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It began when Bucky stood and made for the door, on his way to the bathroom.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Zemo looked up from the newspaper he’d been studiously reading from front to back since earlier in the evening as they waited for information on where their target would be found that night. He was on the sports section by now, although he didn’t strike Bucky as the kind of guy who’d have any interest in sports.
“Uh, to the bathroom?” He raised an eyebrow, as though challenging the man, but the next instant, when Zemo answered, his expression settled into one of neutrality.
“No.”
The single word was spoken with heavy finality — it was an order. And Bucky always obeyed orders. Without a moment’s hesitation, he returned to the chair he’d just vacated and sat down again, back ramrod straight. His bladder twinged slightly, annoyed that it hadn’t had the chance to be emptied.
He didn’t know how exactly they’d fallen into this strange dynamic. Perhaps it was easy for the lines to get blurred, given their situation; Zemo was, ostensibly, his handler here in Madripoor. While in public, Bucky played the part of the Winter Soldier, acting as though he was mindlessly following Zemo’s orders. Of course, in reality, they were both equal members of the team investigating the Power Broker, simply playing out moves they’d worked out together beforehand.
But when they got back to their suite at the outrageously expensive hotel Zemo had insisted on staying at (apparently, the baron staying anywhere but the best would arouse suspicion, or so he claimed), their relationship became more like handler and soldier than it ever was out in the field. He found that it was easier for him to be subordinate to Zemo, who naturally gravitated toward calling the shots.
Sometimes, Zemo gave him orders. Every time, Bucky followed them.
Today was no different.
After a minute, Zemo glanced up at him again. “Why don’t you go get yourself a nice tall glass of water?” he suggested lightly.
At once, Bucky stood and went over to the fridge that was kept stocked full of glass-bottled beverages. He selected a sparkling water, twisted the cap off in one smooth motion with his vibranium hand, and filled one of the crystal classes that stood on a nearby table. The bubbles of effervescence whirled up from the bottom of the glass in streams that erupted across the surface and dissipated into nothing. As he carefully raised the glass to his lips, he heard the fizzz of popping bubbles and felt the faint spray flick across his skin. Tipping back his head, he downed the entire glass in one smooth motion, his throat working to swallow each gulp. When he was finished, he set the glass down again and exhaled loudly.
“Good boy.” Zemo nodded appreciatively. “I’m sure you must still be thirsty though. Have another.”
Bucky went through the exact same motions again, refilling the glass and quickly draining it. When he was done, he looked across to Zemo for his next order.
Zemo had ordered him to do a lot of things before, but this was new.
“...And another.” He did as he was told, this time emptying the last of the one litre bottle into the glass before gulping it down. It was harder this time, his stomach already filled with liquid, so he could feel the new batch sloshing down into it.
“Very good. Now sit back down again. Bring a few smaller bottles with you, though.”
He did as asked and settled back into his chair, placing two small bottles of water on the floor beside it. His bladder already felt far fuller than it had when he first stood to go to the bathroom; it was like the huge influx of water he’d just taken was already making its way straight through him. He shifted slightly, trying to find a more agreeable position.
“Comfortable?” Zemo asked him.
“Yes, Sir.” Zemo liked for him to address him as “Sir” during these… interactions.
“Here, you can have the sports section.” Zemo leaned over the wide arm of his plush chair to offer the pages to Bucky. “You seem like the sports type.”
He wasn’t, but Bucky accepted the paper anyway, grateful to have something to focus on other than his growing urge to urinate. For the next twenty minutes, he directed his attention down at the newsprint, reading about teams he’d never heard of and scores he didn’t care about. Occasionally, he caught a pointed look from Zemo, and dutifully took a swig from one of the bottles, until eventually the words started to swim before his eyes as the discomfort in his bladder built to the point of urgency. He didn’t even realize he’d instinctively crossed his legs until he heard Zemo chuckle.
He looked up to find the baron’s gaze fixated on him, his eyes dark as they raked over him, taking in the thin sheen of sweat across his brow, the way he shifted from moment to moment, and the agitated tap tap tap of his foot against the hardwood floor.
“Is there a problem, James?” Zemo’s tone was smooth as cognac and twice as intoxicating.
“No, Sir.”
“Don’t lie to me.” His soft, buttery voice hardened like diamonds.
Bucky debated his answer for a brief moment. On the one hand, he wished to appear as the perfect soldier, capable and controlled and machine-like. On the other, he was compelled to be completely honest with his handler, giving accurate reports on his status even if it meant revealing that his efficiency was compromised.
“I’m… experiencing some discomfort,” he admitted, forcing his body to remain perfectly still even as a wave-like feeling rolled through him and his cock twitched in his pants, desperate to release the building pressure in his bladder.
“Oh?” Zemo widened his eyes in mock surprise. “And what would be the source of this discomfort?”
Despite all his training, Bucky couldn’t stop the flush from darkening his cheeks. This was such a humiliating situation to be in—he didn’t want to admit to Zemo, to anyone, that he currently really fucking needed to piss .
But Zemo was the one in control here, and he had to obey.
“My body needs to pass urine.” He chose the most clinical terms he could think of.
Another wave rippled through him and his fingers twitched on his knee with the urge to grab his dick and squeeze. He attempted to push his ass down even further into the velvet cushion, hoping that the pressure against his balls would help ease things.
“Pass urine?” Zemo smirked at him. “I’m not quite sure I understand. Could you be more specific?” Zemo leaned forward in his own chair, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together beneath his chin.
“I need… to piss,” Bucky ground out between clenched teeth. His face was hot with shame. Of the many things the baron had ordered him to do, this had to be the most degrading. Was he enjoying seeing Bucky squirm? Getting some sick pleasure out of denying him the most basic dignity? He didn’t want to play right into the man’s twisted fantasies… except he did, didn’t he? He couldn’t deny that being at Zemo’s mercy—at least in these private moments—turned him on. When he occasionally dwelled on that thought, it made his innards twist nauseatingly, but it was something to be unpacked another day. Or maybe never.
“I wonder… does the super soldier have a super bladder?” Lips quirked up in a cruel smile, Zemo extended his foot across the gap between them to press the toe of his expensive leather shoe into Bucky’s distended abdomen.
Bucky hissed, digging his fingers into the arms of the chair, his vibranium fingers sinking deeper into the fabric than he intended. He could feel the liquid inside him pressing down the length of his cock, seeking an exit.
He tipped his head back against the headrest, chest heaving as he fought against the hot, stabbing pain that shot down from where Zemo’s shoe dug into his flesh and went straight to his bladder. A bead of sweat trickled into his mouth; he swiped his tongue across his upper lip and tasted salt. Another spasm ran through him, as though that miniscule addition of liquid to his body was more than it could handle. Taking deep breaths through his nose, he forced himself to relax his grip on the chair before he did some permanent damage to the upholstery.
Finally, blessedly, Zemo pulled his foot back, and Bucky’s legs snapped together automatically, just barely holding back the leak that had threatened to escape. He squirmed, aware of Zemo’s eyes on him but unable to stop himself from crossing his legs in an effort to maintain control.
“Give me a status update, soldat .”
“M-Major discomfort,” he gasped out.
“Would you say you’re in danger of wetting yourself?”
Bucky’s face felt like it was on fire at this point, and so did his bladder. Fuck yes he was in danger of wetting himself. He knew Zemo got off on ordering him around, on testing his limits, but he was a grown man, and the thought of confessing aloud as to his current situation was too humiliating to contemplate.
“Answer me.” Zemo’s command came slicing cold and sharp through his thoughts, and he stiffened, mentally berating himself for edging dangerously close to insubordination.
“Yes,” he said shortly, trying to sound as though he wasn’t dying inside. “I think that, if you want me in operational condition, it’s better that I go… relieve myself.”
“Well, you should have gone before the mission, shouldn’t you?” Zemo said teasingly. “There’s no time for bathroom breaks now. And you wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of your handler, would you?”
He answered with another sullen, “No.”
“Of course, you’re a big boy; I’m sure you can hold it just fine.” A flash of teeth in a shark-like smile. “Now why don’t you come over here and sit on my lap.” Zemo patted his thighs encouragingly. Bucky stared in horror, wondering how the hell he was going to get from here to there without an accident.
But an order was an order. Every fiber of his being screamed in protest as he pushed himself up from the chair and hobbled over to Zemo’s. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Bucky spread his legs and gingerly lowered himself onto his knees on the chair, straddling the baron’s lap. As he did so, his bladder spasmed from the sudden stretching of his limbs, and a tiny spurt of urine escaped the end of his cock, dribbling into his boxers. He froze, feeling the damp warmth against his skin, and glanced down. Thankfully, nothing showed on the front of his dark blue jeans.
Zemo caught the look and tutted. “Don’t go losing control on me now, James. Do you know how expensive these pants were? I would say I’ll send you the bill if you make a mess of them, but I doubt you could afford it.”
Bucky’s thighs shuddered from the exertion of keeping his internal muscles clamped down as he hovered in the air above the baron. He felt hot and sweaty, like he’d been doing drills for the past hour rather than sitting in a chair and waging mental warfare against his own body.
Zemo grabbed Bucky’s ass and guided him down until he was settled in his lap. Then his hands moved around to the tops of his thighs, massaging them in rhythmic patterns. It was almost comforting—until Bucky realized that the soothing motions were distracting him not only from his pressing need, but also his focus on holding it in.
All of a sudden, pain spasmed across his abdomen, and he hunched forward. Before he could regain control, another trickle of urine leaked out into his boxers. No, no, no! Fuck! With a sharp intake of breath, he managed to stop it from being any more than a short spurt. Though he could now feel the wet fabric of his boxers clinging to his cock, it still hadn’t been enough to show.
He had to keep it together, but at the same time, he didn’t want to make the already hideously embarrassing situation even worse by writhing on top of Zemo. But fuck , he had no other choice. Either he do something to relieve the pressure right now or he’d both disobey a direct order and absolutely fucking humiliate himself on top of it. He started to rock backward and forward in Zemo’s lap, squeezing his knees tightly around Zemo’s thighs.
“Oh, James. What a state you are in. I wish you could see yourself right now,” Zemo said, his voice low and gravelly.
The pain was one thing—he was no stranger to withstanding pain—but the absolute humiliation of the situation was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Tears of frustration and shame welled up in Bucky’s eyes as he realized that this was going to end up with him failing and wetting himself in front of— on goddamn top of —the other man.
“Are you going to lose it, James?
He gasped as Zemo reached up and grabbed his crotch, fingers pressing the denim to his sodden boxers underneath.
“You’ve already gone in your pants, haven’t you? Pathetic. What kind of soldier are you if you can’t even make it to the bathroom in time? Explain yourself, soldat .”
“I—I’m sorry. I tried—I really tried to hold it, but there’s just too much. I’m so fucking full , I need—I need to go.”
“Oh, I bet you do. I watched you guzzle all those bottles of water. It had to have been at least a litre. And you drank it all down so greedily.” Zemo’s eyes shone in the dim light of the room and shadows played over his stubbled cheeks. Bucky was bigger, faster, stronger than Zemo, but in this room, Bucky was at his mercy. And he liked it —no, put that thought in the box for later. He pushed everything else from his mind and instead focused on Zemo’s low, taunting tone. “Do you need to go very badly, James?”
“Yes! Yes, I need to piss so fucking bad,” he gasped out.
“I can see that.” A taunting smile hovered around his lips.
Zemo’s hands slid up Bucky’s thighs then danced across his bloated abdomen, barely applying any pressure — but it was enough. A high, strangled cry escaped Bucky’s lips and his cock twitched as the longest spurt yet sprayed out, soaking through the front of his jeans and turning them a shade of midnight. He barely managed to stop it, but he knew that the next time it happened even his vibranium-strength willpower wouldn’t be able to help. Regardless of what his mind wanted, his body would do whatever it needed to do to remain in optimum operational condition; and that included voiding the huge excess of liquid sloshing around inside of him.
Zemo was whispering frantic instructions to him. “Unzip your pants and take your cock out, James, and don’t you dare lose control. If you get urine on me, I will be very, very angry.”
Hand trembling, Bucky reached for his fly, pulled it jerkily down, then peeled open his sodden boxers to grasp his cock. When he brought it out into the open, a bead of piss hung from the tip, which he quickly swiped away before it could fall onto Zemo’s pants. He squeezed his cock tightly in his hand, pinching the end to try to hold back the building wave.
“Did I say you could hold it?” Zemo snapped, and Bucky instantly, though not without reluctance, removed his hand, returning it to its previous position on the chair arm.
He felt Zemo’s breath across his ear as the baron craned up to murmur into it. “If you urinate on me, James, I will not be pleased. Don’t even think about getting your dirty piss on me.”
He groaned, cock spasming as it was caught between the conflicting sensations of unwanted arousal and urgent need to pee. The muscles in his thighs tensed, pulling taught beneath the skin, but the millisecond of slight relief it gave him was quickly overpowered by another wave of desperation. His hips rocked desperately, his breathing coming in quick, panicked gasps, heart pounding, pain stabbing through his bulging bladder —
Oh fuck no —his brain barely even had time to realize what was happening; his body was betraying him, acting on an instinct too primal and insistent for even his super soldier training to rein it in.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I can’t stop it, I can’t!” The words tumbled from his lips as piss sprayed from his cock in a translucent fountain that glittered in the lamplight. He looked down in mortification at the stream, tears of frustration leaking from his eyes. The force of the torrent made his cock spasm, sending a splash up Zemo’s shirt front and staining the silk. The feeling of release was like nothing he’d ever felt before; an intense, almost orgasmic pleasure edged by hot shame and the sharp stab of failure.
Zemo watched him, eyes dark with lust, as he pissed right into the other man’s lap, darkening the crotch as though Zemo was the one wetting himself. The wet fabric clung to the outline of Zemo’s erection where it pushed up against the seams of his pants. His chest was heaving almost as hard as Bucky’s and his movements were less fluid than usual as he scrambled to undo his belt buckle even as the pale liquid still rained down on him.
“Look what you’ve done. Look at the mess you’ve made. You disobeyed a direct order. You’ve been a bad boy, James, and bad boys get punished. On your knees, soldat .”
Tears still streaming down his cheeks, Bucky obediently clambered off Zemo, pulled his sodden boxers and jeans up haphazardly, and got down on his knees on the floor, awaiting whatever punishment Zemo deemed him worthy of. Honestly, he was glad Zemo was going to punish him, because it could go some way toward making up for his pathetic failure to keep himself or Zemo’s expensive pants dry.
Zemo pushed his pants, soaked with Bucky’s piss, down and took his thick, hard cock in his hand, guiding it toward Bucky’s face. The ammonic smell of his own urine drifted from it, stinging his eyes, but he ignored it, opening his mouth wide and ready. Zemo dragged his wet cock along Bucky’s cheek then pushed the head between his parted lips, resting it against his slack tongue. The salty taste of urine filled his mouth, mixing with the pooling saliva.
“Suck.” The moment the command was issued, he readily obliged. The feel of cock in his mouth distracted him from the rapidly cooling wetness across his front. He pressed his lips around the thick shaft, being careful not to let his teeth graze it; he’d learned his lesson about that before. Relaxing his throat, he pushed forward, forcing Zemo’s dick further in. He felt the vein on the underside pulse against his tongue, and the sweetness of Zemo’s precum began to overpower the bitterness of piss.
As he closed his eyes and focused on breathing through his nose, he fell into an almost mechanical rhythm, bobbing his head up and down Zemo’s length, all other thoughts leaving him as he serviced his handler. When a hand tangled in his hair, forcing him to pick up the pace, he complied eagerly, letting the head of Zemo’s cock pound against the back of his throat.
“You suck cock like a pro. Did they teach you that in super villain school? It’s a shame they didn’t also teach you to hold your piss like a grown man.” A torrent of filthy words fell from Zemo’s lips in a breathy cascade, each of them like a hot needle to Bucky’s groin. “Yes, that’s it. You know you deserve this, don’t you? Deserve to suck my piss-covered cock?”
Bucky couldn’t answer verbally with the cock stuffing his mouth, but he hummed around it, which seemed to please Zemo. The hand in his hair tightened its grip painfully and shoved his head so far forward that his nose ended up buried in Zemo’s wiry pubic hair.
His own cock was rock hard inside his underwear, pressing and chafing against the wet fabric; yet somehow the burning friction was more pleasure than pain, and it was all too much, he was going to lose control again —
A muffled cry surged up his throat, and tears welled in his eyes for the second time that day. Shame burned in him yet again as hot cum flooded his cold boxers.
“Fuck, did you just —” With a groan low in his throat, Zemo pulled his dick out of Bucky’s mouth, leaving him gasping and coughing. The next instant, Zemo’s cock spasmed as ropes of hot come shot from the tip, coating Bucky’s upturned face like a piece of abstract art.
Bucky struggled to catch his breath, his shoulders heaving with the effort. Still on his knees, he hung his head as the endorphins began to fade, replaced by the cold chill of reality and piss-soaked jeans. The shame was back, black and icy now, rather than the fire that had set his nerves ablaze. But the next instant, Zemo was hauling him up and reminding him that it wasn’t a real mission, and he hadn’t really failed at anything.
“In fact, I would call it a resounding success,” Zemo purred, gently wiping away a trail of semen from Bucky’s cheek with his thumb.
Bucky looked dazedly back at him. There was too much going on in his head, too many conflicting emotions for him to process, but he was messy and sated and Zemo was looking at him like he was the most important thing in the world, and for now, that was enough. Everything else, he’d tuck away into that box for another day.