World Without End
Oz curled up in the corner of the cage, knees drawn tightly to his chest as
he shivered in the coolness of the early morning. The rough stone was cold
against his bare skin, and he huddled tighter, trying to conserve what little
warmth remained to him. He was pale, and thin; more so than he should have
been. The near-constant letting of blood coupled with less than adequate
nourishment left Oz weak and trembling. It was not, perhaps, the best
situation he could have been in.
But, in his mind, it beat being dead or a vampire. So he did whatever was
asked of him, played whatever twisted little game his owners wanted to play,
and smiled the best he could. He comforted himself with thoughts of escape
that he knew were lies. It wasn't a life, but it was survival, and it was
more than enough.
The door to the basement opened, letting in a sliver of light and Oz willed
himself not to flinch. Things got so much worse when the vampires thought he
was afraid. Fear inspired them, turned them on, fucked him over. Most
things did, nowadays.
Oz tried to remember happier times; before the vampires had gained power,
when people had been free to roam around at night and have a good chance of
surviving till morning. It was easier to stay calm when he could be
somewhere else mentally. Anywhere was better than a cage. Anywhere had to
The door to his cage opened then, the sound registering somewhere in the back
of Oz's mind. He didn't look up. Vampires hated when their playthings made
A pair of boots came into view, and still, he didn't look up. The vampire
crouched in front of him, then touched his chin, tilting his head up gently.
Oz opened his eyes and shivered.
"Cold?" Rupert Giles' voice was soft and accented, his touch gentle, and Oz
was torn between the desire to shriek in terror or crawl into the shelter
that the vampire's arms offered.
Oz shook his head. "No, sir."
"You shivered. Surely you're not afraid of me?"
Stark, raving terrified, more like it. Oz dropped his eyes, focusing
somewhere in the vicinity of Giles' chest. "No, sir. Of course not."
Giles turned Oz's head gently, tsking at the sight of several bite marks on
his neck. He touched the marks lightly and Oz shivered again. "Have you been
bitten anywhere else?"
"Um..." Oz shrugged helplessly then nodded. Giles did so hate for his pet
to be abused.
Oz flinched, shame making him want to hide. Hesitantly he extended an arm,
showing the already-healing marks at his wrist and elbow. There were more,
but maybe Giles would be angry enough at the marks he had already seen to
leave Oz alone for the day. It happened sometimes.
But not today. Oz hunched his shoulders more and mumbled the answer, hoping
that the answer would be enough. There were four popular places for draining
blood. The neck, the wrist, the bend of the elbow, and the thigh. The first
three were common enough, but the last was generally reserved for a mortal in
the service of a single vampire.
Giles unfastened the chains binding Oz to the wall and tilted his head up
again. "Look at me."
Slowly, reluctantly, Oz looked into the vampire's eyes. They were normal
eyes, a rich hazel color, with wrinkles at the corners. Giles had not been a
young man when he was changed. There was a scar on his forehead, barely
visible but still there. All in all it was a handsome face, and under
different circumstances, in a different world, Oz would cheerfully have given
this man anything that he wanted.
Giles was silent, studying Oz's face carefully before leaning forward and
kissing him gently. Oz closed his eyes and kissed him back, sinking into the
familiar coolness of the vampire's body. The world narrowed down to the feel
of Giles against him, Giles' tongue in his mouth, Giles' hands gripping his
shoulders hard enough to bruise. Everything else faded into insignificance;
there was no room for fear, or hate, or anything but the taste of him on Oz's
tongue, the pleasure Giles always, always made him feel.
That was the danger of Giles. In his own twisted, sadistic sort of way, he
loved Oz, and treated him relatively well because of it. It was a drowning
sort of love, as Giles took more and more of who and what Oz was, leaving
nothing behind except the tattered remains of a personality. What terrified
Oz was that he responded to it, willingly giving Giles whatever he wanted.
Oz had no need for an identity. He didn't exist except as Giles wanted him.
He was a willing body, a sounding board, a continual source of fresh blood.
He was nothing. Giles was all.
The kiss ended suddenly as Giles yanked Oz's head back and growled softly.
Oz had a brief vision of inhuman features and then Giles' mouth was fastened
onto his neck. A single sharp pain became a continuous, nauseating ache and
Oz slumped against the feeding vampire's shoulder. He reached up, touching
the soft hair at the nape of Giles' neck, stroking his hand down the smooth
skin of Giles' back.
Giles pulled Oz tighter against his body, one hand on Oz's lower back, the
other cradling the back of Oz's head, holding him still. Then he was being
pushed back, onto the floor, Giles still pressed firmly against him, the
rough stones of the floor digging into the skin of his back. He could feel
the vampire's growing erection against his stomach and he whimpered, trying
to move, to arch up against the suddenly warm body.
He ignored the rushing in his ears, and the way everything in his line of
site was fading away to a blinding white. He ignored his body's refusal to
cooperate with his mind's commands, ignored the fact that his hands were no
longer moving. He struggled for a moment, lifting his head to place a tender
kiss against Giles' shoulder, sighing and closing his eyes as he let himself
relax back onto the ground.
And then Giles was pulling away, turning Oz over and he couldn't move,
couldn't get up onto his knees, could only feel Giles' fingers stroking
lightly down his spine, Giles' lips grazing the back of his neck. He heard
the command to get up, fought to obey, and failed, falling back to the ground
in misery. Oz could feel the slow trickle of blood on his neck and the
wetness of tears on his cheeks. He tried again, and again to get to his
knees, failing each time. Finally he gave up and just lay there with his
cheek pressed to the ground, whispering apologies until even that grew to be
too much of an effort.
Then Giles was gone and Oz was left alone and miserable, wondering if someone
could die from feeling empty.
A month later he came to the conclusion that no, it wasn't possible. The
emptiness went on forever, an ache somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.
It didn't grow duller with the passage of time, just shifted forms, now sharp
and piercing, now a slow, steady pressure stealing the breath from his lungs.
Oz lay in the corner, staring blankly at the wall across from him. It took
too much effort to move or sit up. He had failed, and he was all alone
again. No one, not even the newly raised vampires, came to him to break the
monotony. He was useless, discarded, unworthy of any sort of attention.
Giles came back then, unlocking the chains and picking Oz up easily, cradling
him against his chest. Oz curled trustingly into the other man's body, too
tired to care that he was probably going to die now and just letting himself
pretend that he was being held in love.
He was carried into a washroom and placed gently into the tub. Giles turned
the water on, and Oz moaned softly as the heat from the water seeped into him
and relaxed muscles that had been tense for far too long. The sound made
Giles smile. "Duck your head, love."
Oz slid under the water, closing his eyes as the warmth wrapped around him.
Giles tugged him up and smiled again, reaching for the basket of soaps and
shampoos the lay on the edge of the tub. He picked one and squeezed a
generous amount into his hand. Oz closed his eyes and tried not to move as
Giles' fingers combed through his hair. He was good, staying still even when
Giles' hands slid below the surface of the water to wash his back and his
Oz looked up, meeting Giles' amused eyes. They stared at each other for a
long moment, until Giles leaned forward and kissed him, lifting him out of
the water and carrying him to another room. Giles tossed him onto the bed
and began to undress slowly, watching Oz's face and body for a reaction. Oz
sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed until they were flat on
the floor. He was aroused and made no effort to hide it, the shame at
wanting Giles long since relegated to a deeply buried part of his mind.
Giles was smiling tenderly as he walked over to where Oz sat on the bed. He
leaned over, grabbing Oz's head and kissing him roughly, stealing Oz's breath
as he had stolen everything else. Oz felt features twist and shift, and when
he pulled away he saw the demon. Giles spoke and Oz obeyed, sliding to his
knees and opening his mouth as Giles thrust forward.
Oz reached up, fingers digging into the skin of Giles' hips as he pulled the
vampire closer. Oz wanted roughness, wanted the casual brutality he was used
to from the other vampires. He wanted to force Giles into a role he could
hate, instead of the dangerous warmth that pushed for Oz to give up
everything if it would please the vampire. He sucked harder, teeth scraping
gently over the tip of Giles' cock.
Giles grabbed Oz's head, pulling him back forcibly before slapping him. From
a regular person, the slap would have stung briefly. From Giles, it snapped
his head back, sending Oz sprawling onto the ground. Oz sat up, head ringing
and looked warily up at the vampire. The look in Giles' eyes was anything
but casual. He picked Oz up, throwing him onto the bed before straddling his
waist and slapping Oz again. "You," he hissed, "are not in control."
"I'm sorry..." Oz whispered as Giles drew his hand back for another slap.
"Shut up." Giles sat back, and frowned at Oz. "Your life, your body,
everything about you is mine."
Giles hit him again. "I said, shut up. You are not to speak, is that
Oz nodded miserably.
"You exist to serve me."
Oz nodded again, burying his face into the bedclothes to stifle a cry as
Giles thrust into him slowly. He was burning inside, with shame and anger,
and he promised himself that he would endure, because that was what Giles
wanted. He wouldn't think, wouldn't act, wouldn't fight. Because Giles
wanted his willingess.
"I own you."
Yes. Oz stifled another sob.
Yes. He pushed back against Giles' body, ignoring his body's demand for a
For one moment Oz knew that he hated the man inside him, that he had never
loved him. It was dependence, nothing more. But then that moment was gone
and Oz's mind whispered an affirmation. His heart was Giles', always,
Giles pulled him up, Oz's back pressed against Giles' chest. He licked Oz's
ear and whispered, "And soul," before he bit into Oz's neck.
Oz's eyes widened in shock and pain. His body began to shut down,
independent of his will, and his last thought before he slipped into
unconsciousness was comprised of a single word. He whispered it, not caring
if he died for his disobedience, but needing to respond somehow.
And then he was gone.
As time went on, Oz noticed fewer and fewer faces that he knew. He didn't
know what had happened to them and he didn't, in fact, care. All he knew,
all that was important, was that Giles grew steadily angrier. The bouts of
violence became more frequent, the pain sharper. Sometimes Giles would stare
at Oz with this strange, cold look in his eyes, and Oz would shudder, because
that usually meant that the next few hours were not going to be pleasant.
It wasn't until the people came to fight the vampires on their own territory
that Oz found out what was happening. There was a small group of people
fighting back against the vampires and demons, killing any one that they
found, saving the humans. The Master was furious, and often told Giles to do
away with his human pet, saying that humans couldn't be trusted, that Oz
would, one day, betray Giles.
Oz denied it, proving his devotion with his body and his blood time and
again, swearing that he would die first. It never occurred to either of them
that Oz would ever be able to betray Giles. He was incapable of it.
But then, one day, he did.
The people - Giles had only ever swore in reference to them, and all Oz knew
was that one of them was a Slayer - had come to the Bronze, to fight and kill
the Master. Oz saw it all from where he was sitting, curled up behind the
curtains on the stage. He saw a woman - a slender brunette wielding a
crossbow - aim at Giles, who was too busy fighting with two of the other
humans to notice.
There was time to yell a warning, to warn Giles to duck, something.
Oz remained silent.
He watched the bolt fly through the air, finding its target and pushing
through Giles' chest. He watched Giles look down in shock, and watched as he
turned to dust, holding shape for just a moment, and watched as the dust
crumbled away to nothing.
There was no expression on Oz's face as he walked out from behind the
curtains, stopping long enough to pick up a piece of wood, before he made his
way toward the Master. The vampire was busy fighting a petite blonde,
trading blow for blow. He didn't see Oz walk up behind him or see him lift
the makeshift stake. Oz pushed the stake forward with all of his strength,
feeling it tear through flesh and muscle, making its way into the Master's
heart. The Master whirled in fury, reaching out to crush Oz's throat even as
his body dissolved into dust and his skeleton hit the floor.
It was, all in all, a satisfying sight.
The fight was over soon after that, with most of the remaining vampires
running away after the deaths of their commanders. Oz just stared down at
the Master's skeleton, shivering.
"Hey, um, thanks." The blonde touched his shoulder and Oz pulled away
violently, tripping over the bones on the ground and falling to the ground
hard. He scrambled back, putting as much distance as he could between
himself and the people around him.
People. People were bad. Oz looked frantically around for something,
anything familiar, wanting the reassurance of Giles' body. His back hit the
wall and he whimpered, huddling in on himself as the realization of what he
had just done sank in. He had destroyed his world. He was...free.
The people were gathered around him, their expressions ranging from disgust
to pity. The brunette woman that had killed Giles knelt in front of him,
holding out her hand. "It's okay. We're not going to hurt you. I'm Jenny."
Jenny. Oz formed his mouth around the word, sounding it out slowly, savoring
it. He took her hand, looking at it curiously, waiting for the inevitable
slap that would come from speaking out of turn. She just knelt there,
holding her hand out steadily, her eyes dark with sympathy. "It's okay..."
Oz lunged forward, his arms going around her waist as he knocked them off
balance. He buried his face in the fabric of her shirt, shoulders shaking as
he cried. She touched his hair, stroking it, hugging him tightly and
"It's okay...shhhh...I promise. It's okay."
And for that moment, it was.