Title: Erase/Rewind (6/?)
Authors: Dolores and Faithtastic
This part: Dolores
Email: dolores_l@hotmail.com & faithtastic@jturner93.fsnet.co.uk
Summary: Faith adjusts to life after jail and meets a familiar face.
Rating: R for strong language, m/m slash, mention of f/f slash and
drug-taking.
Spoilers: If it happened to Faith or Oz, it's probably here. So general
season three Buffy, season four episodes up to 'Wild At Heart', then 'This
Year's Girl,' 'Who Are You' and 'New Moon Rising' plus first season Angel
episodes 'Sanctuary' and 'Five by Five.'
Distribution: UCSL, Dolores's Domain. Anywhere else, ask and you shall
receive.
Feedback: Good, bad, ugly we don't care, we just want it. Disclaimer: Faith
and Oz are copyright to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Productions, Warner
Brothers and presumably numerous other faceless corporations. We intend to
make no gain from this fic, we're just trying to redress the balance of the
fates of, in our humble opinion, the most neglected Buffy characters.
Notes: This is a joint effort, our first such project so please be kind. Set
about six months after Faith's 'Angel' episodes. The title is from the
Cardigan's song on the Gran Turismo album.

****

"Oz, man, did you know your sofa was so. . . soft?"

Devon was drunk. Not that this was an uncommon state for the singer to be
in. He was at a droopy stage, sprawled across the furniture; long legs
half-balanced on the arm of the couch, head resting against Oz's side. His
right arm drooped towards the floor, a beer bottle clutched tightly in his
hand.

Oz was not drunk. Which is not to say he hadn't been drinking. But,
smaller person though he was, he could hold his drink much better than his
best friend. . . but then, he'd started early. Oz's parents had decreed
that he should learn how to respect alcohol from an early age. So he'd
drank small glasses of wine at the table from 13, moving up, four years
later, to the point where he could take bottles of Bud or whatever from the
fridge with impunity. Well, ok, maybe with a deduction from his allowance.

Devon, on the other hand, had had no such training and three bottles of weak
beer later he was intoxicated. But it was cool; Devon had smoked pot long
before Oz, and so the same was true in reverse for weed; Oz would be
very-not-Ozlike and giggling at old Tom and Jerry re-runs until his sides
ached whilst Devon would sit with a wry smile and roll another joint.

But tonight was Oz's turn to smile at his friend, as Devon got his words
confused and lost what few inhibitions he had left. Which could lead to bad
things, maybe. But at least he wasn't a maudlin drunk.

Devon had rambled for a bit and eventually got onto the subject of their
friendship. Oz and Devon had known each other since grade school, but only
when Oz's initial attempts to learn guitar and Devon's natural instinct to
break away from his Church choir into a more rebellious form of singing
clashed in the form of a band had the 14-year-olds got to know each other
well.

Because they hadn't been obvious friends. Devon was one of the cool set,
the little inner circle of popular people that were good-looking, or good at
sports, or good with fashion or just good at putting the others down.
Naturally half the time they bitched mercilessly at each other, but to the
rest of the kids. . . they were admired, desired, hated and feared. Oz
wasn't part of that set. He was one of the quiet kids that no one really
disliked, but no one particularly made an effort to get on with. Not one of
the bullied like Jonathan, or the nerds like Willow, or the clueless like
Xander and Jesse (all in the year below, of course). Just part of the
background, filling in the spaces on the yearbook photo between the
memorable people.

Their relationship worked because Devon, for all his outward shallowness,
was quite, well, deep. Intelligent, though he'd fail a couple of classes so
he didn't seem it. He managed to make Oz laugh, give Oz's character a
little colour when the others just saw grey.

"You're my best mate, y'know that?" Devon asked, stretching his gaze to try
and look at Oz.

"Yeah, Dev. I do. And you're mine," Oz answered, a smile tugging at the
corners of his mouth.

Devon pushed slightly into Oz's side, making himself comfortable. "This is
cool, y'know. Us just being here. With beer. Talkin'."

Oz shook his head in mock despair, and they lapsed for a moment into
companionable silence. His fingers, idle, began to fiddle with the Bud
label, peeling it slowly, carefully from the bottle, dried adhesive and
paper fibre leaving a white mark on the glass.

Devon heard the soft ripping sound. "Peelin' off the labels?"

"Yeah."

The singer let out a snort. "Y'know that's a sign of sexual frustration."

"You sound surprised," Oz replied, still peeling.

Devon swivelled round to a sitting position, and looked at Oz. "Hey, that's
a good point. Why ain't you getting any pussy, man? Fuck, the last time was
that Nancy chick, and, yeah, ok, you got some then but that was, like, six
months ago. You need to get back out there, man!"

Oz turned his head to face Devon. "Dev, look at me. I'm 5 feet 4, I have
red hair, I'm not good at sports and I'm not rich. Girls. don't seem to dig
me."

"Oz, shut up. You're a sexy bitch an' you know it. Ya just need to find a
girl that puts out."

Oz just smiled. He didn't believe Devon, about the looks bit. But. . . it
was nice.

"C'mon man, you're in a band. You have wheels. You could so get some."

"I don't think I could get you, and you're a big slut."

A grin. "Oh, yeah, you're not handsome enough for that."

"I'm *that* ugly?"

"The ugliest, man. Fell out of the ugly tree and hit the branches all the
way down."

It was a joke, but Oz's smile still disappeared; the funny bubble had just
burst. Devon seemed to recognise that, for all that he was drunk.

"Shit, Oz, I didn't mean that. Arrogant fuck that I am." Devon paused,
unsure how to proceed. "Kiss and make up? That way at least you'll get
some tonight!"

"Sure." Oz only meant that Devon was forgiven, but Devon still took the
invitation and planted his lips on Oz's own. It was rough and sloppy and
probably a joke, but whilst Oz's mind attempted to figure out if it was or
not, his mouth responded anyway and he kissed back. For a few second they
rubbed their lips together, then just as suddenly as he had started, Devon
drew back an looked at Oz with shock.

"Fuck, man! We're making out!"

Oz heart was thumping in his chest. That had been too nice, and his cock
had already surged in length in response. "Yeah," was all he could mutter,
for fear of saying something he'd regret.

"Shit, I've never done it with a dude before."

"Me neither."

Devon's hand had moved to his crotch. He squeezed it, still looking at Oz.
"Fuck, it actually made me hard. Fuck!"

Oz swallowed, and a glance at his own crotch told Devon that the same was
true for his best friend. Then, the look of horror disappeared as Devon's
face was split by a wide grin.

"See? Told ya you were a sexy bitch. The ugly tree thing - that was so
wrong. Of course, I could just be horny. Not that I'm ever not."

They stared at each other for a moment, Devon unconsciously licking his
lips, before hesitantly moving his head back toward Oz's face. When the
smaller man didn't shy away, he gently brushed his mouth against that of Oz.

Then he was kissing Oz again, more gentle this time, so the stubble didn't
scrape so bad, and there was just the hint of tongue on Oz's lips. Oz
opened his mouth a little, nervous, and the tongue gently pushed in,
touching Oz's teeth and exploring. Devon's body was pushing against Oz's
own, and Oz's head swam with lust.

Hesitantly, Oz placed his hands on Devon's chest, the thin cotton of a vest
covering the smooth skin, the hard nipples two stiff bumps pushing at the
fabric, Oz running his callused thumb across them. Then Devon sat back and
peeled the undershirt off, watching as Oz responded. Then Devon sat astride
the guitarist, and they went back to the kiss, and there they stayed for a
time, just touching and stroking.

The singer began to buck against Oz, his denim-clad erection pushing at Oz's
stomach. He leaned over and hissed urgently in Oz's ear, "Oz, can I fuck
you, please can I fuck you? Man, this is so hot. . . can I?"

***

"I said yes, and he did."

I took another draw on what was left of the roach, wondering just why I'd
told Faith all that, given that until three days ago I barely knew her and
still didn't know that much more today. She looked at me with wide eyes,
and a smirk on her face.

"That's it? You can't stop it there! It was just gettin' interesting."

"I'm not going there, Faith."

"Aw, c'mon - I want the gory details! Did it hurt? Was he your first? How
big was he?"

"Faith. . ."

"Hell, I didn't know you had it in you. . ." she stopped and snickered at
her innuendo, "well, if ya get my meaning."

I just glared at her. She took the hint.

"Alright, already. . . but, there's one thing I don't understand. You said
you were really into this Devon - so what's with the regret?"

A good question. "Afterwards - like, the next day - Devon, he felt really
bad about it. Y'know, he was drunk, this didn't mean anything, he's not
queer. That next night, we had a gig and he got sucked off by this groupie,
in the dressing room - and he knew I'd walk in on them. Devspeak for it
doesn't change anything."

"Bummer. Men are like that," she flashed a grin, "present company
excepted."

I nod, accepting the implicit compliment. "That wasn't so bad, but. . . we
didn't use protection, y'know. So I didn't feel that great about it
either."

She gave me a sympathetic look, "We've all been there, man. Wicked stupid
an' all, but ya get caught up in the moment, dontcha."

"Yeah." I drained the last of my Bud, and got up from the sofa. "Another?"

Another grin. "Shit, yeah."

I returned a moment later with another pair of bottles. She looked up at me
as I handed her the bottle. "So, you get yourself checked out? I mean,
this Devon guy seems like a bit of a two cent whore."

"Oh, yeah. Clean. Dunno about Devon - he'd never go to the doc's. Didn't
like to use anything, either."

"He's a dumbass," Faith observed, with a trace of scorn.

I smile a little. "I know. But he was my best friend. And, y'know, I do
miss him."

She just gave me a sad smile, and then there was a pause as I started to
roll another joint. I'd just got the cigarette papers laid out when Faith
began to speak.

"The dream. . ." she began, then faltered.

I didn't reply, but simply looked up at her, then back at the skins.

She started again. "I was dreaming about me and B. Before I went all
crazy. Well, actually at right abut the time I went all crazy. Like, me
and Buff? She was my Devon, y'know? We did the horizontal ho-ho, and next
day she was all like 'Oh, I'm Miss Sunnydale 1999, oh, isn't Angel a broody
hunk of an undead creature, we can only be friends, Faith.' Half the reason
I got mad and ended up with the Mayor."

I looked up at her solemnly "I smelled you on Buffy, once. I wondered, but.
. ."

A soft laugh at that. "You and your nose, huh? See, you're always found
out by someone. I learned that lesson. Well, I'll tell you what happened.
. ."

So she told me about her and Buffy, leaving out the "bits where my mouth was
used for more than talkin,'" and that she would dream about it occasionally,
like she had in the van. I just listened, and she seemed grateful to get it
off her chest.

"Looks like we have that in common too," she said when she was done.

I smiled and nodded, and handed her the joint.

"Looks like we do."

When she left the next day, she promised to call me soon, and I found I was
looking forward to it. And she did call me.

***

Two mornings later, the phone bleated in the hallway; I came out from my
bedroom just in boxers, rubbing a sleepy eye and picked up the handset.

"Hey."

"Oz? Oz, it's Faith. I'm at the cop shop. . . Oz, it's bad this time."

"I'm on my way."

***

Continued in Part 7