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Bucky hated Tony Stark. That’s it, that’s all the info you get. He hated the man. In fact, if Iron Man was standing right in front of him clad in his fanciful armour right then, he’d tear him apart, titanium, flesh, bones, everything. He was so pissed off.
He was thinking about all the ways he was going to tear the billionaire apart, right as he sat next to his partner for the foreseeable future.
Oh, no, not ‘partner’ as in ‘we’re going to fight crimes together’. Not ‘partner’ as in ‘we’re having sex and I finally found love’. ‘Partner’ as in ‘dance partner’. As in ‘I’m going to teach you ballroom and Latin dancing’ partner.
Bucky had been forced to take part in Strictly Come Dancing: Earth Mightiest Heroes edition.
He hated that he’d accepted.
Well, not that he had had a choice, really, when you think about it. Sam had said it’d be fun; and Steve had given him the most pathetic puppy eyes an old man could give while arguing that he ‘loved the show and Peggy never missed it’. So, like the idiot he was where these two fuckers he called friends were concerned, he’d said yes. Well, not ‘yes’, more like ‘okay fine’. But those words had the same abhorrent result.
So he was sat there, facing an interviewer he’d forgotten the name of, in a bright blue room with glitter fucking everywhere, and he was plotting Tony Stark’s demise.
Because of course, the whole thing had been his idea. Who else wanted to see the Avengers and various allies dance around in sequins? Well, a lot of people, apparently.
They were doing it for charity. To help rebuild whatever got destroyed after their passage.
He supposed it was a good reason for accepting to dance in front of millions of people.
He hated Tony Stark.
“So, Bucky, how are you feeling about Johannes being your partner for this new adventure?”
Bucky stopped glaring at the wall behind the interviewer’s shoulder, and focused on the man before turning to look at said Johannes. The pro dancer who’d been ‘assigned’ to him after chemistry tests. He was South African, and a fucking ray of sunshine. Like, he walked into a room and you had no other choice than to smile.
In Bucky’s case, his lips barely twitched. But it was something.
Johannes was currently beaming at him, excited like a puppy. He didn’t share the sentiment, but he wasn’t going to be mean to the guy. “I think it’s clever on the producers’ part to have partnered us together.”
“Ooh, and why’s that?” the guy asked – what was his name, for fuck’s sake?, leaning in as if this was juicing info.
It wasn’t, really. “Because he’s my polar opposite. Look at him. He’s all…” he gestured aimlessly at Johannes, who grinned wider and posed like a fucking diva. Which Bucky found cute as hell, because yes, be who you want to be, man, you’re doing great. “Well, he shines much brighter than I do.”
Johannes looked at him with a small endearing smile, and said “I’ll soon fix that, darling,” with that cute South African accent. Bucky supposed there were worse people to be stuck with.
“Well, guys,” the tv puppet said then, “I’ll let you go back to training! I’m very excited to see you on the dancefloor in two weeks!”
Johannes clapped, Bucky frowned.
Right.
Dancefloor. In front of millions.
Has he said he hated Tony Stark yet?
Their rehearsal studio was somewhere on the outskirts of London, in an old warehouse that looked positively amazing once you stepped inside. It was a fully-equipped facility with a dozen studios, bathrooms and cafeteria. Johannes said they’d cross path with a few other contestants, and unfortunately for Bucky, that meant Clint.
Obviously, the archer had decided to take part. He couldn’t dance for shit, but his kids had been so enthusiastic about the whole thing; and it meant he could represent the hard-of-hearing community, since he’d chosen to dance without his hearing aids. Kudos to him for that.
Clint had been partnered with Pasha, a pro dancer who hadn’t been on the show for several years but who had come back for the sole purpose of dancing with Hawkeye. They were of similar build and height, and immediately after being partnered, started talking about their respective kids.
Disgusting.
The archer had already marched into Bucky and Johannes’s studio three times since the beginning of rehearsals. Bucky had had to physically stop himself from shoving his friend out the door or through a window. He was already self-conscious enough without needing Clint’s stupid and pointless advice.
At least Johannes was a good teacher.
A bit taller than Bucky, he was patient, and always found something positive to say even when his partner felt like he’d done shit. He would correct his posture, explain a move and its significance for later in the routine, and more importantly, he always asked before touching him.
Not that Bucky was uncomfortable with men touching him. He was happy to have been partnered with a man. He wasn’t attracted to Johannes, even if he was very attractive, but it was important for him to show the world that men dancing with men wasn’t weird. It was natural. And he was glad that there were several same-sex pairings on the show that year.
The problem wasn’t Jo’s sex, therefore. The problem was Bucky’s natural aversion to touch when he didn’t know someone that well. Plus, his partner would have to touch him in places he wasn’t used to be touched: the waist, the legs, the neck.
He was grateful for their first dance to be a waltz, at least. He knew that one, used to dance it back in the day, before everything. Jo had told him his posture was appalling, but that, at least, he had a pristine sense of rhythm.
“Calm down, Bucky,” Jo told him before rehearsal on the Friday, in the BBC studio. They were watching Yelena and her partner, Nancy, having an argument on the dancefloor. It was their turn after them.
Bucky was restless. Which, in his case, showed in the tension in his body. Tension that wasn’t good for dancing, apparently. He tried to focus his breathing, and ignore the dozen cameras and people bustling about to adjust lighting and seats around the floor.
Johannes smiled at him before the band started to play the track they were waltzing to. Bucky froze, forgetting the routine at first, before his teacher gently took his hand and showed him that muscle memory truly was a real deal when it came to dancing.
When they were done, someone was clapping next to the floor. It was Sam, his partner, Karen, a bit further away where she was talking with another pro. “That was good, Buck, well done!”
Johannes beamed at that. “Yes, he’s a very good pupil.”
Bucky’s eyes snapped at the man, because he was stunned to hear that after days of his complaining, brooding and slamming doors. “Really? I froze at the beginning!”
“If you hadn’t, I’d have wondered if you were human at all, darling,” Jo said with a little roll of eyes before pulling him along. “Come on, they’re waiting for us to try on our outfits. Good luck, Sam.”
“Thank, man. Hey, Buck!” Bucky turned to his friend again. He looked fucking ecstatic. “I was right: this is so much fun.”
Bucky groaned in response.
On the night, he couldn’t stop glaring at everything and everyone. He’d been sprayed with fake-tan and looked fucking orange. The light-blue suit the costume department had made for him was quite good and complemented Johannes’s own dark blue one; but he felt absolutely ridiculous.
And out of place, especially as he stood backstage with the other contestants, waiting for the show to begin and for the celebrities to be called one by one.
Sam and Karen were standing close, with Karen deep in conversation with her BFF Janette, Peter’s partner, and Janette’s husband, Aljaz, who was dancing with Wanda. The red-head was herself hiding her face into her brother Pietro’s shoulder, his own partner, Gorka, trying to soothe her by running a hand on her back. Clint and Pasha were sitting on a crate, sipping on Gatorade; and Clint’s protégée Kate was fussing over her outfit, her partner Amy trying to stop her from messing it up. Far down the line, he could see Nat and the Italian bonbon she’d been partnered with, and Yelena, who was yet again arguing with Nancy. The other seven (or fourteen) he couldn’t see, but he knew who they were anyway.
T’Challa, Scott, Wong, Thor, Sylvie and Maria Hill. Not to mention the bane of Bucky’s whole existence, Zemo.
Bucky suspected Tony had asked him to take part only to grate on his nerves. He was the type.
After all, Zemo was the worst dancer he’d ever met.
Perhaps, at least, that meant he wouldn’t see a lot of him. Perhaps he’d be voted off first.
That sole possibility made the night less dreadful.
Johannes and him were second to be called up, right after Peter and Janette; but they were seventh to dance. The show’s host was kind, a bit too loud, perhaps, or maybe he just wasn’t in the mood; and once Jo had shown him to the tiny table they’d sit at while the others danced, he felt more comfortable. At least there were shadows here.
Scott and his partner Luba were the first to dance. Scott was a bit too energetic for the foxtrot, but he kicked off the series in a nice enough way.
Others got up and left the shelter of their little lounge to go prepare to dance. And then, Zemo appeared.
He’d been seated on the other side of the room, so Bucky hadn’t yet seen the outfit he was wearing for his salsa. His eyes were going to bulge out of his head, at this rate. His shirt was purple – because obviously – and covered in sequins to the point where it almost hurt to look right at him; and it was open all the way down his chest, chest-hair and necklace visible for everyone to see.
Bastard didn’t even have the decency to stop looking hot as hell. Bucky hated him.
Then hated himself for that thought.
Zemo’s partner Katya was notorious for having no sense of safety when it came to lifts, and it showed yet again in their routine. The Sokovian’s hips were moving in shapes that Bucky’s mind interpreted in a totally different context, and he was throwing his Russian partner around as if she weighed nothing at all.
Infuriating.
And it didn’t get any better when one of the judges – Craig was his name, apparently – cited that despite obvious mistakes, this had been ‘pure filth’ and ‘too hot’.
He hated that he agreed.
“Darling, come on, we need to go get prepared.”
Johannes tugged on his hand, and Bucky had to stand.
“How the hell do you want me to dance after that?” he hissed, and Sam heard him as they passed his table, which prompted the former Winter Soldier to flip him off. You know, like the 110-year-old he was.
In the end, it wasn’t that bad. At all. Jo had to tell him to breathe before they started dancing, and he almost got on the wrong foot at one point, but he finished the routine with a grin from his teacher, and that was enough.
When they moved to the judges, though, the nerves returned.
They dissipated once one of them – Anton? – got to his feet. “Well that’s what I call a waltz! Superb!”
The other man-judge, Craig, shook his head next. “Calm down, Anton, it wasn’t that good.” Bucky frowned. “Your thumb was sticking out,” was the only thing he added, though. Jo apparently found it hilarious, as half the audience did, but he didn’t get it, and simply glared at the man.
“Oh, careful Craig, you don’t want to alienate the man with the shiny arm, do you?” Anton teased, making more people laugh.
Bucky supposed this was part of the show.
He rolled with it, and didn’t march up to the judges’ table to rip that Craig’s arm off.
Good call, he supposed.
In the end, Bucky was surprised to see some of his ‘colleagues’ – though the term was loosely used – dance that well. Wanda, in particular, seemed shy but full of potential. As did Wong, surprisingly. Natasha, obviously, received the highest marks of the evening, closely followed by Kate. But Nat had been a ballerina, so her foxtrot ought to have been, in Anton’s words, ‘immaculate’.
Thor was the first to get voted off the program. Which wasn’t a shock at all: after all, he did forget almost the entire routine of his and Nadiya’s Cha Cha, and stepped on her toes too many times to count. The God was entirely indifferent to his elimination, though. He left after smacking Sylvie loudly on the cheek – she visibly didn’t like it – and hugging Nadiya so tight the poor woman seemed about to die of suffocation.
Bucky was glad, though. He wasn’t in the bottom half of the leader-board, he wasn’t in the dreaded ‘bottom two’, and his partner was proud of him. All in all, the worst had passed.
Well, almost.
Because when they exited the stage to take off their outfits and return to their more mundane lives, he did cross paths with Zemo in that fucking outfit, chest on display and smirk in place, who even dared to touch his shoulder and say ‘Well done, James’ in a far too husky voice to his taste.
Bastard.
He hated him.
The second week was awful. Bucky and Jo got the salsa, which was horrible because not only couldn’t he stop comparing it to Zemo’s, he also felt too self-conscious to move his body in the appropriate sensual way.
Johannes tried to make him relax, to give him tips about how to move his hips in the correct ‘8 shape’, but nothing would do it.
It was even worse on the Saturday night. He danced second, and he couldn’t even begrudge Craig for his comment that the salsa had been ‘stompy, stiff as a board and lacking any kind of sensuality’. He wasn’t mad when he got a 2 from the man. He’d have given himself a 0.
T’Challa and his partner, South-African queen Oti, wowed the crowd with their African-themed couple’s choice, and made History by scoring two tens in Week Two. Bucky couldn’t help but clap louder than the rest at that. T’Challa deserved it. He was a tremendous dancer; almost as good as he was a friend.
Later that night – although the public would officially see it on the Sunday night – Bucky and Johannes stood with the others, awaiting the public’s sentence. Bucky fully expected to be voted off. He deserved it. He squeezed Jo’s waist and apologized profusely, before jumping in fright when the red light hovered over Scott instead of him and Johannes jumped into his arms.
Last of the leader-board. Saved by the public.
Bucky felt so grateful and dazed that he forgot to thank those who’d saved him.
But it did do marvels to his self-esteem.
Week Three proved interesting enough. Peter’s energy, which Janette had a hard time reigning in, helped him produce a highly energetic Jive that got high praise.
But the highlight of the night had to have been Sylvie trying to stab her partner Kai at the end of their very heated tango. She’d produced a blade out of nowhere – Bucky suspected magic – and the poor pro dancer only had time to shove himself away from her before she could strike.
Everyone had thought it was part of the routine. They even got a nine for the story-telling of their dance. At the look on Kai’s face, Bucky immediately clocked that it hadn’t been part of the plan at all. He was scared for the man’s safety. Sylvie was even more psychotic than the ‘OG’ Loki he knew. And that was saying something.
That week, Yelena and Nancy got voted off. The Baby Spider wasn’t miffed about it. She hadn’t understood why a samba had to be sensual at all, and anyway, she kept trying to lead Nancy when she should have been led.
Nothing surprising there at all.
Week Four, Wanda came out of her shell and danced a cheery Charleston that got her high marks and made her smile wider than Bucky had ever seen her smile. She also clung to her partner Aljaz in a way that made him understand that he was helping her get more confidence. He liked the man for that fact alone.
Wong was disqualified that night for ‘unsanctioned’ use of magic to make his partner Diane go through a portal. The judges thought it unfair on the other contestants who didn’t have magical abilities; and also very dangerous.
They were booed, but their sentence was final.
Week Five was Movie Week, and Bucky had to admit it was more exciting that what they’d done so far.
Even if he still hated fake-tan with a passion, he was super impressed by the seamstresses’ work on costumes, and the hair and makeup department’s skills to perfect the looks.
He’d sat in the dressing-room, watching as Peter was transformed into a science-fiction hero and as Giovanni, Nat’s partner, was turned into the Mask.
He and Johannes were dancing first, and he enjoyed the night immensely knowing he could watch everyone dance.
They got the Charleston, and Jo had aptly chosen ‘Modern Times’ as their inspiration. Bucky was dressed as Chaplin, whom he’d admired greatly when he’d first seen his work; and as he wasn’t supposed to be himself, he let loose a little, letting his face move in ways it never did.
All judges said it was refreshing to see him like that, and that they hoped this was fixture in his dancing in the future. He was doubtful, but it’d been fun.
Clint and Pasha danced second. Bucky found it hilarious that they’d chosen ‘Rogers the Musical Movie’ (the film adaptation of said musical) as their theme. Pasha was dressed as fake-Clint – sunglasses, bow and arrows, stupid purple singlet – and Clint was dressed as Pietro – silver-hair, Nike shoes and infuriating childish look on his face. Their Jive was energetic, fun, made everyone laugh and clap, but the climax definitely was when, after the music stopped, Pietro zoomed in on stage to snog Clint into oblivion.
Some of the wolf-whistles came from Bucky and Jo, for sure.
Peter and Janette were next, Paso-ing on the Dune soundtrack. The youngest of their group was surprisingly good at appearing more menacing than he usually did – he never did, no matter how hard he tried – and he said he’d watched ‘all of Timothée Chalamet’s movies to get in the mood’. Knowing the skinny kid’s filmography as he did, Bucky didn’t understand how it had helped him channel a mean persona at all. But anyway.
Zemo and Katya were next with a Viennese Waltz on ‘A dream is a wish your heart makes’ from Cinderella. As soon as the Sokovian walked on stage in his costume, Bucky gritted his teeth hard enough to shatter. The man looked so much the part, it was more than infuriating, it was debilitatingly so.
Bucky hated that he looked so princely.
He hated that he found him stupidly attractive dressed like that.
He hated that he felt his heart flutter a bit when Zemo winked at him when he and Katya went back to their table.
He hated all of it.
Next came T’Challa and Oti on a ‘Singin’ in the rain’ foxtrot; Wanda and Aljaz on an ‘Alice in Wonderland’ tango; Pietro and Gorka on a ‘Sing Street’ Charleston; Nat and Giovanni on that salsa from ‘The Mask’; and Kate and Amy on a sexy ‘Chicago’-themed tango.
Sam and Karen came next, dancing an American Smooth on the Harry Potter theme. Bucky couldn’t help himself from playfully booing when Sam swooped in on a fake broom, and his friend managed to flip him off at the end of the routine, much to his delight.
Then, it all came down to Sylvie and Kai, again. Bucky didn’t understand why the enchantress had accepted to take part in the show – apart from the fact that Tony had said ‘real’ Loki had been unavailable – but she had fought it from day one, and something like this was bound to happen. Their waltz themed around Hamlet and Ophelia (especially the movie adaptation of the latter) was really beautifully choreographed, but at the end, Sylvie grabbed Kai’s face and planted a kiss on his lips, startling him and everyone watching.
Cheers all around. Until…Kai collapsed.
Thankfully, an on-site wizard – or sorcerer, rather – managed to revive the poor dancer and announce that Sylvie had bewitched him, which ended up with her getting disqualified. She poofed out of the studio before anyone could grab her, though.
Bloody Asgardians and their taste for fucking drama.
After that, nobody even paid attention to Hill’s samba to ‘Zootopia. Shame’, really. She looked cute with bunny ears. Not fierce at all.
The following two weeks were almost uneventful. Natasha got eliminated next, but promised to come back in the audience to cheer Clint on – which she did. Then it was Sam’s turn, after a routine he completely got wrong and after dropping Karen like a sack of potatoes at the end of their salsa.
Then, came Halloween.
Apparently, the costume and hair and makeup department found it even more important than Movie Week, because they really went all-in on the looks.
This time, Bucky and Johannes were going last with a Frankenstein-inspired foxtrot. Bucky was the Creature – initially Jo had wanted the reverse but Bucky had insisted – and Johannes was playing the Professor. Their outfits were incredible. Classy, but terrifying when coupled with their makeup.
Nothing could ever get close to Zemo’s own outfit, though.
Bucky was extremely glad that Sam wasn’t there anymore to see him burn holes through the Sokovian’s back as he stared at him dressed as Gomez Addams. The pin-striped suit and fake tiny moustache suited him so well it was almost mouth-watering; but it was even worse watching him dance.
An Argentine Tango, in itself, was already supposed to reek of sex. Zemo dancing it…well, Bucky wondered why he ever thought he couldn’t dance.
He had trouble forcing himself to stay seated after that, every fibre of his being wanting him to spring out of his seat and…well, he didn’t know what, exactly. But it would probably have ended with Zemo wearing less clothes than that.
Peter and Janette’s salsa to ‘Little Shop of Horrors’ didn’t even compute as he continued to stare at Zemo’s back for a long while. Nor did Clint and Pasha’s couple’s choice on the ‘Monster Mash’. In fact, he only woke from his strange daze in the middle of Maria and Graziano’s salsa on ‘Hotel Transylvania’s’ theme music. He barely paid attention to either T’Challa and Oti on ‘Interview with a Vampire’ or Kate and Amy on ‘Nightmare before Christmas’. Pietro and Gorka were getting ready for their Paso Doble on ‘Thriller’ when Johannes pulled him backstage.
“Focus, now, darling. Forget about Gomez Addams and remember: you are Frankenstein’s monster.”
“Creature,” he corrected, before realising he hadn’t corrected his partner on the other part of his demand.
But he didn’t have time to deny having been ogling Gomez Addams all night. Wanda and Aljaz had just started their tango on ‘Practical Magic’, and he had to get in the zone.
Damned Sokovians in pin-striped suits.
In a surprising turn of events, it was Clint and Pasha who were voted off. Their couple’s choice had been deemed ‘too similar to their Jive’ and their abysmal marking hadn’t been saved by the public. But, in an even more surprising turn of events, Pietro then zoomed in focus of the cameras and announced that he was forfeiting his place in the show, because he refused to dance without his husband there to watch him.
Subsequently, both joined Natasha in the audience with, and it was kind of cute, Pasha and Gorka fourth and fifth-wheeling.
But the tables really turned for Bucky on Week Eight.
As Johannes sat beside him in the dance studio, eyes sparkling with excitement as he was about to reveal their dance and music to him, as he did every Monday.
“Darling, we are doing couple’s choice this week, and I wanted to dance a contemporary piece to tell your story.”
Bucky’s eyes widened. Contemporary was the dance that usually laid everything on the table. Every crack in one’s armour had to be bared to the world. He didn’t like the idea of showing himself to millions of strangers, not like that. “I…don’t think-”
“Let me explain the routine before you start brooding,” his partner interrupted. Johannes now knew him better, and had started to master how to tame his gloomy pupil.
Bucky sighed. “I don’t brood.”
Johannes didn’t even grace him with an answer, and started exposing his idea. “Okay, so, we are dancing to ‘Rise Up’ by Andra Day. I’d like for you to start off lying down in blue lighting, representing the ice you were thawed out of. Then, as time goes by, you are rebuilding yourself with the help of those who care for you – I’ll be symbolising them – and at the end, you stand tall and in golden colours. What do you think?”
Bucky hated it, really. Hated that Jo wanted his story to be represented by way of dance. But the world knew him now, knew his story, because of Steve and Sam. If he was to be some sort of beacon of hope, then who was he to refuse his ray of sunshine of a partner?
“Yeah, it’s…a good idea.”
Johannes placed a hand on his. “I know it’ll be hard for you to let go of that control, but it’ll be necessary. Also,” he bit his lip as if about to deliver a hard blow, “you’ll dance without your prosthetic.”
“What?” Bucky was incredulous. Why would he ever-?
“Show the world that you are not limited to a metal arm. I don’t like hearing people on the streets say that I dance with the ‘dude with a fake arm’. You are more than that. This routine is my gift to you, so you’ll dance without it.”
Okay, Bucky was speechless now.
But Johannes’s idea had so much heart…he couldn’t refuse.
The lights were blue overhead as Bucky laid down on the floor, the imbalance of one arm missing making him more conscious than ever of his body. He trusted Johannes and his creativity, but he was still a bit apprehensive, even as the first bars of the music started resonating in the tv studio.
He started on his own, movements broken and little, centred on when he’d woken up from seventy years of lies and had to learn who he was again. Sporadically, the moves opened, he reached high and low, his body more sinuous as Jo joined him and joined his arms and hands to help him rise up from the ashes. On the floor, a warped image of HYDRA blurred into snow, then into sand. The colouring of the scene became less blue, more yellow and golden and Bucky let Johannes lift him up to reach high for the skies and a future he thought was lost.
In the end, when he touched the ground again, there was a shift in the air, a deafening silence that turned into wondrous applause.
Bucky came back to himself, and hugged Jo tightly, realising for the first time that he was crying, his partner was crying and…everyone else in the studio was crying.
The judges were on their feet, and even Craig had nothing to say.
The 40-mark came as a surprise, but it wasn’t as surprising as the realisation that dance really transcended every feeling there was.
Topping the leader-board for the first time felt like a dream.
And receiving hundreds and hundreds of messages on his Twitter about the routine and the impact it’d made on people was even more surreal.
He was sad to see Peter leave the competition, but his own performance was going to stick to his skin for long after that eighth week.
The following week, Wanda got voted off, and flew out of the studio in her magnificent Scarlet Witch outfit, more confident in herself than she had ever been. (Aljaz was thereafter invited to every celebration there was within the Avengers tower along with his Janette.)
Then came Musicals Week, the last of the themed weeks on Strictly. T’Challa and Oti got voted off, to everyone’s surprise, after an admittedly sizzling Argentine Tango to Roxane from ‘Moulin Rouge’. Kate and Amy wowed the crowd with their couple’s choice on ‘Les Misérables’; and Zemo and Katya proved hilarious while Jiving on ‘Hairspray’ (that hairstyle on the Baron would never not be hilarious to Bucky) before Maria and Graziano Cha Cha-ed to ‘Mamma Mia’.
Bucky and Johannes topped the leader-board yet again after their battle-tango inspired by ‘West Side Story’, and Bucky knew something had unlocked inside of him. He liked dancing. A lot.
After that came the semi-finals, and Bucky honestly couldn’t remember his name being called out, but then, he was a finalist.
Alongside Zemo and Maria.
Absolutely bonkers.
As everyone knows, the Strictly final sees the contestant dance three pieces: one chosen by the judges, that they have to improve on; a Showdance where they do whatever they want; and their absolute favourite piece of the series to top it off.
The judges had asked Bucky and Jo to re-enact their Charleston on ‘Modern Times’, the turning point of Bucky’s adventure. And obviously, they’d chosen their couple’s choice as their final dance.
He was heading to the dressing-room after their Showdance to change into his contemporary outfit when he glanced through Zemo’s door and found the man on his phone in his fucking salsa sequins.
Torn between wanting to tear that atrocity from him and curiosity about what he was doing, Bucky entered, supposing he had enough time to check on the Sokovian then get changed.
“What are you doing?” he asked harshly, making the Baron jump.
“James! Couldn’t you knock?”
“No. What are you doing?” He didn’t wait for an answer, and took the phone out of Zemo’s hand, despite his refusal.
Ignoring the Baron’s vain attempts to get his phone back, Bucky stared at the screen.
It was open on the Messages app. Zemo had sent a couple of texts. Two numbers. Always the same.
It took him ten seconds to realise he was staring at the two digits one had to type in to vote for him and Johannes.
“What the fuck?” he asked, scrolling up to see dozens, hundreds even, more texts, all dating back to the very first night of the show. “What the fuck, Zemo?”
He turned back to the Baron, who looked less unhappy to have been caught, and more curious to see where all this was going to lead. “I consider myself part of the audience, once I’m done dancing. Therefore, I voted for the person I thought more deserving of winning.”
Bucky grumbled and shoved the phone back into Zemo’s uncovered chest. Fuck him and that outfit! “What game are you playing again, Zemo?”
“None whatsoever,” the Sokovian said in a smirk. “You know,” he added, voice dropping an octave or two and making Bucky shiver, “I think the judges had it wrong. Your Charleston wasn’t the turning point. It was your waltz. Watching you get on that floor in that suit…” Zemo made a show of shuddering. “You were far too hot.”
Bucky couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Says the man who danced his first dance wearing this…” he gestured at the sequined shirt.
Zemo’s smirk didn’t disappear, but the distance between them did. “You like?”
Bucky growled. “You…”
“Or perhaps you preferred my Argentine Tango outfit?”
Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “You little shit.”
“You can stand there insulting me, James, or you can stick your tongue down my throat. Which one is more amenable to you?”
As if he had to answer that stupid question.
Bucky grabbed him and pressed their bodies together, internally swearing at the costume department for that fucking shirt again before stealing the breath out of Zemo’s lungs.
He did stick his tongue down Zemo’s throat, but not before studiously learning every inch of his mouth first. He had to taste the audacity; he had to scrape out the confidence. Had to learn everything about this stupid man.
Behind them, the door opened, revealing Johannes and Katya, who’d come to see where their partners were. They took one look at their embrace, shared a knowing glance, then closed the door again.
The final could wait.
Zemo’s shirt was partially torn when he danced his salsa. Bucky’s hair was still damp after he’d doused himself with ice-cold water to hide the excitement he’d felt after that kiss while he danced his contemporary.
And as they stood waiting for the final results, for the name of the two who’d won the competition, Bucky and Zemo’s hands touched, then linked. Johannes snorted at him, but Bucky ignored him.
“I can announce that the winners of Strictly Come Dancing: Earth Mightiest Heroes are…”
Bucky felt his heart hammer in his chest, but he didn’t care about the results.
He cared more about what came after. Specifically, in that dressing room.
After he’d torn the rest of Zemo’s shirt to shreds.