Rating: PG
Author: Trekker
Pairing: Spike/Oz
Fandom: Buffy
Deepest darkest Africa, they used to say. And it was true. Deep and dark, out here at least, far away from city lights. The stars littered the sky like lint on black fabric, the Milky Way a pale river cutting through the middle, from horizon to horizon.
The only light came from bonfires, surrounded by dark-skinned tribes-people who could still see demons, who could still cast wards to keep them out of circles of brush and grass, homes more solid and safe than those modern boxes back in Sunnydale.
Spike stopped outside of the circle of warm light, listening to the laughter and chatter within. Then turned and began to walk away, find a sheltering tree, something to keep him up and out of the reach of the lions and such.
It was out by the pen holding a restless herd of cattle that he found him. A smudge of white against a dark tree trunk.
“Hey,” he said, “I know you.”
Any other day, maybe it would have felt good to see the kid scramble to his feet, brandishing his guitar in front of him like some kind of shield. Today, though, it just made him say, “Whoa, hey, easy. Still can’t bite, here.”
Oz slowly lowered the guitar to his side.
“Ah. So, you’re still...”
Oz waggled a finger at his skull.
“Uh. Yup,” Spike said, “Still got the... what’re you doing here, anyway?”
The boy settled back down, cradled the guitar on his knee, hugged to him with one arm, like it was a child.
“Heard stories.”
“Yeah, me too,” Spike said, and shook his coat back out of the way, dropped down cross-legged on the ground, turned sideways to the kid. The dust was hard-packed and unforgiving. “So... they true? Some... cave-demon or what-all grants wishes ‘round here?”
One shoulder lifted in a shrug, and the boy strummed a soft chord. Then a second chord. Enough to make Spike say, “’Pretty Vacant’?” which prompted a ghost of a smile.
“Yeah,” Oz said, and ran through a bit more of the opening bars, before he added, “Heard the only way to find it is if you already know where it is.”
Spike sighed. Buggered wish-granters, always thinking themselves so special, hiding behind their riddles and their enchantments and their quests.
“Always the way, ain’t it?” he said, with heartfelt disgust.
“Seems like,” Oz said, with the air of one who had jumped through such hoops before, and the hint of darkness in his eyes, in the small furrow of his brow, suggested that rarely had all the hopping come to any real good.
They were quiet for a moment, no sound but for the voices of the Masaii, drifting across the savannah, and the shifting hooves and whooshing breath of the cattle.
“Gotta have the whole mystique thing, eh?” Spike said, “Middle of nowhere, dead of night--well, that works all right for me, of course--hiding out in some cave...”
“Guess that’s what makes it worth something. The challenge,” Oz said.
“Well, sure. If you’re gonna use logic.”
That got another smile.
“Better watch it. You’re sounding like Xander.”
*Xander*? Bloody--
“Hey, now. No need to be insulting.”
They were both silent for awhile.
Oz asked about Sunnydale. Spike told him. They talked. Mostly, Spike talked.
“Hurt her,” Spike said, eventually, deep into the night. “Buffy. I hurt her. I can’t... couldn’t... had to... I’m... what I am...”
Oz just looked knowing. Then kissed him.
***
Oz had rules. Stay away from army bases. Never accept rides from someone with alcohol on their breath.
Don’t sleep with vampires wasn’t one of them.
Not because it wasn’t a good idea in general. It was. It really was. The reason it wasn’t a rule was more because it was a given. Like, don’t jump off cliffs or don’t point loaded guns at yourself.
So, technically, sprawling out in the back of his jeep with this cool, pale body stretched out over his own wasn’t actually breaking any of his rules. Which was cool, ‘cause really, it was kinda nice. It’d been awhile since he’d had another body against his own. Been awhile since he’d stretched out and felt all his muscles kind of *settle* in that way they had after a damn good orgasm.
Since he’d had this nice echoing ache inside of him.
Even if, ever since Willow, ever since Veruca, he’d stuck to guys pretty much exclusively. Guys didn’t bring back memories. Guys didn’t ask questions.
It was getting on toward dawn, and the sky in the east was turning a shade of slate grey, down low over the savannah. Gnarled old trees and waving grasses stood out, stark black silhouettes against the encroaching light.
His non-rule-breaking vampire had been asleep for probably a couple hours now. Oz had been lying awake, though, and just experiencing it, everything. The soft night breeze lifting the sweat from his skin. The distant sound of some large animal, lowing in the night.
The stars above him were washed out now, their numbers cut down from breathless infinity to the scattering that had always hung, weakly, over the roofs of Sunnydale, their brilliance beaten down by artificial light and human indifference.
He nudged the cool body that lay on top of him, and for a moment, nothing happened, Spike was as still as... death... but then, he shifted, grunted and pulled back, just enough to look down at Oz, blinking sleep out of his eyes.
“Huh?”
Oz tilted his chin towards the sky.
“Dawn soon. We should go.”
Spike craned his head way back to look up. Not the most practical way to do it, but somehow, even after knowing him only a short time, the pointless but extravagant effort seemed in character to Oz.
“Oh. Yeah,” Spike said, and then he was pulling away, sitting up, running a hand through his messy hair and only making it worse. Oz raised one brow, just slightly, at the jagged chaos.
“Your roots are showing,” he said, after he’d sat up as well, and they sat on opposite sides of the van, stark naked and looking at each other.
Spike’s eyes rolled upward, as though he could actually see his own hair, and he touched it again.
“Yeah. Not really got time to deal with it, what with the intercontinental travel and all.”
“Yeah,” Oz says. “Kinda let mine go, myself. Dyed it enough so my natural color’s kinda startling, anyway.”
Spike grinned.
“I like you,” he said, “You’re all right. Not like the rest of that lot, all high and mighty and whatnot.”
Spike had told him how Buffy had died and come back. How Giles had left them. How Xander had left Anya, who Oz best remembered as that girl in a bunny costume, at the altar.
How Tara had left Willow and how Willow had quit magic.
He was glad. Not that Tara had left. Just that Willow was giving it up. The magic had always worried him. She was better off without it.
*Better off without Tara.*
He shook that thought off uncomfortably.
“So, hey,” Spike said. “What now?”
Oz shrugged.
“Find the cave.”
Spike frowned a bit.
“Yeah, about that,” Spike said, “You know... after. I can’t... can’t stay.”
“I know. The point, isn’t it?”
Spike was wide-eyed and looked young, like a child.
“Yeah.”
“Blanket in the back,” Oz said. If Spike got down under the seats with it, it should be enough to keep him dust-free.
Oz pulled on his pants and T-shirt and climbed into the front seat, started the motor.
“Off to see the wizard, eh?” Spike said from the back, and they drove off into the golden savannah.
The End