Work Text:
“Winter soldier,” Zemo says in Russian. “Attack.”
The worst part for Bucky is how natural it feels to follow that command again. Even after all that deprogramming in Wakanda, the old muscle memory remains. He hates himself for it. The trigger words no longer work on him, but he remembers what it's like to surrender his will. He glares at Zemo but chooses to obey, becoming an unstoppable vessel for the will of his handler -
and next moment he has lunged forward, seized the intruder’s arm in a vice grip, driving the man forward, smashing the body to the ground. He neutralizes another half dozen men in similar ways. The violence is almost monotonous, hypnotic. For a little while, he loses himself to the fight, allows himself to be subsumed by it.
He’s pinning a man to the bar by the throat when he feels a light touch at his elbow. It’s Sam, radiating concern. Bucky freezes. Has he gone too far? He looks around quickly, suddenly aware of the fear on bystanders’ faces. He suppresses a wave of self-loathing.
“Stay in character,” hisses Zemo under his breath, “or the whole bar turns on us.” Louder, he says “Well done, soldier.”
———
When the three of them enter Selby’s lounge, Bucky stands at attention, face carefully blank. Sam stands slightly off to the side, looking wildly uncomfortable in his ridiculous patterned suit. Zemo strolls casually behind Bucky as he makes his offer.
“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum,” Zemo says, “and I’ll give you him… along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.”
Zemo raises a hand to caress Bucky’s face, and it takes all of Bucky’s willpower not to seize the man’s arm and crush it with his vibranium hand. He grits his teeth and says nothing. Selby looks at him hungrily.
“He could be… very useful to me,” she says, eyes bright. “Very useful indeed. But I heard a rumor that this man is no longer the Winter Soldier.” She leans back on her couch. “A disobedient soldier would be of no use to me at all. Prove to me that he is still under your control, and I’ll tell you about the serum.”
“What kind of proof do you need?” says Zemo.
Selby smiles in a way that makes the hairs raise on Bucky’s neck. “The fun kind.”
Zemo doesn’t miss a beat. “Soldier, on your knees,” he commands in Russian.
Bucky doesn’t move. He knows where this is going. Where it has gone. Not everything that Hydra did to him had been experimentation in the name of science. Much of it was pure humiliation. Zemo must have read all the files, even those ones.
“Soldier, on your knees,” Zemo repeats, louder this time.
Bucky seethes, quickly considering what’s at stake. He has been the source of so much world chaos. He’s been making amends individually to people he’s hurt… but this mission is part of the amends he needs to make to the world. He needs to know where those super-soldiers are coming from, and fast.
Bucky aims a glare at Zemo and drops to his knees. When this is all over, he plans to wipe that smirk off Zemo’s face. He’ll absolutely pulverize that man. There will be nothing left, absolutely nothing.
But for now, Bucky plays along.
Zemo looms over him, a twinkle in his dark eyes. He runs a hand possessively through Bucky’s short hair, then reaches into his own long black coat to unbuckle his pants. Bucky tenses his jaw but keeps his gaze steady.
“Zemo,” warns Sam, alarm in his voice. Bucky looks at him and shakes his head very subtly.
“I’ve got this under control, Smiling Tiger,” says Zemo. He has an erection, because of course he does. That bastard. “You know what to do, soldier.”
And he does. Bucky spent decades with captors that saw him as a weapon, an object to be used as needed. He fights a wave of revulsion, narrowing his field of attention to the task at hand. He conjures up that familiar feeling of complete obedience and takes Zemo’s cock into his mouth.
Zemo grunts softly. He goes slowly at first, moving his hips in a steady rhythm. Bucky moves his head methodically: forward and back, forward and back. He guides the cock with his mechanical hand, taking it as far into his mouth as it will go. He chokes a bit, gags as it rams the opening of his throat... but he perseveres. With the Winter Soldier, there were no half measures.
The rhythm is almost monotonous, hypnotic. Once again, he loses himself to the movement, allows himself to be subsumed by it. The activity is mindless, just as it had been to kill targets at the whims of his handlers. The only thing he needs to do is comply.
Without warning, Zemo pulls his cock out of Bucky’s mouth and seizes a fistful of his hair, forcing the kneeling man to look up at him.
“Mouth open,” Zemo orders. Bucky obeys and receives the spatter of come, mostly in the mouth and on one cheek.
Zemo looks transcendently smug. He closes Bucky’s jaw. Bucky swallows but leaves the rest of the come on his face. He gazes into the middle distance, unfocused. In the old days, his captors would beat him with electrified batons if he wiped it off without being told to do so. A weapon should have no free will. A weapon should not care if it is dirty, so long as its function is unimpeded.
Bucky stops himself. This terrifies him, the ease with which he slips back into old patterns. Those familiar patterns of complete obedience. He is no longer that weapon. He will not go down that road again.
He can see Sam trying to make eye contact: a non-verbal check-in. Hey. You good? Bucky avoids it. He can’t deal with Sam’s horrified concern, not yet. Not with Zemo’s come on his face. Selby is still watching with interest from her couch, sipping a cocktail. Her guards look amused, chattering quietly amongst themselves.
“Bravo,” she says. “The Winter Soldier is just as obedient as I had heard. I agree to your trade... I’ll take him.” In return, she names a source: a doctor. Bucky mentally files the information, but now his attention is elsewhere.
Fuck Rule #2, he thinks to himself. When this is all over, I am going to kill Zemo.