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On nights like these- quiet, starless and eternal- Zolf felt as if he could close his eyes and trust the Vengeance to follow the right winds. The sky stretched above the clouds like an endless ocean. With everyone but him asleep below deck, he had to remind himself every so often of his state of wakefulness.
No, he was not dreaming.
No, this was not one of those visions where Poseidon, or whoever- whatever- it was now, would eerily pay him a visit.
The rough feel of the wood beneath his palms was his sole anchor to reality.
The night shift was usually his. Earhart needed the rest. He withstood the icy gusts better than Barnes. And asking Hamid to take the wheel equated with requesting an emergency crash landing.
Sometimes, Cel would make their way up to relieve him after sharing a quick chat about the ship’s condition or the most recent winner of ‘Dart Night’. If Sasha were here, she would casually obliterate them all, no doubt about it. As things stood though, Barnes more or less reigned as the ship’s uncontested champion.
A series of quiet footsteps put a stop to Zolf’s reverie. Casting a look over his shoulder, his eyes found Wilde, wrapped in Hamid’s hand-made fur coat, strolling in his direction.
At once, Zolf relaxed his shoulders and let his gaze fall back on the lightly green and pink-tinted horizon. He heard, and then felt, Oscar join his side and press his fur covered arm against his own.
They let the silence hang for a moment. A quick glance up told Zolf that Oscar’s thoughts were elsewhere tonight, his eyes fixed upon a distant point in the horizon, searching for something that just hadn’t come into being yet.
Zolf understood. He wished they would reach Svalbard already and deal with whatever danger needed to be dealt with. Or at least, to know what was waiting for them there.
Oscar was the one to break the silence. “How is our great captain faring tonight?”
Zolf suppressed a laugh and sent Oscar a concerned look. “You’ve been spending too much time cooped up in that cupboard of yours. Breathing the same stale air non-stop. Do I need to give you another run-through of who’s who on ship?”
Oscar graced Zolf with a rare genuine smile, the kind he usually reserved for special private occasions. “Please Zolf, I think we all know who’s really steering this ship.”
Zolf shook his head. “Don’t let Earhart hear you say that. She doesn’t need another reason to throw you overboard.”
“Would you jump after me if she did?”
“No,” Zolf quipped in reply. “I’m not an idiot.”
Oscar dropped his head down, burying a sigh into his furs. One too overdrawn to fool Zolf as actual disappointment. And which infallibly drew a smile out of him. When did he start liking this? When had their playful back-and-forths become the highlight of most of his days?
Perhaps, it was due to Oscar’s old carefree demeanour flowering again in those rare instances of levity. When time was in their favour, Zolf was inclined to keep them going.
“But I’d find her and tell her to have a safe flight down too.”
Oscar straightened again. “And then who would drive the ship, with Earhart gone and you, a common criminal?” he asked, a grin playing at his lips.
Zolf tapped his fingers on the wheel, pretending to think it over for a minute. “I guess Hamid will have to be the new captain.”
Oscar let out a sharp gasp and exaggeratedly grasped Zolf’s free arm. “Dear gods. Then perhaps it would have been better if you had jumped after me.”
Zolf offered a chuckle in reply. He was conscious of Oscar’s hands lingering on him, slowly winding their way down to his hand, half peeking out from his coat sleeve. Zolf felt an explosion of warmth as the curious pair of hands found their prize, enclosing his own fingers, rendered frigid by the chill of the night.
Wordlessly, Oscar drew closer, gently rubbing Zolf’s hand back to life, kneading each tendon one by one.
Nothing, Zolf thought, could compare to this. He would wilfully give up another god if it meant ensuring that these acts of tenderness would never end.
Oscar lifted his hand, leaned down, and began methodically pressing down delicate kisses between the ridges of his hand. His dark-brown locks, now longer than Zolf had ever seen them, tickled as they brushed along his skin, obediently following Oscar’s lips on their journey.
Forgoing the wheel and deciding to make better use of his other hand, Zolf had it instead slowly comb through the roguish locks.
At this touch, Oscar interrupted his own ministrations and lifted his gaze to meet Zolf’s. “Yes?”
Zolf slid his hand down to cup the soft curves of Oscar’s cheek. “Come here.”
Instinctively, Oscar rose up to the height which let him perfectly brush against Zolf’s half-parted lips. Zolf closed his eyes, gratefully giving in to the sensation of Oscar’s body pressed against him. Everything else was a blur, lost to the pleasure of having these lips, this man, this soul, to himself.
Sooner than he would have liked, Oscar reintroduced a small amount of space between them. Zolf watched silently as their cold puffs of breath got caught in the moonlight.
Oscar’s cheeks were tinged pink- by their previous activity as much as by the cold- Zolf liked to think. His eyes were alight and his features more relaxed than they had been since they began their voyage, and yet, they still couldn’t conceal the signs of fatigue living at the corners of his eyes or in the hunch of his shoulders.
Absently, Zolf put a hand back on the wheel, but kept his eyes on Oscar, now busy rearranging his coat until not a single sliver of his neck remained vulnerable to the cold.
“You should go back to sleep,” Zolf said gently. “You’re distracting me,” he added, as a lame attempt to convince him.
“And what an honour that is,” the other replied with a nod.
Zolf forced himself to brush off the unexpected sincerity in that response.
“I’m serious, Oscar. If something goes wrong, and you know it will, we’re goin’ to need you at the top of your game.”
Oscar let out an amused hum. “Funny, I never thought I’d miss those days when you threatened to drown me in buckets.”
“Oscar.”
“I know, Zolf,” he said, his voice so low that it could have been mistaken for a whistle of the wind, had he not been standing so close to him. “I’ll be quite useless to everyone if I’m not spruced up enough to keep my wits about me. A man who’s already lost his magic can’t possibly let himself lose his mind as well.”
Zolf shook his head. “That’s not- it’s not what I was getting at. I’d only care if you were useless because I know you wouldn’t be able to stand it.”
Oscar shifted his gaze away from Zolf, suddenly favouring the view offered by the moon. “I know that too,” he admitted, as he began re-adjusting Zolf’s collar just as he had his a minute earlier, eyes still stubbornly cast downwards.
Zolf wanted to murmur reassurances, kiss him again, promise him they would be alright, then hold him, then do a million meaningless things to give Oscar the hope they both needed. Before he had a chance to do any of this though, Oscar smoothed his palms over his collar one last time and let his hands drop back to his sides.
“Well then, I suppose I’ll stop distracting you.” A small smile had returned to his lips, infused with an emotion Zolf couldn’t quite place. “I’m not sure I’d like to test this ship’s endurance in the face of emergencies just yet.”
Cel’s dubious assurances that the Vengeance was mostly safe came to Zolf’s mind. “Sounds like the right call to me.”
“In that case, leave me with the arduous task of keeping the bed warm while you enjoy yourself up here,” Oscar settled, punctuating his words with a mischievous roll of eyes and a wave of the hand.
“Sure.” Zolf let another easy smile escape. “Good night, Oscar.”
“Good night, captain.” And with a wink, Oscar turned around and retreated below deck.
Zolf, once again, stood alone at the wheel. The sun was beginning to make itself known, a bright red aura piercing the layer of clouds, gradually painting them in fluid strokes of orange and amber.
Soon, the early-risers would report for duty.
Soon, Earhart would come and shout today’s orders.
Soon, they would reach Svalbard.
Soon.