*****

Xander watches. Part of him is smiling, and he knows it shows in the twitch at the corner of his mouth. This is going to be good. Better than the other times, even the one last night that left him too tired to shave this morning.

Oz is already naked, half-hard cock bobbing as he shifts. Oz always seems to want to watch him, study him, search him for whatever it is that makes them both want this, maybe. The hair at his groin is ginger-red, tightly curled.

Lighter hair around pink fragile nipples to bite and suck.

Times like these, bodies -- *this* body -- is a series of free spaces, put together more neatly than most. Oz up on one elbow now, stroking himself as Xander peels out of the shirt, opens the top button of his cutoffs. Scratches his abdomen and continues to stare.

Oz's body makes him feel huge, and terrible. He wants to use Oz, roughly and repeatedly. Casually hold him down, knowing the wolf could come out at any moment Oz became too... frightened?

Of him? Xander's hard and the shorts are much too tight.

He wants to do everything he can to Oz, make him cry out over and over. Make him lose that control, one more victory over his life prior to Toth -- break the man who stole his Willow, make him pay with his ass, his mouth. His whole fucking body.

And perhaps there should be at least one eureka! in here in regards to his sudden understanding of his sexuality, but Xander was beyond that the moment he first took Oz deep. Sucked his sweat and pre-come slicked cock and made Oz.

The sounds.

Slap of flesh on flesh, slick wetness and Oz's breathless grunts. There is surrender, even in this. Oz is giving him sound.

Had Willow seen this? Ever?

Flushed pink and watching her boyfriend, her first lover, touch himself like this... had he held her gaze? Forced her to keep looking no matter what? Stupid, that was more like him, or the person he was late at night, unable to sleep for the raging hard-on and the stink of his own sweat and frustration --

Taking hold and spinning out anything, everything, though never this.

Xander hasn't asked Oz why, and that's just as damning as the rest, he thinks.

And thinks he'll know Oz's body by touch alone before he *does* ask. If he does.

"Xander..."

One word, making him shiver. Need and demand, without Anya's gorgeously haughty expectation. Wishes he had the balls to call her down here. Share this with her, try to make it right, somehow.

Oz is arching up into his own touch, flat on his back again. Twisting and pulling on his nipples, reaching down to cup and squeeze the soft heft of his sac. Anya would knock his hands aside and straddle him. Ride him.

Breasts bouncing, sweat rolling down her back. Shameless cries for more, harder, deeper, even when she controlled the motion herself.

Xander behind and probing at her, hooking at her insides just a little too dry, a little too rough and precisely the way she wants it. So much different from the assortment of dildos they've used, even the big, black one that made her eyes widen and her mouth go slack and Xander's rubbing himself through the shorts.

Moving to get a better view.

"*Xander* --"

Oz pumping a little faster, squeezing at the root and up and flick and down and squeeze and there's that smile. Aerobics for the horny. Xander skinned his pants down and crawled on to the bed. Knelt at Oz's side and watched and Oz watched and Xander pumped and Oz's mouth was. Open.

Shift position and straddle him, Oz's cock tip tracing crazy patterns all over Xander's ass and this is something that won't end quietly beyond the desert.

This is something he has to push back on, gather in to himself however he can because Oz is this little furnace and Xander. Heh. Wants to burn. Nothing like a little self-destruction to make it feel like life. Nothing in the world like Oz's cock slipping awkwardly between the cheeks of his ass and *moving*. Chafing rub twice as sexy as it should be. More with Oz so *into* it.

They're holding each other's eyes and Oz's squared and callused hands are pushing and pulling on Xander's hips...

Bending down for a kiss. Tasting Oz and pure acid need. Something animal about it, sure. Too-heavy musk in the air. Too many ways to make this... special.

And he loves Anya, way down deep and when she cries he will, too, and when she leaves, he will... Well, he'll move on. Wasn't that the best lesson of them all? Strong, strong Xander always getting up for more. Always adapting and changing for... anything.

Including Oz's somehow unsurprising desire. Xander's response had suited the situation perfectly, in some universe where common sense was entirely optional.

At some point, he's going to let Oz fuck him, bareback and raw and right. Xander wants it so badly he can feel it in his palms, his feet... indifferent lust stigmata and the need to be fucked into a mattress. He wonders if Oz knows it. If sometime in all the staring he's read Xander like a book. *When* he did.

Right now it's just necessary to be spread out all over Oz, blanket him absolutely. Press the calloused fingertips with his own. Lick around the outside of Oz's mouth and grind himself down and forward, swinging little circle of hips, like maybe somebody just forgot to bring the music to this party. Or just maybe the music is of that modern, avant-garde variety, like a big red circle on a white background, like the shift and slide of wet on wet on hard.

Like Oz's steady stream of curses: Fuck. Fuck. *Fuck* and he's grinding, too, panting. Eyes open and steady on Xander's own. This is *Oz*, beneath him, writhing under him and digging thankfully short nails into the flesh of Xander's ass.

"Just... just don't wolf out on me now --"

Laugh, teasing, horrifying flash of wet black eyes, shiny impossible pools of beast that appear just long enough to send a jolt through Xander's entire body and then fade back into Oz's own green/hazel. Pretty eyes and he wants to --

Leans in and licks a stripe over one eyelid, tracing the eyebrow. Salt and that tight, tight face skin so fucking *hot*.

And this... this *thing*. Cocks together and humping, shifting. Struggling for a better angle and being just *teased* with it and Xander wants more. *Needs* it, suddenly, like he needs for this to be some other guy with some *other* other guy and not the two of them but that's not gonna happen.

Pry loose, some of those fingerprints are gonna bruise that way and Oz's chest.

So fucking *lean*. Heaving. Heart so close beneath the surface and pounding.

"You *want* this."

"Yeah. I do. Still. More."

Fucking... fucking *balls* for Oz to just... just *demand* this, as if they weren't, as if Xander wasn't -- "Oz."

"Xander."

"Gonna come all over you --"

"Oh, *shit*."

Setting himself up right, on his knees but still over Oz, pressing his slim thighs together with his own. Teasing Oz's cock with his own. Up and down, slick and around. This. Is better. More of whatever it is between them. Slick and slick like building up some kind of wet charge that'll fry them to the cheap sheets.

And then just. Jacking himself. Better and worse that it's his own hand but he's not alone. That he's got an audience for this that's just *hungry*. Oz is hungry, and Xander's got old Duran Duran ridiculously in his head for a moment before there's just the pump of fist on cock. v Pre-come leaking out all over Oz's twitching dick, dripping on to his balls and settling there. Wants to lick himself off of Oz's skin. Wants to get him good and spattered first. Just primitive enough to want to mark him, taste him, fuck *piss* on him and that --

Oz in the shower on his knees eyes wide open and ready, god, so ready --

Rocks Xander to the core, and he knows he's babbling, and that it's all pretty hopeless when it comes down to comprehension. Slaps Oz's hand away from his cock, wants to hit it dead on.

Dead. On.

Oz glittering up at him, just exactly like a man with a rock-hard cock denied satisfaction. Oh, and what's in his head? Is it Willow? Is he remembering? Fuck, can't hold on to anything like right. Head back and stroking himself fast, raw, endless looping eyelid movie of his piss, his come, his anything all over Oz and dripping. Rolling. Fuck *yes* --

Random *noise* out of his mouth as he shoots, tries to aim. Gets most on Oz's torso, but a nice, creamy spurt is coating that thick, purple head. Just right. Just *right*.

"Xander *fuck*, *do* me --"

And that's right, that's fine, no *problem*. Slide on down and mouth it, nuzzle it, suck it rub it take it down. Xander has no bones anymore, he's just a collection of muscle and wet, salty flesh, put together for Oz to use, be used by. Hot rush of blood to his cheeks at the taste -- *their* taste -- together. It's all just come, and Xander wants to bathe in it. Return the favor.

*Something*.

Settles for getting his mouth real tight around Oz's dick and sucking hard, brutal. One hand teasing at the root, the other slicking around in all the come and then down and back where it's hotter. Tighter.

Teases and teases until he starts to tremble a little with the force of this -- this *thing* -- between them and then he can't be gentle. Thrusts in two fingers hard and crooks as Oz bucks. And yes, oh yes, he screams, and comes, and Xander's eyes want to roll back in his head and he needs his fingers to be his cock and he doesn't stop fucking and sucking until Oz begs.

*Then* he can. Roll off and try to catch his breath. Eye-level with Oz's softening dick, legs hanging half off the bed. Oz is sprawled, panting and cursing and abruptly digging his fingers into Xander's hair and *tugging*. Just hard enough to hurt, make Xander want to twist, fight, bite *fuck*.

God, he can do this. All fucking day.

Post-coital idiocy and truth all in one and it hits Xander like a brick to the chest, making him feel like a walking cave-in. "Oz, oh shit, *Oz*... What the fuck are we going to do?"

Oz only pulls his hair in response, and that's... that's just so funny he's gonna *die*.

Because Oz understands perfectly, Xander knows this. This thing now... it's in the blood.

End