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You hated everything about the current situation. You never enjoyed the bustle of clubs, even under normal circumstances, but especially with the awfulness of what was happening. Sharon's expensive apartment was thumping with bass-filled dance music, and you were sitting at the small bar next to the blonde woman. You hardly knew her, past what Sam and Bucky had told you about her, but Sharon didn't seem awful. She was a woman with a job and an agenda, and you admired that greatly.
You took a sip of your drink and looked out at the crowd of people dancing, and your eyes fell to Baron Zemo, as your attention often did. It was hard not to, though, what with his imposing stature. But, at the moment, there wasn't that much imposing or intimidating about Zemo. He seemed to be having a good time on the floor, pumping his fist and vibing to the music. He had a smile on his face, but the sight of the man that you had come to know as reserved and fairly proper letting loose and dancing made you snort into your drink.
"What?" Sharon asked. "What was that?"
You held in your laughter and gestured vaguely to Zemo. "He's just making me laugh," you said. "I've never seen him like this."
"Has he been drinking?" Sharon asked, her eyes glued to Zemo.
"I can't tell," you said. "But, Jesus, at least he's having fun. He deserves it."
Suddenly, Sam Wilson was next to you. You were sure that he was sober– as was the duty of a soldier– and he had a look of disbelief on his face too. "Y'all are seeing Zemo, right?" he asked. At that moment, Zemo was clapping along with the music, doing a strange two-step thing that you were sure was a staple of European dancing.
"We were just talking about that," Sharon said. "He's making us laugh."
"He seems like he needs a partner," Sam chuckled. "Poor guy, been in prison for seven years. I can't imagine that..."
"Go on, then, Sammy," you laughed. "Go dance with Zemo."
"No, fuck that," Sam laughed. "You go do it."
"C'mon, you don't wanna dance with the baron?" Sharon teased, reaching across you and tweaking Sam's chest through his shirt. "Afraid you'll like it?"
"No, I just don't wanna dance with the dude, I don't think that's a crime," Sam scoffed. "How about you, Sharon, you go dance with him."
"I'd sooner dance with Mr. America," Sharon said, and you turned to see Bucky at the back of the room, his arms crossed, surveying the crowd.
"I'll fuckin' do it," you chuckled. "You goddamn cowards." You downed the rest of your drink in one go, and you gave Sharon a quick kiss on the cheek before you departed for the baron. His back was to you as you approached him, and you tapped on his shoulder to get him to turn around. "Need a partner, Twinkle Toes?" you asked.
Zemo, as was his European M.O, exclaimed loudly and tugged you into a tight hug. "I was starting to think I was going to be alone all night!" he said over the volume of the song.
"Yeah, well, we all fought over who was gonna come dance with you," you replied. Zemo's arms stayed around you, and he tugged you close to him. "The rest of 'em were being cowards."
"Oh, because dancing with me is such a chore?" Zemo scoffed.
"Obviously," you chuckled. Something compelled you with Zemo's closeness, and you pressed your hands to his chest. "I gotta do all the shit nobody else wants to, it's fucking exhausting."
"It's their loss, Schatzi," Zemo chuckled. "I'm a fine dancer."
"You seem more than fine," you replied. "Quite a competent dancer, actually. Is this part of your royal training?"
"Not this sort of dancing," Zemo said. "Waltzes and shit like that, yes, but club dancing is something that you have to teach yourself."
"You seemed to have picked it up easily," you said. You hardly noticed when Zemo's leg slotted between yours, but you definitely noticed when his hands slid into the pockets of your jeans. He had to be drunk, there was no way he was being this bold sober. You didn't hate his boldness, though. In fact, you liked it.
"What can I say?" Zemo chuckled. "I'm a man of many talents."
"Apparently so," you laughed. With your proximity, you could smell his deep cologne, and you hoped and prayed that he didn't hear the soft little groan that escaped your throat. You were a thousand percent sure that Sam and Sharon were going to give you grief when you returned to the bar, but you were enjoying yourself. They can go fuck themselves, the judgmental pricks. As long as they were gonna be teasing you, you figured that you might as well truly give them something to talk about.
"Zemo," you whispered, and you slid your hands up his back, his neck, and tangled your fingers in his hair. His gaze turned fully to you, and you whispered, "Kiss me, Zemo."
In an instant, he was on you totally. His mouth slotted against yours easily and, as he held you close and teased your lips with his tongue, you could taste the mix of champagne and bourbon. You didn't hate it, and you melted into his chest and took fistfuls of his shirt. He let out a heavy breath and nipped at your bottom lip, and he mumbled, "Don't tease me, liebling."
"Never, Zemo," you told him, kissing his lips again.
"Call me Helmut," he told you. "Please, Zemo is too formal."
"But I like your last name," you said with a pout, and an odd glee bloomed in your stomach when you felt him twitch between your legs. Sam was right about one thing; the man needed it bad. "Anyway, I think Zemo is more fun to say... To scream, too."
"Mein Gott," Zemo murmured. "How are you so perfect?"
You shrugged, and let out a laugh when his hands squeezed your ass. "I'm not trying to be anything," you told him. "Just whatever you want."