Then he did
by Te 
December 1999

Disclaimers: If they were mine, I'd keep them 
safely locked away. Though not from each 
other.

Spoilers: Nothing but vague hints for the 
Ethan eps.
Summary: Ethan does some thinking.
Rating's Note: R, perhaps.

Acknowledgments: To Linda, because, and to 
Juniper... Consider it a bit on account.

*
And I looked outside
At the corner boys...  
Ay oh, where did you go? I don't know...
    --Jane's Addiction "Then She Did"
*

Transient affairs, all of them. Twenty-five years 
of sexual activity and all Ethan had to show for 
it was a faithful family physician who had 
finally stopped expressing shock that Ethan 
hadn't rotted it off yet. It was rather depressing. 

It made Ethan feel his age. It made him feel it,
smell it, and hear it creak whenever he stood from
a low couch. 

Made him notice whether or not a couch was low. 

It was a disgrace, really. 

What was much, much more of a disgrace was the 
way the whole musing had started. One more bar, 
much dark wood and soft music... The sort of place 
that doesn't ever much change, save, of course, for 
the absence of cigarettes.

Instantly there was his Ripper, one cigarette so 
permanently attached to one corner of his lower 
lip there was actually a slight stain. They'd been 
young enough to find it fascinating, and take a bit 
of pride. Ethan missed resting his tongue there, 
hunting for whatever strange blend he'd 
convinced the man to smoke *this* week.

And then he'd been missing a number of things, 
really -- most of which had been experienced 
through a body far more supple than the one he 
now wore. Ethan often wondered when his vanity 
would finally defeat the narcissism that kept him 
in the old carcass.

He would love to have the world fall at his feet 
again, or at least to their knees.

And an image came to mind then, Ripper too 
drunk to pay more than lip service to his 
testosterone-laced pride, the two of them curled 
against each other, an endless circuit of pleasure.

And *then* had come what could only be described 
as a pang. Sure, there had been other times over 
the years, other fucks, countless other *people*, 
even, but when you got right down to it...

Only Ripper kept him coming back. No matter the
words said, the blows taken, betrayal after 
betrayal... Ethan always came back, and, sooner or 
later, old Ripper would take him in, and lick 
whatever wounds he'd given. Part of the 
entertainment was seeing how much guilt the old 
boy would feel about it, and how much he'd let show. 

"Another beer, Mr. Rayne?"

Ethan looked at the enterprising young weasel at 
the bar (over 30!), took him in from bald-spot to 
the beer spots on his shoes. Willy Cardamon, 
though he doubted many people knew his last 
name. Or many of the *other* sort of patron he 
attracted, for that matter. 

Back in Sunnydale, *again*... Ethan could feel the 
bruises struggling to form already...

"Mr. Rayne?"

"No, Willy... let's just skip straight to the tequila, 
shall we?"

Disgraceful.

*end*