Bucky Clone-ish

“Sir, while you were away, there has been an alarming development.”

Zemo searched his face. “Tell me everything,” he said, manoeuvring into the jet, and walking to the small conference room situated in the middle section. Before he went inside the room he turned to the others.

“James, Boys, go on through to the seating area. I’ll be along shortly.”

Bucky nodded, his eyes concerned, but he ushered the Cats before him and moved them along the jet. The engines started.

In the conference room, Oeznik gave Zemo a concise report on the discovery of Philby’s betrayal, his subsequent murder, the existence and destruction of the lab in the Alps, the construction of a new lab in Scotland, the scientist Florian, the Countess Brigadier, the Marquise of Trieste, and the two new Clones. 

Zemo could hardly contain his anger and feelings of guilt.

“I should have dealt with Philby after we discovered that James had created Muzzy.” He shook his head, mortified, then looked back at Oeznik. “Thank you, old friend. You have been most busy whilst I have been gadding about in the countryside. I apologise that this fell to you.”

“Sir, you know that no apology is necessary.”

Zemo squeezed him on the shoulder. “It falls to me now, Oeznik. I will take it from here.”

He ushered Oeznik out into the corridor, to find Bucky pacing outside. Oeznik gave a short bow to the Baron, before moving off to join the Cats.

Zemo tilted his head at Bucky.

“Don’t say a word,” Bucky said, right up in his face. ”I heard everything. You are not doing this alone.”

Zemo didn’t flinch. Just nodded his acceptance. “Of course. I’ll drop you off in Trieste. You don’t have a problem dispatching the Marquise and her entourage, I assume?”

Bucky gave him a look.

“I know you are an incomparable killing machine, my love, but I will not have you unarmed. Come with me to the armoury.”

“What armoury?”

Zemo didn’t answer, just smirked and lead Bucky to a small room at the back of the plane. Small, but filled with racks of weaponry and cupboards of ammunition and tactical supplies. Everything you could think of, stacked and organised to perfection.

“Fuck’s sake, Hel. What haven’t you got in here?” exclaimed Bucky, running his hands over the wall of machine guns, looking at the explosives, handling the array of bladed weapons. “Hell’s teeth! Is this a fucking longsword?”

Zemo took the double-edged sword from him, smiling. “It pays to be prepared,” he said, sliding it back into its ornate scabbard. “I will deal with the lab in Scotland, the Countess Brigadier, et al. I am unsure of the present location of the scientist Florian, but I will have found that out by the time we land.”

“We also need to secure or destroy the plans,” said Bucky, leaning back against a box of grenades.

“Indeed. And, although I find it distasteful, because they are ultimately innocent, the clones.”

“Understood.”

“I am also having someone looking into whether there are more clones out there.”

“I hope not.”

“Quite. Oeznik will take the boys home, after he drops me off in the Scottish Highlands.” Zemo opened a cupboard revealing various communications equipment. “Here’s a comm set. We’ll meet back up at the safe house in London tomorrow evening.”

He moved to open another larger closet to reveal tactical gear.

“Holy Cow,” said Bucky, moving to his side. “Is that a copy of the clothes we wore in Riga?” He fingered the clothing folded neatly on the shelves.

“I’m sentimental.” Zemo smirked, pulling out a black top and accompanying weapon harness.

Bucky sighed. “I miss you in this tactical harness. Put it on for me.”

“Here? Now?” Zemo queried.

Bucky gave him a soppy grin, eyes big and blue. “Yeah, I’m feeling sentimental.”

“As you wish.” Zemo began to peel off his polo top. Bucky let out a breath. God, he fucking loved seeing Zemo strip. He was fluid and graceful, like a dancer. Zemo deftly put on the black top and, as he adjusted the weapon harness around his shoulders, Bucky felt less sentimental and more seductive.

As Zemo was tucking in his top, Bucky closed the gap between them and slipped his fingers under the harness straps. Zemo looked up at him, searching his face. Bucky’s pupils were huge, and Zemo’s dilated in response. Bucky slowly pulled Zemo towards him by the straps.

“Do you remember when I said: Do you want to see what someone can do with leverage?” he asked softly, his face close to Zemo’s.

“How could I forget?” Zemo whispered huskily, his accent thick. “I have replayed that conversation many times in my head.”

“Hmmmm. Me too.”

“I should have replied: Actually, yes, I desperately want to see what you can do to me with your leverage.”

Bucky pulled him in for a kiss, his hands moving down to unbuckle Zemo’s trousers.

Zemo breathed out “Lock the door.”

Bucky whispered “Keep the harness on.”

*

Oeznik was in the kitchen area making snacks, oblivious to the noises coming from the armoury.

Jamie, however, looked over at Muzzy and grinned. 

Muzzy smiled back, showing his canines. “They are such idiots, aren’t they?”

“Yip, but we love ‘em.”

*

Some while later, Zemo and Bucky were sitting on the long sofa that lined one side of the jet seating area. They had just told Jamie and Muzzy that they wouldn’t be coming straight home with them, but would be dropped off en route and would see them at home later. They didn’t go into too much detail, but the Cats could sense the atmosphere.

The Cats immediately climbed on the sofa and curled up next to them, Jamie under Zemo’s arm, Muzz under Bucky’s. They wrapped themselves around their partners as close as close could be. Tails curled around legs in a vice-like grip. Ears down.

“But you’ve never both been away at the same time before,” whispered BuckyCat plaintively, looking up into Zemo’s face with big tearful eyes. 

“How long will you be gone?” asked ZemoCat, trying not to whine, hugging close to Bucky, rubbing his cheek against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Only 2 days,” said Bucky, wrapping his arms around Muzzy and snugging him close. “3 tops.”

“Don’t worry,” said Zemo, kissing Jamie’s hair, and hugging him. “Everything will be fine. This is what we do.”

“We’ll be back soon,” assured Bucky. “Before you know it.”

“You won’t even miss us, my darlings,” said Zemo.

“But I miss you already, and you haven’t even gone yet,” sniffed BuckyCat.

*

Part 2

As Zemo approached the Countess Brigadier’s Scottish mansion, he noticed a distinct lack of activity. As expected. That corresponded with the information he had received from his contact in England. She had no bodyguards here with her, since she was ostensibly on vacation, with her current beau, Sgt. Barnes. Everyone else was at the lab, situated about half a mile from here. 

He would deal with the Countess and the Clone first, before moving on to the lab, where, he was reliably informed, the scientist Florian was implementing the final touches on the main cloning banks. 

His information told him that the staff at the mansion were just staff, not affiliated with Hydra, so he would endeavour to keep out of their way as much as he could. He detested unnecessary bloodshed.

He stopped, amazed. Good Lord, the glass doors opening onto the breakfast patio at the back of the house were wide open, affording him an easy entrance. Maybe luck was on his side. He dropped his bag of explosives behind an opportune bush, before slipping through the open doors and on into the house.

He moved through an empty sitting room to the hallway, drawing his sword as he did so. It felt good to grip the familiar hilt. He slipped effortlessly into combat mode.

There was no one about, but he could hear movements from the kitchen area, and a soft conversation from the study opposite. The door was slightly ajar and he could see the Countess Brigadier with her back to him, seated at a fine desk. She was talking on the phone. Surprisingly, it was an old-fashioned landline phone, and she was twirling the cord around her finger as she spoke. He slipped noiselessly up to the doorway, senses on high alert, one hand lightly on his scabbard to prevent any sound from leaking.

The room itself was richly furnished, with sumptuous low couches and floor to ceiling bookshelves. Excellent for noise absorption.

“It’s always the same, Florian. The memory adjustment is definitely temporary. This one’s memories are starting to return already, and it’s only been a week. I can only presume the same thing is happening with Lucrezia.”

Zemo waited until she put the phone down, scanning the area for reflective surfaces. As she sat, facing away from him, contemplating the conversation, Zemo slipped up behind her, grabbed a handful of hair at the back of her scalp and slammed her head into the table. Once, twice, three times, in rapid succession. In the split-second while she was still stunned and before she recovered, he pushed the chair with her in it bodily into the table, effectively trapping her arms. Zemo brought his sword up to her neck, and his face down to her eyeline.

“Where are the cloning plans?” he whispered huskily, still gripping the back of her head with his free hand.

She was stoic. The blood from her head wound was dripping into her eyes, but even so, she couldn’t prevent a quick eye flick towards the bookshelves.

“Thank you,” said Zemo, smirking.

Her eyes widened. He slid the sword almost lovingly across her windpipe, and waited those few seconds while her life bled out. He left her head to drop to the table.

Zemo turned and wiped his blade on the back of an expensive couch. He moved over to the bookshelves and scanned for any indication of the hidden safe.

A rustle on his left alerted him, and he turned to see a shadowed shape in the doorway. A recognisable silhouette leaning up against the doorframe.

“I thought I could smell blood. You’re good. Quiet. Subtle.” 

The familiar, yet unfamiliar voice sent a frisson through Zemo. He casually brought his sword up between them.

The figure stepped into the room, hands in pockets. Cool. Collected.

For an instant Zemo was stunned at the likeness. It was Bucky, but not his Bucky. Of course, he knew intellectually he would look like his James. But here and now, standing in front of him, Zemo was breathless. The BuckyClone was a vision. Longer hair, dark beard, hot azure eyes. Dressed in smart Black Watch tartan tailored trousers, a black shirt, open at the neck, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscled forearms. No prosthetic arm. Of course - he’d been lab-grown. Zemo almost slapped himself on the head as the realisation hit him. He should have anticipated this.

He got himself under control in a split-second.

“Sgt Barnes,” he said, formally.

“It’s Sebastián.”

Zemo inclined his head. Sebastián. It suited him.

“And you’re Baron Zemo, of course. Are you here to kill me, too?”

“I would prefer not to. You have been manipulated.”

“Understood. And thank you. But for a while now, I’ve felt myself drowning. You’d be doing me a favour.”

Zemo’s heart stuttered. “I might be able to help rectify that.”

“Ah. I… I don’t know how I feel about that,” Barnes ran one hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face.

Zemo sheathed his sword. “You now have the luxury of time. Think about it, and while doing so, I would appreciate your help in destroying the lab, and all evidence and personnel pertaining to it.”

Sebastián moved over to the bookcase. “That I can do.” He smiled winningly at Zemo, and Zemo felt his heart melt. “Here’s the safe,” he said, pulling at a row of false books to reveal a silver door with a cyberlock. “We need Connie’s ID.” He grinned again, “which I am sure she will be happy to provide if you bring the head over.”

Zemo decapitated the Countess Brigadier’s head and brought it over to the retinal scanner. The door opened with a soft click. Zemo handed the head to Sebastián, who held it up like Yorick. “Alas, poor Countess,” he said, before kissing her soundly on the mouth and placing her on the couch cushions, facing away from them.

The open safe revealed a thumb drive, which Zemo pocketed, some jewellery boxes, passports and wallets of various currencies, which Zemo ignored, and a compact Glock 19 with 2 boxes of ammo and a silencer. Without hesitation, he passed them to Sebastián.

Sebastián examined the gun like the professional he was. He loaded and primed it, pocketed the spare ammo boxes, and pointed it casually at Zemo. “I could kill you now,” he said.

Zemo turned to face him, feeling eerily calm. “Then do so, soldier,” he whispered.

“God, I love your accent,” said Sebastián unexpectedly. He grinned and brought the weapon down to his side, turning to leave the room. “This way,” he called, over his shoulder.

Zemo let out a breath. Fuck. He was as cheeky as his James was after they had finally got together. He was falling, he could feel it. He shook himself, and followed.

Sebastián stopped suddenly. He peered out of the study into the hallway beyond. Then he stepped back into the room and closed the door with an audible click. He turned to wink at Zemo. “They know not to disturb her if this door is shut, so we’ve got loads of time.”

“Excellent thinking, but why…” said Zemo.

“Hang on.” Barnes doubled back on himself, brushing past Zemo’s shoulder on the way into the room he had first appeared from. He returned with an empty red Prada backpack.

“We might need the head at the lab.” He picked up the Countess’ head and stuffed it in the backpack. Too much hair was spilling out. He caught the hair, twisted it into a rope, and held it out to the side.

“Do the honours, Baron,” he said, looking up at Zemo with wide trusting eyes.

Zemo nodded, took out the knife from the holster at his back and sheared off the excess hair.

Sebastián threw it to the ground. Then paused.

“We might also need her hand; y’know, for fingerprints,” he said, nodding his head in the direction of the corpse.

“Good idea,” said Zemo, walking over to calmly slice off her right hand and bring it back to the BuckyClone.

Barnes placed it in the bag, on top of the head. As he closed the top, lengthened the shoulder straps and swung it over his back, he said, “Such a shame. She really was great in bed.”

I’m better, thought Zemo.

”We’ll take my motorbike to the lab,” said Barnes. “You don’t mind sitting behind, do you?

Zemo shook his head. He didn’t mind at all.

He was slightly distracted by the thought of his arms around Sebastián’s tight waist as he moved to the study door, arriving there at the same time as Barnes, placing his hand on the door handle at the same time as Barnes, their fingers touching. There was a frisson of electricity between them. Time slowed.

Sebastián looked at Zemo. Smiled shyly.

Zemo looked at Barnes. Tilted his head and tried not to smirk. “Loads of time, you said, did you not?”

“Hmmmm?” said Barnes, distracted by Zemo’s mouth, and the nearness of him. “Loads.” His other hand moved involuntarily to Zemo’s cheek.

Zemo placed his hand over it, pressed his mouth into the palm, all the while keeping eye contact with Barnes. He was rewarded by Seb’s eyes dilating fully, and his breathing speeding up. 

He moved his mouth away from Seb’s palm to whisper, huskily “How fast can you strip?”

“You read my mind,” murmured Sebastián, taking his hand from the door handle and cupping Zemo’s cheek. He kissed him long and slow, his tongue clever and possessive.

Zemo’s eyes fluttered closed as he returned the kiss. When he opened them again, Sebastián’s were closed, long lashes dark against his cheeks. The sight made his cock twitch.

He broke off the kiss and reached for his belt. As he unbuckled his trousers, Seb mirrored him, pushing down his trousers then taking off his backpack and throwing it to the side. 

Zemo turned Sebastián around and pushed him up against the door, one hand on Seb’s back, one hand on his own thickening cock.

Seb craned his neck to look and sighed with pleasure. He braced his hands against the door and thrust out his bum. Zemo lined himself up and slipped into Sebastián as if they had done this before. Maybe they had.

Barnes moaned and clenched around him. “Fuck yes,” he said, moving his hips backwards, to pull Zemo further in.

Zemo moved his hands to Seb’s hips, and started to rock into him. He was so hot and tight, and there was a delicious friction. Within a few strokes, he was pushing in fast and hard, Seb silently urging him on and pressing backwards, gripping him internally. They were trying to be quiet, suppressing their moans as best they could, but the flesh slapping against flesh seemed indecently loud to their ears, and served to quicken their climax. 

All too soon, Zemo had Seb bucking under him, and his cock releasing fat stripes of cum all over the door panels; then Zemo allowed his own release deep inside his new lover.

He pulled out and stepped back, leaning against a little side table, watching Sebastián staring at the patterns his jizz had made on the door and the floor, watching his own semen leaking out of Barnes’ backside and dribbling down the inside of his thigh. 

Mine, he thought.

He stroked his cock lazily. Could he go again? Yes. Did he want to? Yes.

He stood up from the table and stepped up to Barnes. He stroked his hand up his back and gripped the back of his neck. He leaned in close to whisper, “Could you go again, darling?”

“Darling?” queried Sebastián. “I like that. Say it again.” He turned and took Zemo in his arms, kissing him again before he could speak.

When he broke off the kiss, Zemo was breathless, flushed. 

“Darling mine,” Zemo whispered, gazing at him. He turned and braced himself against the door, in exactly the same position that Barnes had adopted. He looked at Seb over his shoulder, and wiggled his bum. “Ruin me.”

*

It was a short trip to the lab. Zemo made one little stop to retrieve his bag of explosives along the way. 

The lab was situated in isolation in a little valley in the hills of the Scottish countryside. The scenery was breathtakingly beautiful, a haunting counterpoint to what it concealed. From the outside, it looked unobtrusive. Several single story buildings linked together with a perimeter fence and some not-yet-functioning security cameras. But Zemo had seen the plans of the larger underground complex: vast cloning labs that could produce up to 20 clones at a time. He shuddered at the thought of what his narcissistic need for a Bucky of his own had wrought. He could not let this go any further.

They stopped the bike a short distance away, and made their way round the perimeter to the back. 

The place was deserted, just a few technicians setting up various pieces of apparatus and computer consoles. They could have just walked in the front, but Sebastián balked at that idea.

They split the explosives between them and set about attaching them to all relevant machines and surfaces. It was surprisingly easy to avoid detection.

Sebastián pointed out Florian to Zemo through a thick glass window overlooking a computer lab.

“I can’t kill him myself, Baron. It’s not that I don’t want to, I actually can’t.” 

“No problem,” whispered Zemo, unsheathing his sword. “Leave him to me. You set the explosives, my darling, and stash that backpack with the bits of the Countess in it somewhere.” He kissed him on the cheek and moved to the door of the lab. 

Seb watched through the window as Zemo approached the scientist, unable to move as the scene unfolded before him. Zemo had his sword behind his back, his head tilted in that infuriatingly sexy way. Florian seemed to mistake him for someone else and became agitated, but Zemo brought his sword round to the front and laid it lightly across his throat. Florian was disbelieving until a ribbon of blood trickled from his neck. He turned to run. Zemo let him get a few steps away, playing with him like a cat, before moving gracefully after him and dispatching him with one fluid stroke.

He wiped his sword on Florian’s lab coat, before turning to look across at Barnes, and flourishing his sword in an elaborate bow. Sebastián couldn’t help grinning back through the window, and saluting him.

They set the last of the explosives and made their way to the exit. 

Zemo spotted an empty storeroom and pulled Barnes into it. He pushed the door closed behind them, and dropped his bag to the floor. He turned to Barnes, grinning. “We have some time, I think.” He reached for Seb’s belt.

“Hang on,” said Sebastián. “Let’s not push our luck. We can be out of here in 5 minutes, and I’ll quite happily fuck your brains out when I see this place going up in smoke.”

Zemo tilted his head. “Do you not feel the adrenaline rush?” He unbuckled Seb’s pants, slipped his hand inside. “Do you not want me now? Here?”

“We can’t fuck here.” Seb’s convictions were slowly fading under the pure charisma of the man before him.

“We can, my love,” whispered Zemo, “and we will.”

*

It was twenty minutes later that they were cresting a hill and stopping to turn the bike. Behind them they could see the lab, glinting in the afternoon light.

Zemo handed Barnes a little black box, with a short antenna and some blinking lights. “Will you do the honours, my love?”

Sebastián took it, and with no preamble or ceremony, set off the explosives. 

They watched with satisfaction as a chain reaction of fires erupted throughout the lab and its environs. Thick black smoke curling into the sky. The sound hit them a few seconds later. 

Zemo placed his hand on Sebastián’s arm. “I believe you said something about happily fucking my brains out.”

*

Part 3

Bucky had secured an excellent view of the upper floors of the Trieste house from the rooftop of the opposite building. He scoped out the movements of the inhabitants, noting three bodyguards downstairs and just one on the landing outside the Marquise’ suite of rooms on the third floor.

Through the open windows he could see both Lucrezia and the ZemoClone moving around. She was stunning, he had to admit, dressed in a midnight blue floor length gown and white elbow length opera gloves. Her hair was swept up in an elegant French pleat. But the ZemoClone, now he was something else. The way he carried himself, the way he moved. He was exactly like Helmut, but his hair was longer, wavey and layered to fall to around his shoulders. He had a close cut dark beard. Not too full, but Bucky could imagine running his fingers through it, if he could persuade his Baron to grow his out a bit. The ZemoClone was dressed in dark trousers and waistcoat, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, open at the neck.

Bucky calmed his breathing. He moved his sights back to the lower floor bodyguards. He debated just shooting them from here, but something made him want to get up close and personal. He packed up his rifle and checked his knives. 

Slipping downstairs, he sauntered out and across the street, like any ordinary tourist. He wandered past the Trieste household and around the back, slipping in through the kitchen area like a ghost.

He dispatched the first two bodyguards with ease, happy with the lack of blood leakage as he moved them into a storage room and quietly jammed the door shut on them.

Moving up to the second floor, he managed to duck back just as the third bodyguard was wandering down the hallway, talking in rapid Italian on her phone. Bucky translated the conversation - it was a muted discussion with her girlfriend about her whereabouts last night. Bucky waited impatiently for the conversation to end, sidling up behind her to slit her throat as she was putting her phone in her back pocket. A side room with an extravagant baby grand became her final resting place, tucked behind a pale blue chaise longue.

Three down, one to go.

He padded noiselessly up the last flight of stairs, peering around the corner to check the position of the final bodyguard. There he was - lounging on a chair, reading a newspaper, a steaming cup of espresso and some biscotti on the fancy ornate table at his side.

Bucky focussed, walked quickly up the final steps and towards the man, stabbing him fatally through the heart and then the throat in a double motion too fast for him to react to. He swept his knife across his neck for good measure, stuffed the wound with the man’s own pocket square, and laid his head gently on the side table like he was taking a nap over his paper. 

He wiped his knife on the guy’s trousers, thankful that the dark material soaked up the blood without being too obvious, and turned to the door leading to Lucrezia and the ZemoClone.

He opened it and slipped through, closing it silently behind him. There was no one in this ante chamber. He could hear muted Italian from the next room. He listened for the few seconds it took him to cross the room. Lucrezia was telling the ZemoCone about the opera they were going to later. The ZemoClone’s name was Daniil. Daniil had already seen this opera, and had found both the orchestra and director disappointing. Blah. Blah. Blah. Bucky took out his gun and attached the noise suppressor.

Opening the door an inch or two, he poked the barrel of his gun through. Daniil stopped dead, eyes wide. Lucrezia had her back to Bucky, still talking. She hadn’t noticed him, hadn’t even noticed Daniil’s reaction, and before she could, or Daniil could warn her, Bucky shot her in the back of the head and watched her crumple to the floor, a pool of blood growing around her head, the bright crimson contrasting nicely with her dark blue dress and pale gold carpet.

He stepped into the room, gun pointed at Daniil.

Daniil shook himself. Seemed to come into focus. He raised his hands and looked right at Bucky.

“Sei qui per uccidere anche me?” he asked softly, calmly.

Are you here to kill me also?

“Ci sto pensando.”

I’m thinking about it.

Bucky moved closer.

“What’s stopping you?”

“You know you’ve been brainwashed, don’t you?”

Daniil sagged. He nodded. He seemed to make a decision, and dropped to his knees in front of Bucky, arms out to the side in total surrender.

“I knew something was wrong.” He threw back his head. “End this, I beg you.” He closed his eyes.

***