Necessary Possession

It seemed to Oz that if there were a God, the daily experience of waking up in the morning was a pretty charitable gift to humanity. Because he loved this, the way you didn't have to go from nothing to everything. You could just let your eyes open as they wanted to, and slowly let reality nudge its way back into your mind. Even with alarm clocks and schedules and stuff...Oz was a big believer in setting the alarm for about twenty minutes before he actually had to be up. He loved this time of the day far too much to miss it by rushing.

So when he became gradually aware of the fact that his elbow was encased within warm leather, jammed into the crack of Angel's sofa, he shifted with the laziness born of being half-asleep, and it took a few minutes to notice that something was different. Something being that there was no longer a vampire curled up next to him, but rather there was a blanket draped over his nude body and he was perfectly alone.

Oz yawned, his feline stretch defying every canine bone in his body. He found his clothes folded in a neat pile on the floor, and his initial thought was an bemused appreciation for Angel's flair for detail, right down to the order in which the garments were stacked. Boxers, jeans, t-shirt. One, two, three.

Oz was highly amused that he'd been blown the night before by a vampire afflicted with OCD. Seemed fitting, somehow. Apt, was a good word for it. Or maybe apropos. Oz wasn't really much for vocab this early in the morning. Well...this early in the afternoon, as it turned out.

So he just got dressed, and wandered his way out of the office -- right into Cordelia. "Hey, Cordy."

Cordelia glared at him. "Hi, Oz. Are you quite done with the office? Because broody-boy is driving me crazy out here. This is my space. See? My space. My desk, my phone, my chair -- my space. When you take his space, he invades my space. Not appreciated."

Oz grinned. "Nice to see you, too."

Cordelia had the decency to look mildly chagrined as she kissed his cheek. "Sorry. It's always good to see you, Oz. Band in town?"

Oz nodded, looking past her to Angel, who was lounging back in her chair, his long legs crossed in a way that made Oz glad he'd mastered the art of facial neutrality.

It can't be an accident that he looks so fucking sexy.

He's teasing me. Shit.

"Yeah," Oz murmured, wondering if maybe it wasn't healthy for his heart to be pounding so rapidly. "Angel, you didn't have to harass Cordy on my account. You could have woken me up."

"Cordy's fun to harass." Angel laughed as Cordy spun and threw a pencil at him. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah." Oz spoke slowly, somewhat caught up in the way Angel was flecking lint from his pant leg with long, elegant fingers. "Thanks for letting me crash. I - I should get going. I've got practice soon, and...Angel, could we talk for a minute?"

"Uh-oh." Cordelia narrowed her eyes and looked from one man to the other. "That sounds like a 'Big Danger Brewing' type of talk. Angel, you didn't mention Big Danger. I think I have a right to be clued in if I'm about to d --"

Angel stood up, rolling his eyes. "Cordelia, relax. Nothing's happening. Sometimes people just talk."

Cordelia shot him a nasty look. "Give me my chair. Go! Now! You two go talk and leave me with my space.," she snapped, her words dripping with false sincerity. "One of these days, Angel. One of these days..."

"Right, Cordelia." Angel ruffled her hair on his way around the desk. "Nice outfit, by the way."

Oz backpedaled into the office, stopping in the midst of one of those patches of shadow that seem just a bit deeper and darker than the rest. Angel closed the door with a resonating whisper, leaned against it and stared at Oz and Oz just stared back, his unwavering gaze full of curiosity and interest. "So."

The tiniest of smile's played on Angel's full lips, drawing Oz's eyes first to the flash of white tooth, then to the flex of such a strong jaw. "So," he echoed. "Do you have another show tonight?"

It was hopeless, Oz decided. There was no explaining this...this way he couldn't seem to think clearly when Angel looked at him like that. Oz knew that look -- he owned that look. He practically had a fucking patent, and it just wasn't quite fair that Angel had turned it on him and unnerved him so thoroughly that he couldn't even figure out what the hell had happened in that alley to leave him in this turmoil.

It was a new feeling for Oz, not being able to think through things, and it seemed like maybe the situation called for panic. But he was just unsettled, and it wasn't exactly in a bad way. More in a since-when-am-I-so-attracted-to-Angel way.

He nodded slowly, looking down, around, anywhere but directly into Angel's bold eyes. When he looked into those eyes, he was being ripped apart gently, cracked open so that all his thoughts weren't his anymore. Looking at Angel meant revealing that part of himself that was unsure and boiling over with immediacy.

Oz resented immediacy. It was just how he was, a thinker, an analyzer. Immediacy left no time for that; immediacy demanded satisfaction right away, at any cost. So by looking away, he could take the time to listen to the approaching footsteps and plan, figure out what he wanted to do.

I want to...I want. Him.

And so much for big plans, because the fingertips pressing into the curve of his skull and the lips grazing over the bulge of his eyelid tugged all that rational thought right out of his mind and replaced it with the startling beauty of nothingness. Of the absence of control, and importance, and chords and gas money and Willow, and the only notion left was an understanding that things had been left unfinished last night.

A low growl erupted from Oz's throat as his head came up and Angel's mouth came down and Oz could actually feel the scraping of taste buds against each other, like the tickling rasp when a cat laps at your fingers. His arms seemed excruciatingly weak as his elbows bent and his wrists curved and his fingers fumbled at the button of Angel's pants.

But then that didn't matter anymore because Angel was stopping him, pressing his hands back to his sides and smiling with a slight shake of the head. "You don't understand, do you, Oz?" he whispered, his lips encasing the very tip of Oz's nose as he spoke.

Oz blinked and finally managed to find Angel's eyes again, but no matter how deep he searched, he couldn't find any hint as to what his answer should be. "There's an awful lot to understand."

Angel chuckled and backed off, the increasing space between his body and Oz's becoming more and more a chasm that seemed too daunting to bridge. He collapsed on the sofa so recently vacated by Oz and pulled one leg up to rest his chin on the knee. "You know, I didn't ask you to come here last night for me. You don't need to think there's unfinished business between us."

"Does that mean we're finished?"

"Clever. I didn't say that, though, did I?"

Angel stared into the corner, his eyes clouding, and Oz frowned. "You can't. Can you? Your soul --"

Angel interrupted him. "When I say the word necessity, what do you think? First thing that comes to mind, tell me."

Oz leaned against the edge of Angel's desk and folded his arms. "'Only necessity is heavy, and only what is heavy has value,'" he quoted, his voice low and guarded.

Angel glanced up at him, startled. "I'm impressed. live two hundred and forty-odd years and look at things a bit differently. Do you understand?"

"You do what you have to do, and that's what matters?"

Angel's nod was nearly imperceptible. "And maybe you get the short end of the stick in it, but that doesn't change what has to be done. Get it?"

"Only if you're saying you had to give me head last night. Angel, is this about the --"

"I don't know. Really, I don't know what would happen. And sometimes for a second I think maybe it would be worth it to find out, but no. No way I'm going to risk that."

Oz shook his head, completely lost. "Wait. You don't know?"

Angel shrugged, staring at Oz. "No. Presumption was always safer. But nobody has a clue whether or not the curse bound itself over after I came back..." He grinned ruefully. "Personally, I think I'd be okay. Between you and me, I mean. The circumstances, you know? Don't get me wrong, but it ain't love between us. And I think that had something to do with it when Buffy and I --"

He stopped suddenly, looking away again. "Oz, you're missing what I'm trying to say. There are things you have to do, and there are things you just do. And I tend to stick with the things I have to do. I had to leave Sunnydale. And I had to come see you last night."

For all the effort he put into thinking things through, Oz had had very few epiphanies in his life, but he had one then. Being, that Angel didn't brood. He ruminated. He mused. He took the time to figure things out, and he used the luxury of time that came with immortality to its full advantage. And Oz of all people had to respect that. So he only had one question left. "Okay. And what do you do with all the time in between? When you don't really have to do anything?"

When you're sitting there and driving me crazy?

Angel stood up and moved to slip his arms around Oz's torso, and he kissed him with brutal vigilance, wetting Oz's lips with tiny swipes of his own before letting it deepen. After a few, and in Oz's opinion far too brief, moments, he drew back, his arms still firmly in place. "You live the consequences," he replied, and only then did he release Oz and turn away. "You should get to practice."

Oz couldn't really find much to do but close his eyes and breathe for a minute, the air filling his lungs and giving a very slight reprieve to his pounding heart. "Yeah. I should go."

He reached the door before he turned and hesitated, then said softly, "Hey, Angel?"

Angel turned to face him and raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

Oz smiled and opened the door. "One of these days we're going to have to figure out if you're right. You know, in presuming?"

Pleased laughter followed Oz out, where he hugged Cordelia and wandered out to his van. Nearly one, so he had plenty of time before the Dingoes' five o'clock warm-up. Oz liked time. Time was


Oz knew better than to assume Devon would be up and around by this time of the day. So he opened the door of their shared motel room quietly and slipped inside, taking care to ease the door shut without a sound. The scene before him was cute, in an almost-adorable sense. Devon was sprawled across the bed on his stomach, his face smushed so deeply into his pillow it pushed the flesh of his nose out of line and drew his lips into an odd grimace, and his hair was matted at ridiculous angles.

The girl Oz had expected to find wasn't there, and he knew she never had been. One leg of Devon's jeans was bunched up around his knee, the other tugged just above his ankle, and the singer's bare back absorbed the sliver of sunlight slipping in through the curtains like a paper towel, letting the tone smooth out from shiny gold to pale, shadowed cream. Oz was struck by how beautifully formed his friend was, how much grace he possessed even in sleep, and he kicked off his shoes and crawled onto the bed behind him, resting his arm over the glimmer of curve that was Devon's waist and pressing his forehead between the warm fluidity of Devon's shoulder blades.

Oz came to know bliss whenever he was curled up like this with Devon, taking deep pulls of lingering scents. Perfume belonging to the girls draped all over him the night before. Salty bitterness of sweat. Blanket of cigarette smoke. Heady strength of cologne and the very last remnants of shampoo. Being a werewolf may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but Oz still appreciated the heightened sense of smell. There was something intensely comforting, and more than a bit erotic, about being able to pick apart a person's scent. Especially Devon's.

Oz was just starting to drift off when Devon stirred and laid his arm over Oz's. His hand smoothed over Oz's, interlocking their fingers and moving the combined mass lazily across his belly. "When did you get back?"

"About twenty minutes ago." Oz shifted, curving in closer to Devon's warmth.


"Around one-thirty."

"Man, that early? Shit." Devon rolled over, inching back so he could prop his shoulders and head against the headboard. Oz moved with him, adjusting to rest his head on the muscular downward slope of Devon's chest. "Where'd you disappear to all night?"

"Ran into an old friend, ending up crashing with him." Oz scraped his fingers across Devon's stomach, circling his belly button as Devon reached for his cigarettes and lit one. "No luck for you?"

Devon let out a stream of smoke and laughed softly, the rumble echoing up from his chest and into Oz's ear. "That chick turned out to be a nut." He absently ran his hand through Oz's hair, massaging the scalp. "She kept trying to show me the picture of Kevin Bacon she keeps in her wallet."

Oz barely managed to stifle a laugh. "Insanity never stopped you before."

"True." Devon's hand crept over Oz's neck, kneading the muscles. "But -- Kevin Bacon? Jesus! Did you see 'She's Having A Baby'?"

Oz focused his attention of the motion of Devon's fingers across his back as they slid over the material of his shirt. "No, I can't say that I did. 'Fraid I gotta question your choice of entertainment there."

Devon swatted his back. "Shut up, you little twerp."

"Don't call me twerp, dork."

"Who are you calling a dork, squirt?"

Oz lifted his head and faked a glare. "That's low, man," he teased, a tiny smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh?" Devon crushed his cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table. "And what are you gonna do about it?"

It was a simple matter for Oz to crane his neck and apply a glancing kiss to Devon's mouth. "Convince you to beg for forgiveness?"

Devon sat up straight, pulling Oz up as well and gliding one arm around him. "Forgive me?" he whispered. His tongue darted out, tasting the tiny crevice where Oz's earlobe attached to his head. "Please?"

Oz closed his eyes and sighed, and his hands slid over Devon's skin almost on their own. "Maybe..." he murmured, his head falling back to expose his throat to Devon's mouth. "Are you sorry?"

Devon grabbed one of Oz's legs by the denim of his jeans, tugging until Oz was straddling his lap. "Very," he breathed. "So...very...sorry."

Oz suddenly felt like he was drowning, overwhelmed by the heat of Devon's tongue on his neck and the hands beneath his t-shirt and the tension in the legs beneath him. He dropped his head to the side, then leaned back to dip his chin in and capture Devon's lips. The fresh taste of tobacco bit into his tongue and he lapped hungrily, somehow needing more and more to feel him, to feel Devon.

Angel is so fucking right.

The sudden burst of clarity forced Oz back for a minute, and Devon took the chance to pull his shirt off. "Dev," he said softly, catching Devon's cheeks in his palms and stroking his thumbs just across the strong cheekbones. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

Devon stared at him and his dark eyes didn't seem to have a lot of focus. "You had someone else," he whispered. "You didn't need me."

There was a silence in the room that hung between them until Oz blinked. "What?"

Devon's hands left the flesh of his back so fast Oz nearly fell backwards. "You've had Willow," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair. "You haven't needed me since --"

"And if I need you now?"

The tension faded as fast as it had come up, and Devon caressed Oz's thighs as he leaned in and placed light, excruciatingly sweet kisses along Oz's jaw. "I'm right here."

There was an amazing fog creeping over Oz's vision, diluting every sharp feature on Devon's face and blending them into a blurred mass of intensely appealing flesh. Oz cupped Devon's face again and there was no turning back from the desperation that accompanied such fervor, because reality took leave around the same time as Devon's tongue touched his. And he tried to form words to cut into the palpable sensuality enveloping them, but then Devon was flipping them over and grinding Oz down into the mattress with such maddening force that Oz wondered if he could ever welcome reality back into his life.

Oz's head fell to the side and there was just the ceiling, a dingy white spackled surface staring back at Oz and then dissolving into a swirl of creamy shades as Devon sucked a peaked nipple into his mouth and played it with his tongue, forcing Oz to arch up and thrust against Devon and then fall back with the delicious weight pinning him down. "Dev?" he mumbled. "What if I need you later?"

Devon lifted his slick lips from the base of Oz's ribcage. "Still here, Oz."

Things were happening in a daze, because his jeans seemed to float off, and Devon was practically tumbling off the bed to crawl to his duffel bag and come up with his condoms, and Oz was staring while Devon shed his own jeans and it took a very long time for the condom to go on because it was so incredibly nice to just have each other, to grasp with insatiable need for just one more kiss, and then another, and just one last before Oz was blinking into the sheets while Devon hunted for something, anything to use for lube.

And Oz had never been so glad to see a jar of Vaseline in his life.

Thank God for vanity and shiny teeth.

Oz couldn't quite comprehend anything so clearly as the need to press back and pick up the rhythm of Devon prodding into him and finding just the right force with which to slap together. It was comfortingly okay that it was fast and rough because that was perfect, too. Everything was perfect, especially the strength of Devon's hand closing over Oz's cock and coaxing him to such a shattering release that Oz would have collapsed if not for Devon's arm, holding him up on his knees and pulling his hips back until they did collapse, falling into a pool of crumpled sweat and panting breath.

Oz rolled lazily onto his back while Devon disposed of the condom and lit another cigarette, then lifted slightly to let Devon slip an arm under his neck. There would be a shower to take and warm-up and the show that night, and then Sunnydale and Willow and problems and everything else, but none of that mattered because Oz couldn't think of that right then. All he could think that there was possibly nothing nicer than having and being had.

And that Devon smelled fabulous.