[ Having play fights with flour and nutella isn't exactly how he had pictured his morning would go. He'd dreamed about the flirty boy on the phone, imagining him pressed into his chest, but winding up here with him? A surprise. But Helmut Zemo seems to be full of surprises, and the more they talk, the more the interact, the more he wants, well, more of it all.
Watching the other boy lick his fingers clean of nutella makes the heat in his gut rise to a simmer. Makes a pretty flush rise into the high points of his cheeks, down the line of his throat. It takes him aback, because he's felt attraction, sure. He's met pretty girls in parties and the occasional pretty-faced boy but he's never felt this at just watching someone. Someone who isn't his to kiss senseless, which is a real disappointment. ]
I'll think about the shirt. Jury's out.
[ Worse still when that hand swipes against his back, leaving fire prickling up under his skin. He whirls without thinking, laughing and rolling his shoulder blades back against the stickiness. Without thinking he reaches for Zemo's wrist, if only to keep him from retreating as he uses his other hand to smear the remainder of the nutella from his own jawline and reach to smear it across Zemo's cheek, mouth, jaw. ]
Then it's war. [ And Zemo better hurry before Steve gets to the pot of nutella first. ]
[to be fair, it's not at all what he expected his morning to entail either. he genuinely had come here to make actual breakfast instead of smearing it all over steve's body in a dangerously flirtatious challenge. but he also can't seem to care enough to get back on task and stop either, especially not when that someone seems to square up to their full height - enough that zemo has to tip his chin as he takes a slow step back towards the counter to try and get the head start towards some line of defense. whether it's the whole spoon or the jar - doesn't really matter.
what ends up happening instead is steve's fingers trailing along his face again, and it shouldn't have him suppressing a shudder. normally he'd be furious at getting filthy or risking ruining his clothes, but it's the furthest thing from his mind right now. now he just feels the sticky-sweet dessert along the line of his jaw and brushing across his lips. it should be embarrassing that his first instinct is that he wants to slip his tongue out and lick it right off those fingers - that he has to actually forcefully suppress that urge. instead he waits until they're far enough away that he can just swipe his tongue out and lick at his own lips instead, humming lightly as he takes another step back.
at least until steve grabs his wrist - and maybe he thinks he's strong enough to keep him from continuing his escape, but zemo tugs hard enough with no intention of breaking it as opposed to dragging him closer to the counter where they'll really have to duke it out over the open jar.
except - he realizes he's backed himself up against the counter as it nudges his spine, the sudden realization that it's a very tiny space for two grown men to be in close quarters. he glances up through his lashes - at the shimmer of mischief in beautiful blue, the way steve's lips look good curled into a smile, and most importantly - how he doesn't look ready to give up at all.]
You should yield while you can, Steven.
[coming from the person in the more compromising position - that might be a little amusing.]
[ Steve hardly expects the force of the pull, no less to be pulled in instead of pushed away. It's the unexpectedness of it all that leaves him stumbling forward, free hand reaching for the counter behind Zemo to brace himself, though it does little good to prevent the closing of distance, of the way he's near-flush with the other boy, a hand on the counter just outside the tantalizing slope of his waist.
(What would it be like to grab him here, to press broad palms and trace the slim curvature of his waist, all the while pressing him back, back, back against the counter to - )
Steve's eyes flicker to Zemo's lips for a fraction of a second too long, where some nutella remains despite the absolutely naughty swipe of his tongue previous. He thinks for a moment he could lean in and clean up the mess himself, and the thought alone makes fire burn high into his cheeks. It's difficult to suppress the way warmth pools low in his belly, a warning, but something else: curiosity, want.
And Steve will see that coquettish little expression in his dreams for the way Zemo looks up through his lashes at him. He huffs a laugh, though it's tighter than before. ]
While I can? Pretty sure you're the one on enemy soil, Helmut. But maybe we can come to a truce?
[ Maybe. He shouldn't be in this predicament to begin with. Should have shooed the other boy out or gotten dressed instead of entertaining this game. But he's stubborn, of course, and his heels dug in long, long ago. So he leans in, pressing their chests flush as he reaches around him for the jar of nutella, coming back only to press the jar where his own body had been. ]
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Watching the other boy lick his fingers clean of nutella makes the heat in his gut rise to a simmer. Makes a pretty flush rise into the high points of his cheeks, down the line of his throat. It takes him aback, because he's felt attraction, sure. He's met pretty girls in parties and the occasional pretty-faced boy but he's never felt this at just watching someone. Someone who isn't his to kiss senseless, which is a real disappointment. ]
I'll think about the shirt. Jury's out.
[ Worse still when that hand swipes against his back, leaving fire prickling up under his skin. He whirls without thinking, laughing and rolling his shoulder blades back against the stickiness. Without thinking he reaches for Zemo's wrist, if only to keep him from retreating as he uses his other hand to smear the remainder of the nutella from his own jawline and reach to smear it across Zemo's cheek, mouth, jaw. ]
Then it's war. [ And Zemo better hurry before Steve gets to the pot of nutella first. ]
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what ends up happening instead is steve's fingers trailing along his face again, and it shouldn't have him suppressing a shudder. normally he'd be furious at getting filthy or risking ruining his clothes, but it's the furthest thing from his mind right now. now he just feels the sticky-sweet dessert along the line of his jaw and brushing across his lips. it should be embarrassing that his first instinct is that he wants to slip his tongue out and lick it right off those fingers - that he has to actually forcefully suppress that urge. instead he waits until they're far enough away that he can just swipe his tongue out and lick at his own lips instead, humming lightly as he takes another step back.
at least until steve grabs his wrist - and maybe he thinks he's strong enough to keep him from continuing his escape, but zemo tugs hard enough with no intention of breaking it as opposed to dragging him closer to the counter where they'll really have to duke it out over the open jar.
except - he realizes he's backed himself up against the counter as it nudges his spine, the sudden realization that it's a very tiny space for two grown men to be in close quarters. he glances up through his lashes - at the shimmer of mischief in beautiful blue, the way steve's lips look good curled into a smile, and most importantly - how he doesn't look ready to give up at all.]
You should yield while you can, Steven.
[coming from the person in the more compromising position - that might be a little amusing.]
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(What would it be like to grab him here, to press broad palms and trace the slim curvature of his waist, all the while pressing him back, back, back against the counter to - )
Steve's eyes flicker to Zemo's lips for a fraction of a second too long, where some nutella remains despite the absolutely naughty swipe of his tongue previous. He thinks for a moment he could lean in and clean up the mess himself, and the thought alone makes fire burn high into his cheeks. It's difficult to suppress the way warmth pools low in his belly, a warning, but something else: curiosity, want.
And Steve will see that coquettish little expression in his dreams for the way Zemo looks up through his lashes at him. He huffs a laugh, though it's tighter than before. ]
While I can? Pretty sure you're the one on enemy soil, Helmut. But maybe we can come to a truce?
[ Maybe. He shouldn't be in this predicament to begin with. Should have shooed the other boy out or gotten dressed instead of entertaining this game. But he's stubborn, of course, and his heels dug in long, long ago. So he leans in, pressing their chests flush as he reaches around him for the jar of nutella, coming back only to press the jar where his own body had been. ]
What do you say? I'll surrender first.