April 9, 1998
Oz pulled his girl close as the music pulsed around them. He tried to tune out his fault-finding with the band, which was not on tonight, not surprising for a Thursday night at the Bronze. He was getting prickles of wolfishness, not too bad for two nights before the full moon, but he felt everything tugging at him. His ears picked up too much, and he had to focus to keep his mind on game.
Fortunately, it wasn't too hard. Willow was an excellent thing to focus on.
The redhead looked up at him, swaying with the music. He pulled her against his chest. She felt so right. He rested his chin on her shoulder, nuzzling her neck. She melted into him, moving limply with the rhythm. His lips suddenly found hers and they were locked onto each other. His hands gripped her back through her sweater as a feeling equal parts exquisite pleasure and painful longing surged through him. Willow was nearly overwhelmed at the rising tide of desire within her, and trembled as Oz whispered to her, "Let's go."
The Osbourne home was dark as the van shuddered to a halt on the street in front of it. Willow looked inquiringly at it and then at him.
"Gone for a long weekend," he said.
"Oh," she replied, a mischievous smile lurking around her lips, enticing Oz to kiss her once again. He pulled her toward him, then discovered that she had not unhooked her seat belt. That prompted caution from him once again.
"We don't have to do this," he said.
Willow smiled and slid out of her seat toward him. "But we want to," she said, then kissed him again, sweeping away all doubts.
They made it inside before the night was out. Barely.