[ Sometimes, with his more docile, quiet clients, he lets himself dig into the fantasy a little bit, feel it a little more instead of calculating hours and wages and the next client appointment. Sitting in the cafe, with Zemo assessing him this way, very much feels like a flirty first date in a way he hadn't expected. Steve's been on plenty of first dates with a variety of people, but something about this one feels a little different.
Maybe it's the way Zemo leans in when he retreats, the playful balance of push and pull, how easy it is to flirt and watch him marvel across the table. The pretty man across the table from him seems to look at him with an openness, a genuine air, that he's not accustomed to. Not here. Steve could picture himself inviting him to coffees, dinners, a dance, a club... without needing to know anymore about what he does beyond closed doors.
His stomach does a little swoop and he raises his gaze to meet the other's— the color of his eyes takes him aback while up this close, all flecked amber and warmth. He'll be chastised later, he knows, for the way he lets himself actually admire the slope of his nose, the curve of his chin into the angled line of his jaw. The scrunch of his lips in a lop-sided smile.
it's a crime how many pages I had to scroll through
It takes effort to keep a hint of disappointment away from the shadows of his face. Instead, he huffs a laugh. ]
I try to avoid beating people away with sticks, that could get a guy in trouble.
[ But the unspoken question rests heavy and prominent on the air between them. The small drop of fantasy he'd allowed himself to soak up seems to dry out. Foolish, Steve Rogers, foolish. But he tilts his head with a crooked smile of his own, scrunches his nose in thought, and reaches to snatch at those drumming fingers, pressing his palm over the man's hand.
This, he knows. This doesn't require complicated questions and their answers. He hums, working his jaw as he comes up with an answer and reminds himself that here, he is Steve Rogers the Escort, and no one else. ]
Today is already a treat. [ A smirk to match the boyish grin, and he tugs the man's hand to his lips again, letting his lips brush knuckles before he releases it. ]
So I guess I'll have to indulge a little. Unless french toast will break the bank. [ A grin, this time, because even he can't help the way that the man's boyish grin gets under his skin and works loose the tension. ] Can't have you homeless over some bread and powdered sugar.
no subject
Maybe it's the way Zemo leans in when he retreats, the playful balance of push and pull, how easy it is to flirt and watch him marvel across the table. The pretty man across the table from him seems to look at him with an openness, a genuine air, that he's not accustomed to. Not here. Steve could picture himself inviting him to coffees, dinners, a dance, a club... without needing to know anymore about what he does beyond closed doors.
His stomach does a little swoop and he raises his gaze to meet the other's— the color of his eyes takes him aback while up this close, all flecked amber and warmth. He'll be chastised later, he knows, for the way he lets himself actually admire the slope of his nose, the curve of his chin into the angled line of his jaw. The scrunch of his lips in a lop-sided smile.
it's a crime how many pages I had to scroll through
It takes effort to keep a hint of disappointment away from the shadows of his face. Instead, he huffs a laugh. ]
I try to avoid beating people away with sticks, that could get a guy in trouble.
[ But the unspoken question rests heavy and prominent on the air between them. The small drop of fantasy he'd allowed himself to soak up seems to dry out. Foolish, Steve Rogers, foolish. But he tilts his head with a crooked smile of his own, scrunches his nose in thought, and reaches to snatch at those drumming fingers, pressing his palm over the man's hand.
This, he knows. This doesn't require complicated questions and their answers. He hums, working his jaw as he comes up with an answer and reminds himself that here, he is Steve Rogers the Escort, and no one else. ]
Today is already a treat. [ A smirk to match the boyish grin, and he tugs the man's hand to his lips again, letting his lips brush knuckles before he releases it. ]
So I guess I'll have to indulge a little. Unless french toast will break the bank. [ A grin, this time, because even he can't help the way that the man's boyish grin gets under his skin and works loose the tension. ] Can't have you homeless over some bread and powdered sugar.