Fic: Grief (Oz/Xander; Adult rating)
Title: Grief
Author: Moosesal
Rating: Adult
Beta: Mega thanks to crazydiamondsue for encouraging me to write more of this world and volunteering to beta anything I did manage to pull together (and then actually doing it when the time finally came).
Note 1: This is a companion to my Xander/Oz, Xander/Spike story "Shame". While this is technically a prequel, it makes more sense to actually read it as a sequel.
Note 2: As you may remember, "Shame" was for the "Music of Pain" ficathon and inspired by music. I decided to stick with that theme (somewhat). This piece is a series of ten, 100 word drabbles based on David Gray song titles, except for "Babylon" which comes from a lyric rather than title (lyric is in parentheses after the title).
Warning: "Shame" was not a happy ending story. It's sad and dreary. This is the same. You've been warned.
Slow Motion
When Oz slipped into the bar to escape the torrential rain, he had no idea who he'd find inside. His first thought upon seeing Xander at the bar was that the rain was a sign of another apocalypse. He scanned the room for Buffy or Angel and his crew. But Xander was clearly alone. When he turned his head toward the door, Oz saw the patch and figured the rain was late. Clearly the big fight had already happened. He wondered what else he'd missed while traveling the world. When Xander filled him in, Oz wondered why he'd ever left.
Babylon (If you want it, come and get it. Let go of your heart, let go of your head.)
Xander laughed and tried twisting away as Oz straddled his hips and tickled with nimble fingers.
"You think you can get me? Bring it on, little man."
As if the challenge itself hadn't been enough, Xander's "little man" comment grated and the game was on. Oz might be small, but thanks to the wolf, he was deceptively strong. It was nothing to him to tackle Xander to the floor and tickle him until he cried uncle.
Xander was stubborn, but Oz was determined. Xander never stood a chance. But then neither had Oz when it came to falling in love.
This Year's Love
Lying on the couch watching bad sci-fi television. Joking and laughing. Legs tangled. Tasting butter and salt on lips and fingers. Popcorn everywhere from knocking over the bowl.
Late night swims in the rooftop pool. Making out under the diving board. Slipping back downstairs for a quick fuck. Or a slow, easy one.
Shopping for groceries and cooking together in Xander's cramped kitchen. Leaving the mess for morning when their desire to love was greater than desire to clean.
Stumbling home from the bar. Puking in the bathroom and passing out on the floor. Remembering nothing in the morning.
Debauchery
Oz had never shied away from sex, never run from it or said no to trying something new.
At the same time, he wasn't showy with his body or aggressive about having sex. He didn't push or beg. Intimacy was about more than sex for him.
But with Xander it was somehow different.
The way Xander would graze Oz's bottom lip with his thumb made Oz want to swallow him completely. His fingers sliding up Oz's thigh made him want to open up wider, spread his body and give himself up.
With Xander, Oz gave himself over like never before.
Please Forgive Me
Oz lost count of the apologies. They didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Nothing mattered in the grand scheme. Oz lived for the now--yesterday's transgressions forgotten, tomorrow's wished away. He lived for today. He held Xander and loved Xander. He kissed away tears, accepted every "I'm sorry, so sorry," and absolved him of sin with the touch of his fingers, his lips, his heart.
But it didn't help because it wasn't Oz's forgiveness that he needed. Xander lived in the past, in his pain. And despite everything Oz did for him, Xander could never forgive himself.
Shine
He stood on the roof of Xander's building, staring at the moon's reflection in the pool. He felt warmth at his back, a presence he'd never expected to both crave and long to be free of.
"Join me for a swim?" Words whispered against his neck, lips pressed to his pulse point.
He swallowed and nodded and slipped away to dive in before he could change his mind.
He stayed under as long as he could before pushing up to the surface, his eyes trained on the full moon above him. There were no cuffs, but he was still shackled.
The Other Side
Sometimes Xander would joke about meditation. He knew the importance it had for Oz, understood the necessity of it and appreciated the results. But when he was drunk or when he was sober--really sober and overly aware--he'd joke about Oz communing with the dead.
That made Oz think maybe it should be Xander doing it. Talking to the dead, that is. Specifically Anya. He needed something to help him settle his soul, to restore what he'd lost with her death. But Xander found peace in a bottle--hunched over the bar, expression grim, his mantra "Just one more."
The One I Love
Xander inside him, their movements perfect. Together. And then "Anya" whispered against his mouth as Xander shuddered and collapsed against him.
That first time Oz understood. This love had transformed Xander. It shaped him, made him a man. Oz felt that lost love in Xander's touch, in his kiss, in his every breath. It was beautiful.
The second time it happened Oz ignored it. And again the third time and the fourth and so many more.
But the last time, the summation of every time, Oz said good-bye. He wasn't a liar and he wasn't the one Xander loved.
My Oh My
"Spike." Oz both was and wasn't surprised. He laughed and leaned against the door frame, leaving Spike to stand in the hall.
"Can I come in?" Spike stepped forward but Oz didn't move.
"No." Spike nodded and slid back.
"I don't bite anymore, you know?" Oz ignored him. "Then will you come out? Take a little ... trip with me?"
"It's over between us. I'm not going over there."
"He needs you."
"I've got nothing he's ready to accept."
Oz stepped back and closed the door as Spike said, "You love him."
"Yeah," Oz whispered to himself. "But it's not enough."
Sail Away
Oz lay back on the bed, legs spread, hand fisted loosely around his cock. He jacked himself slowly, eyes squeezed tight as he thought of his lover's--no, his ex-lover's--hand and mouth and ...
His memories chased him and he gripped himself tighter, pulled a little harder, thought of their first time. And their last. He spilled over his hand and choked back tears he refused to shed.
He'd chosen to walk away. He had to. He knew that. But weeks later his thoughts were consumed by dark eyes and hair; long, well-muscled limbs; deft fingers. Everything. Gone.
Author: Moosesal
Rating: Adult
Beta: Mega thanks to crazydiamondsue for encouraging me to write more of this world and volunteering to beta anything I did manage to pull together (and then actually doing it when the time finally came).
Note 1: This is a companion to my Xander/Oz, Xander/Spike story "Shame". While this is technically a prequel, it makes more sense to actually read it as a sequel.
Note 2: As you may remember, "Shame" was for the "Music of Pain" ficathon and inspired by music. I decided to stick with that theme (somewhat). This piece is a series of ten, 100 word drabbles based on David Gray song titles, except for "Babylon" which comes from a lyric rather than title (lyric is in parentheses after the title).
Warning: "Shame" was not a happy ending story. It's sad and dreary. This is the same. You've been warned.
Slow Motion
When Oz slipped into the bar to escape the torrential rain, he had no idea who he'd find inside. His first thought upon seeing Xander at the bar was that the rain was a sign of another apocalypse. He scanned the room for Buffy or Angel and his crew. But Xander was clearly alone. When he turned his head toward the door, Oz saw the patch and figured the rain was late. Clearly the big fight had already happened. He wondered what else he'd missed while traveling the world. When Xander filled him in, Oz wondered why he'd ever left.
Babylon (If you want it, come and get it. Let go of your heart, let go of your head.)
Xander laughed and tried twisting away as Oz straddled his hips and tickled with nimble fingers.
"You think you can get me? Bring it on, little man."
As if the challenge itself hadn't been enough, Xander's "little man" comment grated and the game was on. Oz might be small, but thanks to the wolf, he was deceptively strong. It was nothing to him to tackle Xander to the floor and tickle him until he cried uncle.
Xander was stubborn, but Oz was determined. Xander never stood a chance. But then neither had Oz when it came to falling in love.
This Year's Love
Lying on the couch watching bad sci-fi television. Joking and laughing. Legs tangled. Tasting butter and salt on lips and fingers. Popcorn everywhere from knocking over the bowl.
Late night swims in the rooftop pool. Making out under the diving board. Slipping back downstairs for a quick fuck. Or a slow, easy one.
Shopping for groceries and cooking together in Xander's cramped kitchen. Leaving the mess for morning when their desire to love was greater than desire to clean.
Stumbling home from the bar. Puking in the bathroom and passing out on the floor. Remembering nothing in the morning.
Debauchery
Oz had never shied away from sex, never run from it or said no to trying something new.
At the same time, he wasn't showy with his body or aggressive about having sex. He didn't push or beg. Intimacy was about more than sex for him.
But with Xander it was somehow different.
The way Xander would graze Oz's bottom lip with his thumb made Oz want to swallow him completely. His fingers sliding up Oz's thigh made him want to open up wider, spread his body and give himself up.
With Xander, Oz gave himself over like never before.
Please Forgive Me
Oz lost count of the apologies. They didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Nothing mattered in the grand scheme. Oz lived for the now--yesterday's transgressions forgotten, tomorrow's wished away. He lived for today. He held Xander and loved Xander. He kissed away tears, accepted every "I'm sorry, so sorry," and absolved him of sin with the touch of his fingers, his lips, his heart.
But it didn't help because it wasn't Oz's forgiveness that he needed. Xander lived in the past, in his pain. And despite everything Oz did for him, Xander could never forgive himself.
Shine
He stood on the roof of Xander's building, staring at the moon's reflection in the pool. He felt warmth at his back, a presence he'd never expected to both crave and long to be free of.
"Join me for a swim?" Words whispered against his neck, lips pressed to his pulse point.
He swallowed and nodded and slipped away to dive in before he could change his mind.
He stayed under as long as he could before pushing up to the surface, his eyes trained on the full moon above him. There were no cuffs, but he was still shackled.
The Other Side
Sometimes Xander would joke about meditation. He knew the importance it had for Oz, understood the necessity of it and appreciated the results. But when he was drunk or when he was sober--really sober and overly aware--he'd joke about Oz communing with the dead.
That made Oz think maybe it should be Xander doing it. Talking to the dead, that is. Specifically Anya. He needed something to help him settle his soul, to restore what he'd lost with her death. But Xander found peace in a bottle--hunched over the bar, expression grim, his mantra "Just one more."
The One I Love
Xander inside him, their movements perfect. Together. And then "Anya" whispered against his mouth as Xander shuddered and collapsed against him.
That first time Oz understood. This love had transformed Xander. It shaped him, made him a man. Oz felt that lost love in Xander's touch, in his kiss, in his every breath. It was beautiful.
The second time it happened Oz ignored it. And again the third time and the fourth and so many more.
But the last time, the summation of every time, Oz said good-bye. He wasn't a liar and he wasn't the one Xander loved.
My Oh My
"Spike." Oz both was and wasn't surprised. He laughed and leaned against the door frame, leaving Spike to stand in the hall.
"Can I come in?" Spike stepped forward but Oz didn't move.
"No." Spike nodded and slid back.
"I don't bite anymore, you know?" Oz ignored him. "Then will you come out? Take a little ... trip with me?"
"It's over between us. I'm not going over there."
"He needs you."
"I've got nothing he's ready to accept."
Oz stepped back and closed the door as Spike said, "You love him."
"Yeah," Oz whispered to himself. "But it's not enough."
Sail Away
Oz lay back on the bed, legs spread, hand fisted loosely around his cock. He jacked himself slowly, eyes squeezed tight as he thought of his lover's--no, his ex-lover's--hand and mouth and ...
His memories chased him and he gripped himself tighter, pulled a little harder, thought of their first time. And their last. He spilled over his hand and choked back tears he refused to shed.
He'd chosen to walk away. He had to. He knew that. But weeks later his thoughts were consumed by dark eyes and hair; long, well-muscled limbs; deft fingers. Everything. Gone.