Fic: "Food Chain," BtVS, NC-17
Title: Food Chain
Author: Ion Bond (merctionicht@yahoo.com)
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rated: NC-17
Words: 1610
Recipient: lonleywalker
Notes: So sorry this is late. My thanks for beta (coincidentally) also go to that fab enabler sionnain.
“Zombis,” said Oz, ”are not indigenous to Tibet,” then wondered if indigenous was really the right word for something that was undead.
“Is the side of my face going purple, then?” the other man interrupted, maneuvering around Oz so that he could look in the mirror. This bathroom was definitely not meant for two.
“What I mean,” Oz explained, backing toward the toilet, “is that if Lobsang and the others had really understood what you were trying to do with the bones, this could have been a lot more serious.”
“A black eye is always serious,” said Ethan Rayne, considering his reflection. “Still, it was most considerate of you to risk your skin for a rank stranger.” His eyes were still on the mirror, but he was looking at Oz carefully now.
“I know who you are,” said Oz, handing him the wet washcloth.
“Oh?” Rayne raised his eyebrows so high Oz found it difficult to guess whether he was really surprised at all.
“Yeah,” Oz said. “Signing the hostel register ‘Jack Bruce’ was a little suspicious.”
“I wasn’t aware he had a following in central Asia these days.”
“He’s timeless.” Oz said. “Anyway, I’m from California.” He shrugged. “From Sunnydale.”
Rayne looked neither concerned nor particularly taken aback. “Aha,” he said. Oz wondered if he was planning something painful and nefarious, or if his voice just always sounded like that. “A friend of Ripper’s slayer, then. I knew that I felt, ” -- he wiggled his fingers in the air, right near Oz’s face -- “something familiar.”
Magic leaves a stain, OK. Oz had heard that riff before.
“What’s your name?” Rayne asked.
“Daniel,” said Oz.
“Daniel. What do you do, Daniel? You don’t exactly fit in with the local crowd.”
There were enough American and Australian and Canadian backpackers hanging around town at this time of year that, if Oz didn’t belong here, he didn’t stand out, either. “I’m just traveling through,” he said. True enough; he’d move to higher ground with the swelling moon, head back down the mountain for supplies and a soft bed when it was safe.
“I see,” said Rayne. “Convenient that you seem to speak enough Lhasa to have calmed that mob.”
Oz shrugged. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, the same, of course,” said Rayne serenely. “Another tourist, passing through the rooftop of the world.” He stepped forward. “Once again, it was kind of you to save my life.” Oz could smell spearmint on his breath. “Sometimes I find myself doing things that are positively foolish,” he said, pressing his mouth against Oz’s, and Oz was aware of his own hands on the waistband of Rayne’s pants where his shirt tucked in, and simultaneously aware that he wasn’t doing much in the way of pushing the other man off him. Rayne nipped at Oz’s bottom lip with his teeth, and Oz staggered backward, the back of his knees knocking cool porcelain of the washtub. He was trying to force Rayne’s tongue out of his mouth with his, feeling the bulge of an erection.
In the hostel bathroom. Maybe not such a good idea, Oz thought abstractly.
“D’you like that,” said Rayne, not a question, his voice dipping down two full class strata. Oz nodded. Rayne unbuckled his thin leather belt, shoving down his trousers, pulling his cock out of his boxers. “Suck it,” he said, pushing down on Oz’s shoulders in an insistent way that somehow reminded Oz of a schoolyard bully.
Oz didn’t kneel. He pulled a condom out of his jacket pocket and tore open the pouch. "Wait," he said.
“Oh dear,” Rayne said, sighing theatrically. “Has Rupert been besmirching my good name?”
Oz shrugged. “It never hurts being careful around blood.”
Rayne grabbed Oz’s wrist tight. “What makes you think there will be blood, then?”
Oz jerked his hand free and undid his own belt, pulled down his briefs. He could feel the cutting crescent-moon shapes Rayne’s fingernails had left. “There’s a lot of ways blood can be dangerous,” he said quietly. "I’m a werewolf. I think you know already. I think you can tell.”
Rayne smiled. "I worship -- "
“I’m a werewolf,” Oz repeated. “What are you doing?”
“--chaos,” Rayne said calmly, “ I couldn’t tell you. I so rarely know myself.”
Oz rolled the condom carefully down the length of his own penis, pinching the empty space at the tip and gritting his teeth, because it pissed him off, this recklessness, the arrogance of it, but not enough to make make him leave the bathroom like he should.
“Are you going to bite me, then?” Rayne whispered, grinning wider, and then Oz was grabbing at him, spinning him around so he wouldn’t have to look at those teeth. He spread Rayne’s buttocks and nosed the lubricated tip of his cock inside, half-expecting the taller man to stop him, to force him off. He didn’t.
Oz was all the way in, scrabbling for a hold on Rayne’s shirt. Oz tilted back his hips and then pushed in again, harder, faster. He could see Rayne’s face reflected in the mirror, and over his shoulder, his own eyes. He didn’t like either expression. He closed them.
Tighter than Wil, Veruca. Oz wondered suddenly if this was enough for Rayne, and felt his way experimentally to the buttons of the other man's shirt, to his cock, but the buttons were still closed and Rayne’s hand was already there. Oz pulled his own hand back, relieved.
He’d never had sex with someone he didn’t care about, never.
Tighter than his hand, tighter than Giles’s ever was, and Oz’s mouth was locked closed, his jaw tight, and he was spilling toward erection, pushing faster.
“Is this how he does it to you?”
Oz opened his eyes. Rayne looked as if he was speaking to his own reflection in the mirror. “Admittedly, I miss that scrape of teeth against the back of my neck, but in you, I actually recognize the patented Ripper style. A new kind of sexual transmission, if you will.”
“You . . .”
“Oh, don’t stop. I’m sure you haven’t much practice on the upper end of the transaction, but you’re really very good.” He reached behind his own body, and Oz felt Rayne’s fingers on his back, pulling him close again, and he couldn’t help it, he was coming. He twisted away, and there they were, a two-headed monster-god connected until he felt his penis sliding out of Rayne’s body.
“Exactly,” said Rayne.
“This is what you wanted,” said Oz. He felt horribly tired. He didn’t want to be a predator, but he didn’t want to be used, either.
“There’s a spell,” Rayne said. “A spell I used to locate the person Ripper most recently . . . “
There were gray hairs sprouting from his ear, plainly visible in the light of the single bright, bare bulb. With difficulty, Oz turned to look at Rayne’s likeness in the bathroom mirror instead. “That’s really kind of -- ”
Rayne smiled an acid smile. “Well, the original plan wasn’t to fuck you,” he said, as if that was what had been going on. Or maybe it was. “The original plan was to fuck you up. This isn’t some jealously thing.”
Oz wondered if the other man had brought himself off at all. He hadn’t heard his breath quicken, but both of Rayne’s hands were resting on the rim of the sink now, and he looked well-satisfied. “Not that I’m above jealously, as a rule,” Rayne admitted. “But with Ripper, it goes deeper than that. Desire for revenge is, if not more pure, at least more compelling. Do you know where I’ve been?”
“No.”
“I’ve been in the custody of the Initiative. Do you know what they did to me?”
I don’t care, he wanted to say, but he didn’t. “No.”
“But you know what they did to the vampire, don’t you.” He turned to face Oz. “And what difference does a soul make, really?” he said, like he was answering an unvoiced objection. “We all know the things of which human beings are capable. They were enlightened enough not to draw a distinction.. What’s the difference between a person and a vampire? What’s the difference between slaying and killing, when it comes down to it?” Rayne looked at Oz expectantly.
Oz threw the used condom in the trash. “Not a question you want to ask in Buffy’s line of work,” he said after a minute.
“Or Rupert’s. But you and I, we don’t lie to ourselves.”
“You lie to everyone.”
“And you don’t volunteer any information at all. How very different and commendable.”
“Dude. You’ve got to learn to let go,” Oz said.
“Have I? At least I trust myself enough not to bury myself away in some obscure mountain hamlet when things start to go wrong.” He calmly pulled up his pants. “I never ran away from Ripper.”
“That’s not what I’m doing. I play it safe. I’m working on my problem.” Control: that was what separated slaying from killing too, goddamnit.
“Your problem,” Rayne said. “I see. I suppose you want me to pat you on the head. Well, that’s not my style. Really, gambling with the people one loves is the truest thing one can do.”
“That’s insane.”
“Well, at least then you know where you stand.”
“Do you think your god would like it if I bit you?” Oz asked. “What if I killed you; do you think Giles would care?" Oz paused to think. "Would he care about any of this? He doesn’t think you still love him, and he doesn’t love me. I know.”
“Shut your bloody boat,” said Rayne, kissing him dryly on the forehead. “I don’t. Still love him.”
"And you don't lie to yourself?"
Rayne looked down at him. "I'm talking to you."
“I’ve got some freeze-dried coffee in my room,” said Oz, pushing him away. He wasn’t not really sure why he was offering. He opened the bathroom door.
Rayne grimaced and shut off the light. “I suppose that will have to do.”
fin.
Author: Ion Bond (merctionicht@yahoo.com)
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rated: NC-17
Words: 1610
Recipient: lonleywalker
Notes: So sorry this is late. My thanks for beta (coincidentally) also go to that fab enabler sionnain.
“Zombis,” said Oz, ”are not indigenous to Tibet,” then wondered if indigenous was really the right word for something that was undead.
“Is the side of my face going purple, then?” the other man interrupted, maneuvering around Oz so that he could look in the mirror. This bathroom was definitely not meant for two.
“What I mean,” Oz explained, backing toward the toilet, “is that if Lobsang and the others had really understood what you were trying to do with the bones, this could have been a lot more serious.”
“A black eye is always serious,” said Ethan Rayne, considering his reflection. “Still, it was most considerate of you to risk your skin for a rank stranger.” His eyes were still on the mirror, but he was looking at Oz carefully now.
“I know who you are,” said Oz, handing him the wet washcloth.
“Oh?” Rayne raised his eyebrows so high Oz found it difficult to guess whether he was really surprised at all.
“Yeah,” Oz said. “Signing the hostel register ‘Jack Bruce’ was a little suspicious.”
“I wasn’t aware he had a following in central Asia these days.”
“He’s timeless.” Oz said. “Anyway, I’m from California.” He shrugged. “From Sunnydale.”
Rayne looked neither concerned nor particularly taken aback. “Aha,” he said. Oz wondered if he was planning something painful and nefarious, or if his voice just always sounded like that. “A friend of Ripper’s slayer, then. I knew that I felt, ” -- he wiggled his fingers in the air, right near Oz’s face -- “something familiar.”
Magic leaves a stain, OK. Oz had heard that riff before.
“What’s your name?” Rayne asked.
“Daniel,” said Oz.
“Daniel. What do you do, Daniel? You don’t exactly fit in with the local crowd.”
There were enough American and Australian and Canadian backpackers hanging around town at this time of year that, if Oz didn’t belong here, he didn’t stand out, either. “I’m just traveling through,” he said. True enough; he’d move to higher ground with the swelling moon, head back down the mountain for supplies and a soft bed when it was safe.
“I see,” said Rayne. “Convenient that you seem to speak enough Lhasa to have calmed that mob.”
Oz shrugged. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, the same, of course,” said Rayne serenely. “Another tourist, passing through the rooftop of the world.” He stepped forward. “Once again, it was kind of you to save my life.” Oz could smell spearmint on his breath. “Sometimes I find myself doing things that are positively foolish,” he said, pressing his mouth against Oz’s, and Oz was aware of his own hands on the waistband of Rayne’s pants where his shirt tucked in, and simultaneously aware that he wasn’t doing much in the way of pushing the other man off him. Rayne nipped at Oz’s bottom lip with his teeth, and Oz staggered backward, the back of his knees knocking cool porcelain of the washtub. He was trying to force Rayne’s tongue out of his mouth with his, feeling the bulge of an erection.
In the hostel bathroom. Maybe not such a good idea, Oz thought abstractly.
“D’you like that,” said Rayne, not a question, his voice dipping down two full class strata. Oz nodded. Rayne unbuckled his thin leather belt, shoving down his trousers, pulling his cock out of his boxers. “Suck it,” he said, pushing down on Oz’s shoulders in an insistent way that somehow reminded Oz of a schoolyard bully.
Oz didn’t kneel. He pulled a condom out of his jacket pocket and tore open the pouch. "Wait," he said.
“Oh dear,” Rayne said, sighing theatrically. “Has Rupert been besmirching my good name?”
Oz shrugged. “It never hurts being careful around blood.”
Rayne grabbed Oz’s wrist tight. “What makes you think there will be blood, then?”
Oz jerked his hand free and undid his own belt, pulled down his briefs. He could feel the cutting crescent-moon shapes Rayne’s fingernails had left. “There’s a lot of ways blood can be dangerous,” he said quietly. "I’m a werewolf. I think you know already. I think you can tell.”
Rayne smiled. "I worship -- "
“I’m a werewolf,” Oz repeated. “What are you doing?”
“--chaos,” Rayne said calmly, “ I couldn’t tell you. I so rarely know myself.”
Oz rolled the condom carefully down the length of his own penis, pinching the empty space at the tip and gritting his teeth, because it pissed him off, this recklessness, the arrogance of it, but not enough to make make him leave the bathroom like he should.
“Are you going to bite me, then?” Rayne whispered, grinning wider, and then Oz was grabbing at him, spinning him around so he wouldn’t have to look at those teeth. He spread Rayne’s buttocks and nosed the lubricated tip of his cock inside, half-expecting the taller man to stop him, to force him off. He didn’t.
Oz was all the way in, scrabbling for a hold on Rayne’s shirt. Oz tilted back his hips and then pushed in again, harder, faster. He could see Rayne’s face reflected in the mirror, and over his shoulder, his own eyes. He didn’t like either expression. He closed them.
Tighter than Wil, Veruca. Oz wondered suddenly if this was enough for Rayne, and felt his way experimentally to the buttons of the other man's shirt, to his cock, but the buttons were still closed and Rayne’s hand was already there. Oz pulled his own hand back, relieved.
He’d never had sex with someone he didn’t care about, never.
Tighter than his hand, tighter than Giles’s ever was, and Oz’s mouth was locked closed, his jaw tight, and he was spilling toward erection, pushing faster.
“Is this how he does it to you?”
Oz opened his eyes. Rayne looked as if he was speaking to his own reflection in the mirror. “Admittedly, I miss that scrape of teeth against the back of my neck, but in you, I actually recognize the patented Ripper style. A new kind of sexual transmission, if you will.”
“You . . .”
“Oh, don’t stop. I’m sure you haven’t much practice on the upper end of the transaction, but you’re really very good.” He reached behind his own body, and Oz felt Rayne’s fingers on his back, pulling him close again, and he couldn’t help it, he was coming. He twisted away, and there they were, a two-headed monster-god connected until he felt his penis sliding out of Rayne’s body.
“Exactly,” said Rayne.
“This is what you wanted,” said Oz. He felt horribly tired. He didn’t want to be a predator, but he didn’t want to be used, either.
“There’s a spell,” Rayne said. “A spell I used to locate the person Ripper most recently . . . “
There were gray hairs sprouting from his ear, plainly visible in the light of the single bright, bare bulb. With difficulty, Oz turned to look at Rayne’s likeness in the bathroom mirror instead. “That’s really kind of -- ”
Rayne smiled an acid smile. “Well, the original plan wasn’t to fuck you,” he said, as if that was what had been going on. Or maybe it was. “The original plan was to fuck you up. This isn’t some jealously thing.”
Oz wondered if the other man had brought himself off at all. He hadn’t heard his breath quicken, but both of Rayne’s hands were resting on the rim of the sink now, and he looked well-satisfied. “Not that I’m above jealously, as a rule,” Rayne admitted. “But with Ripper, it goes deeper than that. Desire for revenge is, if not more pure, at least more compelling. Do you know where I’ve been?”
“No.”
“I’ve been in the custody of the Initiative. Do you know what they did to me?”
I don’t care, he wanted to say, but he didn’t. “No.”
“But you know what they did to the vampire, don’t you.” He turned to face Oz. “And what difference does a soul make, really?” he said, like he was answering an unvoiced objection. “We all know the things of which human beings are capable. They were enlightened enough not to draw a distinction.. What’s the difference between a person and a vampire? What’s the difference between slaying and killing, when it comes down to it?” Rayne looked at Oz expectantly.
Oz threw the used condom in the trash. “Not a question you want to ask in Buffy’s line of work,” he said after a minute.
“Or Rupert’s. But you and I, we don’t lie to ourselves.”
“You lie to everyone.”
“And you don’t volunteer any information at all. How very different and commendable.”
“Dude. You’ve got to learn to let go,” Oz said.
“Have I? At least I trust myself enough not to bury myself away in some obscure mountain hamlet when things start to go wrong.” He calmly pulled up his pants. “I never ran away from Ripper.”
“That’s not what I’m doing. I play it safe. I’m working on my problem.” Control: that was what separated slaying from killing too, goddamnit.
“Your problem,” Rayne said. “I see. I suppose you want me to pat you on the head. Well, that’s not my style. Really, gambling with the people one loves is the truest thing one can do.”
“That’s insane.”
“Well, at least then you know where you stand.”
“Do you think your god would like it if I bit you?” Oz asked. “What if I killed you; do you think Giles would care?" Oz paused to think. "Would he care about any of this? He doesn’t think you still love him, and he doesn’t love me. I know.”
“Shut your bloody boat,” said Rayne, kissing him dryly on the forehead. “I don’t. Still love him.”
"And you don't lie to yourself?"
Rayne looked down at him. "I'm talking to you."
“I’ve got some freeze-dried coffee in my room,” said Oz, pushing him away. He wasn’t not really sure why he was offering. He opened the bathroom door.
Rayne grimaced and shut off the light. “I suppose that will have to do.”
fin.