Bleeding remnants of the sunset spill over the horizon and into the valley. Oz takes another pull from his beer and hands the bottle silently to Xander. The colors seep across the sky, stealing the light from below. The winds, as is their habit, pick up at the turning of the day, swirling the leaves before letting them sleep for the night. Oz shivers at the cold puffs skittering across his skin. Xander lays an arm across his shoulder, tugs him closer.
"So, tomorrow. . ." Xander says.
Oz nods. Waits. In the morning Xander will go back down the mountain, back to the good fight. Healed and hale and healthy as Oz and the empty sky and clear water and dancing stars can make him. Back to watching and fighting and helping and giving and filling holes in others' lives with pieces of himself until there's nothing left.
Until he comes back again.
With a sigh, Xander lays his head on Oz's shoulder. Shivers a little himself. "No sense in asking, is there?"
"No." Oz won't leave the mountain. And Xander knows this already, understands, and really wouldn't change it.
Xander sets the beer down, pulls Oz closer. "I'd stay if I could," he says as quiet as the first houselights appearing below them.
Again Oz nods. Then he twists his head, kisses Xander's hair softly, benediction, sacrament. Curse.
The sky above them darkens, night pulling its cover over the earth. Changing of the guard, as eternal as the tides.
Eventually they stumble back to the smithy and chase the warmth of skin and sweat. Kisses with tongue and teeth and denied despair are passed as casually between them as the beer bottle had been. Xander rolls to his back, opens for Oz, empty hole and overfull eye caressing Oz's skin and face as sure as callused hands. Then it's home, Oz thrusting into warmth as certain and constant as the winds, pillowed by need and blanketed by stars. Joy sweeps up between them, a promise and a litany and a curse as well. The room spins with passion that they ride beyond the cold night sky and into each other, once again.
Dawn comes with grey clouds and silent eyes, watching, waiting. . .
Then leaving, once again.