I Belong To You
by Wax Jism

With the bright Saturday morning sun stinging his eyes, Giles awoke. Squinted blearily at his alarm clock, fighting down the ghost of last night's whiskey. A headache creeping up on him. He muttered a curse under his breath as he fumbled after his glasses on the cluttered shelf, found them and tried the clock again. Ten-thirty. Half the day gone and still in bed. Last night was hovering just outside his reach. He felt ... battered. Unfamiliar aches, raw skin. All a bit of a blur, really. Annoyed, he sat up. He was mechanically looking for his slippers when the first flash of anxiety struck. Images. Turn around. He looked around at the bed, and saw that he wasn't alone. A sleeping body, nothing but an outline under the sheet, a tuft of spiky red hair. As Giles stared with dawning dismay, his bedmate turned in his sleep, pulling the tangled sheets askew and revealing a stretch of pale skin from shoulder to knee. Naked. In this bed. The headache stretched and yawned behind his frontal bone. Fear sat up and cracked its bony knuckles on his diaphragm.

He lay down again, grasping for the elusive mystery that was Last Night. More images. More of that creamy smooth skin. Hands. Lips. Familiar, sickeningly familiar. He found himself unable, or perhaps reluctant, to recall the exact series of events that had lead up to this predicament. This ... insanity.

His nervous contemplation was interrupted when the boy stirred, stretched languidly and yawned. He was awake. Giles turned his head and was caught in the boy's calm, serious gaze.

"Morning", Oz said, cool as a cucumber. As if he woke up every day in this bed, next to a man twice his age. Giles opened his mouth, forgot what he was about to say and closed it again. He tried once more, but had to give up when Oz's mouth met his in a soft, gentle kiss. Giles had time to marvel at the boy's complete lack of self-consciousness before his treacherous body reacted to the pressure of the boy's small, wiry body against his own. He lost himself in the kiss, the headache buried under arousal. His hands, no longer trembling, reaching out to meet young, pliant skin, his cock hardening instantly. Some small part of his brain retained a semblance of rational thought, but his neglected libido was on top of this situation, and intended to stay that way.

He pulled out of the kiss, just barely. Stared at the boy's face. Tried to regain some control. Gave up. He rolled on top of Oz, slipping down to kiss his neck and shoulders, his smooth chest, his nipples. He rubbed the small, hard buds of flesh with his fingertips, pinched them just hard enough, licked them, gnawed gently, teasing small, exquisite gasps and strangled sobs from the boy.

Giles reached down and found Oz' cock, stroking it lightly. Oz arched his back in pleasure, thrusting into Giles's hand, groaning deliciously. His body was taut as a violin string, and his heart fluttered like a trapped butterfly against the tight skin of his chest, sending small shocks of electricity into Giles's open mouth, making the older man's lips tingle.

"Oohhh... Giles... " Oz gasped breathlessly, running his hands through Giles's hair. "Just... just... I want you to fuck me."

Abandoning reason for the insane pleasure of it all, Giles grabbed the boy roughly and flipped him onto his stomach. He stopped for a second, taking in the maddening sight of the enticing arc of the boy's back, his small, firm ass, all of it presented unconditionally for him to use, abuse, to take roughly or gently. He saw his hands cupping those delicately rounded buttocks, sliding fingers between them, reaching the tempting opening and penetrating it just a little. The boy was tight, virginal, a ripe fruit for him to pluck.

He leaned back and spat in his palm, rubbing the saliva on his throbbing cock. Oz pulled himself up a little, presenting himself for ravaging. Giles placed his cock between the pretty, boyish cheeks and eased home. Tight... so tight. Almost painful.

"Give... it... to me! " the boy hissed between gritted teeth.

"This way lies madness", Giles whispered hoarsely, and shoved. The head of his cock hit Oz's prostate, and the boy yelped out a cry of pleasure laced with pain. Giles thrust again, really ramming it in. Oz was a perfect submissive, taking it all, accepting the pain without fear, needing it, begging for it in short, choked gasps. He came in a surging, thrashing climax that Giles felt like a wave coming to him through sweat-slicked skin and the bunching muscle underneath it. It pushed him over the edge as well, and he ejaculated what seemed like about a pint of hot, searing lava into the boy's gut.

Giles collapsed heavily on top of Oz' slight, fragile form. He found the boy's hands and twined his fingers around them. The world was coming back, inch by guilty inch. He cradled the boy, pressing his face into soft, red hair, trying to blot out reality. It was a futile effort, of course. He let go of Oz, rolling off and out of him, trying to collect his racing thoughts, suppress his mounting guilt.

"Good Lord", he mumbled primly. Oz turned around and snuck an arm around him, kissing him gently on the side of the mouth.

"What is it?"

"I-i'm... just trying to process... this..." Giles attempted, but his train of thought was derailed by a new worry. "Where do your parents think you are?"

Oz's normally impassive expression turned bitter.

"They never know where I am. I haven't noticed them caring even when I've been away a week. They pretty much ignore me when I'm around as well." He pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning against the wall, pulling a hand through his spiky hair. "And don't worry. I am eighteen, you know. You're not committing a felony."

"Well, that's a comforting thought", Giles said dryly. "But... why are you here? I mean... I-i... " he trailed off again, not sure what he meant. Oz looked down at him, grey eyes calm and trusting again.

"You saved my life", he said softly. "I belong to you now."