Xander wanted to see Willow very badly for a
number of reasons, chief among them the desire
to receive some good, old-fashioned comfort.
Preferably followed by ice cream, and a whole
lot more comfort. Willow had always been
remarkably good at that sort of thing, though he
had to admit he'd probably have to work for it
It hadn't always been that way, but he owed
Willow in ways he couldn't quite define to himself,
and he knew now that he couldn't pay in the way
he wanted. He knew that, and it would be OK.
His life may have changed dramatically over the
past few years, but there was nothing different
about the whole beat on Xander until he cries
It was a sickly familiar scenario, but Faith...
Well, Faith could always be counted on to bring
new and interesting ideas into the mix. Real
innovator was Faith. You could patent her.
He wasn't even close to distracting himself with
His stomach twisted painfully, subsided.
Willow wasn't in any of the usual places.
A voice helpfully suggested that she was avoiding
him, and brought up the issue of how her eyes
had been swollen, too red just an hour or two
after he'd walked right into confessing that he'd
willingly made himself Faith's boytoy.
Angel had pity in his eyes.
He stopped dead in his tracks. What good would
it do anyone if he went to Willow weeping about
Faith doing him wrong?
Under that, and not very far under, was the
image of a big, fat I Told You So tattooed neon
on Willow's forehead, even though she hadn't
said a word.
Oh, but she would've given half an
There was nothing particularly new about that
aspect of Willow. It was something he could
associate with knee socks just as well as with
But the smugness was new.
God, he couldn't take the smugness, and he knew
full well that even if Willow tried, really tried to
avoid doing it it would be there just the same.
Just under the skin. In the twitch of a smile that
really wanted to happen.
Willow had impulse control problems, too. Hers
just tended to be safer. Better.
But it would be OK.
Xander started walking again, making his way out
of the school and into the parking lot, full of late
spring sunlight and thus nearly bereft of cars.
Oz's van was there, though. And there was music
playing... tinny at this distance.
Maybe he was waiting there for Willow to surface
from a lab.
Or maybe they were just making out to the tunes.
His skin ran hot and cold, blood went rushing to
his cock, and he really didn't have to finish the
thought before he was shaking himself ruthlessly,
trying to rid himself of the thought, and the
thoughts that followed.
His Willow. Always his. Pretty and sweet. Fresh
with clean sweat being lapped away by her feral
little boyfriend. How close is the full moon. Is she
hot there? Where are her hands? Why aren't
But he hadn't stopped walking and he didn't
think he could stop, either. Yeah, he'd looked at
"those," and they'd just fit perfectly within the
tactile memory of a thousand hugs, most
innocent, some not.
All those thoughts and he wondered what Evil
Xander was doing with Evil Willow, couldn't
stop wondering, didn't want to.
And maybe he could just shape his mouth to
apologize for something. Everything. Or maybe
he could just hold her face, force her to look into
his eyes and see....
And see what she had long since rejected.
It didn't matter.
When he didn't see anyone in the van's front seat,
he went 'round the back and knocked twice, quick
and not especially aggressively.
The door opened immediately and he was greeted
with the world's least subtle cloud of smoke and
someone that could have been Devon.
"Uh... hey. Is Willow around?
Stupid, stupid question. The image of Willow hanging
with stoners -- even when they were Oz's friends --
was about as plausible as oh, say, Faith entering a
convent for any reason but rampant, sweaty
Xander wondered when he'd gotten used to
nausea lurking right around his libido for too long
"... home, I think."
He jerked his eyes to the general vicinity of Oz's
voice, found the man himself staring up at him
from the van's floor. Smoke occasionally wisped
across his face. He didn't even blink.
"Doesn't that bother you?"
Obviously not, Xander, Jesus...
"Nah. I'm sorta immune now."
Devon started giggling, earning a half-amused/
half-fascinated look from Oz. Xander wasn't
the least bit surprised that he couldn't tell
whether Oz was sober or not.
Maybe he's always stoned?
"... us for a while?"
"Come in. Make yourself at home..."
"Yeah. His casa is your casa. And mine." Devon
giggled down his own trail, before abruptly
turning around to crawl back into the depths.
Xander wondered if enough time had passed that
he could honestly use the excuse of a contact
high to explain the fact that he couldn't really
think of a response at all.
He turned back to Oz, who had added just a hint
of question to his placid gaze.
And that was all he had time to get out before
Devon appeared again to yank him firmly inside.
Oz closed the door behind him.
"Come on, man, I wanna try to hotbox..."
"In a van?"
Oz smiled in the dimness. Which was nice,
because it meant that Xander could see. It didn't
just seem like he was tangled up with Devon --
he was tangled up with Devon.
Oz's smile was about the furthest thing from
predatory that could be imagined, though... it
would've looked more right if the van was darker,
if Xander couldn't see the perfectly innocuous
lips surrounding all the white teeth, holding
Oz held up a baggie that was way, way too full.
Calling it a baggie wasn't actually very accurate.
"Aunt grows it."
And that wasn't surprising in the least.
>From somewhere to his left and beneath and
also somewhat around him came Devon's hand,
fingertips pinched gently, skillfully, reverently
around a truly well-rolled joint.
Xander shrugged and took a medium-sized hit. It
had been a while, and he wasn't in the mood to
cough. Then he passed it on to Oz, wondering
how it was that every single time he'd gotten
high there'd been precisely this sort of quiet
assumption of camaraderie.
Sure there were hogs and assholes everywhere,
but the definition of those assholes never really
varied very much. It seemed too pat to be just
the drug. Probably had something to do with
the way stoners thought about the drug.
Cultural influence. Something.
He was doing a little double pump with his second
hit before he was even aware of it.
Oz smiled again. "Take it easy, man. There's
"Guess it's a reflex."
Devon stopped the -- so far unsuccessful --
attempt to detangle himself from Xander to let
them both know that he still liked that song and
they should do a cover of it again.
Xander used the excuse of being careful with the
joint in his hand to not think very hard. He went
to hand it off to Oz.
"Give it back to Devon for a minute --"
"Yeah, give to Devon. I need prezzies. Give."
Oz laughed shortly, leaned over to pat Devon on
the chest as he made his way up front. "Just
gotta get some better tunes on..."
"Dev, one day I'm going to remind you of all this
stuff when you're stone cold sober."
"And surrounded by groupies."
"You're so fucking cruel..."
"Only because I love you."
Xander was too comfortable to feel like he was
intruding. He seemed to be sitting on the
ultimate pile of old clothes. Everything was soft
and some things were fuzzy and it felt as
though someone had calmly and carefully
removed every button and zipper. Plus, Devon
was so far gone that his limbs were about as
taut as perfectly cooked spaghetti.
And this clearly wasn't new ground the other
two were treading on -- they just talked their
way through it with soft smiles and... comfort.
Xander grinned to himself and made a conscious
effort to settle himself in even better, a move
that allowed Devon to get one leg from behind
his back and onto his lap to cross with the
The music started. Just bass and snapping
fingers. Vaguely familiar like a lot of sampled
songs... though this was definitely sleepier than
most. Oz crouch-walked back to them, moving
a little to the mellowly cool little beat.
Xander found himself nodding his head along,
pleased with the choice. Smiling at Oz when
he started rapping along.
"I lost touch with reality, now my personality,
is an unwanted commodity..."
Oz paused. And continued to pause.
"You know, for some strange reason I'm having
Xander snickered, handed off the joint he'd
taken how many? Pulls off of. "This'll help."
"It so won't." Oz took a pull and crawled a little
Devon spoke. "Dude... no... We'll tip."
Xander snorted. "What?"
"The van... we've created this whole triangular
balance thing and it'll be fucking disaster if we
mess it up."
Oz responded with his all-purpose "huh."
Appeared deep in thought for a moment.
"Xander, help me move him."
"You're right, Dev. We gotta maintain the balance."
"Well... OK. But dude, you better not drop me."
Xander wasn't sure how long they spent pulling
and pushing and generally manipulating a
surprisingly ticklish Devon roughly into Oz's
former position, but when he caught a glimpse
out the window he noticed that it was definitely
getting to be something close to sunset.
It was just an observation, though. He didn't
really have anywhere to be.
Finally they just crossed Devon's legs yogi style
and encouraged him to adopt an Oz-like sense
Xander thought he might be able to get used to
that giggle. It was a careless thing, reassuring
He came back to himself at the feel of a touch
to his throat. Light on the bruises, but a little
shocking. He forced himself not to move,
Oz pulled his hand back. "Sorry. I've just..."
"Never seen ligature marks before?"
"Well, actually, no, I have not."
Xander grinned, shook his head a little. "s'OK.
You'll get used to it."
He could feel Oz's slow, serious nod, gradually
relaxed back against the wall of the van again.
Right about the time any other person -- even
stoned -- would be asking him if he needed to
talk; Oz started taking off his clothes.
Wondered dazedly which part of the pot ritual
this was, but Oz was wholly focused on his own
stripping, wasn't radiating anything like
expectancy, so Xander just relighted the joint
and took another slow hit.
Oz reached for it when he'd gotten down to the
bottom shirt layer -- a greyed out old purple
Pharcyde t -- and took his own hit. Held it in for
a moment while he looked at Xander curiously.
This time the question was definitely visible, but
it was clearly one Oz wanted to answer for himself.
But Oz was still looking at Xander and he
didn't really want to squirm so he just opened
"This isn't a werewolf thing, is it?"
Xander winced, but he supposed it could've been
worse. Oz appeared to take his question seriously,
though. Checked his watch, sniffed the air.
A trick of sound brought the words "but if you
want a friend, feed any animal" drifting back
through the smoke from the front speakers.
"Don't think so."
"Hmm?" Xander looked up to find Oz naked from
the waist up, attacking his button-fly with a
singleminded concentration that just made
Xander try harder to think how many times
he'd smelled pot on Oz in everyday life.
Then it came back to him that Oz was taking off
his clothes for no fathomable reason.
He turned to check on Devon, who had sprawled
himself out of the yogi position and was watching
Oz with frank appreciation, one hand dangling
loosely between his thighs. Devon caught Xander
looking and smiled. "I love it when he does this."
Does what? Other than fucking shimmying
out of his jeans, that is...
Oz paused when he was down to his --
surprisingly -- normal boxers, his necklaces,
his bracelets, and his two slightly different shades
of metallic indigo nail polish.
He looked pretty damned good, really. Compact
but not really boyish so much as personish.
Nearly naked personish. Xander watched one
hand move to Oz's abdomen, watched his
fingers drum on his stomach.
The back of his neck started to burn a little,
and Xander realized he'd been staring long
enough for Oz to start staring back. He looked
up, met his eyes. Tried out a smile.
"Sorry... sudden male nudity outside the
locker rooms is just a little... different for me."
"I think you'd feel better if you took your
clothes off, too," Devon suggested helpfully.
Oz chuckled again, still looking directly at Xander,
nothing in his eyes other than that casual
affection he could seemingly radiate at will.
Well, nothing but affection and affectionate lust.
It wasn't a look Xander could ever remember
seeing before, really, but he could read it easily
from context and it seemed so... natural.
Just another part of being friends with Oz?
Xander abruptly wondered just whose fault it
was that they hadn't... well, if not gotten high
and naked with each other at least hung out a
few times without the excuse of having
everyone else around.
Xander took another pull, didn't try to keep
his fingers from brushing Oz's as he handed
That earned him a frighteningly warm smile,
and then Oz was handing it to Devon and
kneeling in front of Xander. Cupping his face
just a little unsteadily -- Xander could feel the
other man's palms brushing his stubble back
and forth, back and forth -- Oz leaned in to
kiss him, and Xander surprised himself only a
little by immediately opening himself to it.
He could feel one of Oz's chains swinging
between them, feel the rings slightly cool
against his face, feel the suitably small and
elegant tongue sliding in between his lips to poke
around with slow thoroughness, make itself at
An image of Larry and the word 'oooooops' fell
on him one right after the other, making him
laugh a little into the kiss. Oz chuckled, too, then
just took advantage of Xander's slightly more
widely open mouth. He tasted like pot. Lots and
lots of pot.
Xander fantasized he was getting higher just
from the kiss, as opposed to the fact that they
had somehow managed to fill the van with
thick, grey, tanginess, and that Devon was still
working steadily on the joint.
He could tell by the tiny flare and wane of
orange light that somehow seeped through his
eyelids, a pattern hypnotic in its simplicity and
Xander wondered if all of him was ready to feel
everything this powerfully, if Oz would just carry
him away with the next kiss, or perhaps the
caress slowly gaining strength on his chest.
>From the stereo, what sounded like "guilty of
the same old sin..."
Xander pushed himself up into the touch, tried
briefly to wonder what the hell he was doing and
then Devon moaned quietly and Xander realized
that Oz could do anything
"anything I want... kill you..."
to him at all.
He stiffened, slammed himself back against the
side of the van. Oz followed him instinctively
for a moment before freezing himself. Shook
his head vigorously and narrowed his eyes a
little, clearly concerned.
It was as though Oz said everything in lower
case letters, but typed it right into the brain. How
had he ever found him incomprehensible?
"Do you want us to stop?"
"No." His mouth answered for him before he could
even think about how to be diplomatic yet firm.
"I mean --"
Oz lowered his gaze slowly, tugging Xander's along
almost as an afterthought. They both
contemplated the erection straining against
Xander's jeans for a few moments. Xander felt
blood rush to his face. None of it seemed to have
come from his cock, but he was grateful that
some came at all.
It meant there was a chance his brain would get
something like oxygen.
"You can touch me instead."
Something broke in his voice as he spoke, and
Xander realized that he'd never heard that before
at precisely the same time he realized that it was
He thought of Willow, but only to wonder if her
insides jumped the same way when he did that. It
was probably just the ludicrous amount of pot,
but there didn't really seem to be any sin here
beyond the original kind. Something and oh God
he could definitely touch Oz instead.
Xander pulled him in for another kiss, taking
control this time, biting at his lips, sucking hard
on his tongue. Oz immediately surrendered
himself to it, groaning when Xander pulled away
briefly to breathe, groaning again when he dove
A little too hard. Oz wound up partially in
Devon's lap, waking Devon out of a doze.
"Hey, cool..." And then he stroked Oz's hair a few
times before drifting off again. Xander smiled,
then listened, fascinated, as Oz's breathing started
to get rougher.
He tried to pin down exactly why and suddenly a
tidal wave of feeling crashed out of his brain
onto his groin or maybe the other way around
and he realized he'd been thrusting steadily
against the other man for some time.
Xander had the absurd urge to apologize and bit it
off lightly into the side of Oz's throat. A woman was
singing about a boat ride on the holy side and Oz
was losing control under him and it was so
He started to brace himself for better leverage but
then he caught a glimpse of Oz's smooth, pale
chest and either dove or fell to, unable to tease for
more than a heartbeat or so before he was taking
one stiff little spike between his lips, between his
teeth and Oz's hands were in his hair, and somehow,
somehow, Oz's rings still felt cool against his scalp.
"Yeah, Xander... God..."
There was something unbearably sexual about Oz
not being able to finish even one of his diminutive
sentences and Xander barely managed to halt the
orgasm that wanted to roll through him right
then and there.
Caught himself moving lower on Oz's body, didn't
try to stop, didn't let himself think.
Not that he thought he was really capable of thought.
Not with the taste of Oz's sweat high and salt. His
tongue curled and he felt himself start to salivate
helplessly. He pushed his face against the other
man's abdomen and ran wet, random trails all
over it with parted lips.
A kiss he was too needful to tighten into
something remotely neat. Oz just moaned more,
tightened his fingers in Xander's hair and tried
to pull him closer still. For just a brief moment
Xander could see himself, his consciousness,
pour right out of his brain into Oz, and, for a
moment, it seemed like a brilliant idea.
And then Oz was arching into a sea-roll beneath
him, trying and succeeding to bring more of
himself into contact with Xander and his boxers
must have slipped down a little because Xander
could feel Oz's cock, Oz's hot, drooling cock
bump slick velvet against his chin and before he
could really think about anything he was
rubbing his stubble slightly against the head
and feeling Oz buck helplessly.
"So fucking hot..."
And Xander looked up to see Devon staring at
them raptly, undulating his hips seeming
unconsciously, pushing his groin up to press
against the back of Oz's head. Oz pushed back slow
and hard while Xander watched and Devon
squeezed his eyes shut and let out a strangled
sound from somewhere deep within. Xander
couldn't help watching, couldn't help thrusting
harder against Oz, getting only his leg but
getting it well.
"Don't be afraid to show your friends..." and
Xander definitely knew that song. There were
times when he'd thought certain parts of "Knock
Me Down" were tattooed on his forehead but
that didn't really matter because Oz was flexing
his thigh between Xander's own and pushing it
up against him.
Xander threw his head back and moaned, felt the
living foundation shift and then felt another pair
of lips against his own. And the music was
moving faster and Mick Jagger was singing
something about capital crimes while he landed
on a pile of softness that smelled wonderfully of
Oz, of woods just beyond the grounds of a small
pleasant village, deep greens and browns and
the word 'savory' flashed insistently in his head
for several long moments.
And then he could feel Devon trying (and
succeeding) to strip while retaining maximum
contact with him, and somehow his cock was out
and and being fucking caressed by thicksweet
air that resolved itself to wet soft heat and his
mind flashed him an image of what Oz must
look like, lips stretched around his cock, taking
it... Christ, taking it all.
He felt Oz's groan over every square inch of his
body, thought he'd gone deaf until Devon
starting whispering things in his ear that made
him wonder if any part of his brain was going
to survive this at all.
Time got hazy and the air seemed to move
faster even as Devon and Oz moved slower.
Devon bit his earlobe there, Oz let almost all
of him slip out for seconds, hours.
"Please oh God please..."
"That's it. Give it up, Xander. God Oz, why didn't
you tell me he was so fucking sexy?"
And then, somehow at the same moment, Oz took
him deep again while Devon ran a quicksilver
tongue through the whorls of his ear.
Xander felt himself existing at the far, far end of
a tether, deep in someplace different and warm,
someplace he might just be able to live, and then
the universe exploded with light and sound just
as he continued not to come.
He didn't think he could be that loud. Xander
reached out blindly and Devon caught his arm
in a grip that was comfortingly no more powerful
than his own, brought it down to his own crotch
and pushed and thrust and Xander somehow
managed to retrieve his other arm from wherever
it had gone and tugged at Devon until he knelt up.
Fumbled to open Devon's pants, amazed at his
own ability to function with his cock in Oz's
mouth. He glanced down to discover that Oz was
just holding him there, waiting for him to get
Devon firmly in hand and then he would... he
would start up again.
He felt what seemed to be a massive load of
pre-come shoot iced flame down his cock and
Oz's eyes glazed a little more while he watched
and Xander's head fell back helplessly, he
thought he might faint before he could get off
because he had seen Oz tasting him.
Seen him love it and before he knew it he had
what felt like something the perfect length and
width to suck on, but he couldn't summon
enough power to twist himself into anything
resembling a good position.
But that stopped mattering when Devon brought
their linked hands up to his mouth and licked
and sucked and kissed and bit until they were
both slick with his saliva and then Xander was
being tugged back down and down and down and
Oz was taking long, sucking pulls off his cock
and some guy was half howling about how he
didn't think someone else was funny anymore,
and he didn't, dear God no he didn't.
Twined together around Devon's cock, buried
deep within Oz's mouth, he let his hips go and
gave his hand to Devon to use, save for those
times when he had to push down a little, had to
probe at the slit, had to try one more time to
get Oz to swallow his whole damned body, had
to open his mouth and let the words out,
whether they sounded like words to anyone else
And Devon was pushing up into their fist,
panting out harsh little breaths that caught
utterly uncontrolled notes on their way out.
Xander didn't think he'd ever be able to hear
the guy sing again, watch him wrap his
beautiful hands around and mic and lean in
so close so close --
"Come on, Xander, give it up..."
And there was the hint, the moonlit chilled
hint of teeth against him where he knew he
needed it and then ---
"Oh, God oh fuck ohhhh...."
Devon was losing it all over their hands, heat
on Xander's face and Oz was eating him alive
and his body actually surprised him, arching
clear off the floor, bending him easily and
snapping his fucking soul out in whipcrack
bursts and he had to be filling Oz's entire body.
Xander couldn't possibly have anything left
within him and when he shot again, short and
convulsive, it hurt enough to make him scream.
He returned to himself to find his body sprawled
out like a police chalker's wet dream and opened
his eyes to see Devon gripping Oz's slim arm
with both hands and devouring every drop of
come from his palm and fingers.
He groaned helplessly, felt his body buzz with it
and couldn't hold back a groan at that and
he realized Oz was looking at him, looking at
And then Oz nodded and smiled to himself and
pushed himself and Devon over to flank Xander
"We're keeping you," reported his right ear.
"There is no escape," confirmed his left.
"Unnnnhhhh," replied Xander right before he