Fade and Disappear by Zyre

Oz blanches, stares down into his cup of god-awful coffee, and wonders again what he's doing here. Swirls the drink like a snifter, almost mesmerized by the tiny maelstrom, and then swallows another gulp of the acrid stuff.

"Take it you ain't a fan of the coffee," the guy behind the bar drawls, and Oz shrugs. It's got to be obvious, and he doesn't want to get into some semi-philosophical debate with a greasy, overworked glutton.

He slaps a five on the counter, swivels in his chair. Hops down, and he's going to leave this dive, too. Get the hell out of Sunnydale, out of California. The western hemisphere, if it'll help.

First, though, he wants to talk. Needs to find someone, but can't do that here, so he climbs in the van, revs the engine. Tries not to inhale too deeply; Willow's scent is still everywhere, and Oz can't help but think that she's his predilection. How's he gonna go on without her?

But he did it for months, and years before they met, and he's got to get moving now. Sun's gonna set in an hour or so, and while he doesn't pose a threat under the moon, the fact that it'll make him even more aware makes his stomach turn.

He turns onto the freeway, heads south. Knows exactly where he's going, but he doesn't want to think about it, so he pretends it's whimsical, a direction chosen at random by the flip of a coin.

This stretch of freeway is all too familiar, and he marks the passage of time by watching landmarks fly by. The hamburger joint/truck stop where he and Devon fucked twice in the bathroom is a quarter of the way. He took Willow on a picnic at a park half way, and he's got these flashbacks of lying under the trees, staring into a little pond and completely forgetting for a second about werewolves or vampires or slayers.

Shakes his head, and turns the radio up until he can't hear himself singing along. Keeps going like that until he rolls over a hill, and sees the sprawling lights of Los Angeles. Almost there, and he turns the radio down a little, tries to steady his breathing.

His fingers itch for a guitar or a joint, something to calm him the hell down, but he can't afford pot, and it's hard to play and drive at the same time. Taps them against the steering wheel until they're sore and he's in town, and he starts down semi-familiar roads.

Stops at a stoplight, and takes a deep breath. There's no one out tonight, and he guesses it makes sense, being a Tuesday. People work, and the ones that don't have better places to hang out than here.

The light turns green, and Oz doesn't move. Tries to decide what good coming here would do, and then someone behind him honks, impatient and jarring. Oz glances back, and takes an illegal left. Ignores the fucker who honks again and just drives, now, not looking for anything in particular. This feels better, looser. Like he's letting himself go or something.

Spots something that looks like a bar, only it's set back and down from the street. Decides that, if nothing else, one more drink couldn't hurt, and he parks. There're figures heading down there, and some don't look quite human shaped.

Oz wonders for a second if this is the best idea, and then shrugs it off. Doesn't matter anyway, and he may as well live a little while he's still alive. Hops out of the van and locks up, then heads towards the entrance.

The sound of someone singing meets him before he pushes the door open, and it makes him shiver a little. Off key, and not trying to hide it. It grates on his nerves, but he shoves ahead anyway. Never been in a real karaoke bar before, and maybe if he gets enough drinks in him he'll give it a go.

He plops down at the bar, and no one asks for ID. No one's ever asked for ID, and Oz guesses he just exudes maturity or the ability to hold a drink. Or maybe no one cares about it. Doesn't matter, he thinks, as he orders a beer.

The place is definitely not a human hang out. There're demons of all sorts hanging around, sipping drinks around tables. Something with two heads and more wrinkles then should be possible is singing, and Oz figures it'd probably be hard to carry a tune with two heads anyway.

A guy steps up beside him, with four hands and more claws then Oz cares to think about, and orders a drink. Oz tries not to look edgy, stares into his beer with a sort of concentration that looks, he hopes, like a hopeless drunk.

Glances up at the guy, and the demon flashes him a grin. Who knows if it's friendly or threatening, all the teeth would make any expression look awful. Oz nods, swallows lightly, and takes another sip.

"Don't worry, sugar," a voice behind him says. Oz turns, takes in the other guy's appearance. Green. With horns. Not so threatening, though you never can tell.

He raises an eyebrow, doesn't say anything at all. The guy chuckles, takes a sip of his very, very blue drink, and pats Oz on the shoulder. "There's a protection spell here. No one's going to hurt you while you're in Caritas."

Oz manages a small smile at that, and nods. "Thanks."

Green Guy shrugs and takes another sip. "You look kinda lost, kiddo. You want to sing for me?"

Kind of what he'd been thinking of doing, but being asked makes it kind of weird. "I guess. Maybe later."

"Hey, whenever you feel up to it, gorgeous." The guy flashes Oz a bright smile, and Oz wants to smile back. Wants to laugh his ass off at the ridiculousness of his life, but he just nods instead. Keeps it all inside.

The guy stands there until the two headed thing is finished singing, and then heads over to talk. Oz glances at the empty stage, and then blinks when a guy steps up. A guy who looks, on the outside anyway, completely human, and it's almost refreshing.

Guy's got a laid-back feeling about him, longish hair that falls over his eyes a little. And a guitar. A nice one. Oz's fingers itch again, and he wraps them tightly around his glass. Won't strum along with whatever the guy plays.

Guy's set up, sitting on a barstool, and he starts to play. Oz feels himself twitch, almost imperceptibly, and then the guy starts to sing. He's got this voice, kind of country, but it fills the entire room. Fills Oz's head, and it's all he can do to keep from moving. Dancing or swaying or anything.

He's captivated, staring at the man, watching the curve of his lips as he sings, the movement of his fingers over the pliant strings. Figures sometimes it's fun being a wolf, 'cause he's seeing those fingers against his skin, now, pressing against him, playing melodies into the hairs on his arms, the insides of his thighs.

Feels his heart jump a little, and fuck he misses this. Misses the music, the performing. Misses being up there, nothing on his mind but the music, the pure and absolute opiate of it flowing through every inch of his body as he plays.

The guy glances up, around the room, and catches Oz's eye. Oz is too entranced to look away, so he stares back, openly wanting. It's an interlude, only guitar, and the guy's lips twitch up in a little grin.

Oz wants him. Wants him more than anything in that moment, wants to take him and do everything conceivable to that mouth, those fingers, the strong legs he's hiding beneath loose slacks.

More singing fills the air, and Oz finally manages to turn away for a second, taking a large gulp of beer before looking back. Taps his fingers on the bar, now, and smiles as the music dies out. Claps enthusiastically, and follows the guy with his eyes as he exits the stage.

There's no doubt in his mind that he'll have a visitor in a few minutes. He orders another two beers, sets one beside him on the bar, and sure enough, six minutes, twenty two seconds later, he can smell the guy.

Definitely human, sweating lightly, blood pounding through his body. Oz remembers what an aphrodisiac performing can be, and he doesn't turn around. Wants to smell the arousal that's got to be hanging on the guy thicker than skin.

Feels the air shift a little, and motions beside him, without looking back. "Got you a drink."

"Thanks." He can hear the smile, almost feel the tug of the guy's lips as they curl into a grin.

Glances over as the guy slides onto the stool beside him, and there it is. He can smell it, arousal, sex, heady and pungent. He holds out a hand, already anticipating the strong grip, the assurance in the shake.

Guy grins, thin-lipped, but not unwelcoming, and takes Oz's hand. "Lindsey. Lindsey McDonald."

Oz smiles as well, shakes Lindsey's hand. Holds on several seconds longer than he needs to, but that makes it all the more sexy, predatory.

"I'm Oz." Smiles again, into his beer, feeling better than he has for awhile.

Lindsey nods, cocks his head a little, and looks so confident as he sips his drink. Like nothing could fuck with him, and Oz likes that. Wants to sink his teeth into that confidence, soak it in through his pores.

Shakes his head when he realizes how that sounds. Some kind of freaky stalker shit.

"What?" Lindsey asks, a look of quiet amusement on his face. "You got a private joke you wanna share?"

Oz shakes his head, buries his tiny smile in his glass. "Naw. Just thinking."

Lindsey shrugs, goes back to his drink. Doesn't seem too inclined to chat, and Oz appreciates that. Knows how much you can learn about a person if you just sit quietly and watch them, learn their nervous ticks, the way their face moves when they're about to speak. The color of the eyes, and the wrinkles around the edges.

And Lindsey has an amazing face. Full of character, even though Oz can see that he's tried to hide it. Must be in some profession where they don't allow that sort of thing. No character, and real fucking expensive slacks, he thinks, glancing down.

When he looks back up, he finds Lindsey's eyes on his face, intense, like he can read Oz's thoughts or something. Oz wonders if he can, actually, considering where they are, and then shakes the idea off. There's too much danger in that, too much having to deal with things.

Thinks about saying something for a second, and then Lindsey's grabbing his shirt, pulling him forward. Oz grabs the edge of the bar as he starts to slip off of his stool, and then Lindsey's mouth is on his and he's not thinking of falling at all. He's thinking of lips and tongues and teeth, and bodies sliding against each other on silky sheets.

He feels Lindsey's arm move back and around from his chest, pulling Oz even closer, and there's a flash of falling thought again. He steps to the side just a little, never breaking the kiss, and moves forward until he's straddling Lindsey's thigh. Rocks forward, eliciting a gasp of surprise, and Lindsey gets more aggressive.

Oz feels fingers on the back of his neck, threading through his hair, and then his head is yanked back forcefully. Lindsey's mouth is on him, then, sucking on his jaw, ear, neck, laving his tongue along pulse points and the curve of bone.

Oz moves again, just enough that his thigh is pressed against Lindsey's crotch, and he's practically humping this guy in the middle of a bar. Doesn't care much, though, and he gasps when Lindsey bites down on the spot behind his ear, hard.

Grinds his hips down harder, and feels Lindsey twitch against him. And then he's being shoved, moved up and away, and he's already mourning the loss of contact. Meets Lindsey's eyes, trying to figure out if it's embarrassment or disgust, and sees a smirk there.

Lindsey doesn't move his eyes as he leans forward, presses his lips against Oz's ear. Oz knows he's got to know how sexy that is.

"Bathroom. Three minutes," Lindsey whispers, and then turns and takes off. Leaves Oz feeling flustered as hell, but he hides it as best he can by putting on his blank face. Avoids eye contact with the bartender and downs the last of his drink before looking at his watch.

Three minutes is a long time when you're so horny you think you're gonna explode. Oz taps the bar, invents a little rhythm from nothing, and tries to think about grass, or the ocean. Calming stuff, the most unsexy things that come to mind.

Glances at his watch again. One more fucking minute. Spins his beer glass on the bar, propelling it from one hand to the other, and he watches the condensation beneath it smear across the hard wood. Imagines licking it up, licking it off of hot, damp skin. Tries to think of the ocean again and fails miserably.

And then he decides fuck it, he's gonna go in there now. Stands up and cocks his head, musters all the composure he's got as he heads for the back. Ignores the glances, but there are only a few anyway. Everyone's got their own shit.

He wraps his fingers around the door knob, stares at them for a second before twisting and walking inside. Glances around, and he can smell Lindsey. Hears him before he sees him, and the door isn't even closed before he's slammed against it.

Lindsey's mouth is on his, and they're kissing hard, fast. Hands between their bodies, tugging at belts and zippers, shirt buttons popping.

Oz gasps between kisses, and Lindsey runs his tongue along the inside of Oz's lip. He's finally got Lindsey's pants open, and he wraps his fingers around the other guy's cock. Strokes him hard, wraps his lips around Lindsey's tongue and swallows his heady moan.

He feels Lindsey's hands on him, then, stroking his cock, cupping his balls, and he bucks his hips forward, gasping softly when their fists meet up for a second. Feels Lindsey smirk against his mouth, move back and away from Oz.

Watches intently as Lindsey slides to his knees, and he feels his cock jump at the thought of that perfect, beautiful mouth on him. Lindsey reaches up, grabs Oz's wrists and guides his hands behind his back. Oz smirks a little, allows his wrists to be held in Lindsey's tight grip.

Lindsey licks his lips, and Oz barely resists the urge to thrust his hips forward. Grits his teeth when Lindsey leans forward and runs the tip of his tongue along the underside of Oz's cock, and it's like fucking coming home.

Oz throws his head back, groans as Lindsey takes the head of Oz's cock into his mouth, and starts to suck. Clenches his teeth as that expert tongue works the slit, swirls around the head, and then more disappears into Lindsey's mouth, and Oz looks back down.

Thinks he might come right there, staring down into Lindsey's face. Tightens his fingers into fists, and he can't look anymore, so he closes his eyes and imagines anything but Lindsey's swollen lips.

Lindsey deep throats him a moment later, and Oz finally does buck his hips. Hears Lindsey snarl a little, and he's impressed and turned the hell on.

"Close," he groans, his arms twitching in Lindsey's grip. He yearns to thread his fingers through that hair, tug and pull and growl, but he knows how that'd end.

Lindsey makes a sound of acknowledgement and pulls away, lapping once at the head of Oz's cock, and Oz shivers. The cold air against his slick, sensitive skin is almost enough to send him over as well, and he struggles to keep control. It's all about that, right now. Absolute control.

Lindsey stands, releases Oz's wrists, and Oz watches Lindsey stroke himself slowly. Moves his eyes from Lindsey's hand to his face, and back down again, admiring the form, the legs, the cock, the way Lindsey's shirt hangs loosely around his hips.

"Turn around," Lindsey says, his voice gruff. Oz feels a shiver run through him, and he complies, pressing sweaty palms against the door. Hears foil tearing, and grins a little. At least the guy comes prepared.

Two slick fingers press between his cheeks, and Oz shivers a little, juts his ass backwards and spreads his legs more. He can feel the air shift when Lindsey smiles again, and thinks he hasn't ever met anyone this sensual, not really. Veruca was close, but she was scattered. Lindsey's completely there.

Groans as he's prepared, twisting his hips with Lindsey's movements expertly. He remembers this, remembers Devon. Uncomplicated, free, stoned sex. Takes a millisecond to mourn for the loss of those days, and then Lindsey's pulling away again, and Oz feels the head of Lindsey's cock against him.

He goes still, waits for it, holds his breath. His eyes fall closed and they're both perfectly still for a second that seems to stretch for a lifetime.

Then Lindsey's moving, pressing inside, and Oz gasps and moves with him. He can feel every movement, anticipates each breath that ghosts across the back of his neck.

Lindsey's thrusts are speeding up, and Oz drops his head forward, panting heavily. He starts to move his hand down, needs to feel something on his aching cock, but Lindsey's too fast for him. Wraps lithe fingers around him, and Oz bites his lip to keep from shouting.

Lindsey strokes Oz just right, and Oz wants to know where he learned it. Wants to lay in bed, stroking himself, and listen to all of Lindsey's dirty little first time fantasies.

That's the thought that drives him over the edge, and with a low, growly moan Oz comes. He clenches the muscles in his body tightly as orgasm coils through him, and seconds later he feels Lindsey follow suit.

Presses his sweaty forehead against the door, keeps his eyes closed as Lindsey pulls out of him, and he thinks that should have been enough. That should have helped with all the frustration he's got, all the crap building up in his chest.

He can't help but wonder why the hell it's still there, then. Dully hears the snap of rubber behind him, and he turns slowly, reaching for some paper towels and he wipes up a little.

Ignores Lindsey's little smirk as he buttons his pants. Figures the guy probably fucks three guys a night, and bases his opinion on how well they clean up afterwards. A hesitation, and then he figures that maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing to base an assessment on, after all.

He's turning to leave, ready to go back to the beer and the god-awful music, and then Lindsey's on him again. Cupping his cheeks, and Oz draws his brows together a little.

This kiss is slow, almost shy. A ghost of the tongue fucking they did earlier, and Oz finds he likes it. He likes how Lindsey feels, how he tastes, how he looks. Likes the way he smiles, the way he looks fucking perfect, despite the fact that he just fucked a guy in the bathroom of a club.

"You have a place to go?" Lindsey asks.

Oz cocks his head to the side, raises an eyebrow. Wonders what the hell's gonna happen if he goes home with a stranger, and remembers that he's done weirder shit in his short life.

"Not really. Just got into town."

Lindsey nods silently, runs his finger down Oz's chest. "You're welcome at my place." Oz watches the corners of that mouth twist up once more, an invitation for more than sleeping, he thinks, and he offers a small smile in return.

"You make that offer to all the boys?" he asks, and Lindsey laughs. An actual laugh, and the sound is like more delicious music. Oz hasn't heard an honest to god laugh in so long.

"No, only the ones who know what I want," comes the reply, and Oz's smile widens as they leave the bathroom.

***

Lindsey wakes up two minutes before his alarm goes off the next morning. Stares at the red numbers for a full minute before he reaches over and turns it off.

He can feel Oz against him, feel tiny ghosts of breath across his chest. Small fingers press against his stomach, and they curl a little when Lindsey shifts to get a better look.

Oz's hair is mussed, and his mouth is hanging open just a little. Nose turned up, like he's got some part of his mind still alert and sniffing the air. Small bite marks down his chest, and they disappear under the covers. He'd thought it was odd that Oz wouldn't bite back, but hadn't wanted to push it.

It had been a good night, Lindsey thinks, and then he climbs out of bed. Goes as carefully as he can, but Oz still groans softly, curls up into the empty space Lindsey left.

Lindsey heads for the bathroom, brushes his teeth. Starts the shower, and waits for a moment until it's hot, hotter than usual, to climb in. He draws in a sharp breath when the hot water hits his skin, and moves forward, letting his body adjust to it.

Runs his fingers through his hair and then moves his hand down his body until he's stroking himself, bucking into his hand and thinking back to the night before and Oz's mouth.

Drops his head back against the tiles and closes his eyes. This has become routine before trial, get the tension and the confliction out before anyone has to see him.

He tries to make this one last, but it's hard. Oz is on his mind, has twisted around all of Lindsey's thoughts until everything just resolves into a little redhead with a proclivity for sucking cock.

He's coming a few minutes later, biting back a groan so he won't wake Oz. Stands still in the hot water and then shakes everything off, cleans up.

Dries off, and walks into the bedroom naked. He stares into the closet for a good five minutes, trying to decide what would look best to a blind woman.

He keeps looking back at the bed as he changes, admiring the way Oz looks against his sheets. Small and sexy and adorable.

Lindsey shakes his head and goes to get breakfast. Adorable. He's fuckin' cracking, he has to be in court in two hours and he's thinking about an adorable guy in his bed.

Makes some toast and eggs and sits down with a cup of coffee, glancing over his notes once more. It never used to bother him, defending people he knew were guilty. It was the job, he was doing what he had to in order to get ahead in the world.

But now, now he had what he needed. An expensive flat, his own couch. A bed with a beautiful man asleep in it. China and silverware, and there was no chance it would get taken away, not like before.

He shakes his head; he's scattered and that's not good. Closes his eyes for a second and then concentrates. Reads through his notes one more time before he's ready to get out of here. He's antsy, charged.

Goes out and picks up the newspaper, flips through it without really reading anything and then tosses it on the table. Paces in the kitchen, rehearsing his opening statement under his breath, tosses a small, reassuring grin at the jury.

He thinks about avoiding eye contact with the client, not because she's blind, but because it makes him uneasy. Thinking about her is making him uneasy anyway, and he shakes his head, tosses back the last of his coffee.

The sun is pouring in through the windows, now, bouncing off of the linoleum in the kitchen and making the room glow. It's ethereal, hazy.

Lindsey takes a second to stare at the light, clears his mind completely and focuses everything on those rays, on the dust particles dancing in them. The way they wrap around everything, make it more real, substantial.

And he's ready. Got the vibe, now, and it took awhile today, but it's there. He'll win, he'll do everything he's paid to do, and he'll do it fucking well.

Grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and packs up his briefcase. On the way out, he stops in the bedroom doorway, and stares in at Oz. The curtains in his room are still drawn, and it's dark.

Oz sniffs, turns over, and curls into a shadow. Lindsey feels the corner of his mouth twitch as he watches, feels the tingle in his fingers as he remembers the corded muscles in Oz's legs.

He stands there a moment longer than he probably should, and then turns around, grabs a legal pad from beside the phone and scribbles a quick note. Tosses it onto the kitchen table and then he's gone.

**

Oz wakes up alone, sniffs the air a little, and he can tell that Lindsey is long gone. Climbs out of bed, runs his fingers through his disheveled hair, and he makes his way into the kitchen, still completely naked. Pokes around and fixes a simple breakfast, and then he finds the note on the table.

It's pretty straightforward - Oz is welcome to whatever he needs, there's a spare key in the table by the door in case he wants to go out, Lindsey's cell phone number.

He smiles a little, sets the note back down on the table, finishes breakfast. Heads into the bedroom, and he takes a quick shower, just long enough to wash his hair, clean off the scent of sex.

The shower wakes him up more than the coffee he had earlier, and he climbs out, pulls on his clothes from the day before. Grabs his car keys, and he's not really sure what he's planning on doing, but he wants to get out. See some of the city or something.

He's got Lindsey's spare key in his hand, hand hovering over the doorknob when something catches his eye. It's a dagger, half covered by some papers scattered on the floor. He thinks for a second, explore or just leave? And opts for the former. Drops his hand and walks into the living room, squats down and picks up the knife. It's gorgeous, with intricate symbols carved into the blade.

And it's bringing back all these memories, memories of long nights at the library with Willow, studying things just exactly like this. He knows he shouldn't, but he looks at the papers, too, deciphers the chicken scratch as best he can, and what he reads makes his stomach turn.

It's a ritual, some sort of demon summoning, and Lindsey's scribbled all sorts of notes beside the ancient language. Times, dates, clothing specifications, everything one would need.

Oz sits back on his heels, stares at the knife blankly for a moment, and then he stands quickly, shoves the dagger into his jacket pocket, leaves the apartment. Stares at the spare key in his hand for a moment and then bends over and slides it beneath the door.

He won't be coming back.

.End