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Oz felt needy when he clung to Gil, it was why he did not do it too often, Oz hated to feel needy, and more than that Oz hated to risk rejection.
Gilbert knew this. It was why he understood why Oz did not cling to him in the daytime, and why it was only after Oz crawled into his bed at night that Oz allowed himself to be less of a man and more of a child. Not that Oz was a child, he was of age. After Oz's coming of age ceremony he might have been betrothed and soon married off, Gil had seen it happen to quite a few young lords. But Oz was still young, still tender inside in a way that most people couldn't see.
Oz only clung to Gil when they had sex. Gil could tell by the hot blush that suffused Oz's face and the guilty way Oz lowered his eyes that Oz hated asking this of Gil. Gil told him time and time again that he enjoyed it but Oz was both fragile and stubborn.
Oz's slim fingers trembled as they were tangled in the fabric of Gil's night gown. Gil never undressed completely when he and Oz slept together because Gil hated the look on Oz's face when the scar was unveiled. "Gil…" Oz licked his lips. Gil knew that this was a sign that Oz was ready for him, so Gil stopped preparing Oz and pushed himself inside. Oz never asked, never pleaded, never said yes, or no, or stop, or harder.
Just Gil's name, over and over again.
"Gil… Gil. Gil!" Over and over and over until he whined Gilbert's name high and broken. Then Gil would wrap his hand around his master, Oz had complained about the glove at first but Gil said it was necessary to keep Raven under control, and jerk Oz to completion.
Gil would come shortly after as Oz's body shuddered around him, his master's eyes sleepy and half-lidded.
"Gil." Gil bent down and kissed the top of Oz's head softly. Oz sighed before he slipped off into sleep. It was times like this when Gil got to take care of his master, to clean him up and tuck him in…
And it was only at these times when Oz refused to let him go.
Gilbert knew this. It was why he understood why Oz did not cling to him in the daytime, and why it was only after Oz crawled into his bed at night that Oz allowed himself to be less of a man and more of a child. Not that Oz was a child, he was of age. After Oz's coming of age ceremony he might have been betrothed and soon married off, Gil had seen it happen to quite a few young lords. But Oz was still young, still tender inside in a way that most people couldn't see.
Oz only clung to Gil when they had sex. Gil could tell by the hot blush that suffused Oz's face and the guilty way Oz lowered his eyes that Oz hated asking this of Gil. Gil told him time and time again that he enjoyed it but Oz was both fragile and stubborn.
Oz's slim fingers trembled as they were tangled in the fabric of Gil's night gown. Gil never undressed completely when he and Oz slept together because Gil hated the look on Oz's face when the scar was unveiled. "Gil…" Oz licked his lips. Gil knew that this was a sign that Oz was ready for him, so Gil stopped preparing Oz and pushed himself inside. Oz never asked, never pleaded, never said yes, or no, or stop, or harder.
Just Gil's name, over and over again.
"Gil… Gil. Gil!" Over and over and over until he whined Gilbert's name high and broken. Then Gil would wrap his hand around his master, Oz had complained about the glove at first but Gil said it was necessary to keep Raven under control, and jerk Oz to completion.
Gil would come shortly after as Oz's body shuddered around him, his master's eyes sleepy and half-lidded.
"Gil." Gil bent down and kissed the top of Oz's head softly. Oz sighed before he slipped off into sleep. It was times like this when Gil got to take care of his master, to clean him up and tuck him in…
And it was only at these times when Oz refused to let him go.