Mapping the Territory



Oz likes the noise because he hides his silence within it so easily. It’s good to be there on stage, wood creaking beneath his feet, shoes scuffing the dust – totally lost, all those small sounds, but he knows they’re there even as the amps take the near silent thrum of his fingers plucking strings, and make it loud, letting him speak without opening his mouth.

It’s good to see the crowd sway to what he’s creating, good to wait for the moments, rare, but worth waiting for, when the band stops being a set of solos and becomes a group.

And when that happens and he’s grinning with the pleasure of it, looking down because it’s not for sharing, he only has to catch sight of Devon, over there to the right, long body writhing and twisting, dancing with the air, to get hard.

He knows that body. Sweat-slicked and burning, restless and impatient, shoving up against him in a demand Oz has never learned to say ‘no’ to and never will – he knows it better than Devon. He’s touched and tasted it, exploring with a patience never asked for, until he can get Devon up and ready in thirty seconds with no more than a wet finger trailed over a patch of skin the size of his hand that isn’t even near Devon’s cock – if he went to that, it wouldn’t take even thirty seconds.

Devon lets him play with his body without understanding why it matters. It doesn’t to him; he could live without knowing that a line stroked from the hollowed shadows of his elbow to the open curl of his palm can make him whimper, eyes closed in ecstasy, but Oz is too much the perfectionist for that small ignorance to be allowable. He’s certain Devon wouldn’t understand though, so he just smiles and finds another place to kiss that makes Devon shudder and gasp and lift his hips that inch off the bed that’s all Oz needs in the way of applause.

Devon turns, mouth split wide in an exultant, final scream that pierces through the noise and breaks the silence around Oz so the clamour floods him in a scalding stream that’s all he needs to appreciate the cool silence when it laps back gently a moment later. Only Devon can do that, and he doesn’t know he can, and he wouldn’t care if he did.

That’s why he can.

And why Oz says ‘thank you’ every way he can.



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