The first thing Bucky noticed was the silence. Not the absence of sound, exactly. There was music, low and sultry, a jazz singer crooning in the distance. But it was as if the world itself had hushed, waiting for something to happen.
Then he noticed the colour, or rather, the lack of it. Everything was in black and white. The polished marble floor beneath his feet, the glittering chandelier above, the endless sea of crisp tuxedos and silken gowns swirling around him - all of it reduced to shades of silver and ink.
It didn’t have the feel of gritty noir, more a luxurious, Art Deco world, with big band music. The kind of place where a slow waltz could turn into a spontaneous tap routine. He half expected to see Fred Astaire elegantly tripping down the staircase in top hat and tails.
“What the hell,” Bucky muttered, adjusting his tie. His bow tie. And a rather splendid well-fitted black tuxedo to go with it.
A soft chuckle sounded behind him. “Oh, my dear James, but you do rather clean up well. You look devastatingly handsome.”
Bucky turned to find Zemo, looking disgustingly at home in this world of monochrome elegance. Dressed in a perfectly tailored white tuxedo with a black bow tie, he was already twirling a champagne flute between his fingers like he owned the place.
“I take it this wasn’t your doing?” Bucky asked, narrowing his eyes.
Zemo lifted a brow. “I’m flattered you think me capable of something so extravagant.”
Bucky crossed his arms. “Alright, so where are we?”
Zemo took a slow sip of his drink before answering. “A rogue spell, I suspect. Perhaps our dear Doctor Strange misfired a particularly dramatic enchantment, or Wanda had an artistic moment. Either way, we appear to be stuck. Together. On a rather delightful cruise liner.”
Bucky exhaled sharply. “Great. And I suppose we have to solve some kind of mystery to get out?”
Zemo waved a hand dismissively. “No, no, my dear James. This isn’t some detective novel.” He leaned in, smirking. “No murders to solve, no criminals to chase. Just a world of endless glamour and indulgence.” Zemo leaned forward a little more to take his sweet time adjusting Bucky’s bow tie, fingers lingering just a little too long.
Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”
Zemo merely smiled. “Wouldn’t you? Look around, James. This is a world built for style, for romance. And for once,” He plucked Bucky’s drink from the bar and replaced it with a flute of something sparkling, “you should enjoy yourself.”
Bucky rolled his eyes but took a sip anyway. “Fine. But when we figure out how to break the spell, I’m out.”
“Of course,” Zemo purred. “But until then. Shall we dance?”
*
The music swelled into a sweeping waltz that carried them across the polished floor beneath the glow of a dazzling chandelier. Zemo lead with effortless grace, his hand firm against Bucky’s waist. Bucky, ever the reluctant dancer, grumbled under his breath but followed along. He was actually very good. He’d been trained for precision, and his body remembered how to move.
But there was something different about this. Something intoxicating. The way Zemo looked at him, the way their steps aligned like they were made for this dance.
And then, with a dramatic flourish, Zemo dipped him, delight flashing in his grin at Bucky’s micro flash of a startled expression. Bucky huffed, but his heart was beating just a little faster as Zemo’s face hovered so close. So very close.
Zemo was just about to kiss him - ! - when another couple stumbled into them, murmuring apologies. “Oh! So sorry. Our fault entirely.”
“Not at all,” Zemo replied smoothly, pulling Bucky upright and stepping back as if unaffected. But the moment shattered like glass, and the orchestra was already smoothly transitioning into something else.
That something else was a tango. Sultry, playful, with just the right edge of danger. Zemo was definitely showing off now, his movements sharp and teasing, eyes gleaming as he tested Bucky, pushing him, seeing what he’d allow.
Bucky, to his own surprise, found that he was an expert at this. Somewhere between muscle memory and instinct, his body moved in perfect sync with Zemo’s. Their eyes locked, full of unspoken challenges.
Zemo stepped forward, Bucky stepped back. There was a twist, a turn, a smirk. The tension between them grew, undeniable. There were flirty glances, lingering touches. Their legs brushed. Their gazes locked. The dance was heated, intimate.
Then, with a wicked grin, Bucky twirled Zemo instead, catching him off guard for once, earning a breathless, delighted laugh, a rare and genuine sound.
They moved in perfect harmony, the music pulling them closer and closer, until they paused, inches apart, and Zemo’s hand skimmed along Bucky’s jaw, thumb resting at the corner of his mouth. Zemo’s lips hovered just above Bucky’s.
Just as he was about to kiss him - ! - the band struck up a jazzy jive, shattering the mood entirely. Bucky stared at Zemo, Zemo stared at Bucky. A mutual sigh. The moment was lost once again.
They left the dance floor, retreating to the bar area, where Zemo immediately ordered the most expensive champagne on the ship, much to Bucky’s exasperation. “Why am I not surprised?” he muttered, watching Zemo inspect the bubbles with absurd scrutiny.
“One must appreciate the finer things,” Zemo replied airily.
Bucky rolled his eyes but watched, as Zemo sipped indulgently, watching him over the rim of his glass.
Their conversation was easy, languid, filled with quiet flirtations and a growing warmth neither of them fully acknowledged.
“You know,” said Zemo, brushing a hand over Bucky’s sleeve. “This could be a dark green, or deep plum.”
“Yeah,” murmured Bucky. “And your tux could be pink, or really pale yellow.”
Zemo sat back and smirked, tilting his head just so. “Or a light blue to match your eyes.”
Bucky huffed.
Zemo leaned in, voice hushed, eyes dark with intent. Bucky could feel the pull, the inevitability of it.
Bucky mirrored him, their faces close. Zemo tilted his chin up, lips parting.
They were just about to kiss - ! - when the ballroom chandelier crashed to the ground with a deafening shatter.
There was a collective gasp, and the room erupted in chaos.
“Let’s get out of here,” Bucky muttered, grabbing Zemo’s wrist.
Zemo barely had time to sigh and grab his champagne flute, before Bucky was tugging him out, out onto the deck, away from the commotion.
The night air was cool. The ship was cutting smooth and silent through dark waters. They stood at the railing, staring out at the endless horizon, the waves glittering silver in the moonlight.
Bucky leaned forward, elbows resting against the polished wood, looking out over the waves. Zemo moved to stand beside him, quiet for once, the cool sea breeze ruffling his hair.
Their hands rested just inches apart. The world felt soft, suspended. Something delicate and beautiful was forming between them.
When Bucky turned to him, Zemo was already watching. He tilted his head, his eyes tracing the contours of Bucky’s face, waiting.
They hovered there, the space between them vanishing, breath mingling in the crisp night air.
Bucky exhaled slowly and leaned in further, just about to kiss him - ! - when a cry went up from below. "Man overboard!"
There were gasps from the few other passengers strolling the deck. “Someone has jumped.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Bucky groaned. But the spell was broken. Again.
They went back to the bar, the smooth croon of a jazz singer threading through the background. Bucky ordered for them as Zemo lounged with ridiculous ease.
But a commotion was stirring through the ship. Whispers rippled through the gathered passengers. Someone had jumped. Or been pushed. Speculations of spies and secret agents curled through the air.
The ballroom was now suddenly buzzing with intrigue. The jazz singer still crooned their sultry tune, and Zemo still leaned against the bar, effortlessly composed, but Bucky scanned the crowd, wary. His hackles were up.
“This is exactly why I don’t do cruises,” Bucky muttered, taking a slow sip of his drink.
“Ah, but where else do you get mystery, glamour, and the occasional attempted murder all in one delightful package?” Zemo countered, swirling his champagne.
“Yeah, real delightful,” Bucky said dryly, eyes still scanning the room. “You look way too comfortable with all this.”
Zemo smirked. “Darling, I thrive in environments of intrigue. You should try it.”
Before Bucky could respond, a mysterious stranger at the next table tilted their head slightly, listening. His eyes narrowed. He adjusted his hat and got to his feet. Turning their way, the stranger approached, his posture too deliberate.
“Gentlemen,” he said smoothly, “I believe you have something that does not belong to you.”
Bucky tensed. “Yeah? And what exactly would that be?”
“Let’s not play games,” the stranger said. “You were overheard speaking in rather incriminating terms.”
Zemo let out a small, pleased hum. “Oh? And what thrilling crime are we suspected of committing?”
“You know exactly what you’ve done.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Bucky said, unimpressed.
Before either of them could argue further, the stranger gave a subtle hand signal, and suddenly, they were on the move, caught in a chase through the ship’s opulent casino.
Zemo, much to Bucky’s annoyance, was delighted. “Oh, this is marvellous,” he declared as they dodged past a stunned croupier.
“This is ridiculous,” Bucky gritted out.
“You say that, and yet here we are,” Zemo pointed out, effortlessly vaulting over a velvet rope.
“Where else would I be?” grumbled Bucky.
Cards flew. A roulette wheel spun wildly. Bucky shouldered past a bewildered high roller while Zemo, ever the dramatist, slid over a polished table, knocking a martini from someone’s hand.
“That was unnecessary,” Bucky snapped.
“Oh, but it was spectacular,” Zemo countered, grinning as he grabbed Bucky’s wrist and pulled him out into the corridor.
They ran through the gilded corridors, round corners, up some steps, until they found an unlocked door.
They rushed inside, closing the door behind them, both of them breathless, eyes glittering in the dim light.
Zemo pressed Bucky up against the wall, their bodies flush. A fraction of a second where the world narrowed to just the two of them.
Bucky exhaled, half a glare, half something softer. “I swear, you enjoy this too much.”
“And you don’t enjoy it enough,” Zemo murmured, his gaze dipping to Bucky’s lips. “We really must stop meeting like this,” Zemo purred.
Bucky gripped his lapels, and pulled him close. “You’re impossible.”
This time, there was no doubt. No hesitation. He was just about to kiss him - ! - when the bathroom door swung open, and a woman in a bathrobe and wet hair stopped in the doorway and blinked at them in surprise.
“Oh,” she said. “This is awkward.”
Bucky shut his eyes briefly. “I hate this stupid ship.”
Zemo exhaled a low laugh. Bucky groaned and dropped his head.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Zemo murmured as they made a quick exit.
It was almost comical now, the way the world conspired against them. Every near-miss, every perfectly timed interruption. There seemed to be an unspoken rule, clear but undeniable, that kept them in limbo.
But Bucky could feel it, lingering like a promise. One way or another, this was going to happen. And when it did, well. The world might just change forever.
*
They jogged further down the corridor wondering if they even had a room on this ship. Then it hit them. This wasn’t real. It was a spell. They’d gotten so used to the black and white of everything, that they had almost forgotten their life in the real world.
Zemo stopped, right in the middle of the corridor. Bucky turned to face him, rocked back on his heels, crossed his arms. “You’re sure about this?”
Zemo smirked, stepping closer. “Do you really need to ask?”
Their eyes met. Zemo’s clear and light, Bucky’s storm-dark.
The air hummed around them. The world waited.
And then, Bucky grabbed Zemo by his luxurious white tuxedo lapels and kissed him. Finally, kissed him.
The moment their lips met, colour exploded back into the world. Red. Gold. Blue. The shimmer of reality bleeding back in as the world tilted and reformed.
And suddenly, they were back. Back in a dimly lit room. Back in their own clothes. The faint hum of modern life slowly returning around them.
Bucky pulled back, blinking. “Huh.”
Zemo, still catching his breath, tilted his head. “Interesting way to break a spell.”
Bucky smirked. “A classic.”
Zemo studied him, then, with a slow, knowing grin. “If I had known a kiss was the answer, I would have tried sooner.”
Bucky huffed a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Seems we tried that quite a lot already.”
“So we did,” Zemo murmured. He reached up a hand to brush Bucky’s jaw. “I have missed the blue of your eyes.”
“Shut up.” But he didn’t move away.
And Zemo leaned in again.
Because in a world of black and white, or in a world of colour, theirs was a world of romance, and they were always going to find each other.
***