In the silence, the waitress refills both their mugs of coffee and Oz finishes his bacon. "No," he says. Love and history and Giles are feeling too heavy, so he goes for a tease. "But the sex is really, really good
( ... )
Oz's chin is resting on Giles' shoulder, his face in Giles' neck, and he's taking long deep breaths. Sniffing him. "I've missed you too," Giles says, and turns to wrap his arms around Oz's waist, press his nose into a clean t-shirt. Nothing but the scent of detergent, until Oz bends down again and Giles can smell Oz's skin and his own cologne on it. Oz must have put some on, as he does sometimes
( ... )
The kiss still sparking through his mouth and over his lips, Oz squeezes the back of Giles' neck and nods again. "Beach's good. Little sun, little surf
( ... )
Giles takes off his glasses and lets Oz coat his face, which feels a bit tight from this morning's sun, with a thick layer of cream. Oz has already moved on to his neck before Giles realizes that he could, in fact, have done this himself. But this is nicer. "You know, I've never been here before," Giles says, pushing up the sleeves of his jumper and holding out an arm for Oz to work on. He went to the pier a couple of times, investigating one demon or another, but that's strictly for teenagers and he was never tempted to stay. Glasses back on, Giles looks at the steep rocky slope leading down to a narrow stretch of sand. "It's pretty
( ... )
Out in the sun, breeze teasing at his hair, Giles looks like himself, relaxed and loose, and Oz leans into the touch. It used to be, when they got away from Sunnydale, that Giles, relaxed, looked like a version of himself. Not the real thing
( ... )
"Good lord." Xander's red face and suppressed giggles make a lot more sense now. Giles would have expected him to shy away from the topic, indeed to refuse to notice more than he absolutely must, but then Xander has always baffled him. If Oz was astonishingly, impossibly kindred, Xander was the alien being Giles had assumed American teenagers must be. "No thanks. Except perhaps for the face-stuffing part. Tara offered me breakfast, but I couldn't quite manage it
( ... )
Oz twists at the waist until he's lying on his elbow in the gritty sand, his free hand tracking slowly up and down the center of Giles' chest. Sun, and waves, and touch - these are all things he's always associated with Giles, with being at ease and away from it all
( ... )
Surreal. Odd and uncomfortable as the last day has been, it's not the word Giles would have chosen. Instead, it's as though reality has shifted into a new pattern, field and ground reversing, making the whole picture new. The change is in what he notices, what matters most
( ... )
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