Title: The Drunken Cliche Fic of Ridiculous Length
Fandom: Pandora Hearts
Pairing: Oz/Raven
Rating: NC-17 (for sexual content)
Comments: Originally written for the Pandora Hearts kink meme on LJ. I have no idea how it got so long; possibly because I was apparently trying to stuff as many ridiculous fic cliches as I could into one little fic.


The two stared at each other, both wide-eyed in bewilderment. Gilbert hovered over top of Oz, his cheeks flushing impossibly darker, his lips slightly parted. His hair was still wet and dripping, little rivulets trickling over his bare neck and shoulders. Oz felt his own face reddening as he lay there.

"Wait just a moment, hold on," Oz protested. "Just how exactly did I end up in this contrived situation?!"

To answer that question, I shall direct you, dear reader, to just a little while earlier:

"So... boreeeeed..." sighed Oz listlessly. He sat on the balcony railing, kicking his feet back and forth. Break had wandered off somewhere, leaving Oz the only person left conscious. Alice, Gilbert, Sharon, and Uncle Oscar, so noisy until just recently, were now draped in various stages of disarray over the couches and the floor in the room beyond, all out cold.

"Ah... How did this happen again?" Oz muttered, dazed at the sight. "Uncle Oscar... You're so irresponsible... And why do you all get drunk so easily, anyway?"

Oz heaved another sigh.

A clock ticked loudly in the room beyond.

Suddenly and without warning, Gilbert sat bolt upright out of what appeared to be a solid stupor and screamed.

Oz stared, jerked out of his daze.

Gilbert leapt from his spot and bolted for the balcony doors.

"Wha..." Oz watched as Gilbert lurched toward him, hands shooting out and grabbing Oz by the collar. Then Gilbert's body drooped, his head hanging limply as though he hadn't the strength to keep it upright.

"Ah, wait!" Oz cried, trying to break Gilbert's grip to no avail. Probably the man was going to be sick, and Oz would just as well not end up wearing that; but drunk as Gilbert was, he might just knock them both over the railing, and that would be worse. It was only the second floor, but Oz didn't fancy a broken arm.

"Gil! Are you okay?" Oz asked.

Gilbert's head snapped up to stare at Oz, wild-eyed and panicked. "Save me!" he choked, jerking Oz back and forth.

"Wha..." Oz strained at the man's wrists, but the grip was like iron. "Save - you - from - what?" he asked, the words jerking in time with Gilbert's jostling.

"Hot!" said Gilbert.

"Wha - aah - AHHHH!" cried Oz, as he started to tip over. He grabbed at Gilbert's shoulders, yanking himself back up; but Gilbert, none too steady, staggered forward as he did so. Their foreheads crashed together with an unpleasant thonk.

"OW!" they said in unison, Gilbert staggering back again. Well, at least that got him to let go, Oz thought, rubbing his forehead and shaking the stars out of his eyes.

"Water!" said Gilbert, still clutching his head. He gasped at the air, his face flushed a deep crimson. "Need... water!"

"All... All right," said Oz, confused. "I'll go get you some. Stay right there, okay? And don't fall over the edge." He ran back in the room and grabbed a pitcher of water from a serving tray along with a glass.

When he returned, Gilbert was stripping off his clothes.

"Ah, no!" Oz cried. "Gil, what are you doing?!"

Despite Gilbert's drunken, clumsy fingers, the man had somehow managed to dispense with his scarf already, and was most of the way through with the shirt. "Fire!" he said, as he threw the shirt to the ground. "I'm burning!"

"Before it was Alice and now it's you?!" Oz said, exasperated. "Gil, stop, there's no fire! You can't take off your clothes here!"

Gilbert spotted the pitcher in Oz's hands and, ignoring the glass, lurched forward to grab at it clumsily. Some of the water sloshed over Oz's shirt.

"Hey!" Oz started to complain; but then his voice died in his throat as he watched Gilbert upend the entire pitcher over his own head. A torrent of water gushed over him, soaking his hair, dripping down his flushed face and over his scarred chest.

Oz had little time to gawp, as next Gilbert started unbuttoning his trousers.

"Stop it!" Oz demanded, grabbing at Gilbert's wrists. They were slippery and hard to keep a grip on, but he managed to slap them away. "Come here and sit down, and then you'll cool off, okay?"

Gilbert's expression slid from panicked to vague and confused, and he just stood there, wobbling.

Oz sighed tiredly. "Listen to your master!" he commanded.

At that Gilbert blinked and looked up. "Young... master?" he asked.

"Ack," Oz choked, caught off gaurd by the old title. "Y-yes, that's right," he said. "Now come over here and sit down."

Gilbert allowed himself to be guided to the balcony rail, where Oz pushed on his shoulders to get him to sit. The man's legs just gave way beneath him, and he plopped down hard and fell over onto his side. Oz pulled him back up into a sitting position, huffing with effort, and propped him up with his back against the bars. He struggled for a moment trying to get Gilbert's shirt back on, but gave up and just draped it over his damp shoulders. Gilbert only slumped there, his head hanging low.

"There," said Oz, satisfied, and plopped down next to him. "That's better, isn't it?"

"Yes, young master."

"You're even worse than last time," Oz chided. "How can you be this drunk after only a few glasses? You're really pathetic, Gil."

"I'm sorry, young master," said Gilbert, sounding forlorn, his hair dripping sadly.

Oz grimaced. "I'm only teasing, Gil." It was hard to tease him properly when he was drunk. "We should go back inside soon, so you don't get sick from sitting out here all wet."

"You -!" Gilbert exclaimed, lifting his head suddenly. His yellow eyes glistened wetly.

"Ah... Now he's crying..." sighed Oz. This was never going to end.

"You... for me... You're taking care of me," Gilbert sniffed.

"Of course, that's only natural!" Oz said. "I'm your master, aren't I?"

Gilbert's eyes brimmed over. "Uh-oh," said Oz, just before the weight of the (rather large) man hit him. Somehow, he managed to remain sitting. Gilbert draped himself over Oz's shoulders, hiccuping soulfully into Oz's vest.

"Young master," Gilbert mumbled, his voice muffled, "may I please serve you forever?"

"I thought we already went over that part," said Oz, patting Gilbert's head resignedly. He wondered how long this was going to take.

(Well, at least it was kind of cute. Sometimes he missed the crybaby that Gil used to be. Whenever Oz would bully him he'd cry out so sweetly... That had been so nice...)

"Because..." Gilbert sobbed, breaking Oz out of his nostalgic reverie. "If you leave me behind... If you don't need me anymore, then I... Then I -!" Gilbert lifted his head.

Oz sucked in a breath, surprised by the raw anguish on his friend's face. "Gil..." he said. Where had this come from? Then he sighed again. He was dealing with a drunk, after all. It wasn't like he could take it all that seriously.

Gently, he wiped the tears from Gilbert's cheeks with his sleeve. "Stupid Gil," he said, smiling, "I'm right here, aren't I?" He knocked his forehead softly against the other man's. "See?"

Gilbert's eyes widened. "Ye... Yeah," he said.

They just sat there like that as the seconds ticked by - more and more of them, too many; and all of a sudden the closeness felt strange, and Oz felt too conscious of his own body, of Gilbert's weight against him. Water dripped from Gilbert's hair onto Oz's cheek, and it burned against his skin. Oz heard Gilbert's breath catch.

"Yeah," said Gilbert again.

And that was all the warning he had before Gilbert's lips brushed against his own, soft and warm.

Oz sat frozen for a moment before he jerked back in shock. "G-Gil?"

Gilbert blinked, his brow knitting in confusion. "Wha-" he started; and then his eyes slowly went very wide. "What... I... Did I..." One hand rose to cover his mouth in dawning horror. Abruptly he rose up, reeling backward.

"Wait, Gil!" said Oz, standing up after him.

"I didn't," stammered Gilbert. "I - I... sor...ry..." As he staggered back, he hit the railing hard, and started to tip over.

"Gil!" he cried, as Gilbert's arms flailed out uselessly in the air. Oz reached out, grabbed Gilbert's hand, and yanked. Gilbert careened back toward him. Then the man's full weight crashed into him, and they went stumbling, crashing to the ground.

And that brings us, dear reader, back to where we began, as our hero blinked stars out of his eyes for the second time that night, and looked up to find his friend so provocatively displayed above him. We shall ignore our hero's complaints regarding the believability of this scenario for the moment, and return to the narrative ahead of us:

"O...Oz," whispered Gilbert, his voice gone hoarse. "I..."

Oz swallowed thickly, his heart beating just a little too hard, just a little too fast. It was strange, given the man's size, his all-too-obviously adult body - but somehow, like this, with the flush on his cheeks and his eyes still wet with tears, with that pathetically goofy expression and that dripping hair... He was... cute. Really cute. Almost as cute as he used to be before.

Actually, in some way Oz couldn't even begin to explain... Maybe this was even cuter.

No! thought Oz; the man was drunk! He didn't know what he was doing! There was a limit to bullying, wasn't there?

"Gil..." he found himself saying. He couldn't stop staring at those parted lips. "It's all right... if you want to kiss me."

Gilbert's eyes went wide again, his jaw going slack. Somehow, it was still possible for the crimson of his cheeks to deepen just a little more.

Ah, this is bad, this is bad! Oz thought; but even as he thought it, he watched his own hand lifting up and burying itself in Gilbert's wet hair. He tugged gently, pulling Gilbert's face down close.

I am going to hell, Oz thought, just before Gilbert's lips found his.

He slipped his tongue out, teasing between Gilbert's lips, and Gilbert's mouth opened wider, lax and blindly obedient. The man's mouth was warm and wet, tasting of wine and a hint of the cigarettes he'd smoked earlier. Oz's heartbeat thudded in his own ears as he coaxed him, slow and insistent -

And then Gilbert made a small sound in the back of his throat, a hitching, pained sound, and suddenly he returned Oz's kiss, deepening it forcefully, desperately, his tongue twining against Oz's and his teeth scraping against Oz's lips.

"Mmph!" said Oz in surprise; but it wasn't unpleasant. No, it - it certainly wasn't unpleasant, he thought, as warmth spread down through his stomach and into his groin. He lifted his free hand up to brace against Gilbert's chest, the skin still slick and damp against his palm.

I - I want to hear him cry out, Oz thought, remembering those sweet cries from before. Slowly, a bit hesitantly - he wasn't used to this, after all - he trailed his hand down Gilbert's chest, feeling the muscles twitch and jerk under his touch. He reached the man's waistband and hesitated just a moment more - and then reached down further.

Gilbert groaned into his mouth, breaking off from the kiss. "Oz, you -" he gasped.

"Shh, Gil," Oz soothed; and rather than give the man any time to protest, he squeezed gently, feeling out the shape of Gilbert's already hard member. (And - wow. It was kind of... larger than expected.)

Gilbert choked, his back arching helplessly, pressing himself harder against Oz's hand. Oz sucked in a breath, feeling a jolt shoot up his spine. He rubbed harder, eliciting a strangled cry from Gilbert's lips; but then Gilbert gritted his teeth and held himself resolutely still, as if he thought he'd break Oz, or something.

Well, that was no good.

Oz lifted his hand back up to the man's waistband. He gulped. It was loose, already half unbuttoned. He could just...

He slipped his hand down inside.

"Oz!" cried Gilbert; and then at the first brush of Oz's fingertips, Gilbert let out a needy little whine that went straight to Oz's groin, made his breath catch and his cock throb. He bit his lip, curling his fingers around Gilbert's length.

The feel of the hard flesh was unfamiliar to him, and he had very little idea of what he was doing; but it didn't seem to matter, because the moment Oz's hand wrapped around him, Gilbert cried out, his hips jerking forward uncontrollably. Oz had a glimpse of his expression - mouth open, eyes squeezed shut almost as if in pain - before Gilbert buried his face in Oz's shoulder, groaning.

"Oz... Oz!" he cried, over and over, the sound muffled against Oz's shirt. And even though the voice was so much deeper than before, even though the man was so much older, somehow it sounded even better than Oz remembered, sweet and desperate and clear.

Oz's hand was trapped between their hips as Gilbert thrust into it jerkily, his weight coming down heavy onto Oz's body in a steady rhythm. Oz felt his breath going hot in his lungs; he couldn't get enough air. He found his own back arching, felt his own hips rocking up in response - and Gilbert's voice -

"Oz, I can't... I can't -!"

- a soft, mewling whine, and oh god, Oz was going to come from this alone -

Footsteps.

Oz froze.

A cleared throat.

Gilbert lifted his head fuzzily, his eyes bleary and confused.

"My," said a pleasant, perfectly sober voice, "it looks like I'm interupting something, doesn't it?"

Oz yanked his hand free from Gilbert's trousers, craning his neck to look up at the man just behind them in the doorway. "Br... Break! Um! This isn't what it looks like!"

"Oh really?" said Break. "And I suppose you were searching for loose change down there?"

"Er - that is..." Oz coughed. "Okay, it's... exactly what it looks like?"

"Mr. Oz," said Break, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "If you intend to so flagrantly take advantage of the drunk and the useless, you might consider not doing it somewhere where just anyone could see?"

"Um..." said Oz, his face so hot he thought his skin would melt off. "I'll try to keep that in mind..."

"Ah! Preak!" Gilbert suddenly shouted, as if he'd only just understood the situation. "What are you doing here?! And did you just call my master useless?!"

"No, Gil, that was you," Oz muttered.

"Wha...?" said Gilbert.

"To answer your question, Mr. Gilbert, I am a servant of the Lainsworth household."

"Lains...worth?"

"You know, the place where you are right now?"

"Here...?"

"That's right. In other words, I live here."

"Oh," said Gilbert simply, appearing not to know what to do with this information.

Suddenly something bumped into Break from behind him. "Oh-oh," he said, stumbling forward a step and moving aside. "Oh, it's you, Miss Alice."

"Alice?!" Oz squeaked, his voice breaking. "Ahhh, this is bad! Break, stop her!"

"Oh?" said Break. "Whatever for?" He slipped a candy from his pocket and popped it contentedly into his mouth.

"What's everyone doing out here?" Alice mumbled as she weaved sleepily out onto the balcony, rubbing her eyes. She looked down at Oz and Gilbert.

Break crunched loudly in the silence.

"AHHHH!" Alice yelled, pointing her finger at them. "What do you think you're doing, you seaweed head!"

"Wait, Alice, I can explain," Oz blustered desperately, although he had no idea just what, exactly, he was going to explain.

"Shut it, peon," said Alice. "You!" she pointed at Gilbert. "Explain yourself!"

"I don't have to answer to you, you stupid rabbit!" Gilbert slurred angrily, although the last came out more like 'babbit'.

"You think you can just take off your clothes by yourself?!" Alice shouted. "If you get to take off your clothes, then so do I!"

"Wait, Alice, I -" Oz blinked. "Wait, what?"

Alice proceeded to throw off her coat and unbutton her shirt furiously.

"Alice!" Oz gasped, struggling to get up; but Gilbert was large and heavy and wasn't moving. "Stop it, you can't undress here, either! And that doesn't even make any sense!"

"No sense whatsoever!" Break agreed cheerfully. "But at least things are getting more interesting!"

"You aren't helping, Break!"

"We aren't helping, we aren't helping," chimed Emily.

Alice threw her shirt down to the ground and crossed her arms over her bare breasts in a triumphant fashion. "Hah!" she declared.

"What do you think you're doing, standing there naked?!" Gilbert cried in horror.

Alice started laughing maniacally; drunk as she was, it sounded even more maniacal than it normally did. "You fool!" she said. "I am obviously not naked! I'm wearing a skirt! So we're even!"

Gilbert lunged up toward her. "Put some clothes on, you stupid rab - bit..." And with that, he stumbled mid-lunge and passed out cold onto the floor. Standing up so suddenly had been too much for him.

"Pathetic!" said Alice, and planted her boot on his back and continued with the maniacal laughter.

"Luckily for you, she's too intoxicated to understand the situation," Break murmured. "And if you're really lucky, she won't remember it tomorrow, either!"

"Aaaah, that was so stupid!" Oz moaned, holding his head in his hands. "If I'm really lucky, they'll both forget..."

"Ah-ah, Mr. Oz, but I won't," Break sang, popping another candy into his mouth.

Oz slowly lifted his head, his face going slack with dawning horror.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.
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lim⋅i⋅nal ho⋅ri⋅zon

–noun
a place only seen through a green door.

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