Fic: Coffee and Dirt Bikes (Oz/Spike, Xander)
Fic for the Buffyverse Man-a-thon
Title: Coffee and Dirt Bikes
Author: Moosesal
Fandom/Pairing: Buffyverse -- Oz/Spike, with Xander
Rating: Adult
Note: This is a human AU set in the world of dirt bike racing, specifically Supercross. You don't really need to know anything about Supercross to understand this, though.
Written for: bunnymcfoo
Request: Two things to include: Oz, a trip to the 7-11. Two things to leave out: non-con, Giles/student (post graduation is fine though.) Favorite thing about men: Their utter lack of concern about getting dirty, in any way, shape or form. *purrrs* You can gimme a grease covered man, working on his truck over an office worker, any day of the week, thank yew!
I, too, love a grease covered man and wouldn't trade mine for any other in the world. Except maybe Oz. :) Enjoy.
There were only three places in town to get coffee -- unless you wanted to make it yourself, which Oz definitely didn't want to do -- Al's Diner, the BP station, and 7-11. Oz opted for the 7-11, because even if Al's had carryout cups and the BP's coffee didn't resemble used motor oil, they still would have taken a backseat to what the 7-11 had to offer. What was so special about the 7-11 coffee, you ask? Nothing.
The man who stood behind the counter, however, was another story. His name was William, but everyone knew him as Spike. He was a twenty-something guy with bleach blond hair, a British accent, and a ride on the Supercross circuit.
Oz was a twenty-something guy with ever changing hair, a slowly vanishing southern Californian accent, and a natural knack for keeping dirt bikes running.
Spike, of course, didn't seem to know Oz existed.
It didn't matter that Oz worked at Joe's Auto, located just two doors down from the 7-11, or that Oz regularly worked on Spike's teammate Xander's bike. It also apparently didn't matter that Oz stopped in every morning for coffee, smiled at Spike, and chatted him up about the upcoming racing schedule. Spike simply sold him his coffee, handed him his change, and wished him a nice day as he went on to the next customer.
Oz wasn't stupid. He could take a hint. Add being ignored to the way Spike paraded around with Drusilla -- one of the top women riders on the motocross circuit -- and it just reinforced the fact that he was never going to catch Spike's eye. It wasn't the first time he'd been interested in a straight guy and it probably wouldn't be the last. He was smart enough to let it go.
Well, until Spike showed up at Joe's one afternoon.
***
"Hello?"
Oz whacked his head on the axle of the car he was under then fell back and sighed. He slid the creeper out then tried sitting up again. "Hey." He popped up and looked across the Honda he'd been working on to see Xander and Spike standing in the bay next to his.
"Oz," Xander said. "What's up, man?"
Oz shrugged and wiped his arm across his forehead, replacing sweat with a smudge of grease. "Not much man. Something wrong with the bike?"
"Nah. She's great. That's why we're here, actually." He turned to Spike and made introductory motions. "This is Spike. Spike, Oz, my mechanic."
Spike nodded and squinted at Oz, studying him. "We've met, haven't we?"
"I come into the store for coffee sometimes." Oz shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"Right."
Xander just looked between the two of them and shook his head in confusion. "Anyway... The circuit starts this weekend and Spike's mechanic and manager sort of disappeared."
"Disappeared?" Oz looked from Xander to Spike back to Xander. Spike didn't seem any more talkative than he was in the store.
"Took the money and ran," Xander explained.
"Ah."
"His bike needs some work done fast. Circuit starts in Toronto this weekend. Grand Prix race."
Oz glanced at the calendar. "Today's Tuesday."
"Yeah." Xander scuffed the toe of his shoe against the floor.
"If you're driving--"
"We leave tonight," Spike interrupted.
"Tonight." What did they expect him to do at -- this time he glanced at the clock on the wall -- 4:30 in the afternoon? "Are you on crack?"
Xander laughed. Spike just stared at Oz, his eyebrow raised in question.
"I guess I can see what I can do after I close the shop at 5. But I don't know how much help I can really be."
Spike looked at Xander. "Thought you said he was smart?"
"He is," Xander replied before turning to Oz who didn't really like having his intelligence questioned. "What Spike meant to ask is, come with us. Work full-time as our mechanic."
Oz still wasn't sure he was hearing Xander correctly. He could have sworn he'd been offered a full-time job on the circuit with them. Surely he was mistaken. He looked back and forth between the two.
"You'd travel with us, six months on the road. No time off until the circuit's over in May. We've got the RV and there's plenty of room. It's busy, but you'll love it. I promise." Xander was really trying to sell this.
"Wait a minute," Oz looked a Xander. "Since when can you afford--"
"Got a couple more sponsors, but mostly it's Spike's money." He gave Oz his puppy dog look that had worked since they were in grade school together. "Come on, Oz. You're better than any of the guys turning wrenches on the circuit."
"How much?"
"$350 a week," Spike said. "Plus room and board."
Oz looked at the Honda Civic next to him. "Gotta finish this job then swing by my mom's place to pack."
"We'll pick you up at 7," Xander said with a grin. "This is gonna be great."
"Yeah," Oz whispered. Spike didn't seem quite so enthused and Oz wasn't sure how to take that.
***
Three weeks later Spike still hadn't said more than five words at a time to Oz. And usually those five words were related to the condition of his bikes. "Throttle's sticking" or "Clutch is too tight" or his favorite "Feel's wrong." Wrong, how? Oz had wondered. He was a good mechanic, but he wasn't a mind reader. He did nothing to the bike and the next day Spike declared it was "Better, thanks."
The silence wasn't necessarily a bad thing -- Oz wasn't much of a talker either and Xander babbled on enough for six men -- but it left him wondering where he stood with Spike. So it came as a big surprise when Spike stumbled into the trailer drunk off his ass one night and cried to Oz about how Dru had left him (and the circuit) for some NHRA rider who was so green he didn't even qualify for half his races.
"What's he got that I don't?" Spike looked at Oz, pleading for an answer that Oz didn't have.
"Umm..."
"Sure he makes more money, but he's a lousy lay. Got a little dick," he spat. "And before you ask, yes, I know that for a fact."
Oz walked to the fridge for a beer. After a pronouncement like that he thought he might need more than one.
"Stupid git beats off with his thumb and forefinger because it's too small for his whole hand."
Oz chugged his first beer then grabbed a second before returning to where Spike was slumped over the table, a bottle of Jack Daniels in his fist. Oz slid onto the bench seat across from him and realized that after his pronouncement about the other guy's dick size Spike had passed out. He removed the bottle from Spike's grip then grabbed a pillow and lifted Spike's head to slide it under him.
Oz went to bed and beat off thinking about Spike.
***
Spike had warmed to him since the night of the confessions about Dru and her mystery man with the little dick. He'd started speaking in complete sentences and smiling. He'd even brought Oz coffee one morning. "Large, two sugars, right?" Oz had smiled and nodded. That was exactly right.
***
The first time Spike kissed him came as a total surprise. Oz was kneeling next to Spike's mud covered bike and shaking his head. Spike walked up and said, "You're not afraid of a little dirt are you?"
Oz rolled his eyes. "Nah. Just wondering what exactly you did to this thing. So much fucking mud on it."
"Wash it off."
"Not my job."
Spike grabbed the water hose and sprayed it down, soaking Oz in the process and knocking him backwards into the mud. "See?" Spike motioned with the spray of water to the rear wheel. "Chain broke."
Oz leaned on his elbows, ass in the mud, staring up at Spike. A billion words flitted through his head but before he could get anything out, Spike was straddling him in the muck. "You've got a smudge of grease on your cheek," Spike whispered against his lips. He swiped at it with his thumb as he pressed his mouth to Oz's. When he pulled back, all Oz's words were gone.
***
The first time they had sex was about 15 minutes later. Spike had insisted on stripping Oz out of his wet clothes before he caught a chill. They'd somehow managed to squeeze into the RV's tiny little shower together and then stumbled onto Oz's bunk. For one fleeting moment Oz had wondered why they were on his 18-inch wide bunk instead of in Spike's full-size bed up front. But when Spike swallowed his cock he forgot what he was going to say and just went with it.
He did, however, insist that the second time was in slightly less cramped quarters. Which wasn't a problem really, especially after the season ended and they went back home. It turned out Spike liked fucking Oz in the garage. Oz had taken to intentionally getting dirty. Spike was particularly fond of the smell of used motor oil and axle grease.
Title: Coffee and Dirt Bikes
Author: Moosesal
Fandom/Pairing: Buffyverse -- Oz/Spike, with Xander
Rating: Adult
Note: This is a human AU set in the world of dirt bike racing, specifically Supercross. You don't really need to know anything about Supercross to understand this, though.
Written for: bunnymcfoo
Request: Two things to include: Oz, a trip to the 7-11. Two things to leave out: non-con, Giles/student (post graduation is fine though.) Favorite thing about men: Their utter lack of concern about getting dirty, in any way, shape or form. *purrrs* You can gimme a grease covered man, working on his truck over an office worker, any day of the week, thank yew!
I, too, love a grease covered man and wouldn't trade mine for any other in the world. Except maybe Oz. :) Enjoy.
There were only three places in town to get coffee -- unless you wanted to make it yourself, which Oz definitely didn't want to do -- Al's Diner, the BP station, and 7-11. Oz opted for the 7-11, because even if Al's had carryout cups and the BP's coffee didn't resemble used motor oil, they still would have taken a backseat to what the 7-11 had to offer. What was so special about the 7-11 coffee, you ask? Nothing.
The man who stood behind the counter, however, was another story. His name was William, but everyone knew him as Spike. He was a twenty-something guy with bleach blond hair, a British accent, and a ride on the Supercross circuit.
Oz was a twenty-something guy with ever changing hair, a slowly vanishing southern Californian accent, and a natural knack for keeping dirt bikes running.
Spike, of course, didn't seem to know Oz existed.
It didn't matter that Oz worked at Joe's Auto, located just two doors down from the 7-11, or that Oz regularly worked on Spike's teammate Xander's bike. It also apparently didn't matter that Oz stopped in every morning for coffee, smiled at Spike, and chatted him up about the upcoming racing schedule. Spike simply sold him his coffee, handed him his change, and wished him a nice day as he went on to the next customer.
Oz wasn't stupid. He could take a hint. Add being ignored to the way Spike paraded around with Drusilla -- one of the top women riders on the motocross circuit -- and it just reinforced the fact that he was never going to catch Spike's eye. It wasn't the first time he'd been interested in a straight guy and it probably wouldn't be the last. He was smart enough to let it go.
Well, until Spike showed up at Joe's one afternoon.
***
"Hello?"
Oz whacked his head on the axle of the car he was under then fell back and sighed. He slid the creeper out then tried sitting up again. "Hey." He popped up and looked across the Honda he'd been working on to see Xander and Spike standing in the bay next to his.
"Oz," Xander said. "What's up, man?"
Oz shrugged and wiped his arm across his forehead, replacing sweat with a smudge of grease. "Not much man. Something wrong with the bike?"
"Nah. She's great. That's why we're here, actually." He turned to Spike and made introductory motions. "This is Spike. Spike, Oz, my mechanic."
Spike nodded and squinted at Oz, studying him. "We've met, haven't we?"
"I come into the store for coffee sometimes." Oz shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"Right."
Xander just looked between the two of them and shook his head in confusion. "Anyway... The circuit starts this weekend and Spike's mechanic and manager sort of disappeared."
"Disappeared?" Oz looked from Xander to Spike back to Xander. Spike didn't seem any more talkative than he was in the store.
"Took the money and ran," Xander explained.
"Ah."
"His bike needs some work done fast. Circuit starts in Toronto this weekend. Grand Prix race."
Oz glanced at the calendar. "Today's Tuesday."
"Yeah." Xander scuffed the toe of his shoe against the floor.
"If you're driving--"
"We leave tonight," Spike interrupted.
"Tonight." What did they expect him to do at -- this time he glanced at the clock on the wall -- 4:30 in the afternoon? "Are you on crack?"
Xander laughed. Spike just stared at Oz, his eyebrow raised in question.
"I guess I can see what I can do after I close the shop at 5. But I don't know how much help I can really be."
Spike looked at Xander. "Thought you said he was smart?"
"He is," Xander replied before turning to Oz who didn't really like having his intelligence questioned. "What Spike meant to ask is, come with us. Work full-time as our mechanic."
Oz still wasn't sure he was hearing Xander correctly. He could have sworn he'd been offered a full-time job on the circuit with them. Surely he was mistaken. He looked back and forth between the two.
"You'd travel with us, six months on the road. No time off until the circuit's over in May. We've got the RV and there's plenty of room. It's busy, but you'll love it. I promise." Xander was really trying to sell this.
"Wait a minute," Oz looked a Xander. "Since when can you afford--"
"Got a couple more sponsors, but mostly it's Spike's money." He gave Oz his puppy dog look that had worked since they were in grade school together. "Come on, Oz. You're better than any of the guys turning wrenches on the circuit."
"How much?"
"$350 a week," Spike said. "Plus room and board."
Oz looked at the Honda Civic next to him. "Gotta finish this job then swing by my mom's place to pack."
"We'll pick you up at 7," Xander said with a grin. "This is gonna be great."
"Yeah," Oz whispered. Spike didn't seem quite so enthused and Oz wasn't sure how to take that.
***
Three weeks later Spike still hadn't said more than five words at a time to Oz. And usually those five words were related to the condition of his bikes. "Throttle's sticking" or "Clutch is too tight" or his favorite "Feel's wrong." Wrong, how? Oz had wondered. He was a good mechanic, but he wasn't a mind reader. He did nothing to the bike and the next day Spike declared it was "Better, thanks."
The silence wasn't necessarily a bad thing -- Oz wasn't much of a talker either and Xander babbled on enough for six men -- but it left him wondering where he stood with Spike. So it came as a big surprise when Spike stumbled into the trailer drunk off his ass one night and cried to Oz about how Dru had left him (and the circuit) for some NHRA rider who was so green he didn't even qualify for half his races.
"What's he got that I don't?" Spike looked at Oz, pleading for an answer that Oz didn't have.
"Umm..."
"Sure he makes more money, but he's a lousy lay. Got a little dick," he spat. "And before you ask, yes, I know that for a fact."
Oz walked to the fridge for a beer. After a pronouncement like that he thought he might need more than one.
"Stupid git beats off with his thumb and forefinger because it's too small for his whole hand."
Oz chugged his first beer then grabbed a second before returning to where Spike was slumped over the table, a bottle of Jack Daniels in his fist. Oz slid onto the bench seat across from him and realized that after his pronouncement about the other guy's dick size Spike had passed out. He removed the bottle from Spike's grip then grabbed a pillow and lifted Spike's head to slide it under him.
Oz went to bed and beat off thinking about Spike.
***
Spike had warmed to him since the night of the confessions about Dru and her mystery man with the little dick. He'd started speaking in complete sentences and smiling. He'd even brought Oz coffee one morning. "Large, two sugars, right?" Oz had smiled and nodded. That was exactly right.
***
The first time Spike kissed him came as a total surprise. Oz was kneeling next to Spike's mud covered bike and shaking his head. Spike walked up and said, "You're not afraid of a little dirt are you?"
Oz rolled his eyes. "Nah. Just wondering what exactly you did to this thing. So much fucking mud on it."
"Wash it off."
"Not my job."
Spike grabbed the water hose and sprayed it down, soaking Oz in the process and knocking him backwards into the mud. "See?" Spike motioned with the spray of water to the rear wheel. "Chain broke."
Oz leaned on his elbows, ass in the mud, staring up at Spike. A billion words flitted through his head but before he could get anything out, Spike was straddling him in the muck. "You've got a smudge of grease on your cheek," Spike whispered against his lips. He swiped at it with his thumb as he pressed his mouth to Oz's. When he pulled back, all Oz's words were gone.
***
The first time they had sex was about 15 minutes later. Spike had insisted on stripping Oz out of his wet clothes before he caught a chill. They'd somehow managed to squeeze into the RV's tiny little shower together and then stumbled onto Oz's bunk. For one fleeting moment Oz had wondered why they were on his 18-inch wide bunk instead of in Spike's full-size bed up front. But when Spike swallowed his cock he forgot what he was going to say and just went with it.
He did, however, insist that the second time was in slightly less cramped quarters. Which wasn't a problem really, especially after the season ended and they went back home. It turned out Spike liked fucking Oz in the garage. Oz had taken to intentionally getting dirty. Spike was particularly fond of the smell of used motor oil and axle grease.