So is it just me or does this lovely face look a little inappropriate? Nsfw under the cut. It’s not too explicit, and it’s intentionally vague most of the time. Most being the keyword.
It was hard to break Oz’s mask of calm detachment, but when Wesley managed to do it, it was a sight to behold.
Of course, this was only a somewhat secluded hallway, so Oz was still almost completely dressed and unruffled for the most part, with the exception of his belt being wrestled aside and his slacks unzipped in the front. It really was a shame, Wesley thought, because Oz would look so much better with only that ridiculous bow around his neck, and nothing else. Like a present with a pretty red ribbon, just waiting to be torn up by Wesley’s nails. And teeth. In his defense, Oz had a masochistic streak a mile wide, and Wesley was happy to oblige him. (He was also happy when Oz obliged him in the same manner, though.)
He supposed he could settle for this, too. He didn’t need all of Oz’s clothes off to be able to wreck him. Wesley might have been a loudmouth, but he was also pretty good at putting it to other uses.
Oz’s hand found its way to curl tight in a fistful of Wesley’s jet black hair, a few white strands mixed in. “So I see this is the only way to shut you up, huh?” he huffed, still trying to play it cool, that bastard.
Wesley tried to suppress it, but the whine that bubbled up in his throat at the hard tug on his hair escaped, albeit muffled. His mouth was kinda full, and Oz wasn’t giving him a chance to pull back. Focusing on breathing through his nose, he complied with Oz’s directing -- that asshole had to be in control even when he wasn’t supposed to be, didn’t he?
He gave Oz a warning look, and Oz let him go with a reluctant sigh. Wesley pulled off with a wet pop, heaved in a huge breath, and sat back on his heels for a minute, glaring up at Oz. “You’re lucky you did that, I was about to bite it off if you didn’t give me a break. Not all of us can have a nonexistent gag reflex like you.”
“That nonexistent gag reflex has gotten you off too many times for you to be complaining about it.”
“Can’t help but wonder where you picked up those skills, Oz.”
Oz just smirked and leaned his head back against the pillar they were half-concealed behind. “Obviously you weren’t my first.”
“Yeah, but I’m your best,” Wesley replied cockily.
There was something to prove now -- wasn’t there always, with Oz? Neither of them were cut out for a sweet, loving relationship; they were meant for this, the barbs and the taunting and the using-sex-as-an-outlet thing. He was sure Oz cared about him in some way, but he was well aware that Oz cared more about what Wesley was doing for him at the moment.
So Wesley got back to it, working his lips and his tongue to the best of his ability. It was extremely gratifying when he got the first little gasp out of Oz, and more so when it turned into a soft groan, and Oz’s hand wandered back to find a grip in Wesley’s hair. Wesley kept his own hands at work, too, one digging nails into Oz’s hip and the other helping out with the few inches his mouth couldn’t reach.
The hallway was yet deserted, which was a miracle. Nobody seemed to be around to hear all the obscene, sloppy noises of Wesley’s sucking, or Oz’s quiet and carefully restrained moans. Wesley badly wanted to make him lose every bit of composure he had left, wanted to hear him fall apart. Every moment brought that closer -- whether Oz would admit it or not, Wesley was the best, and Oz wouldn’t want anyone else on their knees between his legs. Nobody else knew him like this.
Wesley glanced up at him to find Oz gazing back down lustfully, his cheeks flushed and his brown hair swooping over his green eyes and that stupidly perfect face Wesley worshiped. That was Wesley’s favorite expression on Oz; the one where his mask was starting to break and his lips parted slightly and his eyebrows drew together and yes, there it was, when he finally closed his eyes and gave in to the feeling. Oz buried both hands in Wesley’s hair and brought him all the way forward, nearly choking him.
That prick didn’t even give any warning before Wesley’s mouth was filled with a salty-sweet tang. He pulled back, spluttering, and wanted to spit it out, but here, there wasn’t much choice but to swallow. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stood up so he could be taller than Oz again, and glowered down at him.
“I thought we talked about that, you ass.”
“Sorry,” Oz panted, in a tone that said he wasn’t even thinking about being sorry. He leaned back against the pillar for support for another minute, until his breathing evened out and he opened his eyes, hazy with satisfaction. Carefully, he tucked himself back in and straightened out his suit. “To be fair, I could have done it all over your face, and you would’ve loved that until you had to try to find a way to your room without anyone in the castle seeing you and finding out what a depraved mess you are.”
“Me, depraved?” Wesley said indignantly. “Try looking in a mirror sometime, Ozzie.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Suck my dick.”
“You’d like that.”
“Yeah,” Wesley admitted, grinning. “Besides, you owe me.”
“Do I really?”
“Yeah, you really do.” Wesley put his arms to either side of Oz’s head to cage him in, stepping closer to press their hips together and grinding forwards lightly. Oz might have been taken care of, but there was still a very obvious need to be addressed in Wesley’s pants.
Oz just laughed, ducked out of his hold, and started down the hall, leaving a dumbfounded Wesley standing alone with his trousers still tented.
“Have fun with that,” Oz called.
Wesley could just hear the smirk in his voice. Oh, he was so going to get Oz back for this tonight.
