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It has been so many years since Oscar had someone to rely on for comfort. So many long, lonely years since he could reach out a hand and have it reliably caught by someone he trusted.
He thought that Zolf would be that person. Right up until they fixed the state of this damnable world he was sure of it.
And, well.
Being wrong about that hurt. More than he’d ever admit to anyone.
However, just as surely as life can kick you in the face when you’re already down, sometimes it manages to surprise even Oscar Wilde.
It’s been three months since Zolf came home. Came home to him.
And every day Oscar can feel the barriers he’s been slowly building around his heart in the years that have passed since the fateful day Zolf left him start to shake.
Start to tremble.
This morning Zolf made him yet another delicious breakfast. Something warm and filling that gives Oscar’s mind something to work with, something to tackle all of the missives that are piling up on his desk without his permission. Something to help his creativity shine once more.
(His trousers are starting to feel tight around his waist and he can’t find it within himself to be anything other than quietly thrilled about it.)
Along with his own improving mood, Zolf’s starting to smile more. To tease him a little. There’s still a hesitancy in his eyes but he chuckles at Oscar’s lewd innuendos and blushes so handsomely that it hardly matters, really.
Oscar’s finally feeling seen, like he had in Japan. It’s empowering.
It’s terrifying.
“Hey.”
Oscar’s head snaps up from staring into his tea, hands tight around the cup to ward off the autumn chill in the air of his apartment. “Hm?”
“Yer head’s elsewhere.” Zolf says, smiling softly at him. If anyone understands being lost in thought, it’s surely the man next to him. “Wondered if you wanted to talk about it?”
There’s a flare of something inside him that says no, keep it secret, pretend it’s nothing. But he’s always been honest with Zolf. He’s always been able to be honest with Zolf.
“I was thinking…” He starts, not entirely sure where he's going to end up. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Zolf’s smile widens. “Yeah? Glad I’m here too.”
“But.” He says, and Zolf’s smile flickers. Like he knew there’d be a but. Like he knew nothing between them could be that simple. “I… I fear I have forgotten how to be vulnerable. And I don’t want that. So I need to tell you…”
He trails off, words failing him when he needs them most. How typical.
Without speaking, Zolf reaches out and pulls Oscar’s hand away from its grip on the mug, squeezing tight.
“Oh.” Oscar breathes, his body lighting up with sensation. Familiarity. Want. “Zolf.”
His love’s voice is rough when he speaks again, leaning in expectantly. “Yeah?”
“I… I can’t remember the last time someone touched me.”
Zolf’s face crumples a bit as his fingers tighten around Oscar’s. “Love. I didn’t… fuck, didn’t know. Didn’t realise how much you needed it.”
“Neither did I, is the thing.” Oscar murmurs. He takes a fortifying sip of his tea, and pushes on. “I went so many years without it. And then you appeared and turned my entire world upside down with gentle affection, when I was wrapped up in the fear of being touched by anyone.”
“And then I left.” Zolf says, obviously upset in a way that makes it just that little bit worse.
“Yes, darling. And then you left.”
“Shit.”
Oscar laughs, sliding his fingers between Zolf’s and allowing the quiet peace that comes from feeling warm skin against his own. “Darling. We are neither of us perfect. I have little interest in making you feel bad. All I want is to enjoy the here and now, with you. And let you know that… well. I wouldn’t be averse to an embrace or two, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Zolf scoffs. “If I wouldn’t mind, he says.”
Oscar watches as Zolf pushes back from the table, moving his chair closer to Oscar. He holds out his strong, strong arms and Oscar is entirely unable to resist the urge to crumple into him, sagging against his strong chest and making a quietly desperate sound as Zolf holds him close.
He’s not entirely surprised the tears come, but they are quiet, unobtrusive, wetting the front of Zolf’s shirt as he remains steadfast in the face of Oscar’s grief. It is easy to lose time as his emotions regulate, his body settling into feeling positive stimuli for the first time in far too long.
He centres his breathing, counts Zolf’s heartbeats and allows everything else to flood away.
When he sits back, Zolf cups his cheeks, warm thumbs swiping away the lingering wetness on his cheeks without bringing any attention to it. Oscar’s smile is a trembling thing, but more genuine than any for some time.
“Any time, alright?” Zolf asks. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Alright, Zolf.” Oscar gives a soft nod. “I promise.”
#
He’s not overly surprised that Zolf keeps his word. There’s a certainty to him now, a solidity.
He’s also even less surprised that it escalates rather swiftly after his honest admittance of his needs.
By the end of the week they are sharing sweet kisses before and after the embraces that Zolf offers, and within not too many days past that, Zolf’s eyes sparkle with every inch that Oscar’s hands start to roam.
“Y’re gonna make me think this isn’t just about comfort.”
“What’s more comfortable than touching all of the man I love?” Oscar hums. “If you want me to stop…”
Zolf smirks, doesn’t step away. “I didn’t say that, love.”
He thrills at the simplicity of having Zolf nearby. Within reach. Resting his head on Zolf’s shoulder, he hums and shifts his weight in his chair, feeling the happy tingling of satisfaction rush through him.
“Alright, got dinner to make.” Zolf says, and even as Oscar makes a playfully displeased noise and grabs at him, Zolf moves away and out of the room.
“Cruel, cruel man.” Oscar calls, with a laugh in his voice, imagining the rude gesture that he’s sure Zolf is throwing his way.
His heart is light for the rest of the day.
A good omen, he dares to hope.
#
“Love?”
Oscar looks up from his dinner (delicious, though it goes without saying) to find Zolf looking a little nervous, fingers drumming on the table in a rhythm that Oscar faintly recognises as an old sailor’s song.
“Yes, darling?”
“I was uh.” Zolf pushes on, finally making eye contact. They’re both so much braver than they were. “I was wondering. Might be nice to move into your bedroom. You know. To help with the nightmares and shit.”
Oscar’s heart does a silly little pitter-patter. “Of course, darling, the nightmares.”
He doesn’t point out that neither of them have suffered such a fate since Zolf moved back. It’s been weeks and months of quiet, good rest. Oscar is so grateful for them, but will throw every single one of those nights under the nearest carriage if it means he gets Zolf back in his bed.
Zolf hesitates for a moment, like he wants to continue the farce, like he really needs Oscar to believe he's blushing and nervous because he doesn't know his offer will be received. And not - Oscar dares to hope - because he has other, nefarious, intentions.
“Is that a yes?”
Oscar nods, returns to his meal with an air of detachment that he knows will make Zolf feel more at ease, even if he'd rather shout his joy from the rooftops.
“It's a yes, darling. A hearty, enthusiastic yes.”
He puts a little purr behind the word, eyes heavy with intent when he glances across the table at his love.
Zolf's cheeks flame as he looks away and scrubs at his mouth to hide a smirk. “Alright. Let’s clear up here and we can move stuff in?”
Oscar does his very best not to rush the rest of his meal, not wanting to be uncomfortably full and hiccuping as they take on the task that he’s been breathlessly hoping for for weeks now. He sips lazily at his wine as Zolf’s fingers thoughtlessly stroke his forearm and allows how content he is to flood over him through every single point of contact between them.
He does, however, use a sprinkling of magic to clean the plates and stack everything nicely in the middle of the table once more, Zolf rolling his eyes but deciding not to comment on his cutting corners. Oscar still grins to himself when Zolf turns away and moves quickly out of the room, knowing quite how impatient that must mean Zolf is in turn.
There’s very little to gather out of Zolf’s room, in the end. Oscar’s responsible for a pile of books and his bedpan balanced on top, Zolf carrying a blanket and a pile of sleep clothes on his lap, along with his reading glasses and prostheses. Oscar makes a mental note to get on that commission for Zolf sooner rather than later - he deserves the choice to use something better than the ones he punished himself with on his travels.
Waltzing into his bedroom, Oscar doesn’t stop to think about the fact that Zolf has never, actually, been in here. Even on the nights when they did fall into one another when Zolf visited, Oscar always came to him.
Oscar sets his little pile down on the side of the bed that he knows Zolf favours (that he has found himself naturally rarely straying into) and turns around to find Zolf in the doorway, blinking at the scene laid out before him.
“What is it, darling?”
Zolf smirks a bit, shakes his head. “Dunno. It’s uh. Very you.”
Oscar pouts, sits down heavily on the bed. “What does that mean?”
Zolf moves a little further in, sets the items down on the warm blanket that’s folded over the end of the bed. He looks around, taking in the large mirror over the fireplace, the thick, warm drapes, the dark wood furniture and the little vanity that is still littered with products that Oscar finds himself only using on special occasions.
It’s nice in here. Smells sweet, with an undercurrent of musk that he added since missing Zolf. It’s dark, luxurious, a little indulgent and he’s not ashamed of it, even if Zolf wants to make fun of him for it.
“It means it feels like you, love. It’s just a bit uh… more than I was expecting. Don’t forget I’ve been squatting in people’s spare rooms for years.” Zolf reaches out for Oscar’s hand. “It fits you. Seems comfortable. Like I’d sleep well in here.”
“You know I like a dark room.” Oscar says, airily, feeling like the words aren’t consciously being spoken.
Zolf nods. “I do at that. Might haveta compromise when we move out of here, though - you alright with that?”
“Anything.” Oscar speaks too quickly. Too obviously. He doesn’t care. “Anything for you, my love.”
Zolf pats his hand, a little awkward. Wheels back from the bed and looks around the room, spotting the ensuite door and tutting. “Bet you got a nicer bath than the one in the other room ain’t ya?”
Oscar chuckles, tipping his head in acquiescence. “It might be part of the reason I rented here in the first place.”
He watches as Zolf takes himself over to the room, pushing the door open and letting out a quiet oath at the sight that awaits him, just as ostentatious as the bedroom, all dark marble and gilding.
“Who lived here before? A vampire?”
Oscar laughs, hearing the sound of water starting to fill the bathtub. With entirely unnecessary haste, he gets up, starts to strip off his clothing and fold them up on a chair. He grabs a robe from a hook on the back of the door, fastens it slightly too open at the chest and checks his reflection in the mirror, fluffing his hair and pinching his cheeks to bring about a rosy glow.
Then he slinks to the doorway, leans up against the frame and waits for Zolf to notice him.
“Who’s to say there isn’t one living here now?” He murmurs, watching Zolf’s gaze turn dark and appreciative.
Then the bastard laughs, swatting at him and turning away once more. “Fussy bugger.”
Oscar’s shoulders sag, but he can’t help but smile. “You are terrible for my ego, darling.”
“Good.” Zolf calls over his shoulder, starting to pull off his shirt. “Won’t do you any harm.”
It is a compelling sight, to watch Zolf Smith strip himself down to bare skin. One that Oscar can’t quite believe he might get to see every day, forever, until they are old and tired and still very much in love. He watches the muscles in Zolf’s back move as he works at his belt, pushes up to ease his trousers down, leaving him nude in his chair.
Is it strange to be envious of an inanimate object?
“Stop starin’ and choose something to go in the water.” Zolf says, without even looking.
Oh, what it is to be known.
He does as he’s asked, which he thinks shows great restraint when all he wants to do is plaster himself to the broad expanse of Zolf’s back and soak in his body heat. And by the time the room smells like vanilla and lavender, he’s calmed down enough to climb into the bath at Zolf’s behest.
He steadies his love when Zolf moves to ease onto the edge of the bath, smiling in quiet delight as he gets his wish regardless - all of Zolf, right up against him with no nefarious intent in mind.
Well. Only a little.
With Zolf’s request to share his bed it feels as if the final of Oscar’s barriers has fallen away. He finds it easy to chat about mundanity, and even easier to just exist, expecting nothing from Zolf other than the pleasure of his lover’s company, and the implicit understanding of his needs.
“Alright, love?” Zolf asks eventually, perhaps as confused by the lack of wandering hands as Oscar himself is.
It hadn’t seemed necessary.
“More than you know, darling.”
They make it out of the bath, sleepy and soft, Zolf yawning heartily as they shuffle on through to the bedroom. Usually, they would share a pot of tea in the living room before retiring to their beds, but tonight there’s a lingering feeling in the air between them that has Oscar drying them both off with a little magic and crawling into his side of the bed.
He watches Zolf join him, lip caught between his teeth to stifle a brilliant grin at the simple pleasure of it, covers pulled up to his chin. He waits as Zolf shuffles about a bit to get comfortable (muttering something about how soft the bed is to himself) and then gives an appraising look to his pile of books.
Thinking better of it, he switches off the lamp and lies down properly, and then looks over to Oscar, lifting an arm in invitation.
There’s not a moment’s hesitation. Oscar moves over to rest his head on Zolf's chest, feels Zolf’s arm come around him, warm palm settling on his waist. He smiles, rubs his face against Zolf’s chest hair like a cat and indulges in the fancy that surely nothing can ever go wrong again.
He expects to fall asleep near instantly, given how relaxed and at peace he feels.
Foolish, perhaps, that he hadn’t reckoned on his libido flaring to life instead.
He stays very still as his cock starts to fill out against Zolf’s thigh, despite his urge to rut forward against the strong muscle and get some relief from the ache of it. He’s still polite, even if his cock isn’t.
He wonders if Zolf might be asleep, might not notice, until:
“Oscar.”
Oscar flushes, doesn’t look up in the darkness because he knows Zolf will see it. “What is it, my love?”
Zolf’s voice isn’t sleepy either, which makes Oscar feel uncommonly bold. “Five minutes ago you were falling asleep on your feet.”
“Yes, well. Five minutes ago we weren’t cuddled up in bed, bare skin to bare skin.” He sniffs. “Are you opposed?”
Zolf hums, reaches for Oscar’s hand and draws it down, over his belly, down to where his cock is thickening against the weight of his balls. Oscar moans, does look up now, finds Zolf’s eyes sparkling in the darkness.
“Wouldn’t say that, love.”
They move as one, Zolf pulling Oscar on top of him at the same time as Oscar pushes up, eager for more now that he knows they’re on the same page. He leans over to switch on the lamp again, not wanting to be the odd one out, only to find himself transfixed at how the warm glow makes Zolf’s skin practically golden, all of his time outside giving him a beautiful tan that contrasts so nicely with the paleness of Oscar’s skin.
He settles his weight more surely on top of Zolf, feels the thickness of his cock and moves against it, slow, steady. For as much as he would love to get himself opened up, stretched and slick and desperate, he can already tell that much effort is beyond them tonight.
Instead, they can have this pantomime of the full act, his cock rutting against the curve of Zolf’s belly with each rock of his hips.
Zolf stares up at him, eyes wide and unblinking, cheeks flushed, lips parted as he pants softly. His hands settle on Oscar’s hips, hold him down for a moment to grind up and Oscar tips his head back with a broken moan. How beautiful it is, to be held. To be touched. To be known.
“Gods.” Zolf breathes. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Likewise, my love.” Oscar whines, shifting more solidly against the heat of Zolf’s body. “There is nothing more wonderful than the sight of you beneath me.” He grins, cocks his head to the side. “Except, perhaps, the sight of you above me.”
It steals a beautiful laugh from his love, earns him a tightening of the fingers on his hips. Perhaps he’ll have bruises tomorrow. A marker that he was here. That he was touched.
“‘Nother time.” Zolf grinds out, hips rocking back up into every one of Oscar’s thrusts. “This is perfect.”
“Isn’t it?” Oscar grins, feels a little wild with it. “Gods, isn’t it, Zolf?”
He loves to chatter. To talk through their encounters until Zolf chases too many moans and sighs from him to continue. But tonight feels almost sacred, like the silence that settles around them is a part of their fucking, a part of them reconnecting in this way.
He skates his fingers all over Zolf as they move together, feeling the heft of his belly, the weight of his tits, the rings that hang heavy in his nipples. Oscar is greed personified and has little care for it, not when Zolf’s looking at him like he’s the most beloved thing in this world and the next.
“Love.” Zolf breathes. “Wanna feel you.”
Oscar nods, slips down to sit over Zolf’s thighs and pulls their cocks into his grip, sliding together, slick and hot. His fingers cannot meet around the two of them, a fact that never fails to make his head spin. He grins, twists his grip, watches a bead of slick drip down his head and onto Zolf’s and shudders at the simple obscenity of the image.
“My love, I’m so very close.” He breathes. “Are… are you? Please, Zolf.”
Zolf groans, throbbing within Oscar’s hold. “Yeah, love. Go on.”
Oscar comes hard, cock spilling over his fingers, over Zolf’s cock, making the sort of mess of them both that has kept him warm at night imagining on the days where Zolf wasn’t at his side.
Zolf digs strong fingers into his thighs and comes too, always less of a showman than Oscar but no less lovely for it. Oscar works them both through it until Zolf pushes at his forearm and curses, twisting in the sort of overstimulation that Oscar will inspire in him again, and again, and ag—.
“Fuck.” Zolf groans, arching a bit at the caress of Oscar’s magic across their skin, sweeping away the mess before they can get it all over their (their!) bed. “Swear I didn’t suggest I move in here for this.”
Oscar chuckles, flopping down onto his back and stretching luxuriously. “I know, my love. Though I can’t claim to have had entirely innocent thoughts about the prospect of you here next to me.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less of you.” Zolf says, so fond that Oscar can’t resist the urge to kiss him, properly, like he should have done before they started this glorious stolen moment.
He settles back into place with his head on Zolf’s chest, leaning with him when he moves to switch the light back off. He yawns, stifles it in the back of his hand and smiles brightly to himself when it inspires the same in Zolf.
“You gonna be able to keep your cock to yourself this time?”
Oscar snorts. “I think I’ll manage, darling. You know a good orgasm always tires me out.”
Zolf dips his chin and presses a tender kiss to the top of Oscar’s head. “That I do. Glad I’m back to help you get ‘em.”
Oscar spreads his fingers wide over Zolf’s belly, feels how alive and warm he is, and smiles.
“As am I my love. As am I.”