Sam pulls away from Zemo's kiss as though he has been bit.
"W-What THE FUCK!?"
He stutters and stares for a split-second in wide-eyed surprise at the Sokovian and the little smirk he is sporting, before his anger takes over and he grabs Zemo roughly by the throat with one hand and slams the smaller man down on his back on the bed, bedspring creaking dangerously at impact, then leans in, letting his own face hover directly over Zemo's.
"What *the fuck* ARE you doing?"
He hisses while trying to make his voice as low as possible, afraid that Bucky might hear them and come bursting through the doors again, leaving Sam no choice but to explain how they ended up like this in the first place: Zemo pinned to the bed and Sam hovering over him like a thundercloud, ready to shot off some deadly bolts of lightening.
Despite the brutality of Sam slamming him on his back and the strong fingers still curled around his throat in a steady grip, Zemo looks surprised only for a second before his lips curl back into that provocative, self-assured smirk that makes Sam want to rip his head clean off his shoulders.
"I thought this was what you wanted, Sam…I've seen you looking at me. Don't be ashamed of it! You can have me if you want t..."
Sam can feel Zemo's Adam's apple bobbing beneath his hand as he speaks and he starts squeezing until it stops and Zemo starts to gasp and squirm instead and he brings both of his hands up to try and pry Sam's hold open.
"Shut up – just…shut the fuck up!"
Sam's nostrils flare as he leans even closer to Zemo's face.
"You just crossed the line, asshole! Pull shit like that again and I will make a personal call to King T'Challa before leaving you hogtied in the street for the Dora Milaje to find…and Bucky and I will take our chances finding Karli without you - got it?"
Zemo blinks, still fighting, gasping for air, clawing at Sam's hand.
"I said…" Sam applies pressure until Zemo lets out a chocked whimper and his fingers stops clawing at his, "…do you *understand*?"
The Sokovian's lips part in a small o-shape, trying to say something but when he realizes that the chokehold does not allow it, he quickly nods his head instead.
"Good." Sam says coldly.
Zemo lets out a small gasp as Sam removes his hand from his throat, then curls up into a ball, facing away from him and starts coughing feebly.
"Go back to sleep…and no more talking."
Sam gets up from the bed casting a glance back at his prisoner, his mind set on returning to his place on the floor before he might do something he will regret later when his eyes settles on Zemo's throat, still drawing in breaths in short, almost inaudible gulps.
He can see the outline of where his fingers used to be moments before; an angry pink contrasting to Zemo's pale skin which suddenly brings him pause.
Has he just been unnecessary brutal towards Zemo?
And for what? A quick non-consensual peck on the lips?
Or was it something else - something more deep-rooted than that? A rarely felt desire he was so ashamed of, afraid that if it would ever break loose it would out him to the rest of the world, his family and friends?
Zemo had only done as his nature instructed him to do which was to exploit the weakness he had sensed in Sam.
He had worked his way under his skin, making Sam desperate to shut him up, shake him and choke him until he could no longer remember the way Sam had looked at him earlier that day and in the process squeezing the life out of the embarrassing little secret they shared.
Grabbing Zemo by the throat and pinning him down was bad enough, but pressing down harder and harder to the point of choking him in a desperate attempt to make him bend to his will that was just…
Jesus.
Sam had let his emotions run amok and as a result overreacted; abusing a man in his care all due to a fear of a secret coming out – a secret that probably wouldn't even matter to anyone who mattered to him anyways.
It was so unlike him to lose control, to lash out like that and turn violent when he should have just pushed Zemo away and maybe waved a finger in his face and told him: No!
That could very well have been all it took to make Zemo back off, and even if it turned out not to be the case, he should at least have tried that approach before turning to this.
"Zemo…" Sam says hesitantly, "…I-I shouldn't have done that."
He lets a hand run down his face then exhales loudly.
Zemo is still laying on his side, facing away. Through the blue fabric covering his back, Sam can see his muscles tensing up.
God, how he must hate him right now.
"I'm sorry."
Slowly, Zemo turns his head and looks at him, but the resentment that Sam had expected to find in his eyes is not there - only a sadness and maybe even a trace of remorsefulness.
"Don't be," he says in a low voice, "as you said: I was out of line."
His eyes flicker momentarily before he turns his face away again, then grabs one of the pillows close by and rests his head on it, ending their conversation.
Sam lingers by the bedside for a few seconds, deciding whether he should say something else before shuffling back over to his spot on the floor where he hunkers down, cocoons himself in the blanket and closes his eyes trying to block out the mercilessly bright bedroom lights.