His pudgy fingers danced, danced like hairless, pale moths. Oz watched the solo concert at work— reclining backwards on the rumpled, silk black of his younger servant's tailcoat; his ungloved hands resting to the chilled, shine-surface of the minstrels' gallery's floor—with careful eyes and mesmerized ears as Gil played with his eyes closed.

No... He was not an easily captivated fool. Not at the least. Uncle Oscar and the rest of his scholarly mentors had ensured his musical education at an early age from becoming an unfitting and insufficient ranking to his nobility. This performance was, by a professional's standards, mediocre at best. But if anyone had spoken such to Oz at that very moment, he would have found it... insufficient... to let the comment go unpunished (said critical professional of the performance would have found himself at least with one bleeding nostril, and a death glare by the heir of the Vessalius linage).

Reassuringly, they were alone together in the gallery (the busybody servants were hustling downstairs for a dinner party to come in a different part of the manor not in the Great Hall below; Ada had been assigned the role of decoy out on the grounds of the Vessalius estate for Missus Kate's hawkish attentions). Oz preferred this amity from constant lessons. Even if for a brief moment.

The low-hanging, woody groans of the medium-sized, cherry-wood cello rose magnificently and buoyantly from the controlled animations Gil's tiny hands made, arching the bow across its strings. Oz was surprised that such fingers he had only known as timid and somewhat clumsy were capable of this magnitude of talent.

Swallowing back a heated feeling he knew all too well when around his cute, little servant—for now at least—Oz waited patiently until golden eyes opened at the seam, peeking dazedly, before Oz leaned forward to his companion with an overly bright smile. "Why didn't you ever tell me you could play, Gil?" He asked.

"...eh...I..." Gil's cheeks flushed slowly. "I didn't know I could, Young Master."

"Well, now that we know you can... you must play for me more often." Oz proclaimed sunnily, jumping to his feet, "And you can't say no because I'll tell Missus Dearbirch that you sneezed in her tea this morning." The fifteen-year-old gave a light cackle under his breath as the younger's eyes bugged out in staggering panic.

"It was an accident! You musn't—ahh...!" Gil breathed painfully, stooping into a half kneel as he gripped his head between his hands. Automatically, Oz hurried to kneel with him, stroking the length of his trembling back until the fit would pass him. Gil was prone to bad headaches, sometimes to the point of causing him to pass out. Ever since Oz had first met him, the doctors had said that head trauma from since before he was living on Vessalius grounds had affected his memory. The headaches were rare now but sometimes Gil would pick up an unfamiliar object, and then he...

The fun of bullying did not do an inch of good when his favorite target was in serious pain...

"Hey..." Oz tenderly brushed a lock of dark hair behind Gil's ear when the trembling lessened—that heated feeling—"Can you look at me, Gil?"

Sniffing pitifully, the younger tilted his face up. His face lit up nonplussed as the blond boy smacked his lips loudly to his, facial expression tightening with determination.

"You know... we haven't done... It...," Oz said, making his point known by lightly touching a knee to his servant's groin, letting the words etch themselves to Gil's soft, burning mouth he relished pressing against, "...in a long time." Oz's hands worked themselves around the younger's back, giving the latter no chance of retreating for safety away from him.

There were in an open-air area near the corridor of the second floor. Anyone in the Great Hall could hear them from above. But Oz pushed back any worries of being caught from his thoughts. It was not in his nature. It was arousing and wondrous to imagine at any second that they could be spotted. It helped that the darker-haired boy wrapped in his arms moaned, limping to his chest, burying his face into Oz's shirt, their legs twining when Oz fell back with his shoulders propped to the hardwood of the balcony's balustrades. That heated feeling crawled down between his legs...

Oz went on a passing thought and smiled amused when Gil squeaked, jerking back slightly, when one of Oz's hands slipped beneath his waistband. "mmph... Young..!"

"Oz, Gil. I don't know how many times I have to remind you." Oz managed to keep his voice steady, heart thumping in the base of his throat. His own pale fingers dancing along to an invisible tune, along the hidden, pulsing member. At the high-pitched whimper from the fourteen-year-old, Oz realized his mistake too late and mumbled an apology, blowing warm air on his cold fingers.

"You shouldn't..."

Tears were prickling the corners of large, gold eyes. It was an adorable pathetic look. And so... so... Oz fought back the wild urge to fling him to the marble floor and pin him down, to kiss his doubtful and glorious mouth and tongue until Gil could protest no longer. "Stop being such a baby, it's not admirable, Gil..."

Once he found that his fingers are of a satisfactory temperature to continue further, Oz wormed his way back to his original position, palming the hot and fairly slippery organ until Gil saw white stars behind his eyelids. The pleasurable noises coming from his servant... Oz was astonished that he wasn't coming from them solely...

"A-ah.." Gil shifted his hips as if uncomfortable, pressing harder into Oz's hand, screwing up his features, "O..Oz!" The blond boy blinked, his hand quickly covering in warm, sticky liquid. It was not an altogether enjoyable sensation but it was worth it to see how Gil's face splendidly colored to his forehead and shuddered his smaller form clasped to Oz with the force of the strong orgasm. Oz went into a pocket to pull out a handkerchief and wiped his soiled hand, nudging Gil away as he insisted to help.

"Don't worry about it," Oz said, mussing Gil's dark, curly hair.


The blonde grinned evilly. "If you can catch me, I won't tell Missus Dearbirch about her tea." Gold eyes gleamed fiercely with the challenge as both boys raced for the corridor.


...I realized something. If you reread the first paragraph and assume what I assumed a second ago... XPP it looks like Oz is watching Gil masturbate. Oh that's funny. Back to business... PH isn't mine... Requested by Doodled93 a little while ago... yes, I've written shota again and I don't care if I am going to hell... there is room on the bus for all of my pals... Reviews make a happy panda of a writer.