"Was it awkward?" Oz asks, reaching behind him toward the snacks table and nabbing, blindly, some almond-shaped crackers. He offers the handful to Giles, then nibbles the corner off one himself. Giles starts to smile at him. "I'm not used to this. I can't tell awkward from grown-up party stuff."
Considering how well Giles prepped him on the whole Paul-and-Martin backstory, Oz realizes all too late how nervous he must have been for this encounter. With his uncrackery hand, he rubs Giles' knee briefly, then rests his palm on the fine, soft wool, and sighs.
"We could have them over for dinner, though," he says after a bit. "I like them."
He expected all sorts of things once he came to London - culture shock, and difficulty with accents, and finding his way around a massive, crowded city - but navigating these intricate pathways of emotion and past history never really occurred to him.
"You and Paul would make good friends. Cackling over old stuff and things like that."
He smiles, in case that came out awkwardly, and stops himself just before his fingers trail up the bottom of Giles' thigh.
"I'll have you know, I never cackle." Giles pours some of the little biscuits, which he doesn't want, into Oz's hand and watches him eat them.
A dinner party. Deep down, Oz seems to believe that nothing can't be solved with a good meal. But he's not grandmotherly or fussy about it; it's more a kind of bodily optimism, and in practice it always feels natural and wise. "We could give it a try, I suppose. Thirteen years is a damned long time for Paul and me to tiptoe round each other." Their breakup was spectacularly bad, but Giles has been through a worse one since, and anyway, they've both got good reason, now, to be over it.
For a little while he and Oz are quiet, eating biscuits, rubbing knees, and listening to the music, which some merciful soul has switched from brassy pseudo-jazz to Ella Fitzgerald. The party feels rather distant, even though people brush against their backs and nearly trip over their feet. Perhaps Olivia was right to worry about them hiding in a corner--Giles finds himself almost hoping that someone will ask them to make room on the chair so he can have a plausible excuse to take Oz onto his lap.
A new song starts, slow and sweet, and beside him Oz sways to it, just a little. Giles leans in and whispers, "Dance with me."
Once or twice, alone together, they've danced, but never in public. Oz goes still, not answering, and Giles says, "Come on. We won't be the only ones." Near the stereo, a few other couples are clinging through slow-paced circles.
There's a somebody I'm longin' to see, Ella sings. Giles stands up and holds out a hand.
It's been a long time - prom, probably - since Oz danced in public, but Giles is standing there like Astaire and Cary Grant and every other dapper gentleman, reaching for Oz, and it's just a step up, a squeeze of his hand, and then Oz is on his feet, Giles' arm around his waist, and they're dancing.
He folds himself up against Giles, cheek against one soft lapel, their fingers interlocking, and maybe it's a good thing he never learned how to dance officially. This way he doesn't know stuff about leading or counting; he just leans and sways and Giles moves them around in this long, drawn-out, *public* (but he can't think about that) cuddle-to-music.
On the small of his back, Giles' hand is light as air, as the breath through Ella's mouth, and dancing really isn't anything beyond being close and moving slowly.
Plus, it's a pretty song, kind of longing, full of promise, and Oz mouths the words as he feels Giles' hand moving in circles and the pressure, the embrace of it all, really kind of is like losing gravity.
At the chorus, Oz tips back his head and smiles at Giles.
"Good song." At that, Giles' face creases into a smile and Oz adds, "Better dance."
As a small boy, Giles was sent every Saturday morning to the dancing and etiquette lessons that Mrs. Matheson gave in the parish hall. He learned to waltz and foxtrot, to bow at just the right angle when asking a lady to dance, to rest his hand lightly ('never clutch, boys,' Mrs. Matheson said) on the small of his partner's back. Although among the other boys he always claimed to hate it, secretly he thought it was fun. He used to practice with his mum, or, on visits, with his grandmother, who was a marvelous dancer.
And then came the nineteen-sixties, and formal dancing was as unfashionable as Brylcreem and Vera Lynn. Giles has hardly used all those painstakingly-memorized steps, except at family weddings.
This is only dancing in the loosest sense, of course--just a kind of shuffle. But the song's lovely and Oz's hair is mussed where he leaned against Giles' chest, and Giles feels a little like someone in a film. "Wonderful dance," he says, kissing the top of Oz's head when he settles in again.
He can't help thinking of the Sunnydale prom, of how Buffy's eyes shone when Angel came into the room, of how he stood holding her little umbrella, trying not to look at any of the teenage couples showing off their romances. Missing Oz, while Oz was twenty feet away dancing with Willow and whispering in her ear.
That, Giles realizes, is why he wanted to dance tonight. He's writing over that memory. And bragging, too, like those California teenagers. Making sure everyone sees that he's in love.
Love's not tactful. Love's a boaster. Love announces itself with neon and fanfares. Love stands on a soapbox at Hyde Park Corner and shouts Look at me!
The song ends, but another slow one starts, and Giles holds on to Oz. "One more."
Considering how well Giles prepped him on the whole Paul-and-Martin backstory, Oz realizes all too late how nervous he must have been for this encounter. With his uncrackery hand, he rubs Giles' knee briefly, then rests his palm on the fine, soft wool, and sighs.
"We could have them over for dinner, though," he says after a bit. "I like them."
He expected all sorts of things once he came to London - culture shock, and difficulty with accents, and finding his way around a massive, crowded city - but navigating these intricate pathways of emotion and past history never really occurred to him.
"You and Paul would make good friends. Cackling over old stuff and things like that."
He smiles, in case that came out awkwardly, and stops himself just before his fingers trail up the bottom of Giles' thigh.
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A dinner party. Deep down, Oz seems to believe that nothing can't be solved with a good meal. But he's not grandmotherly or fussy about it; it's more a kind of bodily optimism, and in practice it always feels natural and wise. "We could give it a try, I suppose. Thirteen years is a damned long time for Paul and me to tiptoe round each other." Their breakup was spectacularly bad, but Giles has been through a worse one since, and anyway, they've both got good reason, now, to be over it.
For a little while he and Oz are quiet, eating biscuits, rubbing knees, and listening to the music, which some merciful soul has switched from brassy pseudo-jazz to Ella Fitzgerald. The party feels rather distant, even though people brush against their backs and nearly trip over their feet. Perhaps Olivia was right to worry about them hiding in a corner--Giles finds himself almost hoping that someone will ask them to make room on the chair so he can have a plausible excuse to take Oz onto his lap.
A new song starts, slow and sweet, and beside him Oz sways to it, just a little. Giles leans in and whispers, "Dance with me."
Once or twice, alone together, they've danced, but never in public. Oz goes still, not answering, and Giles says, "Come on. We won't be the only ones." Near the stereo, a few other couples are clinging through slow-paced circles.
There's a somebody I'm longin' to see, Ella sings. Giles stands up and holds out a hand.
Reply
It's been a long time - prom, probably - since Oz danced in public, but Giles is standing there like Astaire and Cary Grant and every other dapper gentleman, reaching for Oz, and it's just a step up, a squeeze of his hand, and then Oz is on his feet, Giles' arm around his waist, and they're dancing.
He folds himself up against Giles, cheek against one soft lapel, their fingers interlocking, and maybe it's a good thing he never learned how to dance officially. This way he doesn't know stuff about leading or counting; he just leans and sways and Giles moves them around in this long, drawn-out, *public* (but he can't think about that) cuddle-to-music.
On the small of his back, Giles' hand is light as air, as the breath through Ella's mouth, and dancing really isn't anything beyond being close and moving slowly.
Plus, it's a pretty song, kind of longing, full of promise, and Oz mouths the words as he feels Giles' hand moving in circles and the pressure, the embrace of it all, really kind of is like losing gravity.
At the chorus, Oz tips back his head and smiles at Giles.
"Good song." At that, Giles' face creases into a smile and Oz adds, "Better dance."
Reply
And then came the nineteen-sixties, and formal dancing was as unfashionable as Brylcreem and Vera Lynn. Giles has hardly used all those painstakingly-memorized steps, except at family weddings.
This is only dancing in the loosest sense, of course--just a kind of shuffle. But the song's lovely and Oz's hair is mussed where he leaned against Giles' chest, and Giles feels a little like someone in a film. "Wonderful dance," he says, kissing the top of Oz's head when he settles in again.
He can't help thinking of the Sunnydale prom, of how Buffy's eyes shone when Angel came into the room, of how he stood holding her little umbrella, trying not to look at any of the teenage couples showing off their romances. Missing Oz, while Oz was twenty feet away dancing with Willow and whispering in her ear.
That, Giles realizes, is why he wanted to dance tonight. He's writing over that memory. And bragging, too, like those California teenagers. Making sure everyone sees that he's in love.
Love's not tactful. Love's a boaster. Love announces itself with neon and fanfares. Love stands on a soapbox at Hyde Park Corner and shouts Look at me!
The song ends, but another slow one starts, and Giles holds on to Oz. "One more."
Perhaps someday soon he'll teach Oz to waltz.
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