
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/19762.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Buffy_the_Vampire_Slayer
  Relationship:
      Rupert_Giles/Oz_Osbourne
  Character:
      Rupert_Giles, Oz_Osbourne
  Additional Tags:
      Age_Difference, Phone_Sex, Masturbation, Angst, Established_Relationship
  Collections:
      Crossgenerational_Slash
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-11-23 Words: 2425
****** Approximations ******
by kindkit
Summary
     The telephone brings them together, sort of.
Notes
     Oz is 17 in this story, quite old enough to consent in my opinion but
     underage by both the archive guidelines and California law. This
     story is related to a set of co-written, improvised Giles/Oz stories
     collectively titled "It's Like Jazz"; for more information and links
     to the whole shebang, go here to the fanfiction masterlist on my
     journal and scroll down a bit. All you really need to know to
     understand this story is that Giles and Oz have been secretly
     involved since very shortly after Giles's arrival in Sunnydale, and
     it's now early S2.
Giles is thinking of buying a mobile phone. Buffy should be able to get in
touch with him at any time; it's part of his responsibility as a Watcher. She
should never have to face trouble alone just because he happens to be out
jogging or grocery shopping.
And, of course, he'd never again miss one of Oz's calls. They come at odd
hours, often late at night after band practice or after his mother's gone to
sleep. Usually, Giles is asleep too. Once or twice, when he's been especially
tired, he's slept through the ringing, and Oz has spent the night awake and
worrying. Most of the time, Giles wakes with a start and rushes downstairs to
answer, eyes still half-closed, body numbed with sleep. It's not very safe.
A few days ago, he bought an extra-long cord at Radio Shack, and now he brings
the telephone upstairs every night. But something about the cord that trails
across the floor and loops up over the loft railing embarrasses him. The effort
of it, the visibility, makes him think of Buffy writing Angel's name on the
cover of her notebook in carefully shaded block letters. When she notices Giles
looking, she covers it with her hand. Declaration and shame all at once--that's
how children fall in love. And Giles hasn't been a child for twenty-five years.
Since he was Oz's age.
Yet knowing that it's adolescent, excessive, obsessive doesn't stop him from
keeping the telephone nearby. Tonight it rings at a little past midnight. Giles
is just dozing, the copy of Sula that Oz lent him fallen onto the quilt. He's
enjoying the book, although he only started reading it because Oz wanted him
to.
His hand finds the telephone before he's quite awake. "Hello," he says dazedly,
happily. Most people panic if the telephone rings late at night. It means
death, disaster. Although he knows it's irrational, although he knows death and
disaster are never far away, when Giles is awakened by the phone he smiles in
his sleep and thinks Oz.
"Hey, Giles."
"Oz." There's a smile in the name itself, a murmur of contentment: the 'z'
sound raises the corners of the mouth, lingers in the throat, and sighs across
the palate. Giles has thought about it, whispered it experimentally to himself
at times when he ought to be researching. "How are you?"
"Okay. Practice was good. Except that Devon's talking about how we need an
image. Which is backwards. Chords first, and possibly even songs. Otherwise,
we're just a boyband with really bad clothes."
By the end of this--it's a lot of talking at once, for Oz--Giles is awake
enough to laugh. "Perhaps there's a marketing niche for that. You could all be
millionaires by the time you're twenty."
"We'd need a new name," Oz says consideringly. "Something boyband-y. Dingoes
Ate My Baby is kinda not marketing friendly. We could be The S'Dale Boys, I
guess. Funky, and yet suburban."
"Would you have to be re-named as well? Danny-O or something? Do warn me. I'll
need time to get used to it."
"Nah. I'll stay Oz." There's a brief silence, but before Giles can speak, Oz
sighs and says, "I miss you. Wish I was there instead of here."
"So do I," Giles says, hoping it comforts Oz a little. "When you're not here,
the bed feels too big."
"Wish it was still summer. No school and no -" No Buffy, Giles hears him not
saying. "And lots of time." Thanks to Buffy's holiday with her father and
Theresa Osbourne's spectacular parental indifference, they'd spent many days
and almost every night together. It became routine, peaceful and free of
anxiety. They read, watched videos, listened to every album in both their
collections, learned to cook bouillabaisse, and almost forgot that this wasn't
how it normally was.
"I know. I'd love to be back in the mountains with you, even though sleeping in
the van does things to my joints that make me feel a hundred years old. Or back
on Catalina, sunburnt and soaking wet because a certain person kept splashing
me." Remembering their summer travels fills Giles with a heavy, foggy
nostalgia. Strange, how even happy memories can decay into grief.
"Anywhere."
"Yes." Anywhere but here. It's a game Buffy's friends play. Giles has heard
them do it, and he understands the sentiment all too well.
"I'm such a baby. Sorry."
"You're not. Do you think I don't feel the same way? Do you think I don't miss
you?" Giles tries to keep his voice light, playful, instead of echoing Oz's
sadness back and adding to it with his own. "Silly. If you were here right now,
I'd kiss you until you knew better."
"That could take lots of kisses." The wistfulness in Oz's voice is shaded with
teasing, now, and that's good.
"I don't mind." Giles closes his eyes against the lamplight and tries to will
away the mile between them. "But is there room enough on you for all those
kisses? I could feed you chocolate bars, I suppose, to fatten you up and make
space, but that would be rather slow. Well, perhaps if I try very hard I could
squeeze them all in. A spiral, like the candles on my birthday cake, from the
top of your head to the tip of your little toe." He's vaguely aware that he's
talking nonsense, but it doesn't really bother him. Sometimes nonsense makes Oz
happy. "But when I get to your mouth, I might lose my way. Forget where I was
going. Because it's so lovely there. So warm and so sweet. I'd want to taste
all that sweetness, lick it up with my tongue."
"Would you?" Somehow the nonsense has taken a detour of its own. Oz is
breathing a little faster, a little louder.
"I'd want to kiss every last inch of your mouth. Explore all the secret places.
Would you want me to do that?" Giles isn't sure Oz will answer. This is
something they've never done, not in all their late, lonely conversations.
"Yeah. I'd like that." Oz's voice quivers, and Giles can almost feel its
breathiness in his ear, shivering warmly down his body. He switches off the
lamp.
"It's so good, kissing you," Giles says. "Licking you deep inside, licking your
lips, biting them. Sucking your tongue into my mouth so you can taste me too."
"Yeah. Like it when you do that."
"I could kiss you all night. Kiss you forever. Your lips, your neck. I'm
kissing down your neck, inch by inch to your throat, and I lick you there and
you throw your head back and you gasp."
"Oh-"
"Just like that. So beautiful, that sound. I love it when you make that sound."
Giles settles back more comfortably on the pillows, unbuttons his pajama top as
he talks. "Licking along your neck now. Just the tip of my tongue, quick little
strokes. To surprise you, so you make that sound every time. Can you feel me?"
"Yeah, god. Giles. More. Lick me some more."
"I'll do anything you want. I'm licking your neck, following the vein with my
tongue, and you're shaking under me. Begging me for more. God, the sounds, and
you're digging your nails in my back and moving your hips and your skin tastes
so good. Biting you now, right on the side of your neck, my teeth in your
beautiful skin."
No words from Oz now, just a moan.
"Oh yes," Giles says, fingertips circling over his chest and belly. His cock
aches, hard and untouched, but he wants to wait for that. "Biting you so hard
I'm going to leave a bruise. Leave a mark on you. Do you want that?"
For a few seconds Giles hears only strained breathing, then Oz says, "Want
that. Wanna look in the mirror, see what you did to me."
Giles' cock jumps, his breath catches, his fingers claw involuntarily against
his chest. "Christ, Oz. Everywhere. I want to bite you everywhere. Mark you. So
you remember. So you think of me."
"Always think of you. Always."
"Do you? Do you think of me when you touch yourself? When you wrap your hand
around your hard cock and stroke, do you pretend it's my hand?"
"God, yeah. Your hand, your mouth." The words are wet, slurred, and Giles can
see Oz jerking himself, slow and luxurious, open-mouthed, tongue flicking over
his wet lips.
Through the soft flannel of his pajamas, Giles strokes his palm over his own
erection, shudders and gasps. "Oz. Wait. Wait, don't come yet."
"Giles," Oz whispers, half plea and half sob.
Giles' fingers outline the shaft of his cock, glide up it, tease at the
foreskin. "I want to fuck you. Let me fuck you. Help me do it."
There's a long hiss of indrawn breath, then, "Fuck me." Not so much a plea,
now, as an order.
"God, say that again."
"Fuck me. Giles. Need you to fuck me."
Just words, just breath, just air on embers that set Giles burning, his spine
one red line of fire, his skin tightening in the heat. "I will. Want to taste
you first, though. Want to play with your nipples, lick and bite until they're
hard. Hard as your cock, and you're blushing all the way up from your belly,
pink and sweaty and beautiful. You're so beautiful when we fuck. When you're
telling me how much you want me."
"So hard for you, Giles. Want you. Want your cock, want to feel you."
"You taste so good, and I'm licking all the way down your belly to the head of
your cock, dragging my tongue down the underside, and you're pulling my hair
and pushing up against me and I want so much to make you come." Oz groans at
the word, and dark red heat pulses along Giles' cock. "Open up for me, Oz.
Spread your legs and let me touch you."
There's a faint sound of rustling sheets, and Oz says, "Yeah."
"Lick your fingers, now. Get them wet and then touch yourself there. Touch your
hole. That's my tongue, Oz. Licking you there, circling over your tight little
hole, and it tastes so good."
"Fuck. Fuck. Giles."
"So good, the way you're opening up for me. I can push my tongue in now, just a
little, play with you the way you like. Make you moan--yes, just like that--
make you arch your back like a cat on heat, like all you want in the world is a
good hard fuck."
"Please. Can't wait, don't make me wait, please."
"I'm here, I'm here," Giles says, tugging his pajama bottoms down. "Want you so
much, my beautiful Oz, my sweet Oz." He pours lube into the palm of his hand.
"Can you feel me, can you feel my cock against you?"
"Yeah. Want. Inside. Please." Between each word there's a gasped breath.
"Pushing inside you," Giles says. "So tight, Christ, but so slick." He draws
his lubed fingers down his cock, hearing Oz's grunts and sobs in his ear.
"Deeper and deeper, that little mouth swallowing me, so hungry for me. All the
way in now. Inside you, this is the best thing, being inside you. Can you feel
me?"
"You're in me, Giles, oh god."
So much, Oz's voice and the picture in Giles mind of Oz naked on a boy's narrow
bed, telephone tucked against his shoulder, one hand on his cock and the other
between his spread legs, two fingers buried inside his own body. "Fucking you
now. Moving in and out, so slowly." He can feel Oz, too, the tight ring of
muscle and the heat inside him and the sweaty friction of skin touching skin.
"Rubbing just right inside you, rubbing just the right spot." It's so much that
he's coming unmoored, losing distance and gravity, free-floating in sound and
touch.
Oz has gone almost silent except for short gasps and little grunts deep in his
throat, the ones he makes when it's good, when he's limp and helpless with
pleasure, when he trembles and his eyes roll back. They're both unanchored now,
both drifting in the telephonic ether.
"Love this," Giles says, trying to match the rhythm of Oz's breaths, of his own
thrusts into his tight fight. "Love to fuck you, love the feel of you, love the
sounds you make. Love to make you come. So close, Oz. So close. Want to feel
you come. Feel you shake, feel your muscles clench around my cock, hear you-"
"Giles, gonna-" and then a long, growling moan.
Giles feels all of it, the spasms and the pulsing of Oz's cock and the spurting
of his come, feels Oz's hands grasping his wrists and Oz's hips shuddering
beneath him. It's all real, realer than the bed or the telephone he's clutching
or the room that's spinning down into darkness. He's saying Oz's name,
thrusting quick and deep, coming in a flash of whiteness that turns his bones
to ash, and Oz is here with him. Surrounding him, sharing it all.
For a while they don't talk. Giles listens to Oz's light panting and his own
deeper, rougher breaths as they steady and slow. He plays idly with his
softening cock, sparking pale afterimages of pleasure. "Did you like that?" he
asks finally.
Oz laughs, low and quiet. "'Course I did. You . . . it's cool that you can, you
know. Talk. Like that." After a moment he adds, "It's sexy."
"Careful what you say. Now you'll never get me to shut up."
"I'll risk it. Love you."
"I love you."
"Still wish I was there with you."
"I know. I'll try to get free on Saturday night."
Oz sighs and doesn't answer.
"I always love you," Giles says. "Even when-"
"Know that. It's okay, Giles."
It's nothing like okay, and he hates the sorrow that has come back into Oz's
voice, undiminished by a few minutes' imagined contact. But imagination is
their only weapon, their only shield. "If you were here right now, I'd pull you
down on top of me, and hold you as close as I could. So close I'd be bruised
from your sharp little bones. I'd tell you how much I love you. Whisper it in
your ear while you drifted off to sleep. So you'd know it even in your dreams."
"That sounds good."
"I'm holding you right now. Can you feel me there with you?"
"Almost," Oz says. "Almost."
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