Author: Kay Tee

Rating: NC-17, but barely

Spoilers: hints at general S4/S1 stuff.  Takes place during 'In the Dark.'

Pairing: Oz/Doyle, Oz/Devon and Oz/Willow implied.

Summary: "I don't think Oz appreciated being called 'my little Bam-bam' all night."

Distribution: Take it, but tell me where so I can visit.

Disclaimer: In my dreams I'm Joss... but during the day I have to face the cold hard truth-- I'm a hack who steals characters.  But I'm not giving them back!  Or I am, just don't sue me, all I have are speeding tickets and student loans.


Devon always said, "It's not cheating if you're in a different area code."

And, "It's not cheating if you're away on a gig."

And also, "It's not cheating if you're with a guy."

But mostly, "It's not cheating if you're with *me*."

Sometimes Oz agreed, but usually he didn't feel like being with anyone besides Willow, so he didn't care whether it would count as cheating or not.

Lately, there wasn't much Devon could offer that Oz wasn't already getting from Willow anyway.  They were both totally human, and that was just...

The wolf wasn't a separate part of Oz, it was *him*, who he was, on top of musician and man and son and cousin, he was also wolf.  Nothing evil about it, just animal, wanting without conscience, taking without remorse, and Oz had to try so hard to restrain himself every. single. time. 

Making love with Willow, and the urge to bite was so strong.  Because he was all alone, his cousin Jordy the only other werewolf he'd ever known, and Jordy was just a kid.  All Oz had to do was bite-- slight scrape of teeth, a forgivable accident-- and he wouldn't have to be alone any more.  Oh, he was so tempted, and moments of passion-- love, anger, orgasm-- brought out his animal side with a horrible urgency.

But he could never do that to Willow, never make her go through every day, every minute with the animal urges to shred, destroy, take.  And also: if she knew how he felt, even if she felt the same things, how could she not be disgusted?  How could she not turn away from him?

Normally this line of thought caused Oz to start ruminating on the nature of love, and the fatalism inherent in devotion, and inevitably, the meaning of humanity... But not tonight.

Tonight Oz was in LA, sitting at a small round table in an Irish bar.  Cordelia was sipping an anomalous martini, and chatting amicably about vampire detectives and her new acting career.  On the other side of Oz, a dark-haired man with haunted eyes and a musical voice gulped whiskey, pouring himself large shots instead of drinking straight from the bottle as he clearly wanted to.  The guy, Doyle, seemed to have a thing for Cordelia, but she was clueless.

Oz smiled, catching Doyle's eyes.  They weren't even listening to the former cheerleader babble, just letting the liquor wash over them for the evening.  It was numbing, but not so much that Oz couldn't smell... Doyle's differentness.  Doyle wasn't entirely human, there was a powerful strain of demon in there, and that meant...

It could mean a lot of things, especially considering the way Doyle's eyes glittered at Oz, and the werewolf knew he was being smelled too.

Right then, he didn't care who he was with; he just wanted a connection, needed to be with someone without fear, without having to hold back.  Oz didn't care who his partner was, as long as whoever wasn't entirely human and couldn't be changed into a werewolf.

"Uh, bathroom?"  Oz blatantly interrupted Cordelia, who huffed in exasperation. 

"I'll show you," Doyle stood quickly, then wobbled slightly. 

Oz and Cordelia both moved to steady him, exchanging smirks over Doyle's shoulder. 

The Irishman's face turned slightly green for a moment before he shook his head, blinking loudly, and led the way to the men's room. 

Oz shrugged at Cordelia and followed Doyle.


There was just one private bathroom with a lock on the door and no stalls.  In the corner were an unpleasant looking urinal and an unwashed toilet.  Next to the door were a sink and an empty soap dispenser.  On the opposite wall, one of those cheap portable tin closets held cleaning supplies and probably some toilet paper, but was locked.

Doyle turned the bolt on the door as soon as they were both inside.  He splashed some water onto his face at the sink and turned back to his companion.

Oz was surveying their surroundings.  "Heh," was all he managed to say before a very inebriated Doyle grabbed him in a toothy kiss. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Oz pushed Doyle away gently, but held him at arms length.  The werewolf looked around, searching for any clean surface... his eyes rested on the shining doors of the tin closet.

Doyle was rudely shoved face first against the cool metal, his pants yanked down around his ankles.  Lacking any other lubricant, Oz gathered pre-come off his cock and spit into his hand a few times, preparing Doyle roughly. 

Neither one of them had been under any illusions when they walked in here, and when Oz pushed his way inside Doyle's tight body, both men sighed in relief.  The werewolf buried his teeth in Doyle's shoulder almost immediately, worrying the skin until it broke under bluntish canines.

Doyle gripped the edges of the cabinet with both hands as Oz set up a punishing pace.  As they rocked against each other, the contents of the cabinet slammed forward with a loud 'BAM!'  Then backwards with another 'BAM!'

Oz let a brief worry flicker over his mind that anybody outside the door would definitely know what was going on in here, and the atmosphere of the bar seemed especially welcome to violent homophobes.  But he dropped that thought when he heard Doyle's soft muttering.

The Irishman was chanting along with the contents of the cabinet, whispering, "Bam, bam.  Bam, bam," in rhythm with their fucking.

Oz grinned at the almost musical sound of the slightly delirious drunk, and sank his teeth again into the wound he had made on Doyle's shoulder, relaxing into the warm flesh of another without restraint.


Cordelia looked up sharply when the two men returned to their table.  "Geez, what took you so long?  You are such a couple of girls," she nagged playfully.

Oz just smiled in that quiet way she'd never understood, but Doyle giggled loudly, squirming on his chair, "Bam, bam."

"Huh?"  Cordelia asked, pretty much used to Doyle's weirdness while drinking, but still trying to pretend there was some kind of conversation happening here.

Doyle gestured to Oz wobbily, and repeated, "Bam, bam."

Oz just shrugged, seemingly mystified, and Cordelia resolved to ignore Doyle, launching again into her speech, "Oookaay.  So anyway..."


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