**********

Blinking.

That's all he could think to do right then, so that's what he did. He

blinked, and then he coughed slightly. It was odd, he usually never

had to announce his presence. Devon would just *know*, and he

would look up and he would get this weird little grin on his face and

he would nod, just barely. But this time, as Oz stood in the doorway

of his living room, he didn't even notice.

Not until Oz coughed, and Devon looked up from kissing Xander.

From fucking *kissing* fucking *Xander*. He looked up and he

saw Oz standing there and staring, and he whispered, "Fuck."

Xander needed only a second to see who it was and propel himself

out from under Devon's hovering form to squash himself into the

corner of the sofa, silent and probably praying the floor would

swallow him alive. In the meantime, Oz blinked once more, watching

Devon with his jaw jutted just barely forward, a sure sign of his

anger if ever there was one. "Oz," Devon started.

Oz shook his head, backing up. "No need," he said, and then he was

out the door, in his van, driving away, making motions without really

thinking about them.

Yet, when he wound up in LA, he wasn't really all that surprised.

After all, he'd been paying enough attention to make it there alive, so

he must have known where he was heading, but finding himself

walking through the door of Angel's office was like walking through

a fog -- things sort of floated up and were just there; not a shock but

not quite grounded enough in reality to be a solid part of life.

Just like Cordelia looking up from filing her nails didn't seem all that

concrete. It was just sort of normal, one of those things that will

happen and does happen and you end up thinking something like,

oh, look what just happened. Cordelia filed her nails. Huh.

Oz's line of thinking wasn't all that straight right then. It was just

barely crooked, a gentle curve that led it just shy of being right on

target of usual, which often wasn't all that straight anyway. His head

was filled with all these images of Devon, and Xander, and they were

apart and then they were together, and Oz couldn't even pinpoint

when the bad feeling started. Sometime before the images were

kissing, but not before Devon and Xander were any sort of

acquaintances. The bad feeling started somewhere in the middle of

all that.

The thing was, Oz couldn't figure out what that middle ground was,

or if it existed at all. Devon didn't like Xander; he didn't like anyone

associated with Willow except for Oz himself. And Xander --

Xander was an enigma. He was the last person Oz would ever have

expected to find kissing...kissing who? The lead singer of Oz's band

who was also his best friend that he slept with, but who screwed

around with groupies all the time? But aside from that, the main

problem seemed to be that there was no way on God's green earth

that Xander and Devon should wind up, together, on Devon's sofa,

kissing like Oz had seem them kissing. Kissing at all, but especially

not like Oz had seen.

Confusion apparently did strange things to Oz, because it wasn't very

many experiences that would provoke him into driving all the way to

LA to show up on the doorstep, so to speak, of a vampire with whom

Oz had had exactly one rather strange sexual encounter. And there

he was, looking at Cordelia in this blank, dazed way that sort of

scared her into getting up and going to get Angel.

Angel came out of his office and saw Oz, and it was good then

because Oz didn't really need to pay attention anymore. He wouldn't

drive off the road or anything, so he gratefully stopped thinking and

let Angel take him and lead him to a bedroom that just seemed to

*be* somewhere, and when he was sitting on the edge of the

mattress, he just closed his eyes and breathed, which was also good.

So he was sitting on Angel's bed, and somehow being handed a cup

of coffee, and still no one had said a word to him. There were just the

sounds of Angel going back upstairs to tell Cordelia she could leave

for the day, and then the elevator returning, and then footsteps

shuffling up beside him, and Oz noted with more clarity than

anything else the way his weight had to shift to accommodate the

sinking when Angel sat down. Silent, he handed his empty mug to

the vampire, who set it on the floor and waited for a minute. "Oz," he

finally started. "Did something happen?"

Oz nodded slowly, lifting his head to look up at Angel. "Yeah."

Angel's eyes darkened impossibly. "Oz, I need to know what

happened if I'm going to do anything." He spoke softly, in a tone

paramedics reserve for the seriously wounded in an ambulance. Soft,

soothing, no I won't let you die, I'll fix everything. Yes, you'll be fine.

I promise. And it didn't really matter if they broke that promise,

because right then and there, all you wanted was to trust them, and

you had no real choice in the matter.

Oz frowned. "No. Nothing happened, Angel. No evilness, at least.

Relax. Everyone's fine."

Angel did seem to relax a bit, but once he picked up on the fact that

something must be personally wrong, he took Oz's hand and

squeezed gently. "So what *did* happen?"

"Not a lot." Oz darted forward suddenly, finding Angel's mouth with

perfect aim. He kissed simply to be kissing him, and his tongue

moved forward almost of its own volition, probing into Angel's

mouth in one rolling surge. As his fingers tightened around Oz's

hand, Angel leaned in and pressed Oz back, taking his own sweet

time to break the kiss off and mold his palm to the shape of Oz's

cheek.

"Then what was the little that did happen?" His thumb passed over

the stubble on Oz's jaw, feeling the rough sensation of brittle hairs.

"Something happened. Don't deny it."

"I'm not denying it. I'm just not talking about it. Difference, Angel.

There is one."

"I know that. There's not talking about the fact that I'm a demon, and

then there's denying it. Big difference. But something happened

that's more than 'not a lot'. So tell me, or there's no purpose in your

having come here."

"What if talking isn't why I came here?"

"Fine. Why did you come here?"

Oz took Angel's hand from his face and played with it, using that as

a distraction for his eyes. "Maybe...maybe I came here because I

promised I'd come back. Maybe I decided it was time to return the

favor for real."

Angel rolled his eyes, not impressed. "Yeah. Maybe you're lying

through your teeth. Oz..."

"Look, Angel. Yes, something happened. Yes, it upset me. But...it

wasn't devastating. I didn't come here because I need to use you to

hide from something...I came here because it's comfortable. Because

being with you seemed like something that would be comfortable. Is

that a problem?"

Oz had long ago realized that he'd met his match in Angel, as far as

penetrating gazes went, but it hadn't really mattered until right then.

The vampire was regarding him with cool, intrigued, calculating eyes,

and Oz couldn't squirm away from it, which was horrendously

disconcerting because Oz only liked deep gazes when he wasn't the

one being stripped of his inner secrets. Finally, Angel drew his hand

away and ran it slowly through his hair. "No. It's not a problem.

I...I'm glad you could come here."

"Angel." Oz stopped Angel from rising slowly to his feet, scared

things were falling apart. He chewed his lip gently, searching for the

right words. "Stay here."

Angel complied, leaning back on one arm as his face showed

something akin to amusement. "Any particular reason?"

"Yes." Oz fell onto his back and watched Angel shift to lean over

him, and the flash of Devon and Xander that popped into the space

just behind his eyes only served to make Oz's course of action more

certain. He reached and grabbed Angel by the front of his shirt,

pulling him down and on top and forming his lips into just the right

shape to latch onto Angel's chin.

Holding himself up with his arms, Angel slung one leg over Oz's,

crawling over him and literally dipping his head down in a motion

that could only be described as undulating in order to press tiny

kisses all over Oz's face. First the temples, where the slightest

feathery touch had the effect of pushing Oz's eyes closed so the

veins could throb with just a *little* bit more ease.

Next, the bridge of the nose, Angel's lips puckering out enough to fit

into the dented cavity. And then just below the cleft of lower lip flesh,

so he was in perfect position to let his tongue slide out and swirl up

and across Oz's lips. Pressing just hard enough to force Oz's mouth

open, he probed deeper with his tongue at the same time as lowering

himself to pin Oz into the mattress and give one intentionally

provocative thrust of his hips.

Oz was...Well, Oz was completely and utterly gone, lost to the

burning sensation of Angel's mouth on his and the incredible

pressure bogging him down into a heated swamp of mattress and

blanket and sweat and loose, random thoughts of what he needed to

do with his hands. Acting on those thoughts, he tugged on Angel's

loose gray sweater, taking the undershirt with it on the way over

Angel's head.

And then it was Devon again, always a comparison with Devon,

always taking note of how Angel was so much more *there*. Devon

had this way of being noncorporeal, of drifting about Oz's

consciousness in loose waves of discontinued thought, even when

they were pressed this close together. But Angel...Angel was solid.

Angel was real, a towering block of a foothold to keep Oz from

teetering off into a void of senseless blank space. Angel was so

much bigger, so much more definite; he occupied his space with a

presence that Devon didn't really have. And even though it was like

Devon and Oz fit so well, were so good together, this was nice. It

was a change. It was in perfect opposition to Devon and his

*fucking* nerve to go after Xander.

Because Oz knew. He *knew* that's how it had to have happened.

Xander came looking for Oz, and Devon decided to have some fun,

like the stupid little horny fucker Oz felt he should have recognized

much earlier. And so what if Xander knew everything, because

nobody could resist Devon all that well. Oz couldn't do it at the

beginning, and there was no way Xander would be able to. Not

caught by surprise. Devon could make you feel better than any chick

ever could. Devon could do strange things to your head.

Oz drifted back to the reality of Angel and the boiling heat surging

through every limb of his own body. With a burst of force, he

flipped them over so he could straddle the vampire and tug his own

shirt off, and the next thing he registered with complete and honest

comprehension was that Angel's nipple tasted *good*. His fingers

scratched across cool white flesh; Oz knew he shouldn't be so rough,

but he knew that less than he knew that Angel was dead and nothing

he could do in this particular type of heated passion was going to

hurt him for long.

Besides, Angel was not complaining. Far from it, he seemed to Oz to

be struggling against himself, not against Oz. His hands alternated

between clutching at the blankets on the bed and lifting into the air,

on their way to grab Oz and change the course of this entire thing,

but only wound up clenching and unclenching in tight, disciplined

fists. His eyes were locked on the red head that had just given up on

his chest to lick and suckle down and across the firm, rippling

surface of stomach muscle.

Oz's knees inched backwards as his mouth traveled, only stopping

when they reached the edge of the bed, at which point he paused and

stared at Angel's face, fingers playing with the top button of his loose

slacks. "We okay?"

Angel bit his lip and nodded. "Yeah. We're good."

Oz slowly sank back down against him, pressing his mouth into the

tender flesh under Angel's jaw. "You're sure?"

Angel lost his battle to keep his hands off then, and his arms crushed

Oz in a clamp of desperation. "Yeah," he murmured, rolling Oz back

under him. "It feels...different."

"Good." Oz lifted his head, craning his neck to find and capture

Angel's mouth, and then there was nothing but lip and tongue and

slight moaning sounds so tiny they were almost non-existent. He

knew Angel was getting lost in it all, seizing the opportunity for

release with far too much mindless need, but it didn't matter because

he was sinking lower and lower into his own pool of non-thought.

He was back in this state where things just happened, and all Oz

could do was take note of it. His clothes were on, then they weren't,

and the only thing Oz was certain of was that Angel had somehow

been involved in that change.

As for Angel...Oz wasn't quite sure when he'd been left alone on the

bed. But there he was, alone and naked and actually starting to be a

little worried, but then Angel was back, emerging from the bathroom

with something in his hand, which he tossed onto the bed next to

Oz's head. Oz glanced at the small bottle as Angel shed his pants,

then frowned. "Hand lotion?"

Angel crawled between Oz's legs, and the feel of his dick almost

made Oz come right then. "It's all I have," he murmured, propping up

on one elbow and running his fingers over Oz's chest. "I don't

keep...that is, I don't generally find myself needing..."

"I understand. I just...Angel, this is oil-based. It eats through --"

"Oz, I'm dead," Angel cut in, lifting an eyebrow. "I'm not a hospitable

host to viruses."

"Oh," Oz said, his tone the same as it would have been had Angel

told him rain was in the forecast. "Okay."

"Okay?" Angel was pressing light kisses across Oz's clavicle. "How

do you want --"

"Just like this." Oz rocked his hips up against the vampire.

"But...Angel, could we get on with...I need..."

Angel wasn't about to argue, so he distracted them both with a kiss

that only ended when Oz had to breathe, and at the same time pushed

up onto his knees to slather a good amount of lotion onto his cock.

At that point, when Angel's lips left his and one of his legs was being

lifted into the air, Oz became consumed with wondering if there were

a scientific explanation for why all the heat in his body suddenly

seemed to be concentrated in his flushed cheeks and his incredibly

tight groin. And then that, too, became one of those things that didn't

really matter anymore, because Oz's life became entirely focused on

the two fingers that were invading his body in the most gratifying

way.

Angel was quiet throughout it all, silently testing Oz's flexibility as

he slung the guitarist's legs across his arms and slowly lowered

himself back down. Oz's body complied perfectly, bending and

spreading as needed, and the uncomplicated ease with which he

could nudge into Oz drove Angel even further towards an absolute

and unquestionable lack of control.

The funny thing was, that to Angel, it seemed like Oz should be

breathing harder. And to Oz, it seemed incredibly natural to regulate

his air in slow, even gulps so that the only significant motion was the

rocking of Angel's body as he thrust into Oz, and his hand reaching

around Oz's leg to grasp his hard cock. His fingers played over the

tip, pressing the hot, silken flesh in different directions and

experimenting the way a young child will become entranced with the

loose folds of a puppy. He seemed unwilling to give in and simply

stoke it, like he had a delicate balance of control created between his

carefully regulated thrusts and his hand's whimsical forays on Oz's

cock.

And Oz could see that it was true, because his eyes were locked on

Angel's and he had the sensation of being on a boat, of being swayed

gently. Yes, most certainly a boat, or maybe a bassinet. He felt

cradled and rocked, and Angel's eyes were holding him so securely

into place he no fear of drifting away on one of the waves of perfect

beatitude. He was positive he wouldn't be able to, because Angel was

leashing himself in so tightly, there was no way he'd let Oz go

anywhere.

Except Angel's fingers eventually stopped dancing and closed in with

gradually increasing intent, and his gentle pushing escalated closer

and closer to frenzied jabbing. And the second Oz closed his eyes

and shut Angel's face out, he was gone, and the place he was floating

in was comfortingly nondescript. He didn't pay attention to when

Angel went still, or when he was adjusted so that he was curled up on

his side with Angel pressed against his back. He didn't think about

Angel losing his soul, or about Devon and Xander, or about Willow

or Buffy or anybody else. He only thought about how good Angel's

sheets felt against his warmed skin, and how he wouldn't have

pegged Angel as the type to use fabric softener.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep, and the only thing he

could do when he woke up and found Angel still holding him was

smile. A soft smile. A lazy, content smile that must have spread

through his body somehow, because Angel's arm tightened around

his torso. "You awake?" the vampire whispered.

"Yeah. You still Angel?"

Angel laughed softly, the sound vibrating right next to Oz's ear.

"Yeah. Looks like I was right."

"You sound far too proud of that."

"Not proud...glad." Sucking Oz's earlobe into his mouth, Angel

shifted to pull Oz closer. "So what are we going to do now?"

"What time is it?"

"Two. In the morning. Why?"

"I should get going, within a few hours at least. I have classes

today." Oz closed his eyes and sighed. "What are we going to do...I

need a shower, for one thing. You?"

"Showers are good." Angel loosened his grip and sat up.

"So...shower, breakfast, goodbye?"

"That probably sums it up." Oz hesitated. "And maybe I come back

sometime? Since we now know that we won't put the world in

jeopardy or anything?"

Angel twisted his head around and nodded, regarding Oz carefully.

"Maybe that would be good."

"Good. And I promise not to scare Cordelia next time." Oz sat up

and initiated a long, soft kiss. "Not too much, anyway.