Title: Trouble (2/2)
Author: Dolores Labouchere
E-mail: dolores_l@h...
Summary: Oz makes his choice – but might regret it.
Spoilers: Nothing direct, some vague reference to Seasons 2 and 3.
Rating: NC-17 for m/m slash, language and violence.
Distribution: Lists, diminished ninth, Dolores' Domain otherwise just ask
Disclaimer: They're not mine, they never have been and they probably never   will be.   I promise to put them back when I'm finished although they might   be slightly soiled.
Notes: Part 10, would you believe, of 'Driftwood'.   All previous parts are   on mine own archive or at UCSL.   The title of the fic is taken from the song   on Coldplay's album, 'Parachutes' the lyrics to which are quite appropriate.  
Dedicated as ever to Faithtastic for beta'ing, squealing when I reveal plot   details, and being fabulous.   This is also for Otsoko (see?   I can use   meringues in my fics too) Roz, Selena and puca, cos I like them very much.

This is an AU where Oz left in the middle of the summer between High School   and college, so he didn't go to LA, didn't cheat on Willow with Veruca, and   didn't find a cure.   Oh, and Tara never got it together with Willow (Xander   did instead).

"This I not a novel to be tossed aside lightly.   It should be thrown with   great force." – Dorothy Parker

***

Oz and Angel walked silently along the road toward the motel, the vampire   occasionally giving Oz a concerned look.   The smaller man had barely said a   word since they'd left the hotel.   Matters had got worse before they left;   Wesley had been instructed by Angel to look after Xander but before the   ex-Watcher was able to do anything, Xander had fled the hotel, crying,   probably going after Willow.   Cordelia had also stalked off, so Wesley had   then decided to return to Giles' place, where he was staying, and he and   Angel and Oz had left to the stares and comments of the other guests,   actions that had evidently hurt the werewolf deeply.

Amy and Tara had gone with them too, asking if they could do anything, but   with a sad smile of thanks Oz had waved them away, muttering that he just   needed think about things.   The two witches had nodded then headed for their   own homes, Wesley moving off shortly thereafter.

So Angel alone had walked Oz back.   He'd took Oz's hand at one point,   squeezing it gently, but the smaller hand was just removed, and returned to   the side of its owner.   He let Oz be; brooding was a personal thing, and he   should know.

They reached the motel, and ascended the stairs to the room.   They entered   and Angel, after shrugging off his duster, opened the mini-bar.

"You want a drink?"

Oz nodded.   "Bourbon?"

"Can do," Angel replied, lifted the little bottle out and threw it to Oz.

The smaller man caught it, and as Angel shut the bar again, said, "You're   not having any?"

"Alcohol makes me too happy," Angel said by way of explanation, to a sagely   nod from Oz, who then unscrewed the cap and downed the bottle's contents,   grimacing slightly.

"Better," he said, and threw the bottle into the wastebasket.   He looked at   Angel.   "Do I get a prize for that level of carnage?"

Angel smirked despite himself, then adopted a more serious tone. "Don't be   too hard on yourself Oz.   You couldn't have known that this would happen."

A trademark shrug.   "But Buffy was right, if I hadn't come, none of this   would have happened."

"It would have; Willow would have found out about you and Xander sooner or   later."

"But not on their wedding day."

"True. But if you hadn't come *this* wouldn't have happened either," Angel   said, leaning in to brush his lips across those of Oz.

"It appears in the plus column for the visit, which is otherwise quite   empty."

Angel laid his hands on Oz's shoulders.   "I'm heading back to LA soon.   Come   with me."

"What about Cordy?   She didn't seem too happy just now."   Oz moved closer to   Angel's body, allowing the vampire's hands to link around his neck, the   broad chest to press against his face.

"She'll be fine, she just hates not knowing what’s going on.   We can always   do with the help."

"Maybe."

"Oz, I want you to come.   Think about it please," Angel whispered, leaning   down to run his tongue along the rim of Oz's ear.

"What about the curse?" Oz asked as he arched into Angel's mouth.

"It's not an issue, not yet.   I'll get Wesley to look into ways of getting   around it.   If we can't – we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Angel   replied, nuzzling Oz's hair with his nose, planting a kiss through the   ginger locks on Oz's head.

"Maybe we should get a family pack of Thessulan Orbs just in case."

Oz felt the smile through his skull. "I'll order them tomorrow."

Angel drew back his head and looked at Oz, stared into his green eyes and   smiled more, and then they kissed, full and deep, and Angel was glad he'd   gone to the drugstore that morning.

He broke off the kiss, running his tongue across his lips.   His eyes trailed   up and down Oz's besuited body, and then returned to the green eyes. Oz   nodded assent, and Angel, grinning, began to strip, the tux jacket and   bowtie flying across the room.   The shoes and socks were kicked off.   Oz   watched with the slightest trace of a smile, which grew as the shirt was   pulled off and the pants were slipped down so that Angel stood only in his   black trunks, arousal plain.   Oz's own erection pushed against his   underwear, and Angel's gaze showed that he knew.

"You're still dressed," the vampire growled, and licked his lips.

"Am I?" Oz said, sounding almost surprised.   Then, slowly, the smaller man   removed his clothes, pale skin exposed to the dim light of the hotel room at   not nearly as fast a rate as Angel wanted.   The vampire let out an   appreciative sigh when the shirt was removed, exposing some bead necklaces   and hardening pink nipples to the cool air of the bedroom. Then, finally, Oz   too was in only his Daffy Duck boxers, forced out in front of him by his   hard-on.   Their eyes met again, and for a moment both were still, then both   took the waistband of their respective underwear and yanked it down and off.

They stood, naked and hard, neither making a move until Angel grabbed his   cock with one hand and began to run his hand up and down the swollen shaft,   the hooded tip sliding in and out of view.   Licking his palm, Oz took his   own and began to pump, quietly amazed by how near to climax he already felt.

"Angel. . ." he hissed, and the vampire suddenly closed the distance,   grabbing Oz's head and kissing him roughly, the scratch of stubble burning   both men.   Then they toppled onto the bed, hands running across bare chests   and caressing the compact muscles and the fleshy lumps that were peaked with   excitement and arousal.   Oz's hips bucked in instinct, pushing his hardness   against Angel's belly, leaving sticky fluid in a snail's trail across the   vampire's abdominals.

He sucked on the vampire's lower lip, desperately pulling the cool body   close to his, as if he wanted to physically become one.   Angel groaned into   the kiss, then his hand reached out to the bedside table for the bottle of   lube and the packet of condoms that lay there.   Oz took the condoms from him   and kissed his way down Angel's chest, nipping at the vampire's teats with   his teeth.

"Hey, no biting," Angel said, even as he grunted in pleasure.

The kissing continued down to the drooling hardness of Angel's cock, and Oz   performed the same trick on Angel as he had Xander some years before.   The   condom was applied orally, and Oz moved back up to meet the surprised   expression on Angel's face with a kiss.

"Where'd you learn to do that?"

"I practised on a banana," Oz replied, as if this were entirely normal.

"Good trick."

"Thanks.   And now for my next one."

The werewolf squeezed some lube from the bottle and began to apply it to   both himself and Angel, gasping a little as the cold jelly touched his own   skin.

"You're OK with this?" Angel asked.

Oz nodded.   "I put on the condom, remember."

"Just checking."

And then, with Oz on top, Angel slid, slowly, carefully, delicately into the   little man, sighing as the tightness encased him.   Through the initial pain   to the interesting and definitely pleasurable pressure Oz was quiet, leaning   down to Angel's face to cover the puffy lips with his own.

They moved and kissed and thrusted and squeezed and scratched and moaned for   what might have been five minutes or might have been an hour.   Both were   dripping with sweat, and Oz was red with effort, even though Angel remained   as pale as ever.

Angel thrusts picked up in tempo, his hand wrapped around Oz's cock, their   eyes met and Oz nodded and Angel let out a cry as he peaked, and as he   subsided, he kept stroking Oz and the werewolf let loose too, creamy wetness   sprayed across Angel's chest.

They kissed a last time, wet and breathless, Angel sliding out from Oz and   removing the protection.   Oz pushed himself as close as he could to the cool   skin of Angel, and the vampire revelled in the warmth of the werewolf's   body.   Both fell asleep, content.

***

Oz awoke with a start.   Angel wasn't next to him.   Then he heard movement,   and looked over the bed to see Angel, naked, and writhing on the floor.   The   pale man suddenly opened his mouth and let out a strangled moan.   Oz jumped   out of bed.

"Angel, what's wrong?"

"Oz… go… leave… happened… again…"

"What has?   Angel?"

The vampire let out another moan, and then lay still.

"Angel?"   Oz crouched down to his lover and placed a freckled hand on the   cool shoulder.   As he did, Angel stirred, and then stood up, Oz rising with   him.

"Are you OK?" Oz asked, frowning as he peered at Angel's face.   The vampire   smiled.

"Sure, I just wasn't… myself for a while.   But I'm… heh, doing good now."

"You sure?" Oz asked, only for Angel to turn away, and look out of the   window to the night sky.

"You were a good fuck, you know.   Better than Buffy."   He turned to face Oz   again,   "Yeah, you were good.   Nice and tight.   That was Buffy's problem,   she was really loose.   Which surprised me because I thought I was the one   who plucked her cherry.   So, either she was lying, or all that high kicking   did more damage than I thought."   He smirked.   "Anyway, enough small talk.   I'm hungry."

"Shit…" whispered Oz, as the penny dropped, and he began to edge towards the   door.

"Forget it, you won't have the time."

"I thought you said that you wouldn't turn," Oz said, his voice still,   somehow, calm.

Angel sniffed and shrugged.   "Hey, I was wrong.   Luckily for me…"

Oz made to run for the door but Angel was there too quick and slammed Oz up   against the thin walls of the hotel room by his neck. The smaller man   dangled in Angel's grip, eyes wide with fear.

"I've never drank werewolf blood before.   Still, there's always a first   time.   And seeing as I'm so hungry and you're OK in bed, I won't torture you   first.   I might even turn you –now *that* would fuck up the Wicca bitch that   got my soul back.   How about it?"

His windpipe crushed buy the force of Angel's grip, Oz couldn't reply.   Instead he delivered a violent kick to the vampire's stomach.   Angel bent   with the force, wheezing as the redundant air was pushed from his lungs.   He   held onto Oz, though, and when he looked back up his face was hard, his eyes   a glittering yellow, and his fangs sharp.   He delivered a brutal punch to   Oz's jaw with his spare hand, causing his prey to grunt in pain.

"Now look, I was going to be nice to you.   Don't make me regret that."   Regaining his composure, Angel ran his tongue along one fang, and ran his   gaze up and down Oz's naked body.   "Y'know, the neck is only the traditional   place for a vampire to feed.   Easier, what with the jugular and all that.   There are other places though.   The wrist, the crook of the arm, the ankle,"   he let a finger brush Oz's cock, smirking, "anywhere that has a big vein."

Sweat beaded Oz's forehead as he searched for a way out.   He couldn't see   one.

Normally, in situations of high stress, he wasn't one to panic.   That   function was usually left to Xander or Wesley.   However, in this case, he   felt quite justified in wondering if it was too late to make his peace with   God.   For a moment, he reflected on the irony of the fact that he had come   back to Sunnydale to die.

Then Angel spoke again, looking into Oz's eyes. "But, as you are my first   werewolf, I think I'll just stick with tradition.   Thanks for the fuck."

Angel lunged and as he shut his eyes, Oz felt the fangs pierce his skin.

***

Continued in Say Hello, Wave Goodbye