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Cameron didn’t know what was happening.  Well, he did, but if he pretended he didn’t it might be okay.  If he could pretend that he was a little drunker than he was then this wouldn’t have to make sense.  It didn’t make sense.  His teeth set into his the meaty part of his left hand between his thumb and forefinger so he wouldn’t make any embarrassing noises.  Of course, Oz didn’t care about making noise.

            The man was on his knees like he’d been there his entire life.  One of Oz’s hands gripped an arm of the chair Cameron sat in while the other—his right—was grasped tightly around the base of Cameron’s cock.  His lips pulled up from the head before sinking back down again.  He made these obscene slurping noises as he bobbed his head up and down.  Cameron wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be so ridiculously aroused right now.  Sure, the fantasy potential was high—being blown by your boss in his office while the rest of his employees partied just a pane of glass away.  If he’d thought of it himself, Cameron definitely would have jerked off to the idea.  But this was Oz…Oz

            “Oh god, Oz!”

            Cameron’s hips jerked up with a spike of pleasure and Oz pulled back, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and looking up at Cameron with a drunken gleam in his eyes.  “You sure get religious mid-coitus,” he muttered, cupping Cam’s balls in his hand.

            “You can’t blame me,” Cameron muttered, hiding as much of his face as he could behind his throbbing hand.  The bite mark looked like it might bruise.  “This is…really intense.  I’m sitting in your Kirk chair, for Christ’s sake.”

            Oz chose that moment to run his tongue over the sensitive underside of Cam’s dick, then he took the whole thing in his mouth again.  Cameron pressed his palm against his mouth and breathed hard.  His gripped the arm of the chair and let his head fall back.  This was really happening and Oz was way too good at this.  Freaking…Oz!  Of all people Cameron might have expected this from tonight, Oz was probably the last—if he even made the list.  Cameron didn’t even know how what was okay right now.  Was he allowed to touch?  Was Oz going to make him return the favor after?  Were they even going to get there before someone decided to walk in on the two of them?  Cameron let a squeak at the sharp pain he felt when Oz grazed him with his teeth.  His hand shot out and pulled at Oz’s hair before relaxing against the back of his head.

            “Sorry,” Oz muttered, placing an apologetic kiss on the tip.  “Sorry, sorry.”

            It was too much.  Oz was on his knees, sucking Cameron off, in the middle of an office party and now he was apologizing.  The next two strokes had Cameron coming, toes curled, right into Oz’s face.  Cameron groaned softly, hand clasped tightly to his face before running shakily through his hair.  He daren’t look down at Oz right then.  He had no idea what to say, what to do, and he wanted to enjoy the tingly aftershocks for as long as he could.

            Thankfully, Oz moved first.  He wrapped his hand tightly in Cameron’s shirt and held on as he unzipped his fly.  Even when he lifted his head, Cameron couldn’t quite see what Oz was doing.  All he got was an image of Oz’s face pressed against his thigh and Oz’s arm moving quickly as he jerked himself.  Cameron’s hand was still feathered through the man’s hair, and on impulse, he curled his fingers a bit more, tightening his grip a little.

            Oz shifted on his knees, letting loose a low, quiet moan.  Cam immediately felt enlightened.  Maybe it was the alcohol, the drunkenness, but he also felt emboldened.  He gripped tighter and pulled Oz’s head up.  The man didn’t even struggle; he just tensed up and stroked himself faster.  His face went slack—blissed out—and Cameron couldn’t help himself.  He leaned down and kissed Oz long and hard, breaking away only once to call him a “kinky son of a bitch.”  He thrust his tongue into Oz’s mouth and just short of claimed it before Oz growled low in his throat and grabbed his face.  Cameron wasn’t sure what he did then, but it left him dizzy, and he tried to just hold on.

            For his part, Oz kept moving, arm jerking quickly, tongue working insistently against Cameron.  When he came, his entire body pulsed toward Cameron, he broke the kiss and made a sound.  If it wasn’t Oz, Cam might have called it a whimper, small, high and tender.

            After what felt like several hours but was probably just a few seconds of leaning against each other and panting to catch their breath, Oz pulled away and stood.  He gracefully tucked himself away and did up his pants.  Cameron just watched him move, walk over to the desk and snag some tissues to wipe Cameron’s orgasm off of his face.  The sight made Cam’s spent cock give one valiant twitch before giving up.

            “Look, Oz…I…”  Might as well commence the awkward after-talk as soon as possible and get it over with.

            “No talky,” Oz said, pressing the heel of his palm against the bridge of his nose.

            Cameron rolled his eyes, not quite prepared to just brush this off like that.  “Oh come on, how old are you, really?”  It must have been the drink, or else he wouldn’t have said that.  Oz owns swords…many swords.

            Instead of inflicting violence, Oz just laughed and gazed drunkenly at his hacker.  “When I’m this wasted, about five,” he replied, “I think it’s time you put that away and join the party.”  He gave no indication that he planned to go back out there, though.  He leaned on his desk and rubbed his temples.  To Cameron, just for this moment, Oz looked strangely human—drunk at a party, his head was probably swimming.  Something about that made Cameron obey him without question.

            With a few short movements, Cameron fixed himself up until he was all put away and his clothes looked as sex free as possible.  He pushed himself up out of the Kirk chair and paused to make sure the room wasn’t going to sway.  No, he’d sobered up some since initially coming into Oz’s office.  He spared Oz another glance before going to the doors, but he didn’t leave—not yet.

            “Are you okay?” Cam asked, turning to face his boss again.

            Oz covered his mouth for a moment, but then looked at him.  “Sure,” he said, “I’m going to go vomit as soon as you leave, but other than that, I’m fine.”  He had that self-assured smile plastered on his face again, the one that cut him off from the masses, made him something above the rest of us.  It stuck for a few moments, but when Cam didn’t immediately turn to leave again, Oz dropped it and looked up at the ceiling.  “I don’t mind,” he stated.

            Blinking uncertainly, Cameron tried to decide what that meant.  It was weird and it didn’t make much sense, but it made him feel better.  He didn’t even feel the need to question it.  Must have been another example of Oz saying exactly the right thing for the situation—even drunk off his ass like he was.  “Don’t stay in here all night,” he said, pulling the door open.

            As soon as the door closed, Oz smirked, quite pleased with himself.  He fixed his cuffs and snatched up his remote to open up the secret door behind his desk.  “Talk to you tomorrow, kid,” he muttered as he went into his back room to watch his Soaps for the rest of the night.