Adult-FanFiction.org : Buffy

Diner	By : mshelly Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > Het - Male/Female Views: 1695 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Diner
- 1
I see a bad moon a rising

I see trouble on the way

I see earthquakes and lighting*

Oz turns up the volume. He's always loved this song. And now, well, it just kinda *tickles* him. He doesn't know the station, of course. He doesn't even know where he is, really. Every few hundred miles or so he gives the radio a chance, popping out his warn out tapes and listening, moving up and down the F.M. and A.M. dials, to see what music or talk he can catch. He's somewhere in Arizona, he knows that much. And he's found a nice funky DJ somewhere on his F.M dial. He's listened to Radiohead, Goo Goo Dolls, DMX, and now he's listening to CCR. And all within the same *hour*. It's like the D.J knows him and is playing his background music. Whatever town he's driven into can't be all bad, can it? So he takes the next exit.

I see bad times today.*

And then there's that familiar sign: 'Food and Lodging'. It's his *beacon*, now; that sign is. He still feels mostly hollow inside. Still feels like he's *missing* a part of himself, but that familiar sign? That little stick-man, resting so comfortably in his bed? That fork, plate and that knife? Oh, lord, how comforting they have become to him. His welcome home sign, if you will. No matter what highway he's on, no matter how far away from home he is, he can find *that* sign.

He only has a few minutes left to drive and he'll be able to pull up and into a truck stop driveway. He'll park. He'll get out. He'll dust off his jeans. He'll saunter in and order. He'll order the same thing he ordered two states and five hundred miles ago, and it'll taste just the same. It'll be like he *wasn't* so far from home. Wasn't so far from. . .but never mind that. Never mind *her*.

Oz pulls in and parks, fitting his van between two behemoth rigs. And that doesn't bother him at all, because Oz is cool with himself. With what he is. Short, yeah. That was easy. Wolf? That took a bit longer, but still, Oz is coolness personified. And he's hungry. And he's bored with his own company and he's hoping this diner is playing the same station that made him stop.

Don't go around tonight

Well, it's bound to take your life

There's a bad moon on the rise*.

Yep. Oz smiles, because he was right, CCR is still playing, and he's gotten really *good* at picking diners. He stops just inside the door, thinking. Booth? Or counter? This is where it gets kinda tricky, for him.

People or no people? To chat or not to chat? He never knows for sure. Sometimes he's *off* when it comes to this particular choice. He *thinks* he wants to chat and, so, he'll go to the counter, but he ends up fighting down the wolf and the urge to rip the the throats of banal-chatting folks for no reason other than that they have bored him silly. Or he goes to an isolated booth and then picks up counter chat that is interesting and stimulating, and he'll want to join in on the conversation. But how rude is it to just jump into a conversation? So he stays by the door and watches the waitresses.

The brassy blonde is working the booths. She's in her forties and tired looking. The getting there, but not quite all the way there, tired, redhead, is working the counter. So he goes for the red head and the counter and he doesn't want to think about *why*, he just wants to talk to her and the truckers and order the chicken fried steak.

*************************

She's there in a second, smiling and pouring him fragrant coffee that he *knows* smells better than it tastes. "Hi, hon. Hungry? We've got a great special, going. Chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, all covered in cook' s gravy, and corn, your choice, off the cob or still on it. And pie." She gives him a wink. "Cherry or peach. *Again* you get a choice."

The trucker next to him places a hand on his shoulder. "Order it, son. You sure as hell don't want Mac's meat loaf."

Oz offers the girl a smile. "Yeah. The special sounds fine."

The trucker is pleased. "Where ya headed, boy? Who you haulin' for?" He picks up his mug and slurps coffee.

"I'm just. . . roaming, really." Oz takes a sip of his coffee, turning on his stool to look at the man. "What about you, Sir? Where are you headed?"

The man snorts. "Me? I'm headed back to Florida, of course. Got a *long* haul." He gives Oz a wink and turns to smile at the blonde waitress. "But I don't mind the stop *or* the wait. Nope, not at all." Oz notices the wink the blonde waitress gives him on her way past the counter and smiles. He's bored and tired and he wants to chat, well he wants to *listen* to chat, and he knows this guy isn't leaving until the 3 a.m. shift end so he asks: "So, what are you hauling?" And he smiles again at the red head when she places his dinner before him.

***************

She's got silver studs all up and down her left earlobe so Oz moves his mouth down to her neck and nuzzles there instead. He suckles the drumming pulse, licking at it. She shudders and moans, her knees buckling. Oz bends and sweeps her up, placing her on top of her unmade bed, coming down beside her as he works to loosen the buttons of her uniform.

"I don't usually-"

Oz cuts her off with a kiss, sinking his tongue into her mouth as he cups the breast he has just freed. She's taut and puckered, and *female* and she smells so good. Under the smell of grease and others, she smells *good*. The uniform has buttons all the way down and he continues to kiss her until he can push it open and to the side. She's naked, mostly, clad in nothing but skimpy pink panties. He pulls away from her mouth to tell her how pretty she is. Oz is polite and he knows women like to hear these things. He moves to pull the panties from her, moving back to rid himself of his clothes. When he comes back he pulls her uniform the rest of the way off of her, kissing and licking as he does so. He tells her how pretty she is again. How special. And he feels a small pang of regret, because she's *not* special. Not at all. But she's warm and, yes, she's pretty, and he *does* want her. So he reaches down and into the pocket of his discarded jeans and he pulls out a condom. He places the small foil packet at her mouth, watching, growing harder, as her small white teeth tear it open, and he takes it from her and pulls out the thin sheath and he rolls it on, smoothing it over his erection. He then moves over her and into her and he fucks her, and starts to feel better about this. He feels good. And he does his best to make *her* feel good. Does his best to make her feel special. And the body, the girl, beneath him, moans and grunts and fucks him back and Oz is okay with this. He's content. And when he comes he doesn't shout out Willow's name. He *thinks* Willow's name, of course, but he wouldn't hurt this sweet girl for all the gold in the world. But he doesn't remember her *name*, doesn’t even register it to his brain. But he bite's back Willow's name and he moan's 'yes' as he thrusts inside of her, coming. He wraps his arms around her, holds her close, comes in her, thinks of Willow, and holds her as if she were the most important woman, most special woman, in the world. And he holds her tight as she comes, holding him tight, holds him as if *he* were special and important. And he kisses her when she falls asleep. And he smiles at her as he dresses.

'Cause he really *liked* her. She was a nice girl. And he gives her a soft kiss on the lips just before he leaves.

Don't go around tonight

Well it's bound to take your life

There's a bad moon on the rise.*

And Oz will remember her fondly, forever. He'll remember all of them fondly. He'll remember the towns, he'll remember the diners, and he'll remember the songs. He won't remember their names, but he'll remember each and every one of them. All of them.

All of them that weren't Willow.

And damn if the station isn't gone in less than a half of a mile. So he puts in the almost worn out tape.

I hear hurricanes a blowing

I know the end is coming soon

I feel rivers over flowing

I hear the voice. . .*

Because that song just tickles him, now.

End.

*Bad Moon Rising – Creedence Clearwater Revival
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Diner