Oz leans over and pushes open the door for Giles, reaching for the guitar case but getting Giles's hand instead. Better, warm and smooth, and Giles squeezes back as he swings himself inside. The case follows and Oz manages to liberate it from Giles's death-grip and stow it carefully in the back.
He's been up for hours, and he's actually here, so Oz is pretty much fluttering like a hummingbird, caught inside his skin, with excitement, pleasure, relief. He's grinning, Giles probably thinks he's a maniac, and he has to wait until he's back on the highway to touch Giles again.
"Morning," he manages to say, checking the mirror, backing out. He sounds gravelly and growly, and drops his right hand on Giles's thigh. "You're really here. It's awesome."
Only twenty minutes to the state park, and it's going to take everything he has to make it without breaking out into giggles or, worse, cackles.
Giles picks up Oz's hand, kisses it, and puts it back on the steering wheel. "I’m a nervous passenger, sorry." But Oz maneuvers the van like it's not an enormous, four-ton, lumbering cow. He steers them out of the lot without even brushing the badly-parked SUV that half blocks the lane, and Giles adds, "Not, obviously, that I need to be."
Oz smiles over at him before pulling onto the on-ramp. As he eases into the traffic Giles stays still and quiet, to let him concentrate, then he says, "It's so good to see you." Since Wednesday he's been more and more nervous, expecting another demon plot or a sudden plague of vampires. But instead it's been quiet, enough so that he's told Buffy to take today and tonight off. Today will go better knowing she's safe, knowing she doesn't need his help.
He should probably call home once or twice to check his messages, just in case.
There's a bag full of cassettes on the floor which Giles starts sorting through. "Anything in particular you want to hear?" Oz is driving, so he gets to choose.
"Red spine," Oz says and he can't keep the smile to himself. "Made it for you, actually. Which would explain the title." While the music got dubbed, he made the sleeve out of red construction paper and one of the fine-nibbed pens he bought when he thought he'd try to draw comics. Tunes for a Watcher, and he was careful not to sign it; if anyone finds it in Giles's place, it'll look like something one of his friends in London made for him
( ... )
There are other cars around, but Giles doesn't see any people, so he leans over and kisses Oz on the mouth. Oz looks surprised, and then pleased, and that's almost as good as the kiss itself. "Thank you for the tape, by the way."
When he gets out of the van, the quiet of the place almost startles him. Sunnydale is much quieter than London, but this is close to true, rural silence; apparently the noise of the freeway doesn't carry this far. Wind in the trees, birdsong, the occasional distant voice echoing are all Giles hears. It's like relaxing a muscle he didn't know was tense. The thought makes him stretch and yawn, and Oz laughs at him and then does the same.
They stand by the van for a little while, looking around at the trees and the hills. "So, Sacajawea," Giles says, "Where to?"
Oz never did show him around Sunnydale, but this is nicer anyway.
Oz shifts until he can get his arm around Giles' back and tips his head up so he can keep looking at Giles' face. The sun glints off the rims of his glasses, hiding his eyes, but his mouth is tight, the lines in his cheeks very stern
( ... )
When Oz says I like that, Giles knows it's the truth. The generation between them doesn't bother him. In fact, Oz treats him as though being forty-two were a special accomplishment, one worth admiration and study and dozens of questions about Giles' life.
I like that is something else, too, something between an offer and a plea. Oz wants Giles to share his pleasure, to let him make the gap of years mean fascination, mystery, discovery. To reinterpret, re-translate out of guilt and into joy.
Giles leans into Oz's kiss, takes his tongue deeper, tries again to be as happy as they both want.
Giles is oddly pliable under Oz's hands, moving slowly and fluidly, and his mouth is wide-open, but it still feels off. Strange, somehow, and when Oz opens his eyes, he realizes the wrinkle of worry is still there between Giles' brows.
Oz dips his head, kisses Giles' chin, and eases them back onto the blanket until he's curved around and over Giles, one hand in his hair, the other arm over his waist. The sky above them is almost too bright to look at, but Oz squints, searches for the hawk he spotted earlier, as he rubs his fingertips over Giles' skull.
"Bones are really fragile," he says a little later. Raps softly on Giles' head, then soothes away the sensation with the flat of his palm. "And thoughts are just electricity. Gets me depressed, thinking about that."
"You're right," Giles says. "People are fragile." The shadows add strange curves and hollows to Oz's face. He looks like one of those archaic Greek statues, with the orphic half-smile that knows secrets and doesn't tell them, and the eyes that look inward. "People are impossible, if you think about it. A few grams of neurotransmitters and hormones and some very weak electrical impulses, animating seventy kilos of meat. Really there's very little to us."
Strange, self-conscious, laughable hunks of walking meat. Perhaps that's what vampires see, when they look at people. Sacks of blood with delusions of grandeur.
It makes Giles feel oddly better. "We need to shake off this mood," he says, playing his fingertips over Oz's arm to feel the fine, soft hairs. "Walk with me for a bit? We'll just bring the water, the rest will be safe enough here."
Bodies, electricity, those unmeasurable essences called souls. Those are the building blocks, the elements that make him and Oz and everyone, and nothing else really matters.
Oz is already shivering, which always happens when he hears Giles' voice this close and his earlobe is kissed or touched, so it takes him half a minute to realize that he's also feeling the chuckles bubble up through Giles' chest. Giles holds him tight around the waist, his head buried against Oz's shoulder, and Oz smiles; Giles' breath tickles, and he keeps chuckling until he's almost full-on laughing
( ... )
Oz laughs like the rarest things in the world. Like the green flash of a tropical sunset or those desert sands that hum when you walk on them. But now he's laughing in torrents, in floods, and Giles could float in it.
They're still laughing as they kiss in a sloppy muddle. They smear wet kiss-prints over each other's lips and faces, and Giles' glasses slide away and bounce off Oz's knee. Giles laughs harder at that, and for the moment he has to give up kissing and lean weakly on Oz's trembling shoulder.
After a while it dies down, except for little shocks of giggles, and Giles pulls Oz down and kisses him hard. It's a rough kiss, with teeth knocking together and not quite enough room for both their tongues, and maybe it's clumsy but it feels perfect.
Nose squashed into Giles' cheek and his face and neck aching from laughing, Oz kisses Giles back, digs his fingers into his arms like he's getting sucked away by a tornado, feels himself go breathless and sparkly-headed as he kisses and kisses and tightens his knees around Giles' waist. Feels like a current, wind or water, is beating through him, like he doesn't need to breathe, caught in the surf and waving, thrumming, thrilling atop Giles
( ... )
Any number of sane considerations flash through Giles' mind like a fast-forwarded video. They're outdoors, it's broad bright daylight, they're on a bloody hill for Christ's sake and anyone could see them and if anyone does they'll be arrested for sure, if not murdered
( ... )
Comments 46
He's been up for hours, and he's actually here, so Oz is pretty much fluttering like a hummingbird, caught inside his skin, with excitement, pleasure, relief. He's grinning, Giles probably thinks he's a maniac, and he has to wait until he's back on the highway to touch Giles again.
"Morning," he manages to say, checking the mirror, backing out. He sounds gravelly and growly, and drops his right hand on Giles's thigh. "You're really here. It's awesome."
Only twenty minutes to the state park, and it's going to take everything he has to make it without breaking out into giggles or, worse, cackles.
Reply
Oz smiles over at him before pulling onto the on-ramp. As he eases into the traffic Giles stays still and quiet, to let him concentrate, then he says, "It's so good to see you." Since Wednesday he's been more and more nervous, expecting another demon plot or a sudden plague of vampires. But instead it's been quiet, enough so that he's told Buffy to take today and tonight off. Today will go better knowing she's safe, knowing she doesn't need his help.
He should probably call home once or twice to check his messages, just in case.
There's a bag full of cassettes on the floor which Giles starts sorting through. "Anything in particular you want to hear?" Oz is driving, so he gets to choose.
Reply
Reply
When he gets out of the van, the quiet of the place almost startles him. Sunnydale is much quieter than London, but this is close to true, rural silence; apparently the noise of the freeway doesn't carry this far. Wind in the trees, birdsong, the occasional distant voice echoing are all Giles hears. It's like relaxing a muscle he didn't know was tense. The thought makes him stretch and yawn, and Oz laughs at him and then does the same.
They stand by the van for a little while, looking around at the trees and the hills. "So, Sacajawea," Giles says, "Where to?"
Oz never did show him around Sunnydale, but this is nicer anyway.
Reply
Reply
I like that is something else, too, something between an offer and a plea. Oz wants Giles to share his pleasure, to let him make the gap of years mean fascination, mystery, discovery. To reinterpret, re-translate out of guilt and into joy.
Giles leans into Oz's kiss, takes his tongue deeper, tries again to be as happy as they both want.
Reply
Oz dips his head, kisses Giles' chin, and eases them back onto the blanket until he's curved around and over Giles, one hand in his hair, the other arm over his waist. The sky above them is almost too bright to look at, but Oz squints, searches for the hawk he spotted earlier, as he rubs his fingertips over Giles' skull.
"Bones are really fragile," he says a little later. Raps softly on Giles' head, then soothes away the sensation with the flat of his palm. "And thoughts are just electricity. Gets me depressed, thinking about that."
Reply
Strange, self-conscious, laughable hunks of walking meat. Perhaps that's what vampires see, when they look at people. Sacks of blood with delusions of grandeur.
It makes Giles feel oddly better. "We need to shake off this mood," he says, playing his fingertips over Oz's arm to feel the fine, soft hairs. "Walk with me for a bit? We'll just bring the water, the rest will be safe enough here."
Bodies, electricity, those unmeasurable essences called souls. Those are the building blocks, the elements that make him and Oz and everyone, and nothing else really matters.
Reply
Reply
They're still laughing as they kiss in a sloppy muddle. They smear wet kiss-prints over each other's lips and faces, and Giles' glasses slide away and bounce off Oz's knee. Giles laughs harder at that, and for the moment he has to give up kissing and lean weakly on Oz's trembling shoulder.
After a while it dies down, except for little shocks of giggles, and Giles pulls Oz down and kisses him hard. It's a rough kiss, with teeth knocking together and not quite enough room for both their tongues, and maybe it's clumsy but it feels perfect.
Reply
Reply
Reply
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