Oz lay below him on the bed, shaking. Something in Xander's heart broke for the poor terrified creature. He smoothed Oz's hair back, saying, "Hey. Hey. It's okay, it's just me," but Oz only clutched at him and buried his face in Xander's neck.
Xander wrapped his arms around Oz's skinny shoulders, stroked his back. He could feel his dick softening, against Oz's thigh, from the abrupt shift in mood. The way this night had been going, Xander was going to get emotional whiplash. He kissed Oz's temple tentatively. Oz sighed.
Xander turned Oz's face up to his, and kissed him on the mouth, but gently. He could feel Oz relax a fraction, and deepened the kiss. Their mouths opened gradually; their tongues met—and suddenly, it was a whole different story: Oz kissed harder, mashing lips against lips, teeth clacking and hands wandering, fingertips ghosting over Xander's spine, thumbs stroking his hipbones; Oz's hands were everywhere and Xander was lost in a sea of hands while he struggled to keep up. Oz ran a quick palm down Xander's chest to his navel, then slowed and stopped right above Xander's newly hard cock. He pulled away, grinning wolfishly at Xander, a gold glint in his eye as he wrapped his legs around Xander's, thrusting their hips together violently. Xander's cock ached when they separated.
"Wow," gasped Xander, "that was quite the turnaround, buddy."
"Don't talk," growled Oz, flipping Xander over with surprising strength for such a small body.
But then, Xander reflected, it wasn't so surprising. Oz was a werewolf, after all; like Buffy, he was stronger than he looked. Damn those supernatural powers; Xander had to work out like a regular person. Anyway, he should stop getting distracted during sex; that internal monologue thing was going to get him into trouble one day.
Oz was making his way down Xander's chest now, with the kissing and the sucking and the—oh God, was he going to have to worry about becoming a werewolf now? Because that was definitely a bite. Xander decided he didn't care, and immediately shut off the part of his brain that worried about these things. Not that it wasn't mostly shut off already; Oz was taking care of that. Xander contented himself with carding his fingers through Oz's hair, he supposed rather harder than he intended when he elicited a growl from the smaller man now lapping at the hollow by his left hipbone.
"God, Oz," said Xander, "you have a demon tongue, I swear, I can't remember the last—"
"I said," said Oz, "don't. Talk." And he promptly swallowed Xander's cock whole, thereby ensuring that his order would not be followed.
Xander couldn't help it: he babbled during sex.
"Oh God, oh God, Oz! That feels sofuckinggood. Your mouth is on fire, so wet, and sweet, and how the hell can it be sweet when I'm not even tasting it? I guess the word just came to me, but wait, don't stop—no! Don't stop!" Oz had pulled back, looking sardonically up at Xander, but Xander, caught up in the moment, pushed his head back down. Oz shook him off, catching him in a searing kiss while he worked Xander's cock with one slippery hand. The other reached down between his thighs to cup his balls and finger the puckered hole just a small stretch of skin behind them, which actually made Xander whimper into Oz's mouth out of pleasure and shock. That Oz would do such a thing! That Oz would do such a thing. Xander shuddered with desire. He scrabbled blindly with his left hand, trying to find the drawer in his bedside table where he kept the lube, but grasped only air.
After a few moments of indecision, he broke off the kiss to actually look around. Ah. He was about three feet off. So much for a carpenter's internalized sense of distance. They must have gotten a bit lopsided on the bed. Xander squirmed underneath a vise-like Oz, but eventually got the drawer open and the lube out.