Finn lay awake in his bed before sunrise. The chill that had settled in the room overnight was making it difficult to crawl out from under the covers. Somehow, he had ended up in a position he had wanted to avoid despite taking no risks and going to bed anxious and uncomfortable. There was very little doubt left in Finn's mind that Harv had at least some idea of his interest. As much as he'd like to believe Harv would consider a more serious pursuit towards a relationship after the snow melted, Finn had his doubts.
He'd seen all too often the men at the pub that would drink themselves into a stupor, professing their aching desires for a life with someone 'like him' only to return to their wives hung over the next morning. The last thing he wanted to hear Harv say was that Finn had caught him during a moment of weakness. Or worse, have his query reacted to with anger. It was best to maintain a veneer of friendship until he had something concrete for assurance. Something other than vague answers and coy phrasing that could be interpreted as flirting if he wanted to.
Finn rolled onto his side and looked at his collections of robes hung up neat on the wall. If he went downstairs in the robe that matched his satin briefs it would certainly hammer home a desire to be admired. But would it get him the response he wanted? Last time Harv had spent a great deal of time looking everywhere else and he had the excuse of not having enough time to choose what he wore. His plush purple robe would be much more comfortable and warmer to wear. He'd probably seem less desperate in it too.
He needed to be logical about this and keep his expectations low. If, and that was a big if, Harv would engage in something more intimate Finn couldn't expect it to last past the blizzard. Just harmless, temporary company, a distraction from the harsh conditions outside. He could attempt to pursue some sort of fling, so long as he didn't put any heavy emotional investment in it. Other men seemed to handle such encounters just fine and not come out the other end feeling rejected; so why couldn't he? He could be... fun.
Things seemed less stressful when he was worried about whether Harv would stab him with a sword.
That morning, Harv lingered in his room a little longer than necessary. It was one thing to be brimming with confidence in the heat of the moment, with Finn too shy to say exactly what he meant. It was another to consider the implications with a clear head and a good night's rest. He was staying in a witch's house, a witch who was out of practice and didn't consider themselves a witch at all, but still not someone to trifle with. Messing with a witch's heart got people turned into frogs. However, once he'd summoned the courage to come downstairs and caught Finn brewing their morning tea while dripping in royal blue satin; he found it difficult to see Finn as anything other than beautiful.
"Good morning, Harvey." Finn set everything on the table and caught Harv staring, this time Harv didn't turn away. "I hope you slept okay." Finn gently rubbed at his own dark circles under his eyes, it had been difficult to unwind after their game had threatened to take a risqué turn.
"I got into this nasty habit of not needing much sleep." Harv chuckled. "Without any hens or soldiers to coral, I'm not sure what to do with myself in the morning." Typically, on Saint Stephan's Day, the whole town would gather in the town square, dance and sing songs. Stuck inside there were few ways to mimic it, they couldn't even exchange gifts, not really. There was this awkward tension in the air that their usual small talk was unable to fully dissipate. Finn would keep glancing at him, as if his question from last night still hung in the air. He made no move to press further.
"I'm not sure what to do with myself either." Finn said. Though he did seem keen on 'accidentally' pressing his leg up against Harv's under the table and kept it there. "I have enough writing to get me through the winter season. I'd rather not write for the sake of writing. It would be a shame to be working the whole time you're here." Finn glanced at him again. It wasn't a question exactly, but he was definitely looking for a specific response.
"You don't have to entertain me the whole time, I can find something to do." Harv said with a shrug and immediately Finn looked disappointed. "Why? Was there something specific you wanted to do?" Finn had more nervous energy built up in his hands then he knew what to do with. His fingers twisted around each other over and over again in different patterns and formations.
"It's... it's silly." He kept catching glimpses of Harv's face only to look away. "I wouldn't know the first thing to do anyways."
"What is it?" Harv scooted his chair a little closer and leaned toward Finn.
"You keep messing with your scalp. It looks painful." Finn gently tugged on one of Harv's dreads. "I thought maybe I could help." Harv couldn't help but cringe, as annoying as it was to have his hair growing out, it wasn't as painful as fixing everything after months of neglect. Plus, Finn seemed to be changing the subject away from what he really wanted.
"I don't know Finn, I was just going to cut most of it off once I got home." Easier to start from scratch in the comfort of his own home with someone who had practice with fighting with his hair. "My hair's not like your's."
"Well, what if I just redid these thingies so they all match instead of them tangling into each other." Finn let go of Harv's hair, growing self-conscious about how pushy he was sounding. "It'd just be a shame to lose so much length over something you had no control over. I told you it was silly."
"Do you like long hair?" Harv asked, as he noticed Finn's hands start to fidget with his teaspoon once he lost a reasonable excuse to keep touching him. Finn looked at him with this surprised, doe-eyed look, like he hadn't even considered his own tastes might be why he didn't want Harv to cut off the matted dreads. A light rose dusted Finn's cheeks and he immediately went back to examining his spoon.
"Well, I can't pull it off, every time I've tried people mistook me for a woman. I always envied men who could pull it off and still look so..." He trailed off, glancing at Harv's broad shoulders. "That's no reason for me to have a say. It's your head. But, if you wanted to fix them, I could give it a try."
"It'd take all day." Harv said. He saw the way Finn's eyes sparkled and felt like kicking himself. He knew this was going to be painful. Finn had no clue what he was doing and there was quite a bit of matting. "Fine. Just, do exactly as I say and try not to break my hair. I'll trim off the dead ends and find something to whittle while you work."
Finn had him sitting on the floor of the sitting room between his knees as he worked. A large bowl of water and olive oil sat on something Finn called a warming plate. He was meticulous, slowly easing the hair apart from tip to root with one of his mother's old knitting needles. Every so often he would pause and rub more oil into the hair to keep it from drying out. Harv kept an eye on the wide toothed comb Finn had set next to the bowl. No matter what people said or did, those things pulled and hurt. After he finished combing out one of the locs, Finn would loosely braid the section of hair to keep it from tangling into the rest. By the third loc, Harv didn't have to micromanage how Finn handled his hair as much and was able to focus on the odd chunks of wood he'd brought.
"What's your favorite animal?" Harv asked when he couldn't come up with an idea for what to carve.
"Do people count?" Finn carefully pulled out some of the shed hairs that had stayed matted in with the locs.
"Can't really carve a person with wood this small. Too many details." Harv rotated the block of wood in his hands. "The most detailed thing I could do would be a horse." He felt Finn tug roughly at a knot, lighting his scalp on fire with pain.
"No horses!"
"OW!" Harv yelped and tried to glare at Finn over his shoulder.
"Sorry." Finn pressed his knees against Harv's sides in an awkward attempt at a hug, his hands still too busy. "I don't have too many strong opinions on animals, but definitely nothing with hooves." Finn shuddered before resuming his work.
"You're scared of horses?" Harv's lips tugged into an incredulous smile. He'd never met anyone who was afraid of a work animal before. "So, no pets then?"
"Nope." Finn hummed and reached for the comb. Harv tensed his shoulders. "Relax." Finn pushed his shoulders down gently and dipped the comb into the warm oil.
"What about the birds in the area?" Harv had seen hopeful ravens perched on the windowsills outside his room in the morning.
"Oh, I'd hardly count those as pets. They live outside." Finn gently pulled at the hair he pinched between his left thumb and palm. "They do seem to like my music though. I think they come here to pick up new sounds to mimic. Quite a few of them have tried learning to laugh or scream from listening to people." He spoke about it with such fondness, but Harv shuddered at the thought of walking in the woods alone and hearing one of those birds try to laugh like a human.
He started carving a rough approximation of what a raven would look like. Every now and then, Finn would direct him with a knee or a gentle hand. The slow methodic work took most of Finn's attention, though he would hum a few stray notes here and there. After a while Finn stopped bothering to pull his knees away, holding Harv's sides with his calves. Harv had wondered if this whole thing had been an excuse just to touch him, but Finn had become deeply consumed by the task. A few hours in, Harv was starting to get hungry.
"Finn, we should probably take a break soon." Harv said. Finn hummed in response and started working on the next loc. It would be another forty minutes before Finn had finished with that one. "You don't have to do this all in one day. You can take a break." He received another hum in response. Harv snaked a hand around one of Finn's ankles and gave a quick squeeze. This time Finn dropped the comb. "We should get something to eat."
"Now? But we just..." Finn looked up at the clock. "I guess we didn't just eat, did we? At least let me finish the one I just started." Harv grabbed Finn's hand before he could reach for the comb again. His hand was soft and warm from working directly with the oils. He pulled the back of Finn's hand close to his lips.
"Really it's fine." He watched Finn's cheeks fade into a brilliant scarlet. The bard forgot how to breathe, staring at Harv with fear and anticipation. Harv smiled and let go of his hand. "Food first." He took advantage of Finn's surprise and pulled himself off the floor. His back gave a gruesome pop as he pulled his shoulders back. "You coming?" He could almost see Finn swallow. "To get the food? I'm still not entirely sure how the kitchen works."
"Right. Food." Finn struggled to form a coherent thought, still rooted on the couch. The blond slowly pulled himself to his feet, lost deep in thought as he stumbled forward and led Harv to the kitchen again. Harv watched him fumble with silverware, it was charming seeing him so disarmed and a little amusing. Since Finn was so intent on entertaining him, it wouldn't hurt to indulge him a little. At least, that's how Harv was able to rationalize taking the tea Finn had just taken a sip of for himself. The bard watched him wide eyed, unable to figure out if Harv was purposefully taking a sip from the same part of the cup. If Harv had work he could do, he wouldn't have had time to come up with this little game of his. See how far he could push the bard until the blond in no uncertain terms blurted out what was churning in his mind since the first morning he'd been here.
Idle hands make for the devil's work after all.
All sense of nervousness had left Finn the moment they had settled into the sitting room after their second break. No, he was just about ready to throw Harv or himself out into the snow, the victim depending on the moment. Last night had been no accident, this man was unabashedly teasing him in his own home. Every time Finn tried to call him out on it, or thought of something witty to say back, Harv would feign innocence with this mischievous look in his eyes. Even though he knew damn well what he was doing every time he'd let his hand wander.
It just seemed so funny to the warrior every time Finn lost his train of thought mid-sentence because Harv did or said something remotely suggestive. Well, as a single occurrence, maybe Finn could write it off as his overactive imagination again. But no one on earth would casually lick a tea stirrer in that way or slip their thumb up under the cuff of Finn's pant leg like that in the same day, on accident. He was doing it on purpose, and it had to mean something. Especially since Harv found it just so incredibly funny that Finn cared about what he was doing.
Fixing the man's hair was supposed to be a quiet, intimate sort of affair; the kind Finn had read about in books. Not an opportunity for the man to play little jokes on him and wait for Finn's reaction. If he really didn't want Finn to hurt him, he would stop caressing the skin of Finn's ankle only to giggle like a child when Finn so much as changed the pattern of his breathing. This was not at all going how Finn had planned.
Well, two could play at that game.
After Finn finished braiding the last section of hair, slid his fingers up the base of Harv's scalp and down his neck with firm strokes. The warrior was suddenly silent, no more subtle vies for Finn's attention or snickering at him under his breath. The bard smiled a little to himself as he massaged his neck.
"You know," Finn said softly, "this was supposed to be your gift." It was an obvious lie, Finn could have written him a song or something less labor intensive. That didn't stop Finn from using tradition as an excuse to make Harv squirm in his seat. Finn slid his hands under the collar of his shirt to his shoulders. "It's not as nice as your little family of birds." He leaned into the man a little more and allowed his thighs to slide past Harv's sides. "Maybe... you were hoping for something else?" He dipped his head so he could whisper into Harv's ear. "Something I could offer you?"
Harv pulled away, and looked back at Finn, breathing a little too heavy for someone who spent all day sitting on the floor. Finn batted his eyes with a satisfied grin.
"What? Was it something I said?" Finn asked. His grin slowly faded, as his guest didn't speak or look for an excuse to leave. Harv wasn't looking at him like something to be afraid of. Quite the opposite in fact. Finn felt he should say something to diffuse the situation, explain it was a joke. Just a funny little in-joke between friends. Otherwise, if this wasn't how friends behaved, then he could say Harv started it. Outsmart the man at his own little game.
"What did you have in mind?" Harv asked. Finn's hopefulness got the better of him.
"It was pretty cold last night; I can only imagine how uncomfortable it is sleeping in a room without a fireplace." Finn stood up. "You're welcome to stay in my room with me, if you'd prefer." Finn turned and headed toward the door. "I don't mind sharing warmth." He dipped out of the sitting room and dashed up the stairs. There was no turning back now. Each time he played the words in his head they sounded sillier and sillier. He didn't want Harv to see his laundry all over the floor should he accept Finn's offer.
Heavens, what would he do if Harv accepted his offer?
He gathered everything potentially embarrassing and shoved it under the bed. He pulled open a drawer digging for something lilac or a rich purple. If he was going to go to bed with his ego and heart crushed in one night, he might as well look to die for while doing it. He lit a few candles and stoked the hearth before crawling into bed. He needed something to distract himself from waiting before he fidgeted apart every decoration he'd just adorned his body with.