Because for all intents and purposes, and to the granting of nature, Oz reveals himself to be a little sadist… and Gilbert suffers for it…
This is most clearly shown half a year before Oz Vessalius's fifteenth birthday—before Pandora's organization, and the soft twinkling peal of a pocket watch draped over an ancient and mossy grave-cross— the unfledged, blond boy laughs wildly at Gilbert's alarmed expression as he shoves Dinah's fur into his servant's face.
The younger, darker-haired boy silently drops the purring kitten to the ground (now hissing in resentment as it retreats quickly into the dim safety of a nearby dressing cabinet)—and turns a medley of red with a tinge of green in his facial cheeks. Oz stops laughing when Gilbert's color suffuses then to a dreadful blue color outlining his mouth.
Turns out Gilbert is not only deathly afraid of kitties—but deathly allergic when they are shoved into his breathing orifices.
Because Oz is his sadistic Young Master…Gilbert holds no grudge forever…
Really, he doesn't mind that Oz teases him. Most of the time. Or all the time. He wasn't really trying to kill him (how could his beloved, merciless Young Master have known when Gilbert himself had no idea? He didn't make a habit of stuffing cat fur up his nostrils to find out). And as predicted, Oz takes it hard on himself—for not protecting his servant (from an allergic reaction?).
The young heir to the Vessalius estate avoids a recovering Gilbert for most of the day before cracking an hour before dinnertime—throwing himself through his servant's bedchamber door, and leaping onto the cot he sat on to hug him around the shoulders—so that the force of Oz running and colliding into Gilbert's body serves as a miniature rocket of opposing force.
It sends them sprawled out on top of each other on the mattress, Oz's catatonic weight on Gilbert. The younger boy stares somewhat confused at his teary eyed companion saddled on top of his chest, Gilbert's book fallen roughly and skewed to the carpet. Oz refuses to let up, keeping a tight rein on the hug to Gilbert's thin shoulders, and bumps his forehead affectionately to his.
Gilbert does not mind the closeness. No. Not at all. Though. He would have liked to have his composure straightened when his groin brushes accidentally against Oz's—and it is too late when the blond boy notices the faint blush on his cheeks when their hips shift again, legs tangled together.
Experimentally, Oz— with his arms supporting his upper body up— dips down to press his crouch harder to the other boy's (Gilbert's color darkens and he moans in obvious compliant, pushing his hands against his Young Master pitifully). Something seems to come together in Oz's brain—drifting in and out and eddying in his mischievous, emerald eyes.
"I think I like you better with this color," Oz murmurs with a crooked smile, watching eagerly and still as Gilbert's blush reddens further and further at each passing second. The darker-haired boy frowns then pointedly up at him—but only for that moment before his gold eyes roll, as waves of heat slowly rose off the skin hidden in his trousers, as Oz continues to roll forward on him.
"Oz, Gilbert." The older boy reminds him subtly, kindly—Gilbert shrilly gasps as more blinding heat caused by the growing friction between them instead worms satisfying and spiraling into his insides. "Call me Oz. Like we are friends."
"O-Oz…I think something is…h-happening…"
"I can feel it too," Oz agrees, panting as their lengths harden, urging to press through their clothes. The blond boy arches his back to apply more of a drawn out and fluid grind, biting his lower lip with concentration. Gilbert's hands that had once tried to get rid of him now entwine into the loosened silk of Oz's white shirt, arching back and whimpering out his companion's name.
Oz always did love when Gilbert whimpered…
"I-I'm going to…!" The younger clenches his jaw, and shuts his eyes, emitting a long scream behind his lips. Oz showed no signs of relenting, continuing to drive the creeping of their joint orgasm, bucking. After another thrust, Oz stops, his entire body shuddering and his aura-blond hair shades his eyes out of sight.
It is spoken hot into the shell of Gilbert's sensitive ear, gutturally, and his scrunching gold eyes shoots open—the bulge in his trousers twitching as the front wets, clinging to the same wet material of Oz's. Their chests heave together, pressed together.
Ashamed, the younger boy shifts his head to the side after a moment. "…we shouldn't have…if Master or Missus Kate ever caught us…"
"It isn't dinnertime yet so no one cares what we are doing until then. Besides, I don't want to ever do this with anyone but you," Oz says smartly, beaming as he rolls off his servant and starts fixing the sailor fold of his shirt, "And you aren't allowed to with anyone else, okay, Gilbert?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Or I will sic Dinah on you."
Gilbert gulps aloud, paling around the edges as that familiarly sadistic gleam surfaces in Oz's green eyes.
Pandora Hearts belongs to people who aren't me. And that is a sad, sad fact of life. Because they get to own PH. And I don't. We can all be sad together.
Yes…I did just write a Younger!Oz/Younger!Gilbert… mostly because I felt like writing it… no special reason. And it has been sitting around in my notes unloved for a bit now. And it desires love. This is definitely considered a shota of some kind…and I make no apologies. I'm losing the motive to do that. xDD Hope you were amused. I hug all comments.