Angel/Oz: Five Traits of Lycanthropy
May. 1st, 2004 02:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
doyleAngel/Oz ficathon entry. The Riley late entry's coming, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wildcherries, I swear...
Title: Five Traits of Lycanthropy
Author: Doyle
Pairing: Angel/Oz
Rating: R
Notes: Fordolores who wanted disco dancing and kink.
1. Blood lust
Three days a month, they take the van instead of the Plymouth. Riding beneath a wolf-moon with the hood down gives Oz a white noise feeling at the back of his head, makes him itch beneath his fingernails. He never said anything. Thought believed hoped that in time it would fade or he would learn to tune it out, but Angel suggested it and Wesley nudged Cordelia into silence when she asked why, and it does make things easier.
He always drives. Angel takes shotgun, even when one of the others calls it first. Wes and Cordy bicker among themselves in the back and Oz takes corners a whisker more sharply than he would on another night. Angel doesn't ever comment on his driving, or change the radio station, or try to make small talk. Oz thinks that if he was ever going to take a road trip, out to Black Rock, maybe, Angel is who he would like to take along.
Someone runs a light at the end of Eighth, almost wings the van. He looks at the beads wrapped around the mirror and goes over his words until he's not thinking about ripping the driver's throat out.
2. Claustrophobia
"And I'm the one who has agonizing visions IMAXed into her brain by the PTB," Cordy says, "so I should get to say if we stay and dance. Come on, no cover charge!"
"It does look rather fun," Wesley agrees as the track switches to Yes Sir, I Can Boogie. Angel gives him the wounded look of et tu, Pryce? but his employees are already halfway across the dancefloor.
"I'll wait in the car," he says, knowing when he's beaten.
Oz stays for a couple of songs because he kind of likes Wes's dancing - bold, freestyle, somewhere between creative expression and martial art - and then he leaves, because there are people around him on all sides and the moon's up tonight and they smell like meat.
Outside, Angel's leaning against the van.
"I'm guessing you don't like to dance," Oz says.
He looks pained. "I like certain types of dancing. Slow dancing. Not -" and he launches into a few seconds of some of the most frenzied, uncoordinated moving that Oz has ever seen.
"I can see why that's a problem."
His hands are shoved deep inside the pockets of his black trenchcoat. "I'm not good around crowds."
Oz says, "Yeah, I get that."
They wait for the others in silence. It's nice.
3. Synaesthesia
Cordelia's scent is deep magenta and tastes of pears and tequila shooters. It winds around the too-small office from the coffee machine to the fax, looping back on itself at her desk. Wesley's interesting because his voice is a rich purple streaked through with black, totally at odds with the pale aqua scent that trails behind him, flavoured like cigarette smoke and baby powder. Underneath them both, the fading memory of Doyle (dark green, whiskey and aspartame).
Angel looks and smells and tastes like fresh, warm blood.
On days when this kicks in it's hard to concentrate on work.
4. Insomnia
Oz never sleeps on full moon nights. In high school he prowled the library cage until sunrise and never felt tired in class the next day; even without the change he spends the seventy-two hours awake and clear-headed. He reads books. He avoids late night TV because it's mostly bad but sometimes rents old movies. He plays his bass, quietly. He calls Sunnydale and listens to Devon's daily stream of consciousness.
Sometimes he goes back to the office, downstairs to Angel's apartment.
Music collection's what he always look at, his first time in someone's living space. Second is the bookshelves and then the videos, with an optional fourth of the refrigerator.
He doesn't think Angel's taste in music is bad, because good and bad are subjective judgements that can't be defined by one person. He does think that Angel needs to listen to something recorded after 1977, and that Angel and Giles could never live together, even if they have most of the same books.
The fridge is full of tubs of blood. The top shelf holds eggs, bacon, milk, some cheese. Angel cooks breakfast, sometimes just for Oz, sometimes for the others too. Later, with the boss out of the way, Cordelia usually makes some pointed comment about Oz always being the first to arrive.
"What do you do?" she asks when she has a vision in the middle of the night and it's Oz who answers the phone. "He doesn't even have a TV. Do you have killer card games?"
Killer, Valley slang, superlative: meaning, excellent. Taken another way, card games for killers.
"It's pretty much just the sex," he says. The next day at work she isn't wearing a crucifix, so he guesses she thought he was kidding.
5. Thrillseeking
Humans look at him and see a pale, skinny teenager with navy hair. Vampires look at him and see a pale, skinny teenager with navy hair, but once they've caught his scent they look at him and see a werewolf. Oz would look for it in the mirror, but he doesn't think they're an unbiased reflector of reality. They don't show Angel up at all.
It's best this way, from behind. Angel's big hand is clamped around his throat and in the spaces when the world's not flaring white at the edges Oz wonders how much practise he's had at this because his timing's perfect. One hand cuts off his airway, the other pumps him slowly, bringing him close, drawing him back, repeating till he comes or loses consciousness or changes. For days afterward Wesley's eyes will slide nervously (jealously?) along the bruises on his neck.
They're outside, and Angel is fully clothed at his back and Oz is looking up to where he knows the bright, round moon will be when the clouds roll back. He shudders and comes over Angel's fist, head jerking back, and if he had the breath he would howl.
END
wildcherries, I swear...Title: Five Traits of Lycanthropy
Author: Doyle
Pairing: Angel/Oz
Rating: R
Notes: For
dolores who wanted disco dancing and kink.1. Blood lust
Three days a month, they take the van instead of the Plymouth. Riding beneath a wolf-moon with the hood down gives Oz a white noise feeling at the back of his head, makes him itch beneath his fingernails. He never said anything. Thought believed hoped that in time it would fade or he would learn to tune it out, but Angel suggested it and Wesley nudged Cordelia into silence when she asked why, and it does make things easier.
He always drives. Angel takes shotgun, even when one of the others calls it first. Wes and Cordy bicker among themselves in the back and Oz takes corners a whisker more sharply than he would on another night. Angel doesn't ever comment on his driving, or change the radio station, or try to make small talk. Oz thinks that if he was ever going to take a road trip, out to Black Rock, maybe, Angel is who he would like to take along.
Someone runs a light at the end of Eighth, almost wings the van. He looks at the beads wrapped around the mirror and goes over his words until he's not thinking about ripping the driver's throat out.
2. Claustrophobia
"And I'm the one who has agonizing visions IMAXed into her brain by the PTB," Cordy says, "so I should get to say if we stay and dance. Come on, no cover charge!"
"It does look rather fun," Wesley agrees as the track switches to Yes Sir, I Can Boogie. Angel gives him the wounded look of et tu, Pryce? but his employees are already halfway across the dancefloor.
"I'll wait in the car," he says, knowing when he's beaten.
Oz stays for a couple of songs because he kind of likes Wes's dancing - bold, freestyle, somewhere between creative expression and martial art - and then he leaves, because there are people around him on all sides and the moon's up tonight and they smell like meat.
Outside, Angel's leaning against the van.
"I'm guessing you don't like to dance," Oz says.
He looks pained. "I like certain types of dancing. Slow dancing. Not -" and he launches into a few seconds of some of the most frenzied, uncoordinated moving that Oz has ever seen.
"I can see why that's a problem."
His hands are shoved deep inside the pockets of his black trenchcoat. "I'm not good around crowds."
Oz says, "Yeah, I get that."
They wait for the others in silence. It's nice.
3. Synaesthesia
Cordelia's scent is deep magenta and tastes of pears and tequila shooters. It winds around the too-small office from the coffee machine to the fax, looping back on itself at her desk. Wesley's interesting because his voice is a rich purple streaked through with black, totally at odds with the pale aqua scent that trails behind him, flavoured like cigarette smoke and baby powder. Underneath them both, the fading memory of Doyle (dark green, whiskey and aspartame).
Angel looks and smells and tastes like fresh, warm blood.
On days when this kicks in it's hard to concentrate on work.
4. Insomnia
Oz never sleeps on full moon nights. In high school he prowled the library cage until sunrise and never felt tired in class the next day; even without the change he spends the seventy-two hours awake and clear-headed. He reads books. He avoids late night TV because it's mostly bad but sometimes rents old movies. He plays his bass, quietly. He calls Sunnydale and listens to Devon's daily stream of consciousness.
Sometimes he goes back to the office, downstairs to Angel's apartment.
Music collection's what he always look at, his first time in someone's living space. Second is the bookshelves and then the videos, with an optional fourth of the refrigerator.
He doesn't think Angel's taste in music is bad, because good and bad are subjective judgements that can't be defined by one person. He does think that Angel needs to listen to something recorded after 1977, and that Angel and Giles could never live together, even if they have most of the same books.
The fridge is full of tubs of blood. The top shelf holds eggs, bacon, milk, some cheese. Angel cooks breakfast, sometimes just for Oz, sometimes for the others too. Later, with the boss out of the way, Cordelia usually makes some pointed comment about Oz always being the first to arrive.
"What do you do?" she asks when she has a vision in the middle of the night and it's Oz who answers the phone. "He doesn't even have a TV. Do you have killer card games?"
Killer, Valley slang, superlative: meaning, excellent. Taken another way, card games for killers.
"It's pretty much just the sex," he says. The next day at work she isn't wearing a crucifix, so he guesses she thought he was kidding.
5. Thrillseeking
Humans look at him and see a pale, skinny teenager with navy hair. Vampires look at him and see a pale, skinny teenager with navy hair, but once they've caught his scent they look at him and see a werewolf. Oz would look for it in the mirror, but he doesn't think they're an unbiased reflector of reality. They don't show Angel up at all.
It's best this way, from behind. Angel's big hand is clamped around his throat and in the spaces when the world's not flaring white at the edges Oz wonders how much practise he's had at this because his timing's perfect. One hand cuts off his airway, the other pumps him slowly, bringing him close, drawing him back, repeating till he comes or loses consciousness or changes. For days afterward Wesley's eyes will slide nervously (jealously?) along the bruises on his neck.
They're outside, and Angel is fully clothed at his back and Oz is looking up to where he knows the bright, round moon will be when the clouds roll back. He shudders and comes over Angel's fist, head jerking back, and if he had the breath he would howl.
END