Morphic Resident
by Sheila Perez

His arms were on either side of my body, his mouth on mine, his hips grinding against me like he wanted to crawl into my skin and take up residence. Maybe he did. We were in Sunnydale, after all.

It was rough and hot, and passionless. He was nothing more than a convenient, attractively packaged warm body to press against, to pull into myself.

He was nothing. At that moment, he was everything.

Devon tapped him on the shoulder, and he -- I never did find out his name -- turned around. Devon glared. "He's mine."

I blinked. Devon has never been possessive. And certainly never over me.

The guy left, and Devon glared at me. I fought the urge to squirm uncomfortably. I wasn't doing anything wrong.

"What the hell was that, huh?" Devon grabbed my arm and leaned close into me. I could smell the beer on his breath and the sweat on his skin. He smelled warm and comforting, expressly male and familiar in that.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Nothing, Dev. It was nothing."

"Like hell." He was angry. I'd never seen that before. I didn't want to see it then. I wanted him to be smiling, or smirking, or leering in that way that only he can. I wanted him to be the same selfish bastard that everyone else in the world sees.

I wanted him to hate me.

That sounds stupid, I know. But if he hated me, then I could hate him and not feel guilty. He wouldn't see. He wouldn't care.

"Jealous?" I asked, trying to be spiteful and ending up sounding the same as always.

He glared at me some more. "You wish."

I put my hand on his chest and he flinched. "Maybe I do."

Devon stared at me, dead silent except for the sound of his breathing. The other people in the club ignored us. Just a lover's spat people, nothing new to see, move along.

There was something wary in his eyes, a plea not to do what I was obviously thinking. I pulled back then, didn't push things; Devon means too much to just throw his friendship away.

We never mentioned that night again.

Sometimes I feel like I've known Devon forever. Maybe I have.

I met him, of all places, in church. His family was, and still is, like hard core Catholic. Sunday School, confession, Confirmation, the whole thing. Devon still has his rosary; it sits, on sufferance, in the glove compartment of my van.

My dad had a gig at the church and he took me with him, 'cause Mom was protesting something or other in Los Angeles and he couldn't find a sitter. Not that he tried very hard. Dad has always been kinda distant, and I figure that taking me with him to gigs was his way of spending quality time with me.

Anyway, we were at this church, and I was sitting in one of the pews by myself when this massive group of people sat down next to me. I just scrunched myself up into the corner and tried to be invisible. I was too little to understand what was going on, and that embarrassed me. People were standing up, and saying stuff together, and I didn't know what was happening.

After a while, Devon -- sitting next to me, and looking very solemn in his Sunday best -- started poking me when it was time to stand up. He shared his prayer book with me, too.

I decided right then that he was my best friend, and I made sure he knew it. I'm not subtle when it comes to stuff like that.

Neither is he.

He's still my best friend, after all. Fifteen years and going strong, despite a few...differences.

Like Jeff. And me. And some "experimenting."

Loss of faith, on his part, when he decided that his family was on crack.

Terminal fur. Willow. Vampires.

Lack of faith, on my part, in him.

I told him, later. About everything. Not about Buffy -- that's not my thing to tell, but everything else. He took it well, I think. Didn't immediately say I was insane, didn't run screaming, didn't do anything but look at me and say, "That explains the three nights thing."

He is my friend for a reason.

Devon knows me too well, sometimes. That's why he didn't freak out that night in the club when he broke me and the guy up. He knew I wouldn't do anything to push him away. I need him too much.

Way too much. So I try not to shake the balance of things. A relationship, any relationship, is about knowing when some stuff is better left unsaid. I know that and Devon knows that.

So, no blatant "Look at me, I like guys" thing from me. Especially no "I like you Dev, in more than a friendly way". Because I do. Sometimes.

Like when I wake up with him sprawled all over me like a living security blanket. Or when we're in my garage, wanking around with our instruments. He plays piano and hates it, so we keep that a secret from everyone else.

Equilibrium. We balance each other, which is what a friendship should do. I'm half in love with him, I think. In spite of everything I know about him. Maybe because of.

He's fickle. Impatient. Temperamental as hell. Loyal to his friends, understanding, happy.

It's that last I can't stand most times. It's obnoxious. Yes, I know he has problems, but he's just so happy all the time. It makes me feel guilty for not being the same way.

Devon is frustrating, annoying, dangerously close to become an addict several times over, friendly, flirtatious, oblivious, steady, pushy...

I wouldn't change him for the world.

I woke up with him sprawled on top of me. I could feel his breath on the skin of my neck, and the warmth of his hand low on my stomach.

Damn.

I tried to move out from under him, grateful that I refused to sleep naked, and equally grateful that he was my opposite in that way, too.

He mumbled something in his sleep, and held on tighter, flinging a leg over mine to hold me still.

Damn again.

"Dev," I whispered, shaking his arm gently. "Devon, wake up. You're molesting me."

"Grf."

"Wake up."

He lifted his head and stared suspiciously at me. "Why are you in my bed?"

"You're in mine." I paused. "You're always in mine."

"Pervert." I hit him on the arm and he sat up, indignantly. "Dude. That wasn't nice."

"Really." I rolled my eyes. "I hadn't noticed."

I stood up. We both ignored the proof that waking up with Devon sprawled on top of me was not something that made me unhappy. Tried to.

It's the thought that counts.

I blushed furiously. I'd blush if I were walking around anybody like that. He didn't blush, just looked surprised and really amused.

The amusement hurt. I knew that nothing was going to happen, not with Devon, but still...it hurt. So I retreated into the relative safety of the bathroom.

He was still -- naked -- in my bed when I came out.

"We need to talk," said Devon.

We did. Talk. A lot. About Willow and about the whole depression thing that I was having such a hard time shaking.

He'd done some reading; Giles told me later that Devon had walked into the factory like he owned it and demanded any and all books Giles had on werewolves. He'd also come up with the theory that I had some weird mystical bond thing happening with Willow. Far-fetched, but comforting.

I love him. I do. Not in the romantic way, though there is that. But in that indefinable way that exists between friends. He may piss me off, but he's mine in a way I can't fight. He's...

Pack.

Being a werewolf, however reluctantly, has changed the way I look at things. There's no way it couldn't. It takes Devon, and to some extent, Willow, to show me that. I knew them both pre-furriness. I know how I reacted to them before, and how I do now. There's a difference. Small, barely there, but life-changing.

I can't let go of Willow because she is mate. To my mind, to the mind of the wolf, she betrayed the pack. It's something instinctive, insidious. She is...was my mate. Not an opinion, not a hope, but fact. I can't let go, because there is a strong part of me that says not to.

Only a human being could go and complicate the hell out of wolf society.

We talked about Jeff.

Pre-Willow, pre-sexual relations with any girl. Jeff was my friend, and one summer, when Devon was with his family in Italy discovering his roots, we played around. It was nothing serious; just two horny teenaged boys looking for an outlet. It never progressed past making out, and clumsy fumblings on the den couch when my parents were away.

Jeff and I grew apart when being around each other got to be more awkward than anything else. He decided he was decidedly into girls, and I decided that I didn't care one way or the other. So, awkwardness. Enough that, when he died, all I could think of to say was, "I knew him." I hate words.

We talked about friendship. About him crawling into bed with me, about me liking it. Most of all, we talked about lust, and love, and varying degrees of.

Devon smiled. "You like me."

"You're full of yourself," I replied.

He smiled again, more widely than before. "I'm not wrong."

I smiled back, hesitantly. "No, you're not."

For a while, that was all we said. I was content. Devon was not.

"What does it feel like?" he asked suddenly. Devon paused a moment, then added, "With a guy."

As if I needed the clarification. "Pretty much the same. I haven't uh...done the sex thing."

He looked shocked.

"With a guy," I added.

He looked relieved. "Oh. But otherwise?"

"The same. No breasts, though."

"I like breasts."

I had to smile. "I know."

We fell silent again.

"Oz?"

"Yeah?"

Devon stood up and walked over to me, totally unembarrassed by his nakedness. I looked up at him, and he leaned over and kissed me.

I reached up, putting a hand on his hip to steady myself, and reveled in the warmth of him. Too long. Too alone.

I kissed him back.

He freaked.

We never talked about that again, either.

We were at the Bronze, performing again for all the people we knew, and for newer faces. Devon and I studiously ignored each other as much as we could. Oh, we pretended there was nothing wrong, but no one -- no one that knew us, anyway -- was fooled.

The set ended and Devon bowed, playing the crowd for all it was worth. I tried not to notice the way the light sparkled off the gold glitter sprinkled liberally over him. His newest girlfriend had decided she wanted him to "sparkle". He did. A bright, glittering thing so far out of my reach that I might as well have asked to touch the moon. Something.

She was there too. Willow. With Xander, and Buffy. She was happy, almost glowing with it. He made her happy. There was a familiar twinge in my chest, reminding me that I loved her, wanted her, hurt with the loss of her. She waved at me, smiling widely and beckoning me over to join them.

Like hell.

I smiled and shook my head, climbing down off the stage and helping the others load all the equipment into my van. I stayed a little while longer, watching the crowd, watching her, watching him. Knowing that those two people weren't for me, and never had been.

Yeah, I felt sorry for myself. I've loved two people in my life, and they were both out on that dance floor with someone else, ignoring me. Being happy, and beautiful, and so far away that not-existing would have been less painful than watching them.

I left. Snuck out like a thief, ashamed and feeling so damn pathetic that I couldn't breathe.

I wanted a lot of things then. Most of them involved being far away from all these people. I wanted comfort. Happiness. I wanted someone to want me. I'm so tired of being the runner up.

Gee, Oz, you're a really swell guy, but there's this other person that completes me. Aren't you happy for me? I'm happy, why aren't you? He loves me, she's great in bed, we went and got ice cream yesterday, she knows how to do this thing with her mouth...

I'm happy for you, really. No, I'm not lying. I'm really glad you're happy. That's great. I need to go now. Why can't you see me? Why am I so invisible? Why is it right for everyone else to be happy? Leave me alone, don't touch me, stay away.

Pathetic. Just really pathetic.

When I closed my eyes, all I could see was the skin of Willow's back as she lay against me, pale and smooth and so gorgeous it made my heart hurt. I could see Devon, grinning like a fool with the light sparkling off of him like some dream come true.

I rubbed my eyes. Dammit.

I went home, too tired to do anything but sit in the shower while the spray beat down on my head, and into my eyes, and along my back. Dimly, somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard the front door open and shut. Devon was home, probably. Hopefully alone, most likely not.

I didn't move.

After a while, the door to the bathroom opened and let out all the heat. I shivered, but didn't look up. I just sat there, knees drawn up to my chest, and stared at the wall.

Devon yanked back the shower curtain and cursed. "Oz, man..."

"Go 'way." I didn't care that I sounded as mature as my cousin Jordy.

He reached in, yanking his hand back when the water hit it. "Fuck. Ow..."

I closed my eyes and buried my face in my arms. Devon swore again and hit the faucet until the water shut off. He sat down on the edge of the tub. "Oz?"

"Not home."

"Don't play, man. It's not funny."

He tried to help me up, out of the tub, and I pushed his hands away. "Go away."

"No."

I slid around him, heading for the door. He grabbed my arm and I shook it off. I so didn't want to talk to him. Not then.

Devon followed me into my bedroom. It was cold in the room, and I yanked on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. There was this sinking feeling in my stomach. This was it. And I wasn't ready.

Now, it may seem like we were already in this weird romantic involvement thing. We weren't. But a lot of stuff is really similar. Like "it." Any time you're going to end a relationship, there's going to be an "it." A really big, nasty, messy it.

I turned, and said, kind of abruptly, "I'm going to bed."

Well, I started to say that, anyway.

He was sitting on my bed, still glittery, and he looked deadly serious. "We need--"

"No."

Devon blinked at me. "Huh?"

"No. Get out. Not talking."

I hustled him out the door, and shut it behind him, sliding down with my back against the door, until I was sitting on the floor. Our doors don't have locks, or else I'd've locked it too.

I was so tired. Of everything. Of not ever being happy. Just so damn tired. I crawled into bed and pulled the sheets over my head.

If I dreamed, I don't remember it.

I heard the door open quietly and I opened my eyes blearily. I don't wake up well. Never have.

Devon crouched by the bed and whispered, "Oz?"

"I'm asleep."

He made a soft sound. "Don't be like this."

"Still asleep."

He sighed again, and stood up, moving around to the other side of the bed. He sat down and the bed creaked under his added weight. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "For being an ass. Before."

"Apology accepted; go away."

"No." Devon reached over and touched my arm. His hand was cold. "Oz, man, please." He leaned closer, until I could feel his lips brushing my shoulder. "Please."

I didn't -- couldn't -- move, not at first. It hurt. God, how it hurt.

Devon kissed my shoulder then, lightly, hesitantly, and I closed my eyes. He was good, I had to give him that. He knew exactly what to do, how to touch, what to say. He always did.

I rolled off the bed. "No. No, no, no."

"Oz?"

I glared at him. "I'm not forgiving you."

He blinked. "What?"

"You were an ass. I'm not forgiving you for it."

"Look, I said I was sorry." Devon glared back at me. Good.

"Good for you." I lifted my chin. "I don't care." Oh, I did. But he didn't have to know that.

"The fuck you say." He stood up and walked towards me. "I apologized, get over it."

"So I can roll over and be your whore?" I laughed. It wasn't a nice sound. I wasn't going for nice; I was going for blood. Back any animal into a corner, and it will attack.

Devon looked at me in disgust. That hurt worse, somehow, than the thought that he wanted nothing more than sex. Be careful what you wish for. I had wished for his hate, and I was getting it.

So why did I want to huddle into a little ball on the ground and cry?

He looked like he wanted to hit me. I was okay with that. "Get over yourself."

"Get over myself?" I was getting pissed. Majorly so. "Yeah, I'm the one that ignored my best fucking friend because I couldn't deal with the idea of maybe being gay. Later for you."

His eyes narrowed. "No, you didn't ignore me 'cause of something inside. You ignored me because your stupid bitch of an ex-girlfriend meant more to you than me."

"Leave her out of it."

"No. You need to be kicked in the ass about her." Devon started pacing. "She whipped you, dude. Got you so fucked up you ignored me, and the band, and everything else. So if you want to start blaming me for freaking about my own god damned sexuality, you can go fuck yourself."

"No." I shook my head. "It wasn't--"

"It was."

I turned my back on him. "No."

Devon grabbed my arm and spun me around. "You tossed away fifteen years of friendship for a girl." He sneered at me. "And you call me fickle."

"No."

"You're in such denial." He sounded almost pitying. "She was a bitch."

"She needed me!" I shouted. Devon stared at me, shocked. I never yell. But I did then.

"Is that all?" He laughed. "You ditched me because she needed you? Are you stupid? I needed you. Kyle and Mike needed you. She never did. She had the other guy, and Bunny, and the creepy librarian. Hell, she even had Cordelia. She didn't need you."

"Go away." I didn't pretend to be upset. I was just tired again, and I wanted to be alone.

"So you can try to boil yourself again? So you can crawl under those blankets and be a stupid shit-for-brains?"

"I'll move out," I said quietly. "You won't have to deal with me."

Devon laughed again. "For someone that's supposed to be a genius, you can be really freaking stupid."

"Go away." I put my back against the wall and slid down to the floor again. "Just...leave."

"Oz, man, get it together."

"Go."

"Did you think I didn't need you?"

"Yeah." I looked down at the ground. "Please, Devon. Go away."

"Dumbass." I felt him touch my hair. "C'mere."

Have I mentioned that Devon is a better person than I am?

Devon was still lying next to me when I woke up. I half expected him to have left. He's never actually spent the night with someone; he always leaves before they wake up. He doesn't even spend the night with me those times he crawls into my bed. He comes early in the morning, still smelling of sex and cheap liquor, and curls against my back like I'll protect him from everything that could possibly hurt.

I worry about him sometimes.

He was still asleep, face tucked into my neck where I could feel the movement of air as he breathed deeply. I could have, should have, gotten up then and left him, asleep and dreaming. Should have, but didn't, because I'm just weak.

I turned and he mumbled something in his sleep, tightening his hold on me. It felt sweet. Just one moment when everything was right. I hadn't felt that, not in a long while. Not since...huh. Not since before the whole thing with Willow and Xander. I think. It's hard to tell now, how I felt then. There's too much stuff getting in the way.

But he was there, and it was perfect.

Until he woke up, and then it was just really, really weird. We stared at each other for a moment and I started to move away. He glared at me. "Move and die."

"I have to get--"

"Move and die."

"All right." I smiled. Okay, I didn't, but the thought was there. "Dork."

Devon nodded once and pulled me closer. "Now, we can do this two ways."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead yet. But didn't that just sound really cool?" He rubbed his cheek along my shoulder and grinned.

"Dork," I said again.

He smiled, a smug, satisfied thing that made me want to either hit him or kiss him. Possibly both. "You know you love me."

"Mm." I resist saying it. Always have. And, I admit, I panicked. I don't want to love him. He would hurt me; I knew that as well as I knew anything. "I need to get up."

Devon propped himself up and looked at me. "Oz?"

I was already sitting up, and had my back to him. "Yeah?"

He grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and tugged me down closer to him. "You're my best friend, y'know?"

"I know." And I did.

"Good." Devon nodded once and lay back down, hugging my pillow to his chest.

I felt something in my stomach tighten. I took a deep breath. "Devon, I..."

He opened one eye. "What?"

"I uh...Iloveyou. Just so you know. Um." I exhaled slowly. God, I was shaking.

He stretched lazily and buried his face in the pillow. "Okay."

Okay?

I must have made some sound, because he lifted his head and smiled. "Dude, I knew. I so knew. You wouldn't put up with half the shit I do, if you didn't."

Oh.

"Go shower," he said, pushing me away lightly.

I nodded and stood up, still kinda shocked. He knew. I was almost to the bedroom door when he said my name. I turned.

"Come back."

"Now?"

"After."

Oh. "Okay."

It occurred to me that it would be damn silly to get showered up and clean just so I could go back out there and get all sweaty again, and have to take another shower. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe we would just lie there and talk.

Uh huh.

I stood under the spray -- cold, for once -- and wondered exactly what I was letting myself in for. I didn't understand why, all of a sudden, he'd decided in my favor. Though maybe it wasn't all that sudden. We'd been ignoring each other for two weeks. I don't know.

When I came back, Devon was still sprawled face down on my bed. The sunlight sparkled off the remaining glitter on his back and the sheets were twisted around his hips. He'd lost his clothes at some point during the night, and I couldn't bring myself to care when. I knelt down beside the bed and watched him sleep for a while.

I reached out and touched his mouth. He opened his eyes and looked at me.

"Hi."

"If you got glitter in my bed, I'll be cranky." I leaned forward, folding my arms across the edge of the bed.

He smiled, leaning forward until his mouth was against mine, almost innocently. It was, as far as that went, a lie. Devon hasn't been innocent in a very long time.

I shivered and reached for something to hold on to. I ended up with his arm.

Devon pulled away, not smiling anymore. "You know I won't--"

I kissed him that time, not wanting to hear what he was going to say. I knew, but I didn't want to hear it. I wanted to pretend.

He reached around, cradling the back of my head and pulling me closer. We broke apart, needing to breathe, and he brushed his lips against my ear. "You're dressed."

I blinked at him. Of course I was dre--Oh. Right. I moved back a few steps and grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt, pulled it over my head. "Dev? Maybe we're going fast?"

"Fast is good." Devon sat up and the sheet fell perilously low on his lap. "Trust me?"

"Always."

He stood and started walking towards me. Naked. God help me. "Good."

"Uh...Devon..."

"Shut up." But he was still smiling, and backing me up against the wall, and I could swear that I had done this before...

He couldn't press full body against me; I'm too short for that, and he'd've gotten a crick in his neck. Or something. So he improvised, turning me, moving me until the back of my knees hit the bed and I went down. Then he was on top, straddling my waist and smiling brightly at me.

I glared at him.

He grinned wider. "Oops?"

My mouth twitched. "You just happened to fall on me."

"Convenient, huh?"

"Dork." I put my hand against his chest, over his heart. "You sure?"

"Yeah. You?"

I nodded.

A moment later, a lifetime, a second, and I had no more time for thought. Could only feel his weight pressing against me, could only taste his skin, feel the muscles move under the skin of his back. I arched against him, feeling his answering groan all along where we touched.

Oh yeah.

He caught one of my hands, sliding it down his body until I felt his erection against my fingers. Devon lifted his head and looked down at me, saying nothing.

I stroked once, experimentally, and he closed his eyes. There was a faint smile on his face. I'd seen that look before, a few times actually. Most times after walking in on him and a "friend."

He wrapped his arms around my waist and shifted until we were both lying on our sides. It was awkward, and I didn't care. He didn't either, just kissed me again and whispered, "Harder."

Devon knew what he wanted, I had to give him that. I gave him harder, too, and he seemed to like it.

A lot.

There was rhythm, and there was sound, and there was nothing "nice" about any of it. Fun, yeah, but not nice. We didn't want nice. We wanted...I wanted him. The person. Sex. Being terribly stupid and awkward and having a nice, old-fashioned romp. Devon's good for stuff like that.

He's just...good.

Devon moaned, loudly, and I grinned. I couldn't help it. Willow had been quiet. Er. Quieter. And I've never been known for my vocal stylings.

"Oz, man...fuck." He practically whispered that, his face buried in my neck and one hand gripping my shoulder. I was going to have bruises from that, and I don't think he realized it.

I didn't stop though. That would have defeated the purpose.

He grabbed my hand, holding it tightly. "This'll be over pretty quickly." Devon looked embarrassed for a moment. "I uh...get...y'know." He made a vague gesture with his free hand.

I blinked at him. "Huh?"

"Just go with it," he said finally.

I blinked at him again. "But--"

Devon covered my mouth with his hand and I bit -- not hard, never hard, don't want a wolfie companion -- it. He grinned and slid that hand around to the back of my neck, tugging me closer until I got crosseyed trying to focus on him. He looked very serious. "I wants your body, Mr. Osbourne."

I wasn't going to laugh. Really, I wasn't. But damned if I could stop myself. I fell to the side, giggling, stopping to look at him, and giggling some more at his mock expression of outrage. Devon whacked me on the hip and I tried to calm down, did calm down in fact, until I saw the smile on his face and then I was off again.

Finally, I stopped, smiling at him and gasping for breath and he kissed me, sliding his tongue into my mouth. He moved until he was on top, sitting on my legs, holding my face between his hands and really, who needed to breathe anyway?

He moved easily on top of me, body rubbing against mine in all the right places. My hands were on his back, feeling the slide of muscles as he pushed his hips hard -- and God but that felt good -- against mine. He made a sound, ragged and dark, and pulled away.

I reached up, touched the curling hair at the nape of his neck, wondered if he was going to freak out again.

"Gimme a sec," Devon whispered, the words hot against my ear. I suppressed a shiver.

"Okay." I waited for a minute. "Now?"

He laughed, and that felt good too. "I'm going to get up, now."

Irrational fear curled cold in my stomach. I let him go, slowly, searching for something to throw between us and he looked at me and hit me on the arm.

"Dude, you are so fucking stupid sometimes." Devon settled his weight on me, holding me down.

"That's not a nice thing to say," I said, mildly. Always mild. Born to be, baby.

"Have a little faith in me, huh?" He lowered his head rubbed his cheek along mine, and I could feel the sharpness that said he hadn't shaved in a while. "I want your skinny little body, and I'm not going anywhere till I get it. Clear?"

"Mm."

"Now, I'm going to get up, and I'm going to go to my room and get--"

"Toys?"

He patted my stomach. "When you're more experienced, baby."

There was no comeback for that one. I raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought you'd never done anything with a guy."

He shrugged. "Haven't. Done most everything with a girl, though. Can't be that different."

"Oh."

"Gonna freak if I leave?"

"I'm being pathetic, huh?"

"Nah." He kissed the corner of my mouth gently. "Be naked when I get back."

I smiled. "Pushy."

"You have no idea."

I watched him leave, memorized it, stored it away for the day it would actually happen.

I watched him leave, memorized it, stored it away for the day it would actually happen. I closed my eyes and folded my hands across my stomach, waiting.

Devon came back, noisily, and sat down on the bed. "Dude, you're still dressed."

"Underwear is not dressed."

"Naked is not dressed."

I still hadn't opened my eyes. "Devon?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"I'm..." I didn't know what to say. Guys just don't tell other guys, "I'm scared." It's not done. We say stuff like, "You okay?" instead.

He lay down beside me. "You're...?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." I rolled onto my side, facing him. I smiled.

For him.

Devon brushed his lips against mine. "Wanna know something?"

"Hm?"

"I had a dream." He pushed me onto my back. "That day, when I kissed you. Remember?"

"Yeah." Not a time I was going to forget. He reached for the waistband of my boxers, tugging them down. "Dev, man, stop it. I don't want--"

He kissed me, long enough, well enough that I forgot what I was going to say. Well enough that I let him strip me naked. He lifted his head, staring at me. "I dreamed about you."

"Nice?"

I felt him nod. "Yeah. Very." He sat up, sliding a hand across my chest. "I got off on it."

I blinked at him. "Oh." There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

"Too much information?"

"Kinda takes the romance out of things." I watched him lick his way down my chest. "You know. A 'Hi, how are you, wanna fuck?' type thing."

He bit my stomach lightly. "I don't just want to fuck."

"What do you want, then?"

"Right now?"

"Now is good."

"You." Devon looked up at me, very seriously. "Right now is about right now, Oz. It shouldn't have to be about forever."

I nodded. He was right, of course. I tried to focus on him, right then, that moment.

It was hard. Not something I was in the habit of doing. But I tried.

He grinned at me, sliding further down, until I was tense with the anticipating. He rubbed his cheek against the skin of my hip, and I whimpered. Not a manly sound, but whatever. "Dev..."

I had a moment to wonder if Devon was just naturally good with his mouth, or if he had practiced, or if I was just dead and this was some new and bizarre form of hell. Just his lips, and tongue, and -- God, Oh God yes -- his teeth there and it was so good, just so incredibly right that I wanted to cry.

He didn't say anything, just pulled me closer, sliding his hands under me, pulling me up harder into his mouth. I felt his fingers, a slickness, and then, for a moment, there was nothing, just a scary floating feeling, and then I crashed, hard, always hard, back down into chaos.

I was still shaking when I realized that Devon was laughing. I should have been offended. I would have been, if it weren't so obvious that he was happy. Not mocking, not amused, just...happy.

Devon stretched out next to me and grinned. "You make nice sounds."

"Thanks."

He urged me onto my stomach, and I didn't resist. Couldn't, in fact, resist. He wanted me, all of me, and I was kinda disposed to giving it to him. "Oz man, you okay?"

"Dandy." I paused a moment. "Go slow. And be liberal with that stuff."

"Gotcha."

He stroked his hand down the center of my back. I heard a wrapper opening and then I was alone for a second, just a second, before his hands were back on my body and his mouth was pressed against my neck. He rocked against me from behind and I hissed.

No words, then. It was not the time or the place for words. Just the scent of his skin and the strength of his body, harshness, the need for more.

It hurt a little, but that good kind of hurt, like when I've been playing so long that my fingers are sore and near to bleeding 'cause my guitar strings are pretty much just dull, serrated metal, and I don't care because fuck, I'm making that thing sing.

Devon's fingers tightened on my hip, and I pushed back against him. He moaned something that could have been my name, and began to move more quickly, pushing us -- and it was an us by then -- harder, until there was nothing in the world except for him behind me, the scrape of his teeth along my neck, his hands absolutely everywhere and the tension humming along my nerves.

"Fuck," he said suddenly, and I felt his body shift slightly, and everything felt just sharper somehow, and he was shouting then, and I was not-shouting because I just don't, and then...

Then he was half-lying on top of me, and I turned and reached out to touch his mouth. "Dev?"

He grabbed my hand and pulled it around his waist, hauling me up against his side until my head was tucked under his chin. "Sleep."

"Dude, I just woke up."

"Oh. Right." Devon sighed. "Food?"

"Have none."

"Well...fuck."

"Just did."

"Smart ass."

"Love you."

Devon didn't even hesitate before he kissed the top of my head. "Love you too."

Funny how that made me happy. Even funnier how it hurt.

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Sheila Perez
Website: suspension