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The bath is glorious, hot to the point of lightly boiling himself, filled with bubbles and surrounded by scented candles that Zolf lit with a quick application of Spark earlier. (Zolf still doesn’t understand why Oscar finds the sight of him clicking his fingers to create a flame so attractive, but he gives into the kisses Oscar demands with a little smile that shows it doesn’t really matter…)
Oscar’s needed this sort of indulgence for weeks. But despite Zolf’s insistence that he take the time for self-care, he’s been unable to let himself until meeting his manuscript deadline. His first published work in five years cannot be half-arsed. Especially not the story that he’s chosen to tell.
Oscar slips a little lower, confident that his hair will stay dry in the lovely braid that Zolf gave him this morning. He floats, hot and hazy, for as long as he can get away with, his mind blissfully clear now the looming responsibility has faded.
It’s only when the scent of whatever Zolf is cooking becomes stronger than the candles that he realises he should really crawl out of his pit of indulgence, if only to counteract the hunger that’s growing in his belly.
He pushes out of the bath and perches on the side to grab his towel, hooking it around his waist and then standing up, eager to be with his husband again.
He is not prepared for the great swirling that goes through his head and the way he stumbles, reaching out for purchase as his body attempts to ungenerously send him fainting of all things. He grips the edge of the sink but also manages to send the entirety of their toiletries falling to the floor in a clattering mess.
He pauses, breathing heavily and trying to make sure he’s okay to give full verticality another go when he hears the thudding of footsteps racing through the house.
“Oscar? Oscar! Y’alright?”
Zolf’s voice is high and definitely-not-panicking in tone and can’t help but smile, standing up to his full height just as his husband arrives in the bathroom doorway.
He watches Zolf’s eyes scan him quickly, checking that everything is okay before looking at the room itself, gaze settling on the pile of detritus with a faint smile.
“Our belongings piss you off for any reason in particular?”
Oscar laughs moving forward at the same time as Zolf does. Zolf tucks in close, arms wrapping around Oscar’s hips and nose pressed to the heat of his belly. It’s easy to loop his arms around his husband, toying with the hair at the nape of Zolf’s neck that’s longer now than it ever has been. Soon, they’ll match.
“I simply forgot that after cooking myself for such a long time, I might have a little lightheadedness to contend with.” Oscar says. “I have no real qualms with our toiletries, dear heart.”
Zolf nods, shivering when Oscar slides a hand over the side of his throat and tests his pulse, elevated but slowing.
“Was worried.” Zolf admits in that quiet voice that sometimes Oscar pretends not to hear, if he thinks Zolf would rather he didn’t.
“I know, darling.” Oscar smiles, bending to kiss the top of his head. “But there is nothing this world could do to me that you could not fix. Of that I am certain.”
With a final tight squeeze of his hips, Zolf steps back and grins up at him. “Alright, go get dressed. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“And who’s going to tidy up after my stumble?” Oscar asks. He stays still as Zolf starts to pluck things up, decidedly not staring at his husband’s lovely arse.
“M’closer to the floor and if you try your towel will fall off.” Zolf retorts, putting all of the bottles and pots back in their correct places without Oscar even having to prompt.
“Darling.” Oscar grins, cocking his hip in the way that usually makes Zolf roll his eyes. “How is that a bad thing?”
“You want to eat?”
Zolf shoots him an unimpressed look, which wouldn’t be nearly enough to chasten him if his stomach wasn’t starting to make its will known.
So he relents, gliding towards the door and squeezing Zolf’s shoulder on the way. “Very well, my dashing rescuer. You win this one.”
Oscar’s well on his way down the hallway when he hears Zolf’s muttered ‘makes a bloody change’ and he laughs so hard that he almost trips over his own feet again, just about managing to artlessly stumble into the bedroom to get ready for dinner without knocking himself out for a second time.