The feeling of Bucky spilling down his throat was everything he hoped it would be. That hot, sticky mess, filling up his oral cavity, overflowing past his swollen lips and dripping onto his skin. He swallowed as much as he possibly could, that tongue of his still licking away at Bucky's cock, until the other man was commanding him to stand up.
Initially, Zemo wanted to resist, purely for the sake of doing so. But before he knew it, Bucky was guiding him up onto the mattress and crawling on top of him and the baron couldn't help but smile. One of those mischievous, naughty smiles that indicated that he was pleased that Bucky was up to no good. He lifted a sleeve, wiping the saliva and cum from the corners of his mouth. Only then would he lean up, pressing a kiss to Bucky's lips.
"Pretty sure I'm the one who should be giving orders," his hoarse, strained voice whispered, those kisses migrating over Bucky's cheek and jawline. But he certainly wasn't telling him to stop, was he? Zemo was curious to find out what Bucky had in mind; how far he was willing to go. Honestly, truly, he hadn't expected anything in return. In his own twisted, morally-compromised way, Zemo had been trying to comfort his soldat. To distract him, make him feel better about this turn of events.
But he was just too damn eager to discourage Bucky from touching him. Zemo was horny to the point of overlooking what few objections he had in favor of feeling those hands on him. So he parted his own legs, allowing Bucky to do as he pleased.