Chapter Text
Wilde lets him out of the cell free and clear on the seventh day, and they just stand there staring at each other for a moment without the bars between them. Wilde looks almost shy, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands all of a sudden, and Zolf doesn’t really know either. He sits down to get his metal legs back on, and fuck if that ain’t a relief, and Wilde just watches, hovering awkwardly.
Zolf feels it too, obviously, that nervous energy, the what next that comes after everything’s out in the open and there aren’t any barriers left. He also feels filthy and desperate for warm, substantial food, and like he wants to lie down in an actually decent bed for a very long time, so if Wilde isn’t feeling up to making any sudden movements on whatever’s going on between them, Zolf isn’t gonna push it.
He gets back up, glad to be on responsive legs. “I’m gonna take a bath,” he says, and Wilde blinks, brow furrowing, like Zolf just woke him up from a dream.
“Oh,” Wilde says. “Right. Of course.”
“You can join me,” Zolf says--mumbles--shrugging one shoulder. “Y’know. If you’d like.”
“I would , actually,” Wilde says, a grin that he’s obviously not quite in control of spreading across and contorting his face. “Lead the way.”
He follows Zolf out to the baths, politely averts his gaze as Zolf ferociously strips, ready to be out of those clothes for a good while, and waits for Zolf to get in and sink comfortably into and then all the way under the water before starting to unbutton his shirt, slowly and with a great deal of care. Wilde has regard for his things in a way Zolf never quite learned--he flashes back to chucking his trident, ostensibly his most important possession, straight into the ocean. Objects don’t matter much to him. Wilde isn’t overly materialistic, not anymore, at least, just careful with nice things. Nothin’ wrong with that.
In the warm water, relief sinking into his skin from getting through the tense, jittery stress of the last week, Zolf reaches for his god. He feels it reach back, a searing-hot and calming embrace, as Wilde slides into the water.
He holds his hair up with a hand, careful not to get it wet, hugging his knees to his chest and regarding Zolf. Zolf stares back, suddenly very aware of the short distance between them. He doesn’t quite know how to close it the way he would really like to, so instead he splashes Wilde, aiming for the hair. He gets the ends of it wet, and Wilde sputters indignantly in protest.
“Are you a child ?” Wilde snaps, clearly joking if the way his eyes dance is anything to go on. “My hair is my pride , Zolf Smith, and I know you can’t relate to that--” He gestures vaguely at Zolf’s hair. “--but some of us have standards.”
“What are you gonna do about it?” Zolf asks, splashing Wilde more violently. The wave catches him full in the face this time, and he spits water back out.
“ You ,” Wilde growls, lunging the distance between them, knees on the floor of the bath between Zolf’s legs.
“What about me?” Zolf asks, smiling lopsidedly at him, water still dripping down his face.
“Just you,” Wilde says, smiling back, curling a hand around the back of Zolf’s neck, and kissing him. It’s wet, and soaked strands of Wilde’s hair stick to Zolf’s face, but it’s warm and floods Zolf with a jittery, shaky feeling he doesn’t think he’s felt in a long time. It’s the kind of feeling people write about.
He kisses back, pushing in, forcing Wilde back slightly, and Wilde laughs breathlessly against his lips at the force, closing his teeth around Zolf’s bottom lip and pulling, sliding his hand off of Zolf’s neck and bracing it on his chest, fingers tangling in the hair on his chest.
“You’re beautiful,” Zolf breathes, and Wilde laughs, shaking his head and looking away.
“Not anymore,” he says, the scarred side of his face turned away from Zolf. “That’s alright.”
“Hey,” Zolf says, raising a dripping-wet hand to turn Wilde’s face towards him. “Would I lie to you?”
“I hope not,” Wilde says, earnestly, kissing him again, sliding closer between his legs, the hand that’s on Zolf’s chest trailing down, long fingers reaching out and wrapping around--
Zolf pulls away, pushing Wilde back. “Nope.”
“Oh,” Wilde says, looking genuinely startled, falling back onto his ass, both hands up and out of the water like Zolf caught him stealing. “My apologies, I--”
“It’s alright, just, y’know, ask before touchin’, yeah?” Zolf says, hugging himself with an arm. “I don’t really go in for, uh. For sex. Sometimes, but not--not much, and I don’t really like--” Zolf sighs, closes his eyes, and tries to just be as blunt and straightforward as possible. “I’ll get you off as much as you like, but I ain’t that interested in you doing the same for me. Can’t help it. Just doesn’t work for me.”
“Understood loud and clear,” Wilde says, nodding once. “Again, I’m sorry.”
“No need,” Zolf says, waving a hand. “Sorry I killed the moment.”
“Is the moment dead?” Wilde asks, brow furrowing. “I think I can still feel a pulse.”
“Can you?”
“You’re the cleric, you tell me.” Wilde beams, and Zolf rolls his eyes.
“I might be able to heal it,” he says, leaning back in to kiss Wilde, but misjudging his weight and density, and accidentally pushing Wilde back into the water. Wilde tilts his head back, freeing his lips from Zolf, and laughs.
“Maybe not,” he says, sinking back into the water, hair streaming out around him.
“Oh well. We’ll get another moment, I’m pretty sure,” Zolf says, sighing, lying back in the water next to Wilde and taking his hand.
“At least one.”
“Hopefully a lot more, though that seems like a lot to commit to, considerin’,” Zolf says, sighing at the ceiling. He closes his eyes and sinks back into the feeling of being warm and clean and alive and safe and loved. His god is in the water around him and the pulse in Wilde’s delicate fingers and the lingering gratitude that he made it through another quarantine.
“It’s just one disaster after another, isn’t it,” Wilde says, sighing.
“That’s life,” Zolf says, still not opening his eyes. “Just an endless fuckin’ storm on the sea. Sometimes it hits lulls, sometimes you’re thrilled to be out in it and alive and surviving, and sometimes you’re just beggin’ whatever god you trust to get you out of it in one piece. Nothing’s permanent. The skies clear up in time.”
“Maybe you should be the writer,” Wilde says, flatly, snorting.
“You make fun of my heartfelt speech for being a cliche and I dunk you,” Zolf says. “Just ‘cause I can’t drown you in a bucket anymore doesn’t mean I can’t drown you normal-like.”
“No, it’s very inspiring. You’re a natural-born leader, Zolf.”
“You’re such a dick,” Zolf mutters, and Wilde laughs. The sound reverberates through Zolf’s chest, and he squeezes Wilde’s hand. “I love you.”
Wilde inhales sharply like he’s been struck and squeezes back. “It’s still strange to hear you say that. I love you too.”
“It’s okay if you want to keep fuckin’ Carter,” Zolf says, and Wilde laughs so sharply and violently at that it startles Zolf into opening his eyes.
“If I had ever been, uh, ‘fucking Carter’, then I’d take that generous permission to heart,” he says. “However I never have, never intend on doing so, and don’t take notes on my sex life.”
“You could just say ‘no’,” Zolf mutters, and Wilde puts a wet hand over his face for no apparent purpose aside from annoying him.
“Oh, Zolf, I really couldn’t. Where’s the fun in concision when the English language is so very expansive?”
“Right, I’m clean enough, I need to get out of here and make you food so I can shut you up for a few minutes,” Zolf says, pushing himself out of the water.
“You told me you wanted me to stay like this,” Wilde says, sitting up and smirking.
“Yeah, well, sometimes people say stupid things when they’re in love,” Zolf says, shaking his head. “Don’t suppose I can get this djinn back in its bottle?”
“Absol utely not.”
Zolf sets his face grimly and shakes his head, like he’s not delighted, like he doesn’t want to spend an eternity here in hope with Wilde.