my lovely senechal (RQG)
Oscar is asleep over is desk again, his chin propped precariously on one hand, his elbow on a stack of papers that's going to go flying sooner or later. Zolf is gonna have to wake him up, because as pissy and obnoxious as the man can be when someone catches him in a moment of weakness, he's even worse when he's refusing to ask for help setting a broken nose. (That is not an experience Zolf cares to repeat.)
But he also needs the sleep so badly; the dark circles under his eyes are a permanent feature now, too prominent to cover up even with foundation. In the privacy of his own head, undisturbed now even by gods, Zolf can admit that's the reason why he doesn't just wake Oscar up by making as much noise around the office as possible, so they can both pretend he's just been resting his eyes between the five hundredth and five hundred and first letter of the day. Instead he slips his fingers through Oscar's hair, resettling it on his collar. It's just as soft and tempting as it's ever been, even without access to magic, and he knows that Oscar would only get smug and secretive if he asked, so he doesn't. (He's saving that question for a day when Oscar really needs that sense of superiority to hold himself together.)
Zolf lets the soft brown waves part themselves around his thick fingers, not a tangle in sight to risk snagging. It's ridiculous, the amount of care the man puts into his hair, honestly. Not at all endearing. He strokes his thumb across the soft spot behind Oscar's ear, no longer bristly, where it had been shaved back many months ago and is still shorter than the rest, a stinging reminder still tangible but less visible than the scar across his cheek. Then he withdraws, reluctantly, meaning to put his hand on Oscar's shoulder to shake him awake.
And is stopped, instead, by piercing blue eyes, looking sternly at him through narrowed lids.
"You stopped," Oscar says, affronted as a cat who's been removed from its favorite lap.
Zolf is utterly incapable of stopping the stupid, besotted smile from taking over his face, no matter how much it makes him blush. "Sorry," he says, feeling a little giddy. "What was I thinking."
Oscar settles his head more comfortably on his hand and sighs with contentment as Zolf goes back to petting his hair.