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Chapter 2

For the next two nights, Spike treated Oz to more of the same, sneaking into the cage and jacking off against him, not letting Oz shower until after they’d sparred so that Spike’s scent would linger all day. 

On the third night, a handful of days before the full moon, rather than lock the boy away in his cage, Spike snapped a manacle around one ankle, securing the short length of chain attached to it to a bolt hole in the ground, and had him sleep in the bed. Oz had been nervous, his body tense and trembling slightly, unsure what to expect, but had settled down quickly enough when Spike walked away soon after and returned to the couch and his television show. He waited until the boy had gone to sleep before making his way back to bed, stripping off, and climbing beneath the blankets. He barely managed to stifle a groan as he wrapped himself around Oz’s body, the heat emanating from it warming him much better than the sheets ever could. 

Oz barely twitched in his sleep as Spike rubbed himself off against his back, and he smirked even as he grunted his release, pleased that his constant presence had penetrated the werewolf’s natural defenses and no longer saw Spike as a threat. Spike drifted off, curled around the boy’s back, one arm wrapped possessively around his waist. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike woke sometime later, hard. Oz had turned over at some point and was furiously rubbing against him, more asleep than awake, but desperate to get his end away. His grin Cheshire-like, Spike rolled Oz onto his back and settled between his legs. He debated waiting until the boy woke fully before bringing them off, but decided against it – for one, he was too horny to wait – figuring there was time yet for Oz to realize what he was doing and with whom. Besides, Oz was whining so prettily, and who was he to say no to a little begging? 

It was over with far too quickly, in his opinion. But then, Oz had been so close himself, and when he came, Spike could do nothing but follow along in the boy’s wake. His eyes gleamed yellow as he stared at the rapidly beating pulse in Oz’s neck, shown to perfection when he threw his head back while in the grips of his climax. Spike’s fangs elongated, and he knew he had to have a taste, purring his pleasure when the blood burst onto his tongue when he bit deep – magic and power and strength, old as time. 

Spike took only a handful of swallows, and he wasn’t surprised that Oz was awake and staring up at him when he drew away, eyes gone black. Lust, confusion, and wariness battled for dominance as he panted heavily in his post-orgasmic haze. His mouth opened to voice a question, but Spike rolled away to lie on his back. 

“Feel better, yeah?” Spike asked, cutting him off as he reached for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. 

Oz, naturally, remained quiet, but Spike didn’t hold that against him. Before today, Oz had only seen him as lord and master. Spike demanded, Oz gave, no questions… or objections. 

Now the boy had some inkling of what else Spike had in mind. 

There was surprise, and a bit of uncertainty, in Oz’s voice when he finally answered in the affirmative. 

“Good,” Spike grunted. “Better rest up, then. Not going to go easy on you later just because you got your end away.” 

Spike smiled in the darkness when Oz turned on his side and attempted to sleep. By the time Spike had finished his cigarette, the boy had drifted off once again and didn’t even flinch when Spike resettled behind him. 

True to his word, Spike didn’t go easy on Oz when they sparred. If anything, Spike kicked it up a notch, determined to teach him everything he could with the limited time he had left. 

~*~*~*~*~

Mid-afternoon on the first night of the full moon, Spike called an early halt to their sparring session and walked off the mat, grabbed his shirt and shoes and put them on. 

Oz raised one eyebrow but waited for Spike to tell him what was going on. 

“Getting late. Time to hit the streets,” Spike told him as he stood and pulled on his duster. “Your things are in the closet.” 

Spike nodded towards a slim door against the far wall and rifled in his pocket for a cigarette while Oz dressed. 

“Come on,” he muttered around the cigarette held between his lips and headed towards the side door and yanked it open. He stepped out into the alley, Oz on his heels. 

“Get in.” 

Oz responded to the harsh command and quickly opened the front passenger door and slid into the seat. He was unable to see a thing, given the blackened out windows, and contented himself with closing his eyes and leaning his head against the seat back. 

The loud rumble of the DeSoto’s engine eventually lulled him into a fitful sleep. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Spike saw the boy close his eyes. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly and he wondered – not for the first time – if he was making a mistake. By letting the werewolf free rein out in the wild, Spike was taking a chance that he’d bolt. A gamble on his part, but necessary. 

Only time would tell if his decision would pay off. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike sighed and flicked the stub of his cigarette away. Even without a watch, he knew several hours had gone by. There was no sign of the boy, and he had to conclude that he’d made a mistake. 

‘Shoulda’ waited.’ 

He’d thought for a moment there at the end that he’d reached Oz, or barring that, had gotten him addicted to the blood he’d been secretly feeding him, thus ensuring his return. 

His fingers brushed over his lips; he could still taste the boy in his mouth. 

Just minutes before Oz had changed, Spike had turned in his seat and drawn him close and kissed him. The boy had remained passive beneath him, neither rejecting nor actively participating – at least until the very end. 

Then Oz had drawn back and cried out, his features twisting in agony as the change began. 

Spike had grumbled at the untimely interruption and climbed out from behind the driver’s seat to walk around to the other side of the DeSoto. He’d opened the passenger door and a few seconds later, Oz, in werewolf form jumped out. Surprisingly, he hadn’t immediately taken off, instead waiting, his head cocked to the side, as if for a command. 

“Well, go on then,” Spike had huffed. “Time for the hunt.” 

Another cock of his head, then he’d loped off. 

Now, sitting on the hood of his car, having chain-smoked his way through his pack of cigarettes to while away the time, Spike cursed long and fluently. Trying to track Oz now would gain him nothing but hours wasted in the endeavor. Frustration made him want to put his fist through something, and he hated that there was nothing around on which to take his anger. 

Nothing to do but to return to Sunnydale and hope that’s where the boy would wind up. 

He wasn’t giving up yet. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Oz settled into his old routine, as if he’d never been kidnapped by Spike. 

Willow, naturally, had been tearful at his sudden return, alternately hugging him and crying on his shoulder. The gang had each treated him to their own brand of welcome – backslapping and handshakes and hugs all around – and been upset on his behalf while they’d sat in Giles’ living room during an impromptu Scooby meeting, called once he’d shown up at the watcher’s front door. 

Oz had glossed over the intimate details of his capture, saying only that Spike had caught him unawares in Los Angeles and had retaken the ring intended for Angel, then gone one further and taken him hostage. 

There’d been much speculation as to why by the gang, and he’d remained calm in the face of Giles’ probing look and leading questions. Thankfully, he’d made a timely escape because of the approaching moonrise and his need to be locked away in his cage before it happened. 

Though his friends were well-meaning, he had no desire to rehash his time spent with the vampire. As far as he was concerned, it was a private matter, and not open for discussion or dissection, either by them, or by him. 

Better to put the matter behind him and move forward. 

Which was what he was doing now. Talking to Veruca about band-related things, waiting for his girlfriend to show. 

Then she did, and it became awkward. 

So very awkward. 

“You know? I gotta bail. Um, I’ll call you later.” 

And he walked away, leaving Willow and Veruca behind. He missed completely Veruca’s calculating look and Willow’s crushed expression. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

His cage was similar to the one Spike had made for him and Oz locked himself inside and stripped out of his clothes, wrapping himself up in a blanket afterwards. There were still several hours until sunset and Oz settled on his pallet and tried to sleep. But like the day before, sleep just wouldn’t come. 

Instead, his mind replayed his time with Spike, from start to finish. How he’d woken early the next morning after being let loose by the vampire, back in his cell, the werewolf instinctively returning to what it had come to regard as home. 

That alone had freaked him enough to scrounge around frantically for some clothes – Spike’s, and rather large on his slight frame. He’d made a collect call to Devon, who’d wired him some money – no questions asked – for a bus ticket home. 

The change happened sometime while Oz was locked away in his memories. In werewolf form, he paced back and forth along the cage, hating being locked away, unable to roam free, unable to… hunt. 

Suddenly, he froze, and sniffed the air. 

Waited. 

Some part of him recognized Spike as he stepped into view, smoking a cigarette. 

“Can’t tell me you enjoy being locked away in there. What say I let you out?” 

Oz’s ears pricked, almost as if he understood what was being said. A second later, Spike had the lock ripped off and the cage door swung outward. 

“Well, go on then,” Spike called out and made a sweeping gestured with his hand towards the entrance. “People to see, things to kill. Time for the hunt.” 

Spike smiled when the wolf nudged his side in thanks before racing out of the cave. Oz’s howl of delight at being free drifted on the wind, and Spike chuckled. 

Soon. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Oz woke when the sunlight hit his face and he stretched – then froze. He wasn’t alone. Beside him, something gave a sultry moan, and he felt a brush of warm fingers along his flank. 

“What—?” He rose up on his elbows and turned his head to the side. 

“Hey.” 

Veruca smiled. 

“Uh…” 

He wasn’t sure how he’d met up with Veruca, and had only a vague recollection of— 

Spike. 

Spike had come back to Sunnydale, had found his cage. 

Set him free. 

Oz scrambled away from Veruca – ignored her outburst that they belonged together – and ducked into the nearest dorm laundry room to steal some clothes. He’d figured out immediately what she was, and he wanted nothing to do with her. 

They didn’t belong together. 

Not now. Not ever. 

Willow was his girlfriend. The one he was supposed to be with. 

Or so he kept trying to tell himself. 

Spike was gone when he got back to his cage to retrieve his own clothes. He didn’t waste time wondering at the vampire’s motives or the reason for his return. 

He’d promised Buffy and the others he’d help Mrs. Summers at the gallery, and he was running late. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“Hey, guys. Sorry I’m late,” Oz announced as he stepped inside the gallery. The bell on the door clanked loudly in his ears. 

“Oz! Hey!” 

Willow’s greeting seemed unnaturally bright, and Oz mentally winced. He’d hurt her with his abrupt departure yesterday, and he promised himself he’d make it up to her once they were finished. 

“Hey.” He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze and was gifted with a shy smile. “So… moving?” 

“Yep!” Buffy called out, having returned from the back room. “Mom got a new shipment of artifacts from Africa. A bunch of Chira— Chirwi- something.” 

“Chirawa,” Mrs. Summers corrected, not for the first time. “I’m going to need to move a few things around in here to make space for them, preferably up near the front window. Buffy—” 

“Got it,” Buffy replied, already heading to the front display to remove what was there. 

“I’ll help,” Willow added, following Buffy. 

“Thank you, girls. Xander, Daniel, if you could help me open the crates?” 

“Sure thing, Mrs. Summers,” Xander replied. He and Oz trailed after the elder Summers. 

With the four friends following Mrs. Summers’ direction, it took barely a handful of hours to complete the move and they were now benefiting from her thanks by eating pizza and guzzling coke in the back room. 

Oz allowed the easy camaraderie of his friends to float around him, content to remain on the periphery and listen. It kept his mind off other things, things he’d rather not think about. 

They hung out there for the remainder of the day rather than go somewhere else, though when the others wanted to head to the Bronze, Oz let them go on without him; he still had another night of the cage to endure.

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