To: AllAmericanCaptain45@gmail.com From: supercharged3692@.sk-mail.sv Subject: Rate Inquiry - 9/22
Dear Steven,
I hope this inquiry finds you well. I will keep this as simple and straightforward as possible, seeing as I can only imagine the amount of nonsense and bad pick-up lines you need to wade through here on a daily basis.
If you're available on September 22nd, I am looking for a date to a charity gala at the Sokovian Embassy. 2 hours maximum, half payment up front and half after as requested under your preferences.
I would prefer to meet publicly to discuss a few faces of note and prepare a believable backstory, as well as ensuring your comfort, safety, and testing for mutual chemistry. Additionally, I'd like to guarantee this exchange is as discreet as possible which I was assured is a priority at your agency.
This is, as you Americans do not say, my first rodeo.
If you're interested, please let me know three times you're available this week. Wednesday or Thursday is preferable, but I'm quite flexible. (Note: this is not an innuendo.)
Thank you for your time.
Na zdravie, Z
P.S. I was unaware a torso could house that many muscles throughout its length. As someone with an appreciation for fine art and aesthetics, I'm - very respectfully - impressed.
[ Steve spends a few hours every day parsing through propositions and messages on his account, sometimes sitting nestled with Bucky on their shitty sofa as they swipe through and have a laugh at the more raunchy, forward suitors. He's on his own today when he catches this one, and can't help but be drawn by how formal it is for one, but... it keeps his attention in a charming sort of way. The guy seems awkwardly sweet. ]
To: supercharged3692@.sk-mail.sv From: AllAmericanCaptain45@gmail.com Subject: Re: Rate Inquiry - 9/22
Z,
You're absolutely right. I have to wade through a lot of 'nonsense' around these parts but I'm interested in your proposal. Definitely better than a cheesy diplomatic pick up line. :)
Charity galas are a specialty of mine, but I have to admit that going to an embassy is definitely a little out of my wheelhouse. I think a meeting to discuss details is in both of our best interests.
But like you, I'm flexible. I'll let you decide just how flexible.
I'm available between the hours of noon and four on all three of your requested dates. For a coffee date my rate is $50 to the hour, but for the soiree itself it's $200 to the hour. In your case, $200 up front and $200 following.
You'll need to be specific about what you'd like me to wear. You can imagine that this torso can be a bit difficult to shop for sometimes, as impressive as you might think it is. But I promise fit makes all the difference, especially if it needs to sell a particular story.
Your privacy and discretion is my priority, so don't worry your head over that.
[there is a certain strategy here at picking this man - steven - out of all the possible options apparently available to him from this agency. steven is everything his ex was but better - or utterly deified. tall, blonde, blue eyes, unbelievably buff. he looks like he walked out of the pages of a magazine, or stepped down from a pedestal in one of the finest museums of the world. he'd know - he's been to the worthwhile ones. it's a little embarrassing that he has to do this at all, but zemo can keep persuading himself it's just because it's such short notice. if he had the proper time, he could find someone on his own - someone outside his normal social circle that he still hasn't told about his breakup and doesn't want to until he's found someone better.
so he has some pride, what's wrong with that?
these people are supposed to be trained for this sort of thing. the perfect stand-ins, exceptional in their charm, and yes, clearly unfathomably attractive. when the day arrives that they've both agreed on, zemo is simultaneously nervous and at ease for different reasons. he's nervous by the entire concept of paying someone to be good company - a first for him, and hopefully not a habit he needs to keep making. but he's utterly relaxed that all he needs to do is show up, ensure he isn't a psychopath, and test to see if they can tolerate one another convincingly enough for two hours. he doesn't have to have the perfect things to say, or laugh to appease someone's bad jokes, or fumble awkwardly at the end for the bill and decipher if they're being polite or if they like him. doesn't have to wait for "let's do this again" and know it was a bust.
he's there five minutes early, dressed casually in a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and a black v-neck jumper and leather jacket. there's no capability to send photos through their email system, which zemo imagines is both intentional and for the best. he's described himself best as he can, but steve is impossible to miss when he walks through the door.
ah yes, he's even more heart-stopping in person. zemo stands, offering a casual wave for steve to weave through the other tables and make his way over. and - well, it's not a money situation. not by a long shot. thank god he doesn't have to be intimidated about fucking this up. he extends a hand warmly.]
Steven, thank you so much for coming. Pleasure to meet you - I'm Helmut.
[ The initial meetings are always the most dangerous part of the job, but he's used to this. Sending the meeting location and time to Sharon, the proposition, just in case. Steve knows how to handle himself regardless, and his figure usually deters those who might try for some kind of physical altercation anyway. But all the same, the risk is there.
The cafe seems central enough, certainly busy enough, as he wades through some people at the front, tipping dark aviators up onto his head, tufts of downy blond delicately falling across his forehead. He's dressed simply for this, slim fit jeans, suede ankle boots cuffed just enough to see a peek of a brightly colored sock, all dimmed by the deep charcoal muscle tee and aged, well-worn, black leather motorcycle jacket. (Why yes, the sound of a motorbike outside had, indeed, been his).
He thought he might have been late, as it takes a few seconds of scouring the room before he catches the wave, the look of familiarity on the stranger's face. Steve gives the man a friendly once over, subtle, as he crosses between patrons and tables. He's good looking, with a trim figure, well manicured, and he can't help but be drawn to the careful V of his jumper. This one's not his usual fare, he's softer, but Steve can see the glint of something sharp behind those amber eyes.
Amber. It's a pretty color.
Steve offers out his hand, giving the other's a firm shake as his face splits into a warm, bright smile. ]
Please, call me Steve. It's a pleasure to meet you, Helmut. Or do you prefer Z?
[ A small huff, a knowing grin, and he shrugs off his jacket, hanging it over the back of his chair, unknowingly revealing the thick, corded muscle in his arms and chest. ]
Sorry, traffic was a beast. I hope I didn't keep you waiting?
[ Already he finds his mind ticking along an invisible list, trying to nail down just what a man like the mysterious Helmut Z might want from him. A soiree at the embassy, sure, but there had been the line about his torso, and he'd felt eyes on him long before he caught sight of his potential client. ]
New York traffic is so unpredictable. [ Before he sits, however, he moves to help tuck in the man's chair first, should he sit, as though it's the most natural thing in the world, second nature. ]
Helmut isn't exactly the easiest thing to roll of the tongue, is it? [there's an airy laugh at himself, because let's not even get started on the teasing he endured among american peers in his youth.] But - it'll do the trick. Z is usually reserved for my friends - which is convenient, seeing as you and I are going to need to be convincingly friendly.
[there's a little bounce of his brows in amusement. he has nice hands, zemo muses - because of course he does. the handshake itself is firm without being overbearing, and he can tell steve takes care to maintain his skin when his thumb glides lightly across the top of the back of it when they slot together. they're bigger than his own - but that's no surprise. zemo also notices he has to tip his chin up ever so slightly to look him in the eyes which are impossibly, mesmerizingly bluer in person. he might just be the most attractive person zemo has ever had the fortune to get this close to, and considering the circles he runs in? that's really saying something.
it's not worth reading into being sized up. he knew what he signed up for to an extent, presumably they both do at this point, and zemo is happy to fill in the gap. though, he's a little surprised to see someone like steve in this line of work after all. it's not that pictures did him justice, it's simply rare to see a person even better looking in the flesh. that, and it's hard not to let his mind wander why he's in this line of work at all when he could presumably charm his way past any door, shake any hand and make the other party melt on the spot, and surely have a bevy of suitors just desperate to lock him down in something serious. that's much too personal to speculate or ask about, however, and it has no consequence on the present anyway.
zemo smiles a little wider, impossible not to feel like steve's is contagious.]
Not at all - you're right on time. I, on the other hand, am typically fashionably late.
[when steve turns away to set down his jacket, of course his gaze is drawn to the sudden movement. there's confirmation his photos weren't doctored in the slightest. he's a little distracted when steve comes around behind him, turning over his shoulder with a quick flash of surprise and a murmured thank you before folding his hands atop the table and leaning in.]
Well Steve, could you be more perfect? No wonder the rest of us mere mortals are down here struggling.
[there's nothing outright flirtatious in the lilt of his accent - it's clearly meant to be a light tease to break the ice and acknowledge how ridiculously handsome he is to get the obvious out of the way.]
[ It’s early evening when Zemo’s messenger rings with an alert. He’s been sitting up considering texting the man, even though Bucky chided him- you’re making it too easy, Jamie. And so, after much deliberation and one episode too many of I Love Lucy with Buck, he decides to send a message: ]
You know, I heard some partiers chanting in Sokovian down on the street. Pretty sure it was that sappy national anthem they played at your event a few weeks ago. Let me tell you, I was disappointed you weren’t leading the pack.
[zemo is is about two glasses of wine and half an ill-advised cigarette into his evening, sitting out on the balcony overlooking the glittering lights of a brisk new york night when his phone buzzes. he's expecting it to be wanda and pietro nagging him to come for dinner first. but he's not at all disappointed albeit utterly surprised to see it's steve.
his first thought is he's committed some faux pas. maybe a payment hadn't gone through properly? he's nervous when he opens it up, heartbeat stuttering into something giddy for reasons completely the opposite after he reads it in its entirety. it's just a friendly message, but the fact that steve was thinking of him outside of what he presumes to be work hours is...something.]
You must know by now I have many hidden talents, Steve, but I'm afraid singing is not one of them.
I'm sorry - did you just call our national anthem sappy? Clearly your visitors aren't doing it justice. Though I am curious what a pack of them are doing wandering around this drunk already - the night is young, after all.
I did call it sappy. All national anthems are. Name one that isn't. But if you're not going to sing yours, then you can't judge the drunk guys out on the street. I'd say they're trying their best to represent Sokovia.
I didn't say I wouldn't sing it for you, I'd just simply have to be at a similar level of inebriation.
I don't think the ambassador would find us nearly so endearing as last time if we were to do that, by the way. Or rather - I attempt this, and you graciously allow me to support myself on one of the ridiculously sculpted pillars you call arms.
[a little bit of a delay between messages, because he's thinking about it. mostly he's thinking about what he can say that isn't sex related.]
Show me one of yours and I'll show you mine? I would wager your list is longer, however.
oi nohy there is so much talk about this gala zemo this and zemo that with his pretty toy i am offended i must hear about this second hand! i thought we were friends little nohy even my sestra says our aunties back home cannot stop squabbling you must make me dinner so i can meet him and make them very jealous áno?
[ If his Little Legs (a delightfully mean tease from one of their wilder nights out together) doesn't answer quickly enough, he'd best be wary: Pietro might even show up at his door. ]
Ah bleskový, you know how it is in the honeymoon phase. One mention of a new man in my life and half of Sokovia is asking for a wedding date and an invitation. I wanted to make sure with this one. Especially after - well, you know - špiceľ.
[that was maybe the kindest name they'd come up with for he-who-won't-be-spoken (john) post-breakup. zemo should have known better thinking he'd keep steve a secret from his closest friends and even his family by now. they've been to enough dates together at this point to set the great machine chattering - he just doesn't know how to let down the illusion now. and maybe he doesn't quite want to just yet either.]
You and little šarlátová will try and eat him alive. You especially. He's no boy scout, but I'm not ready to throw him to the wolves just yet. This one is...different.
But to make it up to you we will go out and we will drink ourselves blind - my treat of course. Dobre?
if there is to be talks of weddings then i must be your best man is that what they call it here? americans are so gauche but so funny. i would pretend to be offended that you think šarlátová will be nicer than me but you are right you know how i am with very pretty things and they do say he is very very pretty you must send me a photo i am disappointed you did not find a second wherever you found him if we cannot share then you should have at least found one for me too nohy i will forgive you this once if all the drinks are on your tab
Oh prosím, môj priateľ - you think you need to tell me this? If there is to be a wedding you will be the first person I tell. Prisahám.
So maybe this is another reason I keep him a secret...he's very pretty. Actually, if I am honest, he's straight out of a magazine. Or better yet - like the fashion shows your Teta used to take us to before we got our own invitations.
But because our love runs so deep, I will send you this.
[a selfie of him and steve - taken at the gala. it looks utterly convincing in its authenticity - a flash of colgate white teeth and perfection from steve and zemo with just the right amount of champagne to color his cheeks and slant his pleased smirk. he's not looking at the camera, and it should be embarrassing how dazed he looks even here just staring at the other man. it would make the perfect wallpaper, if this were real. and it isn't as if he doesn't feel the slightest bit guilty lying to his best friend.]
Just between us for now, okay?
And yes, yes, you know you don't need to ask. We will find you your own, I promise.
oh now i see very much why you have hidden him away the whole world will want that picture for their walls, nie? i have seen him in those pretty paintings at the boring museums it is not fair that he did not have a pretty friend you are so very selfish nohy
i bet he is better in bed than ugly špiceľ your face is very pretty next to his miláčik i will disappear to my flat with jealousy and send malá šarlátová to avenge me
[well, he certainly wishes he was at home in bed with a pretty boy. one specifically. but he's not, and he won't go so far as to lie about that. besides - sowing some semblance of concern? doubt? is probably better in the long run when he and steve "break up".]
Your nohy must be losing his touch. Regrettably I am alone, so regale me with this story of yours.
Nevermind about that - Wandachka is not asleep in her bed? My my, they grow up so fast. She will be cross if you try to interfere...
[but he knows his friend better than that. so a few moments later another text will pop up.]
You remember that time I went on a blind date with the American who liked to summer in Madripoor? Wilfred Nagel? He fits your bill, and he would do anything to see me again.
You will owe me for it, you know. That man is a worm.
[ He should be sleeping, because he has an all day affair with a client the following day, but a little liquor in him and his blood left boiling from a night of dancing with... well. He's feeling restless. ]
You should really party at bars that stay open later.
[ ... Nevermind the implication that he'd have very much stayed out later, dancing and drinking with one particular person. ]
[there was something equal measures thrilling and disappointing about watching steve go that night at lavo. any intentions to keep this strictly professional seemed to be blurring quickly into a dangerously gray spiral of what ifs. he'd laid awake that night, wired up with each and every insidious little thought sucking him like quicksand - further and further into fabricated fantasy. what if steve really did come because he wanted to? what if zemo was growing on him past professional boundaries? what if steve had gone home with him? what if steve felt that same inexplicably magnetic pull of seemingly genuine chemistry between them both?
all summarily shut down with a quick: what if he's just doing his job?
texts like this keep kindling that little spark he can't seem to fully stamp out, putting him squarely back at the long list of scenarios he's cultivated.]
What makes you think I don't? Though, I'll warn you they aren't exactly the kinds of establishments you'll find on any kind of search engine.
[this is where he'd offer one of his catlike smirks. speaking of cats:]
Always. I tell him he is like a cat on his permanent ninth life - a very select and cherished few can keep up with that.
[ The fine line they keep toeing across has begun to blur somewhere between the original e-mail and dragging the man out onto the dance floor in the dim of the club. What had inspired him to join him at he club in the first place, he still doesn't know. Beyond doing his job, beyond any contract or gentleman's agreement, beyond any lick of sense he has. ]
I don't think I'm worried about whether or not I'll find it on search engines. So, next time.
[ A promise he shouldn't make. ]
And maybe next time we limit what Pietro - what was the nickname you gave him? - has to drink. Or at least watch whose pants he puts his hands into. I think the bouncer was ready to party in a different way.
[next time. because of course there will be a next time - now that he's the talk of his circle of friends and half of sokovia he's going to have to rely on steve's services a little longer. but...does "next time" mean the paid kind, or the kind where steve shows up without a word, doesn't ask for anything in return, and kisses him within an inch of his life?
this is complicated by personal investment now. the only question is if it's reciprocated in some fashion.]
Bleskový. Trust me, that is not the first time those two have tangoed somewhere that isn't a dance floor. Or the front door.
[he wouldn't be talking to steve if he didn't, but it's sweet he's asking. or maybe he's just being polite? or...maybe he wants to keep the conversation going. there's too many options to decipher the correct one just yet.]
Safe and sound, I promise. Admittedly I was more worried for you to leave the bar looking quite so enticing. You're alright, then?
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so he has some pride, what's wrong with that?
these people are supposed to be trained for this sort of thing. the perfect stand-ins, exceptional in their charm, and yes, clearly unfathomably attractive. when the day arrives that they've both agreed on, zemo is simultaneously nervous and at ease for different reasons. he's nervous by the entire concept of paying someone to be good company - a first for him, and hopefully not a habit he needs to keep making. but he's utterly relaxed that all he needs to do is show up, ensure he isn't a psychopath, and test to see if they can tolerate one another convincingly enough for two hours. he doesn't have to have the perfect things to say, or laugh to appease someone's bad jokes, or fumble awkwardly at the end for the bill and decipher if they're being polite or if they like him. doesn't have to wait for "let's do this again" and know it was a bust.
he's there five minutes early, dressed casually in a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and a black v-neck jumper and leather jacket. there's no capability to send photos through their email system, which zemo imagines is both intentional and for the best. he's described himself best as he can, but steve is impossible to miss when he walks through the door.
ah yes, he's even more heart-stopping in person. zemo stands, offering a casual wave for steve to weave through the other tables and make his way over. and - well, it's not a money situation. not by a long shot. thank god he doesn't have to be intimidated about fucking this up. he extends a hand warmly.]
Steven, thank you so much for coming. Pleasure to meet you - I'm Helmut.
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The cafe seems central enough, certainly busy enough, as he wades through some people at the front, tipping dark aviators up onto his head, tufts of downy blond delicately falling across his forehead. He's dressed simply for this, slim fit jeans, suede ankle boots cuffed just enough to see a peek of a brightly colored sock, all dimmed by the deep charcoal muscle tee and aged, well-worn, black leather motorcycle jacket. (Why yes, the sound of a motorbike outside had, indeed, been his).
He thought he might have been late, as it takes a few seconds of scouring the room before he catches the wave, the look of familiarity on the stranger's face. Steve gives the man a friendly once over, subtle, as he crosses between patrons and tables. He's good looking, with a trim figure, well manicured, and he can't help but be drawn to the careful V of his jumper. This one's not his usual fare, he's softer, but Steve can see the glint of something sharp behind those amber eyes.
Amber. It's a pretty color.
Steve offers out his hand, giving the other's a firm shake as his face splits into a warm, bright smile. ]
Please, call me Steve. It's a pleasure to meet you, Helmut. Or do you prefer Z?
[ A small huff, a knowing grin, and he shrugs off his jacket, hanging it over the back of his chair, unknowingly revealing the thick, corded muscle in his arms and chest. ]
Sorry, traffic was a beast. I hope I didn't keep you waiting?
[ Already he finds his mind ticking along an invisible list, trying to nail down just what a man like the mysterious Helmut Z might want from him. A soiree at the embassy, sure, but there had been the line about his torso, and he'd felt eyes on him long before he caught sight of his potential client. ]
New York traffic is so unpredictable. [ Before he sits, however, he moves to help tuck in the man's chair first, should he sit, as though it's the most natural thing in the world, second nature. ]
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[there's a little bounce of his brows in amusement. he has nice hands, zemo muses - because of course he does. the handshake itself is firm without being overbearing, and he can tell steve takes care to maintain his skin when his thumb glides lightly across the top of the back of it when they slot together. they're bigger than his own - but that's no surprise. zemo also notices he has to tip his chin up ever so slightly to look him in the eyes which are impossibly, mesmerizingly bluer in person. he might just be the most attractive person zemo has ever had the fortune to get this close to, and considering the circles he runs in? that's really saying something.
it's not worth reading into being sized up. he knew what he signed up for to an extent, presumably they both do at this point, and zemo is happy to fill in the gap. though, he's a little surprised to see someone like steve in this line of work after all. it's not that pictures did him justice, it's simply rare to see a person even better looking in the flesh. that, and it's hard not to let his mind wander why he's in this line of work at all when he could presumably charm his way past any door, shake any hand and make the other party melt on the spot, and surely have a bevy of suitors just desperate to lock him down in something serious. that's much too personal to speculate or ask about, however, and it has no consequence on the present anyway.
zemo smiles a little wider, impossible not to feel like steve's is contagious.]
Not at all - you're right on time. I, on the other hand, am typically fashionably late.
[when steve turns away to set down his jacket, of course his gaze is drawn to the sudden movement. there's confirmation his photos weren't doctored in the slightest. he's a little distracted when steve comes around behind him, turning over his shoulder with a quick flash of surprise and a murmured thank you before folding his hands atop the table and leaning in.]
Well Steve, could you be more perfect? No wonder the rest of us mere mortals are down here struggling.
[there's nothing outright flirtatious in the lilt of his accent - it's clearly meant to be a light tease to break the ice and acknowledge how ridiculously handsome he is to get the obvious out of the way.]
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text; a few dates in
You know, I heard some partiers chanting in Sokovian down on the street.
Pretty sure it was that sappy national anthem they played at your event a few weeks ago.
Let me tell you, I was disappointed you weren’t leading the pack.
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his first thought is he's committed some faux pas. maybe a payment hadn't gone through properly? he's nervous when he opens it up, heartbeat stuttering into something giddy for reasons completely the opposite after he reads it in its entirety. it's just a friendly message, but the fact that steve was thinking of him outside of what he presumes to be work hours is...something.]
You must know by now I have many hidden talents, Steve, but I'm afraid singing is not one of them.
like a min later
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But if you're not going to sing yours, then you can't judge the drunk guys out on the street.
I'd say they're trying their best to represent Sokovia.
almost immediately following
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I don't think the ambassador would find us nearly so endearing as last time if we were to do that, by the way. Or rather - I attempt this, and you graciously allow me to support myself on one of the ridiculously sculpted pillars you call arms.
[a little bit of a delay between messages, because he's thinking about it. mostly he's thinking about what he can say that isn't sex related.]
Show me one of yours and I'll show you mine? I would wager your list is longer, however.
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[ Who still reads the physical newspaper sometimes? This guy. ]
One of my hidden talents? I think I asked you first, didn't I? 😉
Nice try, handsome.
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your icon choices are slaying me
yes good, i try v hard
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text;
there is so much talk about this gala
zemo this and zemo that with his pretty toy
i am offended i must hear about this second hand!
i thought we were friends little nohy
even my sestra says our aunties back home cannot stop squabbling
you must make me dinner so i can meet him and make them very jealous áno?
[ If his Little Legs (a delightfully mean tease from one of their wilder nights out together) doesn't answer quickly enough, he'd best be wary: Pietro might even show up at his door. ]
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[that was maybe the kindest name they'd come up with for he-who-won't-be-spoken (john) post-breakup. zemo should have known better thinking he'd keep steve a secret from his closest friends and even his family by now. they've been to enough dates together at this point to set the great machine chattering - he just doesn't know how to let down the illusion now. and maybe he doesn't quite want to just yet either.]
You and little šarlátová will try and eat him alive. You especially. He's no boy scout, but I'm not ready to throw him to the wolves just yet. This one is...different.
But to make it up to you we will go out and we will drink ourselves blind - my treat of course. Dobre?
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is that what they call it here? americans are so gauche but so funny.
i would pretend to be offended that you think šarlátová will be nicer than me
but you are right
you know how i am with very pretty things
and they do say he is very very pretty
you must send me a photo
i am disappointed you did not find a second wherever you found him
if we cannot share then you should have at least found one for me too nohy
i will forgive you this once if all the drinks are on your tab
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So maybe this is another reason I keep him a secret...he's very pretty. Actually, if I am honest, he's straight out of a magazine. Or better yet - like the fashion shows your Teta used to take us to before we got our own invitations.
But because our love runs so deep, I will send you this.
[a selfie of him and steve - taken at the gala. it looks utterly convincing in its authenticity - a flash of colgate white teeth and perfection from steve and zemo with just the right amount of champagne to color his cheeks and slant his pleased smirk. he's not looking at the camera, and it should be embarrassing how dazed he looks even here just staring at the other man. it would make the perfect wallpaper, if this were real. and it isn't as if he doesn't feel the slightest bit guilty lying to his best friend.]
Just between us for now, okay?
And yes, yes, you know you don't need to ask. We will find you your own, I promise.
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the whole world will want that picture for their walls, nie?
i have seen him in those pretty paintings at the boring museums
it is not fair that he did not have a pretty friend
you are so very selfish nohy
i bet he is better in bed than ugly špiceľ
your face is very pretty next to his miláčik
i will disappear to my flat with jealousy and send malá šarlátová to avenge me
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text, very late at night;
tell me are you in bed with a pretty boy
if you are not i must tell you a story
even if you are i must tell you a story
are you ready
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Your nohy must be losing his touch. Regrettably I am alone, so regale me with this story of yours.
I will feel better that way.
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how are you alone
adonis himself enjoyed your tongue down his throat as much as you enjoyed his
trust me the dance floor sees all nohy dearest
but i came home and you know who is not here
sestra
because she is staying OUT
with that BOY
do you have friends in the quiet nerdy places nohy because we have to spy on them
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[but he knows his friend better than that. so a few moments later another text will pop up.]
You remember that time I went on a blind date with the American who liked to summer in Madripoor? Wilfred Nagel? He fits your bill, and he would do anything to see me again.
You will owe me for it, you know. That man is a worm.
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text, a couple after the surprise night at the bar;
You should really party at bars that stay open later.
[ ... Nevermind the implication that he'd have very much stayed out later, dancing and drinking with one particular person. ]
Did Pietro make it home in one piece?
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all summarily shut down with a quick: what if he's just doing his job?
texts like this keep kindling that little spark he can't seem to fully stamp out, putting him squarely back at the long list of scenarios he's cultivated.]
What makes you think I don't? Though, I'll warn you they aren't exactly the kinds of establishments you'll find on any kind of search engine.
[this is where he'd offer one of his catlike smirks. speaking of cats:]
Always. I tell him he is like a cat on his permanent ninth life - a very select and cherished few can keep up with that.
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I don't think I'm worried about whether or not I'll find it on search engines. So, next time.
[ A promise he shouldn't make. ]
And maybe next time we limit what Pietro - what was the nickname you gave him? - has to drink.
Or at least watch whose pants he puts his hands into. I think the bouncer was ready to party in a different way.
[ A beat, then: ]
...Did you make it home okay?
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this is complicated by personal investment now. the only question is if it's reciprocated in some fashion.]
Bleskový. Trust me, that is not the first time those two have tangoed somewhere that isn't a dance floor. Or the front door.
[he wouldn't be talking to steve if he didn't, but it's sweet he's asking. or maybe he's just being polite? or...maybe he wants to keep the conversation going. there's too many options to decipher the correct one just yet.]
Safe and sound, I promise. Admittedly I was more worried for you to leave the bar looking quite so enticing. You're alright, then?
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