... broken his neck.

Giles had... broken Ethan's neck. He really hadn't thought he would ever.... The body is nothing but an overlarge broken toy, now. Just another obscenity in the park.

His obscenity. There's a moment when the numbness wants to fill with rage and pain and everything, every memory, every cock up, every wrong word they've said to each other, and the spells, and Ethan's warm, frighteningly soft, tender scent after sex, after sleep and Ethan is --

The moan is long and low. Helpless. Giles wonders how long it'll take before that moan seats itself at the back of his brain, echoing out precisely when he needs the shame most. It cages everything surrounding the words "Ethan is dead" and buries them again.

It turns him and really, that's all it takes.

Xander catches and holds Giles' gaze with his own, seems to reach for him with every part of his body. Giles kneels down beside the boy and begins wracking his mind again for the way into the hex, even though he can't precisely see its edges anymore.

"Giles --"

Low, rough voice. Velvet pulled over bare stone and Giles' train of thought is gone again, lost. "Xander --"

"I need you..."

"I know, Xander, it's the spell just try --"

A light touch on Xander's forehead makes the boy whip his head back and forth for a shocking moment before subsiding.

"Yessss..."

And Giles brushes the boy's hair back, wipes away the sweat that threatens to slide into Xander's eye and if he... if he just focuses on the boy's forehead...

High, clear. A hint of olive, or golden under the burgeoning tan. So smooth.

"*More* oh God I can *smell* you --"

And perhaps, perhaps contact of some sort, perhaps he should... And the kiss is meant to soothe, only to soothe. Hot damp skin against his mouth and Giles can't help but let his lips move against it, soft dry brushes leading to more, and more, and he doesn't want to know what he's praying for.

And Xander presses into it, begs for more with relentless coherence and when his mouth finds Xander, still so gentle, he can manage gentle, but then Xander is holding him, arms flung 'round with casual, needful possession and then Giles is much, much too close for gentle.

And inside Xander's mouth it's almost pure, chocolate-sweet and unscarred and Giles yanks himself away with a helpless moan.

Xander, still nearly naked and sprawled, dazed and unfocused. Utterly beautiful. Giles is abruptly, painfully aware of his position half-on and half-off Xander's body. Of his trapped but obvious erection tight against one long, lean thigh and his swollen mouth.

"Ohh... you don't have to stop..."

He can't help himself, he presses his hand over Xander's lips, holds it there for much too long in an attempt to get his bearings. And it's just like Ethan to do this, one more fucking joke from beyond the grave.

A mindless need spell, designed to seduce Giles into full, conscious rape. An old favorite.

"*Christ*, Xander, no, this isn't... you didn't... you're under a spell and I... I can't even begin to tell you how sorry --"

"I don't care, I don't *care. Won't you touch me? I know I'm not who you want, I just... oh Giles I need so *bad* --" Hopeful smile and wide, dark eyes bright with unnatural sheen and... hands.

Warm, damp palms on his cheeks, pulling him in and he could resist now. He could, there is nothing here and Xander is just a boy and doesn't he know?

"It's not safe --"

Low chuckle. "Really... is anything?"

And there's something... off about that. Something just slightly wrong but Xander's mouth has no answers. Xander's mouth. A smile hidden under lush softness, heat and wet and sweet and if he can find that smile then it will be... what he needs.

Not all right, not good, oh, Giles knows he has to. No way around this and... and perhaps that's the only cure. Touch of the Object. Better, that, easy to push down the mental memories of Xander's reaction to his touch, but not the physical ones. His body wants.

He wants.

Something like a full-body growl and he knows exactly what this means. Giles feels himself pressing harder, kissing rougher, sliding his still-trapped cock against the underside of Xander's own. Catches the boy's moan and holds him tighter then, slips his hand under Xander's ass and pulls him in to the grind of denim against hypersensitized flesh.

Swallows every moan whole.

Xander just... surrenders. Wraps his legs around Giles hips, then higher. Holds Giles' face still while his mouth is plundered, groaning and responsive, reactive as a gentle sparring partner and Giles knows -- *knows* -- that Xander will take eeverything Giles chooses to give, with a groan and a silent plea for more.

And it's suddenly Giles turn to moan, out here God help him in the bloody park and throwing himself at a boy well under half his age bewitched into wanting him. Wants him badly enough to give up more than he can ever understand before Giles takes that, too.

Xander's hands off his face and at his shoulders, pulling, tugging at clothes in rough counterpoint to the fuck of Giles' tongue in his mouth, of Giles' pelvis against his own.

Giles breaks the kiss long enough to tear away from the boy's grip, pausing after removing his shirt just to hold him down.

Dark eyes and bruising lips. Giles skids his hand over to one rose brown nipple and palms it, earning an open-mouthed arch. Before he knows what he's doing, Giles has raised Xander's thigh to his mouth and is rubbing his stubble against it because... because that's what had to be done to a boy begging for it this loudly. This tease, cruel tease that earns the whimper he isn't sure he wanted.

All of a sudden it could be a different body beneath him, leaner and paler. Hunger in every elegant sinew and he twists at the nipple instead, hard. Once and again and it's a broken sound, a ghost of a name not his own, not anymore, and a dark chilling rush that thorns his own nipples and shoots a healthy jolt of pre-come down his cock and it's not....

Would Xander take that, too? And oh, in this state he would take anything, anything at all.

Another twist and the boy's thighs tremble and Giles pushes it back ruthlessly, locks it behind another set of walls because he doesn't have to do it this way. There is no one, *no* one to condemn him for tenderness.

Nothing to prove.

Giles is surprised to hear himself chuckle, then, and he lets the laughter lean him down to the abused nipple and he laps away the hurt, and the taste of everything he wants to hide and when he finally begins to suckle, Xander's hand finds his back, caressing him with such slow care it makes Giles' throat ache.

He kisses his way up Xander's throat, lingering on the thudding pulse point the way he'd wanted to for longer than he would ever admit, mouthing at it not quite hard enough to leave a mark. He twines his legs between Xander's own and starts a slow rock, ache against ache, oddly soothing waves of rising need lapping at him and when Giles takes Xander's mouth again he takes his time. Learning and testing, tasting.

I've wanted to make love to you for so long, and he doesn't know whether he's said it out loud, but he can't bear to pull away for long enough to be sure. Instead he laps at one blushing ear and nibbles gently on the lobe before returning his kisses to the boy's face, the boy's easy, needful grin that makes him rock faster, makes Xander thrust up to meet him with an easy grace, simple athleticism and undeniable desire that undoes him, just a little.

I love you, love you so much and I fear it's made me cruel and Giles can't say that so he tries to pour it all into his kiss, into his fuck and into his clutching, seeking hands. Too soon it all begins to stutter within his vision, resolving into mind-searing flashes Giles knows he'll have with him forever:

Shocky, anguished look of agonized pleasure and tongue sliding over soft mouth, tight strain of a shoulder and creeping flush, brown eyes locked on his and pleading pleading *needing* --

-- and then he has to squeeze his eyess shut and lose himself to the slide velvet friction of cock to cock and nipples brushing his chest and a high keening moan in his ear and the blood-hot splash over his belly and chest makes him crack out a yell and thrust once, twice more before he loses what feels like most of his spine.

And he only makes himself roll off enough to let Xander breathe. He allows himself the brush of his nose against the boy's cheek, the drape of his arm over hopelessly disgusting torso.

Meets Xander's eyes in them and tries to shake off the haze that must be there because Xander looks... afraid.

Angry.

And oh, God, had he really allowed himself to forget the spell? "Xander --"

"What... Giles, what the hell did you *do* to me?" Horror in the boy's voice, and something a lot like disgust and Giles' stomach plummets and Xander is pushing away from him, scrabbling away and to his feet and looking... stained.

"Xander, wait, you must --"

"You sick *bastard*! I couldn't... I couldn't protect myself and you did... *this*."

Giles stands, and the brush of his own soft cock against his thigh makes him *sick* and he reaches for Xander, but he turns and runs.

*Runs* away and Giles lets himself fall to his knees because that's the only thing and then he's falling for real, hitting the ground with a bruising thump.

"Wha --"

And a gut-twisting groan and it's too familiar, too close to what...

Slap of flesh on flesh and he knows that moan and God help him he knows that high, helpless keen, too from too many dreams. He can feel the hex crawling over him now, yellow as bile and crumbling around him, wracking him unevenly for God knows how many more minutes and he can see he can see:

Willow unconscious on her own coverlet and Oz tearing with too dull teeth at the belly of a screaming fat orange tabby and Buffy beating at the ground over and over again, screaming and screaming and tripping over Riley's prone form and Xander.

*

The orgasm rips through him, breaking something hard and hot and irreplaceable and it's nowhere near loud enough to muffle his own sounds.

His own whimpering moans and even now he can't stop, his cock can't stop he's one long fucking money shot, coming and coming in hot ropy spurts until he has to throw his head back. Again.

Back against Ethan's shoulder and God help him it feels too good for him to be as sick as he needs to be.

As sick as he deserves. Deserves it asked for it begged for it and his body aches so so good each pull of muscle strain /fuck yourself I won't tell fuck yourself/ tugging at something still keening inside him, helpless as it's ever been. And hadn't he dreamed of this? Fucking himself with two shaking fingers and hand lotion much too hard and pretending it was... no one he knew.

No one who could see and know and and and laugh and everything that's his has betrayed him. Naked and covered in his own come, eyes squeezed shut so tight he can pick out individual cloudbursts of color and light but all he wants is the black.

And the only thing he's sure of is the cock in his ass /*inside*/ and the long, wiry, perfectly human arms still holding him close.

But, of course, it's Ethan.

His skin is too tired to crawl, but it's Ethan. Panting against his ear and... stroking him now. Petting him.

Like a fucking... dog. /slut, whore, faggot faggot faggot/ and the come on his chest is cool and slimy and and there's more *leaking* out of his *ass* and dribbling down his thighs like somebody's bad frathouse joke. /you let him fuck you up the ass and there's the proof/

As if he can't feel it.

He *hurts*. He hurts and he knows that it's not that different from how a girl must feel after a first time /popped that fucking cherry bitch was so *tight*/ and oh God oh Christ he can feel himself shaking but he can't move, can't even breathe --

And God help him Ethan is still stroking him, *soothing* like he's... like he's gonna cry and he thinks maybe he might but then Ethan's slipping out of him with a sickening wet *pull* and it feels like his insides are following it and Ethan makes a sound and grips him a little tighter and that's it, that's all he has to get *away* --

"Xander." Giles.

Oh, God, *Giles* and he sounds so... sounds so... and Xander knows he's seen everything, and whirls his head around to find himself face to face with Ethan.

And the smug grin was so real in Xander's mind that it's what he sees for a crushingly long moment before the reality can even begin to sink in. Ethan's ruined face, falling into itself seemingly through the one staring eye focused somewhere over his shoulder /mirror/ and whirling the other way he can see Giles in the same place, reaching almost reaching and before he knows what he's doing he bolts upright, wincing at the pain and the awful cooling mess.

Grabs his clothes and runs, runs and he still can't be sick, not even when his thighs try to stick together, not even when Oz looks up from the savaged belly of a somebody's screaming tabby housecat.

All he can do is run.

*

/Oh,/ Ethan thinks. And: /Well.../ And neither word even begins to penetrate the dazed calm that seems to be all that the orgasm has left him. Like he'd shot everything out his cock -- all the anger, all the... nearly thirty years worth of rage and pain -- all of it vanished. Gone. Rather pleasantly too.

It hadn't hurt a bit, which is why he can't for the life of him figure out how it is that, cocooned in all this pleasant, painless *peace*, he has this tiny sense of dread. Inside. A tiny speck, like a cancer cell. Nothing he can feel but he knows it's there and he can't... There was the sex, there was the boy. No, before that... there was the spell (wizard's titter, sibilant and familiar, he knows that voice, there had been all *kinds* of teachers...) but the spell. He shakes his head, hard, to clear it. Because there's definitely something wrong now, isn't there?

It had been -- the sex, the boy, the spell -- it had almost come out... *right* so what...? He looks around through fog, sees Rupert on the ground, the others, all the great tectonic breaks, rips in the black cellophane shiver that was magic, all the glamour leaked away, but that wasn't it. It had all been so clear a second before. The sex, the boy. Rupert. The black speck tears something inside. Still painless, but he can feel cold whistling in through the tear.

Rupert up on his knees now, still struggling against the invisible, still reaching for the boy. But the boy is gone now. That's right. There had been the sex, the boy, the weeping and soothing. And Ripper crying out and *something* had happened and the boy had run. /oh yes. Run. You'd definitely better run, Xander./ Because all hell is breaking loose.

Somewhere.

Not here... the spell is just unraveling. No thunder here, so where's all this bloody icy wind coming from? And doesn't Rupert feel it? Doesn't he feel *anything*?

/Well, no, Ethan, luv. I think we've established quite beyond question that he doesn't./ And oh yes, that. There was that, wasn't there. The spell, the sex, the boy -- nothing left now but a pinkish smear on his softening cock -- and that marvelous revelation that he'd only wanted to *show* Rupert. That was all he'd wanted him to do. Just look. Just see this marvel: I wasn't so awful. Really I wasn't. I only loved you...

And you, well... okay, perhaps it still was a little tangled, but Ripper... He *understands* it now. It all makes sense. At least it had for a second or two. The sex, the boy, Rupert. So solid in himself for the first time in so many years. All ready to show Rupert his miracle. But then Rupert had cried out and looked through him so carelessly that for a second Ethan had felt his body disappear. Had looked down at himself, shocked to see a man's body still there -- familiar, lean and scarred. Cock still purpled. Smeared with pink-streaked come -- looked up again to meet eyes... What was that look? He looks again at Giles, who has stopped struggling.

Up on his knees, now, looking utterly miserable and exhausted. And still not at him. No, only the boy had looked at him. Only Xander. Only pathetic little waste of perfectly good corpse Xander, who he'd just persuaded to live out every queer's secret masturbatory rape fantasy-become-living-public-nightmare come true -- had bothered to look at him.

Right in the eye, too. Oh yes, he remembered now. Laughing a little at the ridiculously tacky irony of it all, although it didn't sound too much like a laugh. Hard to hear over the sudden giving rip inside, blackness tearing and he was on his feet, gods Janus all hail to make it fast he had to make it fast or he was going to feel this -- through the fading tickle edge of the broken hex, crashing to the ground, his naked knees in the churned almost mud in front of Rupert. Just that close /oh god, Ripper you still smell so *good*./

Careful not to look up now. Just *fast* grabbed Rupert's unresisting hands /*big* hands, long fingers, scars, all familiar as his own and still so hot/. Lifted them /heavy things, the weight of flesh and bone and memory/ fit them to his throat, settling in against them, feeling his breath rasp hard and fast. Oh faster, all that blackness starting its cyclone spin inside him. Hands still cupping hands.

/*Come* on, Ripper. You remember... God don't let me/ Feel this. And knowing finally -- that wizard lizard laugh, throne toppled over, king trapped and dying underneath -- that the price is *everything*. Even that last little holdout 10p piece in the bottom of his boot.

Everything. And time to pay it. Looks up to offer his open gaze to Rupert to take or not to take. And waits...

*

Giles can feel everything. The focus is sharp, unmistakable. The hex dulled things, and now he is free to wonder how he could've possibly been so... lost.

Easily lost within himself.

He can feel the slim, warm neck in his hands, and he can feel the ghost of it, skin stretching too far as the bone snapped like tinder. He can feel the pulse. Ethan's pulse. Ethan's neck, Ethan's sweat reeking of sex and and.

And Xander. For a heartstopping moment his hands *ache* with the need to finish this, once and for all. He's wielded crossbows and hexes and finally he is left with only this: Flesh to flesh and one more gift from Ethan.

"God damn you." The words drop out of his mouth like pebbles he'd been holding for too long and Giles feels the man shudder in his hands. For this... for this he can look down. Open his eyes and look down and meet Ethan's gaze.

And it's like nothing he's ever seen before /really? Are you sure?/, no humor, no rage, no lust. Nothing but... but what it is, and what it's begging for with every heartbeat that passes. And it opens something up, something beautiful and cinnamon and something like cherished.

And terribly, terribly useless. He can't give Ethan that, either. Giles takes his hands back, closing his eyes again at the brush of flesh on flesh for just a moment, just a taste and then they're his again.

All his, and he looks toward the woods, toward whatever Xander had run after and he's just in time to see Oz. Head thrown back, wet blackness all over his face and in the moonlight it can only be one thing. Small body before him and Giles' stomach lurches once before he realizes it isn't human.

This, too?

Oz takes off at a run, never looking back, and Giles is left struggling to see what path Xander might have taken, where he would go after... after. "Don't worry overmuch... he'll come back."

And Giles doesn't realize he's moved, doesn't realize Ethan had been standing behind him until he feels his hand lock around the man's neck. But Ethan is only smiling at him with something like dazed ruefulness.

"We always do."

We. And oh yes, had he used Xander any better? Had he done anything with his gift but offer it the same rape and excuses? And oh Christ, the *taste*. So young and salty-sweet and there was a hell for this.

We.

There has to be.

And in the end it's only inevitable that he release Ethan. Turn his back one more time. Get dressed. The hell of it was that Ethan was right. Xander would *always* come back -- it was the way of things. And Oz... was Oz.

But... This time, perhaps, he could be enough of a man to find them himself.

End.

************

H.
by tool

What's coming through is alive.
What's holding up is a mirror.
But what's singing songs is a snake
Looking to turn this piss to wine.

They're both totally void of hate,
But killing me just the same.

The snake behind me hisses
What my damage could have been.
My blood before me begs me
Open up my heart again.

And I feel this coming over like a storm again.
Considerately.

Venomous voice, tempts me,
Drains me, bleeds me,
Leaves me cracked and empty.
Drags me down like some sweet gravity.

The snake behind me hisses
What my damage could have been.
My blood before me begs me
Open up my heart again.

And I feel this coming over like a storm again.

I am too connected to you to
Slip away, to fade away.
Days away I still feel you
Touching me, changing me,
And considerately killing me.

Without the skin,
Beneath the storm,
Under these tears
The walls came down.

And the snake is drowned and
As I look in his eyes,
My fear begins to fade
Recalling all of those times.

I could have cried then.
I should have cried then.

And as the walls come down and
As I look in your eyes
My fear begins to fade
Recalling all of the times
I have died and will die.
It's all right.
I don't mind.

I am too connected to you to
Slip away, to fade away.
Days away I still feel you
Touching me, changing me,

And considerately killing me.

~end~