In One Day
Author: Abi Z
The prevention of the apocalypse calls for celebration.
Joss, do not sue, I implore: / my homework was such a great bore. / Your characters I stole, / in the hay they did roll, / I swear I won't do it no more. (Not!)
This is what happens when graduate writing students go awry. Not only is this story hetfic, it's canonfic. Oh my.
In one day, she graduated from high school, prevented the apocalypse, and
lost her virginity. It was a long day.
They had survived, as Oz had pointed out. They had survived, and more: they had
vanquished. And now, his arm around her shoulders, they were walking home, they
were hugging Buffy and seeing her inside, they were hugging Xander (and the
tension had disappeared, replaced by simple relief that they were all alive in a
dimension they recognized), and then they were walking quietly, hand in hand, in
a direction that could lead to Willow's house.
"Where are we going?" Willow asked after a moment.
"Not sure. I was following you."
"Oh. Well, my mom's not home. It's safe. We can drink hot chocolate and
congratulate ourselves over the fact that college cannot possibly be any weirder
than high school."
Oz kissed the top of her head. "Famous last words."
"Maybe," Willow admitted. "I mean, it is Sunnydale. But really: when we're
bonding with our roommates on the first day, is anyone else going to be able to
say that a big ugly green thing ascended-or tried to-at their graduation?"
"If they can, we've got to talk."
A pause. "So when are your parents coming back from Brad's graduation?" Willow
"Probably tonight, late. They wanted to take me out to dinner on graduation day,
but I assured them brunch tomorrow would be satisfactory."
"You're so lucky you had a built-in excuse like your brother graduating. I
really had to work to convince my mom to be elsewhere."
"And she's still elsewhere?"
"Yeah. She's on Catalina Island at some kind of retreat." Willow smiled the shy
smile Oz had loved from the first day they'd met. "I paid for her to go, and
guilt-tripped her until she agreed. I promised her much videotape and
"You think they got a video of all that?"
"Yeah, it's called 'The Green Thing that Ate Graduation.'"
"'How the Mayor Got His Groove Back.'"
"'And on the Third Day, the Mayor Ascended.'"
"'And on the Third Day, the Mayor Ate the Principal.'"
"'Evil Dead Part 68: Sunnydale High School Graduation.'"
"'Silly Mayor, Ascensions are for Christian Deities.'"
Willow giggled and unlocked the door to her house. Inside was quiet and smelled
faintly of lavender. It looked the same as it had when she'd left that morning,
which relieved her in a strange sort of way: the mayor might have turned green
(and eaten the principal), the school might have burned down, people might have
died, but her cereal bowl was still sitting in the sink, a lone Cheerio caught
on the rim, and the couch was still red. She closed the door behind herself and
Oz and let herself collapse into him. He smelled of incense and Ivory soap and
she needed to breathe in a few liters of that before she could really believe
that she was safe again.
"So, how about the hot chocolate?" Willow said into Oz's chest after a few
She would have made it with Swiss Miss and marshmallow creme, but Oz took his
hot chocolate seriously, and she sat happily at the pine table while he heated
milk and powdered cocoa and made it the way it was supposed to be made. Oz
probably would have actually used a foodstuff made out of mallow if he could
have, but the pantry contained only the usual jet-puffed kind. Willow ate her
marshmallows almost immediately, but Oz let his sit and melt into the liquid.
She would never, Willow thought, have that kind of patience.
"So," he said, "what are your plans for the rest of the week?"
"I hadn't really gotten beyond 'kill the ugly green slime monster.' What about
"Dev and I have some practice dates, and maybe a gig down in Studio City."
"You made plans for after graduation?"
Oz reached up and tucked an errant strand of auburn behind Willow's ear. "If I
made plans I couldn't break, then I couldn't let the world end."
"Oh. I was focusing more on the not letting the world end part. So I'm not
really sure what I'm doing this week. Maybe I'll watch some soap operas. That
would be nice and non-apocalyptic."
Willow enjoyed Oz's company for many reasons, but the first thing that had drawn
her to him was calm: he radiated it, and it seemed to settle over almost
everyone he encountered. Silence was not a threat in Oz's world, and Willow had
learned that he didn't expect her to talk just to fill it. And so she sat
quietly with him at the table, slowly drinking hot chocolate, watching Oz's body
relax as the afternoon passed.
Their hot chocolate finished, Willow felt exhaustion settling in, but she was
still too wired to sleep. But reading sounded nice. "Did you want to do anything
this afternoon?" she asked Oz.
"Hadn't planned on anything."
"Maybe we could just, you know, read for a while? Like we could read and I could
fall asleep on you and we could pretend that we're waking up to a day with no
big green monsters trying to keep us from going to college?"
"I'd like that."
Maybe she'd been preparing subconsciously: two days before, she'd finished the
last of the books she'd been reading, and she hadn't begun another. She had to
stand in front of the bookcase for a few minutes before she could find something
without a hint of apocalypse, and she finally settled on Weetzie Bat, because in
Weetzie's California the sun meant happiness and not just the time when the
vampires don't come out. Oz withdrew an issue of Guitar Player-why was there
always one under her bed?-and started reading about an upcoming movie about Led
It didn't take her long to fall asleep.
She slept for longer than she'd intended, waking mid-afternoon. She could have
slept longer, but she was chilly: her mom, apparently, had cranked up the air
conditioner before leaving. Oz was still asleep, his wiry arms around her, his
chest against her back. Moving would wake him up, but she really was cold. As
gently as she could, Willow tried to loosen herself to pull up the cotton
blanket from the end of the bed.
One green eye blinked open. "Where you going?"
"Nowhere. I'm just cold." She spread the blanket over both of them and was
immediately warmer. Oz settled his arms around her again and she heard him sniff
sleepily at the back of her neck, the wolf part reminding itself that this was
his mate and she belonged there and it was safe to sleep now.
But she didn't fall back asleep, not completely. Warm under the blanket and
within the circle of Oz, she dozed on and off, but didn't fully sleep. She
listened to the sounds of her house, the boards that creaked (they hadn't been
the same since the last earthquake), the pipes that squeaked.
After some length of time, she felt Oz wake up, felt the miniscule tightenings
of muscle that meant he'd lost the relaxation of sleep. He kissed the nape of
her neck, right where her hair was cut. "Hey."
"Hey yourself. You're awake."
"Did you sleep well?"
"Better than I have in a long time. You?"
"Yeah. Also better than I have in a long time. I think lack of impending
apocalypse will definitely improve my sleep patterns."
A soft laugh from Oz and another kiss, gentle, on her neck, and then several
along the lines of muscle that connected shoulder to neck, gentle nips with
teeth and then the softness of lips and tongue. Willow shivered.
"Feel like getting up?" Oz asked. A few more kisses, up the side of her throat,
behind her ear, and then suction on her earlobe. Her eyes fluttered closed and
her toes curled.
"Um. No. Not so much. You?"
"Not so much," Oz agreed.
He moved his arms and she turned over and his body was solid on top of hers.
This was not especially new: they had spent hours which probably totaled to days
or even weeks kissing, and she knew what his body felt like. There had even been
one weekend back in March when they'd taken his van out to the beach and she'd
talked him into smoking up with her (she knew he did it with his bandmates, and
she wasn't sure why it was such a big secret around her), and they'd taken off
their clothes and touched and nibbled. They had only gone back home the next
morning once Willow decided that she really, really had to shower.
And now this, both of them under her old blanket, Oz's hands cupping her face.
He still tasted like sleep, and he was warm from it. She slid her hands
underneath his shirt (in deference to the occasion, he'd worn a button-down,
though it looked suspiciously big on him, as though he'd stolen it from Xander)
and traced the sinewy muscles of his back. She twined her legs with his and felt
him sigh at the contact, and she turned them over so that she was on top. A few
strands of hair fell down and played around the edges of Oz's face, and he
brushed them with his finger tips. "Hi," he said. He was smiling.
"Hi," Willow said.
She leaned down and kissed him again. His callused hands were gentle on her
skin, tracing their way up each arm, down her sides, and then under her own
shirt. It was a tank-top, dressy enough to meet her mother's scrutiny (it had
beads on it), and stretchy enough for the fight afterwards. It was not hard to
shrug out of, and Oz seemed surprised, as though he'd been exploring more for
exploration's sake than with intent. The shirtlessness, too, was not new, but
nor was it particularly common, especially in the middle of the day with the
bedroom door unlocked.
This time Oz turned them over, and it was with intent: he kissed her face, and
with one hand he traced concentric circles, going inward, around the cups of her
bra. He mouthed her nipples through the cloth, then pushed it down and licked
the sensitive skin of the each areola, and she moaned in earnest. He moved his
mouth down her torso, weaving from rib to rib and then circling her navel with
his tongue. Then back to her breasts, with a mouth and fingers that seemed very
happy to see them. He sat her up a little bit. "OK to take off your bra?"
Willow herself wasn't great at undoing the clasp from behind, and she had more
experience than Oz did, so she did it herself, and dropped the red bra (which
had been purchased for the occasion: Buffy might fight in a strapless but Willow
sure wouldn't) to the side of the bed. "Sit up," she told Oz. He did, and she
undid the first button of the shirt (and tried to ignore the fact that she was
probably unbuttoning Xander's shirt), fumbling at the new angle.
"I can do it," Oz offered.
She shook her head. "No. It's kind of something I always wanted to do."
"The first time I had sex with somebody, I always wanted to unbutton his
shirt-you know, undress him. It's just, well, kind of sexy."
Oz caught her fingers at the second button. "Are we having sex?"
She had managed the last line without a blush, but this tripped her up. "Um, not
if you don't want to. But I kind of do. Actually, I don't kind of do. I really
do. We're of legal age and we're high school graduates and we survived the
apocalypse and I think that sex could also be on the menu. What do you think?"
"If it's not on the menu," Oz said, "I bet the kitchen takes requests." He
kissed her again and she giggled. But then his face slid back into seriousness.
"I don't have any condoms." Of course he could talk about this directly; Willow
wondered if she would ever be able to. "I, well, I didn't plan-"
She cut him off. "I know." She freed her hands and reached back to the bedside
table. She opened the drawer and took out a box. "I did."
It was, Willow thought, the closest she'd get to seeing Oz with a dropped jaw.
"I guess I lied about the whole no-plans-after-the-apocalypse thing. I mean, not
that I had a scenario laid out or anything. I just... I decided that if I were
going to live to grow up, I wanted to do it all the way: go to college, do my
taxes, have sex with you."
"When did you decide this?"
"Two weeks ago in the family planning aisle at Rite Aid."
Oz took the box from her, set it on the table, and closed the drawer. "Then my
vote is yes. Although I hope I'm more enjoyable than doing your taxes."
Willow laughed. "Obviously I'd rather do you than a 1040 form. Oh, that didn't
come out really like I intended it to. Um. But I guess it's not inaccurate.
Anyway, it's like balancing pleasures and responsibilities."
"We saved the world. I think that counts as a responsibility."
"Right. So now it's time for the pleasure. May I recommence with the
Oz took her hands and put them back where they'd been. "Please."
One by one, the buttons were loosed, and Willow pushed the shirt back over Oz's
shoulders. She sat and looked at him for a moment, at the sparse bronze hair
that covered his chest, at the compact but defined abdominal muscles, at the
pink circles around his tiny nipples. She reached for him and he for her and she
breathed against him. He was so, so warm.
More kisses, and Oz rolled to the side and addressed himself to the issue of
opening Willow's jeans. Inside, his hand was gentle, and she wriggled to allow
him better access. His fingers knew where to find her and she gasped. Oz hooked
his thumbs in the waistband of the denim. "Can I?"
Willow toed off her socks and Oz maneuvered the jeans down her legs until she
kicked them off, and then she was disconcertingly naked except for a pair of
small cotton underwear with a cat's head embroidered in pink on the front. She
and Oz been naked before, yes, but never sober, in broad daylight, and with
definite plans of what was happening next. Oz looked at the design and smiled.
"Uh-huh. I feel very, very naked. Bizarrely naked. All-my-clothes-off naked."
"Do you want to stop?"
"No. I think I just want to get used to it for a while."
Oz pulled himself to a sitting position against the bed's white headboard, and
pulled Willow with him into his arms. "Get used to it for as long as you need
to. Do you want the blanket?"
"No. I'm not cold. And you're warm."
"My blood's flowing."
He was hard, she realized, under his jeans: if she leaned back, she could feel
him searching for her. She leaned back and wiggled a little bit and heard him
sigh. "Do you remember that time we went to the beach in March?" she asked.
"Not something easily forgotten."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Much." One of his hands was on her hip, the other drawing random hieroglyphics
on her stomach. She took the unoccupied hand and put it on her breast. It needed
to be doing something. She wouldn't have wanted it to get bored.
"What do you remember about it?" she asked.
"A lot of things. Thinking of anything in particular?"
"I remember buying fruit at that farmstand on the way and then eating it on the
beach. And then the brownies we had for dessert."
The rumble of a laugh from Oz's chest. "The special Devon brownies."
"You tasted like berries and chocolate. And marijuana."
A warm, slow kiss on her neck. "You tasted indescribable. Essence of Willow."
The hand on her breast started to mimic the pattern of the hand on her belly.
The stomach hand moved lower. "Can I?"
By way of answer, Willow guided his fingers below the cotton. He found her again
and she moaned, letting him rub and explore gently, whisper that he loved her
and she was beautiful and he wanted her in so many ways which he proceeded to
describe and she pictured herself on top, straddling his hips, his cock buried
deep inside her and that was when she came, crying out, her head against his
She let her heart slow down before she said anything. "That was nice. I, um, I
Soft teeth on her ear. "Good."
Willow let the last ebbs of pleasure wash from her body, and then she turned
around. In lieu of speaking to Oz, she pushed him down so that his head was on
the pillow. She bent down and they rubbed noses and she smiled. She kissed his
mouth once, then moved it to his ear (and she knew how sensitive his ears were,
how his toes would curl if she did nothing but blow a gentle stream of air in
the right direction). He was still wearing his jeans, as well as a worn brown
leather belt she'd seen before. Boxers peeked out from underneath the denim;
they were a soft maroon plaid. She sat up and fumbled with the buckle on his
belt. He reached down to help, but she shook her head. "No. This is kind of
another always-wanted-to-do-first-time-I-had-sex thing."
"You had some definite plans for this, did you?"
"Not plans in the planny sense. Just more- ideas. On the to-do list when the day
Willow's fingers figured out the buckle and then started on the button fly of
Oz's jeans. One of those things, she decided, that looked a lot sexier than it
was in practice; in practice, she was finding, it was slow and not a little
clumsy to unbutton from the outside. And Oz was not helping, stroking her arms
with light fingers, circling her nipples which made her hands shake even more.
And then Oz's jeans were open and her hand was inside. There he was, warm and
hard, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath when she touched him. She
stroked him and he turned his head to one side and his hands were suddenly less
busy on her skin.
But there was not, she realized, full range of motion. Access was limited and
she would need to unlimit it if she were going to do what she wanted to do. She
hooked her fingers in the waistband of jeans and underwear and pulled down, and
Oz lifted his hips and then he was naked.
He was beautiful naked; she'd seen it before, but in bad light and under the
influence. His body hair was reddish-blond, gleaming gold in the late afternoon
light. There was enough of it on his chest for her to be able to ruffle it in
her fingers, but underneath she could still see the milky-white skin. Just
because she could, she leaned down and bit gently at a spot near one of his
small pink nipples, then sucked gently. It would leave a mark, she knew, an
indication that she had been there, written on Oz's skin. Further down, the hair
grew sparser and formed a fine line that led to Oz's now-hard penis and
impossibly pale testes. A treasure trail, Buffy had once called that particular
kind of line, and she and Willow had giggled for a while over the implications.
But the trail was a good reminder. Willow circled her tongue around Oz's
nipples, surprised at how sensitive they were; biologically she knew why men had
them, but she didn't remember that they had this serendipitous sensitivity. She
kept going, leaving gentle bites down and around Oz's torso, hearing his sighs
and feeling his hands in her hair, and then it was in front of her. This she
hadn't done, but damn it, she'd read enough and she'd certainly heard Cordelia
Chase talking in the bathroom more than once. If brainless Cordelia could do
this, then smart Willow Rosenberg who'd gotten into MIT and never did anything
without proper research could go down on someone and do it well and even enjoy
She licked the tip of it. It was salty and a little wet. She licked it again,
and Oz rewarded her with a moan. She kept going. It was strange and ungainly and
it definitely felt obscene, but fingers on Oz's balls made him sigh, and even
just a little bit of suction made him whimper in a way she'd never heard before.
When she put her hands on Oz's thighs, she could feel him straining. Yeah, she'd
And she did. There was a rhythm to it, a method-she knew about method. She was
just sinking into the rhythm, and so was Oz, when there was a hand on her
forehead, gently pushing her back. She stopped and looked up with concern. "Not
good? Stop? Do something different?" Maybe her research had failed her; maybe
this just worked for Cordelia because she was tall and pretty and anything she
did was automatically good.
"No. God, no. So good. Very good. Incredibly good." It must have been, Willow
decided, if it got this many words out of Oz. "But if you didn't stop, we
wouldn't get to the main course. I didn't want to fill up on the appetizers."
Willow giggled and arranged herself on top of Oz, legs dangling over his hips,
chin on hands on his collarbone. "So you liked that?"
Oz kissed her by way of answer, and Cordelia must have been lying about some of
the things she'd said, because Oz obviously had no issue with kissing her after
she'd gone down on him. Maybe Cordelia just had bad breath.
"So," Willow said after a moment, "what was that about the main course?"
"You ready to order?"
Willow grinned; she couldn't help it. "I ordered a long time ago. I've just been
nibbling off the la carte menu until the waiter comes back."
Oz grinned back. "But do you think it's proper to serve such a fine dish covered
up like that?"
They turned over, and this time she lifted her hips, and now she was naked, and
it felt less weird that she thought it would. Oz was naked, too, and he reached
forward and took a small shiny packet from the box. He tore it open and handed
it to Willow. "Would you?"
"I... I'm not sure... I missed the health class where we had to put them on
"I think you just unroll it. I was at that health class."
"Did you have to put one on a banana?"
"Yeah, but the banana was kind of misshapen."
Willow broke into giggles. But Oz was right, and it rolled on perfectly, and
Willow lay back and looked up at Oz and felt rather like a ritual sacrifice,
open, laid out, ready for the taking. Oz lay down and propped himself on his
elbows. "You sure about this?"
Some things were meant to be sacrificed; you couldn't go on, couldn't change,
without giving up something first. Willow knew this as well as she knew her own
name. She had been prepared, long ago, to be sacrificed. She put her hands on
either side of Oz's face. "I'll stake you if you don't do it. Is that sure
He was at her entrance and he pushed and it hurt a little bit. She readjusted
herself, moved a little lower. She pushed herself up and Oz thrust himself down
and there was a moment of pain-not too much, but enough for a gasp and an
"ow"-and then he was inside. "That OK? You want me out?"
"Um, yeah. Just for a second."
He did. She reached down and felt herself and she was wet and her finger came
back with mostly her own juices but also with a smear of blood, just enough to
let her know that something had happened and it was important. She kissed him.
"OK now," she said.
Inside her again, and this time without the pain. This time just the fullness
and Oz's sigh and her legs around his hips. A jolt of surprise from parts that
hadn't been touched before and they were moving in that rhythm she'd discovered.
He kissed her nose and her eyelids and her lips and his tongue was insistent and
she moaned into his mouth.
There was violence in this, or maybe not so much violence as a loss of control.
His hands under her ass and suddenly the angle was more direct and she cried out
and so did he. And then the rhythm stopped and his cry was hoarse and she could
feel the pressure inside her when he came.
He was boneless, his heart thumping against hers. But they'd both had health
class, and he knew to get out and up and throw the condom away. But instead of
lying back down next to her, his fingers probed where she was tender but still
vibrating, waiting, electric. And then oh he was doing something against the
rules, it must have been against the rules because it felt too soft and too
precise and too good and now she was whimpering. They'd done this before and why
didn't she remember how good it felt, how incredible his tongue was and she
would have ripped the sheets apart if she could have, her hands clawing into the
mattress. She was almost there and then he slowed down and he picked up speed
again and slowed down again and she was a gasping wreck; she would have begged
him if she could have put the words together.
Two fingers inside her, then three, moving in and out slowly, his tongue fast
and that was when she came, falling apart, calling his name. He shimmied up and
curled himself around her and she held on and let her heart slow down. She
almost asked if the taste of blood had been a problem, but then remembered that
she was dating a werewolf and decided she didn't want to know.
"How are you?" he asked.
"Oh. Good. Lots of goodness. Goodness all over the place. You?"
"Lots of goodness."
His hand lazy up and down her spine, just stroking, reminding her that he was
there. Later they'd get up and get dressed and try to look respectable when her
mother came home. But not now. Now they'd lie here and maybe they'd sleep and
Willow would think that this, the pleasure of lying naked in someone's arms,
with his heart playing backbeat under her ear and his smell imprinted all over
her and the knowledge, certain, that he loved her-it was worth all the horrors