Subject: [glass_onion] FIC: Controlled Panic (BtVS) (1/1) Date: Monday, June 24, 2002 6:31 PM
Title: Controlled Panic
Disclaimer: If they were mine, Season Three sex would be a hella lot more graphic.
Spoilers: Specifically for "Graduation Day, Part I."
Feedback: It's the best kind of crack. email: email@example.com
Distribution: My site, http://hole.nodist.net. List archives, BFA. Just ask.
Author's Notes: A bunny I'd forgotten about, but dug up from the cobwebs. This is the missing scene where Oz and Willow get it on. I've seen a couple of different takes on it. Here's mine. Kind of a opportunity to break up the darkness of Season Six. Ah, those days of yore.
Summary: Oz could think of nothing he'd rather do than kiss Willow Rosenberg out of her babble.
And he was kissing her.
Oz could think of nothing he'd rather do than kiss Willow Rosenberg out of her babble. She babbled when she was unsure, angry, sad, fearful anytime something scared her, the string of words would not cut off until he closed her mouth with a kiss. Which is what he was doing now.
"Panicking," he said in his normal dry tone, wondering if she would be able to detect the undercurrent of anxiety and passion that was closer to the surface than he liked. The word was more to him than she could realize; she probably thought he was just being sarcastic.
Inside, the havoc never ceased. The constant buzz of the wolf was ringing in his ears, pressing closer to the warm body before him, threatening to escape from the small box deep within he could never bring himself to look at too closely.
It all came down to control, and he felt it slipping farther away when her hand brushed his cock. He couldn't avoid the low rumble that escaped his throat, and there it was, the panic, the loss of control.
He kept his lips seared to her mouth, meeting every impassioned thrust of her tongue with his own. He didn't want it this way, he wanted it to be slow, he wanted her to have everything perfect and romantic and soft with candlelight and strawberries, but they tried that all before and it wasn't right at all. This moment, this crazed, edgy moment when they should be thinking about mass carnage and spells and good versus evil, this was right and good and oh-
The last thought was lost when she pulled him to the bed and he saw the flush that had crept up her face. His thumb reached to caress her cheekbone, and she straddled him. Their clothes seemed nonexistent. Her eyes fluttered closed as she positioned herself just over his dick and he saw some of the wolf in her too, just for a moment, because then he pulled her flush to him and the last remnants of his seemingly endless control were forgotten.
Kissing Willow. Touching Willow. She was his - his mate, lover, mate, and he had her all around him. Biting, sucking, licking, touching, and he felt more real than ever before. Shirts disappeared, shoes kicked off, pants unbuttoned. Such an animal, came the thought. And he wondered who he was thinking of, himself or her?
He pulled from their continuing kiss, grasping her shoulders with hands that seemed stronger than before, and was that a gray hair on the back of his arm? Control, he thought to himself. It's here somewhere.
Her face was tilted upwards, eyes closed, lips caught in a half-kiss, and he wondered at the complete stupidity of the man who would pull from that, from her. He fell for her once again, as he had done a thousand times before. Her eyes opened halfway.
"Don't ... don't stop..."
He almost gave in, almost, but one thought held him back. This was everything he wanted, everything he had craved since the first night he saw her, since she walked past him that Halloween, since they waited in his van outside the military base. She was only thinking of him. No Apocalypse, no Buffy, no Xander. There were only the two of them there on the bed, in the room, in the house, in the entire universe.
His hands shook as he choked the words out. "Do you want this?" he heard himself ask, impossibly scared of what her answer might be. He noticed suddenly that he was here. Without the usual detachment that accompanied his every waking moment, the only thing that kept the wild half him in check. He was here, all of him, and that meant she could touch all of him, feel all of him ... hurt all of him.
His breath was uneven, and he could hear in the forefront of his mind the rapid beating of her heart and the ragged breaths that mirrored his own. Willow's arm snaked around his neck, pulling his face ever closer until their lips were just barely touching.
"Never stop," she said just as he pounced on her mouth.
It was like drowning, it was like breathing, it was like finally realizing what your purpose in life was. He was running his cock up and down her thigh, and she had clamped her legs around his waist, and he barely noticed the pink underwear before it was halfway across the room. Their kisses had turned savage now, and Willow was pushing just as hard as he was.
They rarely played this game; their kisses were soft and sweet and romantic and in love. But this, it was as if Willow had tapped into his soul, into his wolf, and was something other than herself. It was the power he occasionally brushed at, but dearly hoped would stay locked down as deep as his own. They were a force to be reckoned with, the Werewolf and the Witch, and if they weren't careful they could lose everything.
Oz almost wished he could stay with these thoughts, but he was too distracted by Willow's teeth sinking into his shoulder. He wanted to howl, he wanted to keen, but he settled for a low moan and frantic humping against her leg.
Hard, fast, brutal, that's what he craved now. Warm, wet, tight, and he wanted to be careful, doesn't want to hurt her, but unless he gets release soon there won't be much of either of them left.
Tugging on his earlobe, Willow scrambled for the drawer in her nightstand, fumbling around until she found the square packet that would separate them in a way the wolf hates. The sight made him wonder how Willow managed to get condoms without running in the other direction. She put it between his teeth, and he tore, and there was a swift roll of latex and one smooth swipe and-
He was in. Oh. This was where he belonged. His territory. His. He could smell the blood he forced from her, and that's its own marking. She urged him on, pulling him up to her and nipping at his lips. He thrust, slowly at first, but it built so quickly and too soon he was straining to get all the way in.
They both bent backwards, and who knew they were so flexible, but there it was. The sweet spot, the edge even sharper than that between his human and his wolf.
It was no longer Oz and Willow. It's the wolf and his mate and they were panting, making each other's breath and marking. Little bites and new bruises and claw marks down his arm. She fell back with her eyes closed, all flushed and sated and absurdly content. He sniffed her, smelled himself on her, burying his nose in her hair till she laughed at the tickle. He pulled out, and slipped the condom off, and drew her to him till they spooned. She shivered, and pulled the covers over them.
She turned to look at him, and with a sleepy smile said, "That was nice."
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