"Maybe, but I always preferred blue." Entirely true, but there's the slightest arch of playfulness that even he's only half aware of.
(Has he laughed more in the past half hour than he has in decades? Yes. Is he doing his best not to think about that? Also yes.)
"I'd be fine with anything, but...let's find you something light."
Steve may notice another theme, as Zerxus leads him through the wardrobe. Decorating boots and gloves, linking clasps and lapel pins, cascading from belts and pockets and mantles - it's always chains.
It's notable, then, that Zerxus finds a shirt without that, and hands it off. "You can unlace that, if it's tight." It's hard to say which of them is broader in the shoulders.
He seems to be having a harder time with pants; the simplest also tend to be the sturdiest. Finally, he pulls out these, and looks over very sheepishly. "...I can keep looking."
"They stand for different things," he says, off hand.
He's too busy thinking about what the number of chains on Zerxus's clothes represents, and what him avoiding them for Steve says about the character of the man. That even the most generous read on red implies violence, and all the implications of chains and pets and leashes.
He snorts at the pants, but takes them alongside the shirt. "I've worn more ridiculous and more revealing," carries a faint touch if dry humor. That USO costume covered his skin, and that was all it did.
He sets them aside immediately, bends down to unlace his boots. "And they're certainly well ventilated, though a heck of a contrast to what you were wearing when you picked me up."
When he stands up he immediately gets his collar undone, undoes the securing snap and unzips the suit - shoulder to knee. No shyness or hesitation, but he starts looking a little less sharp and more... mentally fatigued.
He's absolutely still in danger and aware of it, but is coming out of being battle ready. He doesn't really have a choice; no one can be that *on* all the time.
"Can you take care of getting the shirt loosened up for me while I handle this? We can adjust the fit once it's on me."
He's all set to take that revelation in stride and then Steve starts undressing.
Even that might have been easier to deal with if he didn't look so vulnerable doing it. It sets this moment leagues apart from any devil barracks he's staggered into.
All he can really manage is a low noise of affirmation before he starts tugging gently at the shirt's delicate laces. That definitely needs every bit of his focus, he's staring at it very intently.
Belatedly, very much to this fingers, "When I picked you up I was patrolling."
If Zerxus is going to use the shirt as an excuse not to watch Steve undress, he might want to pretend those laces are tangled and go slowly. Steve isn't putting on a show, and he isn't delaying. What he's getting out of still a structured one piece suit made out of ballistics fabric and Kevlar. It's made to be moved in, but it has limited to no stretch or slip.
Taking it off takes the time it takes. He is at least practiced at the process, and it's faster once he gets his arms out. The arms, however, take some doing.
He grunts in acknowledgement of that remark, because sleeves but: "Think that just means there's a heck of a lot of contrast in your life, too." Says the man who's finally gotten the hard part done and is peeling off tactical gear and pulling on those pants.
He feels kind of vulnerable, but not because he's letting himself feel tired. The vulnerable there is way more to do with the thigh to ankle exposure of his legs. It's still a physical relief. "If patrolling is a thing you regularly do, anyway."
Edited (I have a half naked icon. I'm using it.) 2024-10-28 12:31 (UTC)
Unfortunately that kind of feint isn't really an instinct, even after all these decades. He's already finished once Steve is out of one sleeve, so he just - drapes the shirt over one arm, and starts rummaging. He'll figure out what he's looking for later.
"He wanted a weapon to wield." That's what a champion is, in the end. Some gods care more about personal autonomy than others, but ultimately you're an extension of divine will. "That war is over, now, but he's not one to waste resources. Most of what I do is violent; these clothes are for...downtime. Or diplomacy, if he wants a laugh." There was a time when Zerxus could persuade and inspire allies, but it sure wasn't in the Hells.
He can hear it, when Steve finally wrestles the suit off and slips the pants on, and he does need to hand over that shirt, so -
"...They fit. Good." He'll just. Lightly toss the shirt over.
Steve catches the shirt out of the air, and drags it over his head. It doesn't do a thing to make him stop being aware of his legs. Time will probably do that. It probably won't explain why he'd feel less naked naked.
It also won't make him not take a second to picture Zerxus in this outfit. The conversation stops him being a little flustered, but not much else would have.
"I won't pretend to really understand," he says, but says with compassion. He's always aware of at least most of his points of serious privilege and advantage and where he got lucky in other ways. Still having his soul is a really, really broad one and it's only the start here. "Broad strokes, at best, for some parts of it."
He grabs his suit off the floor and takes it to put over an arm chair, and moves his shield out of the way to lean against the wall. Stops talking and looks at it for a moment, then shakes his head very slightly to refocus his attention to here.
"That military experiment was one particular war. That war ended, fighting didn't. Neither did the occasional attempts to use the... image. Much softer application. I sure as heck wasn't doing it in hell and alone." That's pointed. He is not mentioning his soul, thanks.
But the more he sees? The more he feels for the man, the more he wants to help and the more he realizes that there's a tactical problem they're both walking into with this-- and he's not going to stop.
There were already things he was desperately grappling with - chief among them the writhing twist of desire-shame of seeing someone else in the clothes Asmodeus conjured for him - and now he's confronted with impossibly sincere compassion, empathy, pity -
Stop it. Are you so certain that was me?
It doesn't matter, he needs to stop this before it gets out of hand. His expression shutters on that stark, yearning vulnerability because whatever he's grasping for, he doesn't deserve it - not from anyone, certainly not from a lost soldier from another world who needs to get the fuck out of here.
"After you fought, they used your image for their own ends. But the war itself - you said you volunteered. You believed in it, what you were fighting for?"
The last person Steve pitied was fucking Loki. Pity requires a lack of respect, and Steve's very capable of that, but it sure as hell isn't in play at the moment.
He's somewhat distracted by the... math he's doing on the situation here. Compassion is a variable, but it isn't the only one.
He comes back to more full attention and focus on Zerxus immediately, because he fucking hates that question just as immediately and more so in light of the abrupt way Zerxus' expression shutters. The look that comes with it is damn close to the one that came with 'pick up your damn gauntlets'.
"That question has an ulterior motive and I'm not answering it until you tell me why you're asking it." Which is maybe a weird response given that it's the first thing he's dug his heels on, but he suspects this is about to be a deflection -- or a sideways attack. Probably deflection. He'll deal with it if it is, but he's damn well not doing it without an admission.
"Oh, now you act like you're dealing with a devil." A moment ago his voice was as solid and featureless as polished stone; now that wry warmth is back.
It's like this man was tailor-made to slip through the cracks of every wall he builds and it's getting very frustrating.
He can at least cross his arms; not the best barrier, but it's something.
"The motive is contrast. There are things about me that I really need you to understand."
He lifts his eyebrows as if to say 'surprise, I'm not actually an idiot' but doesn't address that part at all.
Good job on coming back to yourself, at least in vocal tone, though.
"No, it's not. The motive is for you to be given an opportunity to explain to me that you're a bad person because you sold your soul to the devil and do bad things, and to control my perception of you. We're not doing that - and we sure as shit aren't doing it using my actions with free will to yours without it."
He will argue with you. Something about situations going south and not being able to ignore them. Light him on fire, okay, but he's not handing his actions over as a tool for self-flagellation.
"...Are you lecturing me right - " He cuts himself off as his voice starts trembling with laughter, indignantly delighted. No, no, that is not happening.
None of this should be happening, he never should have been this selfish.
"I'm not a bad person for selling my soul." Desperate times, desperate measures. "I'm a bad person because my brother gave me an escape clause with his last breath, and I was too proud to take it."
"I've lectured the god of Love and Thunder," Steve says, dryly aware but also fond. He likes Thor - a lot. "I also punched him repeatedly in the face at one point."
He looks around the space they're in and after he puts his boots beside his shield just... sits the fuck down. It's been a long day, and this conversation doesn't need to continue to happen upright. The consequence of his position (one leg folded and one knee up) is his pants falling apart, but that's not a focus right now.
"That's not being a bad person, that's being stupid. Assuming it was actually pride." Which he is wholly prepared to believe, actually, unlike 'bad person'.
"...Your thunder god is very different." Picturing Kord in either scenario is, alternately, hilarious and terrifying.
On the one hand, looming over the person you're arguing with is generally better. On the other hand it means he is staring directly down at Steve's bare thighs.
Okay. The pants were a mistake. He's big enough to admit that.
"How many people die before the line between 'bad' and 'stupid' gets too thin to matter?"
Steve doesn't have any issue being loomed over. He accommodates for his position on the floor by tilting his head back so he can continue to look Zerxus in the face, but that is about the extent of it. His hands even stay resting loosely on the floor.
If he'd noticed they were actually arguing he'd have crossed them over his chest. He probably wouldn't be sitting down, either.
(Yeah, this isn't an argument for him, at least not yet.)
"To stop mattering? It doesn't." It's a really confident statement, actually. "A guy who's got the stupidest bright idea I've ever heard because of his own trauma, but is doing it with sincere intent of protecting people doesn't get treated the same as somebody pushing it with every intention of killing millions in order to control them. Same consequences, either way, but different response. I don't trust guy one's judgement now. I'm gonna adjust how I treat him, what I let him know and how much damage he can do. Guy two? I'm going to do everything in my power to end."
A pause, then just: "It never stops mattering."
Edited (one extra word, ignorable (jesus I'm sorry I'm like this)) 2024-10-28 22:50 (UTC)
Meeting the Captain's gaze felt like a safer bet, and of course he was wrong again. He listens to that, and sees a conviction powerful enough to turn tides and withstand maelstroms.
Zerxus almost feels light-headed, for a second, before he takes a deep breath and tastes blood and ash again.
"It stops mattering here. That's why we need to get you out."
Steve meets Zerxus' eyes and what he sees? Is someone who has withstood literal hell. Not perfectly, not without (a lot of) personal cost, but a good man who is still trying to do the right thing.
"All right." Does he believe that's truly possible? He... isn't sure. Probably not, but not definitely not. Meanwhile: "I need you to listen to me and give it at least a ten count before you knee jerk react and tell me why I'm wrong. Can you give me that?"
He actually takes a second, because what he wants to say is something he needs to present a little less directly and thoroughly than is his natural inclination.
"Leverage that can be used against me is less dangerous than not caring at about anything. I need you to stop trying to... maintain distance and convince me you're terrible." Push Steve away, whatever this is.
"It's hell. Nothing left to lose isn't gonna work if the goal is protecting my soul."
Zerxus opens his mouth, before cutting himself off again - this time with a slight, ruefully pained smile.
Then, internally but obviously, he counts to ten. When he speaks, it comes out soft and strained. "You're right, that closing your heart is a bad idea." He sinks down himself, then, until he's kneeling across from Steve.
"But - you can't get too attached, either. You need to leave everything here behind. And you can't - you can't trust anyone, including me."
"Yeah." Just that, soft and rough and his eyes sliding slowly closed and staying that way. "Kind of an ongoing theme in my life. Leave everyone and everything. Don't trust anyone. Get up and back in the fight."
Fuck he is.... He can and will do this, harder and bigger and broader every time or not, he will, but damn he doesn't even want to get off the floor in this second, much less be thinking about the three options he sees for himself to go forward with here.
Or how the most right - or least wrong- one always seems to be the hardest one.
Then he gets his eyes open, rallies almost visibly and quirks a faint smile. "Not actively pushed away is good enough. I'm not gonna sacrifice my world or soul for you, no matter how attached I get and if I were dumb enough to 'trust' you the way you mean I'd be asking a lot more questions. I've got it." It. This. "You coming over here, now?" He gestures to, well, the spot on the floor beside him with his head, but also holds a hand out, palm up to Zerxus.
Keep going, no matter what; keep going because the alternative is worse.
Keep going, even though the world has moved forward without you and everyone you have ever loved is firmly beyond your reach.
It breaks his heart anew, to be encouraging the very thing that ultimately destroyed him, but what else can he do? Hell won't reunite the Captain with anyone he's lost, or give him any measure of peace. There's still a chance for that in his own world, however fleeting it feels.
So he's nodding, ready to push himself up and away, and then -
How is it that everything this man does catches him entirely off-guard? He hasn't felt this unsteady in decades.
"I..." Pulling away himself isn't the same as pushing someone away; it's the exact sort of meaningless bullshit that a devil would exploit.
Instead, he leans forward and clasps the Captain's hand.
Steve isn't sure Zerxus realizes how much... information about himself he's given Steve. How complete the picture he's painted has been. In what he's said, yeah, but also in Steve sees in between the words and in responses.
He can see the man inside the devil, and he has a pretty damn good idea of the broader strokes of his history. What he did. People he loved. Why he did it. What his life is now. The points they overlap and how strong that overlap is.
He is prepared for the argument that pulling away isn't the same as pushing away and in truth? Steve would have allowed it - at least for a while - and taken the technical win as a point to push with later. That the man has enough... bravery and of himself present to take Steve's hand adds a bit of... pride? to the smile.
He curls his fingers down so his grip is solidly there and pulls Zerxus forward and pretty much around, without letting go. And in fact making sure there's at least some contact between shoulders or knees.
Basically a physical guide in 'sit beside me' (on the floor) and isn't letting go. The heat of that hand should be oppressive for Steve, but it's not. The physical contact itself is more than worth it.
"I'm gonna need food, water, and a better idea about what day to day life here's going to be." That's not a demand for information right now, though he'll take it. "Right now... When are you back on patrol?"
Zerxus is not an easy man to pull, if he puts up any resistance at all; it's notable that he slides immediately into that spot, even leaning a little into Steve's side. Not much, just - enough to be felt.
"The first two won't be a problem." Devils don't truly need either, but Malsheem isn't lacking in pointed decadence. "Just let me check for poison or curses first."
Then he closes his eyes, and for a moment his hand feels even warmer.
"About an hour." It's enough time to get the Captain at least minimally situated, pull his armour back on and head back to Dis, but... "This is the safest place for you to be, right now, but that's - "
Good boy, Steve thinks, but is just smart enough to not stay when he feels the faint lean against him. He keeps his head tipped back, hand around Zerxus', breathing deep enough that every breath increases contact minutely, and slow enough to suggest complete calm. It also lets more heat sink into his skin, especially with lighter fabric.
"I was hoping the opulence would extend that far. You don't wanna know what my appetite looks like when it's compensating for any kind of healing or sleep deprivation." Both are already in play and he doesn't expect either one to go away.
Appetite's probably the wrong word given his very human response to the constant smell of blood. Close enough to 'need to eat', though and he's not going to start whining about anything, much less that minor.
"I'm not gonna go anywhere or start having conversations. My soul and I will both be here when you get back." That? Is a promise. It's pretty short term for now, but it's a promise.
It's a promise made in a realm that recognises oaths when they're spoken, and that means Zerxus can feel it too. It ought to inspire hope, but that's strangled almost immediately by fear, because if that oath was forcibly broken -
He will be here when you return.
Asmodeus lies all the time, but he doesn't break a contract and the difference is more subtle than most people realise. A mortal needs to see it plainly, and literally, to accept an offer properly.
For someone whose soul is already his - there's an echo to it, a cadence that Zerxus knows as well as his own heartbeat.
Thank you.
The devil isn't doing this for no reason - there's a catch or a cost - but right now? He's willing to just accept it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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(Has he laughed more in the past half hour than he has in decades? Yes. Is he doing his best not to think about that? Also yes.)
"I'd be fine with anything, but...let's find you something light."
Steve may notice another theme, as Zerxus leads him through the wardrobe. Decorating boots and gloves, linking clasps and lapel pins, cascading from belts and pockets and mantles - it's always chains.
It's notable, then, that Zerxus finds a shirt without that, and hands it off. "You can unlace that, if it's tight." It's hard to say which of them is broader in the shoulders.
He seems to be having a harder time with pants; the simplest also tend to be the sturdiest. Finally, he pulls out these, and looks over very sheepishly. "...I can keep looking."
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He's too busy thinking about what the number of chains on Zerxus's clothes represents, and what him avoiding them for Steve says about the character of the man. That even the most generous read on red implies violence, and all the implications of chains and pets and leashes.
He snorts at the pants, but takes them alongside the shirt. "I've worn more ridiculous and more revealing," carries a faint touch if dry humor. That USO costume covered his skin, and that was all it did.
He sets them aside immediately, bends down to unlace his boots. "And they're certainly well ventilated, though a heck of a contrast to what you were wearing when you picked me up."
When he stands up he immediately gets his collar undone, undoes the securing snap and unzips the suit - shoulder to knee. No shyness or hesitation, but he starts looking a little less sharp and more... mentally fatigued.
He's absolutely still in danger and aware of it, but is coming out of being battle ready. He doesn't really have a choice; no one can be that *on* all the time.
"Can you take care of getting the shirt loosened up for me while I handle this? We can adjust the fit once it's on me."
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Even that might have been easier to deal with if he didn't look so vulnerable doing it. It sets this moment leagues apart from any devil barracks he's staggered into.
All he can really manage is a low noise of affirmation before he starts tugging gently at the shirt's delicate laces. That definitely needs every bit of his focus, he's staring at it very intently.
Belatedly, very much to this fingers, "When I picked you up I was patrolling."
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Taking it off takes the time it takes. He is at least practiced at the process, and it's faster once he gets his arms out. The arms, however, take some doing.
He grunts in acknowledgement of that remark, because sleeves but: "Think that just means there's a heck of a lot of contrast in your life, too." Says the man who's finally gotten the hard part done and is peeling off tactical gear and pulling on those pants.
He feels kind of vulnerable, but not because he's letting himself feel tired. The vulnerable there is way more to do with the thigh to ankle exposure of his legs. It's still a physical relief. "If patrolling is a thing you regularly do, anyway."
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"He wanted a weapon to wield." That's what a champion is, in the end. Some gods care more about personal autonomy than others, but ultimately you're an extension of divine will. "That war is over, now, but he's not one to waste resources. Most of what I do is violent; these clothes are for...downtime. Or diplomacy, if he wants a laugh." There was a time when Zerxus could persuade and inspire allies, but it sure wasn't in the Hells.
He can hear it, when Steve finally wrestles the suit off and slips the pants on, and he does need to hand over that shirt, so -
"...They fit. Good." He'll just. Lightly toss the shirt over.
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It also won't make him not take a second to picture Zerxus in this outfit. The conversation stops him being a little flustered, but not much else would have.
"I won't pretend to really understand," he says, but says with compassion. He's always aware of at least most of his points of serious privilege and advantage and where he got lucky in other ways. Still having his soul is a really, really broad one and it's only the start here. "Broad strokes, at best, for some parts of it."
He grabs his suit off the floor and takes it to put over an arm chair, and moves his shield out of the way to lean against the wall. Stops talking and looks at it for a moment, then shakes his head very slightly to refocus his attention to here.
"That military experiment was one particular war. That war ended, fighting didn't. Neither did the occasional attempts to use the... image. Much softer application. I sure as heck wasn't doing it in hell and alone." That's pointed. He is not mentioning his soul, thanks.
But the more he sees? The more he feels for the man, the more he wants to help and the more he realizes that there's a tactical problem they're both walking into with this-- and he's not going to stop.
no subject
There were already things he was desperately grappling with - chief among them the writhing twist of desire-shame of seeing someone else in the clothes Asmodeus conjured for him - and now he's confronted with impossibly sincere compassion, empathy, pity -
Stop it.
Are you so certain that was me?
It doesn't matter, he needs to stop this before it gets out of hand. His expression shutters on that stark, yearning vulnerability because whatever he's grasping for, he doesn't deserve it - not from anyone, certainly not from a lost soldier from another world who needs to get the fuck out of here.
"After you fought, they used your image for their own ends. But the war itself - you said you volunteered. You believed in it, what you were fighting for?"
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He's somewhat distracted by the... math he's doing on the situation here. Compassion is a variable, but it isn't the only one.
He comes back to more full attention and focus on Zerxus immediately, because he fucking hates that question just as immediately and more so in light of the abrupt way Zerxus' expression shutters. The look that comes with it is damn close to the one that came with 'pick up your damn gauntlets'.
"That question has an ulterior motive and I'm not answering it until you tell me why you're asking it." Which is maybe a weird response given that it's the first thing he's dug his heels on, but he suspects this is about to be a deflection -- or a sideways attack. Probably deflection. He'll deal with it if it is, but he's damn well not doing it without an admission.
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"Oh, now you act like you're dealing with a devil." A moment ago his voice was as solid and featureless as polished stone; now that wry warmth is back.
It's like this man was tailor-made to slip through the cracks of every wall he builds and it's getting very frustrating.
He can at least cross his arms; not the best barrier, but it's something.
"The motive is contrast. There are things about me that I really need you to understand."
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Good job on coming back to yourself, at least in vocal tone, though.
"No, it's not. The motive is for you to be given an opportunity to explain to me that you're a bad person because you sold your soul to the devil and do bad things, and to control my perception of you. We're not doing that - and we sure as shit aren't doing it using my actions with free will to yours without it."
He will argue with you. Something about situations going south and not being able to ignore them. Light him on fire, okay, but he's not handing his actions over as a tool for self-flagellation.
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None of this should be happening, he never should have been this selfish.
"I'm not a bad person for selling my soul." Desperate times, desperate measures. "I'm a bad person because my brother gave me an escape clause with his last breath, and I was too proud to take it."
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He looks around the space they're in and after he puts his boots beside his shield just... sits the fuck down. It's been a long day, and this conversation doesn't need to continue to happen upright. The consequence of his position (one leg folded and one knee up) is his pants falling apart, but that's not a focus right now.
"That's not being a bad person, that's being stupid. Assuming it was actually pride." Which he is wholly prepared to believe, actually, unlike 'bad person'.
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On the one hand, looming over the person you're arguing with is generally better. On the other hand it means he is staring directly down at Steve's bare thighs.
Okay. The pants were a mistake. He's big enough to admit that.
"How many people die before the line between 'bad' and 'stupid' gets too thin to matter?"
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If he'd noticed they were actually arguing he'd have crossed them over his chest. He probably wouldn't be sitting down, either.
(Yeah, this isn't an argument for him, at least not yet.)
"To stop mattering? It doesn't." It's a really confident statement, actually. "A guy who's got the stupidest bright idea I've ever heard because of his own trauma, but is doing it with sincere intent of protecting people doesn't get treated the same as somebody pushing it with every intention of killing millions in order to control them. Same consequences, either way, but different response. I don't trust guy one's judgement now. I'm gonna adjust how I treat him, what I let him know and how much damage he can do. Guy two? I'm going to do everything in my power to end."
A pause, then just: "It never stops mattering."
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Zerxus almost feels light-headed, for a second, before he takes a deep breath and tastes blood and ash again.
"It stops mattering here. That's why we need to get you out."
He won't see faith like that crushed.
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"All right." Does he believe that's truly possible? He... isn't sure. Probably not, but not definitely not. Meanwhile: "I need you to listen to me and give it at least a ten count before you knee jerk react and tell me why I'm wrong. Can you give me that?"
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"Ten." It's fitting; one above nine, and the date of a holiday that no one remembers.
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"Leverage that can be used against me is less dangerous than not caring at about anything. I need you to stop trying to... maintain distance and convince me you're terrible." Push Steve away, whatever this is.
"It's hell. Nothing left to lose isn't gonna work if the goal is protecting my soul."
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Then, internally but obviously, he counts to ten. When he speaks, it comes out soft and strained. "You're right, that closing your heart is a bad idea." He sinks down himself, then, until he's kneeling across from Steve.
"But - you can't get too attached, either. You need to leave everything here behind. And you can't - you can't trust anyone, including me."
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Fuck he is.... He can and will do this, harder and bigger and broader every time or not, he will, but damn he doesn't even want to get off the floor in this second, much less be thinking about the three options he sees for himself to go forward with here.
Or how the most right - or least wrong- one always seems to be the hardest one.
Then he gets his eyes open, rallies almost visibly and quirks a faint smile. "Not actively pushed away is good enough. I'm not gonna sacrifice my world or soul for you, no matter how attached I get and if I were dumb enough to 'trust' you the way you mean I'd be asking a lot more questions. I've got it." It. This. "You coming over here, now?" He gestures to, well, the spot on the floor beside him with his head, but also holds a hand out, palm up to Zerxus.
His turn to establish contact.
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Keep going, even though the world has moved forward without you and everyone you have ever loved is firmly beyond your reach.
It breaks his heart anew, to be encouraging the very thing that ultimately destroyed him, but what else can he do? Hell won't reunite the Captain with anyone he's lost, or give him any measure of peace. There's still a chance for that in his own world, however fleeting it feels.
So he's nodding, ready to push himself up and away, and then -
How is it that everything this man does catches him entirely off-guard? He hasn't felt this unsteady in decades.
"I..." Pulling away himself isn't the same as pushing someone away; it's the exact sort of meaningless bullshit that a devil would exploit.
Instead, he leans forward and clasps the Captain's hand.
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He can see the man inside the devil, and he has a pretty damn good idea of the broader strokes of his history. What he did. People he loved. Why he did it. What his life is now. The points they overlap and how strong that overlap is.
He is prepared for the argument that pulling away isn't the same as pushing away and in truth? Steve would have allowed it - at least for a while - and taken the technical win as a point to push with later. That the man has enough... bravery and of himself present to take Steve's hand adds a bit of... pride? to the smile.
He curls his fingers down so his grip is solidly there and pulls Zerxus forward and pretty much around, without letting go. And in fact making sure there's at least some contact between shoulders or knees.
Basically a physical guide in 'sit beside me' (on the floor) and isn't letting go. The heat of that hand should be oppressive for Steve, but it's not. The physical contact itself is more than worth it.
"I'm gonna need food, water, and a better idea about what day to day life here's going to be." That's not a demand for information right now, though he'll take it. "Right now... When are you back on patrol?"
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"The first two won't be a problem." Devils don't truly need either, but Malsheem isn't lacking in pointed decadence. "Just let me check for poison or curses first."
Then he closes his eyes, and for a moment his hand feels even warmer.
"About an hour." It's enough time to get the Captain at least minimally situated, pull his armour back on and head back to Dis, but... "This is the safest place for you to be, right now, but that's - "
Judging on a curve, let's say.
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"I was hoping the opulence would extend that far. You don't wanna know what my appetite looks like when it's compensating for any kind of healing or sleep deprivation." Both are already in play and he doesn't expect either one to go away.
Appetite's probably the wrong word given his very human response to the constant smell of blood. Close enough to 'need to eat', though and he's not going to start whining about anything, much less that minor.
"I'm not gonna go anywhere or start having conversations. My soul and I will both be here when you get back." That? Is a promise. It's pretty short term for now, but it's a promise.
Steve... doesn't break those.
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He will be here when you return.
Asmodeus lies all the time, but he doesn't break a contract and the difference is more subtle than most people realise. A mortal needs to see it plainly, and literally, to accept an offer properly.
For someone whose soul is already his - there's an echo to it, a cadence that Zerxus knows as well as his own heartbeat.
Thank you.
The devil isn't doing this for no reason - there's a catch or a cost - but right now? He's willing to just accept it.
"Let's get you that food."
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