"Hey, X-Man -- you got yourself a groupie!" "I'm still not going out there in tights, Rock, and what? Groupie? Where?"

The other man smiled, nodded at the door. "Right outside, baby. Waitin' for the digits."

"Oh, man. Who the hell let the Twitch backstage?" The Twitch was a man somewhere between the age of 30 and dead who wrapped lovenotes around the bills he shoved in Xander's pants. Rock's grin got even wider, white-on-white teeth against approximately 3 acres of heavily muscled dark caramel flesh. If Xander ever went to prison, he wanted to be Rock's bitch.

"Now would I do that to you?"

Xander glared as best he could. He didn't think the chocolate passion lipstick /"hey, if you don't use it the lights'll make it look like you got no mouth, white boy"/ worked very well, though. "Awww, come on now, baby. This one don't even smell funny... in fact, if you don't want him..."

Xander snorted. "Is the romance dead already, Rock?"

With that, Rock narrowed his eyes, parted his lips, and ran one large, scarred hand over his crotch. Xander reacted with a not-quite-muted sproing and started to walk toward the other man. It was amazing how quickly a person could get used to things and --

Another laugh, positively evil this time. "Ah, ah, ah... you -- *snif* -- belong to another now."

And with that, Rock swung open the door and... well, there was no other word for it, sashayed out and past a guy who closed the door behind him and turned out to be Oz.

"Oz! Jesus!"

"Xander. Mohammed." Utterly deadpan save for something in his eyes. "Nice lipstick." Xander blinked. He knew that blink from the inside out, or maybe the other way around, because he knew people thought of it as his Village Idiot face.

On the inside, Xander was running through a huge list of all the things he could do, from scrubbing off the makeup to putting on a robe to cover his g-string to giving Oz a hello hug to screaming like a little girl to running away --

In the end, though, he settled on "eep." Oz nodded. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Uhhh... no?"




Xander gave up on speech and pointed toward the stool.

"Thanks." An Oz smile. "So... new look?" "More like a uniform, actually. Though oddly still more tasteful than the Wendy's clothes."

"Gold lame."


"The Wendy's uniforms. A lot better with gold lame."

Xander settled back into the low makeup chair and smiled himself. This was... slightly more familiar. He could babble. He could definitely babble. "But they would be all Elvis-like then."

"The King is the King, Xander."

"The King is dead, man. Time to move on." "Time is an illusion."

"I don't think so -- the song clearly states that time, it is a river."

"It's cruel to put a bad song in a musician's head, Xander. I thought more of you than that."

"I do what I have to do."

A pause then. Awkward enough to make Xander consider, then reconsider, crossing his legs, apparently not awkward enough for Oz to break in with... something. The other man was studying the dressing room with a sort of calm intent that made Xander remember too many details about the prior few weeks. The car, first and foremost. The hours spent by the side of the road waiting for someone to stop. Xander hadn't been able to decide whether he wanted to look innocuous or tough, and had settled, as usual, on blank. The smell of fried cheese under his fingernails, the way his balls tried to go back home the first time the owner put him on stage, the taste of Rock's dick in his mouth...

What had Oz seen when Rock had brushed past him? Fuck, what had he smelled?

"... further east by now."

"What? Oh, I... the engine abandoned the rest of the car just outside of town." Oz nodded, fingered the zebraskin pants hanging next to his head.

"You? I mean, what are you doing here?"

Another pause, and then Oz sent him an entirely different sort of smile over his shoulder. "Closest stripjoint to Sunnydale."

"So you come to stripjoints to er... what?"

Another smile, and then back to the zebraskins. "Devon would love these. Are they for sale?"

"Er," Xander reiterated. "Maybe?"

"Cool. I'll ask the owner on the way out. So."


"You want to know why I go to stripjoints."

"Yes. Well, no. Sort of... I'm sure it has something to do with anthropology and several other ologies that I'll have to nod and smile at."

"Well, there is something to be said for the way strippers re-enact ancient mating rituals for the enjoyment of all. Something like the way roosters strut around the henyard, showing off their full, firm combs and fanned tail-feathers."

"I see..."

"Every other species on earth, fish to ferrett to fowl, has the male find some way to declare his worth to the female. The endless drive toward genetic immortality... Anyway, humans kind of missed the point on that. Except for the male strippers."

"Oz... you have a very nice voice." And it was true, he did. Nothing fancy, just a low, calm matter-of- factness that was as basically true as... the buttons on a shirt. Xander shook it off. Tried to, anyway.

"Thanks. I like your nipples."

Xander coughed, felt his eyes trying to escape his skull by main force. And said nipples were apparently voice-activated. "Excuse me?"

"They're a nice shade of red-brown. A sort of rust, if rust was ever smooth. Medium sized and erect now. They seem very touchable, really."

"Uh... maybe? Thank you?"

"One of our less direct mating rituals, the exchange of compliments. You acknowledge that the sound of my mating cries are pleasing, I point out that your breast is quite firm and desirable."

"..." Xander tried again. "But aren't you part wolf?" No, Xander, he's just been faking the hair and the claws and the what have you.

"Sort of. But yes, I do find myself wanting sniff your groin and buttocks. Possibly lick them as well, though that could be the human part of me, too."

Xander realized he was gripping the arms of his chair. White-knuckling, really. He wanted very badly to say the name "Willow," see what it would do. But he also wanted very badly to hear... more. Oz's voice in quantities this high... it was like bathing in tootsie roll goodness. Irresistibly bad for him.

He didn't have to look down at the g-string to know that his cock was trying to nudge and push and, well, batter its way out into the open air. He also didn't have to look because Oz was looking for him, gaze yellowing slightly at the edges.

And there was memory in that look, Xander's own. A rising chorus of 'take it take it take it' right behind his eyes and an urge to... relax. He crossed his legs, left ankle on right knee. The edge of the g-string pressed against his cock, but his wince felt more like a smile. Xander adjusted himself.

"So you come to study our solo mating rituals, Oz?" It was amazing what speaking through a lazy smile did to his voice.

Oz met his eyes at last, yellow-black flashing at brown shot through with memory. "Nope. I come to watch the pretty boys dance for me." Toothy grin. "For my money."

Something bright and sharp inside and Xander swallowed it down. "Suck me."

For one brief moment Oz's upper lip pulled back from his teeth even further, showcasing the slight extra curve of his canines and Xander had just enough time to feel his back hairs try to rise before the other man had grabbed his ankle and forcibly spread his legs.

Yanked him down into a slouch and tore off the g-string.

Xander buried his fingers in Oz's thick and vaguely springy hair and tugged him close and that was it, that was all, game fucking over inside greedy wet heat. Xander spread wider and held Oz in place, jerked and shuddered at the scrape of Oz's fingernails over his calves and ankles --

"Fuck yeah --!"

Oz's wet little tongue slashing at him from within the heat, Oz's drool slipping out unheeded around Xander's cock, dripping back to his balls, teasing at his asshole and yeah, there was an idea but he had no idea how to say it out loud. Every moment of voice was going into the necessary groans and curses because Oz had clearly done this at least as many times as Xander had, and loved it.

He could see it.

Eyes wide open and fixed on Xander's, hands firmly around Xander's ankles, squeezing and stroking and Xander didn't know which one of them Oz was trying to ground and couldn't, couldn't care because Oz finally closed his eyes when Xander began fucking his mouth in earnest. Sloppy corkscrewing twists up up up and around and up and one hand was trying to claw through to Oz's skull and his other... his other made talking unnecessary.

Slipped under Oz's head to get down, get back and there's not enough spit down there for this but Xander has to. Gets one finger in and in and in and for a second he just wants to fuck himself but his thrusts take him much too far and there it is. The nut. The blessed little bump that makes Xander throw his head back and howl in chuffing little bursts of sound.

That makes him try to shoot the back of Oz's head off from the inside.

Oz pulls off while Xander is still spasming, spits white ropy spunk into his own palm and Xander can see it through slitted eyes and he knows he knows so he slides off the chair. On the floor and on his back and deep fucking inside the sex. Inside the fuck because his body can't decide whether to stiffen or melt and it doesn't matter at all.

Oz thrusts a slick slick finger inside and Xander's body clenches on it hard don't go don't stay more and he forces his body wider, breathes deep and gets his own fingers back there to help.

Until Oz slaps him away.

Shared look and it's scary and Oz's pupils are slightly too wide, black swallowing everything else, and there's enough hunger on his face to make Xander's cock try to reach for the sky again and his feet reposition themselves just behind Oz's shoulders and pull.

Heavy nudge and the sound of his panting and the cooling sweat on his back and push push wait push and Xander yells again and Oz joins him and for a moment there's only the sound and the fuck, burn rising higher and higher before cresting on the edge of his own groan and Oz swallows it down.

Mouth to mouth and connected rutting yeah yeah give it and Xander braces one hand on the floor and meets every thrust, slightly off rhythm but much too good, too good to stop and readjust and Oz's lip brushes past his own and Xander bites down, tastes blood and Oz is coming hard and hot inside him while Xander shakes like a dog and takes it.

Collapse body to body and breathe. So salty and thick in the air and Xander needs another taste so he takes one. Takes Oz's wounded mouth and slips his tongue in and wallows in the wet messiness of the kiss, in the taste of Oz's harsh pants. Xander is on the edge of getting hard again but this... just the kissing... this is too good to stop. Necessary to know, taste, have.

He doesn't know whose growl settles between them like a vicious little purr.

He doesn't care.

Footsteps from outside the door make his whole body clench, so he's ready for the booming knocks. "Ten minutes, loverboy..."

"Fuck off, Rock."

Laughter and fading footsteps and this time he knows it's his own growl. But he lets Oz cut it off with a bite just behind his ear.

"Save it for the stage, Xander. I'll be watching."