*****

Xander flips on the rather impressive stereo in the abandoned house -- the name on the mailbox had been too worn to read. He's not really sure why he went in after killing the snake-headed thing in the front yard, but the door had been ajar. Maybe he'd thought about clearing out a nest.

There'd been nothing but the signs of a hasty yet non-violent exit, though. Drawers pulled out, clothes and things on the floor where they'd been tossed after being rejected. Oz becomes *there* again when he buries his face in one of the pillows.

He does that, settling in and out of noticeable existence, heeling Xander silently for the most part. Touching him has become something of a reminder, on top of everything else it is. Oz is there, he's warm, alive, goodness. He appears again, growling, when it's time to kill, and at times like these:

Face hidden entirely by the plush white softness, claws flexing and relaxing, somehow without ripping it. Pulling it away to reveal half- mussed fur and a rueful almost smile:

"My mom wears that perfume."

And Xander's Mom is... where? They've somehow managed to avoid patrolling around Xander's old neighborhood, he doesn't really want to know. Can't decide *why* he doesn't want to know, but he's sure about that. The not-wanting, and they're in the family room now, which was almost entirely untouched when the family it belonged to left.

A sense of not-quite-order on the mostly neat coffee table, where something had been removed. A book? A photograph? Hummel figurines? Half-reaches and Oz is there, the sleekly smooth fur of his arms, growing distinctly *this* way, and not the other.

And the stereo is on, and it's, somehow, a Simon and Garfunkel CD. Mellow and sad, but Xander doesn't mind. Music of calmness, noise making the silent house less *empty*. Somewhere along the way, Xander has forgotten the magic of effortlessly filling space. Of making himself a *presence* beyond the garish physical.

Maybe something to do with hanging out with Oz, who is snuffling off to the left. Xander follows, not wanting to stretch their invisible tether too much.

And also maybe *he's* the one doing the heeling sometimes, and it isn't bad. He likes the way Faith's eyes light up when she teases, the bawdy, gentle good humor as she calls through the curtain to invite Xander to join her regular romps with Oz.

It makes it OK to listen, and to be both jealous and satisfied. He'd felt something akin to horror the first time he was horny enough to need to masturbate, the instant screaming neon *BETRAYAL* that had finally made him vomit, and lose his hard on. But it's getting easier. Not thinking about Kendra, not that way. Or... not for jerking off, at least, because... because it's wrong and it makes him weep.

Which makes Oz crawl onto his mattress and brace himself above Xander. Slowly, gently lick the tears away and eventually settle half-cuddled until Xander turns away. Sometimes, he can smell Faith in Oz's fur, and wants to lick back. *Wants* to join, he does, he wants it not to hurt and still be OK.

Knows it's better for it to be this little-more-OK-at-a-time thing, to take this time away from being a sixteen year old boy to be the grieving man, like... maybe somehow it'll pay for something down the road. The thoughts have no anchor beyond the sensory ones he thinks he's learning from Oz. The wind-through-winter-bare-trees smell to Oz's fur when they're sleeping, the softer wind of when they're sleeping together, holding each other.

The softest brush of touch over the curve of his morning erection, and the question in Oz's eyes.

The empty calm where the shock was missing, and shaking his head no, and Oz removing his hand -- but not himself. Fur against his bare chest, furry legs entwined in his own until Faith came to fetch them for weapons training.

Well, until several minutes later, Faith snuggled on Xander's other side, and *Giles* came to get them.

The way he'd been able to joke about needing a bigger bed to lure *him* into the ubersnuggle, and not hate himself.

The way it feels to *do* that. Hug them all, Faith extra hard and long, to make sure there's enough left over for Willow, because Faith's the only one who she touches, really. Faith: Slayer and Conveyor of the Cuddle.

And Oz's snuffling ends under the record cabinet, with the recovery of several film canisters and an odd little thing that reveals itself to be a wooden pipe carved in the looping shape of a dragon and Xander has to laugh.

"God, I love your enhanced senses."

Oz's toothy grin is never precisely unscary, but this one's nothing but happy. Something about the way light shines on the black of his eyes. Xander gestures at the plush-looking couch. "Shall we?"

"We shall." Cheerful rumble that crumbles a bit when Oz realizes his new fingers aren't the joint-rolling experts his old ones were, but when Xander points out the opportunity to suck off a dragon the mood lifts again.

And there they are, and Xander eventually finds himself studying the cherry in the bowl, the thin line of sweet-spicy smoke spiraling up and up.

And the question: Are they wasting the smoke, or are they mellowing the whole house? Because this is, indeed, the mellow kind of bud. Not sleepy, just... relaxed. Oz sprawled on the carpet, teasing at the nap with his claws, Xander laid out on the couch, one leg thrown over the back.

It occurs to him that it's probably the most vulnerable position he's allowed his body to sink into for months, and the worry of that is in his belly, gnawing a little, but not enough to take away the mellow, because hey -- the mellow has as much right to be there as anything else.

A campaign of his own mind: Free the Mellow! Make Mellow Not The Opposite of Mellow! And the giggle isn't as much of a surprise as the source of it, deep inside his head.

Uh oh.

- I haven't had this much fun since the Saracens! -

- Er... what? -

Focusing inward, that little spirit-space of something that Xander thinks is located somewhere between his medulla oblongata -- God he loves that name -- and the Void. And there's the Warrior, dancing.

Which is whoa in and of itself.

But he's dancing with *Cordelia*.

Who is smiling, and laughing, and clapping and doing her own dance which bears no relation whatsoever to what the Warrior is doing, which is something that looks vaguely Greek and vaguely really, really old. There's some sort of music playing, something like metal and stone and Cordelia...

- She's my memories, isn't she? - Times at the Bronze, Jesse... God, Jesse at his side and both of them filled with obsession and hate for Cordelia Chase, moving in her own queendom of the dance floor.

- Of course! Dance with us, Xander, she was lovely... -

- But... the other memories... -

And the Warrior breaks the dance to go to Xander, leaving Cordelia to shimmer oddly to one with a pout, and a tapping foot. Her clothes keep changing, too, but it's all *her* and there he is. A large man with long dark hair in a braid hanging to his waist, muscled and scarred and bronze, with warm brown eyes and facial features that shift too much to be sure of.

- Past grief, Xander. I cannot say I apppprove of your manner of relaxation, ale should be quite enough... - Trailing off into giggles. - I'm so *stern*! Oh, Xander, you should have known me when I was human... but I was saying. - More laughter. - Oh, I was saying *something*, wasn't I? -

And they're standing in a stone courtyard, and there's the ghostly spice of something that grows, maybe a fruit Xander will never taste and Cordelia. Cordelia is lovely. - Live for today? -

- Aye. And if you will not dance with usss... -

Eloquent shrug, slight bow, and then the Warrior begins trying some of Cordelia's moves, which is definitely Xander's cue to bail.

Blinking back to himself, to the music which has shifted to something mellow and in Spanish. Simultaneous urges to move and... and not be alone. "Oz?"

Something between a purr and a growl in response, and Oz's eyes are heavy-lidded, darker now for the slight concealment and Xander can't say anything else, can only half-move in indecision until Oz crawls over, and puts his hand over Xander's heart.

Breathes Xander in.

"I... I need. Oz."

Soft nod and Oz is pushing up Xander's t-shirt, tracing absent runes and creating new ones with his warm, wet tongue. Whisper that Xander can't so much hear as *feel*. Something holding his heart, gentle but implacably firm.

"Ohhh..." And he knows he sounds as broken as he feels, fleeting wish for Oz to simply gut him, leave him to die for needing this, so much worse than simple want, but oh, oh, it wasn't *him*. Oz would never... Oz had been falling for her, too, he *knew*, and Oz.

Crawling up onto the couch, hot and hard against Xander's hip.

Can't help but ask: "Do you need this, too?"

Open howl, short and locking eyes with Oz... Jesus, so much pain. And the need and Xander sits up before he can think, strips off his shirt and squeezes his eyes shut when Oz brushes the dull side of a claw over his nipple. When it makes him moan.

Oz touching him all over, furred palms tickling Xander's sides, knuckles brushing his armpits. Tugging at the hair and Xander's sweating. Brain liquid inside him, thick and tingling, slow waves of motion in his head, in his body and Oz, nuzzling his face against Xander's skin.

The sudden knowledge that these are Oz's kisses. All over Xander's body, nuzzle and taste and brush and oh, god. Making love. Oz making love to him.

Xander digs his fingers into Oz's hair, touches the ridges, tracing them over and over until Xander has to open his eyes. Watching Oz pressing almost desperately into the touches. Palm, gently to Oz's mouth, the tortured stretch of his lips.

Leaning up now, can't break eye contact, holds Oz's head as still as he can and kisses him. Soft, careful brushes, all around Oz's mouth, tonguing at his lips, pressing body to body and humping helplessly. Need to find, touch, *have*.

"Not alone..."

And Oz only nods before pushing back into the touches, reaching down to undo Xander's pants. Momentary flash of pain where Oz accidentally scratches him and only a moment to see the shocked horror plain on Oz's face and he has to kiss it away, touch, and hold and he brings his own fingers to the wound.

A little blood on his fingertips, and offered freely to Oz, who shakes his head but doesn't resist when Xander paints his lips with it, tries to soothe away the tautness, something. *Give* to Oz and he can't think but his body knows, and trusts.

Pulls away to shimmy out of pants and shorts, brings Oz's hand down to his cock and "please."

Oz licking his lips and shuddering, abruptly dropping to his knees and *wrapping* his tongue around Xander's cock and Xander thrusts and yells and slumps and

"oh god *please* --"

Oz's tongue, halfway around. Dry, muscular, curling licks that chafe Xander and make his cock drool and Oz growls. Maybe at the scent. The thought that he somehow smells *good* to Oz, maybe even wonderful and Oz has to taste. Yes, *has* to.

Xander thrusts and thrusts, digs his fingers into the fabric of the couch and Oz holding his cock steady with one hand, rubbing at Xander's thigh with the other, teasing at the hairless tender flesh of the inner thigh, tickling at his balls and Xander wants so *badly*.

Inside, and God, that brings the image. Human Oz, somehow, on his knees to Xander and sucking him so *deep* and the tongue is good but not enough and Xander wants to fuck and he wants to cry.

Pushes Oz away and *knows* Oz was thinking the same thing Xander was and it's just too *much* all of a sudden. Much too hard and

"*Xander*."

Plea and demand. Let me touch you. Let me have you any and every way I can and Xander shakes his head. "We have to go back to the house --"

"*No*, not now, Xander please *let* me --"

So many words at once, all slurred and growled in that shame thing, that hatred Oz has for his inhumanity and Xander suddenly *aches*. All over. Oz's sadness is just... oh it's just too much and there has to be something --

"Let me taste you. God --"

Shaking free of Xander's grip and the struggle is brief because the care -- the *love* in Oz's touch is that much more obvious, burning him all over and yes, he can spread his legs, arch and cry at the slash of tongue across the head of his dick and *writhe* when Oz goes beyond.

Goes *there* and his protest comes out broken and vowelled and Oz is *lifting* him and holding him and *fuck*.

Tasting him and oh... oh Jesus *inside*.

Oz *fucking* him with his too-long tongue, in impossibly deep and whipping inside him like a snake and Xander feels tears forming and lets them fall because it's lightning, he can't tell if it hurts or not, knows it shouldn't hurt the way he knows thermodynamics, which is not at all. Whole buddy buzzing, nerve endings flaring, everything everything touching him is so *demanding*, even the air around his cock.

Oz's tongue so far inside, the noises he's making. The noises Xander makes, open and wet and needful and he's so *hard* and it's like his arms have forgotten how to do anything other than twitch spasmodically whenever Oz does that *curl* thing Xander can feel. Can't touch himself and wants to so *bad*.

Relentless Oz and Xander's crying for real now and the Warrior, somewhere deep, is also aroused. Xander *knows* this and it's like. Oh God, it's like being fucked right where it counts. Big horny Warrior guy deep inside his head maybe.... oh God, maybe in one of Xander's fantasies and suddenly he can see the Warrior pounding into Faith as she cries out, as he cries out, as Oz finally pulls away, mouth red and strands of spit connecting them still.

Like slow-motion, looking up and up and catching Xander. Seeing him like *this* and oh... oh what would it be like? "Fuck me... oh please Oz just *fuck* me."

Slow, too-gentle scrape of claws over his chest. Oz's shaking hand and utter stillness. Oz trying to hold on to control for one heartbeat more and then Xander wriggles free enough to get on his hands and knees. Hears something growl inside him, and Oz.

Oz spreading his cheeks and diving in again, faster, deeper, and Xander feels dangerously, embarrassingly *open* but he also feels like thrusting back on that impossible tongue, moving his hips for it with no Oz to control it. Mental image of himself, utterly submissive in posture and writhing like... like something right out of his fantasies and *knowing* in his gut that he's driving Oz *wild*.

And when it comes it's slick, and hot, and absolutely huge and Xander's spread so wide, Oz's thumb claws tickling and scratching and burning at the edges of his hole, making him convulse, tighten but Oz just pushes and it hurts, oh fuck and he needs to breathe, deep gulps of air that somehow help, or maybe it's just being light-headed and floaty that helps, away from the terrible pressure in his ass that just.

Oh, God, just keeps going and Xander's face feels hot and he's sweating and scared and so *full*.

Pause and Oz *inside*. Waiting. Xander lets his head fall and relaxes and *wails* when suddenly Oz drives in another inch, another fucking *mile* and Xander's ass is snug against Oz's hips, at least until he splits wide open, until Oz destroys him like that and Xander moans on each exhale now. It *burns* and it... it's this weird tickle that makes him need to move even though it hurts and suddenly Oz spits on his back and Xander's cock *jumps*.

Hairy hard finger pushing the spit around, down and soothing his crease. Oz spits again, and again and it rolls around where they're joined and it's warm and slick on his back and Xander... oh, God, Xander feels so *owned*.

Warrior inside has no words, soft rough grunts and he's already fucking, or being fucked and oh yeah oh yeah, he could push the Warrior down to the stone and *have* him and Oz *flexes* and Xander can't help it, tries to move away and Oz slipping out... oh it's taking *everything* and before he knows what he's doing Xander *slams* back and Oz barks. Barks like when he's close and Faith is drumming her heels and then it's over.

Starting over with push after push that makes Xander shake his head, try to deny this thing so far *inside* him. Oz inside and taking him and his body wants to follow Oz when he slips out and his body welcomes him back, entirely without Xander's consent but he *asked* for this.

Asked for it.

Begged for it and wriggled his ass and now... now he's getting it, all of it, deep and Xander scrabbles at the carpet, moans and gasps and fights and fucks back on it, taking Oz deeper, hitting this *spot* that makes Xander white out and *yell* and it's hard and it still hurts but it's *melting* him. Making him soft and needy and spreading all over his body and every time Oz barks, Xander helplessly shoots another load of pre-come.

Connecting himself to the carpet, the house, the utter lack of mellow that he thinks could just... take him away forever, stronger than the void, the Warrior, *everything*.

"*Oz* --"

And yes, yes, calling his name is right, necessary, because it makes him fuck Xander harder, faster, claws ghosting over his back and barks harsh and loud and knowing Oz can't control them... god, fucking *werewolf* taking him and marking him and making him yell and then scream because there's *more*.

Oz swelling, thrusts getting shorter and more vicious as he just gets bigger and oh shit oh shit Xander can't take this *can't*, trying to get away again and just getting fucked harder and then Oz's hand is wrapped around the back of Xander's neck and he's being held.

Held down and fucked and jesus christ *tied*.

"You don't do this with Faith!"

"Not... *fuck*, Xander you're so tight -- And I... oh it happens sometimes but... I can usually..." Trailing off into more barks and a howl and ragged thrusts deep inside and the knot sends these almost visible deep red trails of need and his cock doesn't know *what* to do and Xander wants to laugh and scream and run but settles for bracing himself on one shaky arm to take hold of his cock.

Suddenly *grateful* cock, leaping into his touch, slick as it's ever been in Xander's life and it makes him bear down on Oz who's still thrusting despite being *lodged*, growling and holding him and having him.

Couldn't pull out if he tried and Xander makes it as slow as he can and finds himself rubbing his cheek against the carpet and he wants something on his nipples. His nipples *ache* and then he's upright and screaming and Oz and Oz's *knot* get driven that much deeper and Xander shoots another load and Oz growls and growls against his neck and scrapes at Xander's nipple and *moves*.

Hips pistoning, fuzzy balls slapping him on each upthrust and Xander lets his head fall back, digs and nuzzles into strong, lean shoulder and shockingly bare throat that he has to lick, taste. Reaching back between his legs to just *feel* and can't believe his body is taking *that* and teases himself and he somehow gets even harder and suddenly Oz is *roaring* and coming what feels like *waves* of slick blood heat deep inside and oh oh fuck --

"Oz, I'm --"

Coming like a fountain, smacking himself in the chin and spattering his chest and hitting carpet, too, because apparently it had been a *while* and Oz holding on so tight he can only slump there, hopelessly connected.

Finally, gently to the floor, spooned and there's wetness on his back where Oz's face is and that's OK because Xander's cheeks are wet, too.

Reaches and grabs Oz's hand, twines their fingers together and holds on tight.

Wonders what Giles will be like stoned.

End.