The inside of a Van
Take her down to the woods where the wolfboy lives,
So the villagers say,
And the three of you evaporate into the night
Till you both fall in love with him.
Oz/Andrew slash, post-ftvs
Oz and Andrew belong to Monseuir Whedon
Lyrics by Magnetic Fields, Falling in Love with the Wolf Boy
Willow had liked sex like a movie. She had always wanted candles and romance. She enjoyed sweet nothings whispered in her ears, he had never attempted anything dirty. She was, even in the height of orgasm, like the Virgin Mary: cheeks glowing, eyes rounds as lollipops and hair that fell just right. It had always felt like a movie moment, sort of like Cinemax late at night; no penetration shots and always perfect lighting.
Not that Oz hadn't fucked before. He had fucked other girls, boys, just never Willow. Fucked was not a word he could use describe anything to do with Willow. As he opened the door to the van for Andrew, through his raging passion for a good fuck, he wondered how it would be with Andrew. It wasn't like you decided these things.
Oz steps inside the van. Andrew is watching his ass as Oz clears away the trash, guitar magazines and spreads open the red sleeping bag with the flannel inside. It is comforting, like camping with his family as a child, before Tucker had gotten so mean. It was a thought in the back of his mind. At the forefront, Andrew was hot for it. Although he wasn't sure exactly what he was hot for other than boy flesh. Before it had always been feelings, but never actions. Aches for Warren mostly, maybe even for Spike at some points. Aches were not the same things as having a hot red-headed boy clearing a space for you to fuck in his van. "Oz?"
Oz turned around, on his hands and knees, cocking his head at Andrew. His dick was pressing hard on his jeans. Andrew was looking imploringly at him, seemed to be begging him for something. "I - I, um, don't know what to do, Oz. I mean I know, but how does it all begin? How do I know what to say and do? I want you to teach me, I want to please you, but what do you like? Should I, like, just do it like how they do in the movies? I am...scared. Do I even have the right metachlorians to be gay?" His eyes downcast to the sidewalk, fidgeting with his shirt sleeve. Precious few times had Oz wanted to both slap and comfort someone so much in his life.
Oz put his hand out to Andrew. He took it. Oz breathed a sigh under his breath. Silence, kissing, panting were things that he understood, things that he liked. Andrew's confusion was difficult for him, a web of confusing. Oz was intelligent, quick, but the way people worked was not his strong point. Philosophy and metaphysics were simpler than this boy.
Andrew stepped into the van, "Wow, um, nice place you have here. I like what you have done with the..." Nervous chatter again. Andrew wanted to shut up. He wanted to fall into a rhythm with Oz. Make it be how it was outside and be swept away in the moment. But Andrew was a talker, and to a lesser extent, a thinker. He wanted to be comfortable with silence, but filling silence with words was second nature. He wondered what Oz was thinking. Staring at him intently, thinking he looked a little like Anakin with better hair in this light. Hayden Christensen was hot, even if he couldn't act...Why was he thinking about this? He turned his face toward Oz beseeching him to shut him up his mind with a kiss.
Oz sensed Andrew's nervous level rising, rising, hitting an almost fever pitch. At least he wasn't trying to play Barry White to cover the nerves. Andrew sat next to him, tense as a spring. No time to hesitate. They both needed this. It was Oz's gift, another piece of redemption to give to the world. He turned to face Andrew and pushed him gently down on the sleeping bag, covering his mouth with his own. The heat began to rise again.
Oz put his knee over the top of Andrew, straddling his waist as he kissed him. Oz's hands were holding the back of his head tightly, pushing them even closer together. Andrew wasn't sure what to do with his hands, but he knew that leaving them lying like dead fish on the floor was not the proper thing to do. He put his arms around Oz's svelte waist, instinctively pulling him closer, pulling him down, getting lost in it. He almost knew what to do without thinking about it, he realized. A new phenomenon. Oz felt Andrew drawing him closer, he could feel his hunger begin to rise. The awkwardness of moments ago was fading, fading back to the real world, not this place, this sanctuary. Outside was chaos, broken, deconstructed life.
Their bodies began to writhe against each other. Oz almost wanted to let a little wolf out. It would be so easy to let it take over, but, no. Andrew wasn't ready for that. Instead he sits up a little, pulling off Andrew's shirt and then, his own. No need to be shy. Their flesh is pale on pale. Skinny boys pulling at each other's boundaries. Oz dips his head down to Andrew's neck, licking, tasting, lightly biting him. He wants to say something to Andrew, beyond this sex, something reassuring, "You are stronger than you think." Oz says this as he begins to let his hand wander down to Andrew's soft nipples. Andrew moans louder as Oz puts the slightest bit of pressure on the nipple, rolling it gently between his two calloused fingers.
I am stronger than I think. Andrew absorbs this like all the other new sensations that he is feeling. I am stronger than I think.
So the villagers say,
And the three of you evaporate into the night
Till you both fall in love with him.
Oz/Andrew slash, post-ftvs
Oz and Andrew belong to Monseuir Whedon
Lyrics by Magnetic Fields, Falling in Love with the Wolf Boy
Willow had liked sex like a movie. She had always wanted candles and romance. She enjoyed sweet nothings whispered in her ears, he had never attempted anything dirty. She was, even in the height of orgasm, like the Virgin Mary: cheeks glowing, eyes rounds as lollipops and hair that fell just right. It had always felt like a movie moment, sort of like Cinemax late at night; no penetration shots and always perfect lighting.
Not that Oz hadn't fucked before. He had fucked other girls, boys, just never Willow. Fucked was not a word he could use describe anything to do with Willow. As he opened the door to the van for Andrew, through his raging passion for a good fuck, he wondered how it would be with Andrew. It wasn't like you decided these things.
Oz steps inside the van. Andrew is watching his ass as Oz clears away the trash, guitar magazines and spreads open the red sleeping bag with the flannel inside. It is comforting, like camping with his family as a child, before Tucker had gotten so mean. It was a thought in the back of his mind. At the forefront, Andrew was hot for it. Although he wasn't sure exactly what he was hot for other than boy flesh. Before it had always been feelings, but never actions. Aches for Warren mostly, maybe even for Spike at some points. Aches were not the same things as having a hot red-headed boy clearing a space for you to fuck in his van. "Oz?"
Oz turned around, on his hands and knees, cocking his head at Andrew. His dick was pressing hard on his jeans. Andrew was looking imploringly at him, seemed to be begging him for something. "I - I, um, don't know what to do, Oz. I mean I know, but how does it all begin? How do I know what to say and do? I want you to teach me, I want to please you, but what do you like? Should I, like, just do it like how they do in the movies? I am...scared. Do I even have the right metachlorians to be gay?" His eyes downcast to the sidewalk, fidgeting with his shirt sleeve. Precious few times had Oz wanted to both slap and comfort someone so much in his life.
Oz put his hand out to Andrew. He took it. Oz breathed a sigh under his breath. Silence, kissing, panting were things that he understood, things that he liked. Andrew's confusion was difficult for him, a web of confusing. Oz was intelligent, quick, but the way people worked was not his strong point. Philosophy and metaphysics were simpler than this boy.
Andrew stepped into the van, "Wow, um, nice place you have here. I like what you have done with the..." Nervous chatter again. Andrew wanted to shut up. He wanted to fall into a rhythm with Oz. Make it be how it was outside and be swept away in the moment. But Andrew was a talker, and to a lesser extent, a thinker. He wanted to be comfortable with silence, but filling silence with words was second nature. He wondered what Oz was thinking. Staring at him intently, thinking he looked a little like Anakin with better hair in this light. Hayden Christensen was hot, even if he couldn't act...Why was he thinking about this? He turned his face toward Oz beseeching him to shut him up his mind with a kiss.
Oz sensed Andrew's nervous level rising, rising, hitting an almost fever pitch. At least he wasn't trying to play Barry White to cover the nerves. Andrew sat next to him, tense as a spring. No time to hesitate. They both needed this. It was Oz's gift, another piece of redemption to give to the world. He turned to face Andrew and pushed him gently down on the sleeping bag, covering his mouth with his own. The heat began to rise again.
Oz put his knee over the top of Andrew, straddling his waist as he kissed him. Oz's hands were holding the back of his head tightly, pushing them even closer together. Andrew wasn't sure what to do with his hands, but he knew that leaving them lying like dead fish on the floor was not the proper thing to do. He put his arms around Oz's svelte waist, instinctively pulling him closer, pulling him down, getting lost in it. He almost knew what to do without thinking about it, he realized. A new phenomenon. Oz felt Andrew drawing him closer, he could feel his hunger begin to rise. The awkwardness of moments ago was fading, fading back to the real world, not this place, this sanctuary. Outside was chaos, broken, deconstructed life.
Their bodies began to writhe against each other. Oz almost wanted to let a little wolf out. It would be so easy to let it take over, but, no. Andrew wasn't ready for that. Instead he sits up a little, pulling off Andrew's shirt and then, his own. No need to be shy. Their flesh is pale on pale. Skinny boys pulling at each other's boundaries. Oz dips his head down to Andrew's neck, licking, tasting, lightly biting him. He wants to say something to Andrew, beyond this sex, something reassuring, "You are stronger than you think." Oz says this as he begins to let his hand wander down to Andrew's soft nipples. Andrew moans louder as Oz puts the slightest bit of pressure on the nipple, rolling it gently between his two calloused fingers.
I am stronger than I think. Andrew absorbs this like all the other new sensations that he is feeling. I am stronger than I think.