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Leaving with Sam, Bucky, and Zemo was quite possibly the absolute last thing in the world Sharon wanted. But her rendezvous with her contact wasn’t for another few hours, and Sam seemed to be under the impression that being exposed to a dozen or so Madripoor bounty hunters meant she could no longer return to her luxurious apartment.
He had a point. Returning to her apartment, the location of which was well-known to hundreds of art-savvy rich locals and foreign visitors alike, after defending Selby’s killers from those who were out for blood (and reward money) would be tremendously stupid.
If she were actually in danger of being hunted, that is. She wasn’t, but Sam and Bucky didn’t know that. So she pretended she had been forced out of her home, played along with their assumptions, and kept her secrets closely guarded.
She sat in the back of the vintage blue convertible Zemo had stolen, her arms crossed over her chest, and her eyes flickering every so often to the rearview mirror. Zemo’s gaze was locked on the stretch of road ahead, allowing her to study his expression with each stolen glance.
She’d never met someone so unreadable. His face was blank, impassive, and there was nothing happening behind his eyes. It was as if he could turn off his emotions with a simple thought.
It was a trait that was both unsettling and attractive, an acknowledgment that perturbed her.
Brown eyes suddenly shifted to meet her stare. Sharon fought the instinct to look away. “You seem to be thinking intently, Sharon,” said Zemo softly.
“I was just wondering, between you and Bucky, who would win a staring contest,” answered Sharon flippantly.
Sam, who occupied the backseat with her, snorted. “It’s not a contest. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bucky blink.”
“Shut up,” said Bucky in annoyance.
Zemo’s head tilted thoughtfully to the side. His gaze seemed to pierce right through her and she shifted her body, redirecting her eyes to the passing landscape. She swore she saw him smirk through her peripheral vision and she gritted her teeth.
“Hey,” said Sam quietly, mistaking the act of frustration for one of pain. He lightly set a hand against her shoulder. “You okay?”
“Just bruised,” muttered Sharon. She could feel the spots on her back and side where the contusions developed, thanks to a body slam against a metal storage unit. She raised her fingers to check the status of the cut on her cheek, but Sam caught her wrist before she could make contact.
“Don’t touch it,” he chided. “With the amount of blood you got on your hands, you’re definitely gonna infect it.”
It took a minute for Sharon to register his words through the fuzziness that hummed through her brain. Goosebumps prickled along her flesh as his calloused skin rubbed against the underside of her wrist. She snatched her hand back, noticing for the first time the blood of the deceased bounty hunters dried and chipping under her nails and streaked against the palm of her hand.
“Thanks, Mom,” she quipped, trying to ignore the sudden acceleration of her heart.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, washing the island nation in golden light, they finally arrived at their destination. The convertible rolled into the parking lot of a derelict concrete building. Sam twisted his neck to stare at the one-level hovel in disbelief. “What the hell is this?”
“This is the place where he kills us and buries our bodies in the basement,” deadpanned Bucky.
“I am not so arrogant as to think that I can kill you so easily,” returned Zemo, removing the keys from the ignition. He was about to slip them in his pocket when Bucky ripped them from his hands.
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” stated Bucky, shoving the keys into his own pocket.
“Zemo, where are we?” demanded Sharon.
“A shelter. It mostly houses the poor and the homeless, but with the right price, I will be able to secure us a room.”
“What about the car?” pressed Sam. “Someone’s gonna come looking for it.”
“It was in a storage facility, Sam,” said Zemo patiently. “Those well-off enough to keep such cars in storage do not check on their possessions every hour. The owner will not realize it is gone for several days at the very least.”
Sam exchanged a glance with Bucky, who shrugged before climbing out of the car. Grumbling under his breath, Sam followed after him, and Sharon reluctantly stepped out of the vehicle. They crossed the parking lot, which was a small square of dirt with only two other cars inhabiting the space. They were junkyard heaps, with dents and broken windows, and Sharon’s impression of their dwellings was only soured further.
They stepped through the entrance to find a portly man with a braid sitting behind a low desk. Zemo approached him and they had a brief conversation, and Sharon’s eyes went wide as he handed over a thick wad of bills.
“Wait—”
Her tone was louder than she meant it to be and the portly man looked in her direction. Bucky moved his body so that he was blocking Sharon from his sight and raised his hand, covering her mouth and halting the rest of her exclamation. Her lips brushed against his palm and he quickly pulled it away, letting his arm fall by his side.
“He’s rich,” he muttered, awkwardly looking at the grime-streaked window, his nails digging into his palm, which seemed to be on fire from Sharon’s touch. “His family is royalty, apparently. He’s a Baron.”
“Right,” said Sharon. Her lips were tingling and she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to ignore the butterflies stirring in her gut.
With their room arranged and paid for, they were directed down one of the narrow, damp hallways. They walked quietly down the corridor and paused at the door marked #7.
It took one solid shove from Bucky to get the warped door to open and they crossed the threshold.
Only to discover one piece of furniture in the cramped space—a lone bed.
“There’s only one bed,” said Sharon, trying not to sound horrified and failing.
“Oh, hell no,” snapped Sam. “I’m sleeping in the car.”
“By all means, feel free,” said Zemo with a grand wave of his arm. “I hope you do not mind intense humidity and insects that leave bites the size of goose eggs.”
“Why couldn’t we just go to a regular hotel?” asked Bucky with a scowl.
Zemo arched an eyebrow. “Because those who are out for our heads will surely search those places first and foremost. The plane will not be ready for a few more hours. This is a safe place to hide out. They will not come here.”
“You can’t possible know that,” said Sharon with a scoff.
Zemo turned to look at her, a slow smirk curling across his lips. “With all due respect, I have some experience in hiding from those with exceptional resources seeking to capture me.”
“Watch it,” growled Sam.
“Whatever,” groused Bucky. “I’m sleeping on the floor.”
“I’m taking a shower,” said Sharon with a tired sigh.
There was a closet-sized bathroom attached to their room. It reeked of mildew, there was a mound of dead cockroaches around a poisoned insect trap at the base of the sink, and the water pressure in the shower was horrible. But it washed the blood and dirt from her skin, so she counted it as a blessing.
She returned to the main room five minutes later, her long blonde hair wet and sticking to her leather jacket. Bucky was already curled in a blanket in the corner of the room. Zemo was on the floor by the right side of the bed, looking irritated but resigned. Sam was shaking out a third blanket, trying to get rid of as much of the collected dust as he could.
Sharon’s breath caught in her throat.
She hadn’t expected the men to be shirtless.
The muscles in Sam’s arms rippled with each sharp snap of the thin grey blanket. Bucky lay flat on his back, his eyes closed and his broad chest rising and falling with each breath. Zemo was stretched out like a cat, his body hard and lean.
The heat gathered in her stomach and started to sink further south, but she was distracted from what she considered her body’s act of betrayal as her teeth started to chatter.
“Why is it so cold in here?” she asked, processing the relentless blast of frigid air for the first time.
“The air conditioning is broken,” answered Zemo. “It is stuck on the highest setting.”
“Great. You chose a place with one bed and an AC unit that’s going to freeze us to death,” sniped Sharon.
“He did it on purpose,” said Sam, shooting Zemo a narrow-eyed glare.
Zemo grinned. “I assure you, Sam, if I wanted to put you through torture, I would not include myself in your misery.”
Ignoring the Sokovian, Sam glanced at Sharon, who continued to linger in the bathroom doorway. “You can have the bed.”
“Why? Because I’m a girl?”
Surprised by her sharp tone, Sam said, “No, of course not—”
“Then why aren’t you offering Bucky the bed?” countered Sharon.
“I like you more than I like Bucky.”
“I don’t like mattresses, anyway,” muttered Bucky, not bothered by Sam’s jab.
“Why don’t you offer me the bed?” asked Zemo with an innocent expression.
“Shut up,” said Sam, rolling his eyes. “Sharon—”
“You have the bed,” said Sharon, snatching the blanket from his grasp. “I’m perfectly happy with the ground.”
She laid down on the stone floor, covering herself with the blanket. Sam let out an exasperated huff but didn’t press the matter. He turned off the lights before he crawled into bed.
For the better part of an hour, Sharon tried to fall asleep. Her clothes were stiff and uncomfortable so she kicked off her pants, shoes and socks beneath her blanket and shrugged off her jacket. But the lack of layers made her more susceptible to the cold air blasting from the unit attached below the tiny rectangular window.
Her teeth chattered persistently, and hard as she tried, she wasn’t able to stop. The sound permeated the silence and Sam, finding himself restless despite the exhaustion in his bones, propped himself up on his elbows.
He could see the blankets vibrating as the three shivered. “All right, get your asses in here,” he instructed.
Zemo promptly got his feet, flinging his blanket overtop Sam’s. “How gracious of you.”
He was about to go to the other side of the bed, but Sam grabbed his forearm. “I don’t think so. You’re not pulling any Houdini acts while we’re sleeping. You’re next to me.”
The morning light shimmered through the gaps in the filth caked on the window, letting Sharon see Zemo’s eyes lower to Sam’s fingers curled around his bare skin. “If you insist, Sam,” he said softly.
Sam’s jaw clenched as he quickly removed his grip. Sharon watched as Zemo slipped under the blankets. “I didn’t know you liked being the small spoon, Zemo.”
A sultry smile pulled at his lips. “There are benefits to both positions.”
“There is no spooning going on here,” snapped Sam. But there was a strained expression on his face, as if he were fighting something back, and Sharon nearly whimpered with relief.
She wasn’t the only one trying to keep from being overrun by sexual attraction.
“Will you a-all p-p-please shut u-u-up?”
The vexation that was meant to be behind the words completely vanished as the stammer, formed by his uncontrollable shivering, overcame his speech. Sam’s brow furrowed with concern. “You ain’t getting any sleep like that, Buck.”
“I’m n-not sharing a b-b-bed with y-y-you t-two.”
“And I’m not gonna listen to your teeth smash against each other for the next few hours. We all need rest and we’ve got little time to get it. So stop being a grumpy old man.”
“What if I just break the air conditioner?” growled Bucky, rising to his knees and looking purposefully towards the ratting metal contraption.
“I would not recommend it,” said Zemo casually. “The owner is not very forgiving towards those who destroy his property.”
Bucky shifted his gaze towards Zemo and his lungs momentarily seized at the way the Sokovian lounged on his side, his head cradled by one hand, fingers twisting into his hair while the other lazily hooked in the waistband of his slacks.
Bastard, Sharon and Bucky thought at the same time.
Zemo was very much aware of the reactions each physical touch they exchanged evoked, and the calculating, half-lidded stare aimed at Bucky was a challenge.
Blue eyes narrowed into slits, he walked over to the bed, refusing to acknowledge the long, dragging once-over Zemo gave his body. He settled at the other end of the bed and buried himself in the blankets. The warmth of the mattress and the combined weight of the thin blankets was enough to take the edge off the cold and his limbs finally stopped trembling.
“All right, Sharon, come here,” spoke Sam, his voice an octave lower than usual.
“I’m good,” said Sharon stubbornly. Sexual tension charged the air, and she was both excited and terrified by what might happen if she joined the males in the barely double-sized bed. “I would hate to intrude upon your quality time with your sugar daddy.”
Too outraged and horrified by the remark to form actual words, Sam could only squawk. Zemo burst into laughter, a gravelly barking sound that sent a delighted rush down Sharon’s spine. Utterly baffled by this terminology, Bucky said, “What the hell is a sugar daddy?”
Sharon hummed. “You probably called it something else in the 40s. It’s a rich man who showers gifts upon his chosen companions in return for sexual favours.”
“That is most definitely not what’s happening,” ground out Sam.
“You did not like the outfit I bought you this evening?” Zemo asked with a light purr.
The tension thickened. Something hot coiled in Sharon’s stomach and her thighs pressed together as the sensation sunk dangerously low.
“Wait a damn minute,” said Sam slowly, realization beginning to dawn on him. “You made me try on at least a dozen of those stupid outfits. Did you—?”
“Did I know which one I wanted you to wear from the start? I did,” said Zemo, unabashed. “I spent many years away from handsome physiques. I am sure you can forgive me for admiring.”
It was Sharon’s turn to laugh, and when Sam whipped his head to glare at her, she muffled the sound into her blanket. “I don’t appreciate being put on display like a piece of meat,” he said tightly.
“Tell me about it,” said Bucky with a snort.
Zemo’s eyes slid to him, coy and knowing. “You did a very good job of not reacting to my touch in front of Selby. But the goosebumps that formed on your neck…I wonder what caused them.”
“Your gloves were cold,” said Bucky stiffly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“No, I wouldn’t dare.” Lips curling upwards, Zemo added, “If you do not wish to be gawked at like a piece of meat, then perhaps you should refrain from doing so to others. Despite my efforts, I lost track of the number of times you, as the youth say, checked me out when you thought I wasn’t looking.”
Sharon’s laughter turned to mirthful wheezes.
“I wasn’t looking at you, I was looking at your coat!” barked Sam.
“It’s a damn fine coat,” said Sharon through her giggles.
Zemo’s chest swelled with pride. “Thank you.”
“Don’t encourage him,” said Bucky in exasperation.
“Just get over here, Sharon,” said Sam gruffly.
“Are you going to come get me if I don’t?”
“I might, if you keep sassing.”
His voice turned dark and sexy and Sharon swallowed back a desperate whine. “Well, I’d hate to be the reason you have to exert yourself,” she said with a smirk.
She stood, letting her blanket fall down the length of her body. Her pair of black lace panties was a stark contrast against her pale flesh, fitting low on her pelvis and molding perfectly against her ass.
For a moment, no one breathed. Sharon didn’t falter or retreat, and fought back a wide grin as their expressions morphed from surprise to pure desire.
A pillow sailed in her direction and Sharon instinctively caught it. “What the hell, Sharon?” rasped Bucky. “Cover yourself!”
Sharon arched an eyebrow. “What, guys can walk around in their underwear but girls can’t?”
“We’re not in our underwear!”
“That’s not my problem, is it? I’m more comfortable sleeping in my underwear, and if that’s something you consider sexual, that’s on you.”
“Oh, you are not slick,” said Sam with a strangled breath, his dark eyes roaming slowly over every inch her long legs before settling on the scrap of lace.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Sharon innocently, managing to keep her voice steady.
Her eyes met Zemo’s, and the naked arousal in his brown, intense gaze nearly caused her knees to quiver. Without breaking eye contact, Zemo slowly unbuttoned his slacks and slid them off. He discarded them over the edge of the bed, pointedly leaning over Sam to do so.
“I am afraid James’ mindset is sometimes trapped in the old era,” drawled Zemo. “Perhaps it would be easier for him if you were not the only one in your undergarments.”
“You bastard.”
Zemo’s grin was one worthy of belonging on the Cheshire Cat. “Problem, James?”
With a soft, low growl, Sam copied Zemo’s action, wrangling off his jeans and letting them fall to the floor.
“Seriously, Sam—”
But James’ words halted in his throat when Sharon approached the bed, her lustful gaze seeming to trap him in place. She eased down the middle, lying between Bucky and Zemo. “Maybe you need some help,” she whispered.
Her fingers played with the waistband of his jeans. She waited for a protest, but none came. Bucky’s eyes blazed down at her, his flesh hand fisting a portion of the blanket. The desire burning in his eyes spurred her forwards. She deftly unsnapped his trousers and pulled them down his waist. Her heart thudded hard in her chest as he arched his body off the mattress, allowing her to fully divest him of his pants.
“Seems like you enjoyed that,” whispered Sharon, eyes following the trail of dark hair on his stomach to the erection tenting his boxers.
Zemo’s breath was hot and heavy on her neck. Sam’s groan was low and deep, and the sounds stoked the fire in her groin.
Bucky slotted his hand between her legs, pressing against her panties, which he found to be damp and sticky. “Looks like you did too,” he said roughly.
The pressure at the most sensitive part of her being caused a moan to rip from her throat. It crackled through the air, full of need and want, and Sharon stilled.
She hastily swung herself out of the bed, her face flushed red. Bucky started to rise with her, the desire lingering in his eyes but his expression one of panic. “Sharon—”
“I’mfinegivemeasecond,” she said in a rush.
She went into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind her. She slid down the cracked, chipped wood and to the concrete. She ran her fingers through her hair, flustered and panting as the pleasure rippled through her.
She hadn’t expected any of them to actually touch her in her most intimate spot. Bucky’s caress hadn’t been unwanted, but her logic wasn’t completely drowned by arousal.
Bucky and Sam had abandoned her. They took her kindness and didn’t spare her a thought when they returned from the Blip. They didn’t offer to take her on the run with them. They left her to her own devices, left her to flee her family and her country to avoid being imprisoned for doing what she thought was right and just.
Zemo was a murderer. He had bombed the United Nations, killed the king of Wakanda, and did it unapologetically in his pursuit for revenge for the death of his family. She should have been ashamed by the thoughts she was currently having about the Sokovian terrorist.
And a part of her was. Another part of her wasn’t.
If there was one thing she was sure of it was that the four of them had spent years without touch. There had been no one to stroke them, no one to take care of the ache that they continuously repressed. For the first time in years, Sharon wasn’t being handled with aggression or with expectation. Glimmering in their eyes was affection when they teased her, even Zemo’s, and that meant more than perhaps the average person could ever understand.
Maybe this would be something she, and they, would come to regret. But squatting in that bathroom, with heat ravaging her veins and her mind continuously conjuring illicit images of the three very attractive males in the next room, Sharon knew what she wanted.
She knew what they wanted, too.
To be touched.
Her shoulders squared with determination.
Sharon stepped out of the bathroom, her bare feet slapping against the concrete. She started to approach the bed and Bucky quickly sat up, the blanket pooling around his waist. “I’m so sorry, Sharon,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Shut up,” Sharon interrupted.
Instead of returning to her spot on the floor or crawling down the middle of the bed, she went to Sam’s side. His look of concern evaporated when she abruptly pressed her knee against his thigh. He let out a sharp gasp, one hand instinctively reaching to curl around her calf. The feel of his fingers tightening against her skin sent electricity humming through her blood.
She purposefully dragged her knee against his cock and she relished in the groan that left his throat. She arched her back, letting her ass graze Sam’s chest. She placed her arm on one side of Zemo’s head, using her other hand to squeeze his dick through his boxers.
Zemo’s moan was rough, and it increased in volume when she lifted her other leg and dug it into his thigh, in the same manner as she had done to Sam. Zemo turned his head and bit her elbow, and the sharp, stinging pain intensified the pleasure boiling in her gut.
Sharon kept one foot against Sam’s cock, rubbing gentle circles through his boxers. Sam’s hips bucked against her toes, his moans harsh and shaky. Zemo’s torso was pinned down by her other leg, her hand matching the rhythm of her toes as she massaged him through the fabric. Zemo’s head was thrown back, his fingers clenching the blankets as his body shook against the ecstasy rolling through him.
Bucky’s pupils were blown wide. Sharon paused, her lips inches from his. She slowly raised her free hand, tracing it against the side of his face. His stubble scratched against her skin and she gave a breathy gasp at the sensation. She lowered her hand to the bulge straining against his boxers and ran her thumb up and down his hard length, watching as he shuddered beneath her touch.
Sam’s hand was still wrapped around her calf. His other hand was kneading her ass, fingers working into firm flesh. Zemo cupped her breast through her shirt, his thumb rubbing steadily against her nipple. His lips travelled up and down her arm, soft, tender kisses that caused a small, cynical, and icy piece of Sharon to melt. Bucky’s metal fingers tangled in her blonde strands, his hips bucking against her hand.
Shockwaves of pleasure rocketed through her, from the tips of her toes to her scalp, with each of their touches. She whimpered and moaned, ducking her head as the pleasure deep within her grew tighter and tighter. When their thrusts started to become more desperate, and when she felt she wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer, Sharon abruptly twisted her body and flopped back into her spot between Bucky and Zemo, tucking her limbs under the blankets.
“Good night, boys,” she said huskily. “I trust you’ll have pleasant dreams.”
“You minx,” said Zemo with a half-growl, half-groan.
“Damn it, Sharon,” said Sam with a gasp.
“Don’t mess with me,” she shot back, snuggling into her pillow. “If you have to finish yourself off, don’t be too loud.”
Though her body hated her for not relieving the pounding heat from her veins, the heavy pants and moans of longing of her male companions provided her enough comfort to drift off with a sly grin on her lips and satisfaction in her bones.
…
When she awoke three hours later, it was to feel a solid warmth between her legs. She peered through her eyelashes to see Bucky’s hand snug between her thighs and a contented expression on his features.
She shifted her chin to peek over her shoulder. She smirked at the sight of Sam spooning Zemo, the Sokovian tucked against his chest and their legs entwined.
No spooning, my ass, she thought in amusement.
Bucky’s eyes cracked open a few minutes later, and he froze when he realized where exactly his hand had drifted in slumber. “Shit, sorry—”
“If I didn’t want it there, your wrist would already be broken,” cut in Sharon with a yawn.
Bucky relaxed. He shuffled closer and pulled Sharon against his chest, his thumb beginning to rub at her folds through her panties. She nipped at his skin, leaving red marks along his chest and neck, and her breath started to shudder as pleasure spiked through her core with each stroke.
It seemed that the emotions her teasing evoked the previous night had not disappeared. Feelings once long-forgotten had resurfaced and were not so keen on going back into hiding. Sharon whimpered when Zemo eventually draped his arm over her torso, his fingers sliding under her black T-shirt to palm and squeeze her breasts. She ran her fingernails up and down his arm, and after a while the bed began to shake as Sam slowly started to grind his hips against Zemo’s ass.
No one said anything. No one wanted to break the fragile moment they had created amongst themselves. There was only the sound of needy gasps and low moans, and the squeak of the bed as it moved.
It was an unspoken understanding that none of them wanted to bring each other to completion. That was a line no one was brave enough to cross. To touch and tease was easy. But an orgasm was far more intimate—to see such rapture on one’s face, to transcend someone to pure euphoria. It was not a moment they were willing to share with one another, not when there were still grudges and resentments buried in their souls.
So no one commented when they started to separate, one by one. They took turns going into the bathroom and when they were finished, there was an odd sort of blissful peace on their features, as if a knot had finally been released deep inside them.
If anyone heard the cries coming from behind the closed bathroom door, they didn’t say anything. If anyone had a particularly obscene fantasy about the occupants of the room, they kept their mouth shut.
When Sharon was about to leave, Zemo handed her an envelop taken from the front desk. It was bulging with cash and on the back of the envelop, it read,
From your Sugar Daddy.
Sharon very nearly strangled him. But there was already a shark-like grin on his face, so she didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. She merely raised her chin and strode out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind her.
The money was clearly intended for her to buy a new place, for Zemo thought she could no longer return to her old apartment. Since that was not the case, she thought of all the wasteful ways she could blow the money that he would most certainly disapprove of.
That would show him.