Lawli: This fic is for amandakross, who - while we haven't known each other very long - has been a very good friend to me. Originally it was intended just for the amazing contest she has going on right now on LJ. But I don't really care so much about winning, I'm just happy to dedicate this story to her!

It is rather short and sweet, and may be continued if I find time and inspiration! ^-^ Enjoy~

Forever

"Does it hurt?"

The question came as a surprise to Gilbert. He'd been in such a hurry to get out of his bloodstained clothes that he hadn't been paying attention to his master, who had been painfully silent since their last assignment involving yet another illegal contractor. There had been no way to save this one, either, and Oz hadn't been in the business long enough to remain unaffected while witnessing the death of another person. Not that Gilbert wanted him to ever grow accustomed to a sight like that, but it had been such a long time since he'd hardened his own heart to it that he didn't really know how to comfort Oz - especially because they both knew that Oz was doomed as well, if he kept in league with Alice.

"What?"

Gilbert set his cravat aside and closed his eyes. He didn't like to think about the dwindling amount of time his master had left. It seemed like only yesterday that Oz returned to him. In reality, almost two years had passed and the death-seal's rotation was halfway to completion.

The sheets rustled. Gilbert turned to face the bed where Oz now sat with the covers pulled up over his head, cocooning him from the rest of the world and tunneling his vision so his wide, emerald eyes focused straight ahead. At him, Gilbert realized, glancing down at himself. His shirt hung partially open, revealing the tip of the jagged scar Oz had given him all those years ago.

Slowly, the color drained from Gilbert's face. He'd always been very careful to keep his scar hidden from Oz, knowing it would bother him to see the injury he still hated himself for inflicting on his servant, regardless of it having been an accident Gilbert never even faulted him for. But he hadn't been thinking, and now Oz was upset.

Instinctively Gilbert grasped at his shirt collar, holding it together to block the scar from view. "No," he said, turning away almost too quickly. The sheets rustled again and he was tempted to look but he didn't. Instead he focused on changing into a clean set of clothes, trying not to feel guilty for unconsciously bringing up bad memories or be dragged into the past himself.

He unbuttoned his bloodied shirt the rest of the way and shrugged out of it, tossing it into the steadily growing mound of laundry. With all the assignments Pandora had been piling onto him lately he hadn't had time for household chores - yet another thing he felt bad about. What kind of servant was he if he couldn't balance his work and housekeeping?

A hand on his shoulder made Gilbert freeze. He knew the touch anywhere, and perhaps recognizing the smoothness of Oz's small hand against his skin was what made his breath catch. Gilbert took in a deep breath, suddenly more anxious than he had been when he'd noticed Oz staring at his scar. He was extremely conscious of the proximity between them, of Oz's breath fanning his neck as the boy leaned closer.

"Oz..."

Oz's hand traced over his shoulder-blade. Gilbert shivered but didn't move, not even as Oz's hand continued south, sending pleasant shivers down his spine as it trained to the small of his back and then up again, stopping finally at his hairline. Gilbert had to fight not to lean into the touch, as he'd been prone to as a child.

When Oz spoke again, his voice was nothing more than a fragile whisper. "I want to see it." Gilbert closed his eyes, hanging his head – silently willing Oz to take the order back. He didn't want the boy to see; it would only make things worse. But Oz persisted, digging his fingers insistently into Gilbert's shoulders. "Gil, please."

He nodded. There was nothing he could do but accept, and forlornly watch the way Oz's eyes widened at the horror of a memory.

"This..." Oz said, breathless, as he placed his hands on Gilbert's chest. "I'm sorry... I-"

Gilbert grasped Oz's hands in his own, squeezing them, holding Oz's gaze imploringly. "I don't blame you, Oz," he swore. "I never have. This wasn't your fault." If they were going to place blame, it needn't go any further than Gilbert himself. He'd jumped in front of the sword – taken the risk, and all for that man who didn't even deserve to live after the crimes committed against his own son.

"I couldn't stop in time. I was so angry... scared."

"There's nothing to be afraid of." Gilbert moved Oz's hand away from the scar, resting it instead over his heart so his master could feel the strong beat below the skin. "I'm here, Oz. Just as I always have been, and like I always will be. Forever." He'd made that promise to the boy long ago, and he had no intention of letting it die. As long as Oz wanted him, Gilbert would be there to protect him.

"Forever," Oz echoed, remembering as well. "Gil..."

He saw Oz leaning forward, felt the warmth of lips against his own, but the kiss didn't register right away in Gilbert's mind. Instinctively his arms rose, wrapping around the small body and pulling it even closer, eyes sliding close as he yielded to the dream – for that's all it could be; a fantasy, and certainly not the first, conjured up by his filthy mind. There was no way that Oz... that Oz was... But he was.

The realization hit hard. Gilbert tore away from his master as if scalded, hands flying over his mouth. He was disgusted with himself for actually returning the kiss. For his young master, it was probably nothing more than an expression of gratitude. But he'd gone and tainted the innocent gesture – how could he?

"O-Oz, I—"

Oz was in front of him before Gilbert could say anything more, taking his servant's hands - just as Gilbert had his moments ago – and lowering them back to where they had been on his waist. Then he found Gilbert's lips again, kissing him breathless, and all Gilbert could think was that this wasn't right – they shouldn't be doing this – Oz was just a child, he didn't know what his actions could be misconstrued as – and he was dishonoring his master's name by allowing this to continue and –

There was the feather-light brush of fingers over his scar, followed by lips that mouthed a silent apology over and over, and Gilbert couldn't think anymore.

"I don't believe in forever."

"W-we should stop," Gilbert said, voice sounding distant to his own ears, lost in this dream-world they'd created in the lazy evening sun among a pile of bloodstained clothes. His eyes were half-lidded, hazy with pleasure.

Oz was laughing softly and moving under him, planting butterfly kisses along his chest. "I don't want to."

"I know. But... it's good to try, don't you think?"

They lay beside each other, spent, once it was over. Oz was snuggled against him, but his eyes were directed upwards. This was just fine by Gilbert, who didn't know if he could look at his master now, after what they'd done, and not have his face burst into flame. A small hand lazily traced his scar.

"How long?"

Gilbert blinked and shifted uncomfortably. He'd have hoped Oz would forget. He honestly hadn't even meant to say it out loud; but in the throes of passion he hadn't been able to contain the words. They'd slipped out before he even had a chance of stopping them. "Oz, that's..."

Looking at Oz's face – the innocent curiosity in his emerald eyes – Gilbert couldn't brush the subject aside. There was only one truth, and Oz more than likely knew it already. Gilbert had never been very good with subtlety. He'd probably known all along.

"Always. Since the day I met you."

Oz smiled. Laid his head against Gilbert's chest and closed his eyes. "Me, too."