Zemo yelped, his cock twitching between his legs, then whimpered as Bucky’s tongue danced over him, soothing the tender spot. Then he trailed his tongue until it slid into the cleft of Zemo’s ass, running up and down before settling to probe the tight hole. Bucky pointed his tongue, pushing it through the tight ring of muscle, spreading his saliva liberally. Zemo groaned as Bucky tongue-fucked him, trying to focus on the sensation and relax as his cock wept precome down the heated shaft.
Standing, Bucky rubbed his cock along the slick cleft for a moment before pulling back. Zemo shuddered in anticipation of taking his cock, but instead he felt the chill of cool metal sliding inside him as Bucky inserted a finger, teasing him and stretching him out. When he had two fingers deep inside, he crooked them just so, hitting the sweet spot that made Zemo cry out and scrabble at the table as his knees threatened to buckle beneath him. His own cock throbbed between his legs, hard and heavy and aching, an unignorable reminder of his arousal and need.
“Please,” he managed to pant out, not caring how desperate he sounded. As Bucky leaned over him, bringing his face closer to Zemo’s, he felt rather than heard him chuckle, a low rumble vibrating across his back.
“Please what?”
“Please, fuck me,” he whined, twisting his head around to try and meet Bucky’s eyes.
He wasn’t expecting the other man to swoop in and claim his lips, but he did, shoving his tongue, fresh from Zemo’s ass, into his mouth and twining them together in a sloppy kiss. When he pulled back, Bucky was panting heavily, his calm, controlled facade seemingly on the verge of crumbling. It made Zemo’s stomach flip to realize that this wasn’t some kind of pity fuck, Bucky was just as desperate for this as he was.
Bucky took his cock in his hand and pressed it against Zemo’s asshole, already wet and stretched and ready. Then he pushed in, and Zemo cried out from the delicious pressure, the twinge of pain as he was stretched out and filled up, and the pleasure that ran through him like lightning. Bucky shoved forward until his cock was buried balls-deep in Zemo’s ass. Zemo rested his forehead against the cool surface of the table, struggling to pull enough air into his lungs as Bucky pushed his shirt up and traced his hand over his back, drinking in the view of his bare skin.
Slowly, he pulled back out, then pushed in again, moving with measured intent. He kept up that pace for a few thrusts before Zemo started to move beneath him, grinding back against him.
The wanton display seemed to snap his last threads of self-restraint and he groaned loudly, grabbing Zemo tightly by the hips and keeping him in place as he pistoned into him. He went hard, trusting that Zemo could take it—and oh, fuck, he could take it and more. The feeling of his cock pounding into him, thick and hot, hitting his prostate with each thrust, was making him see stars and he was aware, distantly, that he was moaning, high and needy.
The whole time Bucky kept up a stream of muttering into Zemo’s ears, “Yeah, you like that? You like feeling my cock inside you? Fuck, you feel so good around me, so good you’re gonna—gonna make me come. I’m gonna come in your ass, Zemo, is that okay? Gonna fill you up, is that what you want?”
“Yes, James, yes, I—” his words cut off with a strangled cry. One hand splayed on the table, Zemo reached down with the other to grab his leaking cock and jerk it just once, twice, before he came hard.
Bucky pounded into him for a few seconds longer, his thrusts jerky and irregular, then shoved in as far as he could, winding his arm around Zemo’s front and pulling him up off the table, back arched, while he emptied himself inside of him.
After taking a few long moments to catch his breath, Bucky slowly pulled out and cast his gaze around for something to clean themselves up with. Finding a discarded tablecloth, he wiped himself down before tossing it to Zemo, who still lay slumped across the table, dazed and sated. Finally pulling himself to his feet, he grabbed the cloth and cleaned up his mess as best he could, pulling his trousers back on with as much dignity as a man who’s just been fucked raw over a table can manage. He pushed his sweaty, disheveled hair back from his forehead and stood there at a loss for what to do next.
Looking around, he found Bucky over by the music player—he’d been so caught up in their session he’d almost forgotten about the music; it had faded into little more than background noise behind the sounds of heavy breathing and flesh against flesh.
He figured now might be the time to make a quick exit, before things got awkward, but then the music changed from the throbbing dance beat to a slow, subtle tune.
“Oh no you don’t,” Bucky called out to stop him as he edged his way toward the door, beckoning to him, and he reluctantly made his way back into the middle of the dancefloor to join him.
“If you’re offering another dance lesson, I’m not sure I’m in much shape for it,” he said wryly.
Bucky smirked. “This one won’t be as strenuous, promise.”
Straightening his posture, Bucky took Zemo into his arms, wrapping his vibranium one securely around the slimmer man’s waist and using his human one to gently take hold of his hand.
“I thought ballroom wasn’t your style anymore,” Zemo murmured.
“Old habits die hard,” he murmured back. “Now just follow my lead.”
As the tinkling notes curled around them, the two men began a halting waltz, with Bucky in the lead and Zemo following his steps as best he could.