[that part is all too easy to let his imagination run wild with, though he has to give credit where credit is due for picking up on the fact that sometimes helmut zemo is a little risqué at best and downright obscene at worst. so he's a little bit of a partier, and he's definitely very invested in the people he dates - to the degree in which he's no stranger to some eyeroll-worthy public displays of affection. "get a room" was a routine phrase uttered by his friends when he was still with john or latching onto someone who'd caught his eye at the glittering clubs across europe and new york. maybe the biggest secret is that despite his generous affections and affinity for the physical - he far prefers being in committed relationships for the sheer consistency in which he can obtain both. the reality is: if he was single (like he is now) and he'd bumped into steve on a hazy night at 1oak or the standard? there's no question he'd have tried to shoot his shot - and taken the presumed subsequent rejection gracefully.
steve's gaze drops noticeably and it's difficult not to feel flattered even if he's convinced it's all part of building on their act - but at least it lets him know that turnabout is fair play. something he takes advantage of near immediately, his own gaze dropping to the pretty pink of full lips curving into something that oozes the enticement of trouble. the idea of this walking demigod having anything to be insecure about would be utterly laughable - impossible to even fathom.
but there's also something admirably down to earth about him - a sheepishness in the way he laughs and glances down occasionally that reminds zemo that he is, despite first impressions, still just a regular man. an exceptionally good-looking, immeasurably charming one, but still a man. he wonders what sorts of things would make steve weak in the knees. does he have a type? surely no one he accepts company with to pay the bills could come close. not that zemo thinks he's low caliber or undesirable, but he'd be willing to bet he isn't exactly steve's usual.
he tips his chin up, perching it on a curled first and takes a minute to consider what he's said - from brunch to the bathroom to the idea of kissing him at his leisure. there's a lazy smirk tugged at one side of his mouth, brushing along his fingers as he drawls out teasingly:]
As if I'd ever have someone else on my mind while I was with you. I may be a purveyor of fine art, but believe me - Michelangelo wouldn't inspire the unspeakable things we'd get up to.
[he pauses to take a bite of his pain au chocolat, letting out a low hum of approval and licking at a few errant bread flakes sticking to the corner of his mouth before swallowing.]
I think we'll certainly set a few tongues wagging. Half of Sokovia will know I'm off the market by the time your suit is finished and we even set foot at the gala. And don't worry - my reputation precedes itself in the kissing department as well. Everyone will assume we've packed on the PDA and do the work for us.
[he nods, moreso to himself as insinuation steve won't have to worry about anything physical, anyway.]
no subject
steve's gaze drops noticeably and it's difficult not to feel flattered even if he's convinced it's all part of building on their act - but at least it lets him know that turnabout is fair play. something he takes advantage of near immediately, his own gaze dropping to the pretty pink of full lips curving into something that oozes the enticement of trouble. the idea of this walking demigod having anything to be insecure about would be utterly laughable - impossible to even fathom.
but there's also something admirably down to earth about him - a sheepishness in the way he laughs and glances down occasionally that reminds zemo that he is, despite first impressions, still just a regular man. an exceptionally good-looking, immeasurably charming one, but still a man. he wonders what sorts of things would make steve weak in the knees. does he have a type? surely no one he accepts company with to pay the bills could come close. not that zemo thinks he's low caliber or undesirable, but he'd be willing to bet he isn't exactly steve's usual.
he tips his chin up, perching it on a curled first and takes a minute to consider what he's said - from brunch to the bathroom to the idea of kissing him at his leisure. there's a lazy smirk tugged at one side of his mouth, brushing along his fingers as he drawls out teasingly:]
As if I'd ever have someone else on my mind while I was with you. I may be a purveyor of fine art, but believe me - Michelangelo wouldn't inspire the unspeakable things we'd get up to.
[he pauses to take a bite of his pain au chocolat, letting out a low hum of approval and licking at a few errant bread flakes sticking to the corner of his mouth before swallowing.]
I think we'll certainly set a few tongues wagging. Half of Sokovia will know I'm off the market by the time your suit is finished and we even set foot at the gala. And don't worry - my reputation precedes itself in the kissing department as well. Everyone will assume we've packed on the PDA and do the work for us.
[he nods, moreso to himself as insinuation steve won't have to worry about anything physical, anyway.]