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Zemo winced as he regained consciousness and blinked rapidly to try to get the dust out of his eyes. If he had access to his hands, he would use them to wipe away the dirt, but even if they weren’t tied behind his back, they would hurt too much to lift above shoulder height. He reckoned that if anyone cared, he would need medical attention for his broken ribs and dislocated shoulder. But nobody cared, he was imprisoned after all, by the King’s son. The King whose death he had caused.
Zemo grimaced, he had failed, his plan had failed. He had been captured by Stark and his star-spangled goons and then happily given over to the Wakandan Prince and daughter to do with him as they pleased. Stark had specifically stated that “if he dies, nobody will care, so have fun” and then had pulled the evilest smile across his face. Zemo’s plan to kill himself had been flawed, he had not thought about a man in a bulletproof super suit tanking the bullet for him. Nor had he imagined being shipped to a city in the middle of Africa that he had never heard of and then being almost pummelled to death by a group of terrifying men. He was essentially in international waters where rules did not apply. He was a dead man walking – well laying – Zemo was still struggling to see anything other than a hazy blur and dark shadows.
“Good afternoon Helmut” snarled an unfortunately familiar voice. He whipped his head around and almost broke his own neck trying to turn it in the way that allowed him to see through his left eye (which was slightly less blurry than the right). The tall man was sat on a chair that Zemo supposed he was technically for himself - but had been swiftly knocked out of; and the man was very relaxed in his position and did not seem to think of Zemo as a threat. “Winter Soldier” Zemo smiled. He started listing off the Russian trigger words, but the Soldier just laughed. “No no no, that shit won’t work for you anymore.” Zemo frowned, the words should work? They worked last week?
“Oh, that’s bothering you isn’t it? Can’t use me to escape or toy around with anymore, can you?” the Soldier taunted. Zemo turned his neck back to face the wall in front of him and he looked at his bare feet, bloodied and cut up by the small stones on the floor. His vison had cleared up as the liquid had returned to his eyes and he analysed where he was now. He had initially been in a very sterile lab (where the Princess smacked him across the face once, then dismissed him), then a field where he was told he could run away (but was then followed, tortured, and kicked by men on rhinoceros’), and now he was in a small dirt shack with a muddy wooden door and thatch roof. The air was stale, and hot, and dry, and he was blisteringly hot, sweaty, and very, very uncomfortable. Let alone all his random bruises, cracked ribs, and other unnameable but throbbing injuries.
The Soldier had said nothing throughout Zemo’s contemplation and so he shuffled where he sat and turned to face him. The Winter Soldier sat in all his glory in a small wooden chair that barely looked like it could support his weight. His previously silver, shiny metal arm was swapped now for a dark grey and gold one that was much more dangerous looking. Less like a prop, and more like a very well-designed gun or equally dangerous weapon. Zemo wondered aloud at where it came from and the Solider just huffed a laugh quietly at Zemo's confusion and did not reply.
After an hour or so of the two simply staring at each other, Zemo finally cracked and asked a question he had been dying to ask. “Please may I go to the bathroom?” Zemo asked with a huff. He was about to burst and was too proud (even in this dreadful state) to want to piss himself. The Soldier simply stood up, towering above Zemo even more than before. Zemo shifted and began to stand up, expecting to be let out and use a bathroom that was outside of his current dusty cage. Instead, the Soldier put a black boot on Zemo’s stomach and pushed down until Zemo was lying flat on the floor, straining to keep his bladder from releasing itself and ignoring the searing pain his ribs were sending to his brain. The Soldier smiled and chuckled, amused. He pressed harder down until Zemo couldn’t hold it anymore and he felt the warm rush of piss fill his trousers and soak his crotch, bum, thighs, and puddle on floor he was seated on.
He closed his eyes and wished for oblivion. He wished for the Soldier to just stomp his foot down on his skull so hard that his lights went out. He never did. He winced as the Soldier lifted his foot and then pressed it back down onto his now wet thigh. “Pretty little mess you’ve made there Baron. Should we get you cleaned up?” He asked patronisingly. If Zemo said yes, he’d be humiliated and rejected, if he said no, he was admitting to the next - however long they were keeping him alive – to being sat in a puddle of his own urine.
Zemo nodded and then was rewarded with the heavy boot toeing his soft cock gently. “If you let me have my fun without too much fuss, maybe I’ll get you some new clothes, huh?” Zemo nodded and opened his eyes a crack. The Soldier was looming above him and he gulped as he saw that the man’s cock was straining against his trousers. He had a thing for piss then? Or just very venerable people? Zemo recalled everything he knew about the Winter Soldiers, there was little to nothing that suggested that they would enjoy this or even know where to start with something like this. They were trained to interrogate and torture people but nothing of this kind. Zemo thought curiously if he was actually meeting with James, the man underneath, but something about the demeanour suggested that the man knew his power and exactly how to abuse it. James did not hold himself in such a way, the Soldier did. The Soldier seemed to like watching the gears turning in Zemo’s head because he had stayed quiet until Zemo’s eyes flicked to meet the Soldiers dark and blown out ones.
“What do you want from me?” Zemo finally asked, not too sure he wanted the answer. “Everything” the Soldier replied just before pressing his boot to Zemo’s throat roughly until he passed out.
Zemo awoke to the same room, but he had been moved and was now completely in the dark – aside from a small amount of light coming from somewhere in the room. His shoulder had been re-set back into its socket and he had been laid face down on a table, his arms tied to the table legs, and his hips hanging off the edge. His face was turned to the side and his right cheek was painfully pressed into the wood. His toes could just about brush against the floor, but he couldn’t get a grip or any amount of leverage from the floor. He was completely stuck.
His thighs, butt, and crotch were drying slowly, but had otherwise remained soaked. His jacket had long gone, and his t-shirt was now missing too. His bare feet throbbed with the blood hanging in them, and his head and neck throbbed with his pulse every time he breathed in too deep. He looked around as much as he could but saw nothing of significance. He heard nothing also and couldn’t sense another person’s presence in the room. He breathed in as deeply as his very hurt rubs would allow whilst being pressed against the unforgiving table. Zemo kept taking in breaths until he made himself pass out from the oxygen and pain.
Zemo woke for the third time to the sound of talking – in a language he couldn’t understand – from the Soldier and another man, the Prince? He strained to hear but couldn’t pick up any words that were spoken. They sounded calm, and the Soldier laughed a little when the other man paused for a moment. His eyes adjusted to the light as he opened them, the room was full of light and he imagined that now he was restrained, the door was wide open for anyone to see him. Not that he would know – he was facing the other way, he could see the chair that the Soldier had previously sat in, and a wall that held a collection of guns, knives, chains, whips, and a few things Zemo recognised from the naughtier BDSM clubs he had visited with his wife in their heyday.
All at once it all connected in his mind and he realised what the Soldier was going to do to him. His blood ran cold, and he felt the bile lift into his throat. He thrashed against his restraints and spat the bile out onto the table. He screamed loudly and the talking continued. He swore, cursed, and yelled as loudly as he could to try and get help, but he knew it was a fruitless act. He at least hoped he was important enough for the Soldier to at least come and taunt him, but nothing happened, and he quickly gave up once his head began to spin from the pain in his chest.
After what seemed like a whole day (but was more realistically 2 or 3 hours), the Soldier finally returned from his coffee break and arrived at the chair just within Zemo’s peripheral vision. He had a plate of food and a glass of water in his hands, and he placed them loudly on the table by Zemo’s head. Zemo’s stomach gurgled with anticipation, and he tried to look at the Soldier more, but couldn’t move his head due to the pull of the restraints on his arms. His sore shoulder was locked in position, and he couldn’t get out of it or shift even slightly without ripping it back out of its socket again. “Now, your little episode was a little rude earlier.” The Soldier started, “I was entertaining the King, Helmut, that was rude of you”. Zemo’s mind whirred with the information, King? The Prince was already crowned the King?
The Soldier continued speaking with a mouthful of food, and Zemo suddenly realised that the plate was for the Soldier to consume, and not him. He felt even more nauseous after that. “Now, since you have pissed off almost everyone in the Avengers, the UN, your home country, HYDRA, Wakanda, and every civilian who you hurt in the process of you revenge plan; it has been concluded by all of the above that I have the jurisdiction to do as I please as Judge, Jury and Executioner. Or in your case: permanent torturer”. Zemo could hear the smile on the Soldier’s voice as he said the last words, he knew Zemo craved the sweet release of death, and he wasn’t about to give it to him.
“Why?” Zemo chocked out. He knew he had hurt him, by using him, but why was he the one allowed to pull the punches and not Steve Rodgers or Tony Stark? Or even the King of Wakanda?
“Well dear Baron” the Soldier started, “You are my soulmate. And so, it is my right to do with you as I please, no?”. Zemo frowned, “what?”. His soulmate was his wife, the small star on his wrist matched hers perfectly and he had never once felt a pull towards the Soldier. The man above him spoke again, “your star matches mine, and I reckon it’s because deep down James is your soulmate, but he feels too betrayed by you to want to surface.” Betrayed? Ignoring the mental breakdown of the man in front of him, the Soldier continued to talk as he ate the steaming plate of food, “you used us, toyed with us, left us, broke us, and enslaved us. All in the space of 5 minutes” the Soldier growled. “You deserve to die, but I know that’s what you want, so I am going to bring hell to you – and when I am done, and when I have satisfied myself with you, I will leave you here to rot in a cell. Until I need satisfying again, and again, and again. Okay?”.
Zemo could do nothing but pass out in fear and hunger.
Zemo woke to his body being ripped to shreds. He felt a hundred paper cuts all over his body and his ass was being torn to pieces by whatever was being inserted into him. He screamed, only to hear the Soldier laughing behind him. “Morning Sweetheart” he spoke gently, as if four of his metal fingers weren’t currently tearing Zemo’s hole to shreds. “Wait, wait please stop, I’ll be perfect for you, just please wait a second” Zemo begged, the Soldier had actually paused his movements and was really waiting for Zemo. “I just need to breathe, or I’ll throw up” Zemo explained. The Soldier huffed and shifted how he was standing, and his fingers moved slightly inside Zemo and Zemo felt a lurch of nausea again. He took a deep breath in and tried to calm himself down from the panic attack he was currently heading towards/already in.
Zemo nodded and the Soldier’s fingers moved in and out slowly, he dragged them fully out after a second and Zemo was fully able to breathe again. Maybe it was over. The Soldier was not. He dragged a hand through some of the paper cuts on Zemo’s thigh and used it as lube as he shoved the fingers back into Zemo’s sore hole. Zemo filled his mouth with spit and made a noise, seemingly understanding what he was doing, the Soldier held his hand out by Zemo’s mouth, and he spat into his hand quickly. The spit was then dribbled down his crack and he felt a small amount of relief as it began to slicken the fingers that were thrusting into him.
Zemo seemed to pull away from his own mind as everything got a little foggy and everything became numb for a while. He was shifted a few times by the Soldier behind him, either with a rough thrust with his metal fingers, or with his flesh hand on his hip. He was suddenly dragged back into his body as a gun clicked behind his head. Everything snapped back too clearly, and too bright, and too painful; and yet all he could focus on was the heavy weight resting on the back of his neck. The cold tip of a pistol. “Beg for it” demanded the Soldier. He pulled out his fingers and loudly spat somewhere. Zemo strained to hear what he was doing before beginning to ramble. “Please James, I want to die so bad, let me pay for what I did to you. Have your vengeance and finish me off. Don’t let me-” the Soldier thrust deep into Zemo’s ass, and he paused for a moment before the gun tapped the back of his skull and he continued, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Don’t let me hurt anyone else, I’m sorry for hurting you, and everyone I was just in so much pain. I didn’t know how badly I had hurt you. Finish me, I don’t deserve to have a soulmate, I don’t deserve to live…” he continued to ramble as the gun pressed harder into his head, he felt the thrusting into him and winced every time he was pressed into the table too harshly.
Zemo hiccupped with tears and the Soldier clicked the gun one more time, he’d taken off the safety. Zemo’s whole world centred around the tip of the gun resting on his neck. He tensed and waited to die. He knew this was part of the torture, but he could hope that his soulmate took pity on him. The Soldier grunted as he finished inside Zemo and as he moaned his last thrust into Zemo he pulled the trigger, and nothing happened. Zemo growled and collapsed against the table. The Soldier pulled out and laughed. He walked around to where Zemo’s face was after a moment and sat in the chair.
He was flushed and smiling, “that was fun”. Zemo rolled his eyes and received a very painful smack to his back as payment. “What are the cuts?” Zemo asked, hideously sore and on the verge of passing out again. “I used my knife to carve my name into your body,” the Soldier replied, as if Zemo had asked what the weather was like outside. “Winter Soldat? Or James Barnes?” Zemo asked out of curiosity. “Both” was the reply he got. The Soldier offered a small cube of something and pressed it into Zemo’s lips. “Open wide sweetie”, Zemo closed his eyes, rolled them, and then opened his mouth. It was Turkish delight. He moaned in relief, he was so hungry and thirsty. Now that he had pleased the Soldier, maybe he was getting a reward?
“I’m impressed, you haven’t passed out again in protest this time,” the Soldier commented, “you need to pee again doll?” he asked, as if he cared. Zemo shook his head, “I’m hideously thirsty though. If I can drink something, I promise I’ll do whatever you want with my pee.” The Soldier laughed again, “you don’t need to bargain, I’ll feed you and let you drink, but yes, I would like you to piss yourself again. It is very sexy to see you so dirty and soiled. So unlike what you’re normally like, huh?” Zemo nodded and opened his mouth for another Turkish delight piece to be put on his tongue again.
“Did you know?” the Soldier asked, he sounded pained and Zemo thought to their conversation, “did I know what?” he asked, confused. “That we were soulmates?” the soldier asked, he offered Zemo another piece of Turkish delight and then offered a straw to his lips. Zemo drank the whole glass of slightly-warm water and then spoke. “No. I felt a pull of sorts to you, but more like a moth to a flame: I was attracted to the power that I was about to be able to wield more than you per se. I suppose the soulmate attachment was under there, but I didn’t know.” The Soldier seemed satisfied and hummed. “The words don’t work because I have another handler, he’s changed the trigger words.” Zemo nodded, that was possible. The Soldier answered his question before he could ask: “the King, T’challa. I need a handler, someone to lead me and to trust. He’s got all my files: he is working out how to de-programme me.” Zemo nodded and smiled, that was good. He would no longer be a human weapon.
The Soldier asked, “you’re happy with this?” Zemo nodded and told him how he felt, and the Soldier began to stroke Zemo’s hair gently before standing up and leaving him for a moment. “See you soon Baron.” Zemo shuddered as he realised the door had just closed and he was alone, tied to a table. Semen, blood, and spit were dribbling from his bruised hole down his thighs. Everything hurt, including his heart. He wanted his soulmate back. “I’m sorry” he mumbled to himself, and then waited until someone would come and untie him.