Work Text:
The shrill chime of Shirley Mairze's timepiece heralded the coming of dawn. As he forced his eyes open, he wasn't too surprised to find Zenos already awake at his side and leering at him behind heavy eyelids. In recent days, Mairze frequently caught Zenos leisurely staring at him, contemplating something Mairze couldn't discern. Though he would have preferred Zenos to make his thoughts known, Mairze didn't mind; it gave him an excuse to stare right back.
A gentle breeze tickled his cheek despite the window being shut —a wonderful Garlean invention called air conditioning.
"After you and your lot have been driven from the palace, I hope the Ala Mhigans aren’t in any rush to tear away all of the retrofitted amenities.” Mairze groaned, his voice straining as he stretched his arms. “‘Twould be a shame if they trashed the only good to come from the occupation simply because it’s Garlean in make.”
Zenos shot him the slightest of smiles. "Savor it while you can, then," he sighed, throwing the covers off of them both.
As per their morning routine whenever Mairze was "visiting," the two of them gave their faces a quick scrub in the washroom, then Mairze went straight to getting dressed while Zenos stopped in front of the vanity. With such long hair, Mairze had once figured Zenos must leave it up to his servants to care for it, but having stayed the night on more than a couple occasions at this point, he’d observed that aside from his enormous armor, the prince took charge of everything else concerning his appearance. Unsure to what degree that meant he was opposed to others touching his hair, Mairze felt emboldened to discover that for himself today.
Rolling open the vanity drawer, Zenos retrieved a black ceramic comb, and before he could make another move, Mairze seized the free end of it. "May I?" He tried to request, but it came out as more of a statement. Since their first night sharing a bed, Mairze had fantasized having his way with that thick, silky mane. He'd pulled on it plenty, and snuck the briefest touch here and there, but what he wanted was to run his hands through it to his heart’s content, fully appreciate its weight, length, and texture.
Zenos replied with a quizzical tilt of his head, but he was not annoyed. "Fine," he said flatly, and upon releasing his end of the comb, Mairze immediately went to work.
He started at the very ends, of course, sweeping the teeth through loose, agreeable tangles. The envy he felt when he could only find a single split end! Mairze’s own hair had suffered extensively under the rays of the unforgiving Ala Mhigan sun, the ends brittle and prone to breakage. He had to wonder if using Zenos’ luxurious soaps had helped mitigate any of that.
When he reached the hair closest to Zenos’ neck, Mairze parted it into sections for easier combing, and that gave him the clearest view of the myriad shades of gold that hid in those locks depending on their proximity to light. Those closest to the lamp were a pale champagne, while those hiding in the shadows were rich and saturated, like strands of late sunset. More likely than not, this was simply a fact about most blond heads, but Mairze couldn't ignore that Zenos' had a unique, unmatched luster to it.
In addition to his hair’s velvety softness, the sweet floral perfume from his shampoo punctuated by his own heavier, natural scent was dreadfully tantalizing, such that it was difficult for Mairze not to press his nose to the nape of Zenos’ neck and just breathe a while. Though confident Zenos would not mind, Mairze still had some dignity to preserve.
On Zenos' side of this arrangement, he had chosen to indulge Mairze as a reward for entertaining him the night before (the long bruise around his thigh was still warm with a lovely ache, a result of Mairze's tail coiling around it as tight as it was able), but hadn’t expected to derive any pleasure from this himself. As a child, the faceless household staff had seen to all of his hygienical needs, the brushing and styling of his hair completed with the same silent speed and efficiency as machines.. It was plain that Mairze was not approaching this as another task to strike off a list as quickly as possible, but a social exercise to be enjoyed –interesting what a difference that made. Each stroke of the comb was slow and tender, which was strange, but not unpleasant; novel, even.
Zenos observed Mairze in the mirror, how lovingly he admired what he was working with. How intriguing it was that a man with such searing hatred for him had allowed what was once merely carnal desire to curdle into a genuine fondness. If only he could temporarily exchange Mairze’s heart for his own to experience such an intense, tempestuous contradiction.
As the comb inched towards the top of his head, the scratch of the teeth against his scalp was particularly satisfying. He leaned in, and his guest must have caught his meaning, as he responded by gently increasing the pressure. For as indignant as Mairze became whenever Zenos called attention to their similarities, there was no denying their intimate, exceptional understanding of one another.
Zenos was almost surprised by his own disappointment when Mairze whispered, “There,” and pulled away. Finished, he plucked the shed strays from the comb’s nooks before returning it to the vanity drawer, but as he turned to resume getting dressed, Zenos caught his shoulder.
"Braid it for me," the prince ordered.
Mairze’s reflection was wide-eyed, taken aback. "It won't be very tidy." He chuckled as his expression relaxed. “I can count on one hand the times I've given myself a braid.”
"I'm not going to wear it beyond this room."
The purpose was not for style, but to prolong the tug of Mairze's fingers through his hair a minute longer. Zenos would shake it out as soon as he donned his armor.
With a nod, Mairze settled back down to work, a subtle sparkle in his eyes. He took his time dividing the locks into thirds, and the flesh along Zenos' shoulders prickled as he set to weaving them together. Zenos was especially partial to the sensation whenever Mairze would pull the locks in opposite directions to tighten each knot in the plait.
As lengthsome as his hair was, it wasn’t long before Zenos heard Mairze mutter under his breath, “Something to secure it with…” He vanished from the mirror for only a second, and when he returned, Zenos spied a familiar cherry-red ribbon in his hand –one of the very rare mementos Zenos had collected. There were so, so few moments in his life worth commemorating, but the fun little game they had played that night still brought him a smattering of something resembling joy whenever he was reminded of it.
Once Mairze tied off the plait with a small bow, Zenos swept it to his front and draped it over his collarbone for easier inspection. Just as Mairze had warned, it was not the neatest job –the braid was a touch too loose around the base, and some strands had escaped here and there, but it had a quaint charm to it.
“It’s nice, but too restrained for you.” Mairze remarked. “Flowing and free better captures your essence.”
That was an accurate assessment. Zenos’ striking silhouette was very intentional, and he rather liked watching the shadow of his hair billowing in the wind at the same rhythm as his tattered skirt, like two parts of the same organ.
"If we haven't stormed the palace by then, I'll tie your hair up like mine the next time I’m so inclined to show my face around here," said Mairze as he gestured to his own ponytail. “Perhaps that’ll flatter you better than the braid.”
With the war speeding towards a decisive conclusion, Zenos doubted the two of them would have another quiet meeting like this, and that was a good thing –the apotheosis he had waited his entire life for was well in reach.
...but, he wouldn’t be terrifically sorry should there be one more opportunity to share this small, simple comfort before the finale.