Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4466969.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Pandora_Hearts
  Relationship:
      Gilbert_Nightray/Oz_Vessalius
  Character:
      Gilbert_Nightray, Oz_Vessalius
  Additional Tags:
      Masturbation, Fantasizing, One-Sided_Attraction, Shame, so_much_shame,
      technically_oz_isn't_underaged_but_like, gil_is_so_ashamed, Dicks
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-31 Words: 2586
****** Better Now? ******
by kenophilic
Summary
     Gil pines, and Oz laughs.
Notes
     i hope you like this rimi it's almost as gay as you
See the end of the work for more notes
It started innocently.

It always started innocently, when it was Oz, after all.
The boy had pulled Gilbert down onto the bed with him half an hour ago after
they'd left Alice sleeping in the other room, and there'd been absolutely
nothing he could do about it. Not that he minded, of course.
It was getting late, but Oz never cared, staring up at the ceiling and talking
about anything and everything that came to mind. They hadn't bothered to change
into their nightclothes, and Gilbert couldn't even find the strength in himself
to point out that they probably should. Oz was too caught up in explaining how
badly Break had gotten into Alice's head today, how he'd needed to throw his
arms around her to stop her from attacking him.
It wasn't like it was that enrapturing of a tale. But Gilbert still couldn't
look away. His eyes sparkled with every laugh, brows furrowed as he tried to
recall the smallest details, his lips curled into a smile, his fingertips
dipping up underneath the shirt riding up past his belly button...
Gilbert's face turned pink as he turned his gaze on the pillow instead. That
wasn't right. He shouldn't be staring like that. Honestly though, it was a bit
rude of his master to just push his shirt all the way up like that. He seemed
to be content enough with just trailing his fingers over his stomach as he
spoke, and soon enough, his eyes were closing as he faded into the next story.
Gilbert listened, as always, humming in response when he needed to and trying
not to look too much at the way the boy's stomach contracted when he brushed
his fingers a bit too lightly over his navel.
He swore he was listening to him, hanging off his every word. He swore that he
was paying attention, that his heart didn't skip a beat when Oz's hand slid
down to the edge of his pants this time, almost dipping under the waistband. He
held his breath when Oz's delicate fingers lingered just a few moments longer
there, only letting it out when they touched his ribs again.
He shouldn't have been watching like this.
There shouldn't be any kind of guilty, burning ache of longing in his chest.
He furrowed his brows and looked away, cursing himself when his gaze landed on
the way Oz's lips stayed parted almost thoughtfully for a moment before he
spoke again. Wetting his own lips, he tried to force himself to look away. He
couldn't. It wasn't as though Oz had noticed, anyway. Why should he need to?
Suddenly, far too soon, silence had fallen across the room.
Not a moment later, Oz spoke again.
No, he didn't speak. He made a noise. A soft noise, more like a mewl,
stretching out with his arms over his head, his back arching, his shirt sliding
up over his stomach—
Gil looked away again.
This was illegal.
He focused his eyes on the end of Oz's sock, face burning red. He could see it
slip up further from the corner of his eye, failed to force himself not to
glance at the flash of his ribs. It'd ridden up too far and he bit back the
urge to tell Oz to pull it down.
Chronological age or not, Oz was still a child, he couldn't even bring himself
to entertain the thought.
That was a lie.
How long had he wanted this?
How long had he wanted to run his hands over Oz's sides, down to those far too
prominent hipbones, down his thighs—
He cut himself off again.
The last time he got to see him like this, he was 14 and watching his master
undress. Oz never saw a problem with taking his clothes off in front of his
servant.
Floods of memories rushed through his head, and suddenly he was reliving all of
those awful little instances he thought he'd gotten over years and years ago,
all those flashes of watching Oz pull his shirt up over his head, the way he'd
straighten himself up, stretch himself out so he could pull it off easier, how
slow-motion and overly-exaggerated even the slightest curve in his back when he
moved seemed.
Before he knew it, it was all coming back at once. Every time Oz ever pushed
him into the supply closet and pressed him up against the wall, slid his hand
over his mouth to keep him quiet so that Miss Kate never found them.
He remembers how nice having Oz pressed all the way against him felt, how warm
and heavy he was, because Oz never seemed to have a problem with leaning all of
his weight on him. It was embarrassing, how much it'd get to him.
 
Oz shifted against him, pressed close in that cramped little closet. The
clicking of heels faded into the distance.
"That was so close..." He whispered.
Gil took a deep breath the moment Oz's hand pulled away from his lips, shaking
and panting weakly. Far too close, he agreed. He hated running, no matter how
often he'd forget it, chasing after his master.
It was too dark to see, too dark to tell what kind of face Oz was making. All
Gil knew was that Oz was still leaning against him, one knee between his legs,
keeping him pinned there. He couldn't help but cling to the front of his shirt.
For a while, there was only their breathing as the boys listened closely.
The sound of clicking returned, an exasperated voice ringing through the
hallway, calling out for the little heathens, as Miss Kate so delicately put
it.
Oz immediately pushed his hand back over Gil's mouth, suppressing the tiny
noise of surprise that his servant gave.
"Sh!" He leaned in to hiss it into his ear, and Gil's eyes went wide. He could
feel hot air down his neck, he could smell the shampoo and the sweat and the
pure adrenaline, just like electricity. Oz's hands were warm, his breath was
warm, his body—fitting so perfectly to his own—wastoo warm.
The clicking faded again.
More silence.
"...Gil...?"
The boy tensed, trying to push himself further against the wall to get away
from his voice. Curious, borderline teasing.
"Oh... Gil...~"
It wasn't borderline teasing anymore. It was a flat out mocking purr, straight
into his ear. It sent a shiver down his spine and a whimper out his mouth.
Oh no.
Oh, no.
Oz could feel it.
"M-Master, please...!" He begged. "I-It's not...! I'm not—it isn't...!!"
Oz simply laughed, the sound like bells. Not mocking, just innocent fun.
"It's alright, it's okay," he giggled, barely pulling away. The friction of
Oz's knee moving away shifted the fabric of his own pants, making him have to
bite back a gasp. He let go of his master's shirt and covered his face.
Eyes adjusting to the dark, he could see the silhouette of Oz's head tilt to
the side. He didn't have to see to know he was smiling that sweet, playful
little 'everything is fine and you're silly' smile.
"It's no big deal, Gil. Perfectly natural, happens all the time, even to me..."
He whispered, like Miss Kate could still open the door any moment.
He didn't want to think about that. He tried not to think about that.
He failed, drawing his shoulders closer to himself.
Oz laughed again, and it was sweet and angelic and comforting andabsolutely not
what Gil needed right then at all. He reached up, ruffling his servant's
hair—and when his fingers tangled through, tugging at his scalp, it sent shocks
through his skull and down his spine and straight to places it absolutely
shouldn't have and heshouldn't have whimpered again.
Oz kept smiling. "It's alright, you're fine. Adrenaline does that to you, I
think I read that somewhere." Of course, that's what he'd think it was. The
thrill of the chase. "I'll be in my room, okay? You take care of that and come
straight back to me, got it?" It didn't even seem to occur to him that it was
his fault at all, and that made Gil hate himself that much more.
He nodded quickly, squeezing his eyes shut and refusing to look at him.
Oz only grinned, finally opening the door. Gil tried to hide himself away more,
so that his master didn't have to see him in this state in plain light. But all
he did was wink at him, slipping out of the closet and closing the door again.
He stood there, silent, not moving, not breathing. Just trembling.
Eventually, his knees felt too weak. He slid own the wall, sunk all the way
down. He tried to breathe.
His hands shook as he unbuttoned his pants, keeping his eyes closed and trying
to rid his mind of everything but gettingridof the damned thing.
But he couldn't.
All he could think about was Oz moving against him, holding a hand over his
mouth and whispering in that sweet, teasing little voice right next to his ear.
He rubbed himself harder, not remembering when he'd bitten his own hand.
Practically curled in on himself on the supply closet floor, trembling like
mad, he came.
He tried to choke back the near-silent cry for his master and failed, ashamed.
Gil found Oz in his room later, acting like nothing was wrong in the entire
world.
"Better now?" He teased, grinning.
Gil turned bright red, giving a shaky little nod.
Oz laughed, and they left it at that.
 
It'd happened in an instant, the flash of memory, and it left Gil with an awful
ache in places he didn't want to think about and the worst blush he's had in
years.
He's never gotten this worked up, not over anyone or anything.
Only Oz.
It's only ever been Oz.
Even while he was gone, he still had those memories, every little touch and
every little whisper. Perfectly innocent and perfectly damn obscene, and he was
disgusting. It wasn't hard to imagine. He had plenty of recollections of Oz
holding him, grabbing him, pushing him against something without caring about
being gentle, ghosting his lips over his ear to make fun of him.
Every girl he'd been with since then had always been a pretty little blond with
bright green eyes and a devilish smile and he didn't realize why until he was
19, and when he figured it out he decided he wasn't even going to look at
anyone else ever against because they still weren't him. He'd been utterly
disgusted with himself this whole time.
He's driving himself mad like this, just because Oz's shirt rode up just
barely, he's such a horrible person and he hates it, he hates what Oz does to
him.
All he wants is to reach over and brush his hands over the boy's waist. He
wants to feel the curve of the hips that have been haunting his fantasies for
over a decade now, he wants to slide his hands down his thighs and push them
up, spread his legs and lean over him. He isn't sure when he started
fantasizing about things like that, like pinning him down and having his way
with him, but it might've been when he realized he was getting older and that
his memories of Oz were suddenly so much smaller and younger than his own body
was becoming.
He could picture it so clearly, how Oz's eyes would open in surprise. He
wouldn't try to shove him off or pull away at first—he never would. He never
has, not for any reason. He never pulls away from Gil. He can already see the
way his face would color red as he realized what that look on Gil's face meant.
Not like he'd have much time to register that, not with the way he'd press
their hips together. Not much, not forcefully, just enough to push himself down
against his master, closing them together while he leaned down and kissed him
hard and deep, just like he's been wanting to do for years and years now.
He wants to pin him down, kiss him hard, grind against him and feel the way he
arches up and moans into his mouth, desperate and maybe even a bit confused,
wondering what started this or even why it was happening. He wants Oz to kiss
him back, snake his arms around his shoulders and pull him closer until they're
moving together, moaning, and all Gil wants is to lean his forehead against
Oz's shoulder and hold his knees, pushing his legs up and god, he wants to
drive into him, again and again and again until Oz is mewling and whimpering
and nearly sobbing beneath him.
He wants to fuck him, he wants to make him cry in ecstasy and cling to him and
hold back desperate shouts as he buries his face in Gil's neck. It's all he can
think about, picturing it so vividly, lacing his fingers through Oz's and
peppering his neck and shoulders and his jaw with kisses and rolling his hips
slowly, pushing in as deeply as he can each time to be sure that Oz is his,
that he never forgets.
He wants to hold him tight and kiss him and make love to him and whisper every
word about how he's felt for ages now, how deeply, madly he's in, how he's
always been and always will be. He can hear every word so clearly, every detail
so perfectly—
 
"Gil?"
His eyes widen as he realize that Oz is sitting up now, rubbing his eye and
watching him sleepily.
"Are you alright?"
Gil can't even answer, his face burning. He opened his mouth to speak, his
hands shaking. The words wouldn't come out.
"I... I-I, um..."
Oz glanced down. He raised his eyebrows.
The worst part is, he grinned.
The first thing out of his mouth was simply "Wooow~ Gil really has gotten big
while I've been away~"
Gil bites back a scream of embarrassment, pulling the blanket up over his lap.
"Young master, that's—That's inappropriate, don't, it's not, i-it, it
isn't...!" He tries to protest, feeling more like the 14 year old he used to be
than he has in ages. He feels like he just might cry.
Oz slipped out of bed, lazily and languidly, stretching properly one more time.
"Well, I'll leave you to that. I'm gonna go use your shower, if you don't
mind...!" He started walking, looking over his shoulder. "Good luck!" He
grinned, winking at him before he closed the bathroom door.
 
He's certain he can't be more horrified, still spluttering protests and trying
to deny it.
He's wrong when he buries his face in the pillow, clutching it tightly and
listening to the soft sound of humming over the noise of the shower as he
touches himself, and he comes gasping Oz's name without holding back, letting
the pillow muffle his sins.
 
Oz comes back after the shower, wiggling his brows and looking like he knows
all the secrets in the world. "Better now?" He teased, looking ever so amused
with his hair wet and his towel around his waist as he searches for a new set
of clothes.
Gil only gives a weak, flustered grumble, not looking at him as he nods.
Oz only laughs, and they leave it at that.
End Notes
     a little rushed probably, but ive had the rough draft in my documents
     since april last year and i just wanted it over with already so i
     just spat it out in about half an hour
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