Do you foxtrot? Or are you more a waltz type of man?
[ Steve's voice stays teasingly low, a warm rumble of sound that matches the warmth and ease behind his eyes. Clients like this are easy to deal with at first meeting; there's the risk that it could take a turn later, of course, but for now, he can take a chance. There's not much to be done for a coffee date, unless he wants to pay for more time.
(Sometimes Steve wonders what it would be like to meet someone normal here, without the pressures of being paid. What his life might have looked like before he stumbled into Sharon. When he imagines that future? It feels far, far off. That future doesn't answer for medical bills and medications). ]
But don't worry, we'll take it nice and slow. As gentle as you want until you say otherwise.
[ A small grin, even a wink, and he lets out a little huff as Zemo puts the ball in his court. He hums, tilts his head in a thoughtful way that allows a splash of sun from between the blinds warm the rise of a cheekbone. When he looks back at Zemo, he reaches for those drumming fingers, slotting his own between them, giving the other's hand a tug closer with an unearned familiarity. Simple, gentle. ]
Well it starts like this, and somewhere in the middle we tell Senator Whats-his-face about how we met. Maybe I helped you fix a flat fire, a good Samaritan act. I don't try to pretend I can rub noses with the upper class, trust me, but even rich men can fall in love with the local barista, cashier, passer-by.
[ He tugs Zemo's hand even closer, raising their joined hands, his elbow resting on the table until he can lean, pressing the softest of kisses against his knuckles, blue eyes fixed on the fair, freckled face across from him. He grins, almost crooked and silly, his eyebrows waggling just so. ]
Or we made eyes in a coffee shop, and we bought each other coffee. Or wait. You seem more like the tea type. Either way, the closer to the truth, the easier it's gonna be.
no subject
[ Steve's voice stays teasingly low, a warm rumble of sound that matches the warmth and ease behind his eyes. Clients like this are easy to deal with at first meeting; there's the risk that it could take a turn later, of course, but for now, he can take a chance. There's not much to be done for a coffee date, unless he wants to pay for more time.
(Sometimes Steve wonders what it would be like to meet someone normal here, without the pressures of being paid. What his life might have looked like before he stumbled into Sharon. When he imagines that future? It feels far, far off. That future doesn't answer for medical bills and medications). ]
But don't worry, we'll take it nice and slow. As gentle as you want until you say otherwise.
[ A small grin, even a wink, and he lets out a little huff as Zemo puts the ball in his court. He hums, tilts his head in a thoughtful way that allows a splash of sun from between the blinds warm the rise of a cheekbone. When he looks back at Zemo, he reaches for those drumming fingers, slotting his own between them, giving the other's hand a tug closer with an unearned familiarity. Simple, gentle. ]
Well it starts like this, and somewhere in the middle we tell Senator Whats-his-face about how we met. Maybe I helped you fix a flat fire, a good Samaritan act. I don't try to pretend I can rub noses with the upper class, trust me, but even rich men can fall in love with the local barista, cashier, passer-by.
[ He tugs Zemo's hand even closer, raising their joined hands, his elbow resting on the table until he can lean, pressing the softest of kisses against his knuckles, blue eyes fixed on the fair, freckled face across from him. He grins, almost crooked and silly, his eyebrows waggling just so. ]
Or we made eyes in a coffee shop, and we bought each other coffee. Or wait. You seem more like the tea type. Either way, the closer to the truth, the easier it's gonna be.