A / N . For anyone who's wondering what happened to my OzAlice chaptered fic, FFN deleted it because it had "fuck" in the summary. :/ That word was the key to a running gag though. But, they didn't warn me before removing it (I would have changed it) and I lost all the wonderful reviews. I've been meaning to re-upload it, except I'm not sure if any of its readers are still around. Feel free to urge me if you'd like to see it again. (I actually have later chapters of it written)

Gilbert / Alice. Where do I begin? For the longest time I haven't been able to ship anything but canon pairings with the sheer caliber that I ship this. I love OzAlice, hell -I place that pairing on the main throne and on a higher pedestal than GilAlice. And I like OzGil too. Never mind my burning adoration for OzAliceGil (And this series doesn't exactly make most people want to separate those three in any way). Yet there's something chemical about Gilbert and Alice. I love just how their toleration-hate dynamic slowly bloomed into a begrudging friendship, for Gilbert. And then for Alice, ever since Gilbert patted her on the head, it's fashioned a habit of clinging to the tall boy for affection (As much as he tries to shoo her away, she's like a child). And, I appreciate the age gap between them.

I actually hated this pairing before KazunaPikachu's fanfictions forced me into seeing their potential.

Too bad that they're unpopular. I draw them a lot but 90% of their stuff I do not post, though a few of them are up on my deviantART SultanaLime. It's my life's mission to finally find some friends who love GilAlice like me.

Pandora Hearts is not mine. Enjoy!

His nose is shoved into a volume of Holy Knight, eyes drinking in the words and passages he's read many times before, with his trademark black top-hat resting beside him and the long lower portions of the equally black trench-coat he wears draping across the seat of the sofa. He's hunched into an elegant brooding position, when a sudden tug at his sleeve startles him out of his skin.

Gilbert Nightray scrambles himself up into a standing position, stumbling in the process as the flying book lands on the ground with a thud. How did he not hear this loud girl come in?

"What're you doing, you stupid rabbit?" He slaps a hand over his chest and tries to calm his palpitating heart as he fires a glare in her direction, only for it to falter at the look upon her face.

"Seaweed-head," The insufferable chain known as Alice fidgets cautiously, biting her lips and rubbing at the side of her head.

"I need to talk about something, so you better listen carefully."

It was another insufferable demand. Nothing new there. But, and this is something that makes him cock his head -this one, while it's still a demand, doesn't hold the usual tone. Instead it comes out as a mildly bossy inflection. Barely a shadow compared to her archetypical boasting and haughty laughter with hands proudly akimbo. Gilbert arches one dark brow. She wants to talk?

"Go ask Break," he tells her irritably.

She splutters. "I'm not asking the clown. I just escaped from him force-feeding me all sorts of candy after candy, cake after cake and all for his disgusting sense of fun! That stuff gets sickening after a while!" Alice huffs and looks to her side. "Besides, it's a question for you." Her arms link behind her back as she shifts her weight from foot to foot.

That leaves him blinking. He regards her suspiciously from the corner of his eye.

"For me?"

Her head falls back and her chin jerks up and down like a puppet in agreement, her fingers pulling at the oversized white bow at her collar.

Gilbert surveys her deliberately, watching for any sign of her being up to something. He finds none. None that he can see anyway; he's certain she'll surprise him any given moment. His arms fold across his chest as golden eyes shoot down a probing look.

Alice shifts some more.

Okay, Gilbert blinks, looking around them to find anything out of ordinary. Nothing. Yet the fact that she hasn't already barrelled into him with whatever happens to be on her mind is a puzzle in and of itself.

Finally, with a sigh, he looks straight at Alice while tapping one foot. "Go on," he consents.

Alice's response is to hold her breath and then slowly release it while she scratches the back of her head. "Well, lately I've been feeling kind of funny." She shrugs her small shoulders.

Each nervous movement of hers draws his brows closer together. "Funny how?"

She looks away. "Hell if I know. I just… My face becomes hot. Sometimes I have trouble breathing. And there's this funny feeling in my tummy, right here," she points helpfully to her stomach. "A swirly kind of feeling."

Disturbed confusion flattens his lips together. "Swirly?"

Alice nods, still averting her gaze. "Swirly."

Gilbert sighs and stares down at her in exasperation. The noise makes Alice turn back at him. Her wide, pixie-like stare blinking upwards, eating up the sight of him –and then all of a sudden she just jolts away, as if scalded with hot water. Her eyes widen and she gawks up, ganders, at him, dipping her gaze up and down his body briefly before running back to his face.

He watches her like she's just sprouted horns. Meanwhile, her eyes dart around looking at anything but him.

"Well." He breathes, once he's past that strange moment. "Maybe you're sick but are too stupid to realize the signs of it?" he suggests sardonically and with an apathetic wave of his hand, moving back to the couch. The fabric of his coat and cravat rustle together as he slumps back into his seat.

Looking him in the eye again, Alice scowls at him. He merely shrugs.

That's when she suddenly storms up to him, not stopping until she stands directly in front of his seat. Wordlessly frowning, she looks hard at him for a second or two. And then suddenly Gilbert finds himself yelping as she grabs him by the collars of his shirt.

"You don't understand!" Alice stomps her feet like a toddler. Gilbert gives her a look of distaste and clenches his teeth, grabbing his collar and shaking it, all the while, trying to pry himself away from her. But Alice doesn't relent.

"It only happens around you, Raven!"

His movements seize. And she's just called him by something other than a jab at his hair.

"What?"

Flexing one knee, Alice digs into the couch and props herself up, crouching in front of him. She averts her gaze a third time as she does this, and Gilbert doesn't meet hers because he's now staring into the air behind her. There is a sharp shuddering sound when the girl inhales a deep breath before she continues whatever she just dumped on him.

"I feel funny. Whenever I see you, something flutters inside me -Inside my stomach. It started ever since you rubbed my head –you know, after you thanked me for stopping Oz from being all stupid and killing that Marie lady?"

The silent motion of Gilbert's head assents affirmative.

"Sheesh I even remember her name, I can't forget anything about… anyway." A shake of the head. A wave of small gloved hands. "Ever since then it's gotten worse. It's strange. I feel nervous. And, and…"

Alice swallows.

And then looks up at him again. Even sitting down, she barely reaches his collarbone. "You're tall you know that? It weirds me out when I'm looking up at you. And I can't explain it but it's about you."

He snaps out of his stupor. "Huh?"

The chain growls in frustration. "Don't you understand? I feel like my chest is going to burst when I see you! I feel like touching you sometimes, especially when you're not looking all mean. Like when you give your special smiles to Oz." She briefly swipes her hand down his shoulder. "Sometimes I wonder what your skin feels like, wonder if your hair really feels like seaweed, wonder if…"

Alice's speech is coming out massively pressured by now. Gil, Gil stares. Her words fade from his hearing for a moment.

"I don't know what to do any more, seaweed head." She practically pleads with him. Pleads! His mouth hangs open. Just what has Break been feeding her?

"And you know what else," she starts tensely. "I have no idea what it is or why but I really want to, I want to -and I really want to do this!"

The breath is suddenly knocked out of him as she proceeds to grab hold of his face and smash it against hers, skin hitting awkwardly against skin and lips barely touching each other before she slides off his face.

What. the. hell.

Gilbert gapes at empty air, too shocked to push her away. He dimly registers Alice remove herself from him. The girl scuttles to the farthest end of the couch, huffing and folding her arms.

"You probably think it's stupid huh, whatever it is? You always do."

He opens his mouth to say yes but stops as Alice turns away from him.

The stupid rabbit is looking away, sputtering, gritting teeth, blushing. A shade of red that he finds disgustingly adorable and it suddenly occurs to him that he's never seen this scene before, seen her look so… small before.

Golden eyes widen a degree as they run over her.

She's always been small, hasn't she? Even when she stood straight and mouthed off at him day after day, she's never reached his chest. Never mind sitting huddled like she is…

His eyes run over pink lips, plush and puckered to a pout and her mauve eyes, peering up at him doe-eyed through long and dark lashes. From this angle she looks almost exposed. Heck, to hell with almost –she definitely looks exposed. Not like the feral rodent he always mentally likened her to. He-He doesn't recognize this Alice. And, Gilbert realizes with horror that he doesn't mind seeing this Alice.

The very idea. It makes his heart jump up his throat. If his heart wasn't already climbing up his trachea unable to cope with the force with which it had been pounding.

Wait. Back up a moment. What was that?

But, the dark-haired man realizes looking back at her, that he did not imagine it. The look is there. Her face is there. Those sharp eyes not wishing death on him are there. His frantic heart rate is real and those lips that clumsily attacked his are there. On her, staring at him.

No. This isn't fair. It just isn't.

"To hell with it," Gilbert mumbles before shooting long arms forward and seizing Alice by her shoulders. Startled, she peers up at him curiously –which makes him want to groan as he stares down at her menacingly, to where he's practically glaring holes to her. He thinks he almost sees her squirm under his gaze before he yanks her closer to show her just the correct way to implement what she failed at a minute ago.

His mouth crushes against her lips. Gilbert barely thinks and doesn't pay attention to Alice's widening eyes. He's kissing the girl he hates. He's kissing the girl he hates. The thought clouds his mind but for some reason it doesn't deter him and his arms link around her back. Her lips feel soft and pliable as his move over hers, and she doesn't move herself because she has no idea what the hell is going on and he's kissing the girl he hates.

God, he wonders what he'd do if he actually liked her.

Their lips smack the air as they break away almost right after, breathless. Or more specifically it's Gilbert who pulls apart gasping for air since Alice has barely moved an inch yet. Sluggishly, the girl blinks up at him, causing him to stare back in some kind of anticipation.

And then she lunges. Directly capturing his lips this time.

All his rationality suicides out the window. Unlike the naive little girl, the stupid little rabbit trapped inside of his arms, the art of kissing isn't alien to him. Sulking around for ten years straight, possessing the face he's grown with, along with the attributed Nightray status and thus attracting… armies of frightening women following him at every chance and growing daily in their sheer amount had made sure of that.

And Alice has no idea. He's thought about this once, briefly, when he'd heard of this girl's laughable belief. As far as he knows, Alice thinks that kisses aren't a meeting with lips but merely innocent and playful 'bites' -courtesy of Sharon's starkly selective puritan tutoring. Of course, he'd immediately killed that thought. Except that now, all at once, that train of thought rode back; how he'd wondered what it might be like with such a naive girl, and so peculiar a naive girl who didn't understand the basic concept of naivete, who would undress in the halls like a child, who would…

Honestly, until that moment he hadn't realized he could even think such… predatory thoughts. And he was and is a little sickened with himself.

Still, he finds it's useful that he knows how to angle his head. Knows how to pry open lips and coax because he's had first-hand experience with entirely-too-forward women. It's not something he reflects much on but it's like riding a bike –one can never forget the titters and sashaying fingers trailing across their stiffened chest. Oh a fine quality to possess, Break would always tell him, complete with a waggling brow and a smarmy smile. So Gil wagers he's beyond good there.

And when Alice on the other end of the spectrum doesn't get the clue, he grunts and nudges her further with the tip of his tongue until she does get it and lets him in.

A small noise rolls from the back of Gilbert's throat.

It's a surprise, he'll admit. That she doesn't taste like meat; that she's sweet. Not only that, she smells sweet too. He doesn't know if that's a regular occurrence because he never made a habit of sniffing. But he knows only Break is to thank for shovelling all those candies and cakes into her. The residue is a good combination; a little pungent, sugary and overall pleasant. He grazes his tongue past her teeth and feels her own tongue start to move against his; she catches onto this part pretty quickly for a stupid rabbit.

A stupid, tasty little rabbit.

She doesn't back off without a fight.

He moves to deepen the kiss. All of a sudden he feels the warmth shifts away.

"Your mouth… it's bitter." Alice scrunches her nose while panting for air to where she looks like she might sneeze. The bottom of her lip thrust out and swollen and still staring at him like a plush pink beacon.

Gilbert has no patience for this. His own breaths coming in quick and unsatisfied gasps. The heady sensation maintains a horrible clouding of his crucial judgement and he's too hot and bothered to let go and feel the horror of… whatever this is.

"Cigarettes, rabbit," he answers with a roll of his eyes and looks away indignantly as his brows squeeze together, reminded of the habit that he can't quit. Leave it to her to ruin the mome… he cuts that train of thought. He will not think about this. He will not.

Alice curls her mouth in an odd line, as if contemplating something, flicking her tongue back and forth in her mouth –he frowns again- before she's blushes and looks away.

"This bitter's not too bad," she suddenly admits. "All the other parts still felt good…" and then she shrugs one shoulder and braces her little fists around the collars of Gilbert who just stares.

And stares.

"Well?" Alice gesticulates. "It's better when you start it."

Without warning, Gilbert feels his mouth part open before the barest, most minuscule hint of an upwards tug unexpectedly twitches at the corner of his mouth. He refuses to call it a smile; it's not. A flicker passes his golden eyes and it's all the encouragement he needs to lean forward once again.

"Stupid rabbit." To a trained ear it would almost sound affectionate.

He reaches up to –gently- pry her hands off his collar. His eyelids fall as he lets them relax. Lets his arms snake around her waist. She's unbelievably soft through that white cotton shirt and it's boggling. How can chains be this soft? She's not human. He certainly doesn't see her as such, no matter how much she looks like a little girl. A bratty little girl but still a little girl. Really, really little. His hand is at her side, and the fact is remarkably apparent whilst scaling her torso easily with just his forearm.

He is possessed then by a wish to Tangle his hand in her hair, while he proceeds to taste her once more… He can't help but like the way she moves her tongue right back with his own. Can't help but be fond of how she has been utilizing that small and pink muscle. Determined but slow, as if she is trying learning to do it properly without having to falter or pause noticeably. She's a novice. True, she's passed her blood into Oz's mouth with her mouth for their contract and yes, that's intimate, but actual kissing is not the same. This is an act; an act that is deliberate. And Gilbert can't stop this. Because if not now then it would be some other time -perhaps a heated conversation in the hallway would lead him to shoving his tongue straight down her throat. Or maybe she would pounce on him while he refused to keep petting her hair the way she enjoyed so much. And worst would be if any of that happened in front of Oz or the others.

That's why Gilbert reasons that this is better. It will be better to have this over with.

(God, how old is she again? She's younger than even Oz and he's fucking twenty-four.)

At her quizzical look, he gulps. The way she presses her lips only serves as a reminder of her taste. Her movements. Determined yet utterly novice.

He shuffles backwards and burrows his back into the crook between the couch's back and handle until he's comfortable. One swift knee props up for closer contact and hands harshly tugs Alice by her waist until there is no gap between them.

Every movement feels surreal. The girl climbs over him and straddles him. Heartbeat impatient, he waits for her to finish moving over him. She doesn't understand what she's doing –she just knows she wants to do it and he knows that. But then, but then she mewls –mewls- softly and brings her arms around his neck.

Quickly, he hooks his hands under her knees and hoists her up by the legs. And then before she can say anything he shoves her square against the wall behind the couch.

"What the hell seaweed head?" Alice cries. Her legs scramble to find some purchase in the makeshift ledge created by the couch's head, waving back and forth in the air. Something resembling a laugh tickles his throat but he kills it; it dies before it can even be born as Alice's slender legs wrap right around him. Tightly. She tries to hang on for support with the position he's put her in. He should help with that. Steadily, moving his hands away from her knees and up her sides before grabbing her wrists, Gilbert pins himself entirely against her.

Oh.

He hadn't realized.

"Uh." Alice groans close to his ear.

Shit, he thinks. It's already… in his trousers there's… it's there isn't it? And it's pressing against her. That's what makes her give that kind of noise.

That noise. Her voice…

It shoots his nerves high into an almost drunken intensity, and he attacks her lips again and again. Gilbert tilts her chin and dives inside of her –She's past the grudge and just ready and open with her lips parted for the war.

He kisses her abrasively, then. He draws, sucking harshly at her soft bottom lip before proceeding to plunge his tongue in again. He wants to explore the every bit of the inside of her mouth. She shifts her arms and tries responding to his kiss at the same time. It's so clumsy and raw that it almost makes him want to snicker right into her mouth.

He does none of that. And instead furrows his brows, squeezing them together with the intensity he's feeling, slowly pooling downwards below his belly. She's so snug and cosy. Her body is terribly warm; he feels it seep from her body to his, rushing across his veins, leaving him with delightful little shivers. One of Gilbert's hands reaches out to take both her wrists and pin them to the wall above her head while the other swoops down to the groove at back of her waist. Once there the hand twitches and gradually shimmies, very slowly inching downwards.

The signature gloves that they both wear almost all the time, have been discarded somewhere along the line. He eventually lets go of her arms. The free long fingers clinch around her hair.

"Ow!" he ignores her stifled cry of pain as she struggles to loosen his grip on her hair. If anything it just makes him more eager. Unending floods of silk come with that absurd length of her hair, locks tangled in his grip, he thinks that's pretty nice too–though he'd definitely die before admitting as much.

She growls. He sneers. She growls louder and shoves her lower body harder. He lines the tiny frame that melts so into his gangly one with a sinfully easy fashion. His head moves back in front of her face and he drives his tongue deeper as if it were possible, coiling the appendage around the inside of her mouth under her tongue and over and under again. Her hands roam around his back, feeling the hard planes of shoulder muscles beneath his white shirt.

She's utterly forceful and slowly learning how to move her lips and tongue from following him now. And he can't be bothered by guilt anyone. A much-younger girl. An entirely different experience than all the women he's been with since the age of sixteen. Alice's mouth is like the fucking fresh and crisp fallen snow or some God-damned deserted place and he's enjoying every bit of tainting it now, leaving steps and marks and for a lesson she won't forget.

She won't. Someone so curious as her won't forget.

Gilbert gasps small gulps of breath in the small spaces created between kisses. He feels light-headed now. And sweat. Somewhere and sometime, between all the groping and the shoving the temperature has become overbearing. The sweat is rendering both of them slick and smelling of musky earth. The aroma of themselves doesn't invade their nostrils so as much as it leaves a dry feeling at the back of their throats. It's the same for Alice from who there's a try for a pause so she can take off her coat. But Gilbert doesn't let go. Instead, Gilbert's busy hands steadfastly help her remove the bow and red-white coat without any separation. With a rustle, his trench-coat joins the ground besides her discarded one.

He pushes her back against the wall again and picks up the rhythm where he left off as he hears her moan right into his mouth.

He can't help but want to hear that sound again. He applies more pressure. The pressing really needs to be harder. Faster, too. Maybe their skeletons need to merge. Gilbert feels like being brutal. Jamming his hips against hers, pressing his hands into her sides. Alice naturally gives it all back to him with her hands tautly tangled in his hair and her hips ramming back and back against him every time. Since all it takes is pure instinct and if nothing else she's pretty damn good at being impulsive. All his shoving has been an act of monopolizing dominance, and she can never have that, even if she is doesn't know much, and so she retaliates against him. Her wild limbs, rhythm, everything. Her claws, nimble and little, bite and scratch into his scalp in their way to card through his hair.

Gilbert harshly sucks in a breath. The pain is both painful and rousing. Again, he tugs at her hair -but more gently this time, for now wanting to just simply feel with one hand. The other hand, along with his knee is supporting her against the wall, keeping her there for him.

Pulling back a few millimetres, he leans in to kiss her again…

And then Alice jerks away.

Again.

She arches back her shoulders and moves her head to the side to regard him with that odd expression of hers, the one that looks accusatory.

He murders his urge to whine like a little girl.

"What is it now?"

She looks at him dazedly, violet meeting gold. "I don't think your hair feels like what seaweed is supposed to feel like." She remarks. Her entire body is tucked away into his arms as both of their lungs carry on heaving as she ogles his wavy black curls.

The tall young man musters up a cross-eyed look and tries not to glance down at her petite but moving chest, so highlighted by her sweat-dampened and white cotton shirt. And of course she wasn't wearing a bra underneath. "Of course it doesn't. It's hair! Stupid, stupid rabbit –now will you stop interrupting?"

"I'm just saying it's surprising! Sheesh!" Alice looks away still slightly out of breath. He watches as her face sports a fetching colour.

"I'm still calling you that, by the way." she adds.

Gilbert doesn't respond.

It's never occurred to him before now. It's always been for Oz. But until today he's never actually witnessed this look being caused by him. Red cheeks really do complement vibrantly with that smooth porcelain skin, highlighting soft contours.

They'd look even nicer drawn into his hands, he wagers. He grabs her face and pulls it closer to him, tilting it upwards to look her in the eye.

"Yeah, well. I'm still calling you stupid rabbit," he rumbles into her ear before dipping his nose down into the scent of her neck. Vanilla. There's a distinct essence of it. Probably frosting from some cake Break shoved into her mouth.

Alice shrugs and leans forward. He realizes she's waiting for him because it's better when he starts it. It makes him stop for a second and look at her. He starts again.

He had to take care to make sure he didn't lose grip, caught up in making-out. Whenever Alice would start slipping from his grip he took to immediately prop her back up. Although he would barely register doing so –it's frighteningly automatic. She certainly doesn't take note of it. She's too occupied with him for it. And she's not shy. Her own hands slide and slide over him, over his back, shoulders, waist.

Little, thin hands scrape tantalizingly across his pale skin, slow and deliberate in their wake and he thinks –though it may just be in his imagination because his ears are roaring- that she maybe just compliments him somewhere in there.

"Raven…" What was that about calling him seaweed-head? She can speak a little more coherently now since his mouth has taken to the outer corners of her mouth. And then he would dip his head down to kiss her neck occasionally in between and linger there for a second before returning to her face again. The faded aroma of vanilla over the skin of her delicate neck is inviting.

"Stupid little rabbit…"

He stretches one stray thumb to her cheek, softly scraping the digit across the butter-softness of her cheek while the rest of the fingers hold the back of her head. She unconsciously, slowly, rolls her hips against his hips. His second hand goes back to her waist, resting at the small of her back, stroking the curve beneath the material of her shirt.

One second… two seconds…

The brave hand hovers for one stiff moment before it brazenly grasps her bottom.

"Mmmph!" The sound is muffled by his mouth. He swears it's supposed to be a loud "Seaweed-head!" and it's a little too much. Glowering, he juts his lower body hard.

Really, it doesn't help that the tight material of Alice's skirt does next to nothing to detract from the palpable curve of her hips beneath the cloth, round and plump under the cup of his hand. And neither does her insufferable mewling. She's going to make him crush her. It's too easy to, too. To smother her. Smother her and it'll be all her damn fault. All of it.

Soon, it's as if the couch disapproves of such activities taking place upon innocent upholstery and refuses to support them anymore. Gil's legs buckle against the cushion and they lose their balance, the sofa sending them tumbling down to the ground in front of its feet.

With double 'oomph's they land haphazardly with Alice on top of Gilbert. And once they do settle they both stare at the other for just a second or two…

His hands fly to the front of her shirt to tug at her buttons. She forward leans into the gesture, ready.

The top two unbutton easily and deftly with one hurried hand. The third… he eventually gives up and just tugs viciously. It flies across the air, revealing more smooth skin as the front parts across a valley between two modest swells that start below the neck and hide under the yokes at each side of the shirt. A shy few fingers place themselves there sliding upwards. Gilbert feels the outline of Alice's collarbone. There is a new coolness seeping into him, from the floor beneath his back and it only heightens each new sensation, contrasting their hot and bothered flesh and contrasting her heated skin with a refreshing chill shivering through him.

She's reaching down and looping her arms around his bared shoulders, her face buries down into the crook of his neck. He hears the erotic sound her of inhaling his scent and he has to grit his teeth and he wonders why he hasn't completely stripped her yet.

Alice wraps around him tighter, tighter and the tips of her pink boots poke the underside of his thighs.

Her hips are ever against his and pressing up, pushing down, that they might as well be attached by now - they're all actions that force Gilbert to inhale sharply again and again. His hand sloppily travels behind her again, to where her rump is.

And then he squeezes her there. Hard.

She snarls. Much harder than before. Her hands flail to tear wildly at his shirt. The golden clasps of his shirt open in a snap so harsh they almost losing their stitching to the cloth.

He grabs her wrists and flips her over onto her back.

Yes.

So much is just easier with gravity. Easier to climb on top of her. Easier to cover her and for him to completely envelop her slight form splayed against the marble floor. Easier for both of them to pitch and shove, to increase friction. Can you go harder? That's not enough. It feels good. Harder. Not enough dammit! So freaking impatient, this thing, this girl. Gil's eyes roll at the back of his head. Stupid eager little girl.

Kiss-bruised lips, a soft and warm body against his planed one. Throaty gasps and whispers that fill the air, permeating around them an invisible cloud of heat so intensely felt by both. Ugh, please. Dammit I even said please. Listen dammit. Oh shut up, shut up, or I really will smother you. You'll what?

That's right, she heard him. She had better act all indignant at his challenge. She had better slam herself up against him ferociously and scratch and claw at his back over and over demanding he explain himself. After all, he realizes, anger only makes her moves even more wild. Excitinglyso.

In some far corner of his mind, Gilbert knows that he should be pushing her off. Getting as far away from her as possible. Far away from the silken dark hair, baby-fresh skin and the way she insists on moving in crude and uneven rhythms that are driving him crazy. Except he really can't now. And he's still got a keen sense of smell despite six years of smoking. Which means he can inhale and almost taste her breath and mouth so sweet, mixed with the acrid smell of tobacco that had been lingering on his breath and on his now torn-open shirt – she's taking his smell onto her clothes and skin- and he can't ignore how she 's snug and fitting into the crooks of his arms. Naive. Little. Pest. of. A. Girl. And he forgets it all again and again. Rationality already died the moment he'd shovelled his tongue into her God-damned tempting mouth. So all those pesky thoughts, they die too as they come. They come and go and he ignores.

He seizes the girl's face again and smacks his lips at the corner of her mouth. He scrapes his teeth against the edges of her lips. Her hands, her claws, are on him; her little nails that keep scratching at the back of his neck. It's a delightful little feeling if he's honest with himself. And today he's been far too honest with himself than he's used to.

Neither hears the sound of the door softly opening nor the sound of feet padding and pausing. Gilbert's eyes widen here and there, when she actually just complies with his actions, letting him guide her completely and giving in from time to time. Like a spoiled queen waiting to be pleased, he thinks that as he forces himself to resist blasphemous tug at the corner of his mouth. There's absolutely no way anything close to a smile is ever threatening his face. No. Never. There's just whatever this is, whatever the hell they're doing to each other and whatever these wanton urges are supposed to be…

Just as Gilbert's hand sneaks sordidly into the crook of her collar, as she's all but eager to let him, and he trails down the path left open by the top few parted buttonholes of her shirt…

Down, down, down her body…

"Well now."

As if she's made of fire and brimstone, within a flash Gilbert is shoving Alice away. Her back skids across the floor to a few feet away and both their heads simultaneously twist around so hard they nearly snap off their necks and Gilbert, he's pretty sure he has whiplash. They turn towards the door where the heart of the voice stands.

Blond brows rise to meet the blond hairline as the owner of the voice casually steps forward.

"This is a very interesting sight."

The footsteps stalk until they stand a few feet away from their messy selves on the floor. "Just what could be going on here?"

Whatever wanton urges he felt suddenly shrivel up and die in a hole as the dark-haired young man feels his previously palpitating heart lodge inside his throat. When-when did he come in? How did two people pass his radar in one day?

"Really, what the hell seaweed-head?" Alice yells at Gilbert, rubbing her shoulder from where she'd landed on the floor.

Although in theory Oz Vessalius's smiling face betrays itself what with his voice dripping with sickly sweet venom, Gilbert knows that smile hides something far scarier than any frown his master could give him. Cool green eyes skim over their flushed, disarrayed forms, messed hair, bruised lips and Alice's freaking cleavage –although there's not much there– before the owner thins his lips at the entirety of tangled limbs and compromising position and the grin sparks up again, back on his face.

If one can call it a grin.

Oz repeats himself. "What could be going on here?" a leisurely drawl, a cross of the arms, a curious raise of blond brows. "Hmm?"

"Nothing," Gilbert actually squeaks.

That is when Alice blinks, crawling forward swiftly on all fours. "Nothing? So that's what they call this?" And then she bumps her pelvis against his for good measure as Gilbert yelps and jerks away. Alice scoffs. "What a stupid thing to call it."

The tight-lipped smile nearly breaks Oz's face.

A disoriented Gilbert puts his hands up. And he opens his mouth only to snap it shut. How does he defend something that's exactly what it looks like?

Jade green eyes mask an approaching storm as they pass over the pair a second time and the grin of Oz's face twitches to something manic, for a fleeting second that only Gilbert manages to catch. Nervous laughter escapes Gilbert's lips.

Oz's brows draw together in mock awe. "Indeed, Gil, Alice. I had no idea how common it is for future dukes to walk in on loyal servants handling other people's chains."

Said servant is by now breathing in shallow, quick gasps.

He's dead; dead, dead, dead. And the worst –the horrible and alien part is when he looks at Alice, and then he hears in his head, finds a corner of his mind correcting Oz and asserting that Gilbert too is a future duke. Kind of. He's part of them anyway. Needless to say he slaughters that thinking with every conscious fragment of his brain. Traitor, traitor. He's a bloody traitor. He should be disowned. Disowned!

With a gasp Alice glances back and forth between the two. "Is he disowning you?" she asks, "I can take you, you know," oblivious to the tension thick enough to stab and eat.

"No!" Gilbert nearly slaps a hand over his face and would have if not for the apprehension sweeping through him back and forth like nausea. He turns to Oz and shakes his head back and forth, his hands waving in the air, mentally berating the part of him that actually considers Alice's words for one, treacherous millisecond.

Disowned isn't good enough. He should be beheaded. Beheaded, yes. Maybe then he'll be worthy of forgiveness. "Oz, it's…" he tries to conjure up something, anything to say to the younger boy. But Alice being Alice interferes right when he really needs her not to.

"You know Oz, whatever nothing seaweed-head did with my lips and here …"

Oz's brows now positively migrate past his hairline as Alice jabs a thumb at her pelvic arch while Gilbert lurches to stop her. "Rabbit, rabbit, rabbi—"

"It felt fantastic."

Gilbert deflates across the floor and starts planning his funeral.

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