There are two of them on the roof tonight, looking at the full moon
and playing guitar. At least Oz is playing and Larry challenging.
"D minor 7th."
Oz smiles and changes key. Plink-plink-plunk to Plink-plink-
"D-E-F sharp -G -"
"Dude," Oz laughs softly, sweeping his fingers into the required
rhythm. "I have your number."
"Aah yess..." and Larry leans back, eyes closed, fingers tapping out
the rhythm of 'Dewdrop 7'. Also known as his favourite song. Their
special song that Oz insists he co-authored.
"I have the musical talent of a blocked fart, man," he says, like he
always does. And Oz grins, like always.
"You can play a crossbow, you can write music."
But no crossbows tonight. The town is still, four days before
Walpurgis, so Giles took Ben and Nancy on patrol and nothing for
the partners to do but lie on the roof and watch the pretty night sky.
Which reminds Larry that though the house is bounded, it's still kind
of stupid to be on the roof near so many trees...
Catching the mood change, Oz smiles and tries a little riff on the wild
side. Larry's eyes snap open.
"Aw, man, you're ruining it."
"No, see," demonstrating, "you can go straight back."
"Mm..." Larry follows the movement of Oz's sparkly nails,
unconsciously licking his lips as they move from C to E and back
"Yea," Larry says, hushed. "Oz, man. You're ruining your nails."
Oz stops playing and lifts a hand for inspection.
"Come inside," urges the larger boy softly. "Come on in and let me
paint 'em for you."
Oz grins and leans forward, touching his forehead to Larry's.
Larry's smile widens. Oz's eyes narrow in mischief.
"Shit!" startled, Larry jumps back.
"Whoa, man," Oz steadies him with a hand. A moment when all
hangs in precarious balance, then some confused way, they're stable
Larry rests a hand on Oz's shoulder.
"You are so full of shit, man," whispering it straight into the
Oz quirks an eyebrow and whispers back. Larry's eyes squeeze shut
like he can't believe his luck.
"Inside," he orders.
Grinning companionably, they go in.
Larry's room, Larry's bed. Larry lying face down, shirt off, pants
unzipped and half off, cock rubbing mercilessly into cotton sheets
while Oz presses naked kisses to the muscles of his shoulders.
"Do that again," Larry groans.
"This?" Oz rakes freshly painted nails lightly against tanned skin.
"You have a great torso, man. Should sun it more often."
"Sun... huh...? Jesus!" Arching explosively as Oz positions himself
accurately for a thrust against the crease of Larry's ass.
"Just me," Oz chuckles, rubbing heated denim on salt-tangy skin.
"Just me," whispering into Larry's ear and sliding a hand down
under his belly to find and touch -
- exactly there.
"Oz, Oz," Larry's panting now, back heaving in great gasps. "You
gotta let me up here. I'm dying, man."
"Ssh." A kiss to Larry's cheek. A wink and a breath that fans his
eyelashes. "Remember your Mom."
"She's out! I don't care! Let me up !"
"Nuh-uh," rubbing suggestively again. "Like it this way."
"I'll suck you," Larry offers.
"I'll take you in my hand and stroke you the way you like. I'll let you
fuck my mouth. I'll kiss your ass."
"Can I kiss yours?"
"Whatever man," Larry murmurs, then Mr. Brain meets up with Mr.
Ear. "Oz, no, wait!" he yelps, but too late, because the guitarist is
easing his pants down oh-so-tortuously-slowly, pausing in tandem to
grab handfuls of Larry's ass.
"Mm," kneading with what is almost a purr. "Nice." He bends down
and kisses him lightly, taking a mouthful of flesh and tugging at it.
"OZ! Beard burn!"
"Sorry." Completely unrepentant, he nuzzles Larry with his nose.
"C'mon man, that's gross."
"I like it," but in deference to his partner, kisses his way upwards
again, his tongue taking little licks and swirls of hair, teasing them
"Feel that?" Oz whispers.
Larry does, and indicates it with a wiggle of his butt. Oz grins and
moves carefully, fitting himself into the hollow of Larry's back, legs
atop legs, denim abrading skin.
He moves experimentally and groans.
"Shit, yea," Larry agrees.
"Mm," turning his head into the crook of Larry's neck, offering
himself for a kiss.
Larry's willing enough, turning open mouthed and eager lipped,
trying to tone it down, not to devour the man who's just there for the
Oz pushes against him, cock against ass and Larry jerks, feeling it.
Tongue is slippery and not quite like his own. Rough and remnants
of pizza and coke. Oz doesn't drink beer and his breath is
comparatively sweet. For a second Larry wishes he'd eaten a mint
himself, but Oz isn't complaining, the guitar-roughed pads of his
fingers digging into Larry's skin, off-setting texture with prickliness.
and Oz smooths out the lines in Larry's cheeks and forehead and
massages his scalp, pulling him in further. He's slipping off now, too
small to stay on top and kiss, but that's totally ok, because his cock is
digging into Larry's hip and that's just enough incentive for Larry to
twist and turn and align their cocks
He yells because denim has met flesh and the combination of rough
and hypersensitivity pushes him so way back down the orgasm
ladder it isn't funny.
They hold off at arms length, waiting to recover. When the agonizing
tremors have faded slightly Larry looks up into Oz's slightly worried
face and grins shakily.
"You owe me for that, man."
Oz tilts his head, waiting.
Larry gestures. "Take that off. Take it all off."
And watches in happy stupefaction as Oz complies.
This is nicer, Larry thinks, Oz plastered to his chest, slightly sweaty,
which is good, because they can move nice and slow, take it hot, take
it long, take it dee-eep...
Breath hitches as Oz raises his head.
"You said something about sucking me?"
Lost for breath, Larry grins. "You bitch. You ... you bitch!" Takes
Oz's hand and guides it down, sliding down his chest, slicking it on
the way till it reaches his cock, which is still sensitive and a little
"You ," rubbing lightly for emphasis and illustrating with gasps,
"You did that to me,"
Oz's smile is gentle against his nipple, sucking lightly.
"Shit. Yea. That... you did that," focussing on the words. "You. Owe
"I reciprocate," Oz murmurs, letting his fingers ghost over the head
of Larry's cock. "Reci-pro-city."
"God, yes," Oz is certainly a pro, jerking him off carefully. "Ow! No,
Damn. Still sensitive. So he stills Oz and presses a kiss to the top of
his head. "Ok, fine. You get your wish."
"Mmf," as they kiss lightly, lips touching lips, tongue only coming
out for a second to caress. Rearranging so Oz is below and for a
dizzying second, Larry is on top, bracing himself with hands on
either side of Oz's chest, kissing lower and deeper, sucking in tongue
and loving it, the abrasion and nip of teeth.
"Get to it, man," Oz tells him and Larry kisses him once in pure joy,
for this, his friend who plays with magic fingers and is so fucking
brilliant in bed it should be outlawed in three states and probably is.
"Stop thinking, go," Oz-rumble of laughter and Larry feels it in his
chest, waking warmth as he nuzzles neck and kisses the breastbone,
lavishes attention on the nipples, slowly licking his way down, tasting
salt and slight hints of sandalwood and the indefinable incense-y
scent that is just Oz.
"Weirdo," he mumbles, muffled against the v of hair that leads down
to his goal, curving nicely, just waiting to be taken care of. "Weird-
Oz moves said ass slightly, suggestively lifting his hips. Clue
enough even for Larry, who rests his head on Oz's belly and leans
down to take the cock head between his lips and suck moistly,
tongue coming out for a preliminary swipe.
"MMf..." which could have been a groan or a name, or just the
sound of silence muffled against a pillow.
"Mom's in," he reminds Oz gleefully and decides that sucking is
nice, but what he really should be doing is licking a nice trail up and
around the shaft, tasting every inch and letting his mouth cover as
much as he can.
"Mmm..." and they settle into a rhythm, Larry sucking slowly,
alternating deep with light licks, blowing on areas that seem specially
sensitive, while Oz contents himself grunting and pulling gently on
Larry's hair, stroking the curls behind his ears and pressing thumb-
kisses to the shell.
It's nice, just to be like this, comfortable, with nowhere to go, warmth
and slightly oily taste in his mouth. Oz-warmth above and around
him the earthy smell of rain beginning to seep in through the
windows. For a moment, Larry has a fantasy of them doing this,
almost exactly this on the rooftop, Oz's pants open and wet cock in
Larry's mouth, the guitarist's wet shirt plastered to his chest defining
his nipples and the thought is so damn hot he forgets finesse and
goes for broke.
Relax muscles and dee-eep throat and for a second he wants to throw
up, so he holds and breathes till the gagging is less. Considerate Oz,
holding off, not pushing, not fucking Larry's mouth though it was
offered, definitely offered, and one day soon that would be cool and
so hot, but for now, for now, this is good, this is great , this is
abso-fucking marvellous, yea the taste is fucking marvellous.
He's never understood the word before, but now he can use it in
ordinary conversation. Oz tastes marvellous. Oz has a marvellous
dick. Sucking Oz's cock is brain-numbingly marvellous.
Experimentally he moves down and lets Oz slide a little. The man
gets the hint and moves gently, Larry keeping himself absolutely still
while Oz moves slowly, hypnotically, in out, in out and did he
mention this is absolutely unbelievable...Oh fuck, yea!
Can't keep it up for too long though, and regretfully he grunts, letting
Oz know. Oz is out almost immediately, so nice and so restrained
that Larry overflows with warmth and hurt for him, apologetically
kissing and running his tongue over the wet glistening skin. Larry's
in awe of Oz, the man with iron control, bowled over by the heroic
restraint that can content itself with conveying the fuck-drive through
gently painful twists to Larry's curls and frustrated grunts that hurt to
hear, let alone say. The man deserves a fucking medal - yea that's
right, he deserves a medal for fucking, let's hear it for Oz, Oz the
marvellous, who's now rubbing his cock around Larry's lips - Oz-
taste, let's hear it for Oz taste and Oz-scent, soft and warm - warning
beads of wet gummy stuff that is Oz-taste and therefore marvellous,
so whoo, let it happen, yea that's it buddy, that's right, just go on,
YEA, that's it, that's it - and Larry applauds wholeheartedly, kissing
and taking the spurting cock head into his mouth as Oz comes,
silently but with urgent intensity. Larry holds him and comforts him,
blessed to watch the expression on Oz's face, expressions that seem
ugly on himself but so fucking beautiful when Oz lets go.
Speaking of which...
Larry lifts his head and chuckles, because somewhere around the
time he was supposed to blow Oz's brains out...
He glances up for Oz's smile and settles down to the task of cleaning
his partner up with kisses and a handful of moist wipes he keeps at
the side of the bed for emergencies.
Clean-Oz is nice-Oz, with a comfortable purring rumble and a post-
coital glow that warms and cheers. Larry nestles his head and
snuffles Oz's cock, now lying more or less sated, but still looking
Larry smiles into Oz's groin and decides he could just fall asleep
Above him Oz hums, and his fingers tighten in Larry's hair,
drumming softly and picking strands gently and tenderly, all in time
to 'Dewdrop 7.'
Outside it's raining and the moon is full. Oz turns his head to watch,
in thrall to the hum of moonlight, mind already strumming new
chords and lyrics, fingers not yet itching for a pen, content to run the
composition through Larry, feel the thrum of his pulse beneath the
epidermis, touch lightly on his gentle life and draw strength and
comfort from the feel of Larry nesting between his legs. It feels safe
and strong, protector and protected, both and neither, lying like this
entwined and comfortable with the ease of long lovers and friends.
Oz smiles and runs his fingers through Larry's hair, wondering if he
should wake Larry so maybe they can kiss.
Thought of the moment, gone and forgotten because it's nice this
way too. Larry sleeping. Oz watching. While outside, the rain plays
their song in E minor 6.
Smile on his face and moonlight in his veins, Oz lets the melody
sweep him. Closes his eyes in silent gratitude, hands tightening once
around the beloved head resting on him.
And heart beating in time to an as-yet-unnamed rhythm, Oz allows
himself also to rest.