[maybe he should have guessed at the delightful implication of - what, jealousy that zemo lay hands on him? that james would bristle at him for that slow, sensual slide down the stunning sculpture of sam's biceps. he'd have trailed his hands right back up and along the sliver of skin exposed along his neck if given the opportunity - and based on that full-body shiver that he knows he's sent straight down sam's spine and twisting hot in his gut - sam would have enjoyed it. maybe too much, too quick - but the beauty of this little concoction he's drummed up for them is that it's meant to enhance not only experience, but longevity. repetition. not a problem for someone like james with his unfair advantage of supersoldier enhancement and endurance mixed with years of strenuous activity. more than one round should be a walk in the park for him (idly it strikes him - how many rounds could james manage, if left to his own devices with the right incentive? and what feral, inhuman amount would it look like with drugs that actually have an effect on him now?)
still, he cannot help but note that despite all of sam's reservations, objections, and trying so resolutely to remain the voice of reason amongst the chaos zemo has hand-crafted for his own amusement and the overall good of their merry little band - even he is not so iron-willed that he can resist both the temptation of the beautiful creature that is james barnes in his lap. or, apparently, the novelty of a low sokovian accent whispering in his ear in time with clever, deft hands on his person. it's good, because as patient and poised a man as he is - they are wasting precious time he has no scale of measure for.
his attention is drawn back to james in a split second with every inch of skin that is suddenly put on display - and it strikes him as a terrible oversight that he has hardly taken the time to appreciate just how lean and hungry he looks since the last time they were together in berlin. it wasn't just the hair he shed - it was the bulk of muscle he would imagine came with the confusion of being on his own without a sure-fed diet of essential nutrients for peak performance. he cannot say he minds, though that flash of silver against his chest makes his eyes narrow into something half-lidded for two distinct and warring reasons. first: he wonders if they are james' - or perhaps steve rogers. a specter looming over them who wasn't invited to this party. secondly: it makes him briefly wistful for his own, long blown to hell in the ruins of sokovia and now one with the earth as ash and dust. those thoughts have no place here, but it's that split second that distracts him from the too-quick movement of practiced reflex.
he shouldn't be disappointed that it isn't the kiss of metal around his throat for the second time today, but is instead a warm palm and flesh and blood fingers flexing around his throat. there's something thrilling about it that sends a hot rush pooling into his gut, cock throbbing behind the noticeably strained inseam of fine wool and tailoring. besides the initial flinch, he looks perhaps much too at ease with james quite literally holding his breath for him - and there's an even sicker twist that he could squeeze just hard enough to make him see black, then white, then nothing at all -
but it's gone as quickly as it came, and his lips twitch around a soft exhale as he watches the attention drop just like his hand to something more meaningful. ironically he doesn't want to hurt zemo, which is just as well for the purpose of this excursion. watching the tender moment unfold is more of what he was seeking between them, and sam does not disappoint in a touching display of understanding. protection. he mirrors james' affectionate stroke, and it's as stark a contrast as the glittering lights of hightown against the seething midnight of madripoor's dark skies from their bickering earlier in the day to this right here.
hey - baby, sam says, and zemo lets out a small hum of pleased acknowledgment at the easy petname, as if it were directed at him instead.)
he gives them both a moment, letting it sink in without intention of ruining it further. and only when the silence settles comfortably and it has fully passed does he chime in once more.]
It's just as Sam said. No one will be hurt.
[he could make a crude joke about nothing hurting unless it's desired, but this has developed into something far more sweet than even he anticipated. he won't ruin it, not when it's as delicious as any delicacy under his tongue. it's brazen of him, but he rests his elbow comfortably against the top of the couch behind sam's head, leaning to perch his other elbow against sam's shoulder and press his chin to a curled fist. better view of the action, closer to pick up his strings as the puppet master. his free hand slides down sam's front, slow and non-threatening, but only to gather at the fabric and pinch it between two fingers.]
James - help him with this.
It's so much more preferable to be skin to skin - to feel that warmth, the intimacy of it.
[his head tips lightly, gaze fixed on the man he's just instructed even as his lips brush the shell of sam's ear once more with the intention of sending another shudder through him from head to toe, prompting the physicality to take the forefront once again. it drops to a sultry whisper:]
Don't you want that?
[and then he's pulling back - hands-off once more to give them both the space to carry out his suggestion.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
i look at the timestamp and i pretend i do not see it
still, he cannot help but note that despite all of sam's reservations, objections, and trying so resolutely to remain the voice of reason amongst the chaos zemo has hand-crafted for his own amusement and the overall good of their merry little band - even he is not so iron-willed that he can resist both the temptation of the beautiful creature that is james barnes in his lap. or, apparently, the novelty of a low sokovian accent whispering in his ear in time with clever, deft hands on his person. it's good, because as patient and poised a man as he is - they are wasting precious time he has no scale of measure for.
his attention is drawn back to james in a split second with every inch of skin that is suddenly put on display - and it strikes him as a terrible oversight that he has hardly taken the time to appreciate just how lean and hungry he looks since the last time they were together in berlin. it wasn't just the hair he shed - it was the bulk of muscle he would imagine came with the confusion of being on his own without a sure-fed diet of essential nutrients for peak performance. he cannot say he minds, though that flash of silver against his chest makes his eyes narrow into something half-lidded for two distinct and warring reasons. first: he wonders if they are james' - or perhaps steve rogers. a specter looming over them who wasn't invited to this party. secondly: it makes him briefly wistful for his own, long blown to hell in the ruins of sokovia and now one with the earth as ash and dust. those thoughts have no place here, but it's that split second that distracts him from the too-quick movement of practiced reflex.
he shouldn't be disappointed that it isn't the kiss of metal around his throat for the second time today, but is instead a warm palm and flesh and blood fingers flexing around his throat. there's something thrilling about it that sends a hot rush pooling into his gut, cock throbbing behind the noticeably strained inseam of fine wool and tailoring. besides the initial flinch, he looks perhaps much too at ease with james quite literally holding his breath for him - and there's an even sicker twist that he could squeeze just hard enough to make him see black, then white, then nothing at all -
but it's gone as quickly as it came, and his lips twitch around a soft exhale as he watches the attention drop just like his hand to something more meaningful. ironically he doesn't want to hurt zemo, which is just as well for the purpose of this excursion. watching the tender moment unfold is more of what he was seeking between them, and sam does not disappoint in a touching display of understanding. protection. he mirrors james' affectionate stroke, and it's as stark a contrast as the glittering lights of hightown against the seething midnight of madripoor's dark skies from their bickering earlier in the day to this right here.
hey - baby, sam says, and zemo lets out a small hum of pleased acknowledgment at the easy petname, as if it were directed at him instead.)
he gives them both a moment, letting it sink in without intention of ruining it further. and only when the silence settles comfortably and it has fully passed does he chime in once more.]
It's just as Sam said. No one will be hurt.
[he could make a crude joke about nothing hurting unless it's desired, but this has developed into something far more sweet than even he anticipated. he won't ruin it, not when it's as delicious as any delicacy under his tongue. it's brazen of him, but he rests his elbow comfortably against the top of the couch behind sam's head, leaning to perch his other elbow against sam's shoulder and press his chin to a curled fist. better view of the action, closer to pick up his strings as the puppet master. his free hand slides down sam's front, slow and non-threatening, but only to gather at the fabric and pinch it between two fingers.]
James - help him with this.
It's so much more preferable to be skin to skin - to feel that warmth, the intimacy of it.
[his head tips lightly, gaze fixed on the man he's just instructed even as his lips brush the shell of sam's ear once more with the intention of sending another shudder through him from head to toe, prompting the physicality to take the forefront once again. it drops to a sultry whisper:]
Don't you want that?
[and then he's pulling back - hands-off once more to give them both the space to carry out his suggestion.]