Chapter Text
There was one last physical check, before Zolf could open the cell. This was the point, Oscar thought, his fingers on the buttons of his shirt, when it would all fall apart. This was where his grip on his sense of self faltered, when the first of the blue veins would spread across his skin.
But there was no hiss of indrawn breath from Zolf, no sudden sound of him turning away, no murmurs of concern or distress as he carried out his inspection and when Oscar turned back, Zolf was smiling at him.
“Told you you were fine,” he said, his voice cracking. He coughed a little, then turned to get the keys to the cell from their hook by the side of the stairwell. “Put your kit back on Oscar, you’re a free man.”
Oscar swallowed, then did as he was told, pulling his boots on just as Zolf slid the key into the lock. Oscar watched, feeling more than ever as though there were ants crawling under his skin, as though there was something they’d forgotten, some reason why this wasn’t going to work, that he’d have to stay, that Zolf would have to leave. Something was going to change when he stepped out of the confines of the cell he’d been in for the last seven days, something was going to break, or mend or some inconceivable confluence of the two.
The door swung open and Zolf held out a hand. Oscar swallowed again. “You’re sure?”
“Protocol’s been followed, Oscar,” he said, calmly, softly, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “Unless you really like it in there?”
“Company’s been quite nice,” Oscar said, with a small, nervous laugh.
Zolf made a beckoning motion with his hand, tilting his head, catching Oscar’s eyes with his and smiling, and the smile was so fond, so exasperated, so Zolf that Oscar felt tears pricking at the edges of his eyes. “Come on, Oscar. It’s all right.”
He reached out and grasped Zolf’s hand, felt Zolf tug him forward, gently, as though he was leading a blind person, as though Oscar was made of glass, as though Oscar was the most precious thing he’d ever touched. Zolf’s hand was warm and calloused and Oscar laced his fingers with Zolf’s without thinking, breath catching in his throat as Zolf pulled him forwards into a hug, wrapping both his arms around Oscar’s middle.
Zolf was solid and warm and his hair tickled the skin at Oscar’s throat and Oscar could feel the puff of his breath against his shirt and the curve of his lips in a smile even as his face was awkwardly smushed into what Oscar realised was probably a shirt that didn’t smell too great at the moment.
“You’re okay,” Zolf said, voice muffled by said shirt, and Oscar’s arms tightened around his shoulders. The hug was going on too long. He knew that intellectually he needed to step away, but the sheer comfort of Zolf in his arms was going to his head like strong drink and he felt almost like he had in the fever, hot and cold and weak at the knees. He could feel Zolf start to chuckle and Oscar shut his eyes and held on tighter for a moment, daring to press his lips to the top of Zolf’s head. Zolf smelt like woodsmoke and teriyaki sauce and sandalwood soap and safety and Oscar wanted to bury himself in that smell and never come out again.
Zolf made a small, contented noise, and his fingers splayed on Oscar’s back, pressing a little as though he wanted Oscar to come even closer. As though he were getting as much out of this contact as Oscar, touch starved and desperate as he was. He should step away. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to do this, wasn’t going to hurt Zolf, let himself want something he shouldn’t and he needed to stop .
He couldn’t bring himself to move, and Zolf’s arms around him did not loosen.
Time had meant too much for two long, Oscar realised, and now he was losing his understanding of it, because he couldn't have begun to guess how long it was before Zolf tilted his head to look up into Oscar’s eyes. There was a question there, one that Oscar knew they’d been asking each other for far longer than these seven days. It was a question that had gone unanswered, because the world was falling to pieces, because there wasn’t time, because neither of them knew what the next day would bring or whether it would even come.
Oscar dipped his head forward, done with unanswered questions.
Zolf brought up one hand to cup the back of Oscar’s neck, half for support and half to bring Oscar closer. It really was a stupid amount of distance, for Oscar to reach Zolf’s lips with his, for him to sigh with relief that he could finally acknowledge this was what he needed.
Zolf gave a small hmph of approval and rocked upwards, pressing himself closer. Oscar followed his lead, deepening the kiss and gently backing Zolf up against a wall, careful of his legs, supporting him as best he could with one hand on the small of Zolf’s back and the other threading through Zolf’s hair.
The kiss was an acknowledgement. An answer. An apology. It was a lot more than that, Oscar thought, with the small part of his brain capable at the present, the small part that wasn’t completely swallowed up by the rough feel of Zolf’s beard against his skin and the soft slide of his lips.
He didn’t know how long it was before they broke apart, (time again, without meaning). Oscar let out a long breath, the tension leaking out of him so much that he let his head rest on the wall above Zolf, who was looking up at him, eyes bright, lips still moist, mouth crooked at the corner in what was an altogether too knowing grin.
Zolfs hands still rested on Oscar’s hips and Oscar was entirely too distracted by the gentle weight of them, but there were things he had to say, things that were important, and he wasn’t allowed to not articulate them. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with that,” he said.
“Mmm,” Zolf said, eyes crinkling at the edges. “ I thought it was common knowledge that all sailors love a good snog.”
Oscar snorted. “Yes. Well. Consider yourself privileged to have experienced one of the best.”
Zolf pretended to consider it and Oscar let out a soft laugh, reaching up to smooth one hand through the hair at Zolf’s temple. Zolf’s eyes fluttered shut and it was all Oscar could do not to kiss him again, cup his face in his hands and never let go. Focus, Oscar. “I meant that… what with my... reputation and your stated preferences…”
“I’m not about to bang you on the floor of the cell,” Zolf said, and Oscar laughed again. “Not this cell any way. I’d like at least full use of my legs before we… explore the extent of our compatibilities.”
Oscar straightened more and tried to step back, but Zolf’s hands slid down his forearms to hold Oscar’s hands, stopping him. “It isn’t a good time for this,” Oscar said.
Zolf shook his head, thumbs gently rubbing back and forth over Oscar’s hands. “No,” he said. “It really isn’t.”
“I shouldn’t have put that pressure on you.”
Zolf shrugged. “To be fair, it isn’t a one sided thing. And don’t look like that, I’m old enough and ugly enough to tell someone to back off if I don’t want their attention. I don’t kiss people out of pity.”
“Not even when they’re pitiful?” Oscar asked, and Zolf punched him lightly in the stomach. Oscar smiled, lopsidedly, then reached up to cup Zolf’s cheek, brushing his thumb over the cheekbone. “We’ve got a job to do,” he said.
Zolf covered Oscar’s hand with his and pressed his lips to Oscar’s palm. “Mission comes first,” he said, voice low and soft.
Oscar nodded. Leaned down to kiss Zolf again, and Zolf smiled against Oscar’s lips and Zolf wound his hand in Oscar’s shirt and Zolf let him forget, for a moment, that there wasn’t time for this.
That was fine.
###
The Disciple
by Oscar Wilde
When Narcissus died the pool of his pleasure changed from a cup of sweet waters into a cup of salt tears, and the Oreads came weeping through the woodland that they might sing to the pool and give it comfort.
And when they saw that the pool had changed from a cup of sweet waters into a cup of salt tears, they loosened the green tresses of their hair and cried to the pool and said, 'We do not wonder that you should mourn in this manner for Narcissus, so beautiful was he.'
'But was Narcissus beautiful?' said the pool.
'Who should know that better than you?' answered the Oreads. 'Us did he ever pass by, but you he sought for, and would lie on your banks and look down at you, and in the mirror of your waters he would mirror his own beauty.'
And the pool answered, 'But I loved Narcissus because, as he lay on my banks and looked down at me, in the mirror of his eyes I saw ever my own beauty mirrored.'