Monosyllabic Eccentricity

Title: Rapture
Author: Dolores
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Post Enemies
Summary: Oz appreciates beauty.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All belongs to Joss and UPN.
Website: Thrown With Great Force


The tight white vest stretches over Angel's chest as he stretches stiff shoulders. More material is revealed from underneath the black jacket, and there is a hint of darker skin at the two bumps where the cotton goes taut across nipples, a tantalising glimpse at what lies beneath, but no more. One of Angel's hands then disappears under the hem to allow him to scratch his stomach and for a moment pale skin is revealed, undulating over abdominal muscles. A sparse avenue of hair traces a path from navel to waistband, but is recovered by cloth as the hand is withdrawn.

Oz shifts in his seat, grateful for the baggy jeans and mindful that Willow sits across from him. She scans an ancient tome with the same precision he uses to examine the body of Angel, and is oblivious to the object of his attention. Angel is standing in front of the counter in quiet conversation with Giles, discussing possible tactics in the fight against the Mayor and Faith. Suddenly his eyes flick to the side and he meets Oz's gaze and holds it for a few moments, his brow creasing almost imperceptibly in curiosity, before he looks back at the librarian.

Somewhere in the stacks, Cordelia issues a scathing putdown to Xander, and in response there is the sound of a book hitting the shelves with great force. Giles grimaces and strides off to pacify the warring parties. In his absence, Angel regards Oz once more, head now slightly to one side as if in contemplation.

He speaks, and Willow turns her head to the source of his voice. "Oz, there's a book at the mansion we could do with consulting. Could you drive me there? We should get it quickly."

Oz blinks, then looks to Willow for permission. "Go on," she says, with a smile.

He nods and looks up at Angel. "Sure."

They are barely in the corridor when Angel whispers, "I saw you looking at me." This is not an accusation or condemnation. Merely an observation.

Oz shrugs as they walk to the main door. "Sorry."

"It's not a problem. I just wondered why."

A pause. "You're interesting to look at."

"What's so interesting?"

There is no reply from Oz, as nothing he can think to say would be appropriate.

Angel suddenly takes him by the arm and guides Oz forcibly if not painfully into an empty classroom. Rows of desk sit in the half-light, all staring at quotes from "Catcher in the Rye" that are scrawled on the chalkboard. The door closes behind them and Angel turns Oz to face him.

"Is it the hair? Buffy says people notice it."

The situation doesn't seem to warrant fear, so Oz merely raises an eyebrow and responds with an, "I guess."

The coat falls to the floor. "If it isn't the hair," here he pauses to pull the vest over his head, "is it the body?"

Oz swallows and looks at the bare torso presented to him, feeling familiar pressure begin to build in his loins. "It is interesting."

"I know you like looking," Angel moves close, looming, and Oz's nose fills with the scent of aftershave, sweat and blood, "but you can touch too."

A hand reaches out and hesitantly caresses just beneath the rib cage, spidery fingers trailing inwards to the crease that divides Angel in two. The vampire shivers and his pink nipples stiffen. "It tickles," he says, dipping his head to whisper the words into Oz's left ear.

The fingers move north and come to rest on the areole, callused thumb rubbing gently across the dimpled surface, and Angel arches slightly. Oz's eyes had followed his hand's progress until now, but they rise to meet Angel's own. This is consent, and Angel closes the very short distance between their two mouths in an instant. Oz stands on tiptoe, pushing himself up into the kiss, opening his mouth to receive the wash of Angel's tongue across his own.

Strong hands slide up Oz's flanks, underneath the open bowling shirt he wears, pushing it off his shoulders. Contact with Angel's chest is broken to allow the shirt to fall to the ground, but before it can be re-established the hands return for a second performance, sliding under Oz's t-shirt and across his flesh, and Oz moans at the touch. They break the kiss and the t-shirt is gone. Angel licks his lips and looks down at Oz. "My turn to stare at you."

Oz's heart thunders in his chest and he is shaking a little from excitement, hard as steel in those jeans. Angel's gaze runs appreciatively across the smooth torso and down arms coated in freckles and striped with a delicious blue vein that pulses on each bicep.

They kiss again, first smashing their mouths together then depositing a dozen lighter kisses on the rough flesh of their faces. Oz is driven back until he leans against the teacher's desk. His hands are no longer tentative, and roam freely over the muscled skin in front of him, swiping as low as he dares. Angel's own hands hold him tight, clutching Oz a little way below his armpits, and only the thumbs make movement, rubbing both painfully and delightfully across Oz's nipples.

Angel digs his nails into the soft flesh, and Oz throws his head back in rapture. Angel fastens on to Oz's neck, blunt teeth scraping across the skin and fear is a sudden counterpoint to Oz's lust. He doesn't move; all too aware that if Angel intends to feed there's nothing he can do now. The fear proves false; the mouth continues its decent, his skin unbroken and Angel's face still human.

Oz shudders, first in relief then more violently as the questing mouth stops to abuse his nipples further, nipping and sucking, and Oz's hips buck involuntarily.

Angel's hands have slid down his sides again and are resting on the waistband of his jeans. They push now, slowly, and the pants begin to slide off the slim hips, taking the boxer shorts with them. Oz's erection is forced down until the waistband clears its tip and, as the jeans crumple around his ankles, it bounces back up to hit his lower stomach, splattering a few drops of precum on the skin. Angel issues a low chuckle, his false breath cold against Oz's skin, wet as it is with saliva.

The vampire sweeps his tongue down and across Oz's stomach, licking up the fluid. Angel tilts his head back and looks into Oz's eyes, lips quirked and shiny. Then his head ducks down quick and swallows Oz's erection whole, causing the smaller man's breath to hitch and his grip on the table tighten.

One hand moves around to grip Oz's buttock whilst the other lies flat against his stomach, and Angel's mouth is wet and cool around Oz's cock, sucking to a fast and steady rhythm. Hips begin to buck in response and it isn't long before Oz is panting hard and he manages to mutter, "I'm..." before thrusting up once, twice, three times.

Disengaging, Angel rises to eye level once more, and places a soft, sticky kiss on Oz's lips before pulling back. He takes one last look at Oz's body before turning on his heel and walking out of the classroom door, leaving it ajar in his wake. Oz just stands there, gripping the table, flushed, sweat in a thin sheen across his body, naked but for the jeans that are still pooled at his feet.

"Oz?" Willow's voice.

She swims into Oz's field of vision, looking concerned.

"Huh?"

"You look like a million miles away."

"No, I was just down the hallway."

She giggles, and returns her attention to research.

He looks around the library. Angel is idly flipping through a book on the counter, awaiting Giles' return from the stacks, where Xander and Cordelia's muffled recriminations can still be heard. Willow is midway through a volume, her hand hovering over a page decorated with beautifully illustrated letters. He is about to guiltily return to his own work when the doors swing open and Buffy strides into the room holding a crossbow.

Oz sincerely hopes she can't read his mind again.