Zemo had always considered himself perceptive. He noticed the small things, the nuances, the careful shifts in tone and body language that others overlooked. It's what made him a good strategist. A good manipulator, even.
He prided himself on reading people like open books, catching the subtle twitch of an eyebrow, the almost imperceptible tensing of shoulders, the way a person's breathing changed when they lied. These were his weapons, sharper than any blade.
So he wasn't blind to the way Sam and Bucky looked at him sometimes.
The teasing, the banter—it was all part of their rhythm, the way they *were.* But lately, things had started feeling *different.* Softer.
Sam would linger in doorways when Zemo spoke, leaning his broad shoulder against the frame, arms crossed but posture relaxed. His eyes would remain fixed on Zemo's face, not in suspicion as they once had, but with genuine interest, like he actually *wanted* to hear what he had to say. There was a new attentiveness in the way Sam tilted his head, the way his lips would quirk at the corners when Zemo made a particularly astute observation.
Bucky had started touching him absentmindedly—brushing past him in the kitchen, fingers grazing Zemo's when passing him a cup of coffee, resting a hand on his shoulder when they stood too close during mission briefings. The former Winter Soldier's touch had evolved from wary to casual, the tension in his metal arm noticeably absent when it settled near Zemo's space.
And then there were the *looks.*
The looks that lingered a beat too long across crowded rooms. The soft gazes when they thought he wasn't paying attention. The way their eyes would meet his simultaneously during moments of shared understanding, a silent acknowledgment passing between the three of them that transcended their complicated history.
The looks that said *you're not just a teammate,* or *you're not just an annoyance we put up with.* The kind of looks Zemo had convinced himself he would never deserve again, not after everything he'd done, everything he'd lost.
So when Sam kissed him for the first time, cornering him in the safehouse kitchen while Bucky watched from the doorway, Zemo *laughed.*
It was a reflex, a knee-jerk reaction to the absurdity of the situation. The sound escaped his throat before he could stop it, sharp and unexpected even to his own ears. He pulled back, his fingers instinctively reaching up to touch his lips where Sam's had been moments before.
"That's funny," he said, his accent thicker than usual, betraying his unease. He stepped back, putting distance between them, his spine stiffening as he retreated behind his practiced mask of cool indifference.
Sam frowned, his eyebrows knitting together, hands dropping to his sides. "Uh... what?"
"You can stop now." Zemo's voice was carefully controlled, his eyes darting between Sam and Bucky, searching for the punchline.
"Stop *what?*" Sam's confusion seemed genuine, his shoulders tensing slightly.
"This—" Zemo gestured vaguely between them, his usually graceful movements uncharacteristically jerky. "Whatever joke this is."
Bucky, who had been standing off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, posture rigid, exchanged a glance with Sam before stepping forward. His boots made heavy sounds against the floor as he approached. "You think this is a joke?" His voice was low, that dangerous edge it got when he was trying to keep his emotions in check.
Zemo shrugged, an elegant roll of his shoulders that belied the turmoil inside. "I think you're both easily entertained." His lips curled into a sardonic smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Zemo—" Sam started, taking a step forward, his hand outstretched.
"Please, spare me the theatrics." Zemo cut him off, raising a palm to halt Sam's advance. "I appreciate the effort, but I'm not—" He shook his head, something bitter curling in his chest, his throat tightening. "You don't have to *pretend.*" His voice caught on the last word, betraying the vulnerability he tried so hard to conceal.
Sam made a noise like he was trying very hard not to lose his patience, his nostrils flaring slightly. "Why would we pretend?"
Zemo gave him a look, his eyes suddenly cold and distant. "Because it's *me.*" The words hung heavy in the air, laden with unspoken history and guilt.
Bucky was the one to move first—quick and effortless, catching Zemo's wrist before he could pull away further. His grip was firm but gentle, metal fingers surprisingly warm against Zemo's pulse point. "We're serious." The words were gruff, but his blue eyes were softer than Zemo had ever seen them.
Zemo stared down at where their skin touched, something tight and panicked lodging itself in his ribs. His heartbeat quickened, visibly pulsing beneath the thin skin of his wrist. "You *can't* be." His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Why?" Sam asked, stepping closer, his movements deliberate and careful, as if approaching a cornered animal. "Because we fight? Because we argue?"
"Because I *know* how you see me." Zemo's jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek. His posture was rigid, shoulders squared as if bracing for impact.
Bucky's grip tightened—just slightly. "You *think* you know." His thumb moved in small circles against Zemo's skin, a soothing gesture that contradicted the intensity of his gaze.
Sam exhaled, his shoulders dropping, his tone softer now. "Do you really think we would've put up with your bullshit this long if we didn't actually *like* you?"
Zemo opened his mouth—then closed it, his typical eloquence failing him. His dark eyes darted between them, searching for deception, for the cruel joke he was certain was coming.
The world felt unsteady beneath him, a tilt he hadn't prepared for. He had been expecting many things—annoyance, dismissal, maybe even a bit of cruelty. But not *this.*
Not warmth. Not *patience.* Not... love.
His instinct was to deny it. To push them away before they could come to their senses. To retreat behind his carefully constructed walls and the comfort of his solitude. But then Bucky's thumb brushed gently over the inside of his wrist, and Sam was still *there,* waiting, his eyes warm and sincere, and—
Zemo swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "You're sure?" His voice was uncharacteristically small, stripped of its usual confidence.
Sam huffed out a laugh, the tension in his shoulders releasing. "That's what we've been *trying* to tell you, man." His smile was gentle, understanding, with no hint of mockery.
Bucky didn't say anything, just gave his wrist a final squeeze before releasing him. But his eyes said everything—steady, certain, no longer clouded with the suspicion that had characterized their early interactions.
Zemo hesitated for a long moment, waging a silent war with himself. His fingers twitched at his sides, his chest rising and falling with carefully measured breaths. And then—slowly, *carefully*—he reached for them both, one hand extending toward Sam, the other toward Bucky.
His movements were tentative, almost fragile, so unlike his usual calculated precision. But when their hands met his, when Sam's fingers intertwined with his and Bucky's palm pressed warm against his own, something long-dormant unfurled in his chest.
And this time, he didn't let go. This time, he allowed himself to be anchored by their touch, by the promise of something he never thought he'd find again.
The smile that spread across his face was genuine—small and uncertain, but real. More real than anything he'd felt in years.
Later that evening, the safehouse settled into a comfortable quiet. The mission debriefing was long over, dishes from dinner cleared away, and the gentle hum of the heating system provided the only ambient noise.
Zemo sat alone in the small living area, nursing a glass of brandy, watching the amber liquid catch the light as he swirled it gently. His mind was still processing the events of the afternoon, replaying the kiss, the conversation, the feeling of their hands in his. Despite everything, a small part of him still expected them to appear and inform him it had all been an elaborate ruse.
The sound of footsteps drew his attention. Sam and Bucky appeared in the doorway, standing closer to each other than they would have months ago. Zemo's eyes traveled over them, noting how Bucky's hair was slightly damp from a shower, how Sam had changed into a soft gray t-shirt that looked well-worn and comfortable.
"Not tired?" Sam asked, his voice low and gentle in the quiet room.
Zemo shrugged one shoulder elegantly. "I rarely sleep much these days." He took a deliberate sip of his brandy, using the glass as a shield. "Old habits."
Bucky nodded in understanding, his metal arm gleaming dully in the low light. "We know something about that."
A moment of silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken words. Zemo found himself cataloging the details: how Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other, how Bucky's flesh hand twitched slightly at his side, the way they both seemed to be waiting for something.
Finally, Sam took a step forward. "Come to bed with us." It wasn't a command, but it wasn't quite a question either. His eyes held Zemo's steadily, no hint of uncertainty in them now.
Zemo stilled, the glass halfway to his lips. "I beg your pardon?"
Bucky's mouth quirked up at one corner. "You heard him."
"To... sleep," Zemo clarified cautiously, setting his glass down on the side table with practiced precision.
Sam's smile grew. "If that's what you want." He paused, then added, "But we were thinking maybe more than that. If you're interested."
Zemo's breath caught imperceptibly. His mind raced through possibilities, analyzing intentions, searching for the catch. Old habits indeed. "Both of you?"
"That's the idea," Bucky said, his voice rougher than before. He stepped closer, moving with that predatory grace that Zemo had always privately admired. "Unless you've got a problem with that."
"No," Zemo replied quickly, perhaps too quickly. He composed himself. "No problem at all."
Sam extended his hand. "Then come with us."
Zemo looked at the offered hand, then up at Sam's face, then to Bucky who watched him with those intense blue eyes. He had spent so long pushing people away, building walls, making himself untouchable. The prospect of vulnerability terrified him in ways that combat never had.
But perhaps that was precisely why it mattered.
With deliberate movements, stood, and smoothed down his shirt. "Well," he said, his accent thicker than usual, "I suppose it would be rude to refuse such a... gracious invitation."
Bucky snorted. "You're going to be difficult about this too, aren't you?"
For the first time that evening, a genuine smile curved Zemo's lips. "Would you expect anything less?"
Sam laughed, the sound warming the room. "God help us, we've made a terrible mistake."
"Several, I imagine," Zemo agreed, but he took Sam's outstretched hand anyway, allowing himself to be led toward the hallway.
As they walked, Bucky fell into step behind him, close enough that Zemo could feel the heat radiating from his body. A hand—metal, cool against his skin—came to rest at the small of his back, guiding him forward.
Zemo tensed momentarily at the touch, then consciously relaxed. This was new territory, unmapped and dangerous in its own way. But as he followed Sam down the dimly lit hallway, Bucky's hand steady against his back, he found himself strangely unafraid.
Whatever awaited him through that bedroom door, at least he wouldn't face it alone.
Once inside, they guided him to lay down on their bed. Their hands roamed possessively over Zemo's trembling body, pressing him further into the bed. Sam tugged down his tailored pants while Bucky's metal arm held him firmly in place, pressing against his chest. Zemo let out a shaky gasp as they began manhandling him.
"Been wanting this for so long," Sam growled, grinding his cock against Zemo's bare ass. "You're such a pretty thing, Zemo."
"Please..." Zemo whimpered, his usual composure cracking. His face flushed deep red as Bucky's metal fingers found his nipples, pinching and rolling them through the thin fabric of his shirt.
"Listen to him beg already," Bucky whispered darkly, yanking Zemo's head back by the hair. "Where's all that confidence now, Baby?"
"Ahh...I-I need..." Zemo's voice trembled as Sam's spit-slick fingers breached his tight hole.
"What do you need, baby?" Sam teased, pumping his thick fingers deeper. "Use your words."
"F-fuck me, please," Zemo begged shamelessly, his accent breaking. "Need you both...need your cocks..."
"Good boy," Bucky praised, pressing three metal fingers into Zemo's mouth. "Suck them nice and wet for me."
Zemo moaned around the digits, drool running down his chin as Sam stretched his hole. His own cock leaked steadily, creating a small puddle.
"Shh, let us take care of you," Sam murmured, circling Zemo's tight entrance with slick fingers. The baron trembled against the bed, Bucky pressing hot kisses along his neck.
"Please..." Zemo gasped as Sam's thick finger breached him slowly. His hands gripped the sheets, knuckles white. "Oh god..."
"So tight," Sam praised, working that finger deeper. "Relax for me baby, gonna make you feel so good." His other hand stroked Zemo's hip soothingly.
Bucky's metal hand slid under Zemo's shirt, finding his sensitive nipples. "Love how responsive you are," he growled, pinching and rolling the hardened nubs. His flesh hand tilted Zemo's face for a deep kiss, swallowing his whimpers.
"Ungh...fuck..." Zemo moaned into Bucky's mouth as Sam added a second finger, stretching him carefully. His cock leaked steadily, creating a wet spot on the blankets.
"Look at you," Sam said admiringly, scissoring his fingers. "Taking it so well. Want another?"
"Ja...yes, please..." Zemo begged shamelessly. His usual composure was completely shattered, reduced to desperate pleas as they played with his body.
Bucky broke their kiss to suck dark marks along Zemo's throat. His metal hand continued tormenting those sensitive nipples while his flesh hand wrapped around Zemo's leaking cock.
"Ahh!" Zemo cried out as Sam pushed in a third thick finger, stretching him wider. "Oh fuck...oh please..."
"So pretty when you beg," Sam praised, crooking his fingers to brush Zemo's prostate. The baron's whole body jerked, a broken moan escaping his lips.
"Found your sweet spot," Sam teased, massaging that sensitive bundle of nerves. "Gonna make you cum just from my fingers."
"Please, I need..." Zemo writhed between them as Bucky stroked his cock in time with Sam's fingers. His accent grew thicker with arousal. "Need more..."
"What do you need, baby?" Bucky whispered hotly in his ear. "Tell us."
"Want...want to cum," Zemo sobbed as Sam's fingers pressed relentlessly against his prostate. "Please let me cum..."
"Since you asked so nicely," Sam purred, increasing the pressure. Bucky tightened his grip on Zemo's cock, metal fingers pinching his nipples hard.
Zemo's mouth opened in a silent scream as his orgasm hit, coating the sheets with hot cum. His hole clenched rhythmically around Sam's fingers as he shuddered through the intense pleasure.
"Beautiful," Bucky praised, petting Zemo's sweaty hair as he sagged against them. "So perfect for us."
Sam slowly withdrew his fingers, making Zemo whimper at the loss. "Just the beginning, baby," he promised darkly. "We're nowhere near done with you yet."
Zemo could only moan weakly in response, completely undone by their skilled hands and hungry for more.
"Please..." Zemo's raw plea spurred them into motion. Sam kept him pinned while Bucky gripped his jaw firmly.
"Open," Bucky commanded, pressing his thick cock against Zemo's swollen lips. The baron obeyed eagerly, moaning as the heavy length filled his mouth.
Behind him, Sam lined up his massive cock with Zemo's well-stretched hole. "Ready, baby?" He pushed in slowly, groaning at the tight heat. "Fuck, you feel amazing."
"Mmmphhh..." Zemo choked around Bucky's length as Sam bottomed out. Tears leaked from his eyes, face flushed deep red as they used him from both ends.
"Look at him take it," Bucky growled, metal hand fisting in Zemo's hair. "Such a perfect cocksleeve." He started fucking Zemo's throat in earnest, making him gag and drool.
Sam established a brutal rhythm, his thick cock stretching Zemo wider with each thrust. "So tight for us still," he praised, gripping those slim hips. "Taking our cocks like you were made for it."
"Ungh...glk...glk..." Zemo could only make muffled sounds as they used him roughly. His own cock had hardened again, leaking steadily onto the bedding as they spitroasted him.
"Love seeing you like this," Bucky panted, forcing his cock deeper. "All that pride gone, just our eager little slut now."
Sam's thrusts grew harder, hitting Zemo's prostate with each stroke. "Gonna fill you up so good baby. Want you dripping with our cum."
Zemo moaned desperately around Bucky's length, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. The dual assault on his holes had him trembling on the edge of another orgasm.
"Gonna cum again just from our cocks?" Sam taunted, spanking Zemo's ass hard. "Show us what a good boy you are."
Bucky shoved deep, cutting off Zemo's air. "Swallow it all," he growled, shooting hot ropes down the baron's throat.
The feeling of Bucky's cum filling his mouth combined with Sam's relentless pounding pushed Zemo over the edge. He came untouched with a muffled scream, hole clenching rhythmically around Sam's cock.
"Fuck yes," Sam groaned, hilting deep as he filled Zemo's ass. "There you go."
When they finally pulled out, Zemo slumped bonelessly against the bed. Cum leaked from both his holes, his face a mess of tears and drool.
"Such a good boy for us," Sam praised softly, stroking Zemo's trembling thighs.
"Perfect," Bucky agreed, wiping tears from Zemo's flushed cheeks. "Think we finally found the best use for that mouth."
Zemo could only whimper in agreement, thoroughly debauched and already craving more.