Hopefully more of the latter rather than the former.
[not that steve has said anything bad about their faux introduction. it proves he has good taste, is knowledgeable about where those with good taste spend their time, and by extension thinks zemo does too. his heart rate ticks up ever so slightly with every one of the fingertips as they make contact against his bared skin from under the line of his turtleneck's sleeve. and then he goes and takes it a step farther by letting their knees bump together in an almost overly-friendly maneuver - something that seems much too deliberate to have been an accident. as if not to look as off-footed as he feels, zemo lets his own press back, glancing up through his lashes to make sure he hasn't misread it.
or is he giving the wrong impression, hinting through some coded physical language he doesn't speak that this means more than what he's asking of steve? he clears his throat, heat creeping up the back of his neck and coloring his cheeks. he pulls his knee away, though he immediately regrets it when steve does the same to his hand.]
Burgundy, then. Remember when I told you I was fashionably late? I meant fashionably. I don't suppose you have anything English cut? Slim fitted?
[which is less about needing the control over it and wanting to dress up steve than it is making sure he fits the image of someone zemo would be drawn to more than anything. then again - john didn't always bother outside of his military blues. but then again look how that turned out anyhow. zemo leans in, eyes glittering and reaches to pat the back of steve's hand lightly.]
Oh yes, well let me put in official terms then: Steven, you're hired.
[a wry little smile is offered as he sits back again and reaches for the melting ice water in front of him for a quick sip. their conversation has been so easy it hasn't even occurred to him to order yet, so otherwise engrossed. the mention of jogging has him honest to god rolling his eyes, however.]
And there you've thrown a wrench in all of this. Don't tell me you're one of those insane workout fanatics up before 5am every morning? I'm afraid it would never work between us.
[it's obviously meant to goad steve a little bit, poking fun more than any actual slight. but it's also not particularly flattering to admit he starts more days than he should after 10am and sleeping off hangovers, is it? sunday is one thing, but he also doesn't exactly have a job or stick to a rigid routine like someone with the physique steve possesses might.]
Maybe I'm something of a clinger in the mornings, you see.
no subject
[not that steve has said anything bad about their faux introduction. it proves he has good taste, is knowledgeable about where those with good taste spend their time, and by extension thinks zemo does too. his heart rate ticks up ever so slightly with every one of the fingertips as they make contact against his bared skin from under the line of his turtleneck's sleeve. and then he goes and takes it a step farther by letting their knees bump together in an almost overly-friendly maneuver - something that seems much too deliberate to have been an accident. as if not to look as off-footed as he feels, zemo lets his own press back, glancing up through his lashes to make sure he hasn't misread it.
or is he giving the wrong impression, hinting through some coded physical language he doesn't speak that this means more than what he's asking of steve? he clears his throat, heat creeping up the back of his neck and coloring his cheeks. he pulls his knee away, though he immediately regrets it when steve does the same to his hand.]
Burgundy, then. Remember when I told you I was fashionably late? I meant fashionably. I don't suppose you have anything English cut? Slim fitted?
[which is less about needing the control over it and wanting to dress up steve than it is making sure he fits the image of someone zemo would be drawn to more than anything. then again - john didn't always bother outside of his military blues. but then again look how that turned out anyhow. zemo leans in, eyes glittering and reaches to pat the back of steve's hand lightly.]
Oh yes, well let me put in official terms then: Steven, you're hired.
[a wry little smile is offered as he sits back again and reaches for the melting ice water in front of him for a quick sip. their conversation has been so easy it hasn't even occurred to him to order yet, so otherwise engrossed. the mention of jogging has him honest to god rolling his eyes, however.]
And there you've thrown a wrench in all of this. Don't tell me you're one of those insane workout fanatics up before 5am every morning? I'm afraid it would never work between us.
[it's obviously meant to goad steve a little bit, poking fun more than any actual slight. but it's also not particularly flattering to admit he starts more days than he should after 10am and sleeping off hangovers, is it? sunday is one thing, but he also doesn't exactly have a job or stick to a rigid routine like someone with the physique steve possesses might.]
Maybe I'm something of a clinger in the mornings, you see.