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Chapter Text

He’s quiet. 

He’s quiet and it’s only the first day and he didn’t even speak to anyone on this trip, just a bit of scouting how the hell did it get him, and has he risked everything just on a tip that didn’t even pan out, Carter blowing smoke up their—.

“Oscar!”

Zolf sounds anxious, but not distraught, and he’s not strode out of the room for his glaive yet so…

“What is it?”

He chances a look at the dwarf to find his eyes fixed on his lower belly, which, frankly, is deserving of at least one quip, but the fear is in him now and it never lets go easily.

“Your…” Zolf blinks, gaze flicking up quickly, a hint of colour peeking out above his beard. Oscar raises an eyebrow, earns himself a hearty roll of eyes. “Your mark Oscar.”

Something cool settles over him in that moment, like a bucket of water Zolf might have once summoned. “Can I put some clothes back on for this conversation? Am I clear otherwise?”

Zolf’s lips twist until it looks like he's stifling words, but his bullish nature wins out. “Leave the shirt off.”

Oscar winks, because the relief is strong enough to leave him feeling a bit lightheaded. “Whatever you say, Zolf.”

The colour in Zolf’s cheeks creeps a little higher as he turns away to fetch a chair, moving it closer to the bars than he probably should. Wilde is busy shucking on his trousers when he hears the scraping of wood on stone stop, and pulls the cell’s lone chair to mirror Zolf.

“I was… I was uh, twenty when my mark appeared. Still a child, really. Still at home. No idea of anything that was coming for me.” He rubs his hand over the back of his neck, a motion Wilde has noticed is often comforting, stalling. “You might’ve noticed I don’t have it now.”

The truth behind those words settles heavy in Oscar’s gut. “Where was it?”

“Ankle.” Zolf says. “First one to go.”

“Oh.” Oscar says, thinking of the person out there with a broken mark, dull beneath their skin with no explanation. Is it worse to have never found your soulmate, or to feel like you’ve lost them?

“Happened five or so years later.” Zolf says quietly, his eyes holding a hint of something that Oscar can’t put his finger on. “Figure the person linked to me would’ve been too young to realise what the pain was.”

“Yes, yes of course…” Oscar sighs, hanging his head and pretending the grief that he feels is one he has any right to claim. “I suppose that’s—.”

He has a flash, then. His mother shouting loudly for the nursemaid, her arms around him tight as he sweats clean through all of his clothing, the pain a flare that he’s never known possible, appendix, appendix being all but screamed—.

But he never had his appendix out. He’s been carrying that useless piece of him around for his entire life.

When he looks up at Zolf, there’s a shimmering of tears in the dwarf’s eyes that weren’t there before. 

“Zolf. What did your mark look like?”

He smiles, ignoring the slow track of one tear down to his beard. “Do you need to ask that, Oscar?”

What follows is the longest six days of his life. 

Zolf stays with him almost constantly, telling him stories of his life as Oscar returns them in kind, telling him all about Isola and Willie and commiserating and consoling Zolf about the death of his brother. They share secrets, play chess, read (though he manages to hold out on the Campbells with a half-hearted excuse that Zolf sees through, and matches with a promise of ‘another time’ .)

The stolen time to bond is, frankly, sorely needed for them both, and gratefully carved out in a time where personal lives are no longer the priority. Each time Zolf leaves him to sleep for the night, Oscar longs for the press of his hand, and tries to force down the frankly ludicrous ache for a kiss. He at least finds solace in the way Zolf increasingly loiters late into the night until Barnes or Carter come for him with smiles on their faces and winks hidden from Zolf’s sight.

The seventh day comes with a fear that Oscar has never known. 

Barnes is the first person down the stairs that day, followed by Zolf moving with a reluctance that Oscar understands all too well. He stands, leaning heavily on his glaive, and allows Barnes to instruct the daily inspection instead.

Only when he turns back around to find Barnes smiling does the fear finally, finally dissipate. 

Zolf growls, taking two quick steps forward. “Get the fuck out of here Barnes.”

The man goes, sparkling eyes and stifled grin, letting loose a whistle just before he closes the door. Oscar sighs at himself, pulling his clothing back on (honestly, what a time for the need for modesty to rear its head). He’s about to button his shirt when he hears Zolf move closer, the clinking of keys in his grip.

“Hold on a second would you? It’s always harder to walk down here.” He grouses, but there’s no weight behind it.

Oscar stops, standing awkwardly in the middle of the cell as Zolf fumbles at the lock a couple of times. Once the door has swung open, he hesitates for a moment and then rushes out, dropping to his knees and ignoring the lancing of pain as he winds his arms around Zolf’s waist.

He’s crying now, a hundred mixed emotions spilling out of him and leaving him in a daze, warmth suffusing him when Zolf’s arms loop around his shoulders, his glaive disappearing into the ether as he whispers soothing nonsense.

If Oscar feels a matching wetness on the side of his neck, he doesn’t mention it.

When he pulls back, Zolf’s smile is broader than he thinks he’s ever seen, and there’s probably something equally sappy on his own face.

“May I?” He asks, gesturing to Oscar’s stomach.

“Who am I to stop you, Zolf?”

Zolf’s palm is so warm it almost overwhelms him as he is, starved of the human contact that he’s clung so desperately to in the past. Then, almost imperceptible at first, the heat begins to grow, spreading out from his mark and filling the whole of him with a desperate sense of hope that prickles on every inch of his skin.

He looks down and notices Zolf’s palm is literally glowing, some sort of blue swirl moving over his palm and up his wrist, settling in a thick coiling mass on his inner forearm. The pair of them stand there, linked and enraptured, as the sea-blue mark resolves into a Z and an O, intertwined.

When Zolf's hand leaves his skin, the previously decorative black shape of his soulmark has too resolved into a blue set of initials, matching the one now sitting on his… on his soulmate.

“That’s gonna be hard to hide from the others.” He says, his voice sounding far away and dull.

Zolf growls, his hands moving up to cup Oscar’s cheeks and pull him in, lips almost brushing as he smirks out a little laugh. “Let them look.”

And then Zolf is kissing him, and Oscar knows the time for argument has long passed.

Chapter Text

Bloody stupid waste of space of a man. Absolutely idiot charlatan. 

"Um, Zolf?" 

The voice is amused. It doesn't help. 

Fucking liability. Deserving of nothing but a long walk off a short pier. 

"Zolf?" 

Less amused now, the brimming concern in Wilde's voice makes him break out of fantasies of ending Howard Carter's life and turn to the man beside him instead. He's frowning, but not nearly as upset as Zolf feels like he should be. 

"What?" 

Wilde smiles, tender and gentle in that way that's slowly making its way into his dreams. "Are you okay?" 

"Am I— No! Of course I'm not bloody 'okay' Oscar." He lifts his hand with a grimace, accompanied by the tinkling sound of a fine metal chain that, despite all their best efforts, doesn't seem to want to break. “How exactly could I be okay?”

Wilde’s eyes soften to match the curve of his lips, setting back in his chair as far as the chain connecting his wrist to Zolf's will allow. “I didn’t realise you would find this so distasteful.”

“No it’s not like—.” Zolf trails off, pursing his lips as something interesting sparks in Wilde’s eyes. “Stop bein’ all distracting, this isn’t about whether we want this. It’s about why it happened in the first place.”

There’s a hesitance in his expression, but eventually Wilde leans back in, resting his elbows on his knees. “Carter?”

“Carter.”

Zolf leads the way down to the cell, tugging at the limits of the chain binding him to Wilde. He’s never expected to actually outpace the man, but apparently his anger is more of a motivation than Wilde's vague frustrations.

Barnes looks confused as they push past him to stand in front of the cell. Zolf tries to fold his arms and then has to change his plan halfway through when it tugs at Wilde's wrist and stops him short. With a huff, he puts his hands on his hips instead.

“Oh! I didn’t know what those did.” Carter says, leaning in and peering at them. “Thank you, that’s saved me a lot of trouble.”

"What what did?" Zolf growls.

"Thought they looked like handcuffs but couldn't seem to figure out how they worked." Carter all but muses, like he's in a museum and not an anti-magic cell. "Got them on a dig in Cairo, can't remember where…"

Zolf huffs out a breath, reaching out to take Oscar's hand and ignoring how naturally their fingers thread together. "Step away, Carter. Back to the wall."

To his credit, the man does as asked, and Zolf leads him and Wilde towards the bars, thrusting their hands through the access gap in the bars. Immediately, the gold chain fizzles away, but the cuffs themselves don't disappear. 

Satisfied, Zolf smiles and stubbornly doesn't look at Oscar’s reaction, pulling their hands out—.

Only to see the chain fall back into place. 

"Piss."

Carter laughs, and he thinks Barnes might echo it, but he's going to give the man the benefit of the doubt this once. "Well, that's quite the pickle."

"I guess there's nothing else for it." Wilde says, once again sounding far too unconcerned by all of this. "Your room or mine tonight, Mr Smith? 

#

He's never felt quite so godsdamn nervous about a bed before in his life. It's never looked so much like a threat, rather than a blessed opportunity for some snatched rest. A vast expanse of relative comfort and peace, to be shared with the man he is currently (un)willingly handcuffed to. 

He's not entirely sure what to do with himself. So he stands. Beside Wilde, in front of bed. For sleep. Yes. 

"Now, I usually take the right side but I think perhaps in this case you would be more comfortable there." 

"We're really doing this huh? Sleeping, instead of trying to get rid of these."

"Zolf." Wilde sighs. "It's late. Carter's unhelpful. You're always trying to get me to sleep, wouldn't you like to personally oversee it?" 

Zolf mutters something dark in Dwarvish and stomps closer to the bed, setting his weight on the side and trying not to stare as Wilde unbuttons his shirt a bit at the throat and sits down to remove his boots. 

"Would you mind if I offered to help?" 

Zolf looks up from Wilde's fine, long-fingered hands, to find him peering somewhat uncertainly, gesturing weakly at Zolf's legs. 

"Course." He says, wishing his voice wasn't so rough with emotion. "Thanks for askin'."

With his quiet instruction, Wilde rolls up his trousers and begins to help him off with first one leg, then the other, eventually dropping to the floor to carefully prestidigit the skin clean and observe for any sore spots as Zolf guides the process.

"This area looks a little dry, would you mind if I…?" Wilde trails off, looking over his shoulder at the frankly dazzling array of bottles on his dresser. 

Zolf shakes his head, not trusting his voice, as Wilde shuffles over as far as the chain will allow and stretches out for a small pot of moisturiser. It's only when his hand is gently, lovingly smoothing the cream into his skin that Oscar looks up and catches Zolf mute and staring. 

"Sorry was… was this too much?" 

"No." Zolf says, proud of how firm his voice is. There'll be none of that. "You asked, I said yes. Thank you, Oscar. S'been a long time since anyone offered. Longer since I said yes."

The man's face is a picture of relief and satisfaction, a faint flush of colour creeping up from under the neck of his shirt. He smiles, but tries to hide it, standing up and shaking some of the blood flow back into his limbs. "I think I might suggest we turn in." He says. 

Before we can both do something we regret, he doesn't say. 

Together they work carefully to situate themselves without too much interference from the cuffs. It's a damn good thing they're so good at working together, now. The whole thing would have been a disaster otherwise. (He thanks whoever's listening that it was him and Wilde that went through Carter's stash and not either of them with Barnes.)

Wilde blows out the lone candle on the room and then settles down on his back, one hand on his belly and the other between them, flat on top of the covers. Zolf knows, if he stretched out his little finger it would probably brush Wilde's. The flash of heat that moves through him at that thought alone feels juvenile and thrilling all at once, considering everything else that's going on. 

He also knows that Oscar's human eyes will struggle to make anything out in the moonless night, whereas he, for his sins, can see everything. 

It's going to be a long night. 

#

He's aware of the precise moment that Wilde gives up on sleeping. Eyes open, staring blankly at the ceiling, the man gives a great sigh and turns onto his side, resting his free hand on the pillow and facing Zolf head on. 

Zolf watches him, and Wilde watches right back, eyes flicking around in the darkness for something to settle on. There's something uncomfortably appealing about the way his mouth pulls down at the edges in disappointment.

He wants to kiss it away.  

Zolf swallows a sigh and clicks his fingers, lighting the candle behind Wilde's head once more. 

"It's rude to stare, you know?" 

Wilde blinks rapidly against the influx of light, covering his eyes but not hiding his smile. "I could say the same, Mr Smith. I know I’m quite captivating to look at, but I’ll still be here in the morning."

“And still as dead on your feet if you don’t bloody sleep.”

Wilde’s smile turns a little sad again, gaze flicking away. “It’s funny. I’ve always slept better with someone else in my bed. And now it’s happening I can’t seem to drop off.”

Zolf can’t help but smirk. “Do you want to cuddle?”

He means it to sound light, jokey. A funny little jape between friends. 

From the slightly stunned look on Wilde’s face he overshoots that by some distance.

“Well. If you’re offering, it couldn’t hurt.”

Oh, he should back out of this now. He should laugh and scoff and extinguish the candle to hide the blush that he can feel creeping across his cheeks. Zolf opens his mouth to speak, but finds the words hard to come by. This, it seems, only encourages the man across from him.

“Big spoon or little spoon?”

“Turn over already, before I change my mind.”

Wilde smirks, and it’s almost like it used to be, all confidence and innuendo and the smug satisfaction that comes from being flustering. “Whatever you say.”

It takes a little manoeuvring to get the chain settled over Wilde’s head so that Zolf can arrange his arm as a pillow for the man’s neck. He moves in close, feeling a sense of calm come over him as the heat of Wilde’s back meets his chest. The tension leaves the body he’s embracing almost immediately, a reedy sigh of contentment leaving the man.

“Comfy?” He asks, settling his free hand against the softness of Wilde’s stomach. 

His only answer is a faint snore.

#

The next morning is an exercise in awkward silence, as they both drift awake at about the same time, yawning and stretching before remembering - quite why they’re both in the same bed and quite how well they slept.

Zolf feels more refreshed than he has in some time and the bags under Wilde’s eyes are all but gone. He smiles, softly, and allows the man out of his embrace without commenting on it. It’s easy enough then to go about their day, taking care to lend as much privacy to each other’s morning routine as they can.

Zolf makes breakfast, and Wilde actually helps, prepping some of the ingredients while Zolf oversees the cooking. Barnes doesn’t say anything when he joins them beyond admitting that Carter still can’t remember where he got the cuffs but he thinks it might have been some sort of temple.

Not for the first time, they find themselves missing Sasha and her eye for this sort of thing.

They spend the morning in Wilde’s study, going over plans and reading communications and mostly trying to get to grips with how long they’ll be like this.

It’s almost pleasant. But that’s almost wholly down to the fact that it’s not become a true inconvenience yet. They can’t fight like this, not with any degree of success, and at some point they’re going to need to change their damn clothes.

He sighs and Wilde notices, setting his book down. “Beyond the obvious - is anything the matter?”

“Feel like we’re overlooking something obvious. Why us? They’re clearly magical, but dispelling it doesn’t stick and it’s gone beyond any normal time limit.” He smiles. “Thought at first it might just be a way of getting you to sleep like a normal person.”

“No, Zolf, I think that was all you.” 

His heart does a funny sort of leap in his chest at Oscar’s earnest statement. He should ignore it. They’ve held themselves to some unspoken agreement of after, that there’ll be time eventually. 

He’s starting to think that that might not be a risk he’s willing to take.

Oscar is strikingly quiet as he pushes back from the desk and beckons Zolf closer. Without even really realising, he steps forward, stopping just in front of Wilde’s knees.

“I have an idea, and I hope you’ll forgive me if it doesn’t quite pan out the way I’m imagining.”

He doesn't say he’ll forgive Oscar pretty much anything at this point. He doesn’t need to. It's all right there in the gentle way Oscar takes his bound hand and leans in, pulling Zolf closer to meet in the middle in a kiss.

It stays chaste and tender for all of a moment before Oscar surges forward, renewed and encouraged by Zolf’s acceptance of his embrace. Oscar growls and it sends a hungry shiver down Zolf’s spine, his hand flying up to cradle the side of Oscar’s throat as a hand tangles keenly in his hair.

Zolf groans, swiping his tongue against Oscar's when the kiss deepens, gripping the other man’s hand tighter. The pressure of Oscar's fingers against the back of his head makes him feel dizzy, held and loved and cherished—.

There's a faint gust of wind and then a tinkle of metal and the weight that's been settled at his wrist for the past day is suddenly gone. 

"Mmph." Oscar grumbles when Zolf pulls back, eyes closed and lips glossy and red and inviting. "What's—?" 

"Think we broke the spell."

Oscar blinks, looking down at his own wrist and then back at Zolf, eyes soft and lips quirking into a smile. "True love's kiss saved the day?" 

"Oh, I hate that."

Oscar chuckles, ducking his head to kiss him again. "Hate it all you want Zolf, that doesn't make it any less true."

He’s about to lean in for another kiss when the door to the basement opens, quick strides bringing Barnes down to Oscar’s office. The man appears in the door just as Oscar is showily wiping at his mouth. Zolf narrows his eyes to pre-empt any smart remarks, but it doesn’t entirely stop Barnes from smiling.

“Uh, thought you might like to know Carter remembered—.”

"Hathor! I found them at a temple for Hathor, I remembered!" Carter's voice floats up from the cell. 

“Yes, thank you James. It’s a little bit of a moot point now, for as you can see, we are free of Carter’s idiot contraption.”

Barnes gives a sharp nod, muttering something under his breath as he disappears back down to keep an eye on the man who continues to insist on being the source of all their problems.

Well, Zolf thinks, threading his fingers deep into Oscar's hair, and kissing the man again, perhaps this one isn’t quite such a problem after all.

Chapter Text

“Why does it have to be me?”

“She's not a fan of humans.”

Zolf smirks. “Can't imagine why.”

Wilde shoots him a look in response that’s so simpering it almost makes him laugh. “Quite.”

He’s about ready to take this at face value, knowing his fellow dwarfs and their foibles, when memories of Earhart come to the forefront of his mind. “Wait. Doesn't like humans, or doesn't like you?”

Oscar gives an expansive gesture, a picture of innocence. “For once, Zolf, I have nothing to do with this.”

Zolf sighs, turning his attention to the papers in front of them. Tessa Stronghull, one of the foremost private ship captains. Apparently planning a voyage over to Japan, and, like most of the rest of the world, performatively unconcerned about the reports coming out of Europe. 

She's their ticket across the world, in relative anonymity. 

And it's down to him to convince her to take two ex-Meritocrats with her. 

"You don't ask much, do you?" He smiles, looking across the desk at Wilde. 

"I wouldn't ask at all, if I didn't think it'd work." Wilde says, quietly serious now. "I believe in you. Time for you to do the same."

#

The restaurant is fancy, a place to be seen and to watch others in your turn. Wilde beats him there by some distance, setting up shop at the bar adjacent to the dancefloor. 

Tessa, he knows, has been celebrating a previously successful mission every night since her arrival in the city. And Zolf spots her almost as soon as he walks in, holding state at a large circular table in a darker corner of the room. 

Zolf feels a bit ridiculous making his way over, tarted up by Wilde in the most unobtrusive way he would allow, because there's only so much you can do with, well, every mark of hard living he carries. 

(He catches sight of his reflection and has to admit the eyeliner was a nice touch, even if it did make Wilde go oddly quiet for a while after.)

It's only when he gets closer that he realises he recognises about half the people around the table from various pubs and ships over the years. Tessa herself, reclined happily with a bottle of something expensive hanging from her grasp, also has this air of familiarity to her that makes him pause when her eyes light on him. 

"... Smith, right?" She calls, too loud and too drunk but canny with it. "Z…olf? I knew your captain, once."

"That's me." He smiles, coming to what he hopes is a casual pause beside their table. 

"Join us!" She offers with a casual wave of her arm. "The more the merrier, tell us what you're doing in Cairo."

For the next half hour or so he manages to prattle his way through a conversation that's almost fluid, considering that it's him doing the talking. More than once he feels like he's being watched and is reminded of how much easier Wilde would find this whole business.

They're lucky he's pig-headed. It only makes him more determined to do a more than passable job. 

"I hear a lot about what you're up to around here." Tessa says, once some of her hangers-on have melted away. "Word on the street is you're working with the Harlequins."

Zolf smirks, a large part of him wondering how the fuck he ended up here, and what his family would think. "Is that what people are saying?" 

Confirm nothing, but don't make it obvious. 

"He your handler?" 

Ah, shit. 

Deny deny deny. 

"Dunno what you're talking about."

Tessa tips her head to the side, looking past his left ear. "Pretty boy over there can't keep his eyes off you. Either he's your handler or he's got a hell of a thing for you." She shrugs. "Maybe both, not my place to judge."

Zolf sighs, taking a hefty swig of his drink and refusing to look. "He's a friend."

She almost hides her smirk in her own drink. "Sure. I know all my friends look at me like that."

The naked impish pleasure on her face is one of those things that he's gonna have to put away, for mentally unpacking later. Tessa shakes her head and mutters something quietly to herself that sounds disparaging even if he can’t make it out over the swell of the band.

"Look, this has been really nice. But I ain't interested in whatever you came here to convince me with Mr Smith. That said, I do have a boat, and I do need a cleric." She smiles broadly. "You promise me you'll keep my people safe, I'll get you to Japan." 

Zolf blinks a couple of times. “Just like that.”

“You come highly recommended.” She shrugs. “Odds are, I would’ve sought you out before we left. Waters aren’t as safe as they used to be, and we all know what’s happening in Europe. Getting powerful allies is never a bad idea.”

“When do you sail?”

Tessa waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, soon enough. But no business talk after 9, that’s the rule. I’ll find you and your handler tomorrow - you’re staying at that lovely little place off the strip, right?”

He can’t help the smile that settles on his face at how thoroughly outplayed he’s been - and how much easier that’s made things for him. “Any time after 10 works. I need my beauty sleep.”

Tessa laughs, and in another world he knows he could be quite easily captivated by her easy spirit. “You certainly do. Now, you might wanna go save your man from his own sticky situation."

Zolf rises to his feet with barely a wince and gives a quick and sarcastic bow, turning to seek out Wilde and feeling a pit of discomfort settle in his stomach at what he finds.

He walks across the room towards the bar with quicker steps that are strictly necessary, bristling at the sight of the idiot leaning into Wilde's personal space. He's clearly drunk, though Wilde doesn't look much better. If he's aiming for aloof and maybe-but-potentially-not disinterested, he instead just looks vaguely unwell. 

As soon as Zolf comes into his eyeline, Wilde's entire demeanor changes. His face lights up in such a way that it almost looks genuine (Zolf knows better… or tells himself so). He holds out a hand that Zolf instinctively takes. 

"There you are." He all but purrs, and it does silly things to Zolf's guts. 

Zolf turns to the man across from Wilde, sees the confusion on his face, and decides to double down on it. Pressing a kiss to the back of Wilde's hand, Zolf steps in close to the bar stool he's nonchalantly perched on and rests a forearm across Oscar's thigh. 

"Who's this?"

“Monsieur Lacau, might I introduce Zolf Smith. My husband."

He thinks he manages not to react to it. Certainly manages not to jump at the tender inflection in Wilde's voice as his hand settles warm on Zolf's shoulder. 

"Oh!” The man says in lightly accented English, cheeks aflame as he sits back. “I didn't realise."

"It's very new." Zolf deadpans, and Oscar almost manages to stifle his laugh. 

“Do let me know if you see Howard, Pierre.” Wilde hums, his grip tightening just a bit when a darkness passes over Lacau’s face. “You can send him my way, and he’ll be out of your hair.”

The man mutters something under his breath, quiet enough that Zolf can’t tell if it’s French or Arabic or somewhere in between. Zolf waits until the man’s a good distance away before turning, resting his other elbow on Wilde’s leg instead. The weight of his hand remains comforting, so Zolf doesn’t shrug it off.

“Husband, huh? Where’s my ring?”

Wilde trails his fingers over Zolf’s cheek with a smile that says entirely too much, entirely too honestly. “Too showy in this day and age, even for me. I’ll get you something else to mark the occasion.”

Zolf should push more, insist on a warning next time Oscar wants to pull such a con (if there is one… he hopes there might be). But instead he huffs, catching up Wilde’s hand and tugging on it. “C’mon. I’ve got a lot to tell you and this isn’t the place.”

Wilde follows him out, close but not husbandly-close, and Zolf catches Tessa give him a lurid wink on the way. (That, at least, doesn’t get remarked upon by his companion.)

The next morning Wilde hands him a box with a golden circlet in it, with an emerald that outshines the unassuming green of his eyes, but somehow still reminds him of their reflection in the mirror. 

He says nothing as he re-braids his beard and fastens it in place.

Wilde also says nothing when he sees it there - not a ring, but close enough.

He does smile, though, small at first and then bright with emotion. And that’s enough.

Chapter Text

The first thing that strikes him is that he’s never been this tall in his life and it's nothing like he expected.

The second is that he’s never been this damn tired.

“Zolf?” Cel asks, their head turning between his body and the one he currently inhabits with a look of utter confusion.

Zolf raises his (Oscar’s) hand and gives it a sarcastic little wave. “Present.”

Cel gapes for all of a moment and then bursts into a bright smile. “Fascinating! That a spell could misfire so completely and leave the two of you entirely whole but entirely swapped! It’s… well I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Can you fix it?” Oscar’s usually melodious speech falls flat in Zolf’s West Country tones. 

Does he really sound like that? No wonder everyone thinks he’s a grumpy bastard.

“Oh probably, or it’ll wear off on its own. I’m not really sure.” Cel admits. “But as long as you’re both feeling good and hunky dory, at least I’ve got time to look into it right?”

Zolf snorts, turning away from them with a shake of his head. “You do that. I’m going to go to sleep.”

“Zolf! Zolf you can’t do that, we have so many things to do and I need your input.” 

Gods, what a miserable bugger he sounds, even with Oscar’s fancy speech. “Not a chance. You’ve neglected your body despite me asking you very nicely not to. Least I can do while I’m in it is make sure it gets rest.”

His own face isn’t quite made for the myriad expressions that Oscar cycles through, but it does its best. “Fine. I’m coming with you.”

“Don’t trust me with your body, Oscar?” He grins around the scar on his cheek, feeling its unfamiliar tug and matching ache somewhere in his belly at the not-distant-enough memory of instructing Oscar through tending to it in his cell.

At least now he knows what he looks like when Oscar manages to embarrass him.

Cel laughs, crossing their arms over their chest. “Gotta admit, that’s more how I expected this to go.”

He flips Cel off as he walks away, just to hear them laugh over the unsteady plod of Oscar navigating his prosthetics. 

"Slow down will you?" Oscar calls, huffing. "I never leave you behind."

That, while true, makes him realise for the first time what it means for Oscar to stunt a much faster pace to match his usual gait. He stops, turning back to reach out an arm to Oscar, which the man (dwarf?) accepts with a quiet little smile. 

(It's pretty hard to deny that whichever fated entity decided to interfere with their training seems to be dead set on teaching them a lesson at the same time.)

#

He wakes up the next day long after the sun has risen, with a tightness in his groin that's as unfamiliar to him as it is typical of being on the receiving end of… so to speak. 

“You always this damn horny?”

He feels his own laugh rumble through him, tightens the grip he's got on his body and hides a smile in the back of his neck. 

"You know me well enough by now." Oscar grumbles, and it does sound pretty nice to hear his good humour in such rumbling tones - Zolf sees why a well placed turn of phrase can turn the man to jelly. "Are you really surprised?" 

"Didn't expect it to happen with me in residence is all." Zolf hums, rocking his hips a little. "Not averse to exploring it."

He helps Oscar turn over, smiling as his own eyes track over the body he finds himself in. Looking at himself like this, gaze hooded and lip caught between his teeth, is an odd sort of appealing that he would have thought reserved for Oscar alone.

“I always knew I was handsome, but seeing myself like this…” Oscar’s hand tracks over his own chest, over the faint rise of his ribs and then down, tracing the line of hair that disappears into the soft sleep pants Zolf wears. “I see what you see in me.”

“You are so full of yourself.”

The scratch of his beard against his skin is pleasingly novel as Oscar surges closer, hand dipping under his waistband and lips finding his jaw. “Not yet…”

#

Cel finds them much later that day in Oscar’s office, a couple of potion vials held in their hands. 

“You two look rested.” The cheeky smirk on their face puts words to everything else they’re not explicitly saying. “We should think about doing this more often - enforced body swapping to ensure everyone’s getting enough sleep.”

Zolf huffs, swiping Oscar’s hair out of his eyes for the hundredth time that day. “You try it before you say that again.”

“Oh come now Zolf.” Oscar says, all smugly conspiratorial. “It had its benefits.”

“Also you assume I’ve never tried it before Mr Smith and frankly that’s very close minded of you.” Cel grins, shaking the potions in their general direction. “I figured that a good hit of restoration magic would be the best way to get things back in place, but with your powers out of action I put together something a little more to the point.”

Zolf takes his potion and peers at it curiously, seeing a glint of magic lingering on the sides of the glass as it moves. “Reckon these weren’t cheap. Could always wait and see if it reverses on its own.”

“Or! You could take the potion and resolve things now so we can all get back to work.” Cel says in such a way that makes it clear they believe that to be the only option. “Make sure you take them at the same time now.”

Oscar shows none of his hesitation, bringing the bottle to his lips and waiting for Zolf to do the same to give a cheeky smile. “Bottoms up.”

Nothing happens, for a just long enough moment to cause concern - then there’s a flash of green light across Zolf's vision, near-blinding him for all of two seconds. When it resolves, his perspective on the room has changed completely, and he finds himself looking across at Oscar, back in the right body.

“Well, there we go then.” Oscar says, giving an unnecessarily large stretch with a pleasant sound of satisfaction. “Thank you Cel, that was relatively painless.”

Cel smiles, setting their hands on their hips. “One of my specialities. You two play nice now, no more conflicting spells.”

Zolf looks at Oscar once Cel has left them, admiring the way the warm light of his desk lamp lights upon the man’s face. “Think I prefer this perspective, all told.”

Oscar grins, leaning back in his chair with an open expression of satisfaction. “Mmm, I can’t say I blame you.”

Chapter Text

Oscar comes to in a bed that feels as comfortable as it is unfamiliar, firm in a way he doesn't choose his mattresses to be. 

He also seems to be holding someone which, while not unheard of, is equally unfamiliar. He's not really a cuddler. There's no one he cares about enough to risk that level of intimacy. 

He tilts his head to see more without moving, tracing his eyes over the figure's hair, arms (tattooed, very unlike him), their hand tenderly curled around Oscar's forearm. Their thumb is moving in a leisurely sort of loving contact that speaks of a relationship he has absolutely no recollection of indulging in. 

It's only when the figure stops, hums and turns their head to press a kiss to his cheek with a gruff whisper of mornin' that it settles into place. 

Tattoos. Beard. Accent. 

“Zolf?” He asks, incredulous. 

“Who else would it be, you daft thing.” Zolf chuckles with a sleep-thick voice, stretching a little, his legs butting up against Oscar's legs. “Not often you outsleep me now.”

“You say that like we've done this before.” He frowns, unsure why entirely he's not removed himself from holding the dwarf like a tender lover. “Where are we? Is this where the Rangers are shacking up these days?”

Zolf goes deathly still in his arms. Oscar’s close enough to feel his heart pick up, as his hand clenches down hard. “Oscar. This might sound like a strange question, so bear with me. What year is it?"

“1885 of course.” He speaks without any sort of hesitation and feels the thudding of Zolf's heart get even stronger. He frowns, feeling uncommonly sad as the dwarf pushes out of his arms, turning to sit up and peer at him. “What?” 

“Are you joking with me? Tell me Oscar, truthfully.” Zolf says, quietly forceful. “Please.”

“No, I'm not joking. What's going on?” His eyes trace Zolf's body, taking note of the change of hair colour, the tattoos and scars that definitely weren't present the last time he checked. His gaze settles in Zolf's lap, noting the way the covers fall over his legs with confusion. “Where's your other leg?”

Zolf's eyes close very slowly, his palm coming up to shield them. “Oh for fuck's sake.”

#

It takes an hour or so to get everyone gathered up, settled in what they keep insisting is his office. Outside the world is certainly not central London, and in the room he’s surrounded by entirely unfamiliar faces, save for Hamid and Zolf.

Everyone looks so worried, which only sets him more on edge.

“So.” Zolf says, leaning up against the desk in a way that looks casual to his untrained eye, but makes the rest of the room look discomforted. “Wilde’s lost his memory of the last 18 months, maybe 2 years.”

“Excuse me?”

His outburst is swallowed up by the cries of surprise of the people around him. Well, at least he’s not alone.

“Can’t say how it happened, which is problem enough.” Zolf says, ignoring the wide ranging questions of their assembled audience, and the frankly painfully sad expression on the orc woman’s face. “Anyone know any spells that can do this?”

“It would have to be powerful magic, Zolf.” Hamid says, running a finger along the - are those scales on his face? “Ironically, the person most likely to know would be, well, Oscar.”

Zolf turns back to face him, and he smiles appealingly, or at least tries to (he’s not asked about the scar yet, because no one seems in a mood to talk aesthetics). Zolf’s eyes darken and he mutters “Forgot what you were bloody like.” under his breath which really isn’t helping him make sense of all this.

“Oscar.” He says, very seriously, and it shouldn’t make a flush of heat form in his belly to be so seriously addressed by such a grumpy dwarf, but it takes all sorts. “What do you know about memory modification?”

“More than I’d like to.” He says, thinking back over his arcane studies. “Apparently not enough to prevent myself being the target of it. If we’re confident that it was no one in this room, then that narrows down the options…”

“Definitely not.” Zolf grumbles, not even looking at the others’ reactions to such a suggestion. “And no one heard the boundary alarms last night?”

The two men standing beside Azu shake their heads, quietly assertive that they heard no such thing.

“That means, assuming it was a spell, it was cast at a distance, by someone who knows our setup. We need to hunt them down.”

The room erupts then, ideas and volunteers aplenty, Zolf doing a particularly good impression of herding cats. Oscar watches, quiet and feeling utterly unhelpful, nursing a suspicion that this sort of thing is usually up to him.

“Zolf, you should stay here. Someone might be planning a follow-up attack, we need to make sure Oscar is protected, and… well, you’d probably want to oversee that?”

Oscar catches Zolf’s frown out of the corner of his eye, the way the dwarf’s mouth falls open with an immediate need to dismiss the suggestion, before closing sharply again. With a grunt, Zolf nods and sits back, not looking at him or Hamid.

He pushes to his feet, sick of not helping, and walks across to where it looks like there might be a few books on arcane subjects. Nothing like his library at home of course, but there might be something passable. He skims the spines and plucks up something on magical maladies, flicking through the pages while anxious planning continues behind him, this time without the gruff inferences of an angry dwarf. 

(At least he's not making a habit of headbutting his problems anymore.)

Eventually, through luck more than much else, Oscar manages to stumble across a spell that looks like it might fit the bill, something that he himself trained in but has never quite found the desire to use. 

“I think I know the spell, at least.” He says, turning back to the room with the book held out in front of him. “Nasty stuff. Someone out there must really not like me. I can't imagine why.”

Zolf rolls his eyes at Oscar's wry smile, snatching up the book and bringing it closer to Hamid's gaze. 

“Oh Oscar…”

“Yes, yes I know, very tragic.” He says with forced flippancy. “To have taken my memory back to where things got interesting and I caught myself a dwarf with an attitude problem.”

Zolf laughs at this, which makes him feel all warm for a moment. “Goes a bit further back than that.”

“I don't know, Zolf.” Hamid says, with a twinkle in his eye that makes him appear much younger. “I remember Oscar called you loveable in that awful artic—.”

“I did! I do remember that.”

“Right, right fine very funny ha ha.” Zolf interrupts, pushing on through the sniggering of the two men at the back of the room. “Now, this here says we're looking for a gem. Destroy the gem, Oscar comes back in one piece. All we need to do is trace someone who has reason to want the Harlequins to lose one of their top operatives.”

Hamid hesitates for a moment. “Can we contact Curie? She might have some ideas.”

Zolf sighs. “No, not yet. If we can solve this without her involvement, mores the better. This had to have happened between Oscar coming to bed and this morning.” Zolf glares at him, though he doesn't know what for. “That doesn't leave us a very big window. Four hours, if that?”

Okay, that would explain the tiredness. 

“Someone can't have got far in four hours assuming they spent an hour casting it too. I bet we can get some of the locals to help us out, I'm pretty good at tracking and Jasper always knows to be on the lookout for suspicious characters so we can talk to him too.” The taller figure with spiky hair speaks up. “I suppose Hamid lil buddy, you can detect magic and the like, and Azu your godly connection might come in handy?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Apparently Azu says, with a gentle smile shot in his direction. “We'll find them, Wilde.”

He smiles, brighter than he strictly feels, because this seems like a bit of a hopeless case in his eyes, and Zolf hasn't perked up at all at the plan. 

“Well, I certainly hope so.”

#

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Zolf stops in the doorway of his office, leaning up against the frame with a book held tight in one hand. “Wilde…” 

“I mean, I know I'm impossibly handsome and it's probably quite a drain to be alone with me…”

There's a lovely little pink tinge to Zolf's cheeks that normally would have been a rouge sort of irritation, bordering on anger. He wishes he could remember what changed to make that the dwarf’s instinctive reaction instead of a headbutt.

“Look. I could tell you everything, but I'd rather find the cause of this magical nonsense and save us several hours of effort.” The dwarf says, moving closer to take a seat on the opposite side of the desk. 

Oscar reclines, folding his hands over his stomach. “I can think of several hours of effort that I'd much rather spend with you. Lots of lengthy discourse.”

“Fuck's sake Wilde.” Zolf says, but he's smirking a little around his annoyance. He peers in close, making Oscar feel a little on edge. “I gotta think some of the magic didn't stick. You never showed interest in all of this.” He gestures to himself. “Back when we met.”

“Oh, Zolf.” He laughs. “You underestimate me. I saw the weak link and picked it off. Wouldn't have got what I needed out of you, so the obvious choice was Sir—.”

“Yeah, yeah alright. Gone a good few months without that name, don't need to hear it again.”

“Where is he anyway? And Sasha?”

“Gone.” Zolf says, quiet and firm. “You'll have that memory back in time, can we not rake over old hurts for the third damn time?” 

Oscar nods, pursing his lips and looking away from Zolf's obvious grief. Forgetting such a period of time is bad enough in any sense, but in his line of work… well, he's lucky he's still got Zolf around to set him straight without too much unnecessary pain.

“Thank you for staying with me.” He says quietly. “I saw how much you wanted to go.”

Zolf sighs, shaking his head. “Didn't want to leave you. Just wanted to get this fixed, and getting out there felt like the right step. But Hamid was right, he and Azu have a far better chance of hunting some magical bullshit down. And no one's gettin' to you through me.”

Oscar's heart does a little heavy thump in his chest. It's been many years (and more besides) since someone expressed that sort of emotion about him. He can't say he expected it to be Zolf Smith to stir the romantic feelings to the fore. He regrets not knowing how they got here more than anything. 

“How long have we been…” He gestures awkwardly between the pair of them, not entirely sure what sort of word would best describe it. 

Zolf's smile is wide enough to show amusement at his hesitation. “What?” 

“Intimately acquainted? Carnally familiar?” Oscar grins at the gentle simmering heat that comes to Zolf’s lovely eyes. “Enjoying a little afternoon delight?”

Zolf gives a great sigh. “You could just say fucking, you know that?”

“Oh Zolf, why use one word when you can use five?”

“That's always been your issue.” Zolf smirks. “Too damn mouthy.”

“Oh you do know me well.”

There's a feeling in the air, in the way that Zolf looks at him now, that Oscar is more than familiar with. It tells him a lot about the type of relationship they've built in the time he's lost, if Zolf is so willing to be playful, so willing to look a breath away from telling him to get on his knees… 

Oscar hates that he's forgotten how exactly they got here. 

The heat in Zolf's eyes gets shuttered when Oscar catches his lip between his teeth, fighting a smile. He sits back, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. 

“Look, fun as this is, I'm not about to… take advantage.”

Oscar laughs around the warmth in his chest, focussing instead on Zolf's sudden chivalry. “Believe me Zolf, I have no virtue left to protect.”

“S'not that.” Zolf mutters. “It's not… I ain't in this for the sex, Oscar. It doesn't mean anything if you don't remember.”

“Zolf, you incurable romantic.”

His blush is delightfully vast, spreading over the patch of chest his shirt exposes too. “Yeah, yeah don’t spread it around.”

Oscar makes a cross over his heart, which is apparently enough to get Zolf to get to his feet and set down the book he’s been holding this whole time. “I should go get dinner ready, hopefully the others won’t be too much longer without reporting in. You keep busy, read this or something.”

“Campbell? Zolf, really.”

A flicker of sadness passes over the dwarf’s face, well hidden if Oscar didn’t know how to read people quite so well. He smiles, patting the cover that displays many signs of being well-loved and frequently read. “You never know.”

Zolf leaves him with a final smile, and the silence that falls around him feels oddly stifling. With a huff, Oscar leans forward and snatches up the book, opening the front cover to find a short inscription in his own hand.

I went to quite some trouble for this, Zolf. Might I request you read it to me over drinks one evening? Oscar x

“Gods…” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

So much gone in the blink of an eye. It hardly seems fair at all.

#

It takes three days to hear anything positive from Hamid and the others. Three painfully awkward days in which he continues to flirt with Zolf as much as the dwarf will allow, while doing precious little of worth beyond reading books (the Campbell is actually good, much to his annoyance).

Oscar wonders for a couple of nights quite what Zolf is doing in the dark hours, given that he’s strictly refusing to come to what must be their shared room. Oscar catches him coming out of the office the morning of the third day with dark bags beneath his eyes and stands and watches him for a moment, trying to remain unseen.

“You can stop lurking.” Zolf mutters on his way to the kitchen, which puts paid to any sneaky watching pretty quickly.

“I get the impression I’m usually the one going without sleep, Zolf.” Oscar says, trailing after him to the kitchen.

“Yeah, well they didn’t take my memories and someone has to keep things running around here.” He grouses, banging pots and pans onto the counter with unnecessary force. “When you’re back to yourself we’re gonna have words about sharing the workload.”

Oscar hums, leaning up against the counter to watch Zolf work. “Whatever you say.”

He keeps watching, something soothing about the way Zolf moves around the space with such quiet familiarity. That is until he comes to rest in front of Oscar with a huff. “Need you to move.”

Oscar hums, shaking his hair out of his face. “Make me.”

“Wilde.”

“Zolf.”

The dwarf growls, a thoroughly pleasant sound that makes a shiver chase down his spine. A hand fists in the front of his waistcoat and tugs him down and their lips brush the barest amount when—.

“Zolf!! Zolf, are you there?”

Zolf’s sharp exhale tickles his skin as he steps back, fetching out the mobile stone from his pocket. “What’s up Hamid?”

“We got the gem! We’re coming back, should only be a couple of hours. Can you make sure the cell is ready for us? Cel will need healing too, Azu’s tapped for today already.”

“On it.” Zolf replies, already walking towards the hallway. “Be safe on your way back, no detours.”

And then he’s gone, the sound of the trapdoor opening the only indication of his path, leaving Oscar with prickling skin and an incredibly unfulfilled libido. 

Again. 

He’s already lost his memories, this on top hardly seems fair.

The hours pass quickly, all told, until the sound of hooves accompany the ringing of the perimeter alarms. Zolf is out the door before he can even get his feet under him, divine energy spooling out of the dwarf in waves of calming light on approach to the trio.

“Come on, come on, inside.” He says, chivvying them into the inn even as Hamid is chattering his ear off. 

They barely spare him a glance as they walk down to the basement, which he thinks is a little rude, considering. Once they’re safely down, he follows at a distance, loitering by the stairs.

“Right so we can probably just smash this now we’re back.” Hamid says, brandishing a dull ruby almost the size of his head at them. “But I figured it might just be easier to…”

Oscar watches as Hamid wanders over and into the adamantine cell, and then with a sudden flash of pain he finds himself awkwardly collapsed back on the stairs.

“Bloody hell, please never ever do that again.” He groans, holding his head in both hands.

Zolf is at his side in an instant, channeling some healing into his head, which does at least partially dull the ache. “Maybe next time don’t be careless enough to lose your memories, you great idiot.”

“You’ll forgive me for this time given that I had absolutely no idea.” Oscar murmurs, covering Zolf’s hand on his knee with his own. He looks over at the others, already making themselves comfortable in the cell. “Thank you all, for taking the risk on my behalf. We can debrief on what you found after quarantine.”

He leaves the basement with a sigh, the remembrance of the last two years settling over him like a particularly unpleasant blanket. It’s easier to leave the rest to Zolf, because if he stops to consider that the rest of them might have got infected for him then he might never be able to get anything done ever again. He can’t afford to be that important.

Zolf joins him in his office a few minutes later, some of the weight that’s been on his shoulders seemingly dissipated now. “Everything alright?”

He nods, trying for a reassuring smile. “We need to make some changes to how we do things. Share the load. We’re never going to beat this with all of our knowledge being so fragmented.”

Zolf’s eyebrows raise as he moves around the desk, coming to rest beside his chair. “And all it took was a magical attack to make you see it.”

“Mm, I wish I could have continued to forget how annoying you are when you’re right.”

“Hmph. You love it.” Zolf murmurs, pulling him into an embrace.

“Yes.” Oscar says, hiding his face in Zolf’s neck. “I do.”

Chapter Text

The knock at his door is hardly a surprise, but it startles him out of pretending to read the Campbell in his lap all the same.

He clambers off the bed, grateful at least for the foresight to leave his legs attached, and moves over towards the source of the interruption. When he opens the door, he finds Wilde hovering quietly in the hallway, head bowed and bag hitched over his shoulder.

“We need to talk.”

Something in his belly does a bit of a lurch at the serious set of Wilde’s mouth, the way the man’s once again anticipated something he was going to say himself, eventually. “We do. Come in?”

Wilde nods, stepping inside the room that’s, thankfully, not sized for a dwarf, so he doesn’t end up sticking out like a sore thumb. Zolf moves to sit on the end of the bed and watches as Wilde quietly drops his bag and toes off his boots, hanging his jacket up alongside Zolf’s on the rack. It’s domestic, in a quietly pleasing way. 

When Wilde turns around he’s smiling, and Zolf’s wearing a matching expression despite knowing better than to tip his hand so soon.

“I’m sorry about earlier.” Wilde says, settling in the armchair across from him. “Well… actually, that’s a lie. I’m not sorry for what I said, but I am sorry for how I said it.”

Zolf nods, crossing his legs at the ankle. “Know I said it was inappropriate. You could’ve chosen the moment better—.”

“Story of my life, Zolf.”

“But. The idea itself isn’t the issue.”

“That’s good to hear.” Wilde nods, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaning his head against it. “Aren’t you tired Zolf? Of putting everything on hold?”

It’s not the first time they’ve had this discussion. There’s been plenty of nights at the inn, before Hamid and Azu, before Carter and Barnes. Nights that have ended up in one of their beds or in quiet rejections or drunken confessions or all of the above. But it’s the first time that he’s known his answer to that question has changed.

“Very. S’why your funny joke wasn’t quite as funny as you thought.” He mutters. “Especially not in front of the others.”

Wilde nods, looking out the window at the slowly rising moon, spilling bright light into the room through unclosed curtains. 

“So what do we do about it?”

“Well.” Zolf says, just barely keeping ahead of the torrent of words that want to spill out of him. “There’s a temple to Aphrodite down the road ain’t there?”

Oscar sits up straighter, all pretence now dropping away. “You mean that, don’t you?”

“Course I do. Wouldn’t joke about this.” Zolf shrugs, not quite able to catch his eye for a moment. “Not gonna put any pressure on you though. I know it’s… well, it’s a lot, given everything else that’s going on.”

“Zolf Smith.” Oscar says, biting at his lip to try and stifle the sort of smile that won’t allow itself to be hidden. “Are you proposing?”

“Technically, I think you started it.”

#

The temptation is to let things linger, to live in the warm glow of mutual intent, but that would rather go against the decision to no longer let important stuff wait. 

They decide to invite Cel to witness - well, Zolf insists, and Oscar has long since learnt it is difficult to deny him anything - because they are the most likely to uncover any attempt at not making it widely known, given their single minded attention to searching out a relationship Oscar and Zolf have so far been more than adept at obscuring.

Cel is delighted, of course, and smugger than either he or Zolf were prepared for, but promise their discretion and ask only for five minutes to change into their 'fancy clothes' before they're ready to go.

It feels like a strange sort of stealth mission, him and Zolf and Cel walking casually out into the Hiroshima night, avoiding everyone else at all costs. It certainly isn’t his first time sneaking out of a hotel, but doing so to get married is… well, that’s entirely unique.

The priests at the temple are surprised to see them, especially so late at night, but there's been enough loss recently that snap weddings are hardly a niche industry anymore, and they are guided to a side room in short order. 

Oscar settles in the front row of chairs and clasps his hands tight in his lap, while Zolf wanders around the room, putting his own nervous energy into movement. Cel joins him, their smile wide and bright, peering at him in a way that makes him feel uncommonly seen.

“Aren't you nervous?” Cel asks, tapping their foot in an uneven rhythm against the floor. 

“Oddly, no.” Oscar says, glancing over at Zolf as the dwarf admires some of the stained glass windows. 

“That's good.” Cel replies, beaming. “Means you're doing the right thing.”

In a world full of uncertainty, to be so sure of this feels like a gift. Oscar reaches out for Zolf and he turns, without Oscar even having to put voice to his name. 

Zolf's hand is warm within Oscar's own and he's just barely conscious of Cel making a little high pitched squeak as he draws the dwarf into a gentle kiss. 

“Oh, I see we've already started proceedings!”

Their priest is a tall, bright-eyed human woman, with tumbling curls and a flash of mischief in her gaze that reminds Oscar of Sasha in an instant. She moves to the front of the room with such effortless grace that she looks to be floating, her robes a soft pink like the casual outfit he’s seen Azu wear around the inn.

“Shall we make this official?” She beams, sweeping an arm in invitation for them to stand in front of her. “You can hold hands, if you like, though we draw the line at anything more salacious until shortly after.”

Zolf’s cheeks are pleasantly stained with pink as Oscar winks at her, drawing a delightful loud chuckle from the woman. 

She takes them through a ritual that she clearly knows by heart, praising Aphrodite for bringing him and Zolf together, for bringing light and love to their lives and for allowing them to show their appreciation of her gift by joining themselves together in her place of worship. Zolf’s fingers tighten their grip on his at one point and he chances a glance down to find him biting at the inside of his cheek to fight a smile.

It’s a battle that Oscar has long since lost.

The binding is blissfully short, particularly when the woman looks in askance for rings and finds them lacking. Cel murmurs a little promise to the woman that they’ll insist on rectifying that first thing tomorrow and she continues on without too much pause. Short notice weddings are clearly nothing she’s too concerned about.

“Well, gentlemen, that’s about everything. Might I invite you to seal your union with a kiss?” She grins when Oscar ducks to press his lips to Zolf’s smile, making a comment to Cel that Oscar can’t hear over the delighted rushing of his pulse as he kisses his husband. 

“Truly, Aphrodite smiles upon you.” She says, with barely concealed approval, bowing slightly to the pair of them. “Go forward in her light and with her blessings.”

“I don’t know about you two, but I feel like celebrating.” Cel smiles, and Zolf laughs, the giddy sort of sound that Oscar doesn’t get to hear often enough.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” He says, threading fingers with Oscar. “Lead the way.”

#

Hours later and Oscar is drunk, with Cel not much better off. Zolf slings his arm around Oscar’s waist to steady him before he goes careening into a wall but there’s no helping Cel, the half-elf skipping along with the happy innocence of the very very inebriated. 

He probably should have stopped them before the dwarven whiskey came out.

Oh well.

“I love you.” Oscar says seriously, leaning down to press a sloppy kiss to Zolf’s head. “My husband! Cel, can you believe?”

“I definitely can, I was there!” Cel beams, their entire body moving with the force of their happy smile. “Which, let me say, is a real honour and I definitely won’t be telling any of the others about it until you give me your express permission.”

“What kind of ring do you want?” Oscar says, leaning his weight against Zolf even more. “I was thinking I might get a signet ring. We can get it engraved with our initials.”

“Oh, very subtle. The height of secrecy.” Zolf mutters, hooking his fingers more firmly into Oscar’s belt. “No one will ever know.”

“After, Zolf. After. When we’ve saved the godsdamn world.” Oscar beams. “Side by side. As husbands.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep it down a bit until we’re inside okay?”

Oscar’s face turns to hunger in an instant. “Speaking of inside…”

Cel bolts up the front steps of the hotel with impressive agility, turning to them with a bright smile. “That’s my cue! Remember your neighbours and enjoy your night!” With a half-hearted salute they disappear into the hotel, merrily leaving Zolf and Oscar behind. 

“You are entirely too drunk for anything but sleep, Oscar.” Zolf says, guiding him through the lobby and up to their room. When the man grumbles, Zolf smacks a hand over his ribs. “You’re the one that got piss drunk, don’t blame me.”

“I had such images of my wedding night.” Oscar sighs. “Of being thoroughly undone by a loving partner as we celebrate our love.”

“You’ve thoroughly undone yourself enough times, Oscar. No need for tonight to be any different.” He pushes them both into the room and quickly locks the door behind them. “I’m not about to take advantage of you.”

“Zolf.” Oscar says, sitting on the edge of the bed heavily. He tries and fails for something like a leer as he starts to tug off his jacket. “You have my express permission to take advantage of me whenever you want.”

Oscar cuts a handsome image, without doubt, shirt half unbuttoned and cheeks flush with alcohol. If he were a little more gone himself, he might be inclined to say to hell with it… but he’s too much of a romantic for his own good. It’s no good if Oscar won’t remember it.

“In the morning.” He says quietly, stepping into the gap left by Oscar's parted thighs. “When I wake up with your dick prodding at me and you're awake enough for me to cure your hangover…”

“Go on, I like where this is going.”

Zolf hums, leaning in to kiss Oscar and just about managing to stop himself wrinkling his nose at the taste of alcohol on his breath. “Then I'll think about giving you the wedding night you deserve.”

Oscar groans, looping arms around Zolf's waist and palming his backside. “Is it too early for a divorce?”

“Funny.” Zolf says, and kisses his husband again.