What Seems To Be

The thing to figure out, Oz decided, was how he got into this situation in the first place. Not that it mattered -- he was there, and there wasn't much that could be done about that. But backtracking through the progression of the night's events seemed to be at least a semi-productive way of spending the moments that Ethan was using to slowly walk circles around him.

That was the situation. Ethan, in the same area of Sunnydale as Oz. Two feet from Oz.

Just circling. Just silently circling. And Oz couldn't quite bring himself to break the trance he was in, to walk away and end this -- something -- before it went any further. He couldn t do it, so he occupied himself with was cataloguing. Recording not for the sake of posterity, but just for the pure hell of it.

Oz was standing in the middle of Restfield Cemetery, just in front of a freshly vacated and newly ash-dusted grave. He remembered clearly patrolling with Buffy, and the fighting, and the slaying that naturally ensued...but then things got a little fuzzy. Buffy disappeared and Ethan appeared, and come to think of it, he shouldn't need to think this much to figure this out.

But the proximity of Ethan served to render all 'should's' null and void. He had finally stopped, just behind Oz and a little off-center. "Oz," he said softly. "Oz, don't you know this is a dangerous town at night?"

"Every town is dangerous at night." Oz closed his eyes and swallowed. He wasn't used to feeling this awkward and nervous. "I thought you'd left Sunnydale."

"Now why would I do such a thing?" Ethan reached and skimmed his hand over the spikes of Oz's hair. "Sunnydale seems like it may have a lot to offer."

"It's deceptive like that."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm rather taken with what I've seen lately."

Oz stared off into a cluster of trees, knowing he should get out of there. And he may have been able to, had Ethan's palm not come down on the back of his neck. "Really."

"Really. Oz, tell me...Did you give Ripper my message?"


"Why ever not, my dear boy?"

Oz bowed his head under the pressure of Ethan's slowly moving hand. The older man had stepped closer, so close that Oz could feel hot breath stirring at the collar of his t-shirt. "I didn't want to," he replied simply, trembling.

"That wasn't very nice, Oz," Ethan hissed with a quirk of his brow. "Do you know the real trouble with Ripper? He always has to be shown how to have fun."

"Is that so?"

"It is. I don't see that being a problem with know how to have fun, don't you, Oz?"

Oz felt almost ready to pull away, but then Ethan's lips grazed his neck and the sheer reminiscence of vampires forced Oz to stiffen. "I'm not sure what you mean," he whispered.

Ethan wrapped his arms around Oz's shaking form, holding him in a firm grip. "I think you do. I think you know exactly what I mean."

"Indulge me?"

Ethan's laugh was soft and rich, drenched in dry amusement, and the suddenness of his release almost left Oz in a heap on the ground. "Turn around," he commanded softly, with more authority than Oz had thought it possible to possess. "Oz...would you like me to kiss you?"

"No," Oz said, turning slowly. He felt almost like squirming in the face of Ethan's smirk, but knew that would make things worse. "What do you want from me?"

The fingers massaging his earlobe surprised Oz most of all, threw him off balance just long enough for Ethan to slip his other hand around the back of his head and tug him into a kiss that wasn't quite against his will but wasn't all that consensual, either. It was just...happening, and the extra tongue in his mouth seemed out of place for only a few brief moments. Then it was all completely real, accepted by Oz's consciousness with the same ease with which he had accepted vampires. A slight shock, and then...

And then it just seemed right. To let the tension in his muscles ease out so he could sink against Ethan and stop thinking about how wrong it actually was. To pick apart the odd taste of aged whiskey and pot, and to be so incredibly satisfied by that mix.

To willingly lift his arms to Ethan's shoulders and return, stroke for stroke, every brush of Ethan's tongue against his.

He felt like perhaps his eyes wanted to close, to block out the deep and definitive lines etched around Ethan's eyes. But they wouldn't; they had to narrow into soft slits of blurred sensory overload. Oz rose up on his toes, tearing each distinct kiss from Ethan's mouth with a desperation he wasn't familiar with. He wasn't the type to need deeper kisses. He'd always been content to go along with natural progression.

Oz was quickly abandoning natural progression in favor of blatant desire.

Ethan might have laughed, but his amusement was just slightly outweighed by the brilliancy of how perfect this was all working out. His fingers dug into Oz's shoulder blades, held the small boy against him as he took two errant steps and stumbled, falling to the ground between two older graves and going suddenly still.

Oz stared up at him, his eyes clouded over with un-assessed lust. "Ethan," he mumbled, letting his head sink into the soft grass.

Ethan pressed parted lips against the corner of one of Oz's eyes. "Dear boy," he countered, his breath scraping across Oz's skin in a tangible blade of heat. "Having fun yet?"

That jarred Oz a bit, and his gaze shifted to the sky. Clouds, and exactly two stars peeking out from behind. Bare glimmers that were quickly snuffed by the shifting cover, and when the first drop of rain hit Oz just below his left eye, he smiled slightly and finally let his eyes close. "Yes," he whispered, and then it was too late for anything else, because there was the rain and the grass and the wind whipping around his body, and somewhere in all of that, there was the hand slipping into his pants.

Oz opened his mouth, letting the water find its way in to mingle with his groan. There was no way he could possibly pinpoint when his cock had hardened, but there it was, enclosed in a hand that kept surprising Oz in its softness. On his neck, certainly, but now it felt exquisite, as if it had been pampered and treated during all of Ethan's life for the sole purpose of feeling like silk now.

Oz reached out. For anything, for nothing. For everything, and he encountered only two slick headstones, each the perfect width for grasping and bracing himself against an onslaught of wet warmth. He wanted to, needed to shiver in the cold rain, but Ethan didn't seem willing to allow it. He was pulling and sucking with a skill no man could possibly be born with, using his teeth with so much precision that if Oz were actually capable of coherent thought, he'd wonder just what sending Ethan's love to Giles to would have entailed.

Oz came with a soft, strangled noise that didn't exactly qualify for any categorization. It was just a noise, cutting through the buzz of rain and the deep enchantment of Ethan's laugh. He only dared let go of the headstones when his pants were fully readjusted, and he stared up at the figure looming over him. "Ethan..."

"I have you now, Oz." The older man tossed down a sardonic smirk and turned away. "Sleep tight, dear boy."

Oz watched Ethan stroll away, still lying limp on the grass. It was odd, he decided. It just seemed right.