Xander wanted to see Willow very badly for a number of reasons, chief among them the desire to receive some good, old-fashioned comfort. Preferably followed by ice cream, and a whole lot more comfort. Willow had always been remarkably good at that sort of thing, though he had to admit he'd probably have to work for it now.

A lot.

It hadn't always been that way, but he owed Willow in ways he couldn't quite define to himself, and he knew now that he couldn't pay in the way he wanted. He knew that, and it would be OK.

His life may have changed dramatically over the past few years, but there was nothing different about the whole beat on Xander until he cries impulse.

It was a sickly familiar scenario, but Faith...

Well, Faith could always be counted on to bring new and interesting ideas into the mix. Real innovator was Faith. You could patent her. He wasn't even close to distracting himself with humor.

His stomach twisted painfully, subsided.

Willow wasn't in any of the usual places. A voice helpfully suggested that she was avoiding him, and brought up the issue of how her eyes had been swollen, too red just an hour or two after he'd walked right into confessing that he'd willingly made himself Faith's boytoy.

Angel had pity in his eyes.

Shut. UP.

He stopped dead in his tracks. What good would it do anyone if he went to Willow weeping about Faith doing him wrong? Under that, and not very far under, was the image of a big, fat I Told You So tattooed neon on Willow's forehead, even though she hadn't said a word.

Oh, but she would've given half an opportunity...

There was nothing particularly new about that aspect of Willow. It was something he could associate with knee socks just as well as with witchcraft.

But the smugness was new.

God, he couldn't take the smugness, and he knew full well that even if Willow tried, really tried to avoid doing it it would be there just the same. Just under the skin. In the twitch of a smile that really wanted to happen.

Willow had impulse control problems, too. Hers just tended to be safer. Better.

But it would be OK.

Xander started walking again, making his way out of the school and into the parking lot, full of late spring sunlight and thus nearly bereft of cars.

Oz's van was there, though. And there was music playing... tinny at this distance.

Maybe he was waiting there for Willow to surface from a lab.

Or maybe they were just making out to the tunes.

His skin ran hot and cold, blood went rushing to his cock, and he really didn't have to finish the thought before he was shaking himself ruthlessly, trying to rid himself of the thought, and the thoughts that followed.

His Willow. Always his. Pretty and sweet. Fresh with clean sweat being lapped away by her feral little boyfriend. How close is the full moon. Is she hot there? Where are her hands? Why aren't you mine?

But he hadn't stopped walking and he didn't think he could stop, either. Yeah, he'd looked at "those," and they'd just fit perfectly within the tactile memory of a thousand hugs, most innocent, some not.

All those thoughts and he wondered what Evil Xander was doing with Evil Willow, couldn't stop wondering, didn't want to.

And maybe he could just shape his mouth to apologize for something. Everything. Or maybe he could just hold her face, force her to look into his eyes and see....

And see what she had long since rejected.

It didn't matter.

When he didn't see anyone in the van's front seat, he went 'round the back and knocked twice, quick and not especially aggressively.

The door opened immediately and he was greeted with the world's least subtle cloud of smoke and someone that could have been Devon.

"Hey, Xander."

"Uh... hey. Is Willow around?

Stupid, stupid question. The image of Willow hanging with stoners -- even when they were Oz's friends -- was about as plausible as oh, say, Faith entering a convent for any reason but rampant, sweaty blasphemy.

Xander wondered when he'd gotten used to nausea lurking right around his libido for too long a moment.

"... home, I think."

He jerked his eyes to the general vicinity of Oz's voice, found the man himself staring up at him from the van's floor. Smoke occasionally wisped across his face. He didn't even blink.

"Doesn't that bother you?"

Obviously not, Xander, Jesus...

"Nah. I'm sorta immune now."

Devon started giggling, earning a half-amused/ half-fascinated look from Oz. Xander wasn't the least bit surprised that he couldn't tell whether Oz was sober or not.

Maybe he's always stoned?

"... us for a while?"


"Come in. Make yourself at home..."

"Yeah. His casa is your casa. And mine." Devon giggled down his own trail, before abruptly turning around to crawl back into the depths.

Xander wondered if enough time had passed that he could honestly use the excuse of a contact high to explain the fact that he couldn't really think of a response at all.

He turned back to Oz, who had added just a hint of question to his placid gaze.

"Uhhh --"

And that was all he had time to get out before Devon appeared again to yank him firmly inside. Oz closed the door behind him.

"Come on, man, I wanna try to hotbox..."

"In a van?"

Oz smiled in the dimness. Which was nice, because it meant that Xander could see. It didn't just seem like he was tangled up with Devon -- he was tangled up with Devon.

Oz's smile was about the furthest thing from predatory that could be imagined, though... it would've looked more right if the van was darker, if Xander couldn't see the perfectly innocuous lips surrounding all the white teeth, holding them in.

Oz held up a baggie that was way, way too full. Calling it a baggie wasn't actually very accurate.

"Aunt grows it."

And that wasn't surprising in the least.

>From somewhere to his left and beneath and also somewhat around him came Devon's hand, fingertips pinched gently, skillfully, reverently around a truly well-rolled joint.

Xander shrugged and took a medium-sized hit. It had been a while, and he wasn't in the mood to cough. Then he passed it on to Oz, wondering how it was that every single time he'd gotten high there'd been precisely this sort of quiet assumption of camaraderie.

Sure there were hogs and assholes everywhere, but the definition of those assholes never really varied very much. It seemed too pat to be just the drug. Probably had something to do with the way stoners thought about the drug.

Cultural influence. Something.

He was doing a little double pump with his second hit before he was even aware of it.

Oz smiled again. "Take it easy, man. There's enough."

"Guess it's a reflex."

Devon stopped the -- so far unsuccessful -- attempt to detangle himself from Xander to let them both know that he still liked that song and they should do a cover of it again.

Xander used the excuse of being careful with the joint in his hand to not think very hard. He went to hand it off to Oz.

"Give it back to Devon for a minute --"

"Yeah, give to Devon. I need prezzies. Give."

Oz laughed shortly, leaned over to pat Devon on the chest as he made his way up front. "Just gotta get some better tunes on..."

"Duran Duran?"

"Dev, one day I'm going to remind you of all this stuff when you're stone cold sober."

"You wouldn't!"

"And surrounded by groupies."

"You're so fucking cruel..."

"Only because I love you."

Xander was too comfortable to feel like he was intruding. He seemed to be sitting on the ultimate pile of old clothes. Everything was soft and some things were fuzzy and it felt as though someone had calmly and carefully removed every button and zipper. Plus, Devon was so far gone that his limbs were about as taut as perfectly cooked spaghetti.

And this clearly wasn't new ground the other two were treading on -- they just talked their way through it with soft smiles and... comfort.

Xander grinned to himself and made a conscious effort to settle himself in even better, a move that allowed Devon to get one leg from behind his back and onto his lap to cross with the other one.

The music started. Just bass and snapping fingers. Vaguely familiar like a lot of sampled songs... though this was definitely sleepier than most. Oz crouch-walked back to them, moving a little to the mellowly cool little beat.

Xander found himself nodding his head along, pleased with the choice. Smiling at Oz when he started rapping along.

"I lost touch with reality, now my personality, is an unwanted commodity..."

"What's this?"

Oz paused. And continued to pause.

"You know, for some strange reason I'm having problems remembering."

Xander snickered, handed off the joint he'd taken how many? Pulls off of. "This'll help."

"It so won't." Oz took a pull and crawled a little closer.

Devon spoke. "Dude... no... We'll tip."

Xander snorted. "What?"

"The van... we've created this whole triangular balance thing and it'll be fucking disaster if we mess it up."

Oz responded with his all-purpose "huh."

Appeared deep in thought for a moment.

"Xander, help me move him."



"You're right, Dev. We gotta maintain the balance."

"Well... OK. But dude, you better not drop me."


Xander wasn't sure how long they spent pulling and pushing and generally manipulating a surprisingly ticklish Devon roughly into Oz's former position, but when he caught a glimpse out the window he noticed that it was definitely getting to be something close to sunset.

It was just an observation, though. He didn't really have anywhere to be.

Finally they just crossed Devon's legs yogi style and encouraged him to adopt an Oz-like sense of calm.

Xander thought he might be able to get used to that giggle. It was a careless thing, reassuring somehow.

He came back to himself at the feel of a touch to his throat. Light on the bruises, but a little shocking. He forced himself not to move, breathed.

Oz pulled his hand back. "Sorry. I've just..."

"Never seen ligature marks before?"

"Well, actually, no, I have not."

Xander grinned, shook his head a little. "s'OK. You'll get used to it."

He could feel Oz's slow, serious nod, gradually relaxed back against the wall of the van again.

Right about the time any other person -- even stoned -- would be asking him if he needed to talk; Oz started taking off his clothes.

Xander blinked.

Wondered dazedly which part of the pot ritual this was, but Oz was wholly focused on his own stripping, wasn't radiating anything like expectancy, so Xander just relighted the joint and took another slow hit.

Oz reached for it when he'd gotten down to the bottom shirt layer -- a greyed out old purple Pharcyde t -- and took his own hit. Held it in for a moment while he looked at Xander curiously.

This time the question was definitely visible, but it was clearly one Oz wanted to answer for himself.

But Oz was still looking at Xander and he didn't really want to squirm so he just opened his mouth.

"This isn't a werewolf thing, is it?"

Xander winced, but he supposed it could've been worse. Oz appeared to take his question seriously, though. Checked his watch, sniffed the air.

A trick of sound brought the words "but if you want a friend, feed any animal" drifting back through the smoke from the front speakers.

"Don't think so."

"Hmm?" Xander looked up to find Oz naked from the waist up, attacking his button-fly with a singleminded concentration that just made Xander try harder to think how many times he'd smelled pot on Oz in everyday life.

Then it came back to him that Oz was taking off his clothes for no fathomable reason.

He turned to check on Devon, who had sprawled himself out of the yogi position and was watching Oz with frank appreciation, one hand dangling loosely between his thighs. Devon caught Xander looking and smiled. "I love it when he does this."

Does what? Other than fucking shimmying out of his jeans, that is...

Oz paused when he was down to his -- surprisingly -- normal boxers, his necklaces, his bracelets, and his two slightly different shades of metallic indigo nail polish.


He looked pretty damned good, really. Compact but not really boyish so much as personish. Nearly naked personish. Xander watched one hand move to Oz's abdomen, watched his fingers drum on his stomach.

The back of his neck started to burn a little, and Xander realized he'd been staring long enough for Oz to start staring back. He looked up, met his eyes. Tried out a smile.

"Sorry... sudden male nudity outside the locker rooms is just a little... different for me."

"I think you'd feel better if you took your clothes off, too," Devon suggested helpfully.

Oz chuckled again, still looking directly at Xander, nothing in his eyes other than that casual affection he could seemingly radiate at will.

Well, nothing but affection and affectionate lust. It wasn't a look Xander could ever remember seeing before, really, but he could read it easily from context and it seemed so... natural.

Just another part of being friends with Oz? Xander abruptly wondered just whose fault it was that they hadn't... well, if not gotten high and naked with each other at least hung out a few times without the excuse of having everyone else around.

Xander took another pull, didn't try to keep his fingers from brushing Oz's as he handed it off.

That earned him a frighteningly warm smile, and then Oz was handing it to Devon and kneeling in front of Xander. Cupping his face just a little unsteadily -- Xander could feel the other man's palms brushing his stubble back and forth, back and forth -- Oz leaned in to kiss him, and Xander surprised himself only a little by immediately opening himself to it.

He could feel one of Oz's chains swinging between them, feel the rings slightly cool against his face, feel the suitably small and elegant tongue sliding in between his lips to poke around with slow thoroughness, make itself at home.

An image of Larry and the word 'oooooops' fell on him one right after the other, making him laugh a little into the kiss. Oz chuckled, too, then just took advantage of Xander's slightly more widely open mouth. He tasted like pot. Lots and lots of pot.

Xander fantasized he was getting higher just from the kiss, as opposed to the fact that they had somehow managed to fill the van with thick, grey, tanginess, and that Devon was still working steadily on the joint.

He could tell by the tiny flare and wane of orange light that somehow seeped through his eyelids, a pattern hypnotic in its simplicity and Xander wondered if all of him was ready to feel everything this powerfully, if Oz would just carry him away with the next kiss, or perhaps the caress slowly gaining strength on his chest.

>From the stereo, what sounded like "guilty of the same old sin..."

Xander pushed himself up into the touch, tried briefly to wonder what the hell he was doing and then Devon moaned quietly and Xander realized that Oz could do anything

"anything I want... kill you..."

to him at all.

He stiffened, slammed himself back against the side of the van. Oz followed him instinctively for a moment before freezing himself. Shook his head vigorously and narrowed his eyes a little, clearly concerned.

It was as though Oz said everything in lower case letters, but typed it right into the brain. How had he ever found him incomprehensible?


"Do you want us to stop?"

"No." His mouth answered for him before he could even think about how to be diplomatic yet firm. "I mean --"

Oz lowered his gaze slowly, tugging Xander's along almost as an afterthought. They both contemplated the erection straining against Xander's jeans for a few moments. Xander felt blood rush to his face. None of it seemed to have come from his cock, but he was grateful that some came at all.

It meant there was a chance his brain would get something like oxygen.

"Oz --"

"You can touch me instead."

Something broke in his voice as he spoke, and Xander realized that he'd never heard that before at precisely the same time he realized that it was for him.

He thought of Willow, but only to wonder if her insides jumped the same way when he did that. It was probably just the ludicrous amount of pot, but there didn't really seem to be any sin here beyond the original kind. Something and oh God he could definitely touch Oz instead.

Xander pulled him in for another kiss, taking control this time, biting at his lips, sucking hard on his tongue. Oz immediately surrendered himself to it, groaning when Xander pulled away briefly to breathe, groaning again when he dove back in.

A little too hard. Oz wound up partially in Devon's lap, waking Devon out of a doze.

"Hey, cool..." And then he stroked Oz's hair a few times before drifting off again. Xander smiled, then listened, fascinated, as Oz's breathing started to get rougher.

He tried to pin down exactly why and suddenly a tidal wave of feeling crashed out of his brain onto his groin or maybe the other way around and he realized he'd been thrusting steadily against the other man for some time.

Xander had the absurd urge to apologize and bit it off lightly into the side of Oz's throat. A woman was singing about a boat ride on the holy side and Oz was losing control under him and it was so fucking good.

He started to brace himself for better leverage but then he caught a glimpse of Oz's smooth, pale chest and either dove or fell to, unable to tease for more than a heartbeat or so before he was taking one stiff little spike between his lips, between his teeth and Oz's hands were in his hair, and somehow, somehow, Oz's rings still felt cool against his scalp.

"Yeah, Xander... God..."

There was something unbearably sexual about Oz not being able to finish even one of his diminutive sentences and Xander barely managed to halt the orgasm that wanted to roll through him right then and there.

Caught himself moving lower on Oz's body, didn't try to stop, didn't let himself think.

Not that he thought he was really capable of thought. Not with the taste of Oz's sweat high and salt. His tongue curled and he felt himself start to salivate helplessly. He pushed his face against the other man's abdomen and ran wet, random trails all over it with parted lips.

A kiss he was too needful to tighten into something remotely neat. Oz just moaned more, tightened his fingers in Xander's hair and tried to pull him closer still. For just a brief moment Xander could see himself, his consciousness, pour right out of his brain into Oz, and, for a moment, it seemed like a brilliant idea.

And then Oz was arching into a sea-roll beneath him, trying and succeeding to bring more of himself into contact with Xander and his boxers must have slipped down a little because Xander could feel Oz's cock, Oz's hot, drooling cock bump slick velvet against his chin and before he could really think about anything he was rubbing his stubble slightly against the head and feeling Oz buck helplessly.

"So fucking hot..."

And Xander looked up to see Devon staring at them raptly, undulating his hips seeming unconsciously, pushing his groin up to press against the back of Oz's head. Oz pushed back slow and hard while Xander watched and Devon squeezed his eyes shut and let out a strangled sound from somewhere deep within. Xander couldn't help watching, couldn't help thrusting harder against Oz, getting only his leg but getting it well.

"Don't be afraid to show your friends..." and Xander definitely knew that song. There were times when he'd thought certain parts of "Knock Me Down" were tattooed on his forehead but that didn't really matter because Oz was flexing his thigh between Xander's own and pushing it up against him.

Xander threw his head back and moaned, felt the living foundation shift and then felt another pair of lips against his own. And the music was moving faster and Mick Jagger was singing something about capital crimes while he landed on a pile of softness that smelled wonderfully of Oz, of woods just beyond the grounds of a small pleasant village, deep greens and browns and the word 'savory' flashed insistently in his head for several long moments.

And then he could feel Devon trying (and succeeding) to strip while retaining maximum contact with him, and somehow his cock was out and and being fucking caressed by thicksweet air that resolved itself to wet soft heat and his mind flashed him an image of what Oz must look like, lips stretched around his cock, taking it... Christ, taking it all.

He felt Oz's groan over every square inch of his body, thought he'd gone deaf until Devon starting whispering things in his ear that made him wonder if any part of his brain was going to survive this at all.

Time got hazy and the air seemed to move faster even as Devon and Oz moved slower. Devon bit his earlobe there, Oz let almost all of him slip out for seconds, hours.

"Please oh God please..."

"That's it. Give it up, Xander. God Oz, why didn't you tell me he was so fucking sexy?"

And then, somehow at the same moment, Oz took him deep again while Devon ran a quicksilver tongue through the whorls of his ear.

Xander felt himself existing at the far, far end of a tether, deep in someplace different and warm, someplace he might just be able to live, and then the universe exploded with light and sound just as he continued not to come.

He didn't think he could be that loud. Xander reached out blindly and Devon caught his arm in a grip that was comfortingly no more powerful than his own, brought it down to his own crotch and pushed and thrust and Xander somehow managed to retrieve his other arm from wherever it had gone and tugged at Devon until he knelt up.

Fumbled to open Devon's pants, amazed at his own ability to function with his cock in Oz's mouth. He glanced down to discover that Oz was just holding him there, waiting for him to get Devon firmly in hand and then he would... he would start up again.

He felt what seemed to be a massive load of pre-come shoot iced flame down his cock and Oz's eyes glazed a little more while he watched and Xander's head fell back helplessly, he thought he might faint before he could get off because he had seen Oz tasting him.

Seen him love it and before he knew it he had what felt like something the perfect length and width to suck on, but he couldn't summon enough power to twist himself into anything resembling a good position.

But that stopped mattering when Devon brought their linked hands up to his mouth and licked and sucked and kissed and bit until they were both slick with his saliva and then Xander was being tugged back down and down and down and Oz was taking long, sucking pulls off his cock and some guy was half howling about how he didn't think someone else was funny anymore, and he didn't, dear God no he didn't.

Twined together around Devon's cock, buried deep within Oz's mouth, he let his hips go and gave his hand to Devon to use, save for those times when he had to push down a little, had to probe at the slit, had to try one more time to get Oz to swallow his whole damned body, had to open his mouth and let the words out, whether they sounded like words to anyone else or not.

And Devon was pushing up into their fist, panting out harsh little breaths that caught utterly uncontrolled notes on their way out. Xander didn't think he'd ever be able to hear the guy sing again, watch him wrap his beautiful hands around and mic and lean in so close so close --

"Come on, Xander, give it up..."

And there was the hint, the moonlit chilled hint of teeth against him where he knew he needed it and then ---

"Oh, God oh fuck ohhhh...."

Devon was losing it all over their hands, heat on Xander's face and Oz was eating him alive and his body actually surprised him, arching clear off the floor, bending him easily and snapping his fucking soul out in whipcrack bursts and he had to be filling Oz's entire body.

Xander couldn't possibly have anything left within him and when he shot again, short and convulsive, it hurt enough to make him scream.

He returned to himself to find his body sprawled out like a police chalker's wet dream and opened his eyes to see Devon gripping Oz's slim arm with both hands and devouring every drop of come from his palm and fingers.

He groaned helplessly, felt his body buzz with it and couldn't hold back a groan at that and he realized Oz was looking at him, looking at his eyes.

And then Oz nodded and smiled to himself and pushed himself and Devon over to flank Xander neatly.

"We're keeping you," reported his right ear.

"There is no escape," confirmed his left.

"Unnnnhhhh," replied Xander right before he passed out.