Oz went stiff with shock for all of about a second before his whole body went boneless again; he collapsed helplessly, but Gil's arms were there once again to hold him and protect him and support him, and in another moment, he was clutching at Gil's wet shirt with both hands, twisting the cloth in his fists. He struggled desperately to match the rhythm of Gil's kiss, embarrassed at his own awkward, inexperienced responses; and when Gil's tongue swept across his lips, demanding entrance, he opened his mouth and was lost.

Gil tasted of coffee and cigarettes, of bitter chocolate and rain, of darkness and anguish; his kiss was almost unbearably hot, his lips surprisingly soft; his tongue explored Oz's mouth with long, velvety strokes that made the boy's heart hammer against his ribcage; and Oz was only vaguely aware of the small moan that was emanating from somewhere in his own throat.

Gil stopped as suddenly as he'd started, turning his head away to stop himself from giving in to the desire to just keep right on kissing those perfect, rosy lips, and to hell with self-control. Oz was his master, not his lover, and too young besides; although he was technically twenty-five - and had already been through his coming-of-age ceremony and was considered a legal adult anyway - he still looked so young, dammit! And not only that, but this was a boy who had lost his mother; a boy who had been openly and cruelly rejected by his own father; a boy who had been thrown into Abyss on his birthday after being stabbed by his best friend; a boy who craved love like Gil craved nicotine when he was stressed; an affectionate, emotionally wounded, vulnerable boy Gil had absolutely no right to kiss. He was taking advantage of Oz, and he had to stop before things went too far and he hurt his precious master further.

He was plunging headlong into a good bout of self-loathing when he felt Oz's small, warm hands on either side of his face, gently turning his head so that he was once again looking into those emerald eyes. "Gil..." the youth whispered, a smile curving his kiss-swollen lips. "It's okay."

Gil blinked in surprise, both charmed and taken aback by Oz's earnest expression and the careful way he cradled Gil's face in both hands. "Oz..."

"It's okay," Oz repeated, and leaned in to press his lips to Gil's in a sweet, lingering way that made the larger man feel as though it were some kind of holy kiss from a divine being that was forgiving him of all his sins.

Forgiving him.

Gil sat there passively, his hands resting lightly in the small of Oz's back, and allowed the boy to kiss him at his own pace: first shyly, almost timidly, then with a bit more pressure; Gil guided his young master with his own mouth, gently teaching him how to establish a rhythm; and when the tip of Oz's tongue grazed tentatively over his lower lip, Gil thought again of divinity.

Oz's heart was beating so fast he feared it might explode; his stomach seemed full of butterflies; his lips tingled from kissing Gil so much... no, just kissing Gil, period, made his entire body tingle, and he was excited and confused and delighted and terrified and completely befuddled - but he just couldn't stop. He didn't think he could even if he really wanted to, which he didn't. Gil tasted strangely good, warm and bittersweet, and Oz was surprised to discover that he even enjoyed the smoky cigarette undertone; it added a flavor of... danger. Danger? He realized with a sudden, shuddering thrill that Gil was actually a very dangerous person now, tall and strong and lethal - far from the weedy little boy that had followed him around like a puppy for five years. Gil had grown into a powerful, formidable man - a man that was patiently allowing Oz to clumsily kiss him. This thought did something to Oz that he couldn't explain; it was stirring and wondrous, the grandest adventure he could have imagined; he was trembling with arousal and a little fear, and he had to steady himself by wrapping his arms around Gil's neck, his fingers twisting in the bigger man's raven-black hair.

This was too much for Gil to take; unable to remain acquiescent, he splayed one hand between Oz's shoulderblades and one in the hollow of the boy's narrow back and pulled him as close as possible, pressing their bodies firmly together; Oz's smooth, bare skin rubbed against Gil's wet clothes, the scratchy material of the bigger man's trousers producing strangely thrilling sensations. Oz made a little whimpering sound and clung to Gil's curls, almost painfully tight; far from deterring or distracting the man, though, it actually turned him on even more, and his kisses became deeper and more insistent. I have to stop, he told himself. I can't let this go any further, or I'm going to do something Oz will never forgive me for. He's just a boy, and I'm... I... Oz's tongue slipped shyly into Gil's mouth and began to demonstrate what a quick learner the Bezarius heir was, and Gil was undone. I want him!

He stood swiftly, lifting Oz in his arms and carrying him to the huge bed in the adjoining room; after depositing his precious bundle in the center of the bedspread, he went and shut the double doors, then threw the bolt.

Oz sat on the bed, breathing hard, eyes wide; when Gil had dropped him there and walked to the door, he'd been afraid the man was going to leave - but now Gil was walking back to the bed with long, purposeful strides, his golden eyes gleaming like a wolf's, his gloved hands untying his cravat. "Gil," Oz said, horrified to hear his voice come out a breathy squeak.

Gil paused beside the bed and pulled off his wet shirt, casting it aside without a second thought, his gaze never leaving Oz's face. "Shhh," he soothed, in that low, rumbling voice that made Oz tremble all the more. "I won't hurt you."

"I- I know that, stupid!" Oz spluttered indignantly, picking up a pillow to throw. "As if I'd let you!" Gil climbed up on the bed and made his way across the mattress with more speed than Oz expected, and instead of chucking the pillow at his friend, the youth ended up pressed back into a pile of them, Gil's mouth hot and demanding on his own.

Gil allowed himself the luxury of exploring Oz's body with his right hand: the column of his neck, the fluted rungs of his delicate collarbones, the flat planes of his heaving chest, the arch of his ribs; Oz whimpered and wriggled as Gil's hand slid across his abdomen, the soft kid glove somehow more stimulating than the rough trouser cloth had been.

That gentle hand caressed Oz's hipbone, and he began to tremble again; he didn't know why, and he couldn't stop himself from doing it. His own hands came up to clutch at Gil's bare shoulders, the skin warm and damp beneath his palms, and little muffled sounds which were immediately caught by Gil's kisses tumbled from his mouth. "Gil," he whispered against the larger man's lips. "Gil..."

Gil felt his young master shaking all over and suffered a twinge of guilt; Oz was obviously scared, and common sense told him to slow down and control himself or he'd completely destroy everything. "Shhh," he breathed again, gently, his mouth brushing the pink shell of Oz's ear. "I won't do anything you don't want me to. I promise." He trailed light, feathery kisses down the youth's jawline to his chin, then worked his way down the tender curve of his throat.

"Gil, I... I..." Those soft, burning kisses moved across his left collarbone and settled over the scar near his heart, the hot sweep of Gil's tongue better than any balm; the kisses traveled lower; Gil's dark hair spilled in tickling, inky curls across Oz's chest; and when that warm, wandering mouth brushed lightly over the tattoo-like mark, Oz was completely unprepared for the feel of Gil's lips on his nipple. "Oh!" he cried, very suddenly; his fingers bit into Gil's shoulders, his body arching upward.

Gil, ever eager to please his master, took this as an invitation and doubled his efforts; he kissed and licked at the sensitive little bud, and was rewarded with the sound of Oz's voice, drawn out in breathy moans that made Gil's entire body feel as though it were on fire. He dared to nibble very lightly, and the boy's hands flew to Gil's hair, caressing the black curls blindly. Gil raised his eyes to look at Oz's face, loving the youth's flushed cheeks, open mouth, and half-lidded eyes. "Does it feel good?" he asked softly, his breath warm on Oz's skin.

"Yes," Oz answered, his voice barely a whisper.