[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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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.