This Is Not a Love Song
"You just pick up a chord, go twang, and you've got music." -- Sid Vicious
8 November 2007
The concert had been everything Oz had hoped for, with some interesting and unexpected twists.
Johnny hadn't mellowed with age, but rather sharpened his ability with cutting remarks designed to belittle the very fans who cheered his every scathing comment.
Paul was as furious as ever, pounding through every song relentlessly, and Steve's guitar work still thrummed through Oz stirring up a low buzz of energy in his gut as it always did, though feeling it live was something he'd never experienced before.
So, it wasn't his reaction to the familiar face he'd spotted at one of the Academy's bars between sets that surprised him, so much as Giles re-reaction to him.
He'd stepped in close, needing olfactory confirmation of what his eyes were telling him, and smiled when Giles had in fact turned out to be Giles. All the better was the surprise and pleased gleam in the older man's eyes when Oz bought him a drink and let his hand linger against Giles' a moment too long.
Later, in the small flat above an herbalist shop, Oz had offered tea and they'd sat for few hours, listening to albums and wondering if the show would have been even more a wonder to behold with Sid at bass even if Glenn had the better technical skills.
They talked about music, about leather jackets and World's End, briefly about Hellmouths and slayers and Tibet, and then they sat in silence for a while and sipped their tea until Oz had moved a hand to Giles' knee.
9 November 2007
The mattress was on the floor of his bedroom, low and warm and soft and as Oz woke and lifted his head to peer blearily at Giles, the small grimace creasing his features told him that the older man's back had not appreciated Oz's minimalist approach.
Oz chuckled and kissed the corner of Giles mouth and his chin, earning a low rumble of grudging approval. He continued down, kissing over Giles' neck and nuzzling against his chest and belly while sliding lower under the covers to lick and suck his cock to hardness.
It was slow and lazy, and Oz purred when he felt large hands petting through his hair and down the back of his neck, the slight pressure a suggestion rather than a demand and the slighter man acquiesced by relaxing his throat and taking the entire length. He swallowed and hummed and sucked until he felt the fingers in his hair tighten and Giles spilled down his throat with a groan.
The movement on the bed almost felt choreographed in its comfort. Shifting and rearranging themselves without words until Giles had Oz positioned on his stomach with a pillow under his hips.
Giles kissed him deep, tongue barely flicking a warning against the crinkled flesh before pushing in and making Oz gasp, open and needy. He was a boneless, shuddering mass by the time Giles let him come, hips stuttering against the pillow seeking friction and back to meet insistent mouth behind him.
In the shower, Giles took him carefully, using a lot of lube without much prep and easing into him inch by inch. His thrusts were measured and steady, drawing it out until Oz was curled forward against the tile, thumping a fist against the wall and sobbing out his need for release.
When they were dry and dressed and Oz was putting the kettle on for tea again, he turned to Giles, "Stay a while?"
11 November 2007
Giles lay on his back on the bed and idly stroked Oz's back where the young man lay half upon him with his head tucked under Giles' chin. They had gotten out of bed once already that morning to read the Sunday paper and eat a bit of breakfast, but it had been far to easy to be lulled back to the bed by the dark haired boy on his chest.
Sighing, Giles threaded his fingers into Oz's hair, "There's a chance I'll have to leave soon."
Oz barely shifted, though he did reply with a knowing, "Mmm."
Giles twirled one of the purple locks around a finger, staring through the magenta and lime of The Kinks poster gracing the ceiling, "What exactly is it we're doing here?"
It felt as though Oz's stillness went still as he considered Giles' quiet musing, and after a while he raised his head to study Giles' face and smiled, "Well, I think it's safe to say we've picked up a chord."
Brows disappearing into his hairline, Giles stunned expression soon morphed into one of amusement, "You're going to quote Sid Vicious to me on matters of the heart?"
"I could quote Yeats if you'd prefer," Oz offered with a shrug of one shoulder.
Giles grumbled and tugged him back down to his previous position, "No, it's too bloody early in the morning for Yeats."
It was Oz's turn for a chuckle as he nuzzled back down onto Giles' chest, "I could argue that if it's too early for Yeats it's far too early for Vicious."
Exasperated, Giles give Oz's ass a swat, "You were the one who brought the both of them up, I might point out."
"Mm," Oz nodded, "So I did."
A long while passed before either of them spoke again, both of them listening to the sounds of traffic and shoppers below, and then it was Oz who broke the silence.
"You know that the only real question here is whether there's room for my van at your place."
Another moment crept by and Giles tightened his arm around Oz.