Disclaimers: Oh, if *only*.

Spoilers: None.

Summary: Oz and Xander make the most of the motel room.

Ratings Note: Big, fat, NC-17.

Author's Note: This is the sequel to Core. Wall to wall smut,
no redeeming features at *all*.

Acknowledgments: For my beloved Webrain, and the glorious
Sheila. I get so *inspired*.

Feedback: Yes. Y-E-S. teland793@sbcglobal.net

*

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.

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.