Riga, Latvia.
The twin doors to the bathroom springs open and a pleasant breeze of mint-scented aerosols fills the apartment.
Zemo, skin glowing a soft pink and wearing a dark-blue velvet bathrobe, emerges from the steam, drying his hair with a towel.
A fresh and clean smell fills Sam's nose as the Baron saunters past the couch where he sits, reading a paperback novel, trying hard not to worry too much about Bucky who has been gone for the better part of two hours at this point.
Sam is thinking he will wait another half an hour or so before heading out into the streets of Riga to search for his partner, when he hears the soft thud of something hitting the floor tiles and he looks up, identifying the culprit at once.
Zemo has dropped his towel on the floor on his way over to the kitchen, and now it just lays there, abandoned, in the open area between the couch and the kitchen-counter.
"Hey!" Sam objects but Zemo just turns and stares at him puzzled.
"What?" Zemo follows Sam's eyes to the towel on the floor before shrugging his shoulders.
"I'm sure the maid will take care of it."
He goes to turn his back to Sam but is halted when Sam's voice booms through the room.
"No, you're gonna take care of it 'cause youthrew it there...not some little old Latvian grandma, breaking her back cleaning up after rich people like you just to survive! Maybe if you'd had to do a day's worth of actual work in your entire life your highness, you would understand how fucked up that thing you just did is!"
Sam shakes his head and mutters loud enough for Zemo to hear, "this ain't your castle, you arrogant prick, " before turning his attention back to the novel again.
A few seconds goes by in silence then Sam hears the sound of bare feet paddling towards him.
The paddling stops and Sam looks up from his book to find Zemo smiling down at him, the towel now slung casually over his shoulder.
"What?" Sam asks, mostly annoyed but a little on guard also. Something is coming. He knows Zemo enough by now to know that.
"Great book," Zemo's crooked smile turns even smugger than usual,
"what a sad ending though…"
"Don't!..." Sam starts but doesn't get to finish his sentence before Zemo quickly adds:
"…he gets the death penalty, ah yes, poor man," Zemo sucks his teeth in mock sympathy.
"the American dream always seems to come at a cost, doesn't it? To somepeople at least."
"Great! Thanks!"
Sam grits his teeth and flings the book at the far end of the couch where it lands on a pillow, pages splayed open.
He looks up again in time to see Zemo sending him a provocative, over-the-top innocent look.
"What the hells the matter with you!?" Sam scowls at Zemo, "that was the onlybook I brought! Now what am I gonna do to pass the time? Sit here and watch your untrustworthy ass sipping tea?!"
Zemo's smile morphs into a sour looking grimace. He grabs the towel from his shoulder and holds it for a second or two between his thumb and index finger before letting it fall onto the floor.
"Well…" Zemo clears his throat "… according to you, I'm arrogant and you did also insinuate spoiled - that's what's the matter."
"Right now you are proving my point, you big baby! PICK IT THE HELL UP!"
"No." Zemo tilts his head slightly upwards and to the side then sniffs once.
Sam blinks slowly as if he cannot believe the fucking audacity of the other man.
He gets up from the couch, bringing himself eye to eye with Zemo.
Sam is slightly taller than the European and it gives him an odd sense of satisfaction in that moment.
"I said: PICK IT UP!"
"Or what?"
To Sam's surprise, Zemo takes a step closer, challenging him. Apparently, he does not agree with the authoritarian vibe that Sam himself believes he is giving off.
"You will send me back to Germany? Perhaps you don't need my connections and skillset any longer…you and James are going to find Karli all by yourselves?"
Zemo snorts, tilts his head and raises one hand, leveling it with Sam's chest, "good luck with that – no offense, of course."
"Offence taken!" Sam snaps and has to remind himself not to get physical by swatting Zemo's hand out of the way even though it is way beyond tempting, "but hey! maybe you are right…"
Sam narrows his eyes at Zemo, "maybe we can't afford to send you back just yet…but then again maybe…"
He greets the challenge by taking a step towards Zemo, bringing the two of them uncomfortably close.
"…I'm gonna punch you in the face if you don't stop talking and pick up that damn towel! You don't really need teeth to complete this mission, do you?"
"Always with the violence…" Zemo mutters as he averts his eyes to the floor, a disappointed, almost hurt look on his face.
"Yeah, well…I'm not getting through to you any other way, am I?" Sam scoffs in return.
Zemo gives off a light snort, seemingly weighing Sam's words before meeting his gaze again.
"Fine," he finally says in an meek tone of voice, giving Sam the impression that he has accepted the battle is over and lost.
Then Zemo turns around, his back towards Sam and bends over slowly at the waist.
Without thinking, Sam's eyes follow the other man's movements as his ass is brought up in the air almost leveling with his own crotch.
A rush of blood fills Sam's cock and it twitches treacherously, a flush of heat fills his cheeks as he stares at the velvet-clad roundness of Zemo's well-shaped behind right in front of him, and he cannot look away even though his better judgement is screaming at him to do just that.
The anger he felt moments before is suddenly gone, replaced by something else and Sam realizes to his great horror that this new feeling might be lust; that it has been too long since he's been intimate with anyone, since he has touched anyone except to neutralize them in one form or another, that any - even remotely - appealing human body with its firm ass in the air might make him hard.
Even an enemy's ass and yeah - even Zemo's, forgetting apparently, what a murderous, arrogant, manipulative little aristocratic shit that he is in the process.
For a moment the image of him having Zemo pinned down, bend over the kitchen-counter fills Sam's mind.
How he would grab a handful of Zemo's still damp hair and pull it, forcing him to arch his back.
Perhaps Zemo would open his mouth just a bit and give off a delicious little gasp as Sam entered him, hard and mercilessly. Then those brown eyes would roll back in his head as Sam went deeper and deeper until he was all in and Zemo's body was as one with his own.
And how Zemo would feel around him, warm and tight and oh so willing.
The fucking would be primal - raw and without any pretend or concern for the other's needs, each man focused only on chasing his own climax, using the other's body shamelessly to achieve his pleasure with Sam thrusting into Zemo, and Zemo meeting his thrusts as much as Sam's hold on him would allow.
There would be no kissing, no kind words spoken...just sweating, groping, slapping, grunting...perhaps even a little biting...
Suddenly, Sam is ripped from his fantasy and his heart all but stops when Zemo looks back over his shoulder, catching Sam staring at him.
Sam averts his gaze quickly, looking upwards towards the ceiling, then downwards - anywhere except at Zemo.
He knows he has been caught and he clears his throat as Zemo finishes his task and straightens back up, the towel now in his hand.
Sam's nose picks up a wiff of freshness mixed with just a hint of expensive aftershave as Zemo turns around, facing him once again.
"You know, Sam…" Zemo starts, his lips curled in a small, crooked smile that Sam can not for the life of him decide whether it is shy or just smug, "…if you want to be with me, you can...no one has to know."
Taken aback by the other man's straightforwardness, Sam opens his mouth to speak then decides he's not ready and closes it again.
"What are you saying, man?" Sam finally manages to utter without stuttering which even surprises himself a little.
His face feels flushed and he prays to God that Zemo cannot tell just how uncomfortable he is.
"That it is ok. I won't mind."
Zemo is staring at him, tilting his head slightly to one side again like he's studying an animal at the zoo.
I won't mind.
So much is wrong with that statement that Sam hardly knows where to begin. Either Zemo thinks that him being in Sam's care equals him having to do Sam's bidding whatever that might be, or Zemo has finally zeroed in on Sam's weakness and he's trying to exploit it, offering up his own body if that is what it takes to gain some kind of leverage over him.
Knowing Zemo, the latter is much more likely than the former but either way it is beyond messed up and it makes Sam both sad and angry at the same time.
What the hell does Zemo even think of him? That he would exploit him in such a way - his prisoner...someone who depends on him and of whom he is responsible for - just to satisfy his own needs?
It would be nothing less than an abuse of power, irresponsible beyond measure and - at best just plain wrong, no matter how willing a participant in the matter Zemo himself would be.
"Zemo…" Sam shakes his head slightly and forces himself to look the other man in the eye but can only manage it for a brief moment before having to look away again, "…stop talking nonsense. I ain't buying what you are selling. Just stop it...alright?"
He sits back down on the couch, picks up the now spoiled novel and pretends to read on, hoping to end the conversation right there.
Only Zemo stays put, lingers in front of him. Sam can sense him staring at him and wishes that he would just go away, leaving him alone with his shame and confused feelings that he so desperately needs to forget he ever had.
Ten or fifteen seconds go by then Sam hears the sound of the towel being dropped on the floor again and Zemo's naked feet paddling away towards the kitchen.
This time Sam lets him walk away and doesn't say a damn thing.