Tanning lotion on his arms, the back of his neck. SPF 45 because Oz
doesn't tan, he burns -- redhead's complexion and all -- always has and
always will, nothing will change that. Now Devon, he tanned. Tanned and
tanned beautifully like he did everything. Lying out back in the bright
early, early days of spring, when there's still a slight chill in the air.
But Devon being a die hard wanted that light golden sun-kissed hue. And he'd
pick a day to bake himself. Sprawl out on the lawn around three and not come
back in until it was almost dark. And Oz would go outside and call him
insane and ask if he was waiting for the melanoma to set in and Devon would
tip down the sunglasses slightly, snort, pass Oz a bottle and say, "Either
fuck off or do my back." Rolling over onto his stomach, exposing the back in
And Oz always complied. Massaging the orange scented lotion into
Devon's skin. Loving the way he'd all but purr under the firm touch. And
the sunglasses would tip down again. Mysterious twinkle in dark blue eyes.
Promising of the night to come. One of those nights that left them both full
and pleased and sated. Those nights that just don't happen anymore. And
occasionally lips would brush, a show for the nosy old lady who lived next
door and kept peaking through the fence. And Oz would stay outside,
slathering the heavy duty lotion on his own arms and the back of his neck.
Still wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Not like Devon who feared the infamous
tan line and did everything in his power to avoid it. And they'd lay there
dozing and listing to the faint tinkle of wind chimes in the yard next door
and Devon would tan and Oz would burn. The skin on his nose red and peeling
the next day, freckles multiplied like someone had slipped them fertility
drugs and Devon would have that that golden hue that he wanted on every inch
of his body.
Then it was Devon's turn, smoothing soothing aloe on peeling skin
with a grin. A chiding, "Fuck, Oz, you should know better. You burn like
this every time." And Oz would shrug and they both knew that the next time
Devon decided to go outside and tan it would play out just the same.
"Oh, Oz, could you do my back?"
Voice breaks him out of his contemplation of the bottle of suntan
lotion and he aims a small smile and a nod at Willow. Motioning for her to
turn as he squirts some of it onto his hands. Rubs it into her shoulders,
casting thoughts of those afternoons aside.
Oz. Full. Lotion.