There could be justice in this, if it wasn't for Anya... and that's one of those thoughts that used to be so easy to just not have. Or maybe Oz wasn't missing them so much as that they lurked so far below everything he thought of as himself that they never had to be acknowledged.

But they're here now, and unquestionably part of him. He is Oz, and he is different now. Possessiveness goes beyond reflex to instinct, something that kicks in well before his forebrain becomes aware of the backbrain attraction.

A hitch-hiker in Baja country, the clean, clean waitress at six in the morning, unscented by anything but herself, utterly free of makeup. Young and sweet and very tall. Amused and excited by his size.

He'd taken her in the very pink ladies room, to the sounds of trucks rolling down the highway outside. She was nothing like Willow, yet she'd had the same wonder, somehow.

Xander, now, much too far south and redolent. Clean sweat, dust and wood and metal and the plastic of his goggles. Oz had been moving to him, pacing him, planning around him well before he'd realized more than a pleased sort of shock. A shocking pleasure.

Sliding into step beside Xander as he walked out past the equipment and the other men. Into the desert, old-fashioned lunch pail in one hand, hard hat in the other. Tools tucked both neatly and casually into the large belt, dusty gloves strangely alive, even empty and mashed at Xander's hip.

Oz had wondered if he'd spent too much time in the sun, if he should've shaved this morning. Xander had walked on in silence for another few minutes before


"Xander." Too quick, falling on the last edge of his own name. The pull had been there, all over, and Oz had been restless and Xander --

"I miss you."

"I'm right here."

"You didn't have to leave."

"I did."

More silence, and they were at a tallish stand of rocks Xander had clearly visited before. Scuffmarks, half-buried apple core that will eventually try and fail to sprout here. Xander had gestured him to sit, and Oz had complied. His thoughts had roiled and spiraled around one question:

Why now?

Before settling on a 'because' that should have been growled.

Xander had looked at him expectantly, holding out a water bottle that might have been frozen earlier in the day. Held his gaze steady when Oz took the bottle and replaced it with his finger, stroking patterns in the condensation on Xander's palm. Xander's eyes had been very dark. Wide and serious and crushingly there.


That's why.

Oz had moved to kiss him, tipping his head back. Baring throat in that way that always made it better, somehow. More real. Xander's hand right there, stopping him for a caress, refusing the kiss.

"I'm off in about an hour."

Oz had nodded, dry-throated, and drank some of the water. Ate half of Xander's sandwich. Meat processed to the point of sensory invisibility. The mustard made his nostrils flare, though. Watched Xander bury another apple core and pondered the cruelty of it. The seeds had no choice but to try and grow, reproduce themselves, but they were doomed from the very beginning.

And yet there'd be no chance at all for them within a shifting mass of garbage...




Xander nodded slowly, peered at him sideways. Glimpse of the old Xander in all the new. More reassuring than he had any right to.

Oz had swallowed, shook off a bit of the pride and fear at his own thoughts, and offered them. Xander couldn't decide, either, but he leaned toward giving the apple seeds their chance, however small.

It was and wasn't what he'd expected.

Oz brought his van closer to the site, stripped to his shorts and slipped into the oven of the back. Rolled joints expertly and somewhat obsessively in the dark, smoked nothing. Was already dressed and waiting at the wheel when Xander finally got to the company truck with everyone else going off-shift. Xander looked back at the van frequently as Oz followed, eyes unreadable in the heat haze.

Back at the motel it had begun quickly and simply, Xander pulling Oz into the shower with him. Xander washing them both down as Oz took care of the grave responsibility of kissing. Touching.

Xander's skin is as soft as a woman's for no reason Oz can figure, unless Anya regularly rubs him down with some expensive cream.

Anya. Touching and kissing and... loving? All this skin, the muscle firm beneath. Justice to have Xander like this, yes, but only if Oz pretends Anya doesn't exist. Licking Xander's dark rose nipples, one at a time and steady as Xander soaps his back. He wishes he knew Anya better, that he had some other lover to present to her for her own justice.

He thinks she would understand that, if not this.

Xander turning away, bracing against the wall. The muscles are clearer in his back, more assuming somehow. It's impossible not to worship them a little, dig in where the tension lies. Oz wants to mark it in some way, a tattoo like his own, perhaps, only more earthy.

Xander is vital, alive, and very much a part of the world that Oz has been only vaguely attached to for his entire life. Except for the wolf, of course. When he is the wolf he can curl his claws into all but the hardest stone and be a part of it. The urge to give Xander the wolf is wrenching, quickly subdued.

Dull, square human teeth clutching at small bites of skin, moving down and down and Oz is on his knees. Xander's ass in his hands, clenching slightly at the touch of water and Oz's own fingers, which may or may not be slightly longer, thicker than before.

Spreads him wide. Watches the water wash over the small hole, feels Xander tremble with it a little and has to move in and, god, taste. His now. Perhaps both of theirs, Xander firmly in the position and Oz... worshiping. To do this, create this flex and gasp of tension. Earthly gods are the only ones for him, now, and he draws out prayers with his tongue, slips them inside to share.

Xander taking this, loving it, bouncing his name off the shower tile, demanding more and Oz can give. Holding on tighter, thrusting faster. Xander's knees trembling, thighs alternately taut and watery and the water is getting cold, fast, and it tightens everything up.

Memory of heat outside enough to welcome this, press harder, fight and ride the chill. Memorize the new textures of Xander's skin, his deeper groans. Deeply controlled thrusts and Oz reaches around and gets his first grip of Xander's cock. Hard and hot even under the cold water, but Oz doesn't want to push his luck.

Breaks away. Stands up and rinses his mouth in the unforgiving spray. Turns it off and Xander's still there in the same position. Head bent and panting.

"Can we do this on the bed?"

"Wha...? Yeah... yeah, just give me a minute."

Breathing, Xander finally turning to look at Oz, his foot slipping a little. Xander is flushed and absolutely intent, seeming to take in every inch of Oz's body and mark it for... anything. Everything. There's no abstract here -- Oz wants this. Needs it, too.

"Your knees must be sore."

"I heal pretty fast."

Xander nods, steps out of the tub and grabs the small, thin towels. Even the better motels seem to size them for Oz-shaped people. Good enough for now because Xander is drying him, gentle here and rough there and Oz is clutching his shoulders before too long. Xander on his knees, carefully drying around Oz's knees and then just... engulfing Oz's cock for one quick suck, swallow --

"Ah god --"

Heat and wet and good and gone just as fast, Xander leading them both back into the room. Onto the double bed and its mildly terrifying spread, all off-colored vines and bulbous flowers.

Xander's reddening, purpling cock. Growing harder, longer out of the cold. Xander Stroking himself, watching Oz with those black coal eyes. Parted lips. Oz returns the favor, shocking internal zing as some sort of circuit connects. As if this was something they should have been doing well before now, just jerking off together and wanting.

Until Xander slows, pauses. Gaze cooling and changing. "Oz?"


"We... this isn't..."

"I need you."

And it's all back in Xander's face in a heartbeat, including a touch of something like anguish that makes Oz hurt inside and need even more. Reaching out, but Xander only grabs his hands, presses them to the mattress with one hand. Braced over Oz and staring, flexing his hand off and on. The grip on his wrists is somewhat painful and impossibly necessary.

Shifting and cock-to-cock now. Thrusting and Xander presses his wrists down hard for a moment before letting go. Oz gets the message and stays as still as he can, though his hips consider themselves exempt. And Xander is... it's the most serious play Oz has ever seen, lifting his arms, turning them on their joints. Tracing his collarbone and rubbing at his ribs.

Sucking hard on Oz's fingers, fucking Oz's mouth with his own for another perfect circuitry moment, something so tangibly electric that it could be designed in any media and left to charge and charge until... what? Burnout, maybe. Xander's fingers aren't salty enough, but they're mobile. Deep and insistent, brushing at the back of Oz's throat, rubbing his lips raw.

His own fingers chewed and licked and devoured even after Xander pulls his free, running cool and wet over Oz's nipples, the pulse in his throat. Down the center line of Oz's chest to dig and pull at his belly button. Strange there, indefinable and somehow casually taboo. Somewhere between a tickle and a yank and the possibility of being unmade by only spit and touch. Sucks harder on Xander's fingers, begs with his tongue.

Shift and Xander holds them both in his fist. Watching Oz's eyes as he releases his fingers, pumps with one hand. Scratches at Oz's nipples with the other.

"What do you want?" Xander's voice deep and low. Too thick to rasp and oh God squeezing their cocks together and pinching Oz's nipple and Oz can't think in more than fuzzy revelations of pleasure.

"Fuck me --"

Pumping slide cock-to-cock and Xander's small hiss. "I don't have anything."

"I do."

Makes Xander close his eyes and make a sound Oz can't read and then Xander is on him, body to body and rolling, thrusting, taking Oz's mouth. Wet and firm. Everything a reminder of Xander's greater size, muscle and weight and whatever confusion Oz is doing nothing to fix because this is absolutely and perfectly right for him, right now, greed making it even better. Guilt making him harder.

On top and Xander's pulling his arms behind his back, lunging up to suck and bite his nipples, nuzzle and kiss and bite down hard on his throat. Suckle there, hot bruising pain and the slick pleasure of Xander's busy tongue and finally release.

Cold where he isn't being touched, Xander looking at him with so much need. Fear and musk in the air and Oz isn't sure who it belongs to. Wants to roll in Xander, all over him. Coat his body with the other man's sweat and come and (blood) and everything --

"Get the stuff, Oz."

"Yeah, OK." And he's moving away when Xander suddenly grabs him. Holds him still and sprawled.

"Open your mouth."

Flushes hard at the sound of his own moan and complies. Xander nipping at his mouth, tongue. Prying it wider with his thumbs before just flipping Oz. Holding Oz down again but focused more on positioning himself. Xander straddling Oz's chest, stroking his cock.

Painting Oz's face with slick, slick pre-come before nudging in, all thick hard head and salt.

"Suck me."

But he didn't have to ask and this... this is so much better than everything else. Using his tongue to search for the circumcision scar and probing, slicking at it, opening a little wider for more, for Xander's cock in his mouth and stroking.

In and in and slow. Not trying to come so much as fucking him and Oz wants to yell and he wants Xander to be rough and he wants to comfort. This is OK, it's all just fine and right and maybe also I could be yours.

"Get it wet."

And there's the husk, almost breathless with shuddery control and Oz is... drooling on command (like a dog) and groaning around his mouthful, clutching Xander's ass and trying to pull him in deeper harder more --

"Oz Christ --! No fuck don't I'm gonna come in your mouth --"

Desperation and hope and only the promise of what will happen if Oz doesn't get him off like this is enough to make him let go.

Xander still straddling him, breathing in and out slowly, Oz watching him put himself back together again and somehow it's the only thing that isn't what he wants. So tempted to arch up and take Xander's cock again, take it deep and let the spit and pre-come roll down his chin. On his back, on his knees, sprawled over Xander, anything at all until Xander finally moves.

"Get on. Get on your hands and knees."


In the position and wishing very, very briefly that he was a woman, that he was built more conveniently for this because the wet sounds behind him are maddening. The image in his head, Xander sucking and slicking his fingers, cheeks hollowing, eyes glazed a little with the hopeless sensuality and Oz's cock is as hard as it's ever been, drooling pre-come on the bed, reaching for his belly.

One finger in, hard and hurried and just what Oz needs, breathing deeper. Getting hazy, getting just a little soft where it counts. Xander spitting, thrusting and twisting. Bed dipping and shifting with his weight and Xander's tongue oh God, oh Christ he hadn't expected.

Maybe was too tight.

Maybe Xander just wanted --

And Xander is not silent when he does it, grunting and growling, moving back to thrust in again with two finger and fuck Oz with them so hard and Oz is calling Xander's name and bucking when Xander stops and goes back with his tongue.

Struggling not to yell now, biting it back until his lip is bloody. Iron in his mouth and the nerve sizzling pull of the wolf inside, mocking the laws of physics and screaming for Oz to give it up and just take Xander. Have the prey, make him pack, yours yours yours and he's too far gone to feel the difference until Xander is halfway in.

Crouched over Oz, and holding him around the middle now. Pumping Oz's cock and rocking his way in, mumbling nonsense, fuckdrunk and dirty before slamming that last couple of inches home. Bitten off groan and more spit, wet around his hole and impossible to ignore. Framing where Oz is skewered and full.

Impaled on Xander and writhing, struggling to find the position that will drive him crazy, finally resting on his elbows, ass in the air and Xander's moving.

Fucking him fast and steady, not too hard at first but building. Scrabbling at Oz's cock as if unsure how to stroke him. Brushing and probing with non-existent nails, somewhere between a tease and tactile memorization, but it goes back to a simple pump as Xander gets rougher.

Harder and they're rocking the bed, knocking at the walls and Oz moans out loud, chuffing vowel sounds with each thrust, drenched in sweat and utterly braced by Xander. Cock and ass and the cage of his limbs, rocking hips and need for more.

Maybe yelling it by now, doesn't matter, nothing matters but this, right here, this cock so deep inside him, marking him from the inside out. Helpless not to move with the fuck and desperate for it not to end. Unable to face the possibility of a future without Xander's rock hard cock and his own submission.


Absolutely everything and Oz comes yelling when Xander sweeps him up to his knees and his cock slips that much deeper inside and Xander keeps fucking him, kisses on his throat and jaw and cheek, stubble rough against his ear. Still holding Oz's cock and biting now, sucking and fucking and raw and growling out his orgasm against Oz's throat.

Fucking it out.

Stilling slowly, close and messy and sweltered with each other. Xander has his arms wrapped tight around Oz. Oz is trying to pull them tighter, needs to feel him breathe. Needs to have then fall into synch, if only for a few seconds.

Needs to know that it feels just like this to Xander, too, and utterly incapable of asking.

When they move, it's only to rip the bedspread off and collapse, messy and exhausted. Oz's thighs are wet with the trickle of come, and he rolls onto his back. Spreads his legs and rubs it all into his skin while Xander watches. Hungrily.

The sun won't be down for a while.