[zemo leans in again, eyes brightening at the mention of dancing. he's been classically trained in his youth - a near requirement for the sokovian equivalent of debutants, but he likes to think he can "cut a rug", as they say, even if he knows his parents and friends have begged him to stop occasionally after one too many martinis. that doesn't even begin to encompass the number of anonymous men and women he's danced dirty enough with in nightclubs strewn across europe and america. it makes the corner of his mouth turn up mischievously, eyes glittering with a fondness as he tries to picture steve fitting in alongside him. somehow it's as easy imagining the man in a tuxedo, stiffly elegant and gliding across marble floors of a ballroom as it is in low slung jeans and a clinging shirt not unlike what he's wearing now in the dark, neon-backlit heat of a nightlcub.]
Well, there is a traditional Sokovian waltz. The steps are quite simple - and you seem like the type to catch on quick. A foxtrot, however - I doubt anyone under fifty even remembers what that is.
[he makes a comical once over, frowning before making a light tease.]
You know, they say men lie about their ages all the time, almost nearly as much as their height. If you are...you look exceptionally good for your age.
[there's another waggle of his brows as he watches the picturesque stripe of sun splash across steve's cheekbones. it looks ridiculously picturesque, the kind of bone structure michelangelo would weep to sculpt. there are a million questions he wants to ask - how is someone like you single? how long have you been in the business? have you ever thought of getting out of it? or even just an observation, don't be so humble - anyone would be lucky to have the likes of you rich or poor. the fact that steve thinks money would somehow impact his ability to find a lover in another tax bracket is laughable when half the coffee shop including the ceo would probably give it all up to have one date with him.
he's nearly so distracted trying to politely formulate this that his breath catches when steve reaches for his hand, and maybe it makes him feel a little pathetic and touch-starved for something so softly intimate - a far cry from the string of hookups he's had since breaking up with john. there's a bloom of colour on the high points of his cheekbones as steve weaves in the start of the (faux) fairytale, even going the extra mile to do the kiss to the back of his fingers properly by leaning down instead of lifting it to his lips. his skin tingles where they brush, and his fingers squeeze down instinctively around steve's own.
am i allowed to keep you?]
I am hard-pressed to think there is anyone with eyes who wouldn't fall in love with a man like you.
[zemo's lips pull into a much softer smile, something vulnerable in the way he openly chooses to show his endearment in that moment.]
Consider me utterly charmed. I left my wallet at home, miserable and hungover on a Sunday morning while trying to buy my earl grey and a croissant. Thank god for the drop-dead gorgeous knight in shining armor who stepped in to pay.
[he's getting into it now, clearly entertained.]
I'm particularly susceptible to a tall head of blonde hair and blue eyes, you see. I insisted on repaying the kind favour for lunch...and here we are.
[ Steve's meetings never go quite like this. An extravagant socialite usually pays for him for the night, dresses him up like the perfect package they'd like the world to see, and parades him about in the heat and dim of night clubs, seedy bars, even sketchier drug dens. And even those that start out at black tie events never truly end at that, oh no. There's fancy champagne, a little schmoozing here and there, before they make it to the hotel rooms or clubs to follow.
This feels different, but he'd known it would be from the man's e-mail. It's what had made him double take, after all. Even Sharon told him to give it a try, but with that playful toss of her head that also told him to be careful. Nothing in their industry is ever what it seems.
But he finds himself enjoying the storytelling for now. Most clients call him a friend from school and it ends there, with Steve having to do very little talking about himself outside of charming pleasantries and comments on the guest's attire. After all, galas and parties and upscale events usually mean he can scout for more clients himself, because if there's anything he knows, it's the look. The sweep of the eyes from toe to head, and all Steve can see are dollar signs behind greedy kisses and fingers and wild little kinks.
He hums, thoughtful, turning Zemo's hand in his so his palm lies face up, letting his thumb trace over the life lines pressed deep into his palm. ]
I don't lie about my age, I'll promise you that. But you'd be surprised what could drive folks away. But I guess you're made of braver stuff.
[ His business could drive people away, for one, but Steve doesn't often let any clients close. Sure he has a few that are kind enough, a friendly exchange when they fall into the sheets together, but there are so few people in Steve Rogers's world that have even come close. Sometimes, he feels like Icarus, having desperately reached for the sun and in his descent with molten wings, plummeting. ]
Earl grey and a croissant with honey on it. Did I get it right? [ A grin, the quirk of lips. ] And maybe I offered you a ride home. You shouldn't hoof it in New York when you're hungover, and maybe you have a driver but I insisted.
[ A shrug, his fingers sliding along the man's palm to his wrist, fingertips pressing gently against his pulse, resting their hands together like that. ]
And so we lunch, and maybe I tell you all about this wild dance called the foxtrot, and you call me an old man. [ A huff between his teeth and he raises his free hand in mock surrender. ] Which, in spirit, maybe I am. But what's life without a little swing and music. Besides, you seem to catch on quick, too. A waltz in exchange for a foxtrot. Maybe a drink at swanky club in SoHo, and the rest is history, isn't it?
[ Steve ducks his head, almost bashful, as he looks down at their hands pressed together on the table top. The fairytales always seem so picturesque and perfect when he speaks about them out loud, when he gives life to the kind of thing he dreamed of for himself, once upon a time. The kind of thing his mother dreams of for him now. She'd told him once, when they danced and laughed in their threadbare living room, Bing Crosby and Count Basie loud in the radio, and the shuffle of their knocking feet as he forgot the steps to the Charleston or the foxtrot that she'd playfully taught him.
His eyes lift to Zemo's face and Steve's smile goes warm at the edges, soft. ]
So how'd this tall head of blonde hair and blue eyes do?
[steve might blink and miss it, but there's a flicker of surprise followed by something almost melancholy in a split second across zemo's face. because - how lovely would it be if that was the truth? it's not that implausible at all, save for the fact that steve is a walking adonis and if he weren't in this line of work surely someone would have long since had the sense to scoop him up and put a ring on one perfect finger. maybe it's foolish, but even with all his partying ways, he'd really thought john was going to be the one he'd settle down with and live happily ever after with. his smile fades, and he shakes his head a little incredulously.]
I am either embarrassingly easier to read than I thought or you are simply terrifyingly good at this job. You are...spot on. I could not have concocted it better myself.
[zemo lets his fingers slip around where steve's palm is resting softly against his own, the brush of skin against skin still warm in a way that he knows he'll be thinking about long after he pulls it away and leaves the coffee shop. honestly? he didn't expect it to be this difficult to keep reminding himself this is a business transaction and nothing more. it feels like that story could be real, the beautiful start to a perfect relationship like every fucking american romcom he'd forced john to watch and threatened upon pain of death to never let on to anyone that he'd seem them.
but if there's one thing he's learned: it's that life is never like the movies, no matter how good it may seem. and all too often - when things are too good, they are simply too good. steve is skilled at making this real because it's something he must have done with dozens, maybe hundreds before him. in crude terms: a professional charmer, someone who probably has a lot of experience bullshitting on the fly or in the myriad of coffee shots dotted around new york.]
Consider me impressed. Maybe 90% of the way. [he waves his free hand in a side-to-side motion like he's calling something only so-so.]
The other 10% comes when I see you in a nicely tailored suit and properly gauge what you're made of on the dance floor for real.
[there's a question buried in there: will either of these be a problem to produce? he suspects no.]
A navy ensemble - if you can. It will especially bring out those lovely eyes of yours.
[his gaze flicks up to meet it, speaking of, and for maybe the dozenth time already he finds himself having to tamp down on how warm steve's smile is making him feel, or the swoop in his stomach.
pull yourself together helmut, for god's sake. you haven't even been single that long.]
What else do you need from me? To say yes to this, I mean. [realizing maybe that sounds demanding, he adds:] Of course - this is your chance to run while you can. After all, I can't make any promises about learning a foxtrot in five days.
[ Life will never be like the movies, and there will never be perfectly happy endings, but Steve accepted that a long, long time ago. These moments, where his clients are gentle and kind, feel as real as anything else in his life. Kindness in exchange for money, maybe, but is it not still Kindness, no matter where it goes when it closes shop? ]
Mm, it's a little of both, I think.
[ A soft huff and he drums his finger tips against that slender wrist for emphasis. Zemo isn't easy to read, per se, but he's certainly easy to please. To say that he hasn't had to dig deep to garner the man's praise isn't exactly an understatement. Again, this man is different than the rest. That makes him interesting, exciting, a little dangerous. So yes, while most of this interaction has been pulled from a collection of guises and lines, his smile feels more warm, more genuine, his touch more inviting, and he shifts in his seat just enough to knock one knee against the other man's beneath the table. Steps he wouldn't take for the attorney down on 27th or the CEO wandering in from Wall Street.
Interesting. Exciting. Dangerous.
His lips tug to one side, his head tilts, a look akin to an apology written all over his face. ]
I don't have navy, believe it or not, but I'm sure I can come up with something in time. Black, burgundy? Those I could do. But would it embarrass you if I asked you how you'd like it tailored? [ Straight forward enough, sure, but there's implications there: what do you want to see? ]
To say yes, I'd need your approval on my attire, but I don't think that will be much of an issue. Meeting you here is as much a yes as anything, but I was under the impression it was you who needed to approve of me. [ A gently squeeze at his wrist once before he slides his hand away and leans into his seat more comfortably. ]
I do plenty of running on my jogs in the mornings, so there will be no running for me. Besides, I've still got to make up that 10% don't I? I'm sure I can think of something.
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.
[ Whether or not this man wants him in any base, physical way, Steve can't really say. Most clients do, at the end of the day, but the coquettish look from beneath the fan of lashes gives him pause. The rich amber of Zemo's eyes is alluring enough as it. But there's a quiet sort of cease and desist, enough contact to be convincing, to prove that he can be the convincing party date, after all.
He huffs a laugh and reaches for his water as well, swirling the remaining ice before taking a deep drink from it. ]
I'm afraid I don't but it shouldn't be too hard to find one. I wouldn't want to take the fashion out of your tardiness.
[ A small grin, a shrug of the shoulder. ] But if you're particular enough then you're always welcome to join me on my shopping expedition. It seems like details are important to you.
[ Most clients don't care too great a deal about the cut of his clothes, but that's usually because he's all wrapped up in skin-tight leather and sheer fabric, or having sweat-sticky muscle tees removed in the flash of party lights. So this, that he's being invited to such a high profile event and an embassy? It would require more finesse, for sure. That much he can do.]
I'll make sure I don't go running before our appointment. Shouldn't show up to a tailor sweaty, right? [ Steve flashes a smile at one of the servers who takes the hint to give them a little more time. Blue eyes slide back to the man across from him and a slow smile (nearly a smirk) works its way across his lips. Yes, he's letting the image of him post-run sink in with the silence, as if gauging the man's reaction.
Nothing overtly forward yet, but Steve can't deny the fact that Helmut Zemo is easy on the eyes and seems nice enough. It's a better start than most of his jobs, and to be taken to such an event and brought home, with the expectation that he'd be clung to come morning? Well. It doesn't sound all bad. ]
But trust me, I'm flexible. I'd hate to ruin your morning plans, so my workout can always wait until later in the day. Even I like sleeping in sometimes, thank you.
[oh. a shopping date - he hadn't even considered that. it's not like he has to go full bespoke - but he can't let steve wander into the lion's den with something that clashes or - god forbid - is off a rack. he bites down on his lip, thinking it over. if nothing else, it can serve as a very elaborate thank you gift and souvenir for steve given the equally elaborate tale they're going to have to spin among friends and acquaintances. and there's a shred of guilt that he isn't exactly telling the whole sad story, but this is enough of a difficulty admitting he needs help from an outside source to begin with to then nick at his pride even further in admitting he was dumped and his ex is the one that moved on first.]
I think a shopping trip is in order. You really don't mind if it needs to be to a certain specification? Particularly because we'll be a pair and all. [he doesn't know why he feels the need to add after the fact:] Normally I would not be quite so demanding. Even with an eye for detail.
[but he does like to spoil people, and there he'll draw the line. that's not what this is, and the likelihood of steve caring is probably quite low even if he'd be too polite to say otherwise. but at least he seems to agree to the trip outright, even if he's painting a very vivid picture of a fine sheen glistening along strong shoulders and an abdomen he's only seen in photos, but might get a glimpse at during the same excursion. his gaze drops inexplicably to steve's mouth, then his shoulders, then back up again in that exact order and he realizes he should probably close his mouth.]
Probably not. Though by the time you walk out in one of their creations, I think they'll be thanking you on account of all the business they're about to earn from a walking billboard.
[zemo smirks, resting his chin against a curled fist again. he remembers steve saying it was up to him just how flexible he was meant to be, and this time zemo decides to sidestep that loaded implication.]
Well, I can't let you leave here empty-handed. What do you like? Wait - let me guess and see if I'm as good as you.
[he taps a slim finger against the side of his cheek in concentration, eyes narrowing in concentration as his face purses up slightly.]
You're careful what you consume, clearly. Which means something like coffee should be a safe bet - but you strike me as someone who knows how to properly balance the things in your life. So you let yourself indulge every so often with something a little sweeter. Most days you're tired of eating some form of egg, even if it's good for you. But - all bets are off on the days you sleep in.
[he sits back again, tilting his head again and praying he hasn't made a fool of himself.]
[ Steve has a feeling that this man can be demanding in his own, endearing sort of way. Much like the suit - specifications and cuts and an eye that's for details beyond suiting fabric. He hadn't exactly meant to suggest something as upscale as the man's clearly dreaming up, but he's certainly not in the position to say no. Not when a client wants to spend money on him, not when this client wants to. It feels a little more sincere, even if he's already all too aware of how different this has been.
The track of those eyes along his face, his shoulder, his chest and beyond blooms warmth beneath his collar and he ducks his head in a near sheepish, warm smile. ]
I don't know that they'd want me as a spokesperson, but I'll take your word for it. How's that?
[ Tilting his head, he crosses his legs loosely at the knee and slouches into his chair as Zemo makes his assessment. He hums, thoughtful, at a few of the guesses and he finally leans forward, setting his chin into the palm of his hand. He's quiet, watching Zemo with a quiet sort of amusement. ]
I watch what I eat, I get very tired of eggs but they're easy. Can't mess up a good egg. [ A shrug, a huff of a laugh. They're cheap, is what he wants to say. His diet is inexpensive for the most part, and he keeps it that way. Inexpensive might mean plain, but he can handle that most of the time. ]
I rarely get to sleep in very often, though. For a variety of reasons. [ Clients, mostly, who nudge him out of bed or who wake him early for another round. Occasionally it's his mother, or Buck. ]
But I treat myself on those days, you're right. Probably shouldn't, but sue me.
[ He winks, playful and easy, and drops his hand back to the table, leaning on his elbows. ]
[the thing about steve that zemo is finding himself unable to stop hinging on in this moment is...the sense of earnestness that's hard to believe is anything other than genuine. he knows realistically that there must be some practiced veneer, a façade steve has learned after however many dates he's had like this. it's not that much unlike being on a real date, only one of them is getting paid for it. and yet - he can't fathom steve's easy smiles and the shy way he dips his chin to avert his gaze as anything other than authentic. it leaves him with the very distinct impression that steve has a certain innocence and joie de vivre within him - an easiness that just adds to bolstering the aura of confidence he seems to exude from every pore. it's terribly endearing, and zemo can't imagine what slew of broken hearts are strung behind him from clients that were a little too convinced and wanted more.
but he understands, quite vividly, just how easy that could be. steve is...something else, alright. so much more than he expected. maybe he went into this thinking someone with that many muscles had to have their faults somewhere, or that they'd just been so stupidly good-looking they never had to learn how to have a personality to go along with it.
maybe he's telling the truth about zemo's little guessing game, or maybe he's just humoring him. but he wants to believe it's true and that maybe he's seeing past the things others would ignore in the face of a blinding smile and a pretty face. zemo leans forward again, even as steve draws back, and there's something wholly sincere about the expression on his face and the inquisitiveness in his eyes.]
How often do you have to beat people away with a stick? Really. If anything, it's a crime how many pages I had to scroll through to find you - I'd nearly been about to give up.
[a small pause, and the way his lips bunch up into a lopsided smile at the corner of his mouth lacks the cat-like curve of teasing from before.]
You really are the whole package and then some.
[so what are you doing here?, he'd desperately like to ask, and maybe it even hangs unsaid between them, but he knows it's impolite and there are lines he has the respect not to cross right now. besides, it reeks a bit too much like he's judgmental or looking down on the profession somehow, when in fact he has that same utmost respect and gratitude towards what steve is doing too, especially given his own circumstances. he leans back finally, fingertips drumming lightly on the table as he shakes his head and pulls away his gaze before he gets lost in just how handsome steve is again.]
Well, let me get you breakfast then. What will it be - egg sandwich? [he tosses a boyish grin across the table with a bounce of his brow.] Or is today a treat?
[ 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.
[there he goes, deflecting the answer, which leads him to believe it's probably more than he'd like to admit. what does steve rogers' rejection pile look like, zemo wonders? he had hinted at a slew of ridiculous messages, and somehow allowed zemo's innocuous one to filter through and bring them into this moment together. it's hard not to take it at least a little personally and allow himself to be flattered. he won't be so idiotic as to think he's steve's "type" or that the other man had any idea what the looked like or who he was before setting foot here today, but if nothing else at least there was something in the glimmer of his personality that shined through enough to be accepted. and he hasn't headed for the hills yet - delaying ordering solely by virtue of how engrossed he genuinely seems to be in this flirty banter they've established with one another.
so maybe zemo is one of many. being on the exclusive, perfectly curated guest lists for the likes of grand openings and nightclubs full of steve rogers-caliber actors and models and everything in between lost its novelty long ago, but somehow this makes him feel just a little selfishly giddy. i made it, look at me.
he's even gotten a second date tenuously confirmed. not a date - what should he think about these as? appointment, maybe. that's better. only it feels much like the former when steve reaches out for his hand again, smoothing his fingers along the back of them and resting one big palm as if to rid him of the idle motion covering much deeper nerves. it's as warm as before - maybe warmer, even - soft and enough to make his heart skip a beat when it gets raised to lips that are softer still. this time he can't quite suppress the rush of warmth to his cheeks, the way his lips part ever so slightly as he glances downward at the frankly romantic gesture before back up at steve through his lashes, a little stunned for the briefest moment before he composes himself.
he'll get better at that as time goes on, surely. or maybe it's just part of the game - he isn't sure yet.]
Likewise. But...between you and me, sometimes I overindulge.
[he decides two can play at that game after all, winking one eye shut even as the other follows a little more slowly after it and ruins it ever so slightly. maybe he'll at least get a laugh out of steve so it doesn't sound like an overt come on. but he'll take on good-naturedly after:]
Which is why I wouldn't mind getting lost with you at the tailor's later this week. I'll make sure to scrape together a few pennies - the French toast will only put me on the brink of it. [his tone is dry, clearly a little bit self-deprecation. but there's a little secret steve hasn't been let in on, which is his background and no small fortune behind his name - and that's something much too gauche and personal to share. he flags down their waiter with a pleasant smile, making easy small talk before tipping his head and thanking him for his patience. he ends up ordering a pain au chocolate and a black tea with milk for himself after steve. once he's gone, zemo leans back in his seat again, surprisingly relaxed for the moment.]
So, what else should we have prepared for this little charade? I'll warn you, Sokovians can be quite prying. Especially when an eligible bachelor in his early 30s is perilously single.
[ If it's a laugh Zemo had been trying for, he gets the prize. Steve can't help the laugh that bubbles up and out of his chest when the man gives that stuttering, slow wink. He finds himself wondering how the man sitting across from him isn't otherwise engaged, isn't wrapped up around some pretty man (blond, he'd think, all things considered), because Steve finds him impressively charming.
Most men he goes out on the town with are handsome, sure, but they usually lack that sparkle of something special, the hint that there's a person beneath all the expensive clothes and alcohol. Money isn't exactly dazzling, in Steve's eyes. But he can't bite the hand that feeds; it's those rich, sleazy types that pay him exorbitant amounts of money, after all. They pay the ever rising medical bills with the name Sarah Rogers written atop them. ]
I think I could pencil in some time to get lost in a tailor's shop with you.
[ Steve winks, near perfectly before he squeezes both of his eyes shut, his nose wrinkling up along with it. A tease that draws a warm smile across his lips as his expression evens out. ]
But breakfast, a tailor. That doesn't sound perilous to me. In fact, we could tell all of your prying Sokovians that we argued over the color of the suit. You wanted the royal blue, I wanted the navy, and the shop keepers were so endeared they gave us a discount.
[ A shrug of one shoulder, the pull of his lips to one side in a silly grin. ] And then I made it up to you by getting us both brunch. Mimosas, some fresh fruit, maybe a few slices of french toast. You know, because sometimes we overindulge.
[ Running a hand back through his hair, he props his elbows back at the table, pausing briefly when the waiter comes back to refill their water and bring their beverages: tea for Zemo, a coffee of Steve. He waits for the man to be out of earshot enough before he curls his hands around his cup and his blue eyes train themselves on Zemo once again. ]
And if they pry even more, I'm sure I could get creative with what we managed to do after brunch.
[laughter looks good on him - because of course it does. at this point he's not convinced there's anything steve would look bad in - anything from clothing to a highly specified environment. there's an adaptability to him that absolutely must come from his line of work, though he'd imagine it's not entirely exclusively. it has him so curious - has he always been this way? that natural charisma and charm is hard to manufacture, even harder won when built rather than born with it. the most obvious stereotype is that of the high school jock - popular, well-liked, attractive, carved just like steve very obviously is. but there it falls apart even in zemo's extremely outlying experience across boarding schools and years abroad as a foreign exchange student in some of the best schools money could buy - every jock he knew fell into the formerly mentioned category of too dumb and too good-looking to have to grow a real personality in lieu of relying on said looks. in some ways, john was the first one to break the mold there - but only barely.
and yet, it's hard to imagine anyone having it easy if this is their line of work - chosen or otherwise. does anyone choose to market themselves like this? to let their body be the billboard and their personality the service rendered? maybe it's outdated, archaic and offensive of him to assume that money is the baseline motivator here. based on what he - and theoretically others - are willing to pay for these excursions, there is a lot to be made there. one quick glance at steve's attire shows that while put together, he's apparently not investing it in luxury or material goods - even if he looks as if he walked straight off a ralph lauren ad.
the more he lingers on it all the more he is raring to know things beyond the pale of appropriate in their given context. steve's past isn't his business, anything personal is probably entirely off the table. he supposes for some there is an appeal to the tabula rasa aspect of this kind of transaction - applying the precise story and detailed demands for the perfect boyfriend, date, confidant. even if it's just a few hours it's utterly crafted to one's needs - wherein "one" is the precise word to linger on. digesting that brings a certain sense of...loneliness. does anyone really want to live their life jumping from fantasy to fantasy and suppressing themselves? he wonders if some of steve's attitude even now is crafted around what he thinks zemo wants - and doesn't that pose an interesting opportunity for self-reflection. maybe later. for now he'll try and take things at face value.]
I have a fairly light week. But it's best to get this in sooner rather than later - they'll need time even with a rush job.
[his lips curl into another smirk, particularly given how steve has yet again pegged the precise amount of drama that can sometimes accompany the edges of an otherwise smooth experience of being in a relationship with him.]
They've known me since I was a boy. And while immediately charmed by your arrival, neither you nor they can quite stand to see me pout.
[his lips soften a little, eyes glimmering as they both keep feeding into it and finding it's more fun than he's had in months.]
We settle on dark cobalt and you insist on hand-feeding me grapes at said brunch, much to the envy and chagrin of the wait staff and anyone seated nearby.
[he glances up, a quick thank you to the waiter as he reaches for his cup to blow along the rim of the cup lightly. maybe it's a good thing he hasn't taken a sip yet - he's already feeling hot under the collar from that implication alone. he lets out a small ah, like he's just been reminded of something.]
Yes - about that. Let's just say we have a very active sex life behind closed doors. Sometimes ones that are cracked open, too. [a pause, like he's considering a memory at the peripherals of a hazy night, and he squints slightly as he tips his head up.] Maybe sometimes there isn't a door at all.
[now he will take a sip, eyes a little wide and expression schooled into something innocent. he shrugs as he sets it down with a light clink.]
Apologies - I may have something of a reputation among friends. But you're a perfect gentleman who would never kiss and tell. I cannot divulge all my secrets on the first date, after all.
[ Nothing about this life falls anywhere close to where he thought he might be years ago. Young and bright eyed, he'd thrown himself at tests and scholarships, landing his place among the favored few at the New York Academy of Art. But here, sitting across the table from this odd, very European man, feels almost like what life might have been like had he graduated, had it made it past his freshman year.
Would he be on coffee dates with affluent men out of want and not necessity? For now, he allows himself to live in that little fantasy, to soak up the warmth streaming in through the window and find a touch of comfort in their banter. Already Zemo is so far beyond what his regulars usually require that it hardly feels like work at all. It's dangerous, though, to let Steve Rogers bleed into the already gray, blurred lines of the escort called Steven. All the same, he hums in response, looking up thoughtfully, imagining the grapes and everything that might follow a romantic little brunch spot like that. ]
I insisted on feeding you grapes, of course. [ A small grin, and he leans his chin into his palm. Fixing his eyes on the line of Zemo's jaw, he lets the blue of them track the curve to his plush lips. He doesn't even try to hide it. ] But I guess the real question is whether you could wait until we got home. I think I recall the brunch spot had themed bathrooms. Maybe I was worried you'd call Michelangelo's name instead of mine.
[ Despite the sultry wag of his eyebrows, Steve can't help but nearly giggle at the image of it. ] I think we should probably keep those details to ourselves. At least until someone catches us in the act. Optional doors make things more exciting.
[ The only thing this business has done for him is just that: a confidence in his body that he would never have had. Being sickly growing up, being so frail and weak certainly did nothing for his confidence. And while being an escort knocks him down a few rungs in its own right, Steve feels comfortable in his own skin. Being with so many people, playing so many roles for others, its only helped define who he is in the fray. Better than most can say. ]
So it looks like we've both got a reputation here and there. But I am a gentleman, you're right. I very much enjoy kissing, to the point I'm usually too busy with it to do the telling. So I'll let you keep your secrets.
[ He sighs, amused, his smile bright and dimpling his cheeks. ]
[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.]
[ These dates never turn out like this. It's rarely just conversation over brunch and good coffee, and it's rarely veiled flirting that actually does something to make a little heat prickle at the back of his neck. The brush of Zemo's fingers against the pull of the smirk is definitely intriguing, and for once Steve likes the back and forth. Particularly right now, where he almost feels like he has more control over the situation, more freedom.
He cuts a piece of french toast with his fork, taking his time to eat and enjoy the sticky sweet on his tongue. It's a little unfair that he glances up at Zemo from under his lashes as he does so, listening to him talk. He swipes at his lips after, clearing syrup from the corner of his mouth. Two can play at that game. Well, until there's the mention of Michelangelo, and he laughs suddenly, bright and warm and unexpected. ]
And what unspeakable things? [ He leans in across the table, just enough so he can lower his voice. ] Mm, I can think of a few, but if they're really so unspeakable then I guess you'll just have to wait and find out. Maybe I'm mysterious.
[ In a way, he is, but Steve doesn't exactly feel like he's veiling himself here, as if he's shrouding the warmth of that awkward, skinny, sick boy from years and years ago. If this had been another life, he could see this little table in a little cafe being their first real date, he could imagine he met Helmut Zemo in a hazy club and it all tumbled out from there.
He smiles, a little rueful, and stabs again at his french toast. ]
Nice of the general public to help us out last minute. I'll make sure I put on enough of a show that the tailors spread it all like wildfire. I'll have to test how it moves and breathes, right? A good suit is worth every stitch.
[zemo's dates never turn out like this either. he's tried both ways - the proper, planned ones that his mutual friends insist will hit it off with him, and the spontaneous exchange with someone who looked much better in dim lighting on a dance floor. they always end the same way - zemo charming them with ease, bored to tears on the inside and insisting on splitting the bill so no one walks away with the wrong impression that he'd want to do this again under the same circumstances of hopefulness. thank god he's never had anything too mortifying to follow it up, but what is it they say? when you know - you know. and he thinks a little disappointingly that if he'd met steve any other way and ended up in this same scenario...he'd know.
it's extremely unfair to be distracted from his own meal by the way he makes something as simple as eating an attractive art form, and zemo has to force himself more than once to focus on his own plate or reach for a sip of tea. maybe it was unwise to make mention of the unspeakable, especially when it brings steve closer and murmuring low and intimate. it makes him swallow hard, jaw slackening slightly in an attempt not to get lost in the combination of his eyes and the thought of defiling a bathroom or two hoisted up in his arms.
christ, maybe pietro was right about needing to get laid instead of holding out as some form of invisible retaliation against john. fortunately he's quick to recover.]
The kind of things that tend to correlate with "show" and not "tell". But you seem to have a vivid imagination - I trust you have the right idea. And luckily for you, so do the tailors.
[he smirks wryly, the briefest flash of teeth.]
I set one foot into the changing room a little too long, rumple their pins and needles, and they'll catch on quick enough. They are ancient, but they aren't blind yet.
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no subject
Well, there is a traditional Sokovian waltz. The steps are quite simple - and you seem like the type to catch on quick. A foxtrot, however - I doubt anyone under fifty even remembers what that is.
[he makes a comical once over, frowning before making a light tease.]
You know, they say men lie about their ages all the time, almost nearly as much as their height. If you are...you look exceptionally good for your age.
[there's another waggle of his brows as he watches the picturesque stripe of sun splash across steve's cheekbones. it looks ridiculously picturesque, the kind of bone structure michelangelo would weep to sculpt. there are a million questions he wants to ask - how is someone like you single? how long have you been in the business? have you ever thought of getting out of it? or even just an observation, don't be so humble - anyone would be lucky to have the likes of you rich or poor. the fact that steve thinks money would somehow impact his ability to find a lover in another tax bracket is laughable when half the coffee shop including the ceo would probably give it all up to have one date with him.
he's nearly so distracted trying to politely formulate this that his breath catches when steve reaches for his hand, and maybe it makes him feel a little pathetic and touch-starved for something so softly intimate - a far cry from the string of hookups he's had since breaking up with john. there's a bloom of colour on the high points of his cheekbones as steve weaves in the start of the (faux) fairytale, even going the extra mile to do the kiss to the back of his fingers properly by leaning down instead of lifting it to his lips. his skin tingles where they brush, and his fingers squeeze down instinctively around steve's own.
am i allowed to keep you?]
I am hard-pressed to think there is anyone with eyes who wouldn't fall in love with a man like you.
[zemo's lips pull into a much softer smile, something vulnerable in the way he openly chooses to show his endearment in that moment.]
Consider me utterly charmed. I left my wallet at home, miserable and hungover on a Sunday morning while trying to buy my earl grey and a croissant. Thank god for the drop-dead gorgeous knight in shining armor who stepped in to pay.
[he's getting into it now, clearly entertained.]
I'm particularly susceptible to a tall head of blonde hair and blue eyes, you see. I insisted on repaying the kind favour for lunch...and here we are.
no subject
This feels different, but he'd known it would be from the man's e-mail. It's what had made him double take, after all. Even Sharon told him to give it a try, but with that playful toss of her head that also told him to be careful. Nothing in their industry is ever what it seems.
But he finds himself enjoying the storytelling for now. Most clients call him a friend from school and it ends there, with Steve having to do very little talking about himself outside of charming pleasantries and comments on the guest's attire. After all, galas and parties and upscale events usually mean he can scout for more clients himself, because if there's anything he knows, it's the look. The sweep of the eyes from toe to head, and all Steve can see are dollar signs behind greedy kisses and fingers and wild little kinks.
He hums, thoughtful, turning Zemo's hand in his so his palm lies face up, letting his thumb trace over the life lines pressed deep into his palm. ]
I don't lie about my age, I'll promise you that. But you'd be surprised what could drive folks away. But I guess you're made of braver stuff.
[ His business could drive people away, for one, but Steve doesn't often let any clients close. Sure he has a few that are kind enough, a friendly exchange when they fall into the sheets together, but there are so few people in Steve Rogers's world that have even come close. Sometimes, he feels like Icarus, having desperately reached for the sun and in his descent with molten wings, plummeting. ]
Earl grey and a croissant with honey on it. Did I get it right? [ A grin, the quirk of lips. ] And maybe I offered you a ride home. You shouldn't hoof it in New York when you're hungover, and maybe you have a driver but I insisted.
[ A shrug, his fingers sliding along the man's palm to his wrist, fingertips pressing gently against his pulse, resting their hands together like that. ]
And so we lunch, and maybe I tell you all about this wild dance called the foxtrot, and you call me an old man. [ A huff between his teeth and he raises his free hand in mock surrender. ] Which, in spirit, maybe I am. But what's life without a little swing and music. Besides, you seem to catch on quick, too. A waltz in exchange for a foxtrot. Maybe a drink at swanky club in SoHo, and the rest is history, isn't it?
[ Steve ducks his head, almost bashful, as he looks down at their hands pressed together on the table top. The fairytales always seem so picturesque and perfect when he speaks about them out loud, when he gives life to the kind of thing he dreamed of for himself, once upon a time. The kind of thing his mother dreams of for him now. She'd told him once, when they danced and laughed in their threadbare living room, Bing Crosby and Count Basie loud in the radio, and the shuffle of their knocking feet as he forgot the steps to the Charleston or the foxtrot that she'd playfully taught him.
His eyes lift to Zemo's face and Steve's smile goes warm at the edges, soft. ]
So how'd this tall head of blonde hair and blue eyes do?
no subject
I am either embarrassingly easier to read than I thought or you are simply terrifyingly good at this job. You are...spot on. I could not have concocted it better myself.
[zemo lets his fingers slip around where steve's palm is resting softly against his own, the brush of skin against skin still warm in a way that he knows he'll be thinking about long after he pulls it away and leaves the coffee shop. honestly? he didn't expect it to be this difficult to keep reminding himself this is a business transaction and nothing more. it feels like that story could be real, the beautiful start to a perfect relationship like every fucking american romcom he'd forced john to watch and threatened upon pain of death to never let on to anyone that he'd seem them.
but if there's one thing he's learned: it's that life is never like the movies, no matter how good it may seem. and all too often - when things are too good, they are simply too good. steve is skilled at making this real because it's something he must have done with dozens, maybe hundreds before him. in crude terms: a professional charmer, someone who probably has a lot of experience bullshitting on the fly or in the myriad of coffee shots dotted around new york.]
Consider me impressed. Maybe 90% of the way. [he waves his free hand in a side-to-side motion like he's calling something only so-so.]
The other 10% comes when I see you in a nicely tailored suit and properly gauge what you're made of on the dance floor for real.
[there's a question buried in there: will either of these be a problem to produce? he suspects no.]
A navy ensemble - if you can. It will especially bring out those lovely eyes of yours.
[his gaze flicks up to meet it, speaking of, and for maybe the dozenth time already he finds himself having to tamp down on how warm steve's smile is making him feel, or the swoop in his stomach.
pull yourself together helmut, for god's sake. you haven't even been single that long.]
What else do you need from me? To say yes to this, I mean. [realizing maybe that sounds demanding, he adds:] Of course - this is your chance to run while you can. After all, I can't make any promises about learning a foxtrot in five days.
no subject
Mm, it's a little of both, I think.
[ A soft huff and he drums his finger tips against that slender wrist for emphasis. Zemo isn't easy to read, per se, but he's certainly easy to please. To say that he hasn't had to dig deep to garner the man's praise isn't exactly an understatement. Again, this man is different than the rest. That makes him interesting, exciting, a little dangerous. So yes, while most of this interaction has been pulled from a collection of guises and lines, his smile feels more warm, more genuine, his touch more inviting, and he shifts in his seat just enough to knock one knee against the other man's beneath the table. Steps he wouldn't take for the attorney down on 27th or the CEO wandering in from Wall Street.
Interesting. Exciting. Dangerous.
His lips tug to one side, his head tilts, a look akin to an apology written all over his face. ]
I don't have navy, believe it or not, but I'm sure I can come up with something in time. Black, burgundy? Those I could do. But would it embarrass you if I asked you how you'd like it tailored? [ Straight forward enough, sure, but there's implications there: what do you want to see? ]
To say yes, I'd need your approval on my attire, but I don't think that will be much of an issue. Meeting you here is as much a yes as anything, but I was under the impression it was you who needed to approve of me. [ A gently squeeze at his wrist once before he slides his hand away and leans into his seat more comfortably. ]
I do plenty of running on my jogs in the mornings, so there will be no running for me. Besides, I've still got to make up that 10% don't I? I'm sure I can think of something.
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[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
He huffs a laugh and reaches for his water as well, swirling the remaining ice before taking a deep drink from it. ]
I'm afraid I don't but it shouldn't be too hard to find one. I wouldn't want to take the fashion out of your tardiness.
[ A small grin, a shrug of the shoulder. ] But if you're particular enough then you're always welcome to join me on my shopping expedition. It seems like details are important to you.
[ Most clients don't care too great a deal about the cut of his clothes, but that's usually because he's all wrapped up in skin-tight leather and sheer fabric, or having sweat-sticky muscle tees removed in the flash of party lights. So this, that he's being invited to such a high profile event and an embassy? It would require more finesse, for sure. That much he can do.]
I'll make sure I don't go running before our appointment. Shouldn't show up to a tailor sweaty, right? [ Steve flashes a smile at one of the servers who takes the hint to give them a little more time. Blue eyes slide back to the man across from him and a slow smile (nearly a smirk) works its way across his lips. Yes, he's letting the image of him post-run sink in with the silence, as if gauging the man's reaction.
Nothing overtly forward yet, but Steve can't deny the fact that Helmut Zemo is easy on the eyes and seems nice enough. It's a better start than most of his jobs, and to be taken to such an event and brought home, with the expectation that he'd be clung to come morning? Well. It doesn't sound all bad. ]
But trust me, I'm flexible. I'd hate to ruin your morning plans, so my workout can always wait until later in the day. Even I like sleeping in sometimes, thank you.
no subject
I think a shopping trip is in order. You really don't mind if it needs to be to a certain specification? Particularly because we'll be a pair and all. [he doesn't know why he feels the need to add after the fact:] Normally I would not be quite so demanding. Even with an eye for detail.
[but he does like to spoil people, and there he'll draw the line. that's not what this is, and the likelihood of steve caring is probably quite low even if he'd be too polite to say otherwise. but at least he seems to agree to the trip outright, even if he's painting a very vivid picture of a fine sheen glistening along strong shoulders and an abdomen he's only seen in photos, but might get a glimpse at during the same excursion. his gaze drops inexplicably to steve's mouth, then his shoulders, then back up again in that exact order and he realizes he should probably close his mouth.]
Probably not. Though by the time you walk out in one of their creations, I think they'll be thanking you on account of all the business they're about to earn from a walking billboard.
[zemo smirks, resting his chin against a curled fist again. he remembers steve saying it was up to him just how flexible he was meant to be, and this time zemo decides to sidestep that loaded implication.]
Well, I can't let you leave here empty-handed. What do you like? Wait - let me guess and see if I'm as good as you.
[he taps a slim finger against the side of his cheek in concentration, eyes narrowing in concentration as his face purses up slightly.]
You're careful what you consume, clearly. Which means something like coffee should be a safe bet - but you strike me as someone who knows how to properly balance the things in your life. So you let yourself indulge every so often with something a little sweeter. Most days you're tired of eating some form of egg, even if it's good for you. But - all bets are off on the days you sleep in.
[he sits back again, tilting his head again and praying he hasn't made a fool of himself.]
Well? How did I do?
no subject
The track of those eyes along his face, his shoulder, his chest and beyond blooms warmth beneath his collar and he ducks his head in a near sheepish, warm smile. ]
I don't know that they'd want me as a spokesperson, but I'll take your word for it. How's that?
[ Tilting his head, he crosses his legs loosely at the knee and slouches into his chair as Zemo makes his assessment. He hums, thoughtful, at a few of the guesses and he finally leans forward, setting his chin into the palm of his hand. He's quiet, watching Zemo with a quiet sort of amusement. ]
I watch what I eat, I get very tired of eggs but they're easy. Can't mess up a good egg. [ A shrug, a huff of a laugh. They're cheap, is what he wants to say. His diet is inexpensive for the most part, and he keeps it that way. Inexpensive might mean plain, but he can handle that most of the time. ]
I rarely get to sleep in very often, though. For a variety of reasons. [ Clients, mostly, who nudge him out of bed or who wake him early for another round. Occasionally it's his mother, or Buck. ]
But I treat myself on those days, you're right. Probably shouldn't, but sue me.
[ He winks, playful and easy, and drops his hand back to the table, leaning on his elbows. ]
So not bad.
no subject
but he understands, quite vividly, just how easy that could be. steve is...something else, alright. so much more than he expected. maybe he went into this thinking someone with that many muscles had to have their faults somewhere, or that they'd just been so stupidly good-looking they never had to learn how to have a personality to go along with it.
maybe he's telling the truth about zemo's little guessing game, or maybe he's just humoring him. but he wants to believe it's true and that maybe he's seeing past the things others would ignore in the face of a blinding smile and a pretty face. zemo leans forward again, even as steve draws back, and there's something wholly sincere about the expression on his face and the inquisitiveness in his eyes.]
How often do you have to beat people away with a stick? Really. If anything, it's a crime how many pages I had to scroll through to find you - I'd nearly been about to give up.
[a small pause, and the way his lips bunch up into a lopsided smile at the corner of his mouth lacks the cat-like curve of teasing from before.]
You really are the whole package and then some.
[so what are you doing here?, he'd desperately like to ask, and maybe it even hangs unsaid between them, but he knows it's impolite and there are lines he has the respect not to cross right now. besides, it reeks a bit too much like he's judgmental or looking down on the profession somehow, when in fact he has that same utmost respect and gratitude towards what steve is doing too, especially given his own circumstances. he leans back finally, fingertips drumming lightly on the table as he shakes his head and pulls away his gaze before he gets lost in just how handsome steve is again.]
Well, let me get you breakfast then. What will it be - egg sandwich? [he tosses a boyish grin across the table with a bounce of his brow.] Or is today a treat?
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.
no subject
so maybe zemo is one of many. being on the exclusive, perfectly curated guest lists for the likes of grand openings and nightclubs full of steve rogers-caliber actors and models and everything in between lost its novelty long ago, but somehow this makes him feel just a little selfishly giddy. i made it, look at me.
he's even gotten a second date tenuously confirmed. not a date - what should he think about these as? appointment, maybe. that's better. only it feels much like the former when steve reaches out for his hand again, smoothing his fingers along the back of them and resting one big palm as if to rid him of the idle motion covering much deeper nerves. it's as warm as before - maybe warmer, even - soft and enough to make his heart skip a beat when it gets raised to lips that are softer still. this time he can't quite suppress the rush of warmth to his cheeks, the way his lips part ever so slightly as he glances downward at the frankly romantic gesture before back up at steve through his lashes, a little stunned for the briefest moment before he composes himself.
he'll get better at that as time goes on, surely. or maybe it's just part of the game - he isn't sure yet.]
Likewise. But...between you and me, sometimes I overindulge.
[he decides two can play at that game after all, winking one eye shut even as the other follows a little more slowly after it and ruins it ever so slightly. maybe he'll at least get a laugh out of steve so it doesn't sound like an overt come on. but he'll take on good-naturedly after:]
Which is why I wouldn't mind getting lost with you at the tailor's later this week. I'll make sure to scrape together a few pennies - the French toast will only put me on the brink of it. [his tone is dry, clearly a little bit self-deprecation. but there's a little secret steve hasn't been let in on, which is his background and no small fortune behind his name - and that's something much too gauche and personal to share. he flags down their waiter with a pleasant smile, making easy small talk before tipping his head and thanking him for his patience. he ends up ordering a pain au chocolate and a black tea with milk for himself after steve. once he's gone, zemo leans back in his seat again, surprisingly relaxed for the moment.]
So, what else should we have prepared for this little charade? I'll warn you, Sokovians can be quite prying. Especially when an eligible bachelor in his early 30s is perilously single.
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Most men he goes out on the town with are handsome, sure, but they usually lack that sparkle of something special, the hint that there's a person beneath all the expensive clothes and alcohol. Money isn't exactly dazzling, in Steve's eyes. But he can't bite the hand that feeds; it's those rich, sleazy types that pay him exorbitant amounts of money, after all. They pay the ever rising medical bills with the name Sarah Rogers written atop them. ]
I think I could pencil in some time to get lost in a tailor's shop with you.
[ Steve winks, near perfectly before he squeezes both of his eyes shut, his nose wrinkling up along with it. A tease that draws a warm smile across his lips as his expression evens out. ]
But breakfast, a tailor. That doesn't sound perilous to me. In fact, we could tell all of your prying Sokovians that we argued over the color of the suit. You wanted the royal blue, I wanted the navy, and the shop keepers were so endeared they gave us a discount.
[ A shrug of one shoulder, the pull of his lips to one side in a silly grin. ] And then I made it up to you by getting us both brunch. Mimosas, some fresh fruit, maybe a few slices of french toast. You know, because sometimes we overindulge.
[ Running a hand back through his hair, he props his elbows back at the table, pausing briefly when the waiter comes back to refill their water and bring their beverages: tea for Zemo, a coffee of Steve. He waits for the man to be out of earshot enough before he curls his hands around his cup and his blue eyes train themselves on Zemo once again. ]
And if they pry even more, I'm sure I could get creative with what we managed to do after brunch.
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and yet, it's hard to imagine anyone having it easy if this is their line of work - chosen or otherwise. does anyone choose to market themselves like this? to let their body be the billboard and their personality the service rendered? maybe it's outdated, archaic and offensive of him to assume that money is the baseline motivator here. based on what he - and theoretically others - are willing to pay for these excursions, there is a lot to be made there. one quick glance at steve's attire shows that while put together, he's apparently not investing it in luxury or material goods - even if he looks as if he walked straight off a ralph lauren ad.
the more he lingers on it all the more he is raring to know things beyond the pale of appropriate in their given context. steve's past isn't his business, anything personal is probably entirely off the table. he supposes for some there is an appeal to the tabula rasa aspect of this kind of transaction - applying the precise story and detailed demands for the perfect boyfriend, date, confidant. even if it's just a few hours it's utterly crafted to one's needs - wherein "one" is the precise word to linger on. digesting that brings a certain sense of...loneliness. does anyone really want to live their life jumping from fantasy to fantasy and suppressing themselves? he wonders if some of steve's attitude even now is crafted around what he thinks zemo wants - and doesn't that pose an interesting opportunity for self-reflection. maybe later. for now he'll try and take things at face value.]
I have a fairly light week. But it's best to get this in sooner rather than later - they'll need time even with a rush job.
[his lips curl into another smirk, particularly given how steve has yet again pegged the precise amount of drama that can sometimes accompany the edges of an otherwise smooth experience of being in a relationship with him.]
They've known me since I was a boy. And while immediately charmed by your arrival, neither you nor they can quite stand to see me pout.
[his lips soften a little, eyes glimmering as they both keep feeding into it and finding it's more fun than he's had in months.]
We settle on dark cobalt and you insist on hand-feeding me grapes at said brunch, much to the envy and chagrin of the wait staff and anyone seated nearby.
[he glances up, a quick thank you to the waiter as he reaches for his cup to blow along the rim of the cup lightly. maybe it's a good thing he hasn't taken a sip yet - he's already feeling hot under the collar from that implication alone. he lets out a small ah, like he's just been reminded of something.]
Yes - about that. Let's just say we have a very active sex life behind closed doors. Sometimes ones that are cracked open, too. [a pause, like he's considering a memory at the peripherals of a hazy night, and he squints slightly as he tips his head up.] Maybe sometimes there isn't a door at all.
[now he will take a sip, eyes a little wide and expression schooled into something innocent. he shrugs as he sets it down with a light clink.]
Apologies - I may have something of a reputation among friends. But you're a perfect gentleman who would never kiss and tell. I cannot divulge all my secrets on the first date, after all.
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Would he be on coffee dates with affluent men out of want and not necessity? For now, he allows himself to live in that little fantasy, to soak up the warmth streaming in through the window and find a touch of comfort in their banter. Already Zemo is so far beyond what his regulars usually require that it hardly feels like work at all. It's dangerous, though, to let Steve Rogers bleed into the already gray, blurred lines of the escort called Steven. All the same, he hums in response, looking up thoughtfully, imagining the grapes and everything that might follow a romantic little brunch spot like that. ]
I insisted on feeding you grapes, of course. [ A small grin, and he leans his chin into his palm. Fixing his eyes on the line of Zemo's jaw, he lets the blue of them track the curve to his plush lips. He doesn't even try to hide it. ] But I guess the real question is whether you could wait until we got home. I think I recall the brunch spot had themed bathrooms. Maybe I was worried you'd call Michelangelo's name instead of mine.
[ Despite the sultry wag of his eyebrows, Steve can't help but nearly giggle at the image of it. ] I think we should probably keep those details to ourselves. At least until someone catches us in the act. Optional doors make things more exciting.
[ The only thing this business has done for him is just that: a confidence in his body that he would never have had. Being sickly growing up, being so frail and weak certainly did nothing for his confidence. And while being an escort knocks him down a few rungs in its own right, Steve feels comfortable in his own skin. Being with so many people, playing so many roles for others, its only helped define who he is in the fray. Better than most can say. ]
So it looks like we've both got a reputation here and there. But I am a gentleman, you're right. I very much enjoy kissing, to the point I'm usually too busy with it to do the telling. So I'll let you keep your secrets.
[ He sighs, amused, his smile bright and dimpling his cheeks. ]
They'll never know what hit them.
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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.]
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He cuts a piece of french toast with his fork, taking his time to eat and enjoy the sticky sweet on his tongue. It's a little unfair that he glances up at Zemo from under his lashes as he does so, listening to him talk. He swipes at his lips after, clearing syrup from the corner of his mouth. Two can play at that game. Well, until there's the mention of Michelangelo, and he laughs suddenly, bright and warm and unexpected. ]
And what unspeakable things? [ He leans in across the table, just enough so he can lower his voice. ] Mm, I can think of a few, but if they're really so unspeakable then I guess you'll just have to wait and find out. Maybe I'm mysterious.
[ In a way, he is, but Steve doesn't exactly feel like he's veiling himself here, as if he's shrouding the warmth of that awkward, skinny, sick boy from years and years ago. If this had been another life, he could see this little table in a little cafe being their first real date, he could imagine he met Helmut Zemo in a hazy club and it all tumbled out from there.
He smiles, a little rueful, and stabs again at his french toast. ]
Nice of the general public to help us out last minute. I'll make sure I put on enough of a show that the tailors spread it all like wildfire. I'll have to test how it moves and breathes, right? A good suit is worth every stitch.
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it's extremely unfair to be distracted from his own meal by the way he makes something as simple as eating an attractive art form, and zemo has to force himself more than once to focus on his own plate or reach for a sip of tea. maybe it was unwise to make mention of the unspeakable, especially when it brings steve closer and murmuring low and intimate. it makes him swallow hard, jaw slackening slightly in an attempt not to get lost in the combination of his eyes and the thought of defiling a bathroom or two hoisted up in his arms.
christ, maybe pietro was right about needing to get laid instead of holding out as some form of invisible retaliation against john. fortunately he's quick to recover.]
The kind of things that tend to correlate with "show" and not "tell". But you seem to have a vivid imagination - I trust you have the right idea. And luckily for you, so do the tailors.
[he smirks wryly, the briefest flash of teeth.]
I set one foot into the changing room a little too long, rumple their pins and needles, and they'll catch on quick enough. They are ancient, but they aren't blind yet.