Sam looked on the verge of a breakdown. His eyes were wide open, undecided between giving them a look of incredulity, absolute hatred… or ordering Redwing to chase those damn idiots for three hours. He clutched his chest, not too—too—dramatically, as if he were suffering a heart attack.
Zemo rolled his eyes, hiding his small smile with a low, forced cough.
It was almost comical, but laughing would probably only make the captain even more upset.
Bucky, who at least had the decency to separate from the baron's body, adjusted his pants without a shred of shame. If he was supposed to feel embarrassed or at least surprised, he didn’t show it. He rolled his eyes at the dramatic scene his best friend was putting on.
“Can you calm down?” he asked in his most soothing tone while guiding Sam to the couch in front of the small table where Helmut usually had his tea.
Sam shook his head, frowning in offense. He stared at Bucky’s face before lowering his gaze to his bare torso, where the Sokovian—very generously—had left some love marks.
“You and Zemo!” he shouted, the scene from a moment ago still fresh in his memory.
Bucky nodded as if it were obvious, where Wilson had expected a denial, he found only an expression of pure pride.
From the kitchen, the brunet who had been listening to everything let out a chuckle, and James nearly forgot what was happening, momentarily lost in that enchanting sound.
“I think we were too obvious, Samuel. I don’t understand how you didn’t notice sooner,” Zemo commented casually as he walked away.
“Oh, I definitely noticed! You two are shameless!” Sam exclaimed, even more upset. “What I don’t understand is why the hell you were about to do it in my bed!”
Zemo returned then, this time carrying a tray with a teapot and porcelain cups.
He stopped next to James, a great idea forming to further annoy Sam.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, the regret painted in his honey-colored eyes. “It’s my favorite spot,” he finished with clear mischief.
Sam froze, processing the information while Barnes—for the first time that night—had the decency to look embarrassed, blushing all the way down to his neck. He turned to Zemo in panic, but the baron simply shrugged and handed him one of the cups.
“Look, Sam! Tea, to calm your nerves. Have a sip.” Bucky pushed the cup into his friend’s hands, certain that one of his partner’s exquisite and expensive infusions would help him relax.
He did not expect Sam to immediately spit out the liquid after taking a big, big sip.
“That’s not tea!” he exclaimed, coughing as he tossed the cup aside. He couldn’t punch the baron, but at the very least, he could break his fancy tableware.
“Well done, Sherlock,” Zemo murmured, grabbing another cup from the tray with absolute calm.
“What did you give him?” James scolded, looking at him with a mix of disbelief and annoyance.
“I only drink tea at night.”
The brunet raised an eyebrow.
“And the rest of the day?”
“I pour vodka into the teapot. It looks more elegant that way.”