Giles' door is open when Oz gets there, and he knows the reason why as soon as he steps inside. That cold smell, a shiver of abomination from within. Walking carrion, and obviously whatever he had been called in for had already happened.

But Giles was still himself, dressed down some, but smiling gently, welcomingly. Affectionate, even, as though he remembered that one night before Oz had left the second time with a trace of desire. Oz remembers Giles' gentleness with Oz's new bruises, and the taste of the sweat on his neck.

The demon in front of him remembers... what?

Oz advances with the stake in hand, letting just a little more of the wolf surface. He has learned since his time with the Initiative. Better to have control than be controlled. Better to use any and every kind of power available than be hurt again.

"Oz, don't..."

"I can smell you. I know you're not --"

"Willow cursed me. With a soul... like Angel."

And it's enough for Oz to falter and stop. Sniff again for traces of... had Angel smelled different than any other vampire? Only when he'd been sick. And Giles' expression is rueful now, and a little angry. More importantly, there has been no attempt on Oz's life.

"What... what happened?"

Giles' mouth twists and he settles on the couch, gesturing to offer Oz his own seat. He chooses the desk chair.

"It was Spike. Drusilla simply ripped the chip out of his skull, and once he healed... well, we'd never revoked our invitations. He decided it would be lovely fun to turn me, set me after the Slayer --" Visible tension. "After Buffy."

There is a sort of sweetness in the background that Oz's mind chooses not to focus on. "But Willow found out in time?"

"Yes. And now... I never thought I'd say this, but I find myself with something a great deal like... sympathy. For Angel. But I'm glad you came, Oz. Spike is still out there, and with him back with Drusilla..."

Sweetness pulling at his senses, just hints, and something that inexplicably makes him think of bees, sluggish with smoke. Giles is still so much himself, so careful and... earnest is a weak word, but it's the closest Oz can come to describing his usual sense of the man. Constant, and convinced that the world didn't know that.

It always made Oz feel vaguely superior, and vaguely guilty at the same time. Still there, but not the same.

Not earnest so much as serious. Solid and somehow more real than anything else in the room. "Is everyone... how is everyone?"

An open sigh, and Giles' eyes are faraway. "We've had our setbacks, and there is a new and even greater evil on the loose, yet I think we're stronger. Better than before."

Again, a twinge, and Oz slips it on the pile with the rest, quiets himself as best he can, quiets the hum from the loft and does not, does not look. "How so?"

And Giles turned, head swiveling with a sort of casual ease on his neck. Eyes steady on Oz's own. Giles is smiling, mouth curved in a narrow, perfect arc that pulls everything else into focus. Sex, and more in that smile, and Oz is not immune to Giles. Always a part of him wanting that warm, solid hand on his shoulder, that implied sense of command.


"Little wolf... there's never been anything quite like you before, you know. How long do you want to play this game?"

Sweet, sweet, honey essence trapped within her body soap, in her shampoo. Flashes caught just before the change, wrapped then in the comforting shear of blood, of the imagined, demanded blood if only Oz could get to her, the thing drenched in Willow's scent. So expected at the edge of his senses, like blood now. Whether it's there or not or simply dripping slowly from the edge of the loft onto the book left open on the table.

Blood swirling and sinking into the letters on the page and smoking there, and Giles standing above him now, hand in his hair.

Oz still has the stake, and he still has the wolf, and he still has that confusing roil of the belly, that need for more of whatever is there, fight or fuck or fall --

"Take your jeans off, Oz."

A growl earns him a tug on his hair hard enough to make his eyes water, and he can feel every tiny droplet of blood on his scalp looking for a way to roll. Giles' erection outlined in fine wool, hard with his enemy's death...

Stake clattering to the floor, wolf both eased and on the edge and Oz slides them all the way off, kicking off his sneakers, toeing off his socks. Only thin shorts on him now. Maybe protecting him until Giles kneels and Oz's eyelids are suddenly heavy and his mouth... his own mouth aches for what's about to happen, for the chance at this and stolen warmth.

"I'm going to feed from you now."

"I know." Amazed at his calm and suddenly, randomly, remembers laughing at loud at something Xander said and wondering what it could mean when something as simple as laughter could shut down his racing thoughts. Cut the loops of.

Cool lips brushing ticklish on the inside of his thigh and Oz arches, moves with it. Giles head brushing against his erection once, again, half-conscious nuzzle and Oz can't watch.

Cool, cool razors, hooked slightly and curving into him. Pain flaring bright and hard as the change, just as necessary to everything he is and he can feel it all over, all through him. A change in pressure, the complaint of his veins and the slick slow poison in Giles' saliva.

Oz wraps his fingers around the arms of the chair and moans, helpless, breathing hard and trying to taste the air. Bloodhoney and his own need and Giles. Cold and vital, brush brushing against his dick.

Surrender is simplicity, pure, clean, and the opening of a flood. Growling now, needing and empty. Powerful with it and lost. Thrusting now, feeling flesh tear, moving his hands to the silk of Giles' hair and begging.

He slips out with agonizing slowness, tearing again where the wolf had already begun to heal and Oz comes helplessly, crying out, slumped and somehow small again in Giles' home.

Carrion corrupt and all through him now. All of him now, not enough blood to dilute and Giles lifts him easily, carries him like some movie damsel up the stairs, steps easily over the body and sets him on the bed.

Strips the rest of his clothes off and arranges him just so, laughing oddly as he does it. Oz knows the joke and surrenders himself to it, to the thorough touch all over his body. The scratch at the inside of his elbow, delicate caress of his throat. Tongue in his navel, teeth -- blunt now -- at his nipples.

Sharp for an instant, piercing him neatly. A short scream while Giles slips the silver hoop in and the pain is everything, a full-body writhe that does nothing. Held still again after a while as Giles slips blood slick fingers inside him, twists and thrusts and rides Oz through his pain. Fucks him through it, slow and hard.


Pulled up over Giles' lap and bitten deeply just there, just at the juncture of shoulder and throat that makes Oz wail. Just enough pain that his cock spits pre-come steadily, that he begs with his body for more of this, more of everything from Giles, from the fuck laying him open so bare.

"You belong to me, of course."


And Oz needs no instruction when pressed close to Giles' skin, no urging to bring the wolf forward so that it could. So that he could take the blood and the demon in it. So that he can take it in and have it forever, an endless battle within between moon and blood. Power in it oh.

Oh, God, so much power.

Giles pulls him closer still, and his first moan drives Oz over the edge.

Sweetly, and forever.