SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT. This chapter was difficult to write for the longest time since I wasn't sure what was actually going to happen in it, but consider this a fluff-filled transition chapter that will pave the way for Chapter 11, which is the chapter I've been really excited to write, since that's when Alice comes in~ But I don't want to give too much away. :)

Also, this is just a bit of headcanon talk: these two have some serious affection issues, especially when it comes to physical things, which is why I tried really hard to make this chapter as…awkward and uncertain and clumsily-hungry as possible. I've always pictured these two to be awkward in their own ways - Oz with his affinity for holding people at a distance, and Gilbert with his fear of losing control of himself and making Oz uncomfortable. Put those two together and you have some of the most unresolved sexual tension I've ever seen before. That's probably what made this chapter so daunting, and yet so fun to write.

Lyrics are "Momentum" by The Hush Sound.

185. seek and find

.ten

/

all we need is a little bit of momentum

break down these walls

that we've built around ourselves

/

Gilbert is holding you.

You can't recall the last time someone held you before this, but right now, with stiff, nervous arms, Gilbert is holding you. His scent is soft and dark, linens and soap touched with the earthiness of coffee and smoke still lingering in the fibers of his shirt; his hair tickles your cheek when he shifts just so, and he seems to be on the precipice of doing something, but you can't tell what. There's still that barrier of nerves between you two, that thought of I want this, I do, but what it if scares you or makes you want to hide from me like you used to? What if I crumble and fall away from you the moment I give in?

It takes you a moment to realize you're holding your breath, and you let it out on a quick exhale against Gilbert's neck. It makes him shudder, fleeting and fast but noticeable nonetheless – everything in this closeness is noticeable, from the steady thump in the hollow of his throat to the tiny tremors still clinging to his body as he holds you near. Every lean inch of him is pressed against you, and suddenly you feel very small, very whittled down in comparison to his longer lines and firmer walls which ten years have shaped into something striking.

It's no wonder why eyes are always on him. But it is a wonder why Gilbert can't seem to understand that fact himself. He holds you as if in fear of repulsing you. Why?

"Gil," you breathe out, curling your fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt.

Gilbert immediately lifts his head, his eyes round and attentive. "Yes?"

"No, no, Gil, keep – keep lying down, it's fine."

Gilbert blinks at you, clearly nervous, but does what he's told as he settles his head back down onto the pillow. His gaze never leaves yours, not even when messy curls fall back over his face and obscure the honey-gold of his eyes.

You scoot backwards just a bit, and you can't help but notice the quick look of disappointment that flutters through Gilbert's eyes; but it's gone within the instant when you reach to pull him atop you, the movement clumsy in the midst of Gilbert's surprise but falling into place soon enough. He's not as heavy as you expected, but much warmer, and suddenly much more tense – although surely you're not one to talk, what with how you're holding your breath once again as he hovers over you, uncertainty mixed with half-contained eagerness coloring his cheeks a quiet pink. He's breathing in small, shallow puffs through his nose, biting the inside of his bottom lip as he looks down at you. Waiting, waiting.

"Stop looking at me like that," you puff out, but your voice is too weak to break the barrier of a whisper, rendering the request worthless. It's not like you to feel this on guard, let alone this self-aware to the point where you can map out the exact distance between Gilbert's hand and yours, or exactly how low he's hovering over you despite his meager attempt at maintaining some sort of comfortable distance. Whether it's for his sake or your own, you don't know, but whatever the case, it's not working.

"I'm sorry," Gilbert whispers, his words coming out breathless and quick. That anxious softness in his gaze doesn't leave him, and you're torn between wishing it would and hoping it stays. It makes you feel strange in a way that you can't shrug off; it's too real, too here, and after so long of spinning away from the world for fear of getting too close, allowing yourself this level of attachment is, in a word, petrifying.

But as long as you're still here, and as long as Gilbert is still here, after everything and through it all, then maybe this can be okay. Maybe this doesn't have to be frightening.

Drawing a quiet breath, you place your palms atop Gilbert's chest and watch his throat bob in a swallow. You'll avoid his eye for now, just for now as you feel the firm wall of his chest beneath his shirt and wonder how graceless the ascent into manhood had to have been for him during those years without you. A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of your mouth at the thought. "I wonder…" Your hands drift carefully upwards to Gilbert's shoulders, searching quietly. "I wonder if I'll look like this when I'm older?"

"You'll look better than…this," comes Gilbert's reply, tinged with a nervous breath of a laugh as he tries to remain motionless above you.

"Liar." Your fingers stroke thoughtfully at the juncture where Gilbert's shoulders meet his neck. You can feel him shivering again. "Everyone already thinks so highly of you…what if there's no room for me, huh?"

Gilbert's eyes turn tragic for a brief moment; he's never been one for jokes, has he? "That would never happen…"

"I was kidding, you goof." You softly pinch his earlobe in response before your fingertips stroke over the cool ridge of gold clipped over his cartilage. Gilbert tilts his head to the side with a little shudder, mouth parting. "You should tell me about how you got this thing."

Gilbert leans on one elbow and lets one hand drift up to graze over your knuckles, then over the same curve of gold that you're toying with. "Uh…" He lets out another nervous laugh, breathy and goofy and suddenly looking very young. "I don't know, there isn't really a story behind it…"

"Okay, then why didn't you get a real piercing? Don't tell me you were too afraid of the pain to go through with it." You shoot him a devilish smile that likely isn't nearly as crippling as you'd like it to be; then again, it's a trifle difficult to be anything strong and unaffected while lying beneath Gilbert, your lips still recalling the hot press of his kiss, your bones weak and body warm. But at least you can try.

"It's not like that," Gilbert huffs. He's still smiling, albeit abashedly. "It was more like…uh…" After a beat, he shakes his head and lets out a laugh, cheeks flushing. "Okay, fine, maybe it was like that."

The tension in the pit of your stomach begins to slowly relax and unravel, and you laugh, hands drifting around to Gilbert's shoulder blades. You're beginning to loosen up, little by little, muscle by muscle, to the point where you can feel your body melting down into the bed and your hands touching Gilbert on their own accord without thought or hesitation. Something in the air turns soft, and your laughter fades out to a calm silence mirrored in Gilbert's expression; he's looking down at you with serious eyes, his brow lightly furrowed as if weighing each and every thought that passes through his mind and testing them for potency, for danger, and god, he really hasn't changed at all, has he? Still so serious, and yet still so silly – the sentiment slowly melts away at your smile until you're looking up at him with wide eyes, lost in your own memories and the sudden reality of this moment.

Your movements become slow and deliberate as you stroke your palms down his back, pressing just enough to feel the firm planes of his body tensing up beneath your touch. Gilbert's hand carefully drops back down to the bed on the other side of your head to support himself above you, holding his breath again; when your hands pass down his sides, he exhales sharply and immediately berates himself with a mumbled apology, which you ease with something just as murmurous and mindless as you contemplate slipping your hands beneath his shirt. When you put the thought into action and stroke along the warm skin just above his hips, Gilbert sucks in a quick breath and looks away from you, closing his eyes.

You freeze in mid-touch. "What is it?"

"Nothing, nothing," Gilbert says with a short shake of his head. "I just…"

Your gaze softens as you peer up at him, studying his expression with keen, watchful interest. "Gil…how long have you wanted this?"

Gilbert opens his eyes, keeping them lidded as he looks off to the right. "Since before the beginning," he admits, hoarse and fast, "and forever after that."

"Impossible," you breathe out, but Gilbert just gives that same shaky, crooked smile, his lips trembling, and perhaps it's not as impossible as you thought. Your body flushes warm again, and you lean up without thinking to catch the corner of his mouth, bumping clumsily against it but relieved when he turns his head to let you kiss him properly; but you can't tell if it's you or him that seals the kiss just right, even though the thought is quickly washed away in favor of taking in the heat of his mouth and that sweet stutter of breath that catches between you two. Your hands are back to gliding up his sides, sweeping around to his chest and down his stomach, feeling how his muscles twitch and how he gasps against your mouth before kissing you again, harder, firmer, less clumsy and more searing. He looms down lower over you, supporting his wavering upper body on his elbows, and cups your face between his palms as you arch up into his chest with a tiny mewl that breaks from the corner of your lips. You're overheated and conflicted and so terribly wanting, so terribly confused by this sudden rush, but Gilbert is so lean and solid against you, this protective wall that wants all of you to touch and keep guard over.

God, why didn't you realize this sooner?

No, but now isn't the time for regretting days gone by – now is the time to grasp at Gilbert's shoulders and tilt your head to the side with a gasp for breath, shivering when he drops his forehead to your neck to before lightly kissing the line of your pulse. You instinctively tighten up – you can't help it, this closeness is so new, so much – and Gilbert relents a bit, only for you to loop your arms around his neck and guide him back down to the side of your throat to kiss at again. You don't have to speak, you just have to show him. You just have to make up for lost time in whatever way you can.

Gilbert's breathing is becoming more and more erratic, but yours is no better; with every sweep of his lips along your neck, your heart beats faster in response, just as your eyes squeeze shut as if bracing for impact but only finding sweetness in its place. Needy as he is, Gilbert is still gentle, still careful with every press of his lips, but you wonder just how tightly he's holding himself back as he weaves his fingers through your hair and rests his forehead on your shoulder. His breath is hot and uneven against your skin. All the while, you lie beneath him, your body burning.

"So…before the beginning, huh?" Your voice doesn't sound like your own when you speak, but you have to say something, no matter how difficult it suddenly is for your tongue to shape the words right. "That's…"

The wobbly laugh that breaks from Gilbert's lips tells you he's just as thrown by the sentiment himself. "I-I…wasn't lying."

"I know." You inhale deeply and take a moment to gather yourself before letting your arms fall away from around his neck in favor of sliding your palms beneath his shirt and up his stomach. You find that telltale scar spanning across the hard wall of his chest, and Gilbert stiffens, holding his breath. "I know," you whisper again, for whatever reason, fingertips stroking slowly over the long-healed slash sewn into his skin.

"Oz, you shouldn't – "

"Does it bother you?"

"I…I worry for you more than for myself." Gilbert's voice is strained and tight, his arms shaking as he supports himself above you. You wish he would look at you, that he wouldn't be afraid, but who are you to speak of being fearless? "I don't want you to feel guilty about it anymore, so please – "

"But don't you feel guilty, too?" You flatten your hands over the scar, wrists weak, head heavy as you turn just enough to murmur into his ear. "All this time, Gil, you've…felt just as guilty as I have, right? For everything and more?"

Gilbert says nothing. His shoulders are quivering.

"This is me…trying not to feel guilty anymore, Gil." The confession rolls off your tongue easily, but your stomach twists once the words reach the air. Your throat feels tight; you're not going to cry, right? Right? "A-And I want to help you, too…for all the times I didn't see what I was doing to you. When I was making you hurt without even realizing it. So just – just let me, okay?"

Gilbert lifts his head a fraction. The fingers curled into your hair go slack, and you're suddenly afraid that he'll leave, that he'll drift off somewhere far away and leave you behind. (But how many times did you do that to him? God, and you never even saw, never even knew. Why did it take you this long to understand?)

But after a moment, Gilbert relaxes into your touch, going soft and pliant and so very, very warm. His lips are pressed to the side of your neck again when he says, "I-If that's what you want, then…okay."

The admittance sends a hot pang of relief to jump in your stomach, and you relish it, clinging onto that proof that yes, you're alive, you're both so very alive after all of this; a little kick of adrenaline at the sudden rush of feeling marks you even more breathless than before as you give a quick nod and set your fingers to undo the few spare buttons of Gilbert's shirt. Your heartbeat is hammering in your ears when you see the scar exposed to your eye, but your hands simply follow suit in fanning out across the marred flesh and learning that raised line with your palms and fingers and, on a mindless whim, your lips.

You don't plan the drop of your head, nor the quick slither further down on the bed until your trembling lips are level with Gilbert's chest, but the moment your mouth makes contact with his skin, Gilbert seizes up with a gasp and bends his back in a little bow, giving you more room to work your way underneath him and drag your lips along his scar. You can feel him shuddering when he rests his forehead on the pillow, curling himself around you while you touch his shoulders and the tense cords of muscle shifting beneath his upper arms. Your head spins when your lips part to let your tongue draw out along the ridge of the scar, and some strange, muffled sort of groan cracks from Gilbert's throat that he quickly conceals by pressing his face into the pillow. He's trembling all over, yet strung so tight with tension as you lay hot, open-mouthed kisses to the same flesh that you maimed so many years ago, tongue swiping over his skin, eyes closing, thoughts becoming cloudier and fuzzier with every inch that you scoot downwards. Gilbert keeps himself suspended on the tightest of leashes while you kiss down his sternum, down the twitching slate of his stomach, wriggling lower and lower until your head is suddenly level with his hips, your legs dangling off the edge of the bed and toes just barely touching the floor.

Gilbert is panting into the pillow and shaking so hard that it's a wonder how he hasn't fallen apart; perhaps it's because of just how nerve-wracked his body is as his thighs are forced apart to give you enough room to lie between them, and you really, really don't know how fast things had to have just moved for you to be cradled so low beneath him that you lost complete track of yourself like this. Your heart thumps at your throat and your tongue feels too big for your mouth and now you're reaching, reaching for his hips and touching around to the small of his back and leaning up to press your lips against the small space of skin just above the waistband of his pants. Hell, you have no idea, no idea what is happening or what to do or what exactly is coming over you as your fingertips ghost over the band of fabric, eyes wide and pulse pounding and – and –

"O-Oz, you – "

The urgent, raw sound of Gilbert's voice brings you back to your senses, and you freeze, blinking up at him to find your focus again. You've never been one to get carried away, not with anything, and yet here you are, tucked underneath Gilbert's body and wondering what you would have done had he not spoken. You're not clueless – but you're overwhelmed, and maybe a bit stunned by your own instincts, and maybe about ten thousand other things that you're not sure have actual words to describe them.

Up above, Gilbert seems to be fighting some intense war with himself that he won't let you see; for good reason, likely, judging by how deep his brow is furrowed and how tight his eyes are squeezed shut and how careful his every movement is as he slowly rolls over onto his side. "M-Maybe we…shouldn't – "

"Right," you say, in a daze. You scoot back onto the bed, your every limb heavy and useless.

"Probably wouldn't…b-be a good idea, not yet."

"I…mhm…" You lie flat on your back beside him, feeling his breath puff out against your shoulder. When did you get this dizzy? You can scarcely even get your thoughts straight what with how your head sinks down into the pillow and how your mind wanders to the moments that just transpired, to the endless map of Gilbert's body that had hung above you so prettily.

Neither of you speak for quite some time. You simply lie next to each other and catch your breaths, wordless and thrown. After a few moments of staring up at the ceiling, you look over at Gilbert, who seems absorbed in gazing at you with wide eyes that make him look fifteen all over again. You can't help but laugh, however flimsy the sound is. "Guess I took you off guard, huh?"

Gilbert's stare is locked onto your own, and doesn't relent even when he says, "I-I think you took yourself off guard, too."

"I – I was perfectly fine. You were the one shaking like a willow."

"What? No, you were shaking just as hard as I was."

"You're still shaking." Just to prove your point, you take hold of Gilbert's hand and display it before his eyes, watching as his fingers still tremble pathetically.

"And so are you! Look." Gilbert mirrors your action and takes your free hand within his own, showing you how your fingers are trembling just as hard as his are. His eyes are bright and earnest, but there's a shadow of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He can see right through your silly attempt at teasing him, and for some reason, that seems to strike you both as ridiculously funny at the same time, the silence broken by your stunned laughter. Gilbert's laugh is a touch more breathless than yours, but it's genuine all the same, and even in the midst of your own winded giggles, it strikes you that you haven't heard Gilbert laugh like this in years.

Perhaps he's been waiting all this time for a situation as insane and perfect as this to finally let it out.