come_sailaway | [closed] and if tomorrow it's all over

Entry tags:

[closed] and if tomorrow it's all over

Who: Giles and Oswald
What: finally confronting what they've been dancing around for far too long
When: beginning of september
Where: their private pocket dimension
Warnings: discussions of sex

It's been a few weeks since the Events at the diner, and although things have calmed down significantly, it's still been very tense. Giles has done his best to put everything out of his mind whilst around Oswald, but he's still been more distant than usual, and it hasn't helped that Oswald has been just as distant. He can't know for certain the cause of Oswald's distance, but he's sure that what Sharky told him is no small part of it.

Although Giles has known that it wont get any better if they don't talk about it, if he doesn't start the conversation, he's been unable to bring himself to take that first step into the unknown. The arrival of a new suit, one that feels familiar when he puts it on (although it cannot be the exact same one he remembers), is what finally starts a plan forming in his mind and has him take that final step.

Whether it's a good plan or not, Giles has no idea, but it's a plan and it's better than nothing. It's also a plan that has him pacing the living room, checking and rechecking the gramophone, adjusting and readjusting his suit, and trying his level best to keep his anxiety in check.

Oswald has to come into the room eventually, and when he does Giles will be waiting with a small but inviting smile on his face and almost all trace of his racing thoughts pushed down and rendered invisible.
~~Just don't look at the constant movement of his fingers.~~

"I believe I promised you another dance"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Of all the reactions Giles had anticipated, this wasn't one of them. He's not sure what to do as Oswald just stands there, unmoving. Is it better to wait it out, or to interrupt whatever thought spiral might be happening?

He has to bite back the instinctual 'sir?' that threatens to form on his tongue, whatever the right move here is, he knows it's not that. Not if he wants to have any hope of following through, and not falling back into familiar patterns of avoidance.

Uncertainty is what makes the choice for him in the end, he doesn't have any idea of what to say, so he just... Waits.

Ossie's looking at Giles and Giles is looking at Ossie and you could spread the homoeroticism in the air on toast with a butter-knife. Giles always looks lovely, always neat and well-groomed, but there's something that sets his gut quivering about Giles wearing something other than his uniform to make this request. All the conversations with Sharky and Johnny just wicked away. Of course they wouldn't know him like Ossie knows him, wouldn't know what this means like he does.

Giles has accepted it, at last. The offer to be equals, his friendship, to stand shoulder-to-shoulder through this. He... can't bring himself to believe anything further about it, though the house fills with the scent of his blooming mantle, the roses outside sighing happily. But this... is a start.

So Ossie steps forward, his footsteps light, long strides, and reaches his hand out for Giles to take.

"Well? Don't keep me in suspense, Mr Giles. I hope you didn't show off all your tricks for our audience back at the diner."

Giles's smile grows, and it's approaching what an ordinary person would mean by the word, he's forcing himself out of habitual impassivity for this. It's the best way he has of showing that he's willing to share more of himself than he ever has before.

"Not all," he replies as he takes Oswald's hand, "if you recall, you left before the conclusion"

He regrets saying it almost as soon as the words leave his mouth. It's too much, surely, he'll scare Oswald away before anything can even start. But he manages to keep it from showing, at least.

"How selfish of me," Ossie places Giles' other hand firmly on his waist, "I assure you that this time, we'll both leave satisfied."

He can't not do it.

Still, Ossie's smile is easy and warm, and he holds Giles' hand in his as if it's the most comfortable thing in the world.

"Whenever you're ready."

One of the advantages of a magic house, is the ability to adapt as things come. Giles hadn't had any particular song in mind when he'd set up the gramophone, just something slow and sweet, now though there's only one song it can be.

Giles breathes a microscopic sigh of relief that not only was Oswald not put off, but he was encouraging more. It feels like an age since Giles last saw him smile like that, it's almost enough to render Giles unable to move from the sheer weight of his feelings.

But then the music starts, soft and gentle. The same song from the diner, although it feels far more intimate now. Giles holds Oswald close as they dance, closer than he would have dared in public, but still not quite so close as he truly wants.

Edited (adhd ate a word ) 2022-09-02 09:32 (UTC)

There's no audience to perform for. In years past that might have put him off- in Arcadia there was always an audience, for everything. Dancing, eating, fucking on a few notable occasions, dressing, bathing; never a moment alone to himself. When he returned at first Ossie did what he always did, as many did. But slowly, by small measures, he found his tastes lay outside the spotlight. Away from the crowds, from any audiences... Ossie felt thin and transparent as a wasp's wing most days, like everything about him glittered on his surface. What was he, away from everyone? A meaty question, one he was still gnawing on the gristle of.

Giles never counted as everyone. Giles was familiar as the creases on his hand used to be when he still had them, a part of him and the other half of him.

When Ossie moves, the Wyrd moves with them, making up for any discrepancy in their separate bodies. And ever so softly, a performance just for Giles to hear, Ossie croons the words, closing the space so he hardly has to raise his voice at all.

The plan, such as it was, had been to ask Oswald to dance and then, while half of his brain was distracted with the movement and music, Giles had been going to say the things that need to be said.

Any thought of that vanishes as Oswald starts singing, though, for how can he interrupt something so lovely, so perfectly intimate? Instead, he simply listens and watches for a long moment, gaze drifting over the contours of Oswald's face. Then his eyes fall closed, and Giles pulls Oswald closer, as if perhaps they might meld into one given enough time.

In his idle imaginings, the two of them dancing would be far more Nureyev and Dowell in Valentino than it was anything close to this. Before he even knew Giles could dance, he longed for a chance to show how well he knew the man, how good a partner he could be in something concrete. Drifting about the living room like a pair of balloons in the wind with their strings tangled together was hardly the cinematic experience he'd been longing for. But arguably it was better like this.

A precipice has been toppled over and Ossie knows it. As much as imagining Giles as anything other than the straight, stern, upright fellow that he's always known him as is foreign, as much as just imagining him as a friend strains his mind to near the point of breaking, there's no pretending they can just go their separate ways after this, as if nothing happened. He hesitates to name it, like the risk of crushing a butterfly when trying to catch it. But it's there. Flitting its shimmering wings, undeniable.

Ossie carefully slides his hand down Giles' front, brushing aside his jacket with the back of his hand to find his watch-chain and hold it between his fingers, stroking it with his thumb, the song trailing off.

It's long moment before Giles opens his eyes again, in truth he's half expecting everything to dissolve into foam as soon as he does. But it doesn't, through some miracle, and Giles watches the movement of Oswald's hand with wonder.

Everything he'd been thinking, all the complexity, all the worry disappears, until only one thing remains.

"I love you"

It's quiet, not even a whisper, but in the stillness of the moment it feels like loudest thing Giles has ever said.

Oswald laughs.

Not unkindly and not like his polite tinkling laughter reserved for jokes while he's out on the town. It's a hysterical hiccup of a thing. Of course, this might as well happen. Giles loves him. Sure. He's so beyond questioning or comprehending the situation that all he can do is laugh. If this is an extended hallucination or a method of torture, well, he may as well enjoy it now before he finds out for certain.

Of course Giles might take that the wrong way and Ossie will be damned if he lets this slip through his fingers, so he answers in turn with a kiss. He presses into Giles, having to stand on his toes just a little, attempting to back the both of them towards the couch.

Giles huffs, the sort of reciprocal laugh that just sort of comes out when you don't know what's happened but everyone else is laughing, the air feels heavy with his racing thoughts and it's only the knowledge that however troubled Oswald has been he could never be cruel, and the memory of Sharky's insistence that Oswald shared at least some of his feelings that stops his heart from breaking.

But then he feels Ossie's lips against his own and it's... It's like the first ray of sun on a stormy day, like a fire crackling the hearth on a cold winter's night, intoxicating as prohibition moonshine, and a million other poetic things, and yet not like them at all, it's everything he's ever wanted and nothing like he imagined, and it's perfect. Giles clings to Ossie like a lifeline, pulling him impossibly closer, deepening the kiss, stooping enough that he doesn't have to stand on his toes, and following the guiding pressure until they reach the couch.

Ossie can't help giggling through the kisses, because really, this whole thing is absurd. If he'd told himself prior to his first durance that he'd end up kissing Giles, he would've slapped himself. There's so much to enjoy here he can't stand it- the feeling of Giles' sharp teeth, the sturdiness of him, the way he dips down so Ossie doesn't have to work so hard. Can anyone be this happy? Is that this feeling? Ossie presses the pair of them onto the couch, immediately sitting himself on Giles' lap, utterly lost as to where to put his hands for want of all of it. He wants them everywhere, every single blasted place he'd imagined putting them, and to replicate some certain touches from prior to this night, to see if they felt different now.

"I should've worn something hideous from that blasted Tommy Bahama," he manages at length, breathless, "so you could do me the kindness of ripping it from me."

"Lord no, I endured the tartan don't do that to me too" there's a fond exasperation to his tone, because of course, of course Oswald would bring horrible clothing into a moment like this. Giles hates it. He didn't think he could be any more in love.

So he kisses Ossie again, and it's only a little bit to stop him from saying something more on the matter. One hand on his cheek and the other working at buttons, taking it far slower than he could because Giles wants to savour this for a while.

"Mm, I recall some handsome," a kiss to his jaw, "charming," the softness where bone gives way to flesh at his throat, "devil telling me only the most dedicated wouldn't be put off by it. Is that it, my darling Mephistopheles? Christ, I'm a fool- been a good friend to me-"

Ossie cups Giles cheeks with both hands, kissing him again.

"Now- I don't mean to rush you, old fruit, but I bally well know from experience that you can strip me faster than this."

"No more a fool than I, I should have told you long ago"

Giles laughs and if anything he slows down further, each button its own drawn out affair.

"What if I want to take my time? To take you apart piece by beautiful piece?"

Another button slowly, but he can only keep at it like that for so long, because he doesn't want to do that. Not right now anyway. Something to save for later - and isn't that a heady thought, that there can be a later for this. But right now, all there is is pure desire, and that means removing all the layers of fabric between them as quickly as possible.

"Oh stop it-" Ossie laughs, resting his hands atop Giles'; not to stop him, just for the contact, to feel him as he works. To be quite honest he wants Giles in his bed yesterday, preferably a hundred years ago, but unlike his usual flings and daliances... There's something amicable here. It doesn't feel like Giles is saying it to win Ossie over, it feels like he actually means it, which is so rare as to be remarkable. Giles has already won him over with devotion and care, everything else is just icing.

"I've already waited a hundred blasted years for you, how much more time do you need?"

"Just a minute longer I think"

Fingertips trace over Oswald's hairline and down his cheek, and Giles drinks in the sight of him. Before anything more can be said though, Giles kisses him again and works in earnest at Ossie's clothes. No more teasing, for now at least, and each layer of clothing comes away quicker than the last.
~~Giles even manages not to worry about where they end up~~.

Ossie aids him as best he can, each petal peeled away to leave perfectly geometrically goosebumps across his skin as he sits naked in Giles' lap; perfectly modeled, smooth, and featureless as a ken doll.

At which point one must look away for modesty's sake and allow them to catch up on a few years worth of longing in private.

We return, of course, to Ossie asleep on Giles' chest, rays of morning intruding on his slumber. It's well and truly after Giles usually awakens in his regular routine.

It takes Giles a good minute to fully register everything when he awakes, between the late hour, the unfamiliar bed, and the unfamiliar weight. Once he does, he tries not to move too much, although that takes more effort than one might expect.

He's very much a morning person – has to be really – so he's aching to get up, get dressed, have breakfast, start the day. Yet he doesn't want to disrupt Oswald, or break this moment of peace. So he runs his hand gently through Oswald's hair instead, and contents himself with simply watching.

Ossie stirs anyway. There's no heavy sleepers once you leave Acadia. He humms happily, stretching out a bit, blinking up to see who's shared his bed-

It's Giles.

The last night hits him like a freight train.

"Jesus Christ."

Giles does his very best not to react. It's merely disorientation from having just woken up, it has to be. The whole of the previous night is evidence of that, he cannot allow himself to believe otherwise. But still he hesitates, looks at Oswald for a long moment, assessing, searching for the best response.

A small, teasing smile
"Not quite"

"May as well be," Ossie manages when some semblance of his faculties return to him, "I say, I was... I... I'm at a loss for words. Really and truly, I'm speechless. For all this time- and we really- and you, and-"

A pause.

"Sharky? Really?"

Giles shrugs "he's kind, easy to get along with, and-" a quiet breath of laughter "well I was drunk the first time"

"Mm, true."

Ossie sighs happily, nestling in against the fur on Giles' chest.

"I suppose we ought to discuss the boring parts. Expectations and such. But I must insist on making a better go of it next time, and being permitted to seduce you back. The Wuthridge honour depends on it."

"We should, yes." He nods, still stroking Oswald's hair, although Giles isn't sure he'd call it 'the boring parts'. Difficult perhaps, less enjoyable than other activities certainly, but useful, necessary. "I would like nothing more, my dear, I shall look forward to your seduction"

He hums contentedly, and it's almost a pur

"Are you planning on leaving the bed at any point, or shall we lay like this all day?"

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject