Need

Need

Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Pairing: Lindsey McDonald/Daniel Osbourne

Disclaimer: "Angel" and "Buffy," with their related characters and themes, belong to Joss Whedon and others, not to me. I make no money from this venture.

Dedication: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor and Christian Kane. It is not, and never will be, for John Bunyan.

Wherein Lindsey makes a deal, pulls a gun on Oz, and then, um, read that second part again while thinking metaphorically.

Notice: Yes, I mention Lucky Charms on purpose. And this story is in no way, shape, or form RPS; I needed a name, and that one was convenient. (That's not his real name, anyway, is it?)

Adam

The Oracles were not the only way to The Powers That Be. There were other portals to The Powers, and some of them were more inclined to be tolerant than others. Lindsey McDonald had never approached them himself, but he was familiar with their workings.

He wanted his hand. He needed his hand. He was not going to live another day without his hand.

Holland seemed to think that Lindsey should remain disfigured. After all, Lindsey needed to learn a lesson.

"Holland. I'm the best lawyer you have." He saw Holland's tolerant smile and repeated, firmly, "I am the best lawyer you have. I can't be in front of judge or jury like this."

"They'll take pity on you. It'll work in your favor."

Pity. Lindsey didn't want anyone's pity. He didn't need anyone's pity. He'd gnaw off his other hand before he asked for pity. "That's not how it works. When I'm in the courtroom I'm everything. I'm brilliant and confident and charming and-"

"Fuckable."

God damn you Holland. He was shaking now, on the inside, ready to scream and cry. Rage? Frustration? "-and if that's tempered, even a little, with pity, I lose it. I have complete control. I have the edge. If I'm not perfect in there, flawless delivery, I can't be the lawyer that you need me to be." That's it. Holland's needs. Holland wouldn't help him, but Holland would help Holland.

Holland thought about it, shrugged, smiled. "All right, Lindsey. You get one chance. One shot with the Mica. Go to SL-3 and Judy will show you the way."

Mica. Damn it. Wolfram and Hart avoided the Mica on purpose. She was a do-gooder. "Thank you, Holland." He'd make her listen to him. This was his one chance and he was not going to blow it. He needed his hand.

Condescending pat on the shoulder. "Good luck, Lindsey."

He was desperate. It did no good to show desperation. Don't let them know you're scared. Don't let them know you're afraid. Don't let them see how much you need.

He went down to sub-level three, using his ID and security pass four times on the way, and was admitted in to see Judy. She looked like a prepubescent black girl, and had since he'd come to the firm. "I'm here to see the Mica."

She smiled pleasantly and opened a closet. The room was ten feet by ten feet by ten feet, with closets all around the walls. There was no furniture, only a series of two-feet tall candles sitting at odd places around the floor. Lindsey had never been in here, but he had a general idea of how it worked. Stand here, open the portal, go visit whoever was on the other side, beg and bargain.

He was a lawyer. He begged and bargained for a living.

Judy sprinkled the floor with various powders in various patterns, chanting almost idly. Then she blew out a candle and, without warning, Lindsey was standing in a meadow.

The sky was blue, nearly cloudless overhead. As he turned he saw nothing in any direction but mile upon mile of smooth, rich green. The sun shone warm upon his shoulders.

"Lindsey McDonald."

He couldn't see anyone. "Mica?"

"Why have you come here?"

"To beg a favor."

"You want your hand."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I need it."

"Everyone has needs, Lindsey McDonald."

No kidding. He wasn't going to touch that one.

"I know you."

Didn't sound like she liked him much.

"You need your hand. I need something, too."

"You? Can I help you?"

"I think you can. I will give you your hand. And you will do something for me."

"Anything."

"Go here."

The location was in his mind, suddenly. "Go there?"

"Yes."

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"All right. I will." And before he could say another word, he was back with Judy.

And his hand.

Was there.

His hand. His very own hand. Back where it belonged. Same curve of fingernail, same light dusting of hair, same tiny scar on the knuckle. There was no sign that he'd lost it, no scar at his wrist. Just his hand.

"Thank you." He turned to Judy. "Thank you."

She smiled.

His hand. He had his hand. His very own hand.

Now he was whole.

He had to go to that place. What was there? Why did she want him there? Was it some sort of test? What if she took back his hand? Could she do that?

Of course she could.

Fear. She could take his hand away again.

Anger. It was his hand, and nobody was taking it from him. He had jack shit in this world. There had been times when all he had in the world was what he'd come into it with in the first place. And he was damned if he was going to leave this world with less than that.

He was damned anyway, though, wasn't he?

He worked late, then decided to go on his little Mica mission. He took his company car, a lovely sleek black Mercedes convertible, and went for a drive. Through L.A., across town, and into a neighborhood that didn't see many Mercedes-Benzes. He started to drive on intuition and ended up pulling up along the curb in front of an apartment building. He got out of the car and heard a growl.

Lindsey listened.

Alleyway. Growling in the alley. A sound of violence, then a yelp. Low, dangerous laughter.

It was a company car, after all. Lindsey grabbed a stake and moved toward the darkened alley. He should've gone for the crossbow, since it wasn't like he was skilled in hand-to-hand combat.

There was a man in the alley, chuckling, crouching, back to Lindsey, going through a knapsack. Lying sprawled before the man was a beast of some sort. Dead or just unconscious? And was the man a mortal human man or a demon in disguise? Lindsey snuck back to the car, returning as quickly as he could.

"You're a nice one. Not too big, but nice soft fur. Someone's going to pay big money for you."

Fur. Money.

Lindsey knew that it was the day before the full moon. Full moons were big at Wolfram and Hart, because their clients always got themselves into trouble around that time.

Fur. Full moon. Big hairy beast.

Werewolf.

Money. Fur for money. Pelt for money.

"Hold still, now. This is going to sting like a motherfucker."

Skinned alive.

Werewolf skinned alive.

Werewolves were people.

Flayed alive.

"Kevin Anderson?"

The man started; before he could turn Lindsey's crossbow had knocked him unconscious. Not its intended use, but it worked.

Well, that was going to leave one nasty bruise. Lindsey worked on the handcuffs and dropped the unconscious man before turning to the werewolf. Not dead. He checked Kevin Anderson's weapons and found the tranquilizer gun. So the wolf should be out long enough for him to think.

All right, Lindsey, what now?

Werewolves were people, too. Most of the time.

Should he call the firm?

Call Angel?

He laughed, smiled, and moved into action.

Moving the dead weight of a grown man was not easy. Nor was moving the dead weight of a werewolf. He put Anderson in the passenger seat and shoved the werewolf in the back. It was a tight squeeze, and he just knew that the thing was shedding all over his upholstery. Plus the back of Anderson's head was bleeding. Since the leather seat covers were worth more, he put his suit coat under Anderson's head.

Then he drove through the L.A. night. He put the top up first.

First stop: Angel's new place. He dragged out Anderson, cuffed the man to a parking meter, and took off again. When he'd driven off a few blocks, he pulled out his cell phone and called Angel.

"Angel Inv-"

"There's a werewolf pelt hunter sitting in front of your building. His name is Kevin Anderson." He hung up and glanced in the rearview mirror, checking on the werewolf. "Just you and me now."

When he got to his apartment building, he parked in the garage and got out, rummaging through Anderson's bag. He loaded up the tranq gun.

He did have some experience with this sort of thing. Everyone at the firm had to go through basic weapons training, to learn how to deal with difficult clients. So he took a deep breath and shot the werewolf.

Now came the hard part. Getting the werewolf into his apartment without anyone noticing. Using the elevator would increase the likelihood of running into someone, but he was not dragging a werewolf up eleven flights of stairs.

Eleven flights later, Lindsey decided to skip tomorrow's workout. And all of next week's.

Werewolf inside, lock door, turn all deadbolts, turn on security system, and throw yourself on the sofa to try to return feeling to arms.

Well, that was on his top ten list of things never to do again.

Although by now, that list was a lot longer than ten items.

Lindsey forced himself to his feet. He dragged out chains and manacles from the chest in the windowseat, then dragged the werewolf across the floor. If he could keep it drugged, this situation might work. He chained the werewolf and went to his desk in the next room. According to his notes, he had enough tranquilizers to stay safe until morning.

So Lindsey took a shower, cleaned up a little, and spent his night sitting on the sofa watching television, pausing now and then to shoot his houseguest.

Oz's eyes opened slowly. Something was very, very wrong.

He was supposed to be in his apartment.

This was not his apartment. He was lying on a plush pale carpet. Naked. Fettered. Nauseous.

Nausea: he must have been shot with a tranquilizer dart of some kind. He'd been through that before a few times, with Buffy. That idea, plus the fetters, plus being naked, plus not knowing what had happened to bring him here, meant that he'd wolfed out last night. Someone had known what to do with him.

Or else he'd been kidnapped by a sociopath who wanted to kill or rape a skinny white boy.

He sat up slowly, drawing his knees to his chest, trying to clear his head. Nice apartment. Clean, tasteful, decorated by a professional, expensive. Whoever lived here made big bucks and knew how to spend well.

Oz's heart stopped.

On the sofa, slumped against the armrest, was a man. A young man. A young man with soft pouty lips and a severe need for a haircut. He was dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, naked limbs muscular but relaxed.

Being kidnapped for sex wasn't sound so bad right now.

Oz gave himself a very hard mental kick in the balls.

Lying on the sofa beside the man was what looked like a tranquilizer gun. Puzzle pieces were sliding into place, but Oz still didn't understand. Why was he here? Why had he wolfed? Who was this guy to own werewolf-keeping equipment?

The manacles were heavy but weren't keeping him tethered to anything, so he gathered them up quietly and hobbled slowly through the apartment. He found the bathroom, where he peed and gave himself a quick look in the mirror. Still Oz. Clothes, he needed clothes. How was he going to put on clothes with this metal in the way?

His nostrils flared and he turned around just in time to get a gun in his face.

"Who are you?"

Oz, who'd almost wolfed with the sudden spike of fear, sought equilibrium. "Oz."

"Oz?"

"I don't know what happened. I thank you for taking care of me, getting me off the streets."

"You don't remember?"

Veruca had said that he'd start to, but he still had nothing but empty spaces when he wolfed. "No. Last thing I remember was sitting in my apartment."

"You know what you are."

"Yes." He followed the man's lines of thought. "I've been learning to control it. I don't have to wolf out according to lunar cycles. I knew about the full moon, and the days on either side, but I thought that I'd be fine."

"You can control it?"

"I was working on it. I've been doing really well. I guess I got overconfident. Do you know what happened? Did I hurt anybody?" He felt rising panic, dread. He had been overconfident. And now people could be-

The gun was moved from Oz's face to rest against the man's thigh. Slender, taut thigh with a dusting of dark hairs. "I found you in an alley. Unconscious. With Kevin Anderson."

"Who?"

"He's a pelt hunter. He was going to drug you, then skin you. I took care of it."

"Skin me." Calm, calm, he needed to stay calm. "Thank you."

"He doesn't just wander around under full moons waiting for werewolves to cross his path. Anderson's a professional. He must have known about you."

"He may have caused me to change."

"That's what I'm thinking."

"You...took care of it?"

"Sent him to a friend of mine. He'll change Anderson's ways."

"Thank you."

"Who are you? Besides Oz?"

"Right now, I'm not much. Sort of making a living between lives." This guy wasn't very tall. Gorgeous. Blue eyes under long lashes, soft-looking skin, softer mouth, thick shaggy hair. "May I ask who you are?" Someone who knew all about Kevin Anderson and werewolves; someone with a gun; someone who looked way too pretty and had money.

"I have to go to work. I can drop you off at your place."

"Thanks."

"Come on, I'll get those off of you. You want a shower?"

"Yeah. Thanks." He had to say "thanks," wanted to say it again. He could have been killed. He could have killed. If it weren't for this man - - too bad the name "Angel" was already taken.

Oz was freed. He showered, brushed his teeth with Colgate and his finger, left his stubble. He put on a hunter green T-shirt and black sweatpants, making sure that the sweatpants stayed up since he'd gotten no underwear. Most likely the guy just wasn't into sharing underwear, which was totally understandable, but thoughts flitted across Oz's mind that maybe the guy didn't wear underwear, didn't own any.

His host told him to raid the kitchen. Turning wolf always made him hungry. While the guy - - okay, he had to give the guy a name. Angel was taken. Seraph? This was getting rather Christian. Hey, Christian. No, he'd never liked Pilgrim's Progress. Chris.

While Chris showered and dressed and did whatever, Oz had some milk and two oranges, then some cereal. First Chex, then Cheerios. Should've done it in alphabetical order, Cheerios then Chex. What else, Lucky Charms?

Wow. Chris cleaned up nice. He had a feeling that Chris looked good in anything. Everything. And he was sure that Chris would look very very good wearing nothing at all.

"You ready to go?"

"Yeah." So they left. Chris had a nice car. Expensive car. Chris asked where they were going, and he gave his address. It turned out that Chris had found him in the alley right beside his building. Chris didn't explain being there in the first place, and he didn't ask. If somebody out there was looking after Oz, he wouldn't question it.

"Anderson must have done something to make you change," Chris said, stopping in front of Oz's building. "There must've been a fight, or something to get you down in that alley before he shot you."

"Wish I remembered."

"You want me to come in with you?"

There was no reason that Chris needed to come with him, but Oz wasn't eager for Chris to leave. "Sure." So Chris parked and followed him. He didn't have his keys, but someone leaving the building let them in a minute later. And he didn't need the key to his apartment, anyway, since the door was off of the hinges.

Oz had seen a disaster area before, but never in his own place. It was a small, dark, ugly little apartment, and now it was completely trashed as well. He turned on the light and things only got worse. He doubted that Anderson would have tried to draw out a fight with a werewolf, but the place was so small that even a scuffle would create chaos.

Wait a second...

Door open. All night. Oz gone. All night.

"Shit." He shoved aside the table, went through the closet, scrambled over the sofabed. "Shit." Don't panic, don't panic, stay calm. Calm. Breathe.

"How much did you lose?"

"Everything. Not that I had a lot to begin with, but...shit." This was so fucking unfair. He was out getting skinned alive and people were taking his stuff. Like some ratty clothes and a grapefruit peeler were really worth it? His stereo was gone, his CDs, his fucking guitar.

"When your landlord sees this, you're out of here."

His money. He had no money. Not that he ever had money, but now he really had no money. All he had were the clothes on his back, and they weren't even his.

"We'd better get out of here before he tracks you down and demands payment for damages."

Oz didn't want to bail. But what was he going to do instead? He'd made a mess, he should fix it, but how? Chris was right. He had to get out of here. "Where am I going to go?"

"You're not from around here? Living between lives, right."

Devon would be in L.A. next week, but...

And Angel was around, but...

Oz had nowhere to go. Not anymore. Not like that. They'd help him, but he didn't want to backtrack.

"You look awful. Come on." Oz stood. Followed. Fell asleep in Chris's car. Woke halfway when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "We're here." Garage. Elevator. Hallway. Chris's apartment. "Get some rest. I have to go to work." Soft, warm bed. He wanted soft, warm Chris, but he wouldn't get that. He slept.

When Oz awoke, the room was dark. There was light from somewhere, beyond the doorway. He rolled out of the bed and flared his nostrils. He could smell Chris. Chris in the apartment. Chris where the light was. Chris in the bed. Chris on him, now, from the clothes, from the bed.

He mapped out the apartment in his mind. From the front door one came into the sunken living room. To the right was the spacious white kitchen, and to the left was the hallway. In the hallway, to the left was the bathroom, directly at the end was the bedroom, and to the right was...the light, and a study. Books everywhere. Desk, computer. It looked like an office, really.

"Oz."

"Hi." He must have been asleep for a long time, since they'd left here this morning around eight and now it was, according to the clock in Chris's room, almost midnight. Over twelve hours. But he knew that turning wolf was a serious drain on the system, and he was willing to guess that Chris knew it, too, considering what else Chris knew. So he didn't explain himself, and Chris didn't ask.

"There's food in the fridge. Help yourself."

"Thanks." He did. There was a lot of evidence that either Chris didn't know how to cook or didn't have the time to cook. He finished the pork fried rice and everything Thai. Then he returned to the study.

"I have a few hours in the morning," Chris said, writing something on a ruled legal pad. "We can find you some clothes."

Find him some...shopping? They were going shopping? "I don't have any-"

"I do."

Yeah, and if it was all spent on this place and take-out food, there wouldn't be much left for long. "It's up to you. I can disappear. It's not your responsibility. There are places I can go if I have to."

"You can sleep on the sofa. Blankets in the closet."

"Thanks." It was only then that Oz remembered that tonight was the night after the full moon. He hadn't even thought about it. He'd slept through most of it, anyway.

Around three, the phone rang and Chris left, returning around six.

At eight thirty, Oz got up, peed, and found the Lucky Charms. Chris needed to go grocery shopping.

Around nine, Chris came into the kitchen looking polished and professional. "I've never seen you in your own clothes. Is there a certain store you like?"

"I shop anywhere."

"What are your sizes?" He raised an eyebrow but gave them. Chris nodded and left the kitchen. A few minutes later Chris returned. "Something came up last night. I have to get in to work. When I get back we can talk."

"Sure."

Alone in Chris's apartment, Oz slept, ate, and watched TV. When he went to the study, intending to get a book to read, he found the door locked. Since Oz was all for respecting other people's privacy, and since Chris knew very little about him, he wasn't offended. Still, he would have liked something to read. He would have gone out to get a job or something, but he wasn't exactly dressed for it.

Around two that afternoon, someone knocked at the door. Oz looked through the peephole, wondering whether he should open the door or not. The person on the other side called, "Mr. Oz? Mr. Oz, I've brought your clothes."

Okay. Oz opened the door. Two uniformed deliverymen carrying numerous garment bags entered Chris's apartment, followed by a well-dressed older man.

"Mr. Oz?"

He watched the men bring in boxes from the hallway. "I'm Oz."

"Mr. Rafe, from Rafe and Brown. If you need anything more, anything at all, don't hesitate to call us. I'm sure that you'll be pleased with your selections, and hope that you'll contact us with your future fashion needs."

"Fashion needs."

"Yes sir."

"Okay. Thanks." He accepted the man's card and closed the door after them.

Yeah.

Oz unzippered the garment bags, one by one. Jeans. T-shirts. Casual short-sleeved button-downs. Flannel shirts. Normal Ozwear.

Silk shirts. Leather pants so soft he scared himself by wanting to wear them.

Three very well-tailored suits.

He went for the boxes. Neatly folded socks of all sizes and colors, tucked between a stack of boxers and a stack of briefs. Casual workout, lounging around the house clothes. Shoes: two pairs of sneakers, a pair of wingtips for the suits, a pair of leather boots for the leather pants. A zippered case holding all of the bathroom items he'd been missing.

Oz closed the bags and boxes, stacked the boxes by the door, draped the garment bags over them, and turned on Comedy Central.

At eight p.m., Chris returned. His tie was loose, his collar open, his hair starting to fall into his face. He went into the study, returned without his coat or briefcase, and sat on the sofa, leaning his head back, rubbing his hands over his face. He sighed and straightened, turning to Oz, who was on the sofa as well. "Oz. How was your day?"

"Not sure yet."

"Have you eaten? I can call for pizza."

"I like pizza."

"Sausage, pepperoni, onions, green peppers, and black olives okay?"

"I'm not too big on peppers."

Chris smiled. "You have passed the true test of our compatibility."

"Good. So there should be no major arguments over me refusing the three million dollars' worth of clothes that Mr. Rafe brought over this afternoon."

"I distinctly remember it being under three million."

Oz blinked. "Wow. Is there a school for that or does it come naturally?"

"What?"

"That. You're still doing it." The easy charm, the conspiratorial twinkle in blue eyes, the perfect non-threatening smile.

The smile disappeared. The twinkle vanished. "I'll call for pizza. Wear the clothes if you want, carry them down to a shelter if you don't. They're yours." Chris was off the sofa and moving toward the bedroom.

"I'm not aiming for ungratefulness," Oz said, standing. "You've done a lot more for me than I can thank you for. But I don't even know your name."

Chris came into the hallway. "You want to get your own place and pay me back for the clothes, you'll need a job. You need a job, you need the clothes. Here's a key to the apartment and a key to the building. I can show you the security codes in the morning before I go."

"Thanks." He didn't know what else to say. He curled his fingers around the keys and watched Chris walk into the bedroom and close the door.

When someone knocked at the door, Chris emerged from the bedroom, still in his suit, sans coat and tie, barefoot. While Chris paid for the pizza, Oz was glad to see two boxes. He was starving.

Chris set the boxes on the kitchen table, opening one. "Tell me who you are," he said, setting a can of Dr Pepper before Oz, taking a seat.

"Thanks. Is this a two-way street?"

"Not yet."

"My name's Oz. I'm nineteen. I left home, all of my friends, and school. I used to be the lead guitarist for Dingoes Ate My Baby. I'm a werewolf."

"Why L.A.?"

"The Dingoes used to play here sometimes. It's a temporary stop. It's close enough to home that I feel comfortable, but it's a little too close."

"Was your guitar part of what was taken from your apartment?"

"Yeah."

"I can get you a new one."

"Please don't." He kept eating. Not only was he a nineteen-year-old male, but he was a werewolf who'd changed recently. "If you don't want me going through your things, that's cool, but can you give me something to read?"

"Sure."

"Do you have any good music?"

"You can go through my CD collection."

"Thanks." Clothing, food, shelter, a good book, a good song, Oz was just about set for life here.

Once they'd finished eating, Chris let Oz into the study. There were four distinct sections: tomes on demonology and related matters, some of which Oz recognized; books on law, theory and practice and court cases; classics, mainly dead European white men; and modern novels, mostly along the lines of Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Clive Barker, and Bentley Little. Oz stole a Dickens, a Barker, and some of David Sedaris' short stories. Then he went into the living room and opened the stereo cabinet.

Nice.

He looked over the jewel cases. Classical, jazz, Motown, Nine Inch Nails. Oz turned on some Benny Goodman and sat on the sofa to think.

Chris had demons in fact and fiction, but no lawyer novels, nothing from Michael Crichton or Philip Margolin. He could assume, then, that the law was the work and demonology was a hobby. Chris was a lawyer? A lawyer obsessed with the occult?

If Chris were well-informed about modern demony things, he must know about the Hellmouth. And anyone who knew about Kevin Anderson must have heard of Buffy.

And they were in L.A. Did Chris know about Angel?

In the morning, Chris showed him how to work the security system, then left. He ate, then brushed his teeth, showered, shaved. He dressed, going for the regular Oz look, and found some money paperclipped together sitting under his keys by the front door. He took the money and left.

When Lindsey came home, Oz was gone. He unpacked his groceries and went to the gym.

When he came home the second time, Oz was lying on the sofa reading.

"Hey."

"Hey." He watched Oz's nostrils flare. Right, post-gym, pre-shower guy sweat probably wasn't good for werewolf senses.

"Did you get a job?"

"Gabriel's Music Factory. Salesclerk with know-how. The application form was fun. I knew my address but not my phone number. The only two people I could think of for references would have raised too many questions, so I didn't have any. It's a good thing I impressed him by lusting after the guitar in the window or he'd never have hired me. And Gabriel's, wow, that makes my choices for references ironic."

"How so?"

"Well, the one was going to be you. I'm pretty sure now that you're not a real angel, but at first you were as good as one. And the other, his name's Angel."

"Angel?"

"Yeah."

Angel. Angel. It had to be a coincidence. There were people named Angel.

"Do you know him? You seem to have this demon hobby, and he's pretty well-known in some circles. He's in L.A."

Not a coincidence. It was Angel. Oz was friends with Angel. Angel was determined to ruin his life. "I've heard of him."

"As long as I'm being talkative, can I be honest?"

"All right."

"I don't know you at all. I know your address and security codes, and I think that you're a lawyer, and you have some good taste in music, but that's all I know. I'm willing to be open because I don't think that I have anything to hide from you. I'm grateful to you for saving my life. I'm grateful to you for letting me stay here, for giving me food, clothing, shelter, and money. You've been a godsend." Oz stood, facing him, taking one step closer. "I want to have sex with you. And if you want to have sex with me, I want you to know that it's not out of gratitude or desperation, it's not so you'll let me stay here longer. It's because I've wanted you since I saw you. I wanted you when you were sleeping, and when you had a gun in my face, and when you were pissed at me, and when you were being charming."

"You get off on danger?"

"I just get off on you. I think it's the pheremones. You really should have that checked."

"You want to do it tonight?"

"Tonight's good for me."

"You don't want me to shower first, do you?" Oz just smiled at him. "All right, if you want to be my kept boy, come on."

Oz's skin was very pale, and tight over compact muscles and small bones. There wasn't an ounce of extra padding on his body, probably due to the energy burned off both changing into a werewolf and exerting control not to change. He seemed very at ease with his nudity, but he seemed at ease with everything, so Lindsey wasn't surprised. His hands busied themselves in learning Lindsey's body, and his tongue busied itself in learning Lindsey's mouth. He didn't seem to mind being on his back underneath a man, so Lindsey assumed that this wasn't his first time. Still, better to be certain.

"You've done this before?"

Oz looked up at him, one hand stroking through his hair, fingers against his scalp. The motion would have been soothing if Lindsey didn't feel hypersensitive and horny. "Sex, yes. Sex with a man, no."

"No?"

"I'm a fast learner." Oz raised a little and pulled Lindsey down a little until his face was against Lindsey's neck. "You smell so good."

"Oz?" Oz licked his neck. "Have you had sex since you learned to control the wolf?" Oz growled softly and pushed him to his back, rolling on top of him. "Oz?"

"Yes, yes," Oz said, and kissed him deep and wet. He was sure that Oz's words were not in response to his question. Now what? Oz was growling, a soft but constant rumble, and Oz's fingernails were raking up and down his sides while Oz's hips rocked against his. Shit, those were not fingernails. Lindsey rolled them over, gave a mental prayer to the Mica - - she'd gotten him into this in the first place - - and slid down Oz's body.

Ten minutes later, he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. Carefully he pried Oz's fingers from his hair and sat up to take stock. Out cold. Thank god. He slipped from the bed, went to the bathroom, jerked off, brushed his teeth, and called the firm. The scratches on his torso were slight, but he just knew that his scalp was bleeding. Still, it was amazing, truly incredible, how much power the kid could exert over the change. Lindsey took a shower, pulled on boxers and a T-shirt, and slipped into his bed. He'd been sure that Oz had been fully asleep, but Oz turned to him nonetheless, cuddling right up to him in sleep. Really, it was nice to have someone burrow into him like that. He rested his chin on the top of Oz's head and closed his eyes.

When he awoke, Oz's face was in his groin. Very carefully, he pulled his boxers back up and said, "Oz?"

Oz crawled up and snuggled into him, face in his neck. "You smell good."

"Are you okay?"

"Not sure. Kind of worried about it."

Lindsey's alarm clock went off; he reached behind himself and smacked it silent. "I need to go to work."

"Hunh. Me too."

"Do you need a ride?"

"I worked out the bus schedule. I'm cool, thanks."

He let his hand roam up and down Oz's back. "You need to eat more."

"Whether I eat all the time or not at all, I always look like this."

"Not at all?"

"I did some fasting to get in touch with my body. Part of the training to control the wolf. Don't worry, I know enough anorexic girls to know that's not my path."

"Who's Chris?"

"Oh. Chris. That's the name I gave you. You didn't give me one, so I chose one for you. Why?"

"You said it last night."

"Oh. You mean when...you did give me a blow job? I didn't imagine it?"

"I did."

"Wow. 'Cause that made an excellent fantasy. As reality it's a little too much."

"In effect, you were calling out my name?"

"Yeah. I could call out a different name if you want."

"No, that's fine."

"Chris?"

"What?" He might as well answer to it. He couldn't have Oz saying, "Hey, you," all of the time.

"Did I do this to you?" He felt Oz's touch ghost over the soreness on his side.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right. Come on, let me up, I have to get to work. We have to get to work."

"Already it doesn't seem worth it." Oz sighed and let him leave the bed. "You did say I was your kept boy. I don't have to go to work."

"You said that you wanted me just for me, not to stay here."

"But it could be a nice side benefit."

"Well, I did just get a nice promotion recently, and it came with a big fat raise. So I can afford you."

"Hard to see what you're getting out of it. I distinctly don't remember getting you off last night."

"You can make it up to me. If you want."

"Now?"

"Tonight."

When they parted, Oz gave him a slow, deep kiss at the door.

At work, Lindsey found the requested file on his desk.

Daniel Osbourne. Sunnydale, California.

Shit. Holy fucking mother of all shit.

Shot once. Dated the best friend of the Vampire Slayer, a budding witch. Was accepted into the Slayer's inner circle. Werewolf. Left Sunnydale suddenly in his freshman year at the university - - which should have been his sophomore year, except it seemed that his werewolf and slaying duties had disrupted his grades, though he was exceptionally intelligent.

Oz was from Sunnydale. Friends with the Slayer. Friends with Angel.

Lindsey had to get him out now. Get rid of him. He couldn't risk getting into this, especially not now. He didn't need the hassle, couldn't permit the weakness. He did not need Angel or the Slayer coming down on him for touching one of their own.

He went home determined to make Oz leave.

And then he had Oz shuddering, panting, twisting beneath him in his bed, naked and needy, clutching at him and begging him, pale skin flushed with desire and damp with sweat. Getting Oz off wasn't enough; the first orgasm only made Oz hungrier for him. So he gave Oz what Oz wanted.

He wasn't sure where Oz's mind was during the preparation and stimulation. He wasn't sure that this couldn't be construed as rape, since Oz didn't seem able to make calm choices. But he'd never claimed to be a good man, and he pushed his way into Oz's body.

Oz howled and thrust against him and pushed him away and writhed and howled again. Then their bodies were in a fast rhythm, working at each other, and Oz was probably going to break something in desperation to get at him. Finally they came, and then they were lying there, Lindsey on top of Oz, their hearts racing.

"Oz?"

A soft, contented growl; a hand petting his hair.

Good.

Once they'd left the bed and showered and eaten, as though they'd merely had a welcome-home makeout session instead of...whatever that had been, Oz said, "Could I look through some of your books? I'd like to know if there's some explanation for whatever it is you're doing to me. It could be that while I'm trying to keep the wolf inside, he's coming out in new and interesting ways."

That was all the explanation Lindsey could offer, too. "Sure." They went into the study, and Oz looked over titles. Lindsey guessed that Oz knew some of the volumes from life helping the Slayer, or from personal wolf research. At any rate, Oz seemed familiar with some of the books, and took two into the living room.

Lindsey stayed up working in his office. He thought that Oz had gone to bed, but when he got there Oz was still awake, reading one of the Dickens novels. They had sex - - it wasn't as fierce as it had been earlier, but it was still not what Lindsey would have expected from Oz under normal circumstances. Normal circumstances? And what would those be?

When they'd finished, and Oz was trying to crawl into Lindsey's skin, Lindsey stroked the back of his neck and said, "Did you find anything in your research?"

"No. I still think it's the pheremones. Or the way you smell."

"It's not my charming personality?"

"It could just be that you're the most gorgeous person I've ever seen."

"Those are the pheremones talking."

"I don't think so."

"Then I'm flattered."

"Go to sleep. We have work in the morning. Chris?"

"Oz."

"Could you set your alarm earlier?"

"Why?"

"If you don't mind, we could try to have sex in the morning. Then maybe I wouldn't lose my mind wanting you all day."

"Is that what happened?"

"I've never wanted anyone like that. It was scary."

Lindsey was impressed. Most people he knew couldn't admit to fear. "I'll set the alarm for earlier." When he rolled away to do that, Oz rolled with him. Apparently he had his very own personal blanket. It was nice. Most people he had sex with didn't actually sleep with him, and when they did there was an invisible boundary line down the center of the bed. Oz made him feel wanted for more than his ability to induce an orgasm.

After work, Oz went to Angel Investigations. He would have put it off, but he knew that Lindsey would be working later - - a court case, he thought - - so he had time to spare. When he walked in, he got a bigger reaction than he'd expected.

"Oz!" Cordelia was on her feet. "Oz! You're not dead! You still have your skin and all of your body parts!"

"Oz." Angel appeared, probably alerted by Cordelia's cries. "You're all right."

"Hi," Oz said.

"We thought something had happened to you. You might want to call Giles and let him know you're okay."

Oz nodded. "Thanks. You thought something happened?"

"There was a pelt hunter, Kevin Anderson. He admitted to having been after you, and when we went looking, your place was trashed and no one had seen you. He said he hadn't done what he came to do, but we couldn't track you down anywhere."

"Kevin Anderson."

"You've heard of him. Do you remember what happened?"

"No, but I know that he was going to skin me."

"He said that someone attacked him."

"How did you find him?"

"Someone left him on our doorstep."

"You don't know who?"

"No. Where have you been?"

"Staying with a friend. I didn't know you were looking for me. I didn't attack anyone. He triggered the change, and I haven't changed since."

"Good."

"Thanks for..."

Angel nodded. "You came here for something?"

"Werewolf information. I haven't been myself lately."

"You'll need Wesley and some books."

Wesley and the books weren't very helpful. There wasn't much concrete information on Oz's particular problem that Oz hadn't figured out for himself. And the more time passed, the more he wanted to be back in the apartment, in the bed, under Chris. Wesley sensed his impatience and told him to leave, promising to do more research. He thanked Wesley with honest gratitude and then left. When he got off the last bus, he ran as fast as he could to Chris's building. He burst into the apartment and went straight to the bedroom, stripping naked. He buried himself in the bed, in the bedclothes, soaking up the smell of Chris, the scent of Chris's sex. He curled his hand around his cock and closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

Time passed.

Chris came home. Heart racing, Oz listened to the door, footsteps, Chris stopping off in the office, Chris stopping off in the bathroom, and since when did he find the sound of urine hitting porcelain arousing? Then Chris was in the room, close, and he heard his name. He opened his eyes and Chris was there, kissing him, stroking him soothingly, and he rolled over and tugged at Chris's clothes. He reached for the lubricant and pushed it into Chris's hand, sucking Chris's tongue into his mouth. He got rid of the tie first, then ripped open the shirt and pushed up the undershirt, rubbing his hands over Chris's torso. Then he got Chris's belt out of the way and opened Chris's pants and reached inside, yes, yes.

Yes.

Chris was saying something, or trying to say something, but that could wait; right now he wanted this kiss, this body, those fingers, this cock. Yes. This cock, its heat and hardness, yes. Yes. Yes.

A hand on his jaw, pushing at his chin, breaking the kiss. No, no! He wanted Chris's mouth.

Blue eyes. "Oz. Oz. Listen to me." Two hands, framing his face, holding him still. "Are you listening?"

His heart was racing, his body was shuddering, the muscles of his ass were contracting greedily in anticipation.

"I'll do it in a minute. I need to lube you first. Give me a chance. I don't want to hurt you."

do do do need need need give give give want want want

Finger, fingers, not enough, more, more, yes oh god. Was that his voice screaming? Yes, this was it, yes, oh.

More.

Once he'd been fucked twice, Oz calmed down a little. Balance. There. He rested in Chris's arms.

"You okay?"

"You took Kevin Anderson to Angel."

"I'd heard of him. I thought that he might be able to do something."

"You didn't tell me."

"I don't tell you a lot."

"Why is that?"

"You know what you need to know."

"That's cheap."

"If you don't like it you can go."

"You know I can't."

"You went to Angel?"

"After work. We didn't find anything about what's wrong with me."

"You exert so much control over the wolf that you don't have control left for anything else?" Lindsey hypothesized.

"Maybe."

"We'll figure it out."

"We?"

"I'm a part of this."

"Yeah. We're not having a fight?"

"I'm too tired to fight. Let's get something to eat."

Oz raised his head a little, met Chris's blue eyes. He could smell Chris's shampoo, so he slid his fingers through Chris's thick hair, leaned in to kiss those soft lips. Chris's mouth opened under his and Chris's tongue met his and he was on his back again.

After work the next day, Oz took the bus to Angel Investigations again. Wesley hadn't unearthed anything new, and asked to meet Oz's paramour.

"I don't think that it'll help much," Oz said.

"Anything can be useful," Wesley argued mildly.

Oz kept quiet.

"Are you worried about letting him know of your association with a vampire?"

"No, he knows about Angel." He caught Wesley's expression. "No, it's okay. He knew already."

"He knows Angel?"

"Heard of him."

"That's curious. Angel has a reputation, of course, but not among the general population."

"I think that he's interested in demonology. He has a lot of good books."

"Really. Is this a serious pursuit?"

"Just a hobby. He's a lawyer."

Wesley went still. Frowned. Frowned harder. "A lawyer."

Oz wanted to backpedal but wasn't sure why. "Yeah."

"In private practice?"

"He doesn't tell me anything."

"But you're certain that he's a lawyer."

"Yeah."

"Why doesn't he tell you anything?"

"He doesn't want to. Listen-"

"Oz, this may be quite serious. Angel," Wesley said, raising his voice. Angel came into the room from the private office. "Oz's..."

"The guy I'm staying with," Oz said.

"Is a lawyer," Wesley said. "With a demonology habit."

"Which firm?" Angel asked, a quick frown in his tone.

"I don't know. You have something against lawyers?" Oz asked.

"What's his name?" Angel asked.

"I don't know."

"What does he look like?"

"Can you tell me why you want to know first?"

"There's a law firm that works for demons, defends them," Angel said. "They've been after me."

"You've been after them," Wesley reminded Angel.

"Demon defenders," Oz said. Demons and lawyers. Lawyers and demons. A very secretive lawyer with a bookcase of- "He's short. Blue eyes, needs a haircut."

"Lindsey," Angel said, clearly disgusted, turning away.

"We can't be certain," Wesley said.

"Lindsey?" Oz asked, trying out the name on his tongue.

"Lindsey McDonald," Angel said, turning back again. "Wolfram and Hart's golden boy. You have to get out of there now."

"I can't," Oz said.

"Oz-"

"He can't," Wesley said.

"Wesley-"

"Angel," Oz said. "Look at me. I'm shaking. I know you can hear my heartbeat. If I don't get to him soon, I'll lose it. I can't be away from him. I've only made it this long because he called me at work and I jerked off in the bathroom."

"He's trouble," Angel said. "He overestimates himself, but he's still trouble."

"I can't leave him."

"Go," Wesley said. "We'll think of something."

"You can't-" Angel began.

"Go," Wesley told Oz. Oz split.

Under Lindsey, against Lindsey, Lindsey naked and satin to the touch, body heat, scent of sex, taste sweet and salt, movement and pressure and-

"What?"

Oz reached.

Lindsey backed off, holding out a hand. "What the fuck did you just call me?"

He reached. Lindsey backed up more. He grabbed and pushed. Lindsey struggled back. Oz scented blood. It wasn't his.

"You rape me and I'll put a silver bullet through your heart."

Oz froze.

"Get off of me."

He scrambled back, shocked, horrified. Lindsey got up, went to the bathroom, locked the door. Oz still smelled blood, and it still wasn't his.

Lindsey stared at the line of blood. The claw on Oz's thumb had sliced open his wrist. It looked like a suicide attempt.

On his right wrist.

A perfect line. Right where he'd lost his hand.

It would probably leave a scar.

This was not a coincidence.

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