Around Season 4 - PWP
Xander takes a step to the wild side.
Not mine. Someone else's. Doesn't everyone say that?
Haven't seen all that much "buffy," though I'm working my way through season 3 dvd before the dvd player is removed from my possession, so bear with any timing things.
And then there was that summer when Xander was so fucked up that he slept
with monsters. He figured after his home life he had a license in wild animal
control, or something. Something that made it okay to go hunting after what he
went hunting after. And it was so fucking hot in Sunnydale then, and the nights
were fucking endless, all the windows in the house open and the fans running and
it still wasn't enough. He'd lie in his bed and twist and whine and imagine
places it might be cool, like underground. In a crypt or a lair or someplace
like that, where something scary lived. Scary but just the right temperature.
So which night started it? Well if he had to pick he'd say the first night,
walking home from... well not from anywhere, and not home either, just walking.
Letting the heat get under his T-shirt and into his shorts where he wasn't
wearing underwear because it was 'just that hot'. Wandering, though he'd never
admit it. It must have been close to one AM and not safe to be out at all, but
the part of him that was frightened took back seat to the part of him that was
so hot it didn't care.
He was walking with his head down when he caught something move out of the
corner of his eye. He stopped sharply. Across the street in one of those dark,
threatening rows of domestic shrubs. It moved again, little branches tracking a
movement, shuddering then going still. His heart kicked up. The shrub seizured
and then a cat, very small and black and white, shot out with a yowl and raced
through the wan cone of street lamp. Closely pursued by-
Oz stopped but the cat didn't, vaulting the curb and vanishing into the
blue-black lawn of the house across the street. Xander did a quick check to see
that Oz wasn't in wolf-mode, but just in a faded purple T-shirt and grey pants,
hemp dangling from his neck, wearing wet shoes and a hangdog- ha- expression. A
twig jutted from his hair. He stood close enough that Xander could breathe the
rank smell of sewer.
"I better not have interrupted dinner."
"What? No. Ha." This "ha" completely straight-faced and serious. "That's my neighbor's cat. I'm supposed to be feeding it and I accidentally let it out.
I've been looking for it all night."
The cat meowed mockingly from the dark. Oz snarled.
"Shit. Sorry, then."
"No big. If it doesn't get devoured it'll come back tomorrow. That pussy is a pussy. Where are you going?"
"Great," Oz chirped, and began walking. It took Xander a minute to realize he was supposed to follow.
"Where are we going?"
"Home, right? This way?"
"Sure, I guess. I mean, I didn't really 'mean' it."
"That's okay, I don't mind. C'mon."
Oz didn't say anything else, just let Xander take the lead and trotted alongside. Actually trotted, no joke, like a little hunting dog. Oz was so little but so fucking deadly. He'd seen it himself, wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time moments. Honestly it was hard to believe. You had to see it for yourself to, see Oz gore-splattered, clutching the intestine of something you'd rather not think about in his teeth. Oz was a wild animal, barely-human. Deadly. Built for wild things.
They arrived at Xander's without a word and went down to the bedroom. His parents were in the kitchen but didn't say anything. He closed the door before turning on the light, suddenly embarrassed by the mess, the clothes everywhere, the magazines, the unstashed "Playboy"s and the summer reading books. Oz looked it all over with impenetrable eyes and took a seat cross-legged on the foot of Xander's bed, which 'had' to smell like sweat and come and Kleenex- if Kleenex smelled- because he hadn't had sex in a long long time. Xander sat on the floor beneath him, then felt stupid about it and almost moved to the bed, then looked at Oz and sat down again.
"Dude, you reek," he said. He pointed to Oz's wet shoes, his pants black to the
knees, radiating that musky, cloying could-be-sewage smell.
"I thought the cat was stuck in a drainage ditch," Oz replied.
"Yeah, well, not in my room, okay? Toss your shoes upstairs."
Oz peeled off his sneakers and his socks. He rolled the socks together, stuck
them in one of the sneakers, then took them upstairs and left them there. He
came back down and sat again.
"It still reeks."
Without waiting for orders Oz stood up on the bed, raised his shirt to expose a
lightly hairy midriff, and went to work on his fly. The lip of his pants spread
and he shimmied them off, doing a little dance that ultimately danced him into
white briefs, tight red-hairy legs and bare feet. He took his pants upstairs,
and when he opened the door Xander heard the refrigerator opening with a
reluctant suction sound. He felt sick. Oz sat down again and recrossed his legs.
"Uh, yeah," Xander swallowed, because there was suddenly something almost
obscene about Oz half-dressed. The way his cock and balls bundled into his
briefs belonged nowhere but in a bedroom or under pants. Xander became aware of
his shorts. They felt tighter.
"It's really hot in here," Oz said. "You must be dying."
"Yeah. For sure. It's awful."
"I'd go crazy."
"If I sleep naked it's not so bad," Xander said. He instantly blamed it on
distraction; he'd been looking at the way the roundness of Oz's left knee became
the long line of his tight thigh. He looked away quickly, down at his own lap.
And then away, because his erection was sickly visible, round like Oz's knee,
long like his thigh.
Did we use "shit" already?
He wondered if Oz noticed it too. It felt like a beacon, like it did in gym
class or that one sickening time in health ed, like it was drawing all light in
the room inexorably toward it. Oz probably had super-senses or something.
"You have," Oz began.
Spike stood on the stairs.
Xander bravely and effectively resisted the urge to scream like a ten-year-old
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, hoping his voice made a passable
attempt at not squeaking and shaking. Oz sat quietly in his underpants like a
"I caught whiff of the dog and wanted to make sure it just followed you home,"
Spike answered. He was all black and white and gold and disdain. Xander couldn't
believe he wasn't arrested as a psychopath the moment he stepped out of his
house. Er, his crypt. Reason enough.
"You what? Went back in time, switched places with Angel and got a soul? Who let
"Your mother. She said something to me, I don't know quite what it was, and then
she asked you to bring her some Jim Beam if you went out. I promised I'd play
nice. I'm coming down."
And like that Spike was standing over Oz, studying him critically. Xander
couldn't remember if they'd ever met. He introduced them quickly- Oz, Spike,
Spike, Oz- then sank back against the floor to see how it would all play out.
Two beasties, one hot night and one furiously throbbing still-erection. Maybe it
wasn't a total waste.
"I've known a werewolf or two in my day," Spike was saying. "Bloody nasty
"I've known a couple vampires," Oz replied. "Fucking dead bastards."
"You're housebroken, right? Why aren't you wearing pants?"
"Uh-hm. Well that settles that you certainly are a friend of Xander's. You know
there's something 'about' puppies," Spike mused, leaning back slightly on one
heel, peering at Oz. Xander wondered if Oz minded being called a puppy. There
was something interesting about the word the way Spike said it. Kind of... sexy?
"Dude, don't say cuddly. 'Cuz I can fucking rip your throat out and eat it
before you'll know what hit you."
The room broke out in movement. When it stopped Spike knelt on the bed, arms
full of almost-wolf Oz whose mouth delicately clutched Spike's windpipe, ready
to bite. Then they moved again and then Oz was on top with Spike pinioned
beneath him. Spike's throat was undevoured due to the hand wound in Oz's hair,
ready to rip his head off. Oz panted. Spike probably would have panted too if
"Can we not 'two-man-enter, one-man-leave' on my bed, please?" Xander asked,
sounding much more witty and controlled than he felt. "Oz, why don't you let go
and, like, morph back, and Spike, just... stop being Spike."
They did it slowly, Oz opening his mouth as Spike opened his hand, both sitting
apart from each other on the bed. Oz got smaller and his T-shirt was ripped, and
he shrugged it off because it was mostly off anyway. Then Xander saw that his
underwear had also ripped, ripped so that it had vanished, leaving him naked on
the bed except for the necklaces and some finely placed hair. His eyes were all
pupil and he was hard. Maybe harder than Xander.
Spike noticed this too, of course. Spike noticed everything.
"'That's' what I like about puppies," he declared, as if nothing had happened.
"They're so... feral."
Spike leaned across the sweaty bed and kissed Oz. Oz grunted and snarled low in
his throat and then kissed Spike back, or maybe just accepted the situation of
kissing. Xander was stunned, watching their mouths slide open, their eyes lock,
bodies tightening like wire. Oz closed his eyes first, and when he did Spike
did, and the kiss seemed to extend in time and space, making Xander hard,
harder, hardest, til the only thing that kept him from touching himself was that
this was too fucking weird. Spike pressed Oz back against the bed and Oz went
willingly, lying down and opening up his legs for Spike to lie on top of him, an
elbow on each side of Oz's head blocking Xander's view. Xander made an
involuntary protest sound and the kissing stopped.
"So," Spike said, red-mouthed. "You like that, do you?"
"What... what are you doing?"
"Wondering just how much 'is' that doggie in the window."
"But you... and he..."
"Not without you, right? C'mere, babe. Come on."
Xander was more baffled by the "babe" than anything else for a moment, but he
crawled onto the bed- 'just to make sure Oz was okay'. Right. Oz was fine. There
was a little dribble of blood in the corner of his mouth that he seemed ecstatic
over. Spike wrapped an arm over Xander's neck and dragged him into the fray, his
head in the crook of Oz's neck and an elbow on his chest keeping him still. Oz
turned his head a little and poked a wet, hot tongue in Xander's ear. It made
its way along and along, covering each ridge and waiting patiently in the lair
of his ear canal. Spike smirked while he watched. The tongue started up again
and Xander couldn't resist a moan, his stomach curling. Oz growled. Spike leaned
in and sucked on Oz's neck, making the wolf writhe and purr, tongue wandering
behind Xander's ear and down his neck and flicking at the corners of his mouth.
Xander wrenched his neck and they kissed. Oz's mouth was wet and burning but
strong, not soft like a girl's. Xander wondered if his mouth felt like that to
girls. He could taste the coppery blood in Oz's mouth from where Spike must have
bit him in that first hot, random kiss. Blood was all over his tongue, which
curled around Xander's, danced under and over it, made Xander race to keep up.
Someone's hand clambered messily across his chest, pinching cloth... cloth...
cloth... cloth and nipple. Xander bucked and Spike held him down as his mouth
came loose from Oz's.
"You guys have way too many clothes on," Oz panted.
Spike sat up and took off his shirt, leaving Xander nervously stranded, watching
Spike reveal his much-touted athletic but too-pale chest, nipples the color of
ice, hairless. He reached down, fascinating Xander with the strong ridges of
veins that snaked around his wrist and forearms. He tore open Xander's T-shirt
and then his shorts (the destruction of the shorts annoying him more than the
loss of the T-shirt) and Xander was naked on the bed and the pile of his
clothes, and Spike somehow wriggled out of his own pants without getting off the
bed. His cock jutted out long and almost pink. It occurred to Xander that this
very same cock had been in 'Buffy' when it slashed across his stomach hotly,
making him whimper. Oz grinned. Xander's cock stood straight up like some proud
purple flag, and was the biggest and the thickest, he noted with some pride.
Spike pressed it against his inner thigh and Xander shuddered at the unexpected
heat, all his own since vampires probably didn't get sex-hot, did they? He
realized he was sleeping with two creatures he knew very little about. Giles
would know. Maybe he should call Giles.
Oz leaned up on one elbow and kissed hard at Xander's throat, his shoulders, his
chest. He took one of Xander's nipples in his teeth and flicked the tip with his
tongue. The movement lit a brush fire on Xander's chest and his body
went limp with a groan. Spike bent forward to lick the back of Oz's neck,
his long hands curling around Oz's stomach and changing the stream of air on
Xander's nipples. Xander gave a shin for Spike to hump against while using the
angle to press his cock against Oz's thigh. Oz rolled in closer, his legs
winding over Xander so their cocks could brush electric. He kissed Xander's
again, tongue to tongue like they were playing against each other in "Mortal
Combat," with all the energetic enthusiasm of a puppy. That made Xander smirk
through his kiss. Oz rolled full on top of him, loosing Spike in the
process, and as Oz's hands roamed up and down his body he lost the puppy image
favor of the wolf. He was making love- being made love to by a wild animal.
Oz's fingers dragged down his sides. They could have been claws. He felt the
preternatural strength behind the wiry frame and swallowed hard.
"Nervous?" Spike chuckled. He was stroking Oz's ass with delicate fingertips
and smiling benignly. "All hot and bothered by the Big Bad Wolf?"
Oz raised his ass in reply. Spike kneeled high and pressed himself into the
crack of Oz's ass. Oz moaned into Xander's mouth. Spike drifted, slashing Oz
up and down, his face getting almost pink, a three-or-four-hours-before-dawn
color. He held Oz by the middle and pressed, groaning, his eyes rolling back
just enough to make him look unbearably sexy and surprisingly vulnerable.
Xander reached to touch him before Oz captured his hands and pinned them,
"'Mine'," he snarled, maybe not even aware of it. His eyes were black and
his hands were suddenly like iron manacles for Xander's wrists and the bed. He
crawled down Xander's frame, licking and sucking and nipping without breaking
skin, leaving Spike to continue his persistent hints of assault on Oz's ass.
Xander didn't care if Spike never got laid again. He was lost in the way Oz
felt on top of him, the violence of his need, the roughness of his skin.
Everything so different than girls were, even the wildest girls he'd known. An
absolute commitment to getting his needs met, met with a ravenous hunger that
could take over any minute. He wondered if Oz would start sprouting hair. Maybe
this was the thrill of bestiality.
"Don't want to share, eh?" Spike meant it to be something like a joke but it
came out as a snarl. He took Oz by the scruff and peeled him back, Oz
snapping for Xander's skin. Spike pushed him off the bed and took Xander's cock
"Fuck!" Xander informed anyone within earshot. He felt Spike's fang teeth,
but even fear took backseat to the wetness and the softness of Spike's mouth,
to the way he looked stretched wide and contented. Oz reappeared, leaping
behind Spike and kissing him wildly, lashing the vampire's body with his tongue
while his eyes remained glued to the thrashing, swearing Xander. Spike's eyes
stayed pinned on Xander as well, the two of them jockeying for the mortal's
sight-line, Oz's breath skidding, Spike's hands curling tighter and tighter
around Xander's thighs until Xander felt himself start to bruise in rings.
He was prey.
Oz thrusted eagerly at Spike, which made Spike moan, which made sensation
pinball all over Xander's body, making him moan as well, which made everyone
smile. Sweat hung heavy in the room. Oz sucked his fingers furiously, saliva
rolling down his palm and wrist, then shoved two fingers gracelessly inside
Spike. Spike fell forward openmouthed, his hair coming loose and his fangs
dragging across Xander's stomach as he murmured his joy into Xander's flesh. Oz
twisted his hand around and stroked Spike's insides, earning himself a wild
and a stream of English invective none of them understood. Xander, kissing
Spike's back, wondered what it 'felt' like, what Oz's fingers could do to that
private part of a boy's body he'd only read guiltily about on the Internet.
He wondered how Oz knew. Spike... well Spike he wasn't terribly surprised
Oz was agile enough to kiss him over Spike, who curled between them
shivering. Spike's mouth found its way back to Xander's cock and distractedly
the head. Too many tongues reduced Xander to a pile of electric impulses in
"Hey, man," Oz panted when they parted. "Get me wet."
He managed to get his cock to Xander's mouth, and while Oz gave Spike
seizures Xander worked all the spit he could slaver onto Oz's cock, the taste
salt, the texture just smooth flesh and wetness. He'd never sucked a guy's cock
before but it seemed like something to deserve a medal for right now, as Oz
growled and yipped and praised him, struggling to keep at Spike, who was 'still' fastened with trademark determination to Xander. Xander rolled Oz down
throat until his eyes watered and he smelled Oz's sweaty hair, til he felt
tight tiny balls with his chin. Drool slipped out of his mouth and oozed down
Oz's thighs. The curve of Spike's lower back into his ass was suddenly
blindingly beautiful, the staccato marks of each vertebra swishing and
couldn't stop drooling on Oz but that was what Oz wanted, what Oz was
encouraging him to do with every squeeze of his shoulder, every wet hot kiss to
back of his neck, every bark and half-howl, every thrust into Spike that made
the tendon along his forearm stand out for a moment. Xander smelled drool and
ass and pre-come and it smelled like ambrosia. A serious puddle of spit was
forming around Oz's knees when Xander finally pulled back, throat raw, jaw
sore. Oz took his face with his free hand and kissed him gratefully.
"Perfect. Hand me that lotion on the table."
"Ungh." Of annoyance and used surprise as he reached for the bottle of cheap
hand lotion tactlessly unhidden on his bedside table. He should have known
spit dried out; he'd tried it with his hands enough times. Oh well, guess it
wasn't a 'complete' waste... He handed Oz the bottle.
"No, no. You do it."
So Xander did it, slathering Oz's dripping cock with white lotion until Oz
thrust into his fist, face red and eyes rolled back. Xander felt a weird power
knowing he could do something spectacular with just a palm and five fingers.
He wanted to keep doing it. He wanted to do it until Oz came all over his
wrist, come unraveling like rope over them and the bed and Spike.
Oh, right. Spike.
He took his hand back and Oz sighed, eyes opening. Xander smiled. In what
seemed one motion Oz whipped his hand out of Spike and put his cock in, getting
the tip all the way inside before Spike unleashed a howl of epic,
werewolf-ian proportions on the head of Xander's cock. Xander shuddered until
"Yeah yeah yeah," Oz muttered, carefully giving Spike more. Spike took all
of Xander in his mouth, straight down until his nose stabbed Xander in the
abdomen, and Xander lost some of his ability to concentrate in the riot that
from the base of his balls up along his spine and all his ribs to finish
itself in tightening spasms in his scalp. He thought he heard Spike say "let me
hear it" so he did.
"Fuck... oh fuck... fuckfuck fuck." And other graceful terms of endearment
that made Spike suck harder, moaning, his weight gradually shifting into
But even busy "fuck"ing he couldn't miss this, couldn't miss the slow steady
slide of Oz's cock into Spike, the way it all went into Spike so easily but
how he could tell the strain by the way Spike's throat hitched around his head.
Oz curled tightly around Spike until he was in him up to his balls, and he
held for a moment before leaning back to thrust. Xander slammed down Spike's
throat so deep he actually felt heat before Spike threw him up to cough joy.
"I've been thinking of buying a dog," he drawled, voice sounding too together
for the way he was cross-eyed and glassy, drooling. They all chuckled. Oz
leaned over Spike's back and rode him like a race horse. He opened his mouth
and Xander filled it with his tongue. Spike said a few more wasted things
before going back to Xander's cock.
Xander put one hand on Oz's shoulder and used the other to jerk Spike off.
All their balance wavered perilously as he arranged himself, but he got a fist
around Spike. Spike's cock was room temperature and it was terrifying, a
solid reminder of just what he was doing. He was beyond caring about the ethics
or the sheer weirdness, but Spike was a cold-blooded creature who was hot-blood
hungry, who could lose control and just dig in. What was it like for him to
feel the veins throbbing under his tongue, the five course meal gathering in
the head of Xander's cock? How did he hold back? Xander looked at Oz, whose
eyes were closed. What if he got wild and ate Xander's tongue? Would they
fight for him? Oz might be stronger but Spike was more ruthless. If Oz bit him
he turned into a werewolf, right? Was it right away? He found himself taking
his tongue back, jumping over teeth to coax Oz into his mouth instead. At
least if Xander bit down the most he would get was a smack.
When they broke for breath Oz seemed about to faint, panting like a
greyhound. He clutched Spike for support, and a look of surprise crossed his
what must have been Spike's low temperature. His eyes met Xander's for brief
"You're a weird fucker to fuck, Spike," he said, voice hoarse with effort.
Spike drew his head back to answer with the kind of disdain only
Britian-based people had, "Yeah well your cock is fuzzy."
Xander didn't remember it being fuzzy, but maybe it changed. Spike went back
to work before he could ask. He buried his face in Spike's hair, letting the
feeling sweep him away. Spike's mouth was warm enough. Maybe it gave new
meaning to necrophelia. Though Spike certainly didn't seem dead in the way his
tongue called come up from Xander's balls, the way his muscles shivered and
tugged each other with each of Oz's furiously short strokes. Xander matched
them with his fist, both of them working until Spike shuddered so hard his hair
unglued and then he came. It was hot as it exploded over Xander's arm and
legs, steady and violent.
"Yeah," Oz all but cheered, thrusting fiercely toward his own climax. Xander
saw pain in Spike's eyes as his over-sensitized insides were prodded and
jammed into more coming, impossible amounts of coming, a coming marathon. What
was the point of all that spunk anyway?
Xander could tell when Oz came because he rolled his eyes back and howled.
So loud it made one of his parents drop a bottle upstairs. The howl was funny
more than terrifying, though it sounded 'just like' a wolf. It bounced back
on all of them, deafening. Xander had to cover his ears. Spike laughed and
then groaned as he came some more.
It was the laugh that set Xander off, coupled with the looks of the other two
and a kind of self-awareness/guilt about coming last. The laugh chuffed down
his cock and was repelled by an explosion of come that rocketed off the roof
of Spike's mouth back onto Xander's skin. It was like lava, and as Spike
began to swallow Xander let out his own imitation howl, one that arrived as more
of an "Aaawww..... 'hell'." Oz smiled sleepily. Spike sucked every last sperm
for the next ten years from Xander, effectively ruining the Harris line
forever, and Xander forsook his family to become a shuddering mass of limp flesh
and clanking bones and he sank back onto the bed, cock flopping from Spike's
mouth to land loosely against his thigh. Spike sank between his legs and Oz
landed on top of him, still inside. Their weight hurt Xander's knees but he
didn't want them to move.
They lay there for a long time, breathing (except for Spike) and sweating,
listening to each other and to Xander's parents walking heavily back and forth
above their heads. Come leaked all over them and into the bed. Xander started
petting Oz's head distractedly, red hair rustling between his fingers, and Oz
hummed against Spike's back.
Spike asked Oz, "Are you going to move or am I going to have to take you
"I'm not going anywhere, "Oz answered, "and neither are you." And he settled
into Spike just like a dog would get comfortable on a new bed, making Spike
gasp as his cock found new, pleasantly unpleasant purchase inside. Xander felt
Spike tense and then gradually settle down. They lay in a long silence.
"Dogpile," Xander said randomly. He earned a group giggle. Three people
cancelled the potential for intimate pillow talk, but there was a cool
to the pile, each of them lolling in the drowsy suck of aftershock. So
sucking, in fact, that it sucked him down with it, and he only woke up when he
an elbow to the side and a speedily muttered,
He opened his eyes. Spike was gone. Oz was on the stairs ready to go up,
and something about the moment told Xander that the sun had risen and that
whatever this night was about, it was over.
"Going to, eh, find the cat?" he asked.
"Yeah. I'm gonna be in big trouble."
"Don't go upstairs naked."
"I think your parents went to bed. Do you have a shirt I can borrow?"
Xander clawed under the bed for the nearest thing, a ratty blue sweatshirt,
and winged it to Oz across the room. Oz's nose crinkled as he caught it.
"Nothing. It smells like you." He pulled it on and struggled through the
baggy blue fabric. When his head popped out he smiled. "I'll give it back
"Dunno, 'later'. I'll see you 'later'."
"Really?" Xander asked, then felt stupid for asking. Oz stared at him long
and hard. "I mean, I'm just asking, 'cuz like... Uh..."
"I'm good," Oz said, eyes sparking slightly. "You call 'come', I come.
Y'know?" He walked across the room and stuck a hand out. "We're buddies."
"Buddies." Xander shook it. It felt like the most ridiculous gesture anyone
could possibly make in this situation. He didn't know what the fuck was
going on. Besides, however cool things were with Oz-- generally 'everything' was
cool with Oz-- who knew how it would be with Spike? He decided not to think
about it. He let Oz go. "Get home safe."
"I will. See ya."
Alone, he stretched into his come-heavy bed and sighed. Sleep jumped up and
down on him. There was probably some heavy-duty thinking to be done, but he
let his eyes close instead, let it take him away. He fell asleep hard and
stayed there, cool for the first time since the summer began.