Fic: Darker Things (Oz/Xander)
Title: Darker Things
Author: Harikari
Rating: R
Pairing: Oz & Xander
Summary: Patrol goes even more wrong than usual for Xander and Oz.
Notes/Warnings: Attempted NCS (nothing too graphic), violence, language, some friendship/pre-slash. Takes place the summer following season 2.
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Pain. Pain. Ow, pain.
Xander blinked. He was on the ground, his back flat against the damp grass, staring up at the unusually cloudy night sky. For a breathless moment he wasn't sure how he had gotten there. But then a second ticked by and reality, fuzzy as it was just then, caught up with him. And reality was: Saturday night, routine patrol with Oz, a ruthless trio of vampires that had decided to attack while he and the werewolf had been making their meandering way across Restfield cemetery.
Get up, Xander urged himself. Because it didn't matter that he'd gotten bitch slapped by some baddie with an overbite. He could hear grunting and flesh hitting flesh and the tell tale sounds of battle. He needed to get his ass up and he needed to help. Oz wasn't Buffy -- he couldn't handle three supernaturally strong vamps all on his own without so much as breaking a sweat.
Xander had managed to push himself to his knees when, suddenly, there was a shadow looming over him. A shadow that, judging by the fact that it was about seven feet tall and had shoulders as wide as the grand freaking canyon, wasn't Oz. Xander was abruptly and very painfully aware that he was no longer gripping the axe that Giles had given him for patrol, that the comforting and familiar weight of a stake was absent from its usual place in his back pocket.
Oh, nice. He shot a quick look around and had time to notice his missing stake, laid out on the yellowing grass next to a new-looking tombstone with the name Joe Hewlett engraved across the front of it, before the looming shadow started hitting. Xander let out a surprised cry when the vampire leaning over him pulled back his abnormally huge ass fist and then nailed him square in the jaw.
And then Xander was on his back again, staring dazed and without complete comprehension up at the night sky -- again. Vaguely, he could make out some frantic sounds of fighting. Oz, he realized. Oz was still going, was still putting up a fight. That was a good thing, that the werewolf was still up and going at it. Because if he fell, they were both pretty much doomed.
This is so not my night, thought Xander. He felt it as the overlarge vampire who seemed intent on beating him to death straddled him. He groaned. He closed his eyes tight and held his breath; prepared himself for another punch to the face. But, no. Instead the vampire grabbed both of his wrists in one of his beefy hands and lifted his arms over his head; pinned him.
Xander wriggled his wrists, tried to free himself from the bruising grip, but it was a fruitless attempt. The large vampire settled himself more firmly on top of him. A tight, sickening knot began to form in Xander's gut. What the...? Something is...wrong. He writhed more frantically for freedom, but his assailant didn't budge.
And then the vampire was leaning forward, his mouth -- the demon's breath reeked of dirt, and sick, and death -- hovering mere inches above Xander's own. The teen could feel the vampire's free hand, the one that wasn't gripping his wrists with a vise like intensity, settle flat against his stomach where his t-shirt had ridden up. "Fuck yes," the vampire breathed. "I got lucky tonight, didn't I?"
"No!" Xander shouted abruptly and violently, because he suddenly had an idea of what was happening. Knew what the vampire was trying to do.
He felt it as the large hand moved even lower. He began to wrench his body about in an attempt to get away; managed to jerk his knee part way free and up and give the large vampire pinning him a glancing blow on the thigh. But all that served to do was piss the demon off.
"Stay still," the creep ordered. He trapped Xander's stray leg again with ease; squeezed his wrists more tightly.
And then the unwelcome hand was back; this time it went directly for the button of his jeans. Was unbuttoning and working his zipper and...
God, this isn't happening! Xander squirmed, struggled, but nothing he did seemed to help. The hand was still going, still moving, and his pants were now loose and he didn't even care about dusting this vampire anymore, he just wanted the freaking bastard off of him, wanted him gone and...
"Let him go," growled a voice, and in the time it took Xander to realize that it was Oz talking -- Oz growling -- the huge ass sicko vamp was no longer on top of him.
Xander sucked in a deep breath. Half dazed, he jerked his head to the side; saw Oz and the vamp fighting. He noticed that Oz's eyes were glowing, then a cloud of dust, and the vampire was gone.
Xander felt his heart beating hard in his chest and closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself; opened them again when he felt someone looming over him. "Oz," he said, and forced himself to sit up and sound casual. Because why wouldn't he be casual? He'd been hunting the dark things that prowled Sunnydale for years. He knew that every time he went out at night there was a chance that he could be seriously, horribly injured, a chance that he could die. And even though he hadn't ever really thought of it before tonight...every time he went out there was also a chance that, well...
"Thanks," he said, cutting his own thoughts off. And this time it came out sounding shaky.
Eyes still glowing eerily, Oz said nothing. He offered Xander his hand and Xander took it. He stood up; placed a hand on Oz's shoulder while his legs steadied.
"Are you okay?" asked Oz in his quiet, cool voice and Xander noticed that his eyes were slowly shifting back to their normal color. Which meant, he guessed, that the werewolf was calming down; that the anger which had brought the wolf to the surface in the first place was fading.
Trying not to think about the fact that Oz had been pissed off enough about what had been happening to him that his wolf had emerged -- something that had only ever happened before when Willow had been in danger -- Xander pulled his hand from his friend's shoulder.
"Yeah," he answered.
And in a motion so fast Xander didn't have time to flinch away, Oz reached down, pulled his jeans back up over his hips and fastened them.
"You're okay," said the werewolf. A statement this time, not a question. He grabbed Xander by the back of the neck, pulled him down, and kissed him square on the mouth.
Xander felt a light touch on his lips; a brush of pressure, and then it was gone.
Oz moved to gather up the scattered weaponry and Xander stood, flushed and embarrassed about having forgotten about his half on and half off pants; confused and yet oddly comforted by the unexpected kiss.
"Yeah," he said, to himself this time. "I'm okay."
And he turned toward Oz.
Author: Harikari
Rating: R
Pairing: Oz & Xander
Summary: Patrol goes even more wrong than usual for Xander and Oz.
Notes/Warnings: Attempted NCS (nothing too graphic), violence, language, some friendship/pre-slash. Takes place the summer following season 2.
-----
Pain. Pain. Ow, pain.
Xander blinked. He was on the ground, his back flat against the damp grass, staring up at the unusually cloudy night sky. For a breathless moment he wasn't sure how he had gotten there. But then a second ticked by and reality, fuzzy as it was just then, caught up with him. And reality was: Saturday night, routine patrol with Oz, a ruthless trio of vampires that had decided to attack while he and the werewolf had been making their meandering way across Restfield cemetery.
Get up, Xander urged himself. Because it didn't matter that he'd gotten bitch slapped by some baddie with an overbite. He could hear grunting and flesh hitting flesh and the tell tale sounds of battle. He needed to get his ass up and he needed to help. Oz wasn't Buffy -- he couldn't handle three supernaturally strong vamps all on his own without so much as breaking a sweat.
Xander had managed to push himself to his knees when, suddenly, there was a shadow looming over him. A shadow that, judging by the fact that it was about seven feet tall and had shoulders as wide as the grand freaking canyon, wasn't Oz. Xander was abruptly and very painfully aware that he was no longer gripping the axe that Giles had given him for patrol, that the comforting and familiar weight of a stake was absent from its usual place in his back pocket.
Oh, nice. He shot a quick look around and had time to notice his missing stake, laid out on the yellowing grass next to a new-looking tombstone with the name Joe Hewlett engraved across the front of it, before the looming shadow started hitting. Xander let out a surprised cry when the vampire leaning over him pulled back his abnormally huge ass fist and then nailed him square in the jaw.
And then Xander was on his back again, staring dazed and without complete comprehension up at the night sky -- again. Vaguely, he could make out some frantic sounds of fighting. Oz, he realized. Oz was still going, was still putting up a fight. That was a good thing, that the werewolf was still up and going at it. Because if he fell, they were both pretty much doomed.
This is so not my night, thought Xander. He felt it as the overlarge vampire who seemed intent on beating him to death straddled him. He groaned. He closed his eyes tight and held his breath; prepared himself for another punch to the face. But, no. Instead the vampire grabbed both of his wrists in one of his beefy hands and lifted his arms over his head; pinned him.
Xander wriggled his wrists, tried to free himself from the bruising grip, but it was a fruitless attempt. The large vampire settled himself more firmly on top of him. A tight, sickening knot began to form in Xander's gut. What the...? Something is...wrong. He writhed more frantically for freedom, but his assailant didn't budge.
And then the vampire was leaning forward, his mouth -- the demon's breath reeked of dirt, and sick, and death -- hovering mere inches above Xander's own. The teen could feel the vampire's free hand, the one that wasn't gripping his wrists with a vise like intensity, settle flat against his stomach where his t-shirt had ridden up. "Fuck yes," the vampire breathed. "I got lucky tonight, didn't I?"
"No!" Xander shouted abruptly and violently, because he suddenly had an idea of what was happening. Knew what the vampire was trying to do.
He felt it as the large hand moved even lower. He began to wrench his body about in an attempt to get away; managed to jerk his knee part way free and up and give the large vampire pinning him a glancing blow on the thigh. But all that served to do was piss the demon off.
"Stay still," the creep ordered. He trapped Xander's stray leg again with ease; squeezed his wrists more tightly.
And then the unwelcome hand was back; this time it went directly for the button of his jeans. Was unbuttoning and working his zipper and...
God, this isn't happening! Xander squirmed, struggled, but nothing he did seemed to help. The hand was still going, still moving, and his pants were now loose and he didn't even care about dusting this vampire anymore, he just wanted the freaking bastard off of him, wanted him gone and...
"Let him go," growled a voice, and in the time it took Xander to realize that it was Oz talking -- Oz growling -- the huge ass sicko vamp was no longer on top of him.
Xander sucked in a deep breath. Half dazed, he jerked his head to the side; saw Oz and the vamp fighting. He noticed that Oz's eyes were glowing, then a cloud of dust, and the vampire was gone.
Xander felt his heart beating hard in his chest and closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself; opened them again when he felt someone looming over him. "Oz," he said, and forced himself to sit up and sound casual. Because why wouldn't he be casual? He'd been hunting the dark things that prowled Sunnydale for years. He knew that every time he went out at night there was a chance that he could be seriously, horribly injured, a chance that he could die. And even though he hadn't ever really thought of it before tonight...every time he went out there was also a chance that, well...
"Thanks," he said, cutting his own thoughts off. And this time it came out sounding shaky.
Eyes still glowing eerily, Oz said nothing. He offered Xander his hand and Xander took it. He stood up; placed a hand on Oz's shoulder while his legs steadied.
"Are you okay?" asked Oz in his quiet, cool voice and Xander noticed that his eyes were slowly shifting back to their normal color. Which meant, he guessed, that the werewolf was calming down; that the anger which had brought the wolf to the surface in the first place was fading.
Trying not to think about the fact that Oz had been pissed off enough about what had been happening to him that his wolf had emerged -- something that had only ever happened before when Willow had been in danger -- Xander pulled his hand from his friend's shoulder.
"Yeah," he answered.
And in a motion so fast Xander didn't have time to flinch away, Oz reached down, pulled his jeans back up over his hips and fastened them.
"You're okay," said the werewolf. A statement this time, not a question. He grabbed Xander by the back of the neck, pulled him down, and kissed him square on the mouth.
Xander felt a light touch on his lips; a brush of pressure, and then it was gone.
Oz moved to gather up the scattered weaponry and Xander stood, flushed and embarrassed about having forgotten about his half on and half off pants; confused and yet oddly comforted by the unexpected kiss.
"Yeah," he said, to himself this time. "I'm okay."
And he turned toward Oz.