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“The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor,” Selby says. “Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or condemn, depending on what side of this you"re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but...things didn"t go as planned.”
“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo asks, more eager than he should’ve.
“The bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron,” she says. Zemo starts to lean forward, opening his mouth to speak and immediately being shut down.
“And before you get all cute, don"t think you can find Nagel without me.”
He grits his teeth and hates her for being so smug, hates her for thinking he couldn’t accomplish this without her help. She’s simply a tool to make the job easier.
He does appreciate knowing that his stint in prison hasn’t diminished his good looks. He’s about to ask what she wants from either him or his Winter Solider (or from both of them at once, God forbid), when Sam’s phone is ringing.
Damn it.
“We got a name. Wilfred Nagel.”
Sharon chews the inside of her mouth, looks to the side.
“Nagel works for the Power Broker,” she says lowly, then sucks in a sharp breath. “But…I might know somewhere you can find him.”
She looks at their awaiting stares, and remains silent.
“Well?” Sam says. “You gonna tell us?”
She sighs. “Look, you didn’t hear it from me, but I’ve seen him leaving The Gresekoch in Lowtown.”
“Okay, what is that?” Sam asks.
“I don’t know, but I don’t like the name,” says Bucky, looking weary.
“Why?”
Bucky looks at Sam, then at Sharon. “You said Grese-Koch, right?” She nods. “I was experimented on by enough Nazis that I recognize their names.”
“Irma Grese and Ilse Koch,” Zemo adds, and they all turn to look at him. “Two of the Nazis deadliest women. Koch was said to have made lampshades from the skin of Buchenwald prisoners.” He stares down at his gold-rimmed glass, then says nothing else.
“Right. Anyways,” Sam says. “What is it? Some kind of Hydra hangout?”
Sharon makes an ehh noise. “Not really. I think the name is just supposed to sound scary.”
Zemo wrinkles his nose in distaste. Fear for the sake of fear would never mean much of anything.
“Alright, what does this have to with Nagel or the serum?” Sam asks.
“I’ve seen him there, alright? And I imagine you’d rather get this done quick and clean and with as little bloodshed as possible, right? Unless being the Winter Soldier brought back a few too many good memories.” She smiles teasingly at Bucky, who remains stoic. Zemo notices the way his body stiffens.
“The Gresekoch is a sex club,” Sharon says nonchalantly, walking over to an oak wardrobe. “And I’ve heard whisperings about what kind of weird shit our mad scientist is into.”
“Alright, no need for graphic details,” Bucky says.
“I think there is,” Zemo interjects. “If we are to properly manipulate this Wilfred Nagel, we will need to know what exactly we’re dealing with. Go on, Agent Carter.” He nods at her.
She smiles appreciatively. “Thank you. Anyways, if you want him to tell you about the serum, he’s not just gonna give it up. Unless it’s a fair trade.”
Her hands brush over the coats hanging in front of her, studying them. She takes a shiny black one from the rack and holds it up to herself, then smiles at Bucky.
They look at each other for a while, her making a teasing face, like a mean older sister.
Bucky’s eyes widen as realization dawns. “Absolutely not. I’m not going to let this sicko sell me again.” He jabs a thumb at Zemo, who says nothing.
Sharon laughs. “Relax, he wouldn’t want you anyways. That worked with Selby because she wanted a toy she could use and abuse. No offense, Bucky, but…I don’t think that’s what Nagel is looking for.”
Bucky shrugs. “I don’t really see how that isn’t offensive, but as long as you leave me out of anymore weird sex slave roleplay, I’m good.”
“Okay, so if he doesn’t want Bucky, what’s the plan? What does this guy want?” Sam sounds angry, clearly getting tired of Sharon’s games and playful attitude. Her energy is friendly but arrogant.
“If I had to guess, I’d say he probably wants some fascist dominatrix to step on his balls and tell him what a bad boy he’s been. And if one of you can find that, it won’t be all that hard to arrange a little trade with our Dr. Frankenstein.”
“Can’t you do it?” Bucky asks. “You already know all about him.”
“Nagel would recognize me, he knows I’m not into that sort of thing. He’d know something was up. You guys are on your own.” She tosses the black coat onto the sofa, turns away and swiftly walks into another room. “Hire a hooker if you have to,” she calls out.
Sam throws his hands in the air. “So now what?” Bucky sucks in a sharp breath.
“If I may…” Zemo says, politely interjecting. “I’d be more than happy to do whatever it takes to stop the creation of any more super-soldiers. And after seven years rotting in prison…I would enjoy a bit of fun.”
Sam and Bucky look at each other, then back at Zemo, like they’ve all just realized the answer to a confusing riddle.
“You speak German, right?” Bucky asks. Zemo nods.
Bucky sighs and half-laughs, like he’s admonishing himself for not seeing this coming. “Well. I think we’ve found our fascist dominatrix.”
Nothing in Madripoor could shock him anymore, but the Gresekoch was coming close. The club takes itself far too seriously, and he almost wants to laugh at the displays of lust and filth they make no attempts to hide, but he maintains a look of driven stoicism.
Some people were fucking openly in the bar, on the floor, but most bizarre acts were to be performed in private rooms. There was a promise of no security cameras, no names taken, no paper trail, but Zemo doubts it. Whoever is running this place would surely not pass up the opportunity for such valuable blackmail. He’d do the same thing in their position.
Bucky walks in behind him, Winter Soldier mode on, eyes cold and unfeeling. Sam is across the room, again in his Smiling Tiger disguise. Zemo likes having the added protection, especially in a place like this.
The whole place, unsurprisingly, smells like sex; animalistic sweat and cheap flavored lube. He finds it all painfully pathetic. How quickly do people lose their wits when offered a warm and wet thing to fuck.
Bucky leans close to Zemo, murmuring into his ear. The Winter Soldier isn’t known for speaking out loud. “How do we even know this guy is into…you know, men?”
“Relax, James,” Zemo puts a consoling hand on his chest, stroking it gently and pulling him close. The romantic embrace was a good excuse to whisper deadly secrets to each other. No one would give them a second look.
“It doesn’t matter what sex he prefers. It’s not about the body of his partner,” he raises himself up on his tiptoes, lips brushing Bucky’s throat then tickling his earlobe. “It’s about the pain and pleasure they can deliver.” Bucky stiffens against him.
“You understand that, don’t you? Making your body into a Rorshach test, one the viewer can interpret however he likes.”
“You’re supposed to be seducing Nagel, not me.” Bucky’s breath is hot and wet; his words are cruel but his voice sounds starved.
Zemo gives a warm sigh and pulls away. “Thank you for keeping me focused, James. And oh–“ He gestured subtlety across the room, to a jittery man shuffling limply into the club, hands in his pockets, a pale outlier amongst the sea of dark leather. “It looks like our little doctor has just stepped in.”
Sharon had given them a verbal composite sketch of Nagel: wiry hair that might’ve once been red but was now a grayish-brown, sickly pale, thin and nervous. Greasy would be the best word to describe him.
He looked as though someone was forcing him to attend, but Zemo knew this wasn’t true. He wanted to laugh– this man was the creator of that horrid poison? This man had fiddled away in his lab and birthed a disease, a deadly chemical that could only pollute and corrupt. This man saw the destruction caused by super-soldiers and he decided the world need more .
And here he was, enjoying a night on the town, looking to get his dick sucked by a stranger. No doubt if Zemo didn’t step in, Nagel would find someone else to victimize, someone who legitimately had no other choice than to continue working in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel was hoping to get lucky while Zemo’s family rotted in the ground and it wasn’t fair.
Zemo feels his fist clinch, nails poking through his glove and into his palm. Bucky’s eyes flick down to him.
“Don’t kill this guy. Yet.”
Zemo smiles bitterly. “When there’s so many other ways to torment him? I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Bucky pulls away and Zemo gives him a consoling pat on the cheek, then drifts past him, heading to the bar where Nagel was silently drinking a cheap gin and tonic.
He watches silently, studying Nagel before making a move. It’s no different from watching a still target through the barrel of a rifle, narrowing in on them until there’s no way you could possibly miss. Planning is everything, and he is a very thorough man, with a never-ending checklist of minuscule details that could make or break the whole thing.
Even if Sharon hadn’t spilled all of the man’s sexual proclivities to him, Zemo would’ve been able to hazard a guess what this man was into. Even now his thoughts were buzzing, imagining the sad details of Nagel’s perversions so clearly, and considering the source of them, what details of this man’s rotten psyche would lend themselves to finding him here. Antisocial probably, rarely spoke to other people, undeniably because he found himself above them. Given either far too much or not nearly enough love as a child, resulting in an overinflated and/or overcompensated ego.
He’s been staring for awhile, waiting for Nagel to feel the eyes on him and turn around. Finally he does, looking up from his warm drink and blinking dumbly at Zemo. Zemo doesn’t look away, instead waits for Nagel to avert his gaze; don’t ever look away first. It makes you look weak , his fathers voice echoes. You aren’t weak, are you?
He is not. Nagel looks away and Zemo closes in.
Bucky remains behind him, back against the wall, watching, guarding, like a good soldier should. Sam watches him too, from his spot across the club. Zemo makes his way across the bar and stops in front of Nagel, whose eyes keep flickering from his drink to the man approaching him.
Zemo stops in front of him and, with a flick of his fingers, informs the bartender he’d like a vanilla vodka.
He swallows it all in one gulp, then looks at his target, eyes downcast but occasionally flicking upward.
“Wilfred Nagel?” Zemo asks, eyeing him up and down.
Nagel finally meets his gaze, then looks around. He has the twitchy movements of a drug addict, but Zemo is certain it’s purely nerves.
“Do I know you?” he asks. He seems scared.
“No. But I’m familiar with you…and your work.”
He sees realization settle over the man’s face.
“Okay, what do you want?”
“I want to discuss a trade,” Zemo says. “There are things I want, Doctor, and I know you can help me get them. I’ve heard just what kind of man you are…” He reaches a hand up and strokes Nagel’s face, softly at first, then roughly grabs hold of his chin, angling his gaze upward. Nagel gasps, but doesn’t pull away. “And I fully intend to give you exactly what you need, provided you help me track down a few superpowered thorns in my side.”
“Okay,” Nagel says almost immediately. His mouth sounds dry. “Whatever you want.”
“Good,” Zemo says. He’s thankful he doesn’t have to actually be nice to this little fucker. “You will follow me, and not speak until I give you permission. Do you understand?”
He nods dumbly and Zemo smiles. Good dog.
Zemo grabs Nagel by the lapels of his jacket, pulling him away from the bar, across the room, past Bucky, who he nods at. Bucky exhales and follows them, looking over to Sam.
Zemo pulls Nagel far into the back of the club– he’s sure this spineless fascist would be more than happy to put on a show for everyone in Madripoor, but a deal with the devil is always best done in private.
The Gresekoch is too cliche for its own good, with little private rooms in the back where anyone could go to perform their illicit intimate activities. Bucky follows Zemo and his victim into one of them, still playing bodyguard, silent and watchful. Sam follows, trying to act cool, sunglasses on his face even though they were indoors, at night.
Zemo only lets go of Nagel once they’re all inside, shoving him roughly onto the floor.
Nagel groans, but doesn’t protest, instead looking from Bucky to Sam and saying, “Who are they?”
“My protection against the scum that populates Madripoor. Not that I’d need protection from you–“ he spits, even more enraged because he knows his insults will only bring this man pleasure. “You don’t look like you could win in a fight against anyone, could you?”
“I couldn’t,” Nagel gasps. “You could do whatever you want to me. Any of you.”
Zemo looks over at Bucky, who is doing his best to hide his disgust. “We could. What do you say, soldat? Would you like to have a turn with my new toy?”
Bucky stares at Nagel, then looks back to Zemo. “No thanks. All yours.”
Nagel swallows nervously. “He talks?”
“When I allow him to,” Zemo says. “But for now, he’s going to be a good boy and keep his mouth shut. ”
Bucky says nothing.
“What about him?” Nagel looks at Sam, who looks like he’s doing his best to hide his discomfort.
“He likes to watch,” Zemo says calmly. “Unless you would like him to join as well.”
Nagel looks Sam up and down, shaking his head. “No.”
Zemo stares at him with wide eyes. “You’re lucky I’m kind enough to respect your wishes. Because, like you said, you couldn’t do anything to stop us if you tried…” He walks closer to Nagel, who has backed up against the bed frame behind him. Zemo stands between his spread legs, looking at his growing erection, his hands gone white from squeezing them shut so tight, resisting the urge to touch himself.
“Do you like the thought of one of my friends fucking you?”
Nagel nods, one hand drifting to his crotch, rubbing greedily at the fabric.
Zemo reaches into his boot and pulls out the leather riding crop Sharon had been kind enough to lend him. He raises the weapon and strokes it across Nagel’s face, then slaps it hard against his cheek. The impact makes a sharp sound, muffled by Nagel’s gasp.
“Do not touch yourself without my permission. Understand, Doctor?”
He nods and pulls his hands away, lays them flat at his side. Zemo smiles, just the slightest.
Zemo steps closer, nudges the toe of his boot against Nagel’s crotch, pressing down on his poor little erection. Nagel moans as Zemo applies more pressure.
“Do you like kneeling at my feet? Do you want to beg for my mercy, du rückgratloser wurm?”
He nods. Zemo removes his foot and he whimpers.
“You should consider yourself lucky if I let you so much as lick the filth off my boots.”
He props his leg against the bed frame, his booted foot landing directly next to Nagel’s head. The leather is dulled by city grime, the treads are caked with mud.
He doesn’t even need to speak, just narrow his eyes once, and Nagel is crawling to his foot, wrapping a hand around his ankle and kissing the dirty leather, starting at the top and licking his way down to the bottom. He coughs and sputters, but doesn’t stop, just continues licking the boots clean, leaving trails of saliva across the black leather.
Zemo has to resist the urge to kick him in the face, slam his foot down on his nose, enjoy the sickening crunch and the spurt of blood that would follow. They still need him alive and cooperative. Unfortunately.
He yanks his foot away, slamming it down on the floor beside Nagel, who scrambles to crouch down and continue. Zemo steps away and leaves Nagel gasping at the floor.
“Be patient . Before I allow you to continue…you are going to give me what I want.”
He pants and wipes his mouth, spit drooling down his chin and onto his hand. “Yes, sir.”
Zemo kneels down, takes hold of Nagel’s face in his gloved hand. Nagel continues trembling, leaning into his touch.
“I want you to tell me everything about the super-soldier serum you created.” He strokes a gloved finger down his cheek, smearing the spit across his face, then shoving his fingers into Nagel’s mouth. He gags, then thrusts against the fingers, welcoming them deeper into his throat. Zemo smiles, then pulls his hand away, leaving Nagel gasping at the empty space.
He coughs; his mouth is sticky and red, and Zemo finds it disgusting.
“Okay,” Nagel says, still catching his breath. No questions, no dignity to save, no loyalty to a cause. Spineless. So easily bent and broken by his own humiliating lust.
“I was brought into HYDRA"s Winter Soldier program to pick up their work after the five failed test subjects in Siberia.” Nagel is finally off all-fours, instead sat spread-legged on the floor, his back against the bed frame.
“And when HYDRA fell, I was recruited by the CIA.”
Zemo isn’t even shocked the American CIA would welcome a former Neo-Nazi scientist with open arms. It wouldn’t be the first time .
“They had blood samples from an American test subject with semi-stable traces of serum in his system. After much labor, I was able to isolate the necessary compounds in his blood. I did what no other scientist since Erskine was able to do. But mine was going to be different. No clunky machines or jacked up bodies. Mine was going to be subtle, optimized. Perfect.”
Zemo stares down at him. He wants to lunge forward and rip his face apart like a rabid animal. He wants to drive a knife into his chest and twirl it like a fork, tearing open his heart, so maybe this murderer might know a fraction of the pain he’s caused.
The rage is visible on his face– flared nostrils, grit teeth, heavy breathing. But he’s sure it just looks like lust to this pervert.
“And how did that make you feel?” Zemo asks, running the riding crop along his jaw, down his neck.
“Like a god.”
“And did you enjoy that feeling?” He strokes his chest, sliding the edge of the crop down his shirt.
Nagel gasps at the touch. “Yes.”
“You don’t look much like a god now, Doctor. Would you like to know what you do look like?”
Nagel nods. He looks almost pitiful.
“You look like a whimpering little bitch who needs to beg for mercy, or else he’s never going to have the privileged to suck my dick.”
He opens and closes his mouth, starving, desperate. “Please, please–“ he crawls forward and Zemo puts his foot on his chest, stopping him from coming any closer.
“You’ll have to answer a few of my friends questions, too.” He looks at Sam and nods– your turn.
Sam returns the nod, then looks at Nagel. “How have we never heard about this?”
“Because…” He swallows hard, trying to gather himself. “Before I was able to complete my work, I turned to dust. Then when I returned, it was five years later, program had been abandoned, so I came here. The Power Broker was more than happy to fund the recreation of my work.” He says the words with an almost infatuated appreciation.
“How many vials did you make?” Sam asks.
“Twenty,” Nagel says, still staring up at Zemo with adoring eyes. “But Karli Morgenthau stole those, so...I can only imagine what the Power Broker has planned for that poor girl.”
“Where’s Karli now?” Sam says, crossing his arms and staring down at Nagel.
Nagel’s eyes flicker from Zemo to Sam.
“Answer him,” Zemo commands.
“I don"t know where she is,” Nagel says, almost immediately. “But a couple of days ago, she called and asked if I could help someone named Donya Madani. Poor woman has tuberculosis. Typical of overpopulation in displacement camps like that.”
Zemo is certain this man doesn’t give a damn about Morgenthau or her dying friend. Not that he does either, but he has plenty of valid reasons for his hatred, whereas Dr. Wilfred Nagel is just an unfeeling narcissist.
“Well, what happened to her?” Sam asks. He sounds hopeful.
Nagel is silent for a moment, considering his words. “Not my pig, not my farm.”
“Is that how you regard people who aren’t you, Doctor?” Zemo snaps. “Pigs. Livestock to be used and slaughtered.”
Nagel shrugs. “That’s all any of us are. The meat or the butcher.”
“And you prefer to be the butcher,” Zemo says. “Usually.”
“Usually,” Nagel repeats.
“Is there any serum left here in Madripoor?” Bucky asks.
Nagel looks annoyed. “This doesn’t seem like a very fair trade. Shouldn’t I get something now?”
“Shut up,” Bucky says, stepping closer.
“No, I think he’s right. This isn’t a fair trade. And because you’ve been so helpful so far…” He steps closer, raising his leg again, propping it on the bed frame. “I’m going to allow you the honor of touching me. If you beg me.”
Nagel nods dumbly.
“Beg me,” he repeats, and Nagel doesn’t move, just stares up at him. “Now!”
Nagel begins to stutter. The difference between this and how he spoke about his scientific work minutes ago was jarring.
“Please…please, sir, please let me suck your cock, or even just suck on your fingers again…or I could clean your other boot, if you want–“ He leans down, reaching for Zemo’s left ankle. He kisses the toe of the boot, across his foot and up his leg, sitting on his knees as he began kissing the hem of Zemo’s coat.
“You’re getting boring,” Zemo says. “Now– you’re going to suck me off while rubbing your sad little cock, and then you’re going to say thank you. Understand?”
Nagel nods. It seems to be what he does best.
He sits up on his knees and reaches to undo the buckle on Zemo’s belt, but stops himself halfway, hands outstretched and frozen.
“Can I…?”
Zemo nods and Nagel begins to messily unbuckle the belt, casting it aside, then unzipping his pants, immediately yanking out his dick and wrapping his lips around it.
Zemo groans, a bit shocked by how quickly this is all happening. Nagel licks him like he truly enjoys the taste and is starving for more. One hand is holding tightly to Zemo’s left hip to keep his balance, and the other is erratically rubbing himself raw.
It’s evident this man hasn’t had any real sexual contact in a very long time.
Even though it’s messy and rough, the mouth on his dick does feel nice. The tongue sliding up and down, licking, hungry, desperate. Swallowing down any bit of wetness that swells on the tip and smiling while doing so, like Zemo really has bestowed upon him a great honor.
Nagel isn’t the only one who hasn’t had a pleasurable experience in some time. Maximum security prison wasn’t exactly the best place to get some action, and Zemo has missed the feeling of a strangers mouth on the most private areas of his body. The prison guards who would trade a blowjob (Zemo doing the blowing) for a contraband book were rarely this enthusiastic.
The physical feeling wasn’t terrible, and that made his anger grow even more. He hated himself for enjoying this, for allowing himself to enjoy this when his family was buried beneath the ruins of his fallen country. It wasn’t fair. He should be there with them, he should’ve been allowed to die. Flashes of burned bodies, buried beneath destruction, cloud his mind as the man below him continues sucking hungrily, like a starving piglet. Pig . The word grows hot and heavy in his mind. Filthy, violent, greedy, hungry. His wife would be so ashamed of how low he’d sunken, so driven by revenge that he would let an ex-HYDRA, ex-CIA eugenicist suck him off in Madripoor, two Avengers watching the whole thing.
He can’t stop a moan from escaping, his head falling back. He looks over at Bucky, who is watching with steel intensity. Their eyes briefly meet, and then Bucky looks away.
“Do you want to join us, soldat ?” He grabs a fistful of Nagel’s hair and yanks him forward, forcing his dick deeper down his throat, and Nagel gags. “Do you want to give the remnants of HYDRA a taste of their own medicine?”
Bucky looks down at Nagel. He steps forward and Sam almost immediately reaches for him.
“Bucky–“
Bucky shoots him a glare and continues. He encircles Zemo slowly, then steps behind Nagel, and replaces Zemo’s hand with his own, holding Nagel by the hair.
He pulls him away, sliding his mouth along his dick and holds him there, his gaze not faltering, still trained on Zemo.
He thrusts Nagel forward again, forcing him to deep-throat the cock in his mouth. Zemo smiles, appreciative. The smile turns into an open-mouthed moan as his hips stutter forward. He reaches out and grabs hold of Bucky’s shoulders to steady himself, holding him tight as he feels a good-enough orgasm bloom inside him.
He finishes mostly down Nagel’s throat, but pulls out at the end and lets his cum drip onto him face, his lips, which Nagel almost immediately begins licking.
Nagel is still stroking himself, up and down and up and down, eyes closed, trembling. Zemo gives Bucky a dismissive nod and reaches into his coat pocket.
When Bucky drops his head, Zemo catches him by the throat, wrapping a hand around his neck and squeezing tightly.
“Doctor Nagel,” he says, cupping his jaw with gloves fingers.
Nagel opens his eyes to meet the gaze of his God.
“Say thank you ,” Zemo says, and Nagel barely has time to register what’s happening when Zemo presses the end of a gun against his temple, cold metal gleaming, and then pulls the trigger.
Blood sprays across his face, though most of it splatters onto the wall next to him.
He wipes his face with the back of his hand and smacks a clump of brain matter off his shoulder. Dirty red stains the grey fur collar. What a shame.
All three stand in silence, looking at the red mess on the floor, blood pooling around his obliterated head like a crown. Zemo returns the gun to his coat pocket, then shoves his dick back into his pants, zipping them shut.
He stares at Nagel’s dead body for a long moment, breathing heavy and erratic.
He turns and looks at Sam and Bucky, who are staring with shock and anger.
“We should leave,” he says. “No doubt someone heard that, and there’s still bounty hunters after us for Selby.”
He walks past both of them, out of the small room, looking for the back door he’s sure is hidden somewhere. Sam and Bucky are arguing behind him, but he doesn’t slow down. He grits his teeth and makes a mental note to burn this pair of boots.