I am not the soldier. Or the weapon.

While, yes, he carried lube in his pockets expressly to escape from handcuffs when he was unable to pick them, it had still required him to dislocate his thumbs to get out. And the lube, therefore, had left his hands fairly slick despite his attempts to wipe them off. It didn't do much good. His shirt had been gone for a while and the blood from the lash had dripped down to soak his pants in blood and sweat, making them rather useless where getting the lube off of his hands was concerned.

Getting himself out of his restraints was one thing, but that was far-cry from getting out of the filthy, disgusting abandoned cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere was an entirely different matter.

The stairs were agony, though he couldn't begin to tell where it hurt him most, and his vision swam nauseatingly in a way that told him that he was a) in shock, and b) dealing with head trauma of some kind. He couldn't begin to explain.

He'd barely made it outside when he heard voices shouting, and with no real weapon other than a post with a nail in it to defend himself, he did his best to simply disappear into the woods. At least concealing himself was something he was skilled at.

He didn't know how long he was fleeing for. He didn't know more about what to do than to try and follow the stream he'd found towards water - hopefully, towards civilization - but his pursuers were still on his trail, and when he was able to find a good place to conceal himself, he let himself stop to do so.

And stopping was the worst thing he could've done for himself.

…to perhaps help him remember than they were more than this.

The arm around his waist held him tighter to the point it prevented Zemo from moving any further. “Shhh…” Bucky cooed, bringing him down with him a little as he sat slightly on his own legs. “We don’t need to rush this out”, he muttered and took a few seconds in that position before he bucked his hips with force yet he didn’t rush his tempo. 

“I wish for you to remember more than you think”, Bucky confessed, panting. “And I’m being selfish here, draggin’ this out, but…” He bit his shoulder enough to leave a mark, moving his hips again with a slightly faster rhythm.

"James, please," he began, a little more exasperated and breathless, "can we not right now?" He couldn't even begin to explain how badly he didn't need the reminder that he was missing memories. He knew Bucky wanted something more romantic, to connect emotionally, and to have him remember, but frankly it was more of a grating source of frustration than anything to think about it.

But far from being too hurt from Zemo’s ask, sounding rather frustrated and impatient, Bucky chuckled.

“My bad, sorry” He said with a cheeky grin, trying to embrace the situation at hand with humor rather than sulk into angst. He embraced him tightly once more and bucked his hips upwards again and again, faster rather than keeping a slow pace and squeezed at his throat lightly while he pressed his chin on his shoulder. He pressed his chest to his back and Bucky somehow could feel the wounds, it felt so raw, so close, intimate and yet he knew the moment they were done perhaps things wouldn’t just go magically back to how they were and that scared him.

While, yes, he carried lube in his pockets expressly to escape from handcuffs when he was unable to pick them, it had still required him to dislocate his thumbs to get out. And the lube, therefore, had left his hands fairly slick despite his attempts to wipe them off. It didn't do much good. His shirt had been gone for a while and the blood from the lash had dripped down to soak his pants in blood and sweat, making them rather useless where getting the lube off of his hands was concerned.

Getting himself out of his restraints was one thing, but that was far-cry from getting out of the filthy, disgusting abandoned cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere was an entirely different matter.

The stairs were agony, though he couldn't begin to tell where it hurt him most, and his vision swam nauseatingly in a way that told him that he was a) in shock, and b) dealing with head trauma of some kind. He couldn't begin to explain.

He'd barely made it outside when he heard voices shouting, and with no real weapon other than a post with a nail in it to defend himself, he did his best to simply disappear into the woods. At least concealing himself was something he was skilled at.

He didn't know how long he was fleeing for. He didn't know more about what to do than to try and follow the stream he'd found towards water - hopefully, towards civilization - but his pursuers were still on his trail, and when he was able to find a good place to conceal himself, he let himself stop to do so.

And stopping was the worst thing he could've done for himself.

…to perhaps help him remember than they were more than this.

The arm around his waist held him tighter to the point it prevented Zemo from moving any further. “Shhh…” Bucky cooed, bringing him down with him a little as he sat slightly on his own legs. “We don’t need to rush this out”, he muttered and took a few seconds in that position before he bucked his hips with force yet he didn’t rush his tempo. 

“I wish for you to remember more than you think”, Bucky confessed, panting. “And I’m being selfish here, draggin’ this out, but…” He bit his shoulder enough to leave a mark, moving his hips again with a slightly faster rhythm.

He had every reason to believe that he was the problem. Before he'd even left after staying with Bucky for a few more days Bucky had seemed more than happy to just forget it had happened. To try to move on. He'd been respectful of Steve's statement that he wasn't ready for hugs, but Steve wasn't enough of an idiot to not notice the aborted moments he'd instinctually reached for contact and stopped.

In the time since he'd last seen Bucky, Steve had done his best to work through some of the feelings after. It wasn't the easiest task; he didn't feel like he could talk to anyone about it. After everything that everyone had done to help Bucky, he didn't want to give anyone reason to question whether it was worth it.

Bucky was worth it. Always.

It was Wanda, in the end, who'd been the most help. It wasn't that she'd noticed anything was wrong, or that she was commenting on him at all. No, she had been asking his advice about things with Vision and something had clicked. Hers had been the optimistic, naïve musings of someone experiencing their first love, but it had resonated in his chest - and it had hurt.

It was a hurt that grew worse until he gave himself the opportunity to really sit with it, dissect it, and work on putting the pieces of why it hurt back together. He could've taken a lot more time with it, too, if the universe hadn't conspired to make peace seem less and less viable all over again.

And so yes, maybe by the time he saw Bucky again he was willing to bypass everything else to hug him. Maybe he was happier to see him than expected. Maybe his skin felt less like it was too tight, and more like it needed the reassurance of his presence.

And yes, maybe it meant that when he had a few minutes to himself as T'Challa and Shuri were discussing the situation with the others, he was more than willing to sit with Bucky to talk.

To his credit, his tone was calm. He wasn't necessarily angry or afraid, but he did need to know. Bucky's head had gone somewhere, clearly, and if that was where then they needed to sort that out. He needed to make sure that Bucky wasn't afraid he'd do something in specific entirely because of something he'd experienced in the past.

In all honesty, most of his memories about that seemed like voices he could barely hear of people who raped him or witnessed the abuse without doing anything.

And then there was the worst of them all: Pierce.

He swallowed, “Part of it did trigger a few things. Not all of it”, he said as honest as he could. “For a moment I was scared but your voice and feeling you, seeing you…it grounded me. It was you, here with me, not them”, he said, hoping that would somehow reassure Steve a little.

“I don’t…think it’s a good idea right now to go into detail but, maybe someday, I—“

He noticed how tense his jaw was and he did his best to relax.

“I want to tell you. Just not today.”

He had every reason to believe that he was the problem. Before he'd even left after staying with Bucky for a few more days Bucky had seemed more than happy to just forget it had happened. To try to move on. He'd been respectful of Steve's statement that he wasn't ready for hugs, but Steve wasn't enough of an idiot to not notice the aborted moments he'd instinctually reached for contact and stopped.

In the time since he'd last seen Bucky, Steve had done his best to work through some of the feelings after. It wasn't the easiest task; he didn't feel like he could talk to anyone about it. After everything that everyone had done to help Bucky, he didn't want to give anyone reason to question whether it was worth it.

Bucky was worth it. Always.

It was Wanda, in the end, who'd been the most help. It wasn't that she'd noticed anything was wrong, or that she was commenting on him at all. No, she had been asking his advice about things with Vision and something had clicked. Hers had been the optimistic, naïve musings of someone experiencing their first love, but it had resonated in his chest - and it had hurt.

It was a hurt that grew worse until he gave himself the opportunity to really sit with it, dissect it, and work on putting the pieces of why it hurt back together. He could've taken a lot more time with it, too, if the universe hadn't conspired to make peace seem less and less viable all over again.

And so yes, maybe by the time he saw Bucky again he was willing to bypass everything else to hug him. Maybe he was happier to see him than expected. Maybe his skin felt less like it was too tight, and more like it needed the reassurance of his presence.

And yes, maybe it meant that when he had a few minutes to himself as T'Challa and Shuri were discussing the situation with the others, he was more than willing to sit with Bucky to talk.

Then, he remembered a little something they discussed before the entire scene happened.

“Just…prior experience”, but he smiled briefly, not wanting to make it seem awkward or uncomfortable. Although he wasn’t sure how much or that he had accomplished.

He then stayed silent as he listened to him. Perhaps it would be best not to push things, even if Bucky was still on the high of his orgasm and what had happened. If he was any wiser he would also give himself some time to think, to feel.

“Of course, Stevie”, Bucky simply replied. He was getting colder as time passed, their bodies no longer as warm as they were during their scene, and despite being wiped Bucky still felt a slight sense of sticky discomfort on his body.

He had every reason to believe that he was the problem. Before he'd even left after staying with Bucky for a few more days Bucky had seemed more than happy to just forget it had happened. To try to move on. He'd been respectful of Steve's statement that he wasn't ready for hugs, but Steve wasn't enough of an idiot to not notice the aborted moments he'd instinctually reached for contact and stopped.

In the time since he'd last seen Bucky, Steve had done his best to work through some of the feelings after. It wasn't the easiest task; he didn't feel like he could talk to anyone about it. After everything that everyone had done to help Bucky, he didn't want to give anyone reason to question whether it was worth it.

Bucky was worth it. Always.

It was Wanda, in the end, who'd been the most help. It wasn't that she'd noticed anything was wrong, or that she was commenting on him at all. No, she had been asking his advice about things with Vision and something had clicked. Hers had been the optimistic, naïve musings of someone experiencing their first love, but it had resonated in his chest - and it had hurt.

It was a hurt that grew worse until he gave himself the opportunity to really sit with it, dissect it, and work on putting the pieces of why it hurt back together. He could've taken a lot more time with it, too, if the universe hadn't conspired to make peace seem less and less viable all over again.

And so yes, maybe by the time he saw Bucky again he was willing to bypass everything else to hug him. Maybe he was happier to see him than expected. Maybe his skin felt less like it was too tight, and more like it needed the reassurance of his presence.

And yes, maybe it meant that when he had a few minutes to himself as T'Challa and Shuri were discussing the situation with the others, he was more than willing to sit with Bucky to talk.

Then, he remembered a little something they discussed before the entire scene happened.

He had every reason to believe that he was the problem. Before he'd even left after staying with Bucky for a few more days Bucky had seemed more than happy to just forget it had happened. To try to move on. He'd been respectful of Steve's statement that he wasn't ready for hugs, but Steve wasn't enough of an idiot to not notice the aborted moments he'd instinctually reached for contact and stopped.

In the time since he'd last seen Bucky, Steve had done his best to work through some of the feelings after. It wasn't the easiest task; he didn't feel like he could talk to anyone about it. After everything that everyone had done to help Bucky, he didn't want to give anyone reason to question whether it was worth it.

Bucky was worth it. Always.

It was Wanda, in the end, who'd been the most help. It wasn't that she'd noticed anything was wrong, or that she was commenting on him at all. No, she had been asking his advice about things with Vision and something had clicked. Hers had been the optimistic, naïve musings of someone experiencing their first love, but it had resonated in his chest - and it had hurt.

It was a hurt that grew worse until he gave himself the opportunity to really sit with it, dissect it, and work on putting the pieces of why it hurt back together. He could've taken a lot more time with it, too, if the universe hadn't conspired to make peace seem less and less viable all over again.

And so yes, maybe by the time he saw Bucky again he was willing to bypass everything else to hug him. Maybe he was happier to see him than expected. Maybe his skin felt less like it was too tight, and more like it needed the reassurance of his presence.

And yes, maybe it meant that when he had a few minutes to himself as T'Challa and Shuri were discussing the situation with the others, he was more than willing to sit with Bucky to talk.

“I liked being held by the throat. Being choked, it felt…oddly comforting.” He chuckled “The thigh fucking was great, gotta admit”, Bucky looked up and pecked his lips, then nuzzled right under his chin. “I wanted to fight you more, but…”

While, yes, he carried lube in his pockets expressly to escape from handcuffs when he was unable to pick them, it had still required him to dislocate his thumbs to get out. And the lube, therefore, had left his hands fairly slick despite his attempts to wipe them off. It didn't do much good. His shirt had been gone for a while and the blood from the lash had dripped down to soak his pants in blood and sweat, making them rather useless where getting the lube off of his hands was concerned.

Getting himself out of his restraints was one thing, but that was far-cry from getting out of the filthy, disgusting abandoned cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere was an entirely different matter.

The stairs were agony, though he couldn't begin to tell where it hurt him most, and his vision swam nauseatingly in a way that told him that he was a) in shock, and b) dealing with head trauma of some kind. He couldn't begin to explain.

He'd barely made it outside when he heard voices shouting, and with no real weapon other than a post with a nail in it to defend himself, he did his best to simply disappear into the woods. At least concealing himself was something he was skilled at.

He didn't know how long he was fleeing for. He didn't know more about what to do than to try and follow the stream he'd found towards water - hopefully, towards civilization - but his pursuers were still on his trail, and when he was able to find a good place to conceal himself, he let himself stop to do so.

And stopping was the worst thing he could've done for himself.

His groan was quiet, but earnest, his fingers curling into Bucky's hair further to keep his attention against his neck as the other hand wrested on the wrist of Bucky's left hand, holding himself still. It felt good. The attention felt good, the physical sensations felt good. The brush of Bucky's stubble against his neck and the back of his jaw, felt good. Even the sting of sweat in his healing wounds felt strangely good, little pinpoints of pain keeping him grounded rather than letting him float away into feelings that were otherwise too gentle.

“There we go”, he spoke softly, kissing his cheek and sighing. His hand began squeezing his neck but not too much, just a little to make him remember he was right there with him, that Bucky was holding him close, safely.

His hips continued to move, rocking back hard into Bucky's lap. There were a lot of feelings that flooded his body at the hold - the combination of his hand around his waist and the one on his neck, squeezing as it was, was making him feel lightheaded in a pleasant way, his body feeling as though a light electrical current was buzzing over his skin.

“Tell me what you want, love”, Bucky asked softly, never stopping the movement of his hips, gently squeezing his throat and letting go perfectly timing it with his thrusts. “C’mon, sweetheart…tell me.”

While, yes, he carried lube in his pockets expressly to escape from handcuffs when he was unable to pick them, it had still required him to dislocate his thumbs to get out. And the lube, therefore, had left his hands fairly slick despite his attempts to wipe them off. It didn't do much good. His shirt had been gone for a while and the blood from the lash had dripped down to soak his pants in blood and sweat, making them rather useless where getting the lube off of his hands was concerned.

Getting himself out of his restraints was one thing, but that was far-cry from getting out of the filthy, disgusting abandoned cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere was an entirely different matter.

The stairs were agony, though he couldn't begin to tell where it hurt him most, and his vision swam nauseatingly in a way that told him that he was a) in shock, and b) dealing with head trauma of some kind. He couldn't begin to explain.

He'd barely made it outside when he heard voices shouting, and with no real weapon other than a post with a nail in it to defend himself, he did his best to simply disappear into the woods. At least concealing himself was something he was skilled at.

He didn't know how long he was fleeing for. He didn't know more about what to do than to try and follow the stream he'd found towards water - hopefully, towards civilization - but his pursuers were still on his trail, and when he was able to find a good place to conceal himself, he let himself stop to do so.

And stopping was the worst thing he could've done for himself.

His groan was quiet, but earnest, his fingers curling into Bucky's hair further to keep his attention against his neck as the other hand wrested on the wrist of Bucky's left hand, holding himself still. It felt good. The attention felt good, the physical sensations felt good. The brush of Bucky's stubble against his neck and the back of his jaw, felt good. Even the sting of sweat in his healing wounds felt strangely good, little pinpoints of pain keeping him grounded rather than letting him float away into feelings that were otherwise too gentle.

“There we go”, he spoke softly, kissing his cheek and sighing. His hand began squeezing his neck but not too much, just a little to make him remember he was right there with him, that Bucky was holding him close, safely.

He had every reason to believe that he was the problem. Before he'd even left after staying with Bucky for a few more days Bucky had seemed more than happy to just forget it had happened. To try to move on. He'd been respectful of Steve's statement that he wasn't ready for hugs, but Steve wasn't enough of an idiot to not notice the aborted moments he'd instinctually reached for contact and stopped.

In the time since he'd last seen Bucky, Steve had done his best to work through some of the feelings after. It wasn't the easiest task; he didn't feel like he could talk to anyone about it. After everything that everyone had done to help Bucky, he didn't want to give anyone reason to question whether it was worth it.

Bucky was worth it. Always.

It was Wanda, in the end, who'd been the most help. It wasn't that she'd noticed anything was wrong, or that she was commenting on him at all. No, she had been asking his advice about things with Vision and something had clicked. Hers had been the optimistic, naïve musings of someone experiencing their first love, but it had resonated in his chest - and it had hurt.

It was a hurt that grew worse until he gave himself the opportunity to really sit with it, dissect it, and work on putting the pieces of why it hurt back together. He could've taken a lot more time with it, too, if the universe hadn't conspired to make peace seem less and less viable all over again.

And so yes, maybe by the time he saw Bucky again he was willing to bypass everything else to hug him. Maybe he was happier to see him than expected. Maybe his skin felt less like it was too tight, and more like it needed the reassurance of his presence.

And yes, maybe it meant that when he had a few minutes to himself as T'Challa and Shuri were discussing the situation with the others, he was more than willing to sit with Bucky to talk.

While, yes, he carried lube in his pockets expressly to escape from handcuffs when he was unable to pick them, it had still required him to dislocate his thumbs to get out. And the lube, therefore, had left his hands fairly slick despite his attempts to wipe them off. It didn't do much good. His shirt had been gone for a while and the blood from the lash had dripped down to soak his pants in blood and sweat, making them rather useless where getting the lube off of his hands was concerned.

Getting himself out of his restraints was one thing, but that was far-cry from getting out of the filthy, disgusting abandoned cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere was an entirely different matter.

The stairs were agony, though he couldn't begin to tell where it hurt him most, and his vision swam nauseatingly in a way that told him that he was a) in shock, and b) dealing with head trauma of some kind. He couldn't begin to explain.

He'd barely made it outside when he heard voices shouting, and with no real weapon other than a post with a nail in it to defend himself, he did his best to simply disappear into the woods. At least concealing himself was something he was skilled at.

He didn't know how long he was fleeing for. He didn't know more about what to do than to try and follow the stream he'd found towards water - hopefully, towards civilization - but his pursuers were still on his trail, and when he was able to find a good place to conceal himself, he let himself stop to do so.

And stopping was the worst thing he could've done for himself.

He was slow in responding, though he didn't resist the tongue in his mouth in the slightest. His back hurt, but he leaned against Bucky's chest nevertheless, ignoring the sting of sweat in his wounds and the drag of his wounds against Bucky's chest as he slowly shifted his hips.

It hurt - it wasn't the worst pain he'd ever felt, not by a long shot, but he knew it was going to be agony by the time the painkillers wore off. And in the meantime, he wasn't doing anything to make it easier, either. He tested the movement of his hips a couple more times, the hand on his waist feeling secure and grounding enough to keep him upright as he moved, though he didn't pull away from the kiss as he settled slowly into movement.

The strangest thing about it was knowing that as unfamiliar with this position as he was, his body knew better. His body was relaxed, the stretch felt physically familiar in a way the rest of him didn't recognize. The only discomfort was against his back, and he was more than capable of handling that.

He busied his mouth with kisses on Zemo’s neck and shoulder, his left arm kept him steady around his waist, his right hand lowering slowly to gently touch his cock, palm flat, the heel of it rubbing against Zemo’s sensitive skin.

He had every reason to believe that he was the problem. Before he'd even left after staying with Bucky for a few more days Bucky had seemed more than happy to just forget it had happened. To try to move on. He'd been respectful of Steve's statement that he wasn't ready for hugs, but Steve wasn't enough of an idiot to not notice the aborted moments he'd instinctually reached for contact and stopped.

In the time since he'd last seen Bucky, Steve had done his best to work through some of the feelings after. It wasn't the easiest task; he didn't feel like he could talk to anyone about it. After everything that everyone had done to help Bucky, he didn't want to give anyone reason to question whether it was worth it.

Bucky was worth it. Always.

It was Wanda, in the end, who'd been the most help. It wasn't that she'd noticed anything was wrong, or that she was commenting on him at all. No, she had been asking his advice about things with Vision and something had clicked. Hers had been the optimistic, naïve musings of someone experiencing their first love, but it had resonated in his chest - and it had hurt.

It was a hurt that grew worse until he gave himself the opportunity to really sit with it, dissect it, and work on putting the pieces of why it hurt back together. He could've taken a lot more time with it, too, if the universe hadn't conspired to make peace seem less and less viable all over again.

And so yes, maybe by the time he saw Bucky again he was willing to bypass everything else to hug him. Maybe he was happier to see him than expected. Maybe his skin felt less like it was too tight, and more like it needed the reassurance of his presence.

And yes, maybe it meant that when he had a few minutes to himself as T'Challa and Shuri were discussing the situation with the others, he was more than willing to sit with Bucky to talk.

"No, Buck. Nothing's wrong with you," he assured gently, raining kisses over his face gently. "You're good. You're okay." He reached towards the side table to gather the cloth, beginning to wipe him down in slow strokes. "You were so good for me, gorgeous," he soothed.

"You're supposed to be... I need you to be honest with me, Buck," Steve said softly, trying not to choke on his own stress. "We can't do stuff like this if you're not going to be open with me, I can't..."

He took a deep breath before sitting back slightly, shaking for a brief moment before continuing to wipe Bucky down, his attention turning to wiping down Bucky's thighs awkwardly from his position.

This couldn't happen again. It wasn't okay. He was trusting Bucky to be honest with him, and this...

“It helped me”, he said. “I…am not sure I can’t explain how, but…I was in control, for once. I needed it”, Bucky attempted to explain further. “This was good”, he insisted. Perhaps, due to his own past, his own trauma, Bucky was used to recover quicker than most—or Steve, in this case. He would still need some time for himself, a hot shower and a nap—food, maybe. Hold Steve in his arms or be held. But this…felt like a step into the right direction.

He had every reason to believe that he was the problem. Before he'd even left after staying with Bucky for a few more days Bucky had seemed more than happy to just forget it had happened. To try to move on. He'd been respectful of Steve's statement that he wasn't ready for hugs, but Steve wasn't enough of an idiot to not notice the aborted moments he'd instinctually reached for contact and stopped.

In the time since he'd last seen Bucky, Steve had done his best to work through some of the feelings after. It wasn't the easiest task; he didn't feel like he could talk to anyone about it. After everything that everyone had done to help Bucky, he didn't want to give anyone reason to question whether it was worth it.

Bucky was worth it. Always.

It was Wanda, in the end, who'd been the most help. It wasn't that she'd noticed anything was wrong, or that she was commenting on him at all. No, she had been asking his advice about things with Vision and something had clicked. Hers had been the optimistic, naïve musings of someone experiencing their first love, but it had resonated in his chest - and it had hurt.

It was a hurt that grew worse until he gave himself the opportunity to really sit with it, dissect it, and work on putting the pieces of why it hurt back together. He could've taken a lot more time with it, too, if the universe hadn't conspired to make peace seem less and less viable all over again.

And so yes, maybe by the time he saw Bucky again he was willing to bypass everything else to hug him. Maybe he was happier to see him than expected. Maybe his skin felt less like it was too tight, and more like it needed the reassurance of his presence.

And yes, maybe it meant that when he had a few minutes to himself as T'Challa and Shuri were discussing the situation with the others, he was more than willing to sit with Bucky to talk.

"No, Buck. Nothing's wrong with you," he assured gently, raining kisses over his face gently. "You're good. You're okay." He reached towards the side table to gather the cloth, beginning to wipe him down in slow strokes. "You were so good for me, gorgeous," he soothed.

“Shhh…” He said, his mind still in haze but somehow he managed to ground himself sone more once he held Steve. “‘s okay, Stevie…I’m okay…”

He had to be.

Steve wasn’t them.

“I love you”, he said, confident. He had promised he would remind him, that he would say it back.