Disclaimers: If they belonged to me, I'd make one of them switch
lives with me.
Summary: Xander is settling in to things.
Ratings Note: NC-17.
Author's Note: I wanted somebody to be happy.
Acknowledgments: To my beloved webrain for support and helpful
questions, as well as to the Mighty Mighty Dawn Sharon.
As it happens, Xander winds up writing a lot more letters than
he'd expected to. A new job appeared, steady construction work for
the next several months at least and Xander realizes, with
something like shock, that he really does enjoy it.
Outside of providing entertainment for Anya, outside of getting a
check, and even outside of being offered a -- and he hates saying
the word, like some sort of jinx -- permanent position with the
contractor... he likes it. He likes being out in the sun, and working
with his hands. He likes feeling stronger with each passing day,
and coming home with a good, solid, full-body ache that has nothing
to do with monsters or exes or anything of the kind.
And if he thinks, maybe this isn't *quite* it, maybe there's
something a little more, or a little more specific he'd like to do,
it's OK, because he's in that family.
And it's OK.
Even if he can live without his father's dubious approval, or his
mother's tears when he finally moves out. It's OK. Anya is
appreciative of his manliness in an increasingly distant way, which,
God help him, is also OK. He's beginning to feel like a phase in
her life, which she is calmly, matter-of-factly growing out of.
Her looks are often fonder than warm.
And something in him responds to that, powerfully. It's easier to be
with her now, and joke with her. She really, really enjoys football,
and he likes enjoying it with her. She hates bitter beer, and Xander
can torment her with her affection for Ricky Martin. He really
likes hearing her laugh, watching her, too -- she always looks so
And with all that he's only been up to see Oz once more, and Xander
had been much too tired for more than a night of kissing. Which was
strange, not really like anything else he'd ever experienced. They'd
taken a break at one point to shave, neither of them particularly
fond of beard-burn.
A joking affair, with a lot of flicked shaving cream, and several
comments about the massive bag of disposable razors Oz kept
behind the toilet, because:
"Sometimes it really pays to buy in bulk, Xand."
They hadn't gone right back to kissing, though, instead ordering a
pizza and consuming it with slow, steady seriousness. Xander easily
accepted the fact that the vast majority of his pepperoni would
be stolen, and settled into the other flavors. Gave himself to
really *contemplating* the pizza, the spices, and the way
mozzarella changed to an almost entirely different cheese when
He shared his observations and gradually Oz morphed to that
halfway state that Xander was coming to think of as his, somehow.
Still Oz, but bare. And they talked about pizzas they had loved,
and Oz held him, and sniffed him thoroughly, and the kisses that
came tasted wonderfully of pepperoni.
A night and a long morning of sleep and Xander had gone back home,
smiling and sleepy, and made slow love to Anya, and later still gone
out to dinner with Anya's friend Ros.
Ros was a Geroth demon who liked to argue about why, in fact,
bitter beer was better, Ricky Martin was gay, and the Niners
wouldn't win another championship for at least five years. She's a
bouncer for Willy, and the three of them go out reasonably often.
So Xander writes letters, and Oz writes *long* letters. It turns out
he's fond of the way words can change the entire meaning of a piece
of paper, and they talk about things. Xander writes about adventures
in world-saving, and Oz writes about his theories on the kind of people
who go to used book stores, and the books he's reading. Sometimes
there's a package with the letter and Xander doesn't just feel
stronger, he feels smarter, too.
The next time he visits, he plans on making a snowman, though he's
not entirely sure about the idea of a snowball fight. He'll give it a
try, though. Anya is writing down her memories, slowly, and with many
questions on style and the like. Xander suggests she stay as
straightforward as possible. One day he came home to find Giles in
his apartment, looking over his tiny-but-growing bookshelf, and
Xander confesses that he's been writing to Oz.
It earns him a long look and Giles asks him to send his regards, and
may he borrow this book? And it's... really kind of whoa, actually, and
then Giles goes back to discussing the Plague years with Anya, and
Xander pops out one of those make-a-meal things and they have a
nice dinner together. Giles agrees with Ros about beer, and this is
The next thing he knows, Giles is giving him books, too. Shockingly,
almost none of them have to do with the occult. They talk about
them, too, kind of gingerly, and sometimes Giles smiles at him with
this mixture of pride and surprise and pleasure that makes Xander
want to simultaneously hug him and beat him to death. He settles
for smiling back.
He talks about this with Oz, too, who also sends his regards, and a
mint condition Cream album for Giles' birthday. Oz understands
wanting to beat up Giles, and suggests talking about it *with* Giles.
Which is just a little more, maybe a little fast... Oz sends
something like an understanding nod through the mail, and a buried
wondering about when Xander is next coming up?
He takes the long weekend, unsurprised and pleased to be so when
Anya simply kisses him goodbye and makes him promise to read over
her Thoughts on Vengeance essay, which she plans to submit to the
He meets Oz's boss Yves, and have coffee together at one of those
upscale deli/jazz club places Xander wishes he had the money to eat
at all the time. Fresh salmon and Xander winds up buying several bags
of the coffee to take home. Oz's apartment had grown more weird
little things, including several interestingly shaped fragments of
bone. Which is, OK, disturbing, but also Oz.
His Oz. And the kissing this time is purposeful.
Extremely so, and it's this struggling sort of race, watching Oz fight
to stay human while sucking Xander's cock and they both make way too
much noise and Oz doesn't quite make it but watching him lose it makes
Xander come hard, and yelling.
And Oz apologizes over and over until Xander begs for him to stop,
that it's OK, that it turned him on so much. Later on his belly, and Oz
licking him all over, tongue curling around his toes, hot breath on his
balls. Xander trying so hard to writhe in place, so as not to miss one
minute, one second. It still surprises him when Oz slips his tongue
inside, and the sounds he makes are raw.
Pushing up into the killing intimacy, begging, knowing it only makes
Oz hungrier. Knowing that whoever Oz loves, it's Xander and only
Xander on his mind right that moment, making him growl and thrust.
And it's weird that he doesn't ask before tugging Xander to his
knees, before lining himself and *pushing* but the feel of fur against
his skin tells Xander all he needs to know.
So he says the words to himself. Relax, breathe, breathe and *oh*...
feeling muscles pull all over as his body tried to adjust and
Oz inside of him, so deep, hot and hard and this. This is getting
fucked. This is getting fucked by a werewolf who likes mystery
novels and pepperoni and trip-hop and Xander. Likes him so much he
just wants to eat. him. up and oh he almost tries to fight it when
the first wave of pleasure comes because.
Just too much to need it like that, but it's really too late to be
worried about *that* so Xander lets it hit him.
Again, and again, letting it be open-mouthed and needful and working
his own cock and pushing back and everything is this slow, incredible
burn except that it's not very slow at all and he knows he's saying
Saying it a lot and earning deeper thrusts that catch him just where
he needs it and make him call again.
And it's so good...
Kisses to the back of his neck, at least he thinks they're supposed
to be kisses. Rough nuzzles and loud wolf purrs and Oz wraps his
arms around Xander's chest and holds him so *tight*. Unexpected but
not painful force as he thrusts and thrusts and Xander thinks it m
ight not end and Xander thinks that it's maybe OK to be like this:
Hands and knees and spread and fucked by Oz, who likes him a lot.
And his body knows it's good and his cock is competing with it for
goodness, drooling slick and rigid in his fist and finding a rhythm
sends molten gold down his spine to pool somewhere just behind his
cock, and his mouth is still wide open and his sounds are wordless.
Gonna blush everytime he sees that look on Anya's face when he
drives into her, know it for his own and remember -- oh fuck
And knowing he'll be able to feel that ache on command, knowing
that there could be an *again* for this, and that the heat behind
him is hunger and that the cock inside him is smooth and thick and
slick and tastes so *wild*. Taste inside him now, feeling him, taking
him and it feels like something breaks in his throat when he comes,
something sharp and mindless and utterly unimportant.
Just shaking there, then, and trying not to collapse as the strokes
get ragged and hard and fierce. Flat short growl with each and
still driving Xander insane until the last thrust makes him yell again
Oz coming inside him, hot and strange and somehow shocking.
Something he hadn't considered and feeling it begin to leak is kind
of ew and also blush-worthy.
Xander skips out on cuddling to shower, and Oz completely
understands, communicates that with a rueful smile. Slipping back
to human but still with a sheath and God. Just God.
Xander comes back with a warm, wet cloth to wash Oz down, but
finishes the job with his mouth. The taste and feel of it, the
strangeness and weight and wild gripping pulse of the sheath. By
the time Xander leaves off his jaw is sore, and they're both hard
again and Xander.
Wants it again.
And Oz makes it slow and hard this time and Xander is fisting
the sheets and thinking: can't stop won't please don't stop again.
Mostly human Oz, fingers tracing over the muscles of his back,
cupping and scratching gently at the cheeks of his ass.
Spreading them further.
Whispering hot little words of want that are somehow also
complete sentences, if short and breathy. Oz's voice like this is
thick and stretchy as toffee, and Xander wants to bathe in it.
This time it really does last forever. Until the sheets are wet with
their sweat and Xander's moans descend to helpless low gasps and he
can't quite remember what it was like not to be skewered like this,
pinned down and taken and held so thoroughly.
Later, they shower together, slow and tired and careful and kissing
wet, eyes closed. Strip the sheets from the bed and sleep between
two soft down comforters, tangled together and silent.
Waking in the circle of Oz's arms, Oz's forehead pressed against
his back and Oz's scent everywhere, absolutely everywhere. The
weekend passes much too quickly and he *feels* Oz not wanting him
to leave, but he has to.
And the letters change, more behind the words, more books, more
everything and it's not a surprise to open his door one night and
find Oz there, chatting with Anya, helping her and Giles with a
Giles had given him more chairs as an apartment warming gift and
it's... really nice to come home to a house full of people he likes
and who like him. Even though it's really strange, too, and both
Giles and Anya have very long looks for him.
And later, with Oz crashed on the old foldout, and the moon shining
down on him and Anya through the tiny window into his bedroom...
and it's that thought that does it. That pronoun. Anya has always had
her own place, but the bed had always been *theirs* and she certainly
spends more time in Xander's apartment than her own and now it...
Their bed. Not enough together time on it, though they still make
And he's thinking this when she says:
"Have you had sex with him?"
And the only thing to say is yes.
"So you're bisexual?"
"Um... I haven't really thought much about it..."
"I think I have to break up with you about this, Xander. It *is*
"I know, Anya, and there's no excuse and I'm sorry --"
"I want to have sex with women now."
"But only with ones who appreciate the horror of astroturf. The
rest are all boring."
Xander blinks in what he hopes is a helpful manner and doesn't
really know whether to laugh or pull her closer and beg her to
reconsider because... because she's a really good friend, and she's
beautiful, and he *loves* her.
Just maybe not the right way so what he does say is:
"Can we still be friends?" Which is just *lame*, but Anya doesn't
seem to care.
"Orgasm friends or other friends?"
"Um..." And that is a tough question. The healthy thing to do
would be... what? "Whichever you're comfortable with, Anya."
"I think I'd like to continue having sex with you sometimes. You
always make me orgasm, which I understand is rare."
"I... um... try?"
And she snuggles him, and he can feel her simple, happy smile
against his chest. "Will you have sex with Giles, too? Can I
"Er..." If you want? No, wait, that wasn't it. It was... uh... hmm.
"I don't know?"
"That's all right, I'll give you time to think about it. Good-night,
"Good-night, Anya. I love you."
"I know." And a kiss on his chest. "Do you think Willow would like
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