Giles' door is open when Oz gets there, and he knows the
reason why as soon as he steps inside. That cold smell, a
shiver of abomination from within. Walking carrion, and
obviously whatever he had been called in for had already
But Giles was still himself, dressed down some, but smiling
gently, welcomingly. Affectionate, even, as though he
remembered that one night before Oz had left the second
time with a trace of desire. Oz remembers Giles' gentleness
with Oz's new bruises, and the taste of the sweat on his neck.
The demon in front of him remembers... what?
Oz advances with the stake in hand, letting just a little more
of the wolf surface. He has learned since his time with the
Initiative. Better to have control than be controlled. Better
to use any and every kind of power available than be hurt
"I can smell you. I know you're not --"
"Willow cursed me. With a soul... like Angel."
And it's enough for Oz to falter and stop. Sniff again for
traces of... had Angel smelled different than any other
vampire? Only when he'd been sick. And Giles' expression
is rueful now, and a little angry. More importantly, there
has been no attempt on Oz's life.
"What... what happened?"
Giles' mouth twists and he settles on the couch, gesturing
to offer Oz his own seat. He chooses the desk chair.
"It was Spike. Drusilla simply ripped the chip out of his
skull, and once he healed... well, we'd never revoked our
invitations. He decided it would be lovely fun to turn me,
set me after the Slayer --" Visible tension. "After Buffy."
There is a sort of sweetness in the background that Oz's
mind chooses not to focus on. "But Willow found out in
"Yes. And now... I never thought I'd say this, but I find
myself with something a great deal like... sympathy. For
Angel. But I'm glad you came, Oz. Spike is still out there,
and with him back with Drusilla..."
Sweetness pulling at his senses, just hints, and something
that inexplicably makes him think of bees, sluggish with
smoke. Giles is still so much himself, so careful and...
earnest is a weak word, but it's the closest Oz can come to
describing his usual sense of the man. Constant, and
convinced that the world didn't know that.
It always made Oz feel vaguely superior, and vaguely guilty
at the same time. Still there, but not the same.
Not earnest so much as serious. Solid and somehow more
real than anything else in the room. "Is everyone... how is
An open sigh, and Giles' eyes are faraway. "We've had our
setbacks, and there is a new and even greater evil on the
loose, yet I think we're stronger. Better than before."
Again, a twinge, and Oz slips it on the pile with the rest,
quiets himself as best he can, quiets the hum from the loft
and does not, does not look. "How so?"
And Giles turned, head swiveling with a sort of casual ease
on his neck. Eyes steady on Oz's own. Giles is smiling, mouth
curved in a narrow, perfect arc that pulls everything else into
focus. Sex, and more in that smile, and Oz is not immune to
Giles. Always a part of him wanting that warm, solid hand on
his shoulder, that implied sense of command.
"Little wolf... there's never been anything quite like you
before, you know. How long do you want to play this game?"
Sweet, sweet, honey essence trapped within her body soap,
in her shampoo. Flashes caught just before the change,
wrapped then in the comforting shear of blood, of the
imagined, demanded blood if only Oz could get to her, the
thing drenched in Willow's scent. So expected at the edge of
his senses, like blood now. Whether it's there or not or
simply dripping slowly from the edge of the loft onto the
book left open on the table.
Blood swirling and sinking into the letters on the page and
smoking there, and Giles standing above him now, hand in
Oz still has the stake, and he still has the wolf, and he still
has that confusing roil of the belly, that need for more of
whatever is there, fight or fuck or fall --
"Take your jeans off, Oz."
A growl earns him a tug on his hair hard enough to make his
eyes water, and he can feel every tiny droplet of blood on
his scalp looking for a way to roll. Giles' erection outlined in
fine wool, hard with his enemy's death...
Stake clattering to the floor, wolf both eased and on the edge
and Oz slides them all the way off, kicking off his sneakers,
toeing off his socks. Only thin shorts on him now. Maybe
protecting him until Giles kneels and Oz's eyelids are
suddenly heavy and his mouth... his own mouth aches for
what's about to happen, for the chance at this and stolen
"I'm going to feed from you now."
"I know." Amazed at his calm and suddenly, randomly,
remembers laughing at loud at something Xander said and
wondering what it could mean when something as simple
as laughter could shut down his racing thoughts. Cut the
Cool lips brushing ticklish on the inside of his thigh and Oz
arches, moves with it. Giles head brushing against his
erection once, again, half-conscious nuzzle and Oz can't
Cool, cool razors, hooked slightly and curving into him. Pain
flaring bright and hard as the change, just as necessary to
everything he is and he can feel it all over, all through him.
A change in pressure, the complaint of his veins and the
slick slow poison in Giles' saliva.
Oz wraps his fingers around the arms of the chair and moans,
helpless, breathing hard and trying to taste the air.
Bloodhoney and his own need and Giles. Cold and vital,
brush brushing against his dick.
Surrender is simplicity, pure, clean, and the opening of a
flood. Growling now, needing and empty. Powerful with it
and lost. Thrusting now, feeling flesh tear, moving his
hands to the silk of Giles' hair and begging.
He slips out with agonizing slowness, tearing again where
the wolf had already begun to heal and Oz comes
helplessly, crying out, slumped and somehow small again
in Giles' home.
Carrion corrupt and all through him now. All of him now,
not enough blood to dilute and Giles lifts him easily, carries
him like some movie damsel up the stairs, steps easily over
the body and sets him on the bed.
Strips the rest of his clothes off and arranges him just so,
laughing oddly as he does it. Oz knows the joke and
surrenders himself to it, to the thorough touch all over his
body. The scratch at the inside of his elbow, delicate caress
of his throat. Tongue in his navel, teeth -- blunt now -- at
Sharp for an instant, piercing him neatly. A short scream
while Giles slips the silver hoop in and the pain is everything,
a full-body writhe that does nothing. Held still again after a
while as Giles slips blood slick fingers inside him, twists
and thrusts and rides Oz through his pain. Fucks him through
it, slow and hard.
Pulled up over Giles' lap and bitten deeply just there, just at
the juncture of shoulder and throat that makes Oz wail. Just
enough pain that his cock spits pre-come steadily, that he
begs with his body for more of this, more of everything from
Giles, from the fuck laying him open so bare.
"You belong to me, of course."
And Oz needs no instruction when pressed close to Giles' skin,
no urging to bring the wolf forward so that it could. So that
he could take the blood and the demon in it. So that he can
take it in and have it forever, an endless battle within between
moon and blood. Power in it oh.
Oh, God, so much power.
Giles pulls him closer still, and his first moan drives Oz over
Sweetly, and forever.