It took more planning to get this day happening than Oz is strictly comfortable with. Soon as he opened the discreet cream - Giles says ecru, which just proves the whole 'divided by a common tongue' thing - envelope, though, he *knew*. Knew this had to happen, and that he was the only one to make this happen.
A free spa day for four at Sunnydale's finest (only) men's 'esthetic retreat'. Apparently dropping the Dingoes' flyer into the box at the Espresso Pump counted as entering his business card in a draw. Coolness.
Oz is not above seeing signs and patterns in the randomness of life, although since he *knows* he's choosing to see them, maybe it's not the same thing. It doesn't matter. Things are nutty at the moment; everyone's happy Buffy is back, because there's no way the four of them could have kept up their attempts at slayage, but her return still seems to have thrown everything a little more out of whack than usual. Especially Giles. Add to that Cordy's return from Mexico, which sent Xander into the mother of all sexuality-questioning tailspins, and Devon's insistence that he and Oz need extra 'lead' rehearsal time, just the two of them, preferably in the back of the van or up in Devon's attic, and Oz himself feels stretched to the limits.
They could all use a little time to kick back.
First he had to convince the other three that the spa day was a good idea.
Giles argued that he had no time for such foolishness.
Xander thought that it sounded a little gay. Considering he had his hand down Oz's pants at the time, that argument pretty much fell apart faster than a Kleenex in the rain.
Devon announced it would be perfect for his new skincare regimen.
Next he had to figure out how to get them all together without their absence being noticed. Jonathan, master of the well-timed fire alarm, and Tucker, king of the called-in bomb threats, really pitched in there, and it only cost Oz a couple Newly Fantastic Fantastic Four reprints.
Now all he has to do is get them to The Aesthetic Gentleman in one piece and let the rest of it take its course.
Not that anyone's making it easy on him.
*
As Oz maneuvers the van to the back lot, where the faculty park, Devon slaps his arm. Gets a nice harsh sting on his palm, but no slowing down, for his effort. Oz is one determined little fucker.
"Watch it -" Oz says shortly. He's wearing his concentrating face, all squiggly brows and thin, pale lips pressed together.
"No," Devon says and slaps him again, reaching for the steering wheel. "Don't tell me Grandpa's coming."
"Shut up, Dev."
Devon crosses his arms and slumps in his seat. Oz is like one of those little souvenirs the Indians sell. Looks like it's made out papier mache, but then you try and pick it up and it turns out to be super heavy stone. "All I'm saying, I'm not getting in the back with Harris. I called shotgun and I got shotgun."
"*Giles* is coming?" Xander asks.
Oz taps the horn as he passes Giles's stupid car, but he doesn't slow down. Good. Devon's really comfy in the front seat and he doesn't care if Oz claims to love-love-LOVE the old geezer. He's still not moving.
He checks the side mirror, suspecting from the rattle behind them that Elmer Fuddy-Duddy is following them.
"Yeah, he's coming," Devon says over his shoulder to Xander. "You feeling queasy at the prospect, too?"
Xander just shakes his head before reaching over and jabbing Oz's shoulder. "Oz?"
"Yeah, Xander?" Patient voice. Devon would think he picked it up from the old man, only Oz has been using it on him for ten years now.
"Can we swing by my house so I can get my Speedo? Because I'm thinking, sweaty and naked, not a great combo, not in public, you know?"
Oz keeps driving.
"Oz? Please?" His voice is starting to break and Devon can't hide his smirk. It's almost too easy to get a rise out of Harris.
Then again, Devon's never argued with taking the easy way out.
"You worried he's gonna ground you again, Xander?"
Xander slaps him, Devon twists around to slap him back, it's a whole squealing-and-cursing mess of slaps, but Oz just keeps on driving.
"Please, Oz? It won't take long -" Xander manages to get out.
"No time, Xander. Got an appointment to keep."
Christ. With the patient voice and the unflappable driving and all that, Oz is like the world's best soccer mom. Except not.
When they get there, there's all sorts of bullshit about signing in and initializing medical waivers and putting down deposits for towels that Devon doesn't care about. He just leans against a hugeass potted fern that probably fed dinosaurs and lets the Enya-lite - if that's possible - music tinkle into his ears.
Oz's old guy looks good, actually, away from school but still in public enough that he's not totally mooneyed over the Ozman. He's taller than Xander, just about Devon's own height, and he was probably hot once. Like, before they invented fire.
"We almost ready?" Devon asks, pushing away from the wall. Giles glares at him and Devon smiles back, slipping his arm around Xander's waist and pulling him close. "You ready, Harris?"
"Um, sure," Xander says. "Sure. I'm ready. For what?"
"Hot steamy sauna fun," Devon stage-whispers. Picked that up from a girl in La Jolla over the summer, and it's a really bitching addition to his repertoire.
The guy behind the counter, who's like the love child of an Aryan warrior and a troll princess, shakes his head and clucks his tongue. Devon gives him the pretty smile, too, before licking Xander's neck. Guy'll probably whack off to that for a good six months.
Xander hits him hard in the chest and tries to wriggle away, which just means war, so Devon gets him in a headlock and twists his arm behind his back and noogies the poor fucker until Xander's whimpering.
"Boys, *please*," Giles says. Sternly enough that Devon's about to answer back, but something-else-enough - fuck it, the thesaurus is Oz's book - that he also gets a tingle right down the center of his spine. Makes him want to hear that voice again.
"He started it -" Xander says, so Devon gives him the good old purple nurple and steps away.
Xander's still protesting when they're waved into the back - *Looks like you have the place to yourselves, gentlemen* - pulling on Giles's shirtsleeve like a puppy with a bone.
Oz won't even look at them in the changing room.
He just strips, knots the towel around his waist, and pads through the ankle-deep disinfectant. His wide bony shoulders and skinny little back are almost as white as the tiles and his head is bowed.
Boy takes his relaxation a little *too* seriously sometimes.
Devon shoves his clothes into Xander's open locker, foregoes the towel - what? He doesn't have anything to hide - and hurries to catch up.
"Oz, man -" he says, banging open the cedar door, getting whacked in the face with steam and motherfucking *heat*. "You okay?"
He can't see a fucking thing, just shifting clouds of steam.
"Oz? You even here?"
Hot hand on Devon's chest, pushing back against at the wall, and when he *can* see again, it's all Oz's sharp little face, coming in for a landing, mouth first.
"Shut up, Dev."
Fuck. Boy kisses Devon like it's the last breath he'll ever take and he wants it straight from Devon's lungs. Devon wraps his arms around those shoulders he knows almost as well as his own, cups the back of Oz's head, and kisses him back.
Times like these, he forgets just how much smaller Oz is; he's everywhere, tongue against Devon's palate, hands sliding down his sides, pinching and squeezing, knee working its way between Devon's legs.
"Better?" Devon asks, tugging Oz's head back, running his nose down Oz's pale throat.
"Yeah. Much."
"Good." Devon thrusts a little against Oz's towel and sucks the sweat off one knob of his collarbone.
Somebody - not Dev, not Oz - coughs. Devon stiffens a little; he doesn't mind an audience, but he'd prefer to at least know it's there. Oz just slips away, just like the steam, leaving Devon pressed against the wall and looking around blindly.
*
Giles hadn't trusted the invitation, certainly didn't relish the idea of spending half a day in the company of both Xander and that MacLeish creature, but Oz insisted.
Oz was, as usual, completely right.
Giles knows that now, as he settles down on the fieryhot slab of cedar that serves as a bench, loosens the towel around his waist, and watches Oz's slim, flushed body against Devon's larger, golden one.
Yes, just right. Go with the flow, as Oz would say.
When Xander coughs against the heat of the sauna, Oz breaks and turns, graceful as water, pinkmarblewhite glimmering through the steam, and joins Giles on the bench. He sits nice and close, pulling Giles's arm around his shoulders, and Giles drops a kiss on the crown of his head.
Oz's hair is damp and soft, the spikes wilting, fragrant like sunsoaked herbs against Giles's face.
"Oh, that's pretty," Devon says. "Love, true love, is what brings us together today."
As if the content weren't obnoxious enough, he's using an odd lisping accent. Giles looks over at him and Xander starts laughing, high-fives Devon.
Without his glasses, everything Giles sees is smeared, a child's fingerpainted watercolor. He blinks the sweat from his eyes, opening his mouth to say something, but Oz takes care of it. Jabs his middle finger up at Devon, then drops his hand on Giles's chest and tangles his fingers in his chest hair.
Giles tips his head back, Oz's touch sending quicksilver jolts radiating outward, up his neck, down his prick. Nothing else matters, not right now, not Buffy's odd, awkward silence, not Xander's twitching anxiety, not Devon's --
"Yeah, baby. Get the geezer off."
Xander's laughter turns to a hiss. "Shaddup, Dev, seriously -"
Oz never stops touching him. Giles opens one eye and clears his throat. "Xander, your taste in friends leaves something to be desired."
Mapledark face, black hair plastered back, and Xander shakes his head. "No! He's Oz's -"
"I'm *everybody's* friend, my man," Devon says. Nothing more than a long column of goldpink skin, approaching, weaving through the steam.
"Is that so?" Giles asks.
"Absofuckinglutely. Friend to all, lover of many."
"Dev -" Xander insists, but the boy comes nearer, and however hard Giles stares at him, Devon never drops his eyes. Beautiful body, leaner than Xander's, all long slightly-undulating ropes of muscle, no towel to hide his erection. Shame about his insolent, obnoxious personality.
"In fact, popped your boy's cherry," Devon says and stretches, luxuriously, taking his time, running his hands down his chest. "You can thank me for breaking Oz in."
A slow burn spreads through Giles; not at all like the steam of the room, it is dry and deep, dark as midnight. Oz pushes his hand beneath the towel and strokes him slowly, pressing his face against Giles's chest. Oz's language is gestural and Giles knows precisely what's being said. He is encouraging, permitting, urging.
"I don't think I will," Giles says and tastes the burn on the back of his tongue. "Thank you, that is."
"Aww, c'mon," Devon says. "Xander's told me *all* about you. Fucking obsessed with the little guy. Think you owe me a little -"
Giles grabs Devon's wrist and yanks him closer. "Owe you nothing, you little prat."
Against him, Giles feels Oz gasp, ribs vaulting out, but he is as silent as ever, only his hand speeding up to give any clue of his arousal.
"Beg to fucking differ, Mr. Wizard."
"Ought to turn you over my knee -" Giles bites his tongue at the very idea, at Oz's response - rapid twist to his foreskin, thumbnail run crosswise against his slit - and shortened breaths, at Xander encroaching behind Devon, his eyes wide, darting between Devon and Giles, his tongue caught in his teeth.
"Like to feel *that*," Devon says, and his face is just as set, just as handsome, as ever, but his voice is slightly cracked, spiderwebs running through crystal.
Cold rush of air over Giles as Oz slides away, toward Xander, pausing only to push Devon forward.
"You would, eh?" Giles drops Devon's wrist and sits back. Need and want seem to have set the boy trembling, not at all like Xander's weteyed craving, something finer, slightly more controlled, but equally as lovely. "Is that why you feel the need to mouth off?"
"Just fucking do it," Devon says and suddenly Giles has a lapful of steamheated skin and hard flesh.
"You'll answer me," Giles says. He knows the rules, even if this berk refuses to acknowledge them. He needs the rules, needs the control they grant, the restraint from merely tumbling the boy onto the floor and fucking him, fast and simple. He wants to make this last.
Devon's arse is small and full and Giles cups his palm over one cheek. For a moment, for as long as it takes the boy to reply.
"Should've figured you'd puss out," Devon says instead.
Giles smacks him twice in quick succession. The dryburn beneath his skin accelerates at the contact, at the fresh sting in his palm, at Devon's slight breathy squeak.
"Answer me. You need this, don't you?"
*
There's Devon - and there's Giles - and Xander's not stupid, he knows just how fucking sexass the man can be, all stern and roughvoiced, like his usual voice got dragged through gravel and broken seashells, his eyes hard and flat, green like stormy oceans, and - but - *spanking* - but -
"Jesus, Oz -" Xander whispers. Oz is maneuvering him onto the floor, holding him from behind so they can both watch, running his lips back and forth over Xander's shoulder.
"Mmm?"
"Don't need *anything*," Devon says, breaking Xander's momentary concentration, yanking his eyes back in time to watch Giles hit him, openpalmed, three-four-five times. The sound of it, quick and sharp, bounces back and forth against the sauna's walls. The steam's probably all disturbed, swept away on soundwaves.
Xander wriggles back. Oz's cock jabs him in the small of his back and Xander's slightly relieved. He's not the only perv here, getting off on the sight.
"I can keep this up all day, you know," Giles says and when he spanks Devon again, Devon arches like a loose wire, twisting and curving, sweat sparkling outward as it flies off his skin.
Oz's got both arms wrapped around Xander's waist now, fingers running idly up and down his chest and Xander leans forward. Needs something harder, nails and teeth, pinches and a tight grip on his cock.
"Try me," Devon says. "I'm not the senior citizen here."
Xander can't count high enough to account for all the smacks Giles gives Dev for that. Oz scrapes his nails lightly around Xander's nipple, so light it's almost tickling, and Xander squirms.
"Oz, c'mon," he whispers, twisting, burying his face in Oz's neck.
"What's wrong?"
"He's *hitting* him -" *And I like it*.
"S'cool, isn't it?" Oz says, right in Xander's ear. Then he sucks the lobe between his lips and Xander feels himself shudder all the way down to the soles of his feet. "Keep watching. Know you like it."
Maybe you get psychic when a werewolf bites you: It's the only explanation Xander can come up with for Oz's eerily huge knowledge.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," Giles tells Devon - Xander would like to call it a growl, but Giles is too civilized for that. Somehow he growls in participles and full sentences. "Acting out like this. In front of your friends, no less -"
He grasps the back of Devon's hair and pulls his head up, turns it so Devon's looking right at them.
Xander can barely breathe: Oz is finally twisting his nipple and stroking his balls, and Devon's face is beetred, his mouth kind of hanging open like it does when he's getting head, and all of this from a fucking *spanking*.
Xander makes a mental note to misbehave again, and soon.
"He likes it," Oz says quietly, wrapping his fingers around the base of Xander's cock and pulling gently. "Don't you, Dev?"
"Fuck you, Oz -" Devon starts to say, but his head drops again, bounces on his folded arms, as Giles rains down precise, perfectly-spaced blows. "Just - *fuck* -"
"You were saying?" Giles asks. Friendly, even, and Xander knows that trick. Knows all too well how Giles can torque you all breathless and melted and *needing*, and then he switches gears, talks to you like a kindly uncle (*Dad*, oh, Daddy-) and it just makes everything better/worse, hotter like the center of a flame, and it's a fucking sauna, he's already sweating like a pig, but now he's pushing into Oz's hand.
"Can barely feel it," Devon gasps. "Don't know what you think you're doing."
Giles's face goes long and pissed-off. Xander should know, he's earned that look more than once. More than a hundred times.
His chest heaves once as he raises his arm (long arm, wreathed in muscles like ivy) and brings his hand down on Devon's ass.
Smack.
Smack.
Smacksmacksmacksmack.
Oz's breath in his ear is the only other thing Xander can hear beyond his own heart going hyperspace fast and the rapid resounding sting of the spanks. Xander's rocking back and forth, watching, imagining/remembering Giles's large strong hands on him, pushing forward into Oz's fist, then backward against his dick, and Devon's almost meowing with each smack.
"One more time," Giles says.
Smack. Then long fingers massaging bright red skin, teasing his crack, thick stream of moisturizer from the bottle on the shelf pouring over Devon's ass.
"Fucking *sadist* -" Devon gasps, his back arching, nudging his ass higher against Giles's hand. "Make me feel it -"
Smack, then the snickerscratch of Giles's fingernails over Devon's ass through the sweat and lotion. Xander can barely see anything through the steam, through the sweat burning his eyes. He's reduced to sound and sensation, Oz holding him tight, jerking him fast and hard and he wants to buck, wants to throw his head back and yell, but he can't miss a thing.
"You want this?" Giles asks, two fingers posed at Devon's hole, the other hand spreading open his cheeks. Snakehiss low and dangerous, and it's nearly enough to push Xander over the edge. Oz, too, apparently, judging by the jump of his dick and sharp intake of breath. "No? Had heard you're a slut. Feel vaguely disappointed."
He raises his hand again.
"Give it to me."
Smack-slap-scratch.
Smack.
Smack.
Long fingers, fingers Xander dreams/fear, spread Devon again, and he's probably hallucinating it, but it feels like Giles looks over at them. Right at Xander, flash of tongue in the corner of his mouth, and then he says, "Beg me."
Xander opens his mouth to speak but just then Oz switches hands and knuckles fast and rough up the vein on Xander's shaft and he has no air to breathe, let alone speak with.
"*Yes*, asshole!" Devon finally cries out. "Please, please, just -. Fucking asshole -"
Xander doesn't know how he's still mouthing off; if he was in Giles's lap, he'd be crying and begging and asking for as much as Giles wants to give him.
Then again, that - everything Giles wants to give - is just what Devon's getting. Because apparently Giles has been holding back until now, and now the spanks are coming fast and heavy as hail, so many so fast his arm's a blur and Xander *is* crying, that's not just sweat on his face, crying and twisting in Oz's embrace, hot wind shuddering hurricanefast through him, pulling the come out his dick with it, over and over in time with Giles's hand and the yelps from Devon.
Silence. Hot close damp steamed silence and it's Hades-dark behind Xander's eyes.
It takes everything he has to open his eyes and roll over on his side. He tries pushing the steam out of the way, but it doesn't move.
*
"Good boy," Giles says, and it's probably for all of them, Oz thinks, as he crawls over Xander's near-unconscious body.
His palms feel icecold, stretched too thin and tight, quickflash ice over moving water, and he needs to touch Giles. Needs like he doesn't need anything else, like he's never needed anything before.
Giles is helping Devon down, easing him onto his knees, Devon's arms hung over Giles's thighs for balance, Devon's face in Giles's crotch.
"Now suck me off and we'll see about letting you come." Giles is looking at Oz while he speaks. Time and sensation's out of joint, eyes on the wrong people, gestures gone staccato.
Devon's ass is redder than a toxicwaste sunset and twitching, little tremors still breaking out all over it, and if he can't touch Giles with Dev in the way, Oz has no beef settling for touching Devon.
"Will you do something for me?" Giles asks softly, looking down at Oz, small shy smile shimmering at the corners of his lips. His cheeks are flushed, his hair slicked back off his face, skin shining bright and wet, and Oz adds the vision to his ever-growing catalog of Gilesian beauty.
Oz licks the sweat off the sharp edge of one of Devon's shoulderblades as he presses careful fingertips across one cheek. Unbelievably hot, just like holding your hand over a candle. He can't stop touching, can't soak up enough heat.
"Anything," he says, looking back up at Giles, petting Devon's wet hair as he nuzzles and licks Giles's cock.
"Fuck him," Giles says and pushes his hand down his belly, nudging Devon's mouth off his dick. "Please, Oz? Let me watch?"
Devon groans wetly and clenches his ass under Oz's hand.
"Yeah -" Oz says, swallowing a rush of sweat and spit and want at the idea. Sitting back on his heels, he reaches between Devon's tensed-up thighs. He's hard, of course; would take some serious wasting disease or psychological trauma for Devon *not* to be. "Cool by you, Dev?"
"Fuck -" Devon spits. He shakes his head and crawls forward half an inch, thrusting his ass back. "Please, man -"
"Got him wet and tender for you," Giles says hoarsely, then looks away, over at Xander. "Xander? Come here."
Oz's body kind of pulses in and out of reality, definitely out of focus and then back, sharp and clear. If he just keeps looking at Giles, watches those dark green eyes on him, watches Xander wrap his arm around Giles, get drawn close like a sleepy kid, he'll be okay, he'll stay centered. Every time he blinks, though, he stutters out, skitters into nothing.
Devon's hot and writhing under him, in front of him, around Oz's fingers, slick with lotion Giles is pouring down Devon's back, his breathing coming fast, wet, short, twisting off with a gasp as Oz stretches him open with quick, impatient strokes.
Giles guides Xander's hand to his dick, wraps his fingers around the other way, and they're both watching, wetblack eyes and red faces in the steam, as Oz slaps Devon's ass three more times - red as rage, red as a kid's Valentine, cinnamon and sting of mint - before pushing inside.
"Motherfuc -" Devon sags, hung over Giles's thighs, head bobbing loosely downward, and the motion, dropping, rippling, runs around his hole, pulls Oz in further to the first place, the place he knows even better than Giles's body, the original place. When they were fourteen, fifteen, fumbling around and stoned off their asses and Oz won the bet that Puck would show up for the Real World reunion special, so he got to fuck Devon first and it felt so good he might have blacked out, although it's also possible the weed was laced, since he was also seeing big whirly cartoon stars and Wile E. Coyote was sitting on Devon's chest talking dirty to him.
They've both gotten a hell of a lot better at this since then.
Oz digs his fingers into Devon's waist, jerking him with his other hand, and then Devon's pushing back, twisting his hips against Oz's rhythm, groaning and pleading. Giles and Xander are like ghosts in the steam and Oz can't-won't blink, he's already on the verge of coming, and their hands are blurred, tan and not-tan, on Giles's cock, and Oz opens his mouth, locks his eyes on Giles's twisting, shining face.
"Harder," Giles says. "Please, Oz, just -"
Nails in Devon's superheated skin, raked down his long back, red tracks and wet tracks and Oz has no rhythm any more, it's just Devon's coiling movement, back and forth and up and down, carrying Oz with him until Devon collapses, arms sliding slickly off Giles's lap, groaning and shaking as he comes.
With Devon down there, the angle's changed, gone deeper and higher, and it yanks Oz's cock in with the contractions and spasms still rocking Devon and his hips are pumping like old pistons, short, wheezy, fast, chasing joy faster and deeper than ever.
He hears Giles tell Xander something. Doesn't catch it, but Xander's pulling Devon up by the arm and Giles is leaning back, face darkening, winking out in the steam, and Oz screws his hips back around the other way as Giles grunts and starts to come, splattering Devon's face.
And Oz is blind, and deaf, and dumb, redblackblue zooming down his back, spearing through his dick, and he freezes. Sees everything go white like morning, like death, and then he starts to come and he can't stop, falling over, around, Devon, arms tangled with Devon's arms, but then he's blinking clear and all he can see is Giles. Giles's face, kissing him, stroking him long and slow, pulling him close and wrapping his arms around Oz.
Devon and Xander might be there. Oz thinks they are, thinks that there's too many hands, and too many different skin textures under his own hands, but all he sees-feels-tastes-knows is Giles, still kissing him.
"Thank you," Giles is whispering against his neck, palming Oz's head, and then Devon's laughter starts up, like water rising out of a spring, bubbling and getting louder, faster.
"Oz, Jesus, the hell was that? *Fuck* me -"
"Just did," Oz croaks, peeling his cheek from Giles's shoulder, and someone, probably Devon, slaps him but someone, probably Xander, is also laughing now.
Sweat runs into his mouth when Oz yawns. He can't catch his breath, not in this heat. "Christ. Is it hot in here? This can't be healthy."
Giles helps him up and somehow, on wetnoodle legs, with balance worthy of the Vomit Comet at Knott's, holding tight to Giles's hand, Oz makes for the door.
"Dude?" Devon asks.
"Oz?" Xander chimes in. "Where're you going?"
He glances over his shoulder; the boys are slumped together on the floor, slick with sweat, red mouths open in wonder.
"Stay long as you like," Oz says, opening the door for Giles, handing him a new towel and taking a deep breath. Oh, bless the fresh air. "Gonna get a manicure. My cuticles suck ass."
He smiles at Giles as he closes the door and takes another breath.
Day's looking up.