[ What would those eight years have looked and felt like had they been together through it? Would his body be bruised and scarred? Would they both be tired and sad and desperate now beneath the spray of the shower if they had just taken a dangerous chance on one another? He doesn't allow himself to think about the would-bes and could-have-beens, doesn't let himself think of the happiness that somehow slipped through his fingers, no matter how hard he'd tried to hold on.
Please stay. Plaintive, on the voice of a boy having the whole future he'd begun to nurture torn from beneath his skin. But Zemo hadn't stayed and Steve left for war, and it seems they've both come out of eight years of battles battered and weary.
In another time he might have taken his time here, might have mapped the lines of Zemo's body with his mouth, might have gently begun to work him open and pliant with the delicate curve and push of fingers but there's nothing of that gentle caution from years ago, though there should be. But his lover practically giggles and it brings up the huff of a chuckle in him, lips curved in a smile behind an open mouthed, needy kiss, unable to stifle the way the sound turns into a guttural moan as the other man's fingers tangle in his hair, bringing fire to a roar beneath his skin.
Carefully he lines up the head of his cock at the man's entrance, that sensation alone enough to send electric pulses up his spine. It's been years, since they last tumbled in the spare bedroom or dorm room bunks. Part of him wonders if he even remembers, if his body will recall the rhythm and angles and so much more that could make Helmut Zemo fall apart. He wants that: to make him fall apart, to undo eight years of stitches and curl himself around the tiny, guttering flame they shared, once upon a time.
One hand grips the muscle of his ass, bracing the pretty man against the wall as his hips shift just so, pushing in slowly, slowly, with a quivering sort of restraint. ]
Zee, I —
[ I love you, I've missed you, I need you, I wish you'd — Steve closes his mouth over Zemo's, licking hot and slow into his mouth, emptying a heady groan against his lips as the tight heat of the other man all but overwhelms him, his cock practically throbbing for the want of friction, speed, more, but made needier for the way Steve slowly presses up into him and, with the hand on his ass, carefully brings him flush and down, as if he could bury himself here and stay this way. ]
S'it alright? [ Words a panting whisper against Zemo's jaw, his ear, his fingers digging in to bruise, all the while his free arm braces against the slick tile. ] You feel —
[ Another inch and he stifles a practically filthy, wanton grunt against Zemo's throat, stilling his hips long enough to clear the stars from his vision. (It might be tears, too, slipping out from the cracks newly pressed into his heart). ]
[his head arches back against the slippery tile as he swallows around a curse, fingers digging in hard around steve's shoulders - enough to leave a few marks of his own as his thighs start trembling from how they're trying desperately to cling and find some sort of leverage. the thought of leaving steve a souvenir burns low in his gut, a pleasing ripple all the way up his spine and curling at the corner of his mouth. it's been years since anyone has had him like this, and longer still since it was someone who used to know every intimate spot, every secret press and would whisper adoring words against his temple or in his ear every time they came together. it isn't an exaggeration to call it making love - why would it? that's what they were back then - young, in love, full of unbridled passion as if no one else existed in the world besides them. he loved steve, and the truth is he still loves him now, maybe more than eight years ago if it were even possible.
it's not fair to say it, even though he desperately wants to, especially when steve groans the affectionate nickname against his neck and starts to push inside. it's tight, and he'd be lying if he tried to pretend there wasn't a burn from the stretch of it, especially without the careful attention that came from nothing but the luxury of time and softer moments. these feel utterly stolen, the two of them suspended here to wade through the ache of memories years old, yet hurtling them faster and faster toward dawn all at the same time in some illogical paradox.
zemo exhales hard, biting down on his lip to hold in a high, keening noise as he feels steve finally manage to bury himself up to the hilt and holds him in place with one big, warm palm like he used to. his stomach trembles, breath heaving as his body finally adjusts - remembers that steve belonged here, once upon a time, laid claim to it nearly as possessively if not moreso than the handprints and bruises that fade from the surface of his skin. his eyes open slowly, half-lidded with droplets clinging to dark lashes as he nods against steve's cheek.]
You're perfect. It's good, Steve - go on.
[uttered reverently between shaky breaths, before he lets steve swallow up another moan and shift his hips upwards and make him realize just how full he feels - like for one blissful moment maybe he can be whole again. he can handle it, legs digging into his hips intentionally digging into his hips as if he were wordlessly commanding an unruly stallion. and - if that's not enough to convey his abject need - the way he intentionally squeezes around steve, accentuating the nearly unbearable tightness should do the trick.]
Take me.
[he leans in again to nip at those plush, reddened lips that stand out among the stark white of the shower and shivering skin. it's playful as he whispers against steve's lips in a soft murmur - words maybe he'll remember even if they aren't in english.]
If his heart could break again, just like it had in their shared dorm eight years ago, it might. The shards could turn to glittering dust to dissolve in the wind. Steve hasn't stopped loving this man, hasn't stopped yearning for this man, even though he's never said as much out loud. To have him here like this, the steamy spray of the shower against his shoulders and Zemo's lips nipping at his own? It feels like a dream.
The heels dig into his hips, coupled with the sting of teeth and the keen that slips between those pretty lips, and Steve begins to move, one hand keeping Zemo supported as he draws out, painfully slow, and back in, setting a slow, diligent pace despite the burning need he feels deep in his gut. But each time his hips slide flush, burying himself to the hilt and back. ]
Lúbim—
[ He shouldn't. Not after the time that has spanned the distance between them, even though all of that is lost in the steady pump of his hips and the way he pants against Zemo's throat, lips peppering kisses, tongue lapping at the soft curve of his jaw until he finally finds his lips again.
Strangle out the desperate need to tell him just what he feels, just how deeply he misses him, and just how complete he feels like this. His free hand slides up into Zemo's hair, tugging it back to bare his throat so his mouth can fixate on the gentle rise of his adam's apple. The hand drops back down, fingers sliding to his ass, hands braced on either side to hold him up all while the rhythm of his hips begins to quicken. ]
You're so— shit.
[ Spoken against his skin, desperate and hot. Eight years since he could love and be loved like this, eight years of yearning all flooding out now in the damp air between them. His mouth drags its way back to meet Zemo's, panting and wanting, before he speaks: ]
You're beautiful.
[ The next thrust drives hard, the sound of wet skin slapping amid the trickle of water, body suddenly remembering the angles, the touches, the way Zemo so liked it back when they were younger, hopeful things. ]
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Please stay. Plaintive, on the voice of a boy having the whole future he'd begun to nurture torn from beneath his skin. But Zemo hadn't stayed and Steve left for war, and it seems they've both come out of eight years of battles battered and weary.
In another time he might have taken his time here, might have mapped the lines of Zemo's body with his mouth, might have gently begun to work him open and pliant with the delicate curve and push of fingers but there's nothing of that gentle caution from years ago, though there should be. But his lover practically giggles and it brings up the huff of a chuckle in him, lips curved in a smile behind an open mouthed, needy kiss, unable to stifle the way the sound turns into a guttural moan as the other man's fingers tangle in his hair, bringing fire to a roar beneath his skin.
Carefully he lines up the head of his cock at the man's entrance, that sensation alone enough to send electric pulses up his spine. It's been years, since they last tumbled in the spare bedroom or dorm room bunks. Part of him wonders if he even remembers, if his body will recall the rhythm and angles and so much more that could make Helmut Zemo fall apart. He wants that: to make him fall apart, to undo eight years of stitches and curl himself around the tiny, guttering flame they shared, once upon a time.
One hand grips the muscle of his ass, bracing the pretty man against the wall as his hips shift just so, pushing in slowly, slowly, with a quivering sort of restraint. ]
Zee, I —
[ I love you, I've missed you, I need you, I wish you'd — Steve closes his mouth over Zemo's, licking hot and slow into his mouth, emptying a heady groan against his lips as the tight heat of the other man all but overwhelms him, his cock practically throbbing for the want of friction, speed, more, but made needier for the way Steve slowly presses up into him and, with the hand on his ass, carefully brings him flush and down, as if he could bury himself here and stay this way. ]
S'it alright? [ Words a panting whisper against Zemo's jaw, his ear, his fingers digging in to bruise, all the while his free arm braces against the slick tile. ] You feel —
[ Another inch and he stifles a practically filthy, wanton grunt against Zemo's throat, stilling his hips long enough to clear the stars from his vision. (It might be tears, too, slipping out from the cracks newly pressed into his heart). ]
no subject
[his head arches back against the slippery tile as he swallows around a curse, fingers digging in hard around steve's shoulders - enough to leave a few marks of his own as his thighs start trembling from how they're trying desperately to cling and find some sort of leverage. the thought of leaving steve a souvenir burns low in his gut, a pleasing ripple all the way up his spine and curling at the corner of his mouth. it's been years since anyone has had him like this, and longer still since it was someone who used to know every intimate spot, every secret press and would whisper adoring words against his temple or in his ear every time they came together. it isn't an exaggeration to call it making love - why would it? that's what they were back then - young, in love, full of unbridled passion as if no one else existed in the world besides them. he loved steve, and the truth is he still loves him now, maybe more than eight years ago if it were even possible.
it's not fair to say it, even though he desperately wants to, especially when steve groans the affectionate nickname against his neck and starts to push inside. it's tight, and he'd be lying if he tried to pretend there wasn't a burn from the stretch of it, especially without the careful attention that came from nothing but the luxury of time and softer moments. these feel utterly stolen, the two of them suspended here to wade through the ache of memories years old, yet hurtling them faster and faster toward dawn all at the same time in some illogical paradox.
zemo exhales hard, biting down on his lip to hold in a high, keening noise as he feels steve finally manage to bury himself up to the hilt and holds him in place with one big, warm palm like he used to. his stomach trembles, breath heaving as his body finally adjusts - remembers that steve belonged here, once upon a time, laid claim to it nearly as possessively if not moreso than the handprints and bruises that fade from the surface of his skin. his eyes open slowly, half-lidded with droplets clinging to dark lashes as he nods against steve's cheek.]
You're perfect. It's good, Steve - go on.
[uttered reverently between shaky breaths, before he lets steve swallow up another moan and shift his hips upwards and make him realize just how full he feels - like for one blissful moment maybe he can be whole again. he can handle it, legs digging into his hips intentionally digging into his hips as if he were wordlessly commanding an unruly stallion. and - if that's not enough to convey his abject need - the way he intentionally squeezes around steve, accentuating the nearly unbearable tightness should do the trick.]
Take me.
[he leans in again to nip at those plush, reddened lips that stand out among the stark white of the shower and shivering skin. it's playful as he whispers against steve's lips in a soft murmur - words maybe he'll remember even if they aren't in english.]
Som tvoja, moja láska.
[i'm yours, my love.]
no subject
If his heart could break again, just like it had in their shared dorm eight years ago, it might. The shards could turn to glittering dust to dissolve in the wind. Steve hasn't stopped loving this man, hasn't stopped yearning for this man, even though he's never said as much out loud. To have him here like this, the steamy spray of the shower against his shoulders and Zemo's lips nipping at his own? It feels like a dream.
The heels dig into his hips, coupled with the sting of teeth and the keen that slips between those pretty lips, and Steve begins to move, one hand keeping Zemo supported as he draws out, painfully slow, and back in, setting a slow, diligent pace despite the burning need he feels deep in his gut. But each time his hips slide flush, burying himself to the hilt and back. ]
Lúbim—
[ He shouldn't. Not after the time that has spanned the distance between them, even though all of that is lost in the steady pump of his hips and the way he pants against Zemo's throat, lips peppering kisses, tongue lapping at the soft curve of his jaw until he finally finds his lips again.
Strangle out the desperate need to tell him just what he feels, just how deeply he misses him, and just how complete he feels like this. His free hand slides up into Zemo's hair, tugging it back to bare his throat so his mouth can fixate on the gentle rise of his adam's apple. The hand drops back down, fingers sliding to his ass, hands braced on either side to hold him up all while the rhythm of his hips begins to quicken. ]
You're so— shit.
[ Spoken against his skin, desperate and hot. Eight years since he could love and be loved like this, eight years of yearning all flooding out now in the damp air between them. His mouth drags its way back to meet Zemo's, panting and wanting, before he speaks: ]
You're beautiful.
[ The next thrust drives hard, the sound of wet skin slapping amid the trickle of water, body suddenly remembering the angles, the touches, the way Zemo so liked it back when they were younger, hopeful things. ]