Wall 2
by the Webrain
August 2000

Disclaimers: If they were ours, we'd lay a tarp down first.

Spoilers: None, really.

Summary: Ethan wants more.

Ratings Note: NC-17 for smut, violence, and imagery some
readers may find disturbing.

Authors' Note:

Acknowledgments: To the lovely Dawn Sharon, for moaning
all pretty-like.

Feedback: Lusted for here.

*

debitchan: <cuddling happily>  Let us do something.
Daddy793: Something terrifying?
debitchan: Like seedless grapes that aren't really? <snerk>
I dunno.  I don't know what I'm in the mood for.
Daddy793: <giggle> That just popped into my head.
debitchan: <snickering>
Daddy793: Let's think of beautiful things.
debitchan: Xander.
Daddy793: Like Ethan showing up to get his own back with Xander,
or perhaps just get some period.
debitchan: Ooooohhhhhhhh!
debitchan: Xander wearing jewelry.
Daddy793: Ethan with a gift of jewelry for Xander.
debitchan: And yessss.  Ethan.
debitchan: Oh yum.
debitchan: Ankle bracelet?
Daddy793: Yeah. Simple silver chain...

"Is that any attitude to have, Xander? Silver is quite powerful... and
perhaps useful given your... fascinating living arrangements."

"No one invited you in."

"I'm a warlock, not a vampire."

"And I'm the guy who'll kick your ass, not the guy you drop in on for
tea and innuendo."

And Ethan moves off the bed, settles in Xander's chair with a smile
for the ropes that are still attached from Xander's Spikesitting days.

Xander scrubs a hand over his face. The only good thing about being
woken up by an evil sorcerer biting your nipple and moving away too
fast to be punched for it is that Xander's too tired and pissed to be
embarrassed. Much.

Had he really thought fucking Ethan against Giles' outside wall
wouldn't come back to haunt him?

Amended thought: Woken with bite and a present. Silver anklet,
currently still resting on his chest and Xander flings it at Ethan.

"Look, if you leave now this doesn't have to get violent."

"What if I want it to be violent?"

"Then I hurt you even worse for waking me up *and* pissing me
off."

"Do you like the idea of hurting me, Xander?"

And the question just hangs there in the air. Not because Xander
doesn't have an answer -- he does, emphatically -- it's just that it's
not That Night anymore, and he hasn't had a fight with anyone, and
really, there's just no excuse for liking the idea as *much* as he
does.

Ethan shifts into a cross-legged slouch and the chair creaks. His
face is in and out of shadow, which is just more poetic than he
deserves, so Xander turns on the light.

There. Harsh light of... well, lamp. Warm and buttery and Ethan is
still waiting for him to answer. Hair a little shorter, maybe a little
greyer, mild smile. Tight black t-shirt and jeans.

For a moment, it's like Xander has X-Ray vision, and that all the
bruises and scrapes from that night are still there, just beyond
the black.

"All right, fine, yes, I like hurting you. Satisfied? Because I really
need to sleep."

And Ethan pulls something out from behind him, and the something
turns out to be, oh fuck, the silvery shirt Xander had ripped to
shreds. He'd kept the thing, and fuck him for a sick bastard
anyway and Ethan had *found* it. Pawed through his belongings
like some kind of fucking...

God, Ethan touching his *clothes*. The shirt had been balled at
the back of his ratty t-shirt drawer, which was on the bottom
of the dresser. The thought is just too much, and Xander is out
of bed in a heartbeat, hauling Ethan up by the collar of his t-shirt
and slamming him back against the stairs.

"What the hell is that noise down there?"

*Fuck*. Still awake. "Sorry, Dad!"

"Yes, sorry, Dad. Guess you'll have to be quiet, won't you? I wonder
if I will. Once the hitting starts, that is."

Tightening his grip. "Oddly, I'm finding that I don't care who hears
you scream."

"And how will dear father react to find me down here..." And Ethan's
voice changed, softened and drawled out and "having a row with my
young lover?"

"I don't know, *lover*. He might just help me kick your faggot ass."

"*Language*, Xander. I think the witch would be shocked. But I
have some experience with... intemperate fathers. And I think you
might just feel the door hitting *your* faggot ass on the way out
the door. Lover."

"What do you want?"

Slow smile. "What have you got?"

"I've got a really bad attitude and zero interest in your company."

And Xander feels a flush try to creep into his cheeks when Ethan
squirms against him, brushes against Xander's hard on and lets his
smile get a little deeper.

"You know, Xander, part of your charm is your utter inability to
lie.  So refreshingly honest, no matter what your mood might be."

"And still, not caring.  Oh look, there's the door."

Ethan's eyes kind of glitter as he says, "And there's the bed."

"I don't think you're reading me here.  Not. Interested."

"I think I'm reading you rather well."  Ethan squirms again and smirks
at the way Xander's grip tightens. "Definitely.  Interested.  In
something, anyway.  What's it going to be, Xander?"

And this is... so not right.  Not the time or the place for this kind
of thing.  Not his bedroom, which is supposed to be the place where
he escapes from the weirdness of life in Sunnydale.  Yet his fingers
itch to reach down and give Ethan's nipple a cruel twist, his mouth
wants to bite and Ethan, eyes all dark and knowing, seems to know
this.  Because he's still smiling and gently undulating against
Xander and--

"So is this how you get your kicks?  Break into someone's house and
make them hurt you?"

Ethan laughs, soft and low.  "Some people.  Sometimes."

"Aren't I the lucky one."

A dark smile.  "Yes.  Ripper wasn't home."

And Xander can't help it. Leans in to bite the mocking mouth and
move to the waiting throat before Ethan can do anything but gasp and
with his teeth just this close to breaking the skin on Ethan's neck,
Xander realizes that it doesn't have to be about sex.

That he can just... that he can just gag Ethan, tie him up and...

And, OK, kick him out, but also just tie him and *hurt* him. Punch
him in the kidneys, the balls, break his fingers smash his face lick
the blood away and fuck him, God, just fuck him and yeah, that
doesn't has to be about sex, either --

"I want to suck you, Xander."

Gasp, desperate and real and Xander growls and shoves his thigh
between the other man's legs and and.

He can feel that voice in his cock, and his hands, and his bitten,
tingling nipple.

And Xander pulls back only far enough to get his hands up around
Ethan's throat. Ethan's slim, long, fragile throat and hey, who
needs a gag if Xander just *chokes* him unconscious and something
in him is *screaming* and

"It's not about what you want, fucker. Get on the floor. On
your hands and knees."

But he can't let go right away and he can't stop thinking about that
suddenly pretty mouth wrapped tight around his oh his cock...

When he finally tears himself away it's a shock to find himself
panting and Ethan... slumps. Clutches his throat, winces and gasps
for air and the sound is much too loud and Xander thinks:

I did that. Oh, fuck, I did that.

And Xander thinks:

More.

"If you make my Dad yell again, I'll choke you dead."

And it doesn't have to be that bad. He can choke Ethan unconscious
/choke until you smell shit/ and just drag him into the cemetery
and

"I hate what you do to me."

And hates his own fucking mouth worse but Ethan can't manage
more than a somewhat watery smirk. And then he's stripping, and
Xander's watching.

Shirt off and Ethan's more defined than he is, bastard, though
Xander's heard running scared really takes the pounds off and
down come the pants and nothing beneath. Brief flash of just
*keeping* Ethan. A week to just... do *everything* and now
Xander's looking for the screaming voice, but...

Ethan looks good.

Tanned and muscled and still a little off-balance and Xander
reaches behind him and.

The stereo is there. Turns it on, and the volume's nice and low,
but he knows it's just high enough and Xander takes the two
necessary steps and backhands Ethan hard.

Cuts his knuckle on one of Ethan's teeth, but most of the blood
on his hand, for fucking *once*, isn't his.

And when Ethan looks up his eyes are dark and his bloody mouth is
a thin, cruel smile. Brief flash of fear but it melts fast. Because
Ethan turning the tables is Ethan changing the game, and, for
right now, Xander knows that's the last thing Ethan wants to do.

So Xander tries it from the other side, then shoves Ethan onto the
bed while he's still dripping on the floor. Ethan lands with a bounce,
stays where he falls.

Ethan's smile remains the same.

Ethan's cock is arching toward his belly.

"You have a truly alarming amount of repressed anger, Xander. Have
you considered chatting about it with someone?"

"Now why would I do that, when I have you?" Unsurprised to hear
his own voice as a purr because it just sounds as... not right, not
ever right, but needed. And Xander is thinking.

"Why indeed?"

"Now what can we do with you? A belt... well, belts are very loud."

"Unfortunate, that. May I recommend your cock?"

The *laugh* is a surprise, because suddenly he can see it: Anya and
Ethan, walking around recommending his dick to people. "No, actually,
you may not." Rakes his eyes over Ethan's body, still sprawled where...
where he'd left it. "You don't deserve my cock."

Ethan arches an eyebrow and murmurs, "Also unfortunate.  And a bit of a disappointment, I might add.  Because I was so looking forward to all the interesting things you might do with it.  You know.  Like last time."   He
makes his voice all mock sad as he continues, "And here I thought you
liked fucking me."

And Xander has a sudden flash memory: Buried to the hilt in Ethan's ass,
*feeling* every quiver and gasp and moan, but--

"That had nothing to do with you."

The eyebrow rises even higher.  "How singular.  So it could have been
anyone, then?  Interesting."

And before Xander can even begin to formulate a shocked protest that
he *wouldn't*, he wasn't like that, Ethan continues, "But really, none
of that is terribly important.  The question tonight is, what *are* you
going to do with me?  Tell me, Xander.  What do I deserve, if not your
very pretty cock?"

And he licks the blood off of his mouth with a slow sweep of his tongue, incongruously pink and delicate, a cat's tongue, and smiles again.

There's a naked, evil wizard in his bed, smiling at him and Xander *knows*
he should be afraid.  But.  Ethan came to him.  Gave in to him, *let* him
and wants him to do it again.  Wants Xander to hurt him.  And he also
knows he should be fucking terrified of that, because he wants to.  And
suddenly, Xander is very much afraid that while Ethan may not deserve
his cock, he's going to get it anyway.  Because that's what Xander
deserves.  Eventually.

"Everything you're going to get," he eventually answers.  "Put your
hands over your head.

That earns him a slightly curious glance, but compliance as well.  And
somehow his hands are full of heavy rope and his knee is on the bed and
he's tying Ethan's hands together and looping the extra rope through
the headboard, making the knot tight.

Ethan raises his hands, tests the knot and finally nods, as if he's found
it done to his satisfaction, as if he had any fucking say in this at *all*,
and Xander backhands him again.

"This," he says evenly, "is where I remind you I told you to leave."

"I wouldn't..." Spits blood on Xander's pillow. "Dream of it."

And Xander takes both nipples in his fingers, feels them stiffen and
pebble before he even does anything and twists them hard in opposite
directions before he can think. If he thinks he'll maybe feel, in some
twisted overactively empathic part of his mind, exactly what he's
doing to Ethan.

Maybe get that stomach lurch Xander misses less and less and he holds
Ethan's nipple until he starts to arch, and then pulls harder until
Ethan's teeth snap shut on what sounds like a curse.

Lets go and there are livid marks where his fingers have dug in, and
spreading redness and Xander licks one, then the other with the flat
of his tongue.

"You're going to have to gag me, I think."

"Oh, no. You're going to be quiet all on your own, Ethan. If you have
to bite your own tongue out." Yes. Yes, that's exactly right...

"You stand to lose --"

"Not a whole lot, in the grand scheme of things," and oh yes, it's true,
isn't it? Xander rolls off the bed again, gets the rope for Ethan's
ankles. It's not a very smooth rope at all, really. Quick glance at
Ethan's wrists and they're not bleeding. Yet.

Xander ties them quickly and efficiently to the metal frame of the bed,
yet another youthful lesson learned that will disturb the hell out of his
grandchildren. Leans back to examine his work and Ethan gives him
another satisfied nod. Only it's OK, because,

"In fact, since we're still discussing the grand scheme of things, let's
think about what would maybe happen if you screamed, shall we?"

"Oh, let's." But the humor is fading.

"First, my Dad would get very, very angry. But let's face it, *air*
makes my Dad very, very angry. And you know what, Ethan? By the time
he got down here..." And Xander rummages in one of the drawers Ethan
may have been pawing through just a little while ago and pulls out a
knife. Tosses it on the bed next to Ethan. "You'd be dead. And my Dad
doesn't much care for cops, so he'll listen to me when I tell him that
I'll take care of it.

"And then I'll call Giles, and maybe I'll sound a little hysterical. Yeah,
I think the smell of your blood will get me just excited enough to make
it *good*, Ethan.

"And I'll tell him you put a spell on me.

"And he'll believe me."

"Perhaps a *bit* smarter than you look... but I don't think you have it
in you."

"Don't I?" And Xander finds himself cocking his head, because that's
a very, very good question.

One he might spend some time thinking on.

Later. But for now he just slips out of his boxers, gives himself a
few absent strokes and smiles at Ethan. Reaches down and claws his
fingers over Ethan's chest before dropping to a crouch and pulling a
Shop 'n' Save bag out from under his bed and dumping the contents
out next to the knife. Waits for Ethan to say something, but,
disappointingly, he remains silent.

Xander drives his fist into the other man's side anyway.

And back to the little pile of sexual accessories he and Anya have
acquired over the months. Amazing what internet access will do for
an ex-demon with a credit card. But thinking of Anya wakes up the
screamer again and Xander doesn't want to listen. No choice, right?
Right.

So he just throws everything with specific Anya memories back in
the bag, which is everything but the lovely, frightening alligator clips
ordered when they were both way too horny to think straight. Never
used. Xander bounces them in his hands once, twice, then jumps back
onto the bed and snaps them on, making Ethan hiss.

And then Xander settles in next to Ethan on the bed, and waits. Uses
the remote to flip the stations a while, until he gets to some generic
rock one. Playing some old Who song. Heh.

"I imagine this is bringing up memories, Ethan. Beatings you have
known? Did Ripper kick your ass all over bloody old England, too?"

"When he wasn't kissing it." Voice back to being cool and Xander
flicks the nearest clamp to make Ethan jump. "He never had to
resort to... toys."

"What can I say? I'm young, I'm learning."

"That you are. Planning to sit there all night, lover?"

"Nope." And Xander leaves it there, hums along. Closes his eyes, shifts
to get just a little more comfortable. Bends up his far knee and strokes
himself slowly. Not thinking of anything, more soothing than arousing --
except whenever Ethan moves a little beside him. Hurting.

Hurting because of Xander and the mental picture he has of Ethan is
a little too dark and bloody, so Xander opens his eyes and finds himself
staring at Ethan's face.

Eyes closed, swollen mouth in a grimace that could be pain, could be
ecstasy.  Could possibly be both, since he's slowly arching and twisting,
like maybe he likes the pinching pull on his nipples, the heavy,
unsatisfied ache of his cock.

So Xander flicks one clamp, then the other, with a fingertip, again and
again until Ethan is *writhing* and groaning and his eyes open.  Heavy,
dark eyes and he says in a strained voice, "I never figured you for a
tease, Xander."

"You just don't know how to keep quiet, do you?"  And he grabs a clamp
and pulls, until Ethan is writhing away from it.

"No."  A wheeze.  "Sadly, no.  It's problematic, I grant you."

"Yeah," Xander agrees and pulls on the other clamp as well, until
Ethan's breath is whistling between his clenched teeth and the flesh
between the jaws of each clamp looks red and raw.

But hey, it can't be too bad, because Ethan's cock looks just as hard
and his belly has splatters of pre-come all over it.

Xander leans forward and twists the clamps again as he murmurs, "I
wonder if you'd think I was teasing if I used these on your balls."

A gasp and a fresh shot of pre-come and, "Only if you didn't fuck
me afterward."  His eyes gleamed and a ghost of the smile still
showed through the grimace.

"And what makes you think I'm going to fuck you?"  He lets the clips
go and leans in a little closer, breathes in the smell of Ethan's pain
and arousal and lets his hand pull a little harder at his cock.

"Never ending optimism?" And Ethan arches his neck, rubbed his smooth
cheek against Xander's stubble and adds, "Just call me Pollyanna."

Again that totally inappropriate spurt of laughter and Xander has to
lean back and pull off the clips, jump when Ethan nearly arches off
the bed altogether. Makes Xander think of twisting rubber bands
around his fingers, and how many thousands of times worse it must be
for Ethan right now.

Rolling the tender flesh back and forth, back and forth as Ethan
slowly subsides.

Reminds himself that this is... whatever it is and that he's *not* in
the mood to be amused.

And when Ethan groans aloud it brings Xander right back into the
zone, the dark place where he enjoys knowing he's hurting someone.
Not someone.  Ethan.  And the knife is in his hand.

"I didn't scream --" Quick and unmistakably nervous and Xander's
starting to get used to *this* brand of gladness. Power and no need
for conscience, because hey, didn't it deserve the occasional rest?

Because Xander sure is fucking sick of being noble and he turns the
knife in his hand until the warm light bounces off. "No, you didn't.
Yet."

Brings the knife down fast and barely manages not to close his eyes,
wince against this and... nothing. No blood. Barely a scratch, and
Xander finds himself looking at the knife stupidly. "What are you,
made of leather?"

Low, mean laugh. "Just tougher stuff than you, Xander. Haven't you
ever cut someone before? Just to end a pretty face?" Another laugh.
"Of course not. You're much too good for that sort of thing, aren't
you?"

And the effect is... different. A little ice in his spine, not too much.
A little anger, walloped by a wave of oh-god-there's-a-knife-in-my-hand
and Xander is scooting up and back and off the bed and *away* except
that he isn't, not really. He's really just staring at the knife, brow
furrowed with worry that Ethan will say something more. But he
doesn't, just lays there and breathes beneath Xander's straddle. Their
cocks are only *just* too far away to touch, and Xander is keeping
it that way for a reason.

A good reason.

A *control* reason.

/Hey, is that a wizard between your legs or are you just gonna use
that knife to trim your eyebrows?/

And the answer to that question is simple, much simpler than he would
have thought, but hey, there wasn't a soul on earth who'd pay him to
think, right?

Xander searches Ethan's chest, watches it move, feels the pain heat
radiating off in waves that make his mouth dry. Ethan's nipples look...
tortured. And that's the only word for it, isn't it?

It is.

Mouth not dry any more all of a sudden. Mouth wet with metallic
tasting spit and the throb in his cock agrees with the metal and
Xander brings the knife down fast again, only this time straight down
and he still pulls his stroke a little, can't help it, but blood wells up
from the small prick. He's in and

"Oh..."

"Oh, Xander... first blood?"

And the mockery is tinged with something a lot like awe, or maybe it's
awe tinged with mockery and Xander breathes. Watches the blood well
into a drop, two, which roll down the flat planes of Ethan's chest,
angling toward the nipple, but missing it.

And Xander breathes, concentrates on the sounds, and the smells, and
the tickle of hair on his thighs. Concentrates on the exact pressure
he's putting on the knife. Concentrates on *holding* that pressure.

Drags the knife in a wobbling line, centimeter by centimeter, and yeah,
Ethan's moving. In that trying-not-to-move way and Xander's line
wobbles even more, but he can only guess that by the feel -- his work
is rapidly obscured by blood, flows nicely over the nipple now,
painting over his work in red and Xander can't blink and when Ethan
finally jerks hard enough to skid the knife free Xander shoots a
ridiculous load of pre-come down his cock and moans.

Holds on to the knife and looks at it. Wet shine now, dark red in the
lamplight. Dripping oh god dripping on his sheets and how's he going
to hide the stain because.

Because *fuck*, it's *wet* beneath Ethan and Ethan is still bleeding
and oh he had to touch. Had to.

Reaching out, suddenly remembering that Ethan had more than just a
wounded torso and a straining cock and looking up to see Ethan just
staring at him with something like... like glaze-eyed approval. And he
wants to run and he wants to retch and he wants oh he wants so bad
to lay his hand down, just like he's doing now.

Lay it down and *touch*, feel the blood still doing its blood thing,
and he turns his hand over so he can get the other side and digs
his knuckles in, just a little and Ethan's sweat is the most
powerful thing he's ever been *in*.

And he's in this now, surrounded by his sweat, his high, sharp stink
of lust and pain.

Stares down at his red hand and no, there's no escape from this.
No escape so just... just... and he's bringing his hand up to his
mouth, iron shear, cutting off the warm, musky scent of sex and
replacing it with this. And Ethan's watching his every move, and
Ethan's breathing... oh so fast.

Struggling, and abruptly, while Xander watches, a single drop of
blood runs down Ethan's left arm, down and down until it's
quivering right on his elbow and Xander doesn't realize he's been
sucking his fingers helplessly until the drop finally *drops* and
Xander tries to gasp but finds them in the way.

Blood in his mouth. Thin and salt and warm.

Maybe powerful.

Catching Ethan's eye again and Xander's sleepy with it, feeling not
so much drugged as poisoned in the sweetest way possible and...

"I have you inside me now, Ethan."

And Ethan just... full body shudder against the ropes, eyes shut and
hips trying to thrust up and up and oh, Xander knows how he feels.

Like he lost something really, really important he hadn't even known
he left behind, and oh, yes. Thank you, Faith. At least the people she
fucked with in prison would deserve it, but for now...

For now, there's Ethan, watching him wide-eyed, like Xander had really
said something drastically important and all Xander knows is that
it's beautiful.

He doesn't know that he will make a second cut until it's down, just
over the right nipple this time and Xander gets his clean hand there
and while it's there he makes a third cut, and a fourth, and a fifth
and it's red. It's red and Ethan is quiet but it's so *anguished*
and oh, and oh there's fear.

Of him.

For him and Xander wants to thank Ethan but all he does is cut
through the ropes on the man's ankles jam his blood-slick fingers
deep inside and stain his balls with it and drip some on his proud
cock and Ethan is chewing his lip bloody and *writhing* and Xander
doesn't know if it's loud our not, doesn't care, doesn't want to
care just *in*.

In and slicking himself with sticky, iron stink blood and slippery
pre-come coating like a glove.  Sensation almost dulled by want and he
is up and over Ethan, looking down and wrestling those lean hips up,
bumping his cock head hard against the slippery slickness there.  The
pucker of Ethan's ass all shiny slick in the dim light and there's
banging upstairs, banging on the door...

Good.  Hips punching so hard and Ethan's legs wrap around him like some
kind of bone harness, heavy and digging painfully into his hips and looking
down on all that blood, Ethan's chest an arch of bone and brown split
flesh, gashes like narrow lips and his sheets are a crime scene and *oh*
Ethan's body is sucking at him, dragging at him.

Bang.  Bang.  Bang.  "--make me come down there."  Fear shot and
pre-come rush. And oh it's so fucked that terror and old Dad's voice are
just a fucking whip to his hips.  Thrust and thrust and christ he couldn't
pull out if he tried now.  Too close and he's too deep and every thrust is
an eye-rolling stroke to the burn,  Ethan pulling raggedly at the ropes
like he wants to climb right up and rub his bloody, torn chest right in
Xander's face and *yes* --

Falling forward <Bang.> head coming down mouth first, teeth first on
the iron sweetness of torn nipple and that blood that's way too sweet,
too bitter to be just blood.  That makes him suck and fill his mouth.  And
Ethan bucks and bucks underneath him and jesus screams but only high,
thin wheeze of air and <Bang.> sob after, coming down and... <Bang.
Clatter> raises his head and oh god Ethan's *face*

Coming, dad.  I'm...oh Jesus, Jesus, dad...I'm coming.

And he does.

Long, sweet roll for so much pain, come pumping and pumping out of him
making Ethan shudder and scarlet and silvershot webs behind his eyes
when it goes on too long.  Oh *god*  And he collapses, both of them
falling like the keystone's been yanked and there is nothing but the
low, forgotten judder of music on the stereo and their harsh
breathing. And silence.  Waiting, ringing silence.

Heartbeats.  Not even footsteps.  And even though it's too soon the
real is falling through him like so many metal splinters, real fear --
lacking all the sweetness of impending orgasm -- and Xander forces
himself up.  Up.  Shaky legged and Ethan's body pulls at him one last,
soft time like a kiss before it lets him go.

Not even cold calm, just post-sex shakes and wobbles as he grabs a
shirt, wipes vaguely, makes the stairs.  Up and creaking and he doesn't
have to climb more than one or two to see the raw, wood splinters
where Harris Sr. and his trusty whatever has managed to knock
doorhandle, hook and eye out of place again.

Leaving the door... not quite closed.  And Xander runs to the top and
ear to the door and listens.  Hard.  Hears nothing but the everpresent
TV in the living room.  Which means...  Xander's mind goes pleasantly
blank.

He doesn't know what it means.  Maybe Dad is getting the .45 Colt from
Uncle Rory's garage.  Maybe it's just time for "Who Wants To Be A
Millionaire".  Neither possibility seems to have much to do with him.

And oh, he's good at this.

"I really do need to be untied now," Ethan says.  Flat, calm command and
Xander is up on his feet and down the stairs before he even really
thinks about it.  Of course when he does he stops.  Feels a very mean,
very hyena laugh scraping up inside his throat.

Gets back on the bed, likes very much the way Ethan winces and then
arches a little closer.  He likes the way Ethan is looking at him now,
too.  Not scared but... there's something there.  Maybe just... want.
Hungry.  Yeah, Ethan looks hungry and he can feel that run a finger
along his cock even though it's too soon to do anything but ache a
little.

And in return he runs a finger alongside each of the cuts, opening
them softly, making more blood spill.

Ethan's gasps are small and just as hungry as his eyes.  Billy Corgan
on the radio "...world is a vampire..." is just low and right enough that
he can maybe unhook, unhinge again and...

"Xander..."

"*Ethan*..."

"You are a very disturbed young man, you know..."  And it's a flirt and
the Xander who is drawing, in blood, what seems to be the rest of a
design suggested by the cuts would probably laugh evilly and agree, but
the other part of Xander, the part that he had mostly figured was the
basic Xander person, pulls his hand away.

And he says, a little defensively, "Hey, you were the one who came to
me."

Ethan's eyes gleam as he chides, "I didn't say that it was a bad thing."
He smiles and arches a little, showing Xander his handiwork and
Xander's fingers twitch when the pattern he'd drawn blurs into a new
and interesting one.  He watches, fascinated as one drop fills a crease
in Ethan's nipple and once again thinks, I did that.

And is abruptly aware of the taste of blood in his mouth and that his
mouth is watering and that he doesn't know if it's because he's going
to be sick or because he wants more.

And Ethan, his eyes still gleaming, his mouth crooked in a tender smile
says, "Xander. You really need to untie me now."

Xander drops his gaze to the forgotten knife, numbly stares at the
thin patina of blood dulling the gleam, then raises his eyes and there
must be something of new Xander there, because Ethan's smile loses
some of its grace.

"What if," Xander says slowly, "if I don't want to?"

"I'd be flattered, of course.  Is that what you're planning then,
Xander?  To keep me?"

And the scary thing is, he can see it.  Calling in sick tomorrow, staying
in this cool, dark room and waiting until his parents have left for work
and they can be as loud as they want to be.  And maybe he'd let Ethan
scream.

It's more than a little disconcerting to have his cock get half hard
even as his stomach lurches.

"No."  No.  He raises the knife, slashes through the ropes, then tosses
the knife away. Hears it clatter in the corner.  "Get out."  And turns
his back as Ethan slowly sits up, massaging his torn wrists.

Ethan lets out a little hisses and groans that nearly mask the slide of
a zipper, the soft clink of a belt buckle, little noises that act just like
a blood warm hand on Xander's cock.

Xander shudders a little, bites hard on his lower lip because suddenly
he's in Wait a Minute Land.

But he doesn't turn, doesn't watch, doesn't even flinch when he can
feel Ethan right behind him, can *smell* him, blood and sex and sweat.

"I had a lovely time, Xander."  Breathed right in his ear.  "Perhaps in
our next go round you'll actually let me suck that lovely cock, hmmm?"
A flick of a tongue right below his ear and a soft laugh when Xander's
cock twitches.  "Don't forget your prezzie, love.  Wear it and think of
me, yes?"

The anklet falls on his lap, slithers down until it's a glittering snake
looped over the base of his cock and then Xander turns, but Ethan is
gone.

The stereo is still playing, some old Grateful Dead tune and Xander
grabs the remote and turns it off when the lyrics are just a little
too ironically appropriate.  A very long, strange trip indeed, thank
you very much.

He can still hear the television upstairs, and his dad's heavy tread
going from the living room to the kitchen.  A pause at the basement
door and Xander looks at the sheets, at his hands and holds his
breath, but the footsteps turn and go back.

And Xander rises slowly, lets the anklet fall unheeded to the floor.
He strips the sheets from the bed and stuffs them in the garbage,
then washes his hands.  Looks back at the bed and grimaces, because
the mattress is stained.

Sheets.  He needs to get clean sheets and flip the mattress and go
back to bed and sleep.

But.  He inhales.  And he can still smell him.  *Them*.  He can still
smell everything they did.  And he sinks into the chair, stares at the
floor and sees the anklet dully gleaming in the shadows.

Without thinking, he leans forward, picks it up.  Simple silver chain,
smooth links.  Surprisingly heavy.  Something like this you'd *feel*
with every step, pulling at the fine hairs of your leg, sliding around
your ankle.

Still not thinking, he drapes it over his ankle, fastens the clasp.

Looks at the bed.  And breathes.

*

Continued in Wall 3.