Title: Leather aka Night Out
Author: kbk
Rating: NC-17, probably.
Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money from this.
Notes: I was having problems writing Fitz/Oz sex. This proves it was just that Fitz didn't want to talk about it.
Note 2: The title thing is because I thought of it as Leather, but for some reason when I posted it at The Teaspoon called it Night Out. So.

Oz bites down on the lapel of Fitz's jacket to muffle his moan as he rocks into the taller man's hand. He's not about to admit to anything approaching a leather fetish, but it's nice to be able to bite without worrying about contagion, and it at least used to be skin. And then there's the smell, the intricate pattern of scents that he can only describe as "sweetish" and "Fitz" when he can pick up traces from at least five different worlds and three brands of cigarettes - not to mention the spilled beer and the stale perfume and the traces of Fitz's blood.

Oz shouldn't find that last arousing, and the jolt that he feels as he focusses on it is quickly followed by a shading of guilt that makes him tuck his head harder against Fitz's chest. Fitz's hand on the back of his neck squeezes slightly, comforting, even as the same action below makes him gasp and jerk forward.

Fitz has learned a lot lately, and he's putting almost all of it to use in this one handjob in the shadowed corner of an unidentifiable nightclub, and all Oz can do is hold on tight and enjoy the ride. And he is holding tight, one hand fisted in Fitz's shirt at the small of his back, the other clutching at the bare skin of his hip beneath the rucked-up material, teeth clenched in the leather - the inconsequential thought flits through his brain that those marks are not going to disappear, and where he should possibly feel guilty for damaging Fitz's favourite jacket, he is proud to leave his mark. Following on from that is the thought that somebody could use it to check for his dental records, but it trails off mid-contemplation as Fitz rubs his thumb once, twice, thrice over the head of Oz's cock and Oz. can't. breathe.

And then he's coming, and that has got to leave a stain on somebody's jeans. Not that he cares right now, because he's gasping in relief and leaning all his weight against Fitz, and Fitz is accepting it, stroking his hair and letting him calm. And then Fitz leans down to whisper in Oz's ear: "Pay me back when we get home, huh?"