[ Listening to someone inebriated takes a certain type of hearing, and he's only halfway focused on Zemo's words as he carries him to the car. Instead, his eyes stay glued to the sidewalk, and his arms remain tightly curled around the man's thinner frame, keeping him tucked close into his chest for every loopy, swimming movement he makes.
What he does not account for, however, is the soft nuzzle against his neck and shoulder, the way he can feel hot breath and lips too close to his skin, to his ear, and it takes everything in him not to viscerally react to the way a line of white-hot electricity runs circuits up his spine. It makes his face feel too warm, and the complements from the man feel wrong. Like he's taking them without permission, like he's being let in on a secret he was never meant to hear.
(That does not change the way it makes his heart thump faster, the way his belly swoops pleasantly at the intimate touch, the way it affirms everything he'd been feeling before, despite the barbs and passive turns. But Helmut Zemo has been drugged, and anything he says now, Steve knows he needs to try and delicately erase it from his mind). ]
I'll be happy to talk to your lawyer in the morning for you and let him know I got you to safety in a time of need.
[ His voice comes out a little shaken, his laugh uneven as he tries to manage keeping Zemo close and safe, but also the way he speaks too close to his ear, to his neck, the way he presses in and leans... ]
You can be Bonnie, if you want. I'll make sure to call you that from now on. But that means I'm Clyde.
[ The car comes into view and while it's no speeder, it's sturdy enough for a Buick, having been maintained by the Barnes family since its purchase a decade ago. He approaches the car and sighs, moving to carefully set Zemo back to his feet, but his other arm stays looped round his shoulders, keeping him close to his chest even still as he fishes in his pockets for the car key. Once obtained, he looks back down at the man, his expression concerned by fond, worried but affectionate. ]
How are you holding up there? We're only a few minutes from the campus, so the ride won't be long. [ For emphasis, he reaches to open the passenger door for him, though again, he keeps close, keeps an arm wound tightly around him. ] You'll be tucked in and sleeping in no time.
[there's likely no doubt zemo is extremely inebriated at the moment, but the way he practically purrs that out without an inch of mocking lacing around it. nothing barbed about it, if anything it toes the line of genuine praise. his arms tighten lightly, too weak to really grip properly as he rubs his cheek against some part of steve's shoulder and neck again. his hair has pulled from its neat coif, a few locks hanging along his forehead and bumping against bare skin. steve might even be able to feel the way his lips shift into a confused frown, bodily resisting this bit of information.]
But I like Steve Rogers much better. Clyde is too old-fashioned - even for you.
[it's no time at all before they're in front of a car that's also:]
Oh, a real relic.
[it comes out nearly comically - lacking the bite of an insult and just mere unfiltered observation. there's a noise of protest when steve tries to put him down, arms clinging against and a soft don't - mumbled out at having to leave the comfort of steve's warm arms. he could get used to that, actually. why isn't that a preferred method of transportation available? eventually he's put back on two feet, hands clinging to the material of the shirt still at his fingertips and digging in lightly. he tips his head back again, a dazed smile when he sees steve looking back at him with something he perceives as positive. but if he squints the other way, his expression seems much too concerned, furrowed brow and all. one hand slides up his front without any care for how they catch along his pectorals, curving along his neck and patting lightly at his cheek.]
Mm, what's the matter? You look much more handsome when you smile.
[he lets himself be herded into the car, head lolling back against creaking leather and taking in the unfamiliar scents and overall tidy interior. not bad. his eyes slip shut as he pulls in a deep inhale, trying to get it all to stop the blurring spin of his surroundings. he hardly hears steve get in next to him or the rumble of the engine as they pull away from the curb. whatever was in his jungle juice is leaving holes, pockets of missing moments where he's entirely quiet before piping up with something near nonsensical. his hands are limp, occasionally lifting to gesture around vaguely with absent commentary. there's a slip of sokovian here and there. and then before he knows it, the car is pulling still again. he practically splays across the console with the gearshift to reach for steve's arm again and slur out something that sounds as if it belongs outside of the entrance to a family party.]
Will the gentleman be escorting me to the door?
Edited (sry for some truly ghastly typos) 2021-07-13 04:08 (UTC)
[ It feels wrong to go hot under the collar the way Zemo practically hangs over him, hands sliding up his chest, neck, to his face. The other boy is two sheets to the wind, by no fault of his own, and he can't help the shame he feels at liking the attention. Zemo's easy on the eye, he's intelligent, he's clever... but he'd much prefer to win his attention and affection the honest way.
During the drive he occasionally reaches to steady the thinner man, keep him from slumping over or hitting the door, but Zemo speaks in a slur of Sokovian to reassure him. Or what Steve thinks is reassurance. Needless to say, he's downright relieved when they arrive at the dorms. But yes, of course. Another problem, another obstacle, and if he was the swearing type he'd probably have named every one in the book at this point.
A hand reflexively falls to Zemo's to keep him steady against his arm, and he huffs something of a laugh. ]
I don't think the gentleman has a choice, considering your legs aren't as good as you think they are right now.
[ Steve makes a point to manually unlock his own door and carefully extricate himself from the boy's hold on his arm. Opening Zemo's door from the outside next, he steps in close to prevent him from going too far out of arm's reach. ]
Everyone's out partying, so we should be clear. We need to get you in, get you some water, and tuck you into bed. So come on, up and at em. [ With that he offers both of his hands to help and watches for any sign that the man's legs might still be at sea. He knows they will be, knows that he'll be an unsteady, noisy mess, but he glances over his shoulder at the dorm entry, relieved to see the attending RA has walked away for a little while. So once Zemo is out of the car? Steve dips right down to carry him again. ]
[zemo latches onto the first thing his mind can process - and it earns an indignant scoff.]
You don't like my legs? What's wrong with them? They're - long, especially for my height. Very appealing, or so I've been told.
[it's a slurred babble, accent more enunciated than usual as he defends himself against an allegation that isn't even on the nose from steve. before he even has time to process it, his attention is dragged to the opposite side, and zemo visibly brightens when he sees steve once more. he fumbles with his seatbelt a bit, clacking at it awkwardly before managing to pull it aside with a flourish. as if to say see? i can do it. he frowns mildly at the suggestion of bed, sluggishly murmuring something childish along the lines of not tired before gingerly placing both hands into steve's much larger, warm ones and attempting to pull himself out of the car.
and, likely to the shock of absolutely no one, his legs are utterly useless meaning he all but trips out of the car like a newborn foal with an honest to god giggle. thank god steve has the sense to pick him up once again, and he easily wraps his arms around steve's neck again, head lolling into the space that's become familiar. he lifts it briefly, lips brushing along steve's cheek with an affectionate murmur.]
Mm, I missed you.
[as if he hasn't been sitting next to the very same man the whole time.]
You give better service than staff on my family's estate - talk about white glove.
[he wouldn't know even if there was anyone there, but it's blissfully empty as they step inside and steve begins the winding walk through rich wooden halls. he's up on the third floor, as if adding insult to injury for steve right now. at least he's been here enough to know where to go, seeing as zemo giving directions right now would be nothing short of disastrous.]
You know...I would have gone home with you, Steve Rogers. How fortunate - fortu - [his brow furrows as he tries to formulate the right word and slumps against his shoulder briefly before popping up excitedly when he realizes he has it - ] Fortuitous that you're already here.
They are very good legs, yes. But they're not exactly working in your favor right now.
[ Steve does his best to handle the way the boy moves in his arms, cradling him close to his chest as he opts for the stairwell instead of the elevators. Fewer opportunities to run into other students, after all. But it's the brush of lips on his cheek, the easy weight of the head on his shoulder, against his neck, that send little sparks up his spine.
Again, it's chased closely by guilt, because he knows too well that the other boy wouldn't behave like this were it not for Hunter and the drug. To like the attention, the affection, feels wrong here and yet... it affirms much of what he'd been thinking, what he'd been feeling. He'll have to find a way to address it with him later.
Nearly to the third floor, he sputters when Zemo mentions going home with him. That implies more than just a carrying to the dorm room, but implies a crossroads they have not traversed yet. The comment brings heat up into his cheeks and he laughs good naturedly, trying his best to keep his composure. ]
Fortuitous, yes. [ He adjusts his arms, keeping him close as he starts down the hall, grateful that it appears to be otherwise empty. The idea that he could take him home lingers in the back of his mind for another time, another date, though... and the heat of it shows in his face. ] But it looks like you're taking me home, and I'd say by the time we get in your room, it'll be just about time for you to go to sleep and call it a night.
[ It's with great awkwardness that he actually manages to make it to Zemo's dorm and after some fumbling (instead of just asking, because there's no point when he's so drugged) he manages to procure Zemo's dorm key and carries him inside, kicking the door shut with a foot behind him. He sighs, managing the switch with the awkward brush and dip of an elbow, letting the overhead lamp light his way to settle Zemo on his bed. ]
Easy there, Helmut, alright? Let me get you some water. You need to stay here though. Don't try and go anywhere. Understand?
[it's no small wonder steve manages to make it up the stairs with him in his arms, but it's mainly only given that zemo is clinging quite tightly to strong shoulders and letting his head loll against his collarbone and shoulder. he slips in and out of consciousness a few times, jostled by the steps steve is taking through no fault of his own, especially when he's doing the best he can from this situation. and if zemo had any real presence of mind, he'd be much more appreciative of the way steve manages to support his weight all the way up. it's better he doesn't for now though, or he's likely to make yet another embarrassing or overly flattering comment that will just make steve feel guilty where zemo can't see it. he nuzzles into steve's neck as if he's sleepy, but really it's because everything is so unbelievably hazy and spinning that it feels safer to anchor himself to someone physical right now. someone strong and warm and right there, something he can't second guess.
at the mention of bed, however, he lifts his head with an indignant frown.]
I'm not tired. Not sleepy. Why aren't we at the party?
[what time is it is much too complicated to put together right now. he glances up again when he hears the door close behind them and sees the illuminating lights leading into a room so familiar that even his drug-induced state would recognize it anywhere.]
Oh - this is my dorm.
[by the time they make it to his bed, his limbs are that much more pliant and he uncurls from where his arms have been wrapped like an overeager octopus around his guest. instead, he splays out entirely against the bed, one arm dangling off the side and a dippy grin pulling aside his lips as he stares up at the ceiling like his focus is passing right through it altogether. someone is telling him something that sounds important, but he doesn't catch any of it. his name, water, does he understand? no, he doesn't. but he doesn't look in much condition to get up now that the effects are in full swing. if anything he's more docile this way, susceptible to any suggestion he does catch.]
Yeah. Not going anywhere, just like you said.
[whenever steve gets back the only thing he's done is attempt to sit up in a half-slump, feet dangling off one side as he makes the effort to slip out of his boots. one is on the floor already, the other loose but stuck under his heel as his limbs refuse to fully cooperate.]
I think the party was ending, so I thought it was best to get out of there before we were the last men standing.
[ Thankfully, he's been in this dorm plenty of times to know exactly where Zemo keeps his glasses, where he keeps aspirin, and other menial household items. He's quick to fill a glass half full (he knows too well it might get knocked over) and returns to find Zemo sitting, slumped, on the bed and fumbling to get his shoes off. He frowns, though it's more out of concern than anything else. ]
Here, take this. Take a few drinks for me, alright?
[ He carefully presses the glass between the boy's palms, keeping his own broad hands over the other's until he's sure it's not going to slip to the wayside. Only in that brief moment of surety he peels his hands away and kneels in front of Zemo instead, reaching to help him with his shoes, touch gentle and careful as he sets them both aside, neatly lined up near the foot of his bed. He considers whether or not he should just get him into bed how he is, but the clothes smell of smoke, weed, alcohol, and letting his bed sheets and room smell like that overlong? Seems like a bad idea.
Carefully, he peels off the man's socks as well, tucking them aside before he rises again to sit on the bed beside him, reaching an arm round his shoulders to keep him upright, to keep him from slumping back into the bed. ]
How are you feeling? Don't nod off on me yet, we gotta get you tucked in. [ The nearness, the compliments, all of it makes heat rise into his face when he recalls that Zemo had wanted to take him home, or vice versa. He blows out a sigh. ] Where do you keep your pajamas? You're gonna want to be comfortable in the morning, trust me.
[ He remembers waking with a splitting headache, feeling sick, lethargic, like a hangover gone sour a few hours too long. While the nausea passed he felt foggy for a day or so after, enough to interrupt his sleep and make him irritable for much of the week. Internally, he already knows that he'll get the brunt of it from the other boy. ]
[everything is a blur at this point. the room is spinning, his whole body feels like it's spinning. his limbs feel simultaneously heavy like they're filled with lead yet loose and pliant and ready to attempt to comply with the barest hint of suggestion. take this, drink for me washes over him so easily and lets out a small groan trying to sit up more and do as he's been told. there are warm hands around his own steadying and guiding him to take what's in his hand and follow it with a sip. it wouldn't make a difference right now if it was aspirin or some other nefarious party drug - he hardly even realizes anything is sliding down his throat at all. vaguely he registers the absence of them with a sigh that sounds wistful, at least until they seem to reappear along his boot and pull them off. the jostling of it makes zemo want to just flop back and close his already heavy eyelids even though he knows it will still be a spinning and disorienting black hole behind them.
but then there is that same warm solid figure beside him, propping him up. that soothing voice asking about pajamas and bed and the morning - all of it seems so far away and it's all he can do to slump against steve's shoulder, face tipping forward against his chest as he lets out a breathy laugh. The string of words that follows is a near unintelligible slur.]
'm feeling marvelous. But it's hot - and you want me out of these which is what I want too. You already know all about my robe. Pajamas, robe, underwear...over there.
[one hand waves vaguely off in the direction of the lefthand side of the closet across the way. he rubs his face against steve's chest momentarily with a soft hum, like a contended cat. for a minute it looks like he might just stay there, until somehow he manages to dig his hands into the lapels of steve's jacket and use them to hoist himself up, head tipping back to stare dazed and unfocused in the general direction of his face.]
You're comfortable. Wanna wear you to sleep. [wait - that's not quite right. he tries again.] Wanna bring you to sleep, actually. With me. Right here. [one hand slips and pats between steve's legs at the bed underneath them before giving up and bracing against his thigh.
he may or may not remember this tomorrow morning, but suffice to say - a sober helmut zemo would be utterly mortified.]
[ Steve's voice warms, bubbling with fondness through the concern. He's poised to get up again when that head rests against his chest, heavy and graceless, nuzzling like a warm, sated kitten. A hand raises before he can think twice of it, and gently cards through the man's hair, gently guiding it out of his face.
It gives him something to do when the next words come out a slurred, fussy mess. Wanna wear you to sleep. Between that and the hand that suddenly feels like it's caught the mattress on fire between his knees, raking dangerous heat across his thigh as he posts up. Again, if this were another time in a different context he might be lured in by such a statement, drawn by warmth and flirts and everything else in between.
Instead, he takes in a slow, deep breath to try and cool the fire creeping up into his neck and cheeks. Gently plucking Zemo's hand from his thigh, he gives it a soft squeeze and leans to press a kiss to the delirious boy's forehead. Maybe it's too much, maybe he won't remember, but all the same. ]
Not so sure about that, but you'll definitely be getting some sleep here soon. I won't leave until morning.
[ Though he knows he'll drag a chair over and settle at the side, or make a small perch atop the blankets, to ensure the drugged boy doesn't wander out into any more unfortunate adventures in the night. Better to make sure he's kept safe and well here, after all. ] So sit tight.
[ He's careful to help Zemo lean back against pillows before he slips away again, hunting out a set of pajamas, a robe, but he'll leave the ceremonial change of underwear to the other man later, when he's regained some sense and returns to a world of sense and propriety. Sitting back down on the bed, he reaches once again to touch his shoulder softly. ]
Sit up, you can lean on me if you need to. Let's get this sweater off.
[ Clinical, calm, warm. Like taking care of a sick friend instead of undressing a recent crush. He has to get Zemo down and resting so he can sleep some of the drug away come morning. He reaches for the hem of the sweater, surprised at how soft the expensive fabric is, and gently begins pulling it upward, a soft arms when the time comes, pressed against his hair, as he tugs the fabric free. Only then he starts on the buttons of the pajama top, fumbling them in a bit of a rush. ]
Pajamas will just have to be a suitable replacement for me for the night, alright? Once I get this thing undone.
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no subject
What he does not account for, however, is the soft nuzzle against his neck and shoulder, the way he can feel hot breath and lips too close to his skin, to his ear, and it takes everything in him not to viscerally react to the way a line of white-hot electricity runs circuits up his spine. It makes his face feel too warm, and the complements from the man feel wrong. Like he's taking them without permission, like he's being let in on a secret he was never meant to hear.
(That does not change the way it makes his heart thump faster, the way his belly swoops pleasantly at the intimate touch, the way it affirms everything he'd been feeling before, despite the barbs and passive turns. But Helmut Zemo has been drugged, and anything he says now, Steve knows he needs to try and delicately erase it from his mind). ]
I'll be happy to talk to your lawyer in the morning for you and let him know I got you to safety in a time of need.
[ His voice comes out a little shaken, his laugh uneven as he tries to manage keeping Zemo close and safe, but also the way he speaks too close to his ear, to his neck, the way he presses in and leans... ]
You can be Bonnie, if you want. I'll make sure to call you that from now on. But that means I'm Clyde.
[ The car comes into view and while it's no speeder, it's sturdy enough for a Buick, having been maintained by the Barnes family since its purchase a decade ago. He approaches the car and sighs, moving to carefully set Zemo back to his feet, but his other arm stays looped round his shoulders, keeping him close to his chest even still as he fishes in his pockets for the car key. Once obtained, he looks back down at the man, his expression concerned by fond, worried but affectionate. ]
How are you holding up there? We're only a few minutes from the campus, so the ride won't be long. [ For emphasis, he reaches to open the passenger door for him, though again, he keeps close, keeps an arm wound tightly around him. ] You'll be tucked in and sleeping in no time.
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[there's likely no doubt zemo is extremely inebriated at the moment, but the way he practically purrs that out without an inch of mocking lacing around it. nothing barbed about it, if anything it toes the line of genuine praise. his arms tighten lightly, too weak to really grip properly as he rubs his cheek against some part of steve's shoulder and neck again. his hair has pulled from its neat coif, a few locks hanging along his forehead and bumping against bare skin. steve might even be able to feel the way his lips shift into a confused frown, bodily resisting this bit of information.]
But I like Steve Rogers much better. Clyde is too old-fashioned - even for you.
[it's no time at all before they're in front of a car that's also:]
Oh, a real relic.
[it comes out nearly comically - lacking the bite of an insult and just mere unfiltered observation. there's a noise of protest when steve tries to put him down, arms clinging against and a soft don't - mumbled out at having to leave the comfort of steve's warm arms. he could get used to that, actually. why isn't that a preferred method of transportation available? eventually he's put back on two feet, hands clinging to the material of the shirt still at his fingertips and digging in lightly. he tips his head back again, a dazed smile when he sees steve looking back at him with something he perceives as positive. but if he squints the other way, his expression seems much too concerned, furrowed brow and all. one hand slides up his front without any care for how they catch along his pectorals, curving along his neck and patting lightly at his cheek.]
Mm, what's the matter? You look much more handsome when you smile.
[he lets himself be herded into the car, head lolling back against creaking leather and taking in the unfamiliar scents and overall tidy interior. not bad. his eyes slip shut as he pulls in a deep inhale, trying to get it all to stop the blurring spin of his surroundings. he hardly hears steve get in next to him or the rumble of the engine as they pull away from the curb. whatever was in his jungle juice is leaving holes, pockets of missing moments where he's entirely quiet before piping up with something near nonsensical. his hands are limp, occasionally lifting to gesture around vaguely with absent commentary. there's a slip of sokovian here and there. and then before he knows it, the car is pulling still again. he practically splays across the console with the gearshift to reach for steve's arm again and slur out something that sounds as if it belongs outside of the entrance to a family party.]
Will the gentleman be escorting me to the door?
no subject
During the drive he occasionally reaches to steady the thinner man, keep him from slumping over or hitting the door, but Zemo speaks in a slur of Sokovian to reassure him. Or what Steve thinks is reassurance. Needless to say, he's downright relieved when they arrive at the dorms. But yes, of course. Another problem, another obstacle, and if he was the swearing type he'd probably have named every one in the book at this point.
A hand reflexively falls to Zemo's to keep him steady against his arm, and he huffs something of a laugh. ]
I don't think the gentleman has a choice, considering your legs aren't as good as you think they are right now.
[ Steve makes a point to manually unlock his own door and carefully extricate himself from the boy's hold on his arm. Opening Zemo's door from the outside next, he steps in close to prevent him from going too far out of arm's reach. ]
Everyone's out partying, so we should be clear. We need to get you in, get you some water, and tuck you into bed. So come on, up and at em. [ With that he offers both of his hands to help and watches for any sign that the man's legs might still be at sea. He knows they will be, knows that he'll be an unsteady, noisy mess, but he glances over his shoulder at the dorm entry, relieved to see the attending RA has walked away for a little while. So once Zemo is out of the car? Steve dips right down to carry him again. ]
Hang on tight.
no subject
You don't like my legs? What's wrong with them? They're - long, especially for my height. Very appealing, or so I've been told.
[it's a slurred babble, accent more enunciated than usual as he defends himself against an allegation that isn't even on the nose from steve. before he even has time to process it, his attention is dragged to the opposite side, and zemo visibly brightens when he sees steve once more. he fumbles with his seatbelt a bit, clacking at it awkwardly before managing to pull it aside with a flourish. as if to say see? i can do it. he frowns mildly at the suggestion of bed, sluggishly murmuring something childish along the lines of not tired before gingerly placing both hands into steve's much larger, warm ones and attempting to pull himself out of the car.
and, likely to the shock of absolutely no one, his legs are utterly useless meaning he all but trips out of the car like a newborn foal with an honest to god giggle. thank god steve has the sense to pick him up once again, and he easily wraps his arms around steve's neck again, head lolling into the space that's become familiar. he lifts it briefly, lips brushing along steve's cheek with an affectionate murmur.]
Mm, I missed you.
[as if he hasn't been sitting next to the very same man the whole time.]
You give better service than staff on my family's estate - talk about white glove.
[he wouldn't know even if there was anyone there, but it's blissfully empty as they step inside and steve begins the winding walk through rich wooden halls. he's up on the third floor, as if adding insult to injury for steve right now. at least he's been here enough to know where to go, seeing as zemo giving directions right now would be nothing short of disastrous.]
You know...I would have gone home with you, Steve Rogers. How fortunate - fortu - [his brow furrows as he tries to formulate the right word and slumps against his shoulder briefly before popping up excitedly when he realizes he has it - ] Fortuitous that you're already here.
no subject
[ Steve does his best to handle the way the boy moves in his arms, cradling him close to his chest as he opts for the stairwell instead of the elevators. Fewer opportunities to run into other students, after all. But it's the brush of lips on his cheek, the easy weight of the head on his shoulder, against his neck, that send little sparks up his spine.
Again, it's chased closely by guilt, because he knows too well that the other boy wouldn't behave like this were it not for Hunter and the drug. To like the attention, the affection, feels wrong here and yet... it affirms much of what he'd been thinking, what he'd been feeling. He'll have to find a way to address it with him later.
Nearly to the third floor, he sputters when Zemo mentions going home with him. That implies more than just a carrying to the dorm room, but implies a crossroads they have not traversed yet. The comment brings heat up into his cheeks and he laughs good naturedly, trying his best to keep his composure. ]
Fortuitous, yes. [ He adjusts his arms, keeping him close as he starts down the hall, grateful that it appears to be otherwise empty. The idea that he could take him home lingers in the back of his mind for another time, another date, though... and the heat of it shows in his face. ] But it looks like you're taking me home, and I'd say by the time we get in your room, it'll be just about time for you to go to sleep and call it a night.
[ It's with great awkwardness that he actually manages to make it to Zemo's dorm and after some fumbling (instead of just asking, because there's no point when he's so drugged) he manages to procure Zemo's dorm key and carries him inside, kicking the door shut with a foot behind him. He sighs, managing the switch with the awkward brush and dip of an elbow, letting the overhead lamp light his way to settle Zemo on his bed. ]
Easy there, Helmut, alright? Let me get you some water. You need to stay here though. Don't try and go anywhere. Understand?
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at the mention of bed, however, he lifts his head with an indignant frown.]
I'm not tired. Not sleepy. Why aren't we at the party?
[what time is it is much too complicated to put together right now. he glances up again when he hears the door close behind them and sees the illuminating lights leading into a room so familiar that even his drug-induced state would recognize it anywhere.]
Oh - this is my dorm.
[by the time they make it to his bed, his limbs are that much more pliant and he uncurls from where his arms have been wrapped like an overeager octopus around his guest. instead, he splays out entirely against the bed, one arm dangling off the side and a dippy grin pulling aside his lips as he stares up at the ceiling like his focus is passing right through it altogether. someone is telling him something that sounds important, but he doesn't catch any of it. his name, water, does he understand? no, he doesn't. but he doesn't look in much condition to get up now that the effects are in full swing. if anything he's more docile this way, susceptible to any suggestion he does catch.]
Yeah. Not going anywhere, just like you said.
[whenever steve gets back the only thing he's done is attempt to sit up in a half-slump, feet dangling off one side as he makes the effort to slip out of his boots. one is on the floor already, the other loose but stuck under his heel as his limbs refuse to fully cooperate.]
no subject
[ Thankfully, he's been in this dorm plenty of times to know exactly where Zemo keeps his glasses, where he keeps aspirin, and other menial household items. He's quick to fill a glass half full (he knows too well it might get knocked over) and returns to find Zemo sitting, slumped, on the bed and fumbling to get his shoes off. He frowns, though it's more out of concern than anything else. ]
Here, take this. Take a few drinks for me, alright?
[ He carefully presses the glass between the boy's palms, keeping his own broad hands over the other's until he's sure it's not going to slip to the wayside. Only in that brief moment of surety he peels his hands away and kneels in front of Zemo instead, reaching to help him with his shoes, touch gentle and careful as he sets them both aside, neatly lined up near the foot of his bed. He considers whether or not he should just get him into bed how he is, but the clothes smell of smoke, weed, alcohol, and letting his bed sheets and room smell like that overlong? Seems like a bad idea.
Carefully, he peels off the man's socks as well, tucking them aside before he rises again to sit on the bed beside him, reaching an arm round his shoulders to keep him upright, to keep him from slumping back into the bed. ]
How are you feeling? Don't nod off on me yet, we gotta get you tucked in. [ The nearness, the compliments, all of it makes heat rise into his face when he recalls that Zemo had wanted to take him home, or vice versa. He blows out a sigh. ] Where do you keep your pajamas? You're gonna want to be comfortable in the morning, trust me.
[ He remembers waking with a splitting headache, feeling sick, lethargic, like a hangover gone sour a few hours too long. While the nausea passed he felt foggy for a day or so after, enough to interrupt his sleep and make him irritable for much of the week. Internally, he already knows that he'll get the brunt of it from the other boy. ]
I'll help you, alright?
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but then there is that same warm solid figure beside him, propping him up. that soothing voice asking about pajamas and bed and the morning - all of it seems so far away and it's all he can do to slump against steve's shoulder, face tipping forward against his chest as he lets out a breathy laugh. The string of words that follows is a near unintelligible slur.]
'm feeling marvelous. But it's hot - and you want me out of these which is what I want too. You already know all about my robe. Pajamas, robe, underwear...over there.
[one hand waves vaguely off in the direction of the lefthand side of the closet across the way. he rubs his face against steve's chest momentarily with a soft hum, like a contended cat. for a minute it looks like he might just stay there, until somehow he manages to dig his hands into the lapels of steve's jacket and use them to hoist himself up, head tipping back to stare dazed and unfocused in the general direction of his face.]
You're comfortable. Wanna wear you to sleep. [wait - that's not quite right. he tries again.] Wanna bring you to sleep, actually. With me. Right here. [one hand slips and pats between steve's legs at the bed underneath them before giving up and bracing against his thigh.
he may or may not remember this tomorrow morning, but suffice to say - a sober helmut zemo would be utterly mortified.]
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[ Steve's voice warms, bubbling with fondness through the concern. He's poised to get up again when that head rests against his chest, heavy and graceless, nuzzling like a warm, sated kitten. A hand raises before he can think twice of it, and gently cards through the man's hair, gently guiding it out of his face.
It gives him something to do when the next words come out a slurred, fussy mess. Wanna wear you to sleep. Between that and the hand that suddenly feels like it's caught the mattress on fire between his knees, raking dangerous heat across his thigh as he posts up. Again, if this were another time in a different context he might be lured in by such a statement, drawn by warmth and flirts and everything else in between.
Instead, he takes in a slow, deep breath to try and cool the fire creeping up into his neck and cheeks. Gently plucking Zemo's hand from his thigh, he gives it a soft squeeze and leans to press a kiss to the delirious boy's forehead. Maybe it's too much, maybe he won't remember, but all the same. ]
Not so sure about that, but you'll definitely be getting some sleep here soon. I won't leave until morning.
[ Though he knows he'll drag a chair over and settle at the side, or make a small perch atop the blankets, to ensure the drugged boy doesn't wander out into any more unfortunate adventures in the night. Better to make sure he's kept safe and well here, after all. ] So sit tight.
[ He's careful to help Zemo lean back against pillows before he slips away again, hunting out a set of pajamas, a robe, but he'll leave the ceremonial change of underwear to the other man later, when he's regained some sense and returns to a world of sense and propriety. Sitting back down on the bed, he reaches once again to touch his shoulder softly. ]
Sit up, you can lean on me if you need to. Let's get this sweater off.
[ Clinical, calm, warm. Like taking care of a sick friend instead of undressing a recent crush. He has to get Zemo down and resting so he can sleep some of the drug away come morning. He reaches for the hem of the sweater, surprised at how soft the expensive fabric is, and gently begins pulling it upward, a soft arms when the time comes, pressed against his hair, as he tugs the fabric free. Only then he starts on the buttons of the pajama top, fumbling them in a bit of a rush. ]
Pajamas will just have to be a suitable replacement for me for the night, alright? Once I get this thing undone.