Dewdrop 7

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- plonk.



"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 again.


"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 again.

Larry rests a hand on Oz's shoulder.

"You are so full of shit, man," whispering it straight into the guitarist's ears.

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.

Oz hesitates.

"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 into sensitivity.

"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 taking.

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 painful.

"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 me."

"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, wait."

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- ass. Oz."

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 absolutely delicious.

Larry smiles into Oz's groin and decides he could just fall asleep here.

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.