Devon And The Menage A Quatre
by Tesla

Another evening at the Bronze, and Devon had been talking about his new girl, the babe with red lips and brown eyes and black hair. "So where is she, this hot chick?" Oz asked, unhooking the amp and shoving back the mike stand. Devon didn't answer, and when Oz looked up, Devon was at the exit door, propping it open. Oz started hauling in the snaking electrical cords and winding them into coils.

"Oh, hey, it's Wolfman Jack," said a husky voice, and Oz turned around to see Faith, all Black Cherry lipstick and charcoal eyeliner, her hands in the pockets of her jacket. "Devon says you two party with a dead dude, and you know that partyin' with the dead is totally my gig."

Oz pulled a strip of duct tape from a roll and bit it with his teeth. "You know him," he said equably. "Angel." He fastened the coil of wires and tossed it in the battered plastic crate.

Faith plucked a cigarette from behind her ear and lit it with a Bic. "Cool. What does B. think about that?"

"Don't know," Oz said. "She doesn't show."

Faith blew a cloud of smoke through her nose. Her smile widened. "In that case, I'm definitely in."

When the van pulled up to the mansion on Crawford, though, there's no vampire in residence. He's left a fire laid ready for lighting, though, and the lights on. "He'll show later," Devon said, carelessly. "Said he had to go take care of some nest of something."

Oz knelt and held his Zippo under the kindling, until the fire started going. "Yeah, heard something about that."

Faith's expression hardened. "Yeah, funny how I'm the second-class Slayer, always late to the party."

"No, no, you are the party," Devon assured her. He held out his hand, and Oz tossed him the lighter.

"All right," Faith said, and pulled off her jacket. She sat down, cross-legged, by the hearth, and watched Devon set out his papers and the baggie of weed. Oz remembered that they had a 12-pack, cooling in the back of the van, and he went out and got it, walking through the living room and taking it to the little kitchen---butler's pantry, Angel said it was, where his mini-fridge was. Oz unpeeled the cardboard carton and shoved the cans of beer amid the containers of blood.

Devon and Faith were shot-gunning smoke. Oz dropped beside them, eyeing their technique critically. "What?" Faith asked, looking at him.

Oz took the doobie from her and inhaled a deep breath, then he put one hand on her chin and fit his mouth to hers, exhaling the smoke in an even breath, pushing it in her mouth with his tongue. She inhaled, her face softening under his fingertips. When he drew back, Devon took the weed from his hand, but Faith didn't let go.

"Wolf," she whispered, and he could feel her wanting to grab at him. She was like a wild young boy, he thought, for all her curves and moves, awkward and graceless. So Oz bent himself to her mouth, and Devon slid behind her, massaging her neck and shoulders.

"Just...chill," Devon murmured. He cradled Faith as she kissed Oz, then kissed her, himself, as Oz unzipped her sleeveless shirt and began mouthing her nipples through the black lace of her bra. He felt Devon's hand on his nape, and he raised his head for Devon's kiss, and felt Faith jerk.

More tokes, more clothes off, and Devon and Oz were refusing to let Faith do anything other than lay back and enjoy. "You're too tense, chick," Devon said. "Just ride." They were all three naked and glowing in the firelight, glowing from sweat and some oil Devon had in his pocket, and when Devon put one slicked finger in Faith's ass while he ate her out, and Oz sucked her breasts, she wailed like a train pulling into a station.

Oz didn't know how long Angel had been watching them, only that he was standing behind the couch, lips parted, staring. Devon, seeing Oz's face, turned his head. "Join the party, man."

So Angel did, dropping his long coat on the couch and coming around to light one of the fatties Devon had lined up on the hearthstone. Faith pulled her pants up, but sat, bare-breasted, as if daring Angel to say something.

Oz could have told her that Angel was more into the mellow. Man had to get a little baked before he wanted to fool around. Oz could, though, invade his space, sling an arm around Angel's neck.

"Hey, Angel, dude," Devon began, "you've got a hell of a lot of room in this place, and Faith, here, lives in a shit-hole."

"Hey," Faith said, without conviction. She lay back in Devon's arms.

"Anyway, I was lookin', and you've got beds 'n' shit upstairs, and I could splice cable---" Oz looked at him. "Oz could splice some cable, and she could be here. It's stupid that she's supposed to go out an' Slay stuff and live on some shitheel allowance."

"Damn straight," Faith said. "Course, B. would tear my eyes out. Or try," she added, hiccuping with laughter.

"You wouldn't fuck the man," Devon said, instructively. "You'd be, like, sharin' dorm space. Can't get the man in trouble with his girlfriend."

They looked at Angel, who stared blankly at them, smoke curling up from the roach in his hand.

He blinked. "What do you think, Oz?"

Oz considered. "I think it's a good idea, but I'm fucked up."

However, somehow, all four of them got in the van and drove to the motel and tossed all of Faith's stuff in, and wound up unloading all of her stuff to a nice bedroom on the second floor, and all the band equipment in the formal dining room. ("Cause who's going to steal from the vampire?" Devon remarked sapiently.) Then, Angel rebuilt the fire, and Devon got the bong out.


When Angel told Giles that he'd let Faith move in, he had Oz for back up, and between them, they managed to make the Watcher feel guilty for letting a young girl stay at a hot-sheet motel. And Giles, in turn, made Buffy feel guilty; Angel conveyed the attitude that he was annoyed rather than pleased, and Faith adapted a sulky, "I'm only here because you make me," attitude.

All of which concealed, nicely, from the Scoobies, that all four of them had woken up, entwined together, in Angel's big bed; and that it wasn't the night that made his eyes almost black.


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