by Jane St. Clair and Te
March 2001

Disclaimers: If they were ours, there'd probably be more angst.

Spoilers: None, really.

Summary: That day, in the attic, with Warren.

Ratings Note: NC-17

Authors' Note: Te's still not sure how this happened. One minute
she was trying to encourage Jane, the next she was somehow sucked in
to her cruel, cruel web of seduction.

Acknowledgments: For Jessica, and Te's sweet we...

Feedback is always in style.,,


Scott's more naked without clothes than anyone else in the world.
Especially when he was so young, and afraid of himself, at that
age... gawky, too thin, but Warren was already perfect and it was
too late because Scott already wanted to touch. Needed to.

And he half-expected Warren to be this vast, glossy, untouchable
surface, and he was shocked by the warmth his fingers
encountered.  Then more shocked by the look Warren gave him,
which was somehow so stripped down that the bare mechanics of
it were visible, like damaged clockwork.  And still braver, stronger,
fiercer, more beautiful than Scott was ever going to be himself.
Warren like liquid sex under his tongue when Scott finally
touched his mouth to that stark, gold collarbone.


Just a kiss. Not even a kiss, or at least not a real kiss with the
open-mouth and spit-swapping thing because it seems. Right
now, this moment, with his mouth against Warren's collarbone
and the sound of his own breath loud in the huge attic, it seems
both dirty and necessary, in a way it hasn't before, and he's
getting an *erection* and his hands ache and the only thing that
will soothe them is Warren's skin but he's frozen. Here.

If he pulls back right now, he can be.  Something.  A tiny tight
ball of wanting deep in Warren's personal space.  Impossible
for Warren not to see his erection, though.  To feel it.  Utterly
unwelcome ache right up until the second that Warren closes his
hand around it and just holds on.  Other hand still at his side.
Very serious blue (purple-blue, and what did pure blue look like,
he can hardly remember) look trained on Scott.

That he can reach through.  Not to Warren's own still-soft cock,
but up behind him to stroke the hard-muscled place between
his wings.  Just softly, but the wings flex at his first touch.
Cutting off the light for split seconds.  And then Scott's hand
runs up to the feathered base of one wing and strokes it and
Warren's hand tightens on him, and it feels so good it almost

And he can't hold back a gasp, stop himself from pressing that
space between Warren's wings a little harder, and it's like a
circuit's been completed.  Something out of physics, the natural
law of whatever they're doing here, now, because Warren is
much closer now.

Heat in the tiny space between them, making Scott's skin prickle,
making him sweat, and it's *need* now. Pure as anything he's
ever felt, and all Scott wants is to touch Warren now, and be
touched God, everywhere. Pushing into Warren's hand and he
feels... no, it's the act itself that makes him gasp again, mouth
open and vulnerable to Warren's first kiss.

Open-mouthed, lips to lips. Sharing air more than anything else
and his vision is going wild, redder. Glimpses, flashes. Warren's
body, Warren's hair flashing gold and red in the sunlight through
the tiny windows, Warren's hand on him, slowly beginning to

Warren's fingers find the vein on the underside of his cock and
stroke it, very carefully, like a map he'll have to follow later.
Tiny breathy laugh against Scott's mouth as he gasps, twist of
a smile.  The eyes half an inch from his glasses are open, but
not malicious.  Only very, very wide.  The pupils are huge.

Embarrassing that he can be led around like this, but it only
takes one pointed tug to draw him in against Warren's body.
Scott's erection tucks against the slight protrusion of Warren's
pelvis, and Warren's hands come around behind him to hold
him there.  Fingers spread over his ass firmly enough that he'd
have to struggle to get loose.

And he thrusts.  Gently a couple of times, to see how it feels,
then hard once.  Which makes his whole spine arch and his head
tip back so that for a second all he can do is breathe hard at the
ceiling.  Bare-throated like someone asking for execution.
Moment of absolute terror as Warren's capped teeth graze his
throat.  Unprepared for the tenderness of it, like the faintest kiss.
Soft lips and just the faintest suggestion of stubble against his

He's going to fall.  For a second he's sure he is.  The window
beside them is an invitation to gravity.  Light and vertigo.  He
grabs at both wings to keep himself upright, and feels Warren
arch against him in response for the first time.  So he closes his
fingers more carefully around the bone-and-feather joints and
massages and discovers that every touch brings a sound out
from between those perfect lips, like feathers moving whip-fast
through the air.

Those sounds, Warren's breath. The hint of words Scott can't
quite understand beyond that they're encouraging. Moves to
the side slightly, the need to mar, to *mark*, to do anything and
he's doing it, slipping his fingers with this awful, tender
intimacy between Warren's on his cock.

Warren's thumb teasing at the moisture there, Warren's hot,
smooth forehead nudging, pushing against Scott's throat and
Scott does it. Rubs the head of his cock against the soft, finely
haired feathers. Against the hot, silky flesh hidden beneath and
Warren's shuddering, moving their hands together, over and
around in crazed circles and loops that make no sense. There's
this incredible building need for more in Scott, and yes, he wants
everything, every vague dirty thought from schoolyard whispers
coalescing into this mass of *want* that makes his knees shake
and he pulls his cock gently out of Warren's grip -- God, he
almost can't at the feel of those calluses on his shaft, rough and
needful at once.

Finally sinking to his knees, finding the slightly damp spot
where the feathers are mussed and leaning in to taste, tongue

Silky hot against his face, wing shifting and moving and Warren
moaning aloud now, Warren's hand in his hair, on his cheek.
Smell of their sex seemingly everywhere and when Scott can
taste only his own spit he moves his face to Warren's still-clothed
erection and nuzzles there, breathing deep and pushing with his
cheek as he feels Warren's hot length twitch and harden behind
the fine cotton.

And maybe if it were someone else's clothes, he'd be willing to
just dive under them, but *Warren's*.  Every article of clothing
as perfect as his wings and teeth.  Wonderful to just press his
face into the soft weave and feel the hard flesh there underneath
it, a vague shape that must be nearly like his own, but oh,
*different*.  And moving, a little, all of its own accord.  Through
the cotton, he opens his mouth around it, presses at the bulge.
Soaks the outer layer, and then suddenly it's salty and warm and
he realizes that Warren's got to be leaking too.

He's aware he's being cradled.  Warren's careful, very careful,
not to knock Scott's glasses loose, but everything except the
carefully positioned wrists is desperate.  Fingers at the base of
his skull move him, push him in, stroke his face desperately.
Tip of a finger in his mouth beside the now-soaked cloth and
the flesh inside pressing outward.

Far too much like reverence when Scott drops his whole body
low, stares up, and unzips the tailored trousers.  His invisible
eyes huge the way Warren's eyes are huge.  Just enough of an
angle that he has to raise his chin to keep the erection pressing
out in his sights, that instead of hitting his mouth, it rubs along
his cheek beside Warren's hand, leaving a cool, sticky trail that
Scott traces with a finger and brings almost absently to his
own lips.

He brings the finger out, wet from his mouth, and traces the
soft edges of the cock with it.  Loves the shudder he gets in
response, and the wing-flare that changes the light around him

To make himself tall enough, he has to bring his knees under
him again, and when he pushes up, he's fiercely aware of his
own erection hanging between his legs.  Nakeder this way than
he's ever been before.  Cold where the light doesn't touch him.

Scott opens his mouth, very carefully, and takes the head of
Warren's cock inside.  Pauses at the noise Warren makes: a sob
like he might actually burst into tears, or like he can't breathe.
Sounding very, very young.  And he's just about to stop, to let
go and straighten and ask what's wrong when Warren's hands
both slide down around his skull and tilt his head upward,
making a straight line of his throat and holding him there.  So
that suddenly his mouth is *deep*, deeper than he could have
imagined, and his teeth aren't such a threat to the delicate skin
on his tongue, and when Warren *thrusts* convulsively, somehow
he can still breathe.  Scary but not terrifying, and he's more than
prepared to stay here and worship.

Only.  One hand's fingers reach out and sink themselves into
the wings again, pulling them in a little closer.  Letting Warren
feel that while Scott's other hand slides around to the base of
his spine and strokes down from there.

Hot and cold and needful and Warren, perfect Warren in his
mouth. No tease, no snide, hurtful words. No pride as he thrusts
deep into Scott's mouth, moaning and gasping, eyes huge,
searching for Scott's own and *thrusting*.  Slick, hard heat
pressing down on his tongue, just the right size for his mouth,
and the sudden desperate knowledge that this is what he's made

This, right here, and nothing else, Warren pushing into him
again and again, dripping pre-come all over his tongue for Scott
to lick and taste, brushing at the back of his throat just barely
soft enough not to make Scott cough.

Warren's fingers digging a rough massage against the back of his
skull, demanding this and Scott's flushing hot, helpless drool
ribboning down the side of his chin and he has to stop *that*, such
a mess, so right and he swallows just as Warren thrusts and
suddenly Warren sinks in that last inch and Scott's nose is buried
in Warren's musk and Scott's hands grip too hard for a heartbeat
and his eyes are wide and this. This is being fucked.

Being *taken* and Scott groans helpless, feels as though he's
*geysering* pre-come and Warren thrusts harder now, faster, and
it hurts and it's wonderful and it over too soon as Warren gushes
hot down his throat, hands gripping hard enough to leave bruises,
groin flush against Scott's face, sobbing out an unnameable sound
before slumping, near-collapsing, slipping still hard from Scott's
wet mouth.

A moment, breathing, Scott's eyes wet and he can feel it all again,
his own need painful now and he thinks he might beg but Warren
finally does fall to his knees, wrap Scott in arms and wings and
kisses him very hard.

Just that pressure against him is almost enough.  Mostly-naked
Warren-body against his own profound nakedness, his mouth
forced farther open than he would have believed it would go,
and he can almost believe that Warren's looking for his own
taste in Scott's mouth.

Then Warren settles a bit, onto his knees with the wings safe
behind him, and pulls Scott into his lap.  Sitting cross-wise with
his back against an arm that's more substantial than he'd thought
it would be, and his shoulder against Warren's shoulder, and he's
surprised, because this is actually *tender*, and it's the last thing
he expected.  Safe angle to keep kissing while Warren grips him,
hard, just behind the head of his cock, and starts stroking.  Not
fast, but tight, making every callous count.  Eyes closed now,
kissing wet into Scott's mouth and holding him around the

He's grateful for that support when he comes.  Not instantaneous,
but like something being *pulled* out of him by every deliberate
stroke along his length.  The noises he's making in his throat make
him sound like a kid, or an animal, or like he's crying, and there
are even more tears on his face, now.  Too wired not to let his
body twist while Warren continues to stroke him right up until
he goes soft.  And even then, Warren's hand stays there,
protective between his legs, rolling his balls slowly in the palm
of one hand.

Scott breathes in convulsively, and relaxes.  Is struck, suddenly,
by the radiance around them, just behind his head.  By Warren's
hands, one on his balls and the other cradling his face.  By the
raw, naked eyes staring at him.  Waiting.

Doesn't know what to do or say but everything's been pulled out
of him, fear and shame and everything but the need for Warren,
for more, not urgent so much as pervasive. Scott nudges against
Warren's leg to encourage him to stretch out in a V, holding eye
contact and forgetting to breathe, too much to gasp and lose this
touch, this connection he can't even begin to understand.

Finally shifts back between Warrens legs, back to chest, soft cock
nudging against the base of his spine, arms wrapped around his
chest and Scott can almost, almost relax.

"Was that. Was that OK?"

Warren responds by bending his head, and gently mouthing
and kissing the juncture of throat and shoulder, slowly and

The sun is warm, the dust bright soft sparkles in the pleasantly
musky air, and Scott eases. Lets his head fall to Warren's shoulder
and closes his eyes.