Fic: Dancing in the Park (G/E) FRAO by twilightofmagic
Note - Since twilightofmagic is out of town, I'm posting her story - please don't hesitate to feedback though, since I'll be forwarding it all to her!
Title: Dancing in the Park
Author: Twilightofmagic
Characters: Giles/Ethan
Rating: NC/17
Setting: Ripper days, after Giles has left Oxford and taken up with Ethan, but before the tragic events with Eyghon.
Note: comments welcome.
Length: approx. 7,000 words
Huge thanks to katekat1010 who came in by request to look over the story, only partially completed, as I was panicking with deadline approaching and having to be away on the due date. Her advice was excellent, and remaining errors are all my own. I hope they’re few, but the story was finished in my going away rush.
Banner by velocitygrass
“That’s the way, love. Where’d you learn to...” The rest of the sentiment dissolved in a groan as the girl fluttered her tongue against the underside of his cock, turning the base of his spine to molten goo. Charisse...Clarissa...whatever her name was...knew how to pleasure a man, no doubt about that. Watching her head bob up and down at his groin, Giles took a hit of the joint, feeling the harsh burn in his lungs. He was just exactly the right amount of high-mellow as a cat in sunshine and not ready to come yet. He could hold off forever as long as Chantelle...shit, what was the girl’s name?
“Chloe...?”
The girl looked up at him, eyes smiling. Holding his gaze in hers with a kind of innocent boldness, she drew her teeth slowly up to the tip, lips pouting full around the head and then released it with a pop.
“Carolyn. It’s Carolyn.”
Her long hair fell in a curtain, framing her face. She was pretty in that fresh, freckled way girls had these days. No make-up, eyes dark fringed and lustrous brown, a cute bob nose. His cock throbbed under her chin, nudging as if to remind her it was waiting.
“You’re very sweet, Carolyn. And good. And so fucking talented with that pretty pink tongue. Don’t let me interrupt you.”
He curved his palm over the crown of her head and pressed down, feeling the silk of her hair under his hand and her warm lips brush against the head of his cock. A moist lick of the tongue and he was sliding back inside. Dear Lord, the girl knew how to deep throat.
Far gone in carnal reveries, he flinched when the door latch clicked, the metallic sound sharp in the quiet of the room. Not that he cared. Unless it was a gun-toting father, nothing in the universe was going to stop him from thrusting into that hot, slick throat. He increased the tempo, holding her head in both hands, thigh muscles tensed.
“My, my, Ripper. Nice find.”
Ethan stood at the end of the bed surveying the scene appreciatively, hands in the pockets of his trousers. His shirt was open at the neck and through half-shut eyes, Giles could see the skin underneath flush.
“Hullo there.” His voice came out in a breathy gasp as the girl swallowed around him. He looked down at her. “Oh shit. Yeah, love. Like that.”
He closed his eyes and spoke to Ethan through clenched teeth. “Home...uh..uh.. ummm...”
He had no idea why he was so determined to talk at that particular moment, but Ethan was still there, looking at him curiously, obviously wondering if he’d manage to spit it out.
Giles held the girl’s head still for a moment and tried again. “Home early, are you?”
Carolyn released him with a wet slurp and sat back, looking over her shoulder. She was remarkably cool about being caught arse up blowing some bloke.
“Ethan! I didn’t know you lived here.” She idly fisted Giles’ cock as she talked, keeping him hard.
Ethan raised his eyebrows, all polite attention. “Ahh...it’s....?” He smiled brightly. “We met....?”
It was clear he had no idea who she was.
“Carolyn! The Brinsley Schwarz gig? At The Crown. Back stairs?”
Ethan leaned forward, encouraging, willing to remember.
“We...you know...” She looked at him significantly, continuing her rhythmic hand movement. Giles leaned up on his elbows.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Ethan. You’re such a berk.”
Ethan brightened as though light was dawning.
“Oh, Carolyn. Why didn’t you say so? Yes, of course, I remember.”
The girl’s face darkened. “You said you’d call....”
“Sweetheart, I wanted to. Tried to. Honest. But I lost the slip of paper....”
Giles rolled his eyes. “Oh give it a break, Ethan. She’s not a fool, are you darling?” He reached up and ran his forefinger gently down her face. “Forget him. He’s a wanker. Now can we get back to what we’re doing?”
Ethan rocked back and forward, hands still jammed in his pockets. “Well, I suppose I could go round to the pub until you two....Unless you’d like me to....?” He looked hopefully in their direction.
“No.” The word came out in chorus.
“Oh well then. TTFN, darlings. Take your time. Don’t wait up for me.”
It was the small hours before Ethan reappeared, weaving slightly and disheveled, his shirt untucked and hair rumpled. Giles came awake to discover him trying to crawl into bed beside him, muttering drunken endearments.
“Fuck off, Ethan. You reek. Get away from me.” Giles gave his octopus companion a hard shove, tipping him onto the floor in a clatter of elbows and boots.
He woke several hours later, the mid-morning light streaming in through dirty windows and the sound of dustbins crashing down below. Someone cursed next door, a stream of spectacularly obscene invective in a broad Glasgow accent. Ian. Probably searching the ashtrays for a fag end. Carolyn was long gone. He’d given her money for a taxi and she’d slipped away, making him promise to phone the next day. He’d tossed the number into the bin as soon she’d left.
A snort from the floor by the bed revealed Ethan’s location. Apparently he’d been too drunk to drag himself over to the sunken mattress where he usually slept.
The squat was as squalid as they usually were, but Giles had managed to set up a stereo and speaker system that was the envy of the building. Their place had become party central. Lately though, the electricity was off and things had been pretty quiet.
Giles scratched his belly and watched a pair of bluebottles spiraling in their mating flight in a shaft of sunshine over his head. Or perhaps they were fighting. Giles realized what he knew about the sex life of flies could be fit on the head of a match. Pretty though-their bodies gleaming peacock blues and greens as they twisted in the light-remarkably beautiful for such filthy creatures. Giles stretched and yawned, and then gagged as the smell of rotting garbage hit his nostrils. Fucking Ethan. Never remembered to take it out.
Giles kicked tangled sheets aside and rose from the bed, stepping round Ethan’s head to reach for his jeans and t-shirt lying rumpled on a chair. On the way past, he prodded the snoring man, not gently, with his toe.
“Up and at ‘em, Sunshine. I’m off down to the shop for fags. Take the garbage out. It stinks in here.”
By the time he got back, Ethan was sitting at the table, head in hands. He’d boiled water on the primus stove and stared moodily at a steaming mug as if contemplating whether his stomach would tolerate even weak tea.
“Did you take out the garbage?” Giles clunked a couple of bottles of milk noisily onto the table.
“For Christ’s sake...” Ethan glared up from under his brows, looking as though he was ready to bolt for the bathroom. “Keep it down, for the love of...” He petered off weakly, lifting his mug in trembling hands.
For some reason, Giles never felt more vigorous than when he had a hung-over Ethan at his mercy.
“Got just the thing. A little jaunt to the countryside. Fresh air, the chortle of turtledoves in the undergrowth, fresh cow pats steaming in the sun, fluffy sheep. It’ll make a new man of you.”
“Fuck off.” Ethan took a tentative sip, squinting through the steam. “You get any fags?”
Giles rustled in the carrier bag with just a bit more enthusiasm than necessary and held up a packet of Drum. “Here.” He tossed it toward Ethan, smirking as he spilled his tea trying to snatch out of the air.
“Wanker.”
“Twat.”
Giles left Ethan rolling up, spilling flakes over the table as he fumbled with slippery rolling paper. His bike needed a tune-up and if he didn’t get at it soon, the day would be shot.
It was well past noon by the time Giles hauled Ethan out of his bed where he’d curled up like a prawn, sheet pulled over his head.
“Leave me alone, why can’t you. I’m not well.”
But Ethan’s protests went nowhere and now he was helmeted and sitting behind Giles as he released the clutch of his Norton Commando S and eased away from the curb in a roar of exhaust.
Soon they were clearing the last houses of Oxford and heading north up the A44. Traffic was relatively light and the road unspooled ahead of them, the centre line a pale blur and telegraph poles ticking off the miles. It had rained the night before and the air was unusually clear, filled with the damp green smell of woods and wet grasses. Giles felt his heart expand in his chest with child-like joy as they left behind the everyday worries and routines of town life.
They had to stop once for Ethan to be sick by the side of the road, the vibration doing violence to his queasy stomach, but the fast upchuck and a rinse of the mouth from the water bottle seemed to settle things. Soon he was playing his usual games, stroking Giles’ cock through the crotch of his jeans, trying to distract him as they leaned into curves. More than once in the past they’d had to pull over to pass an urgent half hour, Ethan on his knees blowing Giles as he leaned back against the bike, legs spread and jeans open. They didn’t go out of their way to hide what they were doing; a slight screen of bushes or tall grass was enough. And they’d straighten themselves away afterwards, breathless with spent lust and laughter, carefree as the day was long.
“We’re not going to Chipping Fucking Norton, are we?” Ethan was leaning forward to shout in his ear. He still smelled like stale beer from the night before.
“No, we’re not going to Chipping Fucking Norton. Are you crazy?”
They’d barely got out alive a few months before. Ethan, as usual, was playing silly buggers and got some of the local lads wound up. They’d ended outside the pub, surrounded by thick-necked youths shouting dire promises of bodily harm at them. If Ethan hadn’t managed to throw a glamour just as the lead thug raised his tire iron, they’d have been nothing more than a couple of bleeding lumps on the ground when the milk van came by in the morning.
Clearly, Ethan was feeling much better. Giles could feel a prickling atmosphere enveloping them both as a hard cock pressed into the base of his spine. When Ethan was feeling sexy, his magic surged high.
The energies were fused in his friend, never one without another. He’d felt it the first time their gazes locked at a local pub, eyes snagging over the heads of the other punters. Giles was with university friends, laughing at a hilarious account of someone’s abortive attempt to seduce an American student by the usual method of plying her with liquor and philosophy. The hapless suitor had woken the next morning under a bush near the cricket field. He was wearing a handcuff on one wrist, chafe marks on the other, and his bottom felt distinctly twingey. He thought he’d had a good time, but wasn’t sure. The crowd had roared in delight, obscene speculations filling the air.
Everyone in the pub looked to see what the uproar was about, and that’s when Giles’ breath caught in his throat. Ethan was leaning against the bar, pint in hand, watching him with a stare so intense Giles felt his stomach turn over with something like fear. Or anticipation. As their gaze held, Ethan nodded slightly toward the exit, finished his beer and walked out without a backward glance.
The blowjob Giles got when he followed, his back pressed into the bricks of the cellar, mortar gritting against his jacket, almost made him black out. When he came, thrusting into that hot, slick mouth, the air around them filled with sparkling light as if dust motes had taken fire. Each pulse down Ethan’s throat was met with a corresponding flare of brightness in the undulating curtains of blue, green, violet until the light faded and it was dark again.
“Fuckin’ hell,” was all Giles could utter, slumped boneless against the wall, too weak to consider the possibility of doing anything more energetic than regain eye focus.
Ethan moved in the next night, dumped a sleeping bag on the floor and forgot to leave. Giles had learned a thing or two about magic and sex since then and was pretty sure he’d never go back. If this was addiction, there were worse ways to lose yourself.
He felt Ethan’s fingers tense on his hip as he took a sudden left turn and leaned into the curve. A driver following too close behind blared his horn, dopplering into the distance along the main road.
“Bloody dangerous, that sort,” Giles shouted over his shoulder and saw Ethan’s teeth flash in the corner of his vision.
There was a sharp rap on the back of his helmet.
“Knock, knock.”
Giles sighed.
“Who’s there?”
“Ripper.”
“Ripper who?”
“Rip’er down, I wanna fuck you.”
Jesus. Giles groaned at the lame joke and concentrated on the road ahead, undulating gently through well-cultivated fields though the speed they were going, it was more like a roller coaster-stomach dropping dips and exhilarating crests. There were some sharp curves coming up and if he did them right, he could scare the shit out of Ethan, always satisfying when he could make it happen. Truth be told, more often than not, Ethan scared the shit out of him. His magic was strong, very strong and he had a taste for riding the edge of disaster. Giles found it simultaneously intoxicating and terrifying. And the sex afterwards was mind blowing, better than any drug he’d ever taken.
“Why are we going to Charlbury?” Ethan was yelling in his ear again.
Giles ignored him until they got to town, weaving through tourist traffic and finally down the long, tree lined entrance to Cornbury Park. He turned off across an unmown part of the great field, spooking clusters of roe deer grazing in the early afternoon sun. With a dying sputter from the engine, Giles coasted under a widespread oak and came to a rest, kicking the stand down and nudging Ethan to get off. In the distance, the sounds of cheering and clapping drifted in the light summer breeze, punctuated by the soft coo coo of a wood dove somewhere in the foliage of Wychwood forest.
Ethan leaned against the bike and pulled a joint from his jacket pocket. He lit up, pulling into his lungs and holding as he gazed down the hill toward the stately ancestral home. It glowed golden in the afternoon sun, forming an elegant backdrop to the colourful crowd gathered in the park.
“Pretty. What’s happening?” He passed the joint to Giles, exhaling in a long billow of smoke.
“Southwest Motorcycle Meet. But they’ve got some great bands lined up. There’s a rumour Zep might show. Friend of a friend is an old school pal of Jimmy’s.”
Giles dropped into rock star stance, pulling up hard on the neck of his air guitar, face in a rictus of stoked out ecstasy. He fingered the chords to Stairway, mouthing the lyrics. And then let go with a pleased grin and wandered off down the hill. Ethan ambled behind, hands in pockets. He liked crowds. Always something happening and opportunities for play.
All the usual people were there-men in studded leather gear, biker chicks with fleshy cleavage jutting out over slack bellies, spotty sixteen year olds with lank hair, the skin on their bony chests corpse white, Rasta girls in loose Indian cotton pants, and children, naked and beaming with health astride their father’s shoulders. The smell of barbecued meat and curry roti hung in the air.
An up-and-coming local punk band had the stage, spiked, ripped and scowling. Giles and Ethan watched for a couple of songs before declaring them rubbish. Keeping to the edges of the crowd, they leaned against the trunk of a beech tree and observed the scene, nudging each other when something piqued interest: a middle aged man, graying at the temples, trying to hold in his stomach as he passed the pretty young things; a rosy cheeked toddler, its mouth in a pout of distress watching a balloon disappear into the blue; a youth, floppy haired and shy, shifting uncomfortably with a wayward erection as he tried to make conversation with a stunning girl in a bikini top.
“Way out of his class,” Ethan murmured, “but his hope is charming.” He flicked his fingers in their direction, making Giles snort with laughter when her straps untied. Startled, the youth jerked forward in a reflexive attempt to catch the top as it fell, but ended up groping her breasts. She reared back, clutching the fabric to her and spat out a ferocious comment as she turned away. It wasn’t clear what she said, but by the look on the boy’s face and his wilting erection, it must have stung.
A tattooed biker walked by, his arm across his girlfriend’s shoulders. Too tempting. Giles made a sign low down with his right hand and the end of the biker’s bandanna twitched. He glanced over his shoulder and straightened the headgear, looking suspiciously at his partner. She had been gazing at the menu on an ice cream van and suddenly realized she was being stared at. Her brows came together. “What?”
Giles gestured again. The biker’s head swiveled, eyes like an angry boar looking for something to gore, but no one was close by.
Ethan’s face lit up and he crowed with delight.
The biker swiveled toward them, signaling his girlfriend to stay where she was. He strode forward, arms held away from his body, boots raising puffs of dust from the ground. Ethan flashed a vivid look in Giles’ direction, grinning madly. This is going to be fun. Giles straightened up, fists knotted.
“Oi, what are you lookin’ at, wankers.”
“Something on your mind, squire?” Ethan’s accent was so plummy he could have made jam. He was an arrogant prick when he wanted to be. The biker glared, lips curled into a snarl. He leaned forward and stabbed a finger at Ethan’s chest.
“Yeah, arsehole. What’s so fuckin’ funny?” He was right in his face
Ethan leaned back at the same angle of inclination and looked down his nose at the enraged man. He cocked on eyebrow and spoke slowly, smirking as he enunciated each word.
“You are, mate.”
Things got a bit blurry after than. The biker blinked in surprise and then his face mottled with rage. He got in one blow, staggering Ethan backwards before Giles piled in, punching and kicking with the fierce concentration that always came over him when things got messy. He loved the adrenaline high, the crystalline purity of perception, skin of his knuckles pulled tight, fists crunching against bone and flesh. Everything became so very simple.
A few of the biker’s friends arrived at the run and out of the corner of his eye, Giles saw Ethan slide away, eyes dark with arousal, the air around him shimmering. Bastard. But he was never a fighter, just liked a little aggro from safe distance. A fist caught Giles in the side of the head, swinging him round and he was caught by rough hands, holding him upright but imprisoning his arms. When his head cleared, he was facing the biker whose nose he seemed to have broken as blood dribbled from his nostrils, smearing his upper lip. The yob wiped it away with the back of his hand and gave him the hard man stare, pale blue eyes promising lethal violence.
“Last words, cocksucker. Make them good.”
Giles lunged forward trying to get close enough to get a knee up between the bastard’s legs, but he was dragged back, someone behind chopping his kidneys in a series of tight, rapid blows. He grunted as each landed, forcing harsh expulsions of air. He felt nauseated from the pain radiating out from the bruising and swallowed hard. An arm hooked around his throat crushing his windpipe and he felt himself gray out, his legs folding under him.
Suddenly, the restraining arms were gone and he fell forward onto his hands and knees, head down, shuddering oxygen into his lungs. As he struggled to breathe, his scalp prickled with the characteristic building charge of magic seeking its target, followed by the thudding rush of many legs running past him and the musky shit smell of animal hide. He looked up just long enough to see a fleeing cluster of wild pigs race squealing into the undergrowth and then Ethan’s legs strolling over. Looking up, Giles squinted his eyes against the sunlight throwing a completely undeserved halo round Ethan’s head. His face was in shadow, but it was clear from the chuckling laughter coming from above he’d been having a hell of a good time.
“Left that a little late, don’t you think?” Giles rose, dusting his jeans and then straightening to arch his spine, rubbing his back where his kidneys ached from the abuse. Bloody Ethan. He liked watching him suffer.
“But you were enjoying yourself so much, Ripper. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Ethan hooked an arm round his neck and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. “My hero. All brawn and very little brain.” He ducked away to avoid the retribution he knew was coming, looking around with a satisfied air. “I like this place. Lots of lovely energy.” He spread his arms wide and rotated in a circle, as if summoning spirits. “I can feel them.”
“There are ancient burial vaults everywhere in these parts, ley line convergences, standing stones, all the usual hot spots,” Giles said and murmured to himself, “Draca sceal on hlaew, frod, fraetum wlanc.” The dragon shall be in the tumulus, old, rich in treasures. In his first year at Oxford, he’d read Beowulf, loving the feel of Anglo-Saxon on his tongue, the gutteral syllables so earthy and primal. There were several burial chambers or barrows in Cornbury Park, probably within sight of where they now stood. Giles watched his lover, still turning, his face tilted toward the sky. Tall, slim, elegant, Ethan was a fey creature, magic welling up in him, rich and dark. He’d seen it in him the first night and was drawn to it like a moth to the flame.
A new band was starting up after a brief shriek of feedback, launching into a thunderous driving beat. A rapturous cry rolled across the park, setting flocks of starlings into the air in thick dark clouds, wheeling and twisting over the crowd below. Led Zepplin had arrived and everyone was primed and ready after an afternoon of music under the hot sun. The guys were on, leaping and hopping about the stage, hair flying, supercharged with energy. As the music soared, the bass guitar throbbed its steady rise and fall against the bedrock of pounding drums, and Plant’s wailing vocals climbed to a screaming crescendo.
The audience went wild, yelling and pumping the air in an ecstasy of adrenaline fueled joy. Dust rose from the dry ground under the thrumming feet, hanging over their heads in a thin veil that seemed to pulse in time to the drums’ primal rhythm. Page looked back at Bonham and the beat changed to the blues as they launched into ‘I Can’t Quit You, Baby’. Page’s fingers blurred over the strings, riffing against the slow thudding drum line, leaving Giles wide-eyed with awe. When the band soared into a locomotive version of ‘How Many More Times’ the crowd became a roaring beast, unified in the torrent of sound crashing around them, echoing across the fields and through the woods. The sun was declining toward the west, throwing long shadows from the trees of the Wychwood, and the dancing bodies leaping in perfect synchrony with their darker selves.
Giles looked over at Ethan, electrified, and saw his intent hawk face still, listening, an eerie calm in the midst of the seething crowd. His mercurial lover was never like this unless...Giles’ heart did a violent turn in the middle of chest. Something was coming and Ethan sensed it.
And then even Giles could feel it, a change in the air around them as if a storm was brewing though the sky above was clear and blue. He shivered, scanning the crowd and surrounding woods. His skin prickled and he rubbed his fingers against the denim of his jeans, instinctively getting ready. He’d been with Ethan before when he’d summoned spirits and sometimes they’d woven spells together, tearing open the veil between the worlds with the knife edge of their orgasms, semen and sexual intoxication transporting them into the beyond. But Ethan wasn’t controlling whatever approached. He hadn’t called it. If anything, the crowd was even more frenzied and the music now vibrated in the ground beneath them and rumbled in their viscera.
“What’s happening?” Giles moved closer to Ethan, looking at him with alarm. Ethan turned slowly, unwilling to pull himself away from his inner sight.
“This place amplifies energies. The crowd. Something’s attracted by the crowd.”
Giles could see Ethan’s rising agitation, his nostrils flaring as if he were sniffing out the source of the altered atmosphere.
And then it arrived. The milling chaos of the dancing crowd took form, lines of people swirling round a point in a giant vortex of human flesh.
“There.” Ethan pointed, finger quivering with tension. “In the middle. It comes.”
Giles squinted his eyes against the light. A huge figure stood silhouetted in the middle of circling dancers, their faces alight in ecstasy, arms aloft and waving as if worshipping. Women’s voices keened and sobbed, and men panted cries of animal excitement. As the sun’s brightness dimmed momentarily under a cloud, the creature’s form resolved into clarity-the shape of a goat, shaggy limbed, with the torso of a man, its head crowned by horns sweeping high before curling round pointed ears.
A mental image of Shepard’s illustration of Pan in Wind in the Willows superimposed itself over the arresting figure standing in the swirling crowd. Pan, the god of flocks and fields. Giles suspected that this one wouldn’t be the calm, protective, Christianized demi-god of Grahame’s novel. No ‘Friend and Helper’ here. Giles had left those safe childhood illusions behind him the first time his father had opened the bookcase where the Watcher journals were kept.
“It’s time you began to prepare, Rupert.” So he’d read and during the first long night of appalled absorption in the annals of Watcher and Slayer, realized what a cruel lie his childhood had been.
The real Pan, mythic form of an ancient nature spirit, spoke of earliest man’s understanding of nature, red in tooth and claw. He was eons distant from the cosy animals of Grahame’s book. Among the Celts he was Cernunnos, the horned god, Lord of the Wild Things. His arrival bode no good.
Through the cries and screams of laughter filling the air, Giles saw the main vortex surrounded by smaller ones, curling round in fractal branches, the centre of each revealing fairies, elves, fauns, goblins-the entire cast of English children’s stories emerging on the field. As he watched, the creatures dispersed into the crowd, some launching into the air to hover and dart overhead, others slipping between bodies, chasing and dancing among the humans drunk on sunshine and music and life.
Ethan began to walk toward the melee as if drawn forward on strings, eyes wide open and fixed. His hands twitched, sparks trailing from the tips of his fingers. Giles could see his aura charging as he drew from the ambient magic, absorbing it through his skin and into his lungs with every breath he took. Breaking into a run, Giles followed, uneasy but excited, a low heat rising from his balls, flowing up his spine and flushing over his scalp.
“Wait!” He grabbed for Ethan’s elbow, half turning him. And then froze, transfixed. Ethan’s eyes glowed in his flushed face, his hair shimmering strands of copper and mahogany in the long rays of the setting sun. He was vivid, filled with light in its deeper tones--the colours of peat streams and mountain tarns, of jade and quartz, of root and loam--all the hues of the under earth. Ethan’s eyes caught a slanting ray from the horizon and lit up, revealing their transparent amber depths. Giles stared, watching the magic seethe, seeking release and he felt his cock stir and rise in response.
“I...maybe we should....” But Ethan shrugged him off, striding toward the milling dancers until he was lost in their midst.
Giles stood watching for a moment, worrying, and then broke into a run, trying to fight through the writhing bodies at the point where Ethan had disappeared. He was jostled and elbowed as he fought his way through men, women, youths, all caught up in a herd frenzy, jerking to the pulsing drumbeat.
Every once in a while, he would catch sight of Ethan striding onward toward the house, the crowd parting to let him pass. Something there had caught his attention and he moved inexorably toward whatever was taking place.
Giles hurried to catch up, and as he passed the low wall surrounding the lower garden saw a group of men surrounding a girl. She was young, maybe sixteen, dressed in a flowing dress of white muslin. Her feet were bare, her long legs tanned and lithe as she danced, caught up in a world of her own. At some point earlier in the day, she’d woven field daisies into a coronet and it sat, slightly askew on her shining hair. The men stood around her in a loose circle, entranced and yearning, waiting for her to choose.
Ethan had stopped on the edge of the group and as Giles watched, he raised his arm and muttered an incantation. A flare of light leapt from his hand and flowed toward the girl, spiraling up over her head and then dropping down in fiery coils. Strands separated and sought her hands and feet, weaving round until she was bound in light. Her feet lifted up, until she hovered horizontally as if floating on a bed of air. Her dress parted, exposing her flat belly and rounded thighs, held apart and vulnerable. The men groaned and moved forward, eyes fixed on her centre.
“No-o!”
The cry tore from Giles’ throat as he ran forward to grasp Ethan by the shoulders “What are you doing?”
Wild eyed and staring, whatever was left of his mind far away, Ethan tried to wriggle free. He breathed rapidly through his nostrils, chest rising and falling as if he’d run a long distance.
Giles shook him violently, shouting into his face.
“Ethan, you must stop this. Are you crazy? It’s madness.”
His lover stiffened under his hands. His features blurred for a moment, something rising under the skin, and then it subsided and Ethan was back.
“Ripper? Why are you hurting me?” He shook free, rubbing his shoulders. Then he turned and saw the girl. One of the men had placed himself between her legs and she whimpered in fear, struggling in her bonds.
Ethan pulled himself up to his full height, breathing deep, drawing in his power and then he exhaled.
“Quiesco”
With a rapid gesture of his fingers, he threw the command, halting the man as his hands slid up the girl’s thighs. The fellow froze and then came to, snatching his hands back as if her legs were on fire. He turned away, zipping up and ran down the terrace stairs, followed by the rest.
“Jesus, Ethan. What were you thinking?” Giles looked as his lover, brow furrowed in consternation. They’d done magic together, but it had never involved active harm to another human being.
Ethan bowed his head and stared at his feet. When he looked up again, it seemed as though he was trying to don his usual ironic expression, but it wouldn’t fix. His dark eyes were troubled, and for the first time in all the months he’d known him, Giles saw fear.
“We’ll talk later.” Giles knew his tone was brusque, but he didn’t know how to be any other way. There had never been a crack in the smooth, confident demeanor of his lover before. It was deeply unsettling. But the alternative apparently could be a great deal worse. Ethan had got too close to something today and his arrogance had led him there. Both of them had been arrogant, stupid and careless, Giles recognized with a flare of disgust.
The uproar behind them grew louder. As they gazed over the crowd, they could see that things were reaching an orgiastic climax. Dancers were dropping to the ground exhausted, many with faery creatures perched on their bodies, exploring curiously, rifling pockets, tugging hair, carrying away objects. Pan had taken a perch on a tree stump and overlooked the scene, eyes glittering. A handsome youth was held captive in his hairy grip, sullen and passive. Whatever the demi-god intended for him, it hadn’t happened yet, but the boy had already given up. He wouldn’t resist.
At the fringes of the crowd, forest creatures had drawn close. Foxes sat watching with intelligent black eyes, ears pointed forward. One yawned wide, showing razor teeth. Several badgers snuffled about, occasionally sniffing the air, their powerful digging claws sunk into the grass as they stretched their necks to sift the odours on the wind. A band of ferrets slunk around the periphery of the field, backs arched as they flowed along the ground, eyes beady and feral. Clusters of deer stood under the trees, the antlers on the proud bucks branching high, ending in sharp tines. The grass rustled with millions of chitinous things, creeping and scuttling toward the light. And overhead, the starlings circled in great, dark wheels over the heads below. Crows ranged above them, tumbling and cawing, talking excitedly to each other of corpses and battlefields.
Things were building to a bloody end.
Giles looked at Ethan. He knew his lover was powerful, but this was huge, the forces elemental. He raised an eyebrow, questioning.
Ethan gazed back, his expression unreadable. And then he smiled.
“Mere bagatelle, Ripper. Nothing to worry about.”
But of course there was. Messing about with earth magic when Pan was in attendance, no small matter. Giles sighed and waited for instructions.
“A dispersal spell. Nothing to it.” Ethan was looking at the garden surrounding the terrace and then vaulted over the low wall, running his fingers over the plants growing there.
“Coleus, lavender, thyme, thistle-don’t you just love English gardens, Ripper? A wizard’s delight.” He began plucking leaves and flowers, handing them to Giles as he rapidly gathered what he needed.
He climbed back onto the terrace, rummaging in his jacket pocket for something and coming up empty. The howls and screams were getting louder.
“Have you got cigarettes?”
Giles stared at him, dumfounded. Nature was about to unleash itself upon human kind and Ethan was taking a smoke break? He felt in his shirt pocket and extracted a pack of Players.
Ethan thumbed the lid up and felt around with his long, slim fingers, finally coming up with the silver paper.
In the distance Pan had stood up, his shaggy thighs powerful under the barrel torso. He tugged at the youth, pulling him to his feet.
“Hurry up. Curtain’s about to rise.” Giles couldn’t control his anxiety, but he was also aware of a rising excitement. The spell Ethan was about to weave was huge and it would need everything he could bring to it to augment its power. This would be bigger than anything they had ever attempted before.
Ethan tore the herbs into pieces and unrolled a joint, tipping the buds onto the pile on the silver paper. “And a little cannabis sativa for a boost. Got a lighter?”
Giles flipped the lid open and applied the flame, waving it over the herbs until they crackled and began to smoke.
“We’re going to pull a net over the field, trap the energies that opened the doorway to the underworld. We form the bond and then run like hell, pulling it over the whole field. Understand?”
Giles nodded. He’d never heard of a spell that required a 400-meter dash as part of the procedure, but he was in if that’s what was necessary.
Ethan reached for his hands, forming the bond and began the incantation, eyes closed and a deep furrow of concentration between his brows. Giles muttered his complementary part, buttressing Ethan’s construction with energy staves, placing each where it would support and distribute the magic, forming arches and columns of elemental stuff until they’d vaulted the spell over their heads. The air sizzled and fizzed, electrons speeding up, closing the gaps over with a haze of electricity.
“Ready?”
Ethan’s pupils completely filled his eyes, but Giles knew that his too were fully expanded, opened to the Other Place. He nodded and they parted hands, drawing a sheet of fire between them. It billowed and breathed as if it were alive.
“Ru-u-unnn,” Ethan yelled and they leapt from the terrace, holding the points of the elemental fabric between them and hitting the ground at full sprint. Ethan dashed to the left and Giles to the right, expanding the fiery web between them like parachute silk, glowing golden and red. It billowed high over the crowd, sliding between the people below and the circling birds. Pan raised his head and roared, his neck bulging as his bugle cry rang out over the field.
Animals broke away, startled into flight and Giles raced a fleeing hare until it darted into the Wychwood. Larger and larger the net grew, until it floated over the entire field, encompassing all below and anchored by the hands drawing it behind. As the grass began to rise toward the hill at the end of the park, Ethan turned in toward Giles until they met, arms high holding an undulating cloud of energy cracking between them. They touched hands, completing the circle and the net floated down, smothering the spell that had consumed the day. It gave a last surge of light and then died.
Ethan had his head down, one hands braced on his knees, heaving air into his lungs. Giles wasn’t in much better shape and he struggled to get control of his breathing.
“Got to give up the fags, mate,” Ethan said when he could finally speak. “That was one motherfucker of a spell.” He grinned hugely at Giles and they both dissolved in laughter.
Below them in the distance, people were picking themselves up from where they’d crumpled to the ground in exhaustion. They looked dazed and wandered around staring at each other as if they didn’t know where they were. On the stage, the band members were stretching, flexing their fingers and gazing hollow-eyed at the ragged remnants of an audience.
“Bet they’ll be talking about this gig for a long, long time,” Giles said, still giggling. And then he pulled Ethan to him and kissed him hard. The magic still zinging in his veins made him ache to be inside.
“First one back to the bike gets to top,” he said, knowing it would always be him and Ethan would always let him.
They stumbled up the hill at a half run, pulling at each other’s clothing, kissing and groping in breathless lust. When they got to the bike, Giles broke away long enough to rummage frantically in his jacket, finally coming up with lube which he palmed as he grabbed Ethan to him again. A field of flickering light surrounded his lover, residue of the spell, but fed now by their desire, it grew and crackled, a glowing cloud streaming over his head and down his back, lifting the strands of his hair as if they were ionized in an electrical current. .
“Get down.” Giles could hardly speak, his need so violent his hands trembled as he ripped open Ethan’s shirt and pulled it off. Ethan fumbled with his jeans and slid them down, kicking them away in frantic haste. He dropped down to his knees. “Hurry. For Christ’s sake...”
It was only a matter of seconds and Giles was behind him, slicked and kneeing his thighs apart, straining to get in but clumsy with passion. Ethan arched, reaching back, feeling for the cock pressed against his arse. He held it steady and then sank down, impaling himself. A helpless groaned fell from Giles’ lips and he began to thrust, holding Ethan’s hips as he drove forward. There was no finesse to their lovemaking after magic. It was all heat and fury and overwhelming lust. He was barely conscious, aware only of the hot, tight pressure of the body beneath him and the undulating waves of Ethan’s response. He might have been sobbing with each panting breath. All too soon, it was over, both crying out in ecstasy and exhaustion.
With a last shuddering jerk into Ethan’s body, Giles felt himself begin to collapse. “Ripper...” Ethan sighed his name and fell forward onto his forearms, flattening underneath him until they were both tumbled together, limbs spread out on the grass. For a few dazed moments, Giles lay still and then rolled onto his back, staring up at the evening sky.
The sun had dropped below the horizon, leaving a glow of red like fine silk, lining the edge of the land. The space above had turned delicate shades of blue, violet and palest aquamarine, thin skeins of cloud touched pink in the dying rays.
Ethan was asleep, judging by the soft snores coming from the body next to him. Tomorrow they would talk, perhaps about magic, probably about their future. At some point, there had to be a reckoning for the way they lived, but for now the peace of the countryside soothed Giles’ troubled mind, and he too let it all go.
Title: Dancing in the Park
Author: Twilightofmagic
Characters: Giles/Ethan
Rating: NC/17
Setting: Ripper days, after Giles has left Oxford and taken up with Ethan, but before the tragic events with Eyghon.
Note: comments welcome.
Length: approx. 7,000 words
Huge thanks to katekat1010 who came in by request to look over the story, only partially completed, as I was panicking with deadline approaching and having to be away on the due date. Her advice was excellent, and remaining errors are all my own. I hope they’re few, but the story was finished in my going away rush.
Banner by velocitygrass
“That’s the way, love. Where’d you learn to...” The rest of the sentiment dissolved in a groan as the girl fluttered her tongue against the underside of his cock, turning the base of his spine to molten goo. Charisse...Clarissa...whatever her name was...knew how to pleasure a man, no doubt about that. Watching her head bob up and down at his groin, Giles took a hit of the joint, feeling the harsh burn in his lungs. He was just exactly the right amount of high-mellow as a cat in sunshine and not ready to come yet. He could hold off forever as long as Chantelle...shit, what was the girl’s name?
“Chloe...?”
The girl looked up at him, eyes smiling. Holding his gaze in hers with a kind of innocent boldness, she drew her teeth slowly up to the tip, lips pouting full around the head and then released it with a pop.
“Carolyn. It’s Carolyn.”
Her long hair fell in a curtain, framing her face. She was pretty in that fresh, freckled way girls had these days. No make-up, eyes dark fringed and lustrous brown, a cute bob nose. His cock throbbed under her chin, nudging as if to remind her it was waiting.
“You’re very sweet, Carolyn. And good. And so fucking talented with that pretty pink tongue. Don’t let me interrupt you.”
He curved his palm over the crown of her head and pressed down, feeling the silk of her hair under his hand and her warm lips brush against the head of his cock. A moist lick of the tongue and he was sliding back inside. Dear Lord, the girl knew how to deep throat.
Far gone in carnal reveries, he flinched when the door latch clicked, the metallic sound sharp in the quiet of the room. Not that he cared. Unless it was a gun-toting father, nothing in the universe was going to stop him from thrusting into that hot, slick throat. He increased the tempo, holding her head in both hands, thigh muscles tensed.
“My, my, Ripper. Nice find.”
Ethan stood at the end of the bed surveying the scene appreciatively, hands in the pockets of his trousers. His shirt was open at the neck and through half-shut eyes, Giles could see the skin underneath flush.
“Hullo there.” His voice came out in a breathy gasp as the girl swallowed around him. He looked down at her. “Oh shit. Yeah, love. Like that.”
He closed his eyes and spoke to Ethan through clenched teeth. “Home...uh..uh.. ummm...”
He had no idea why he was so determined to talk at that particular moment, but Ethan was still there, looking at him curiously, obviously wondering if he’d manage to spit it out.
Giles held the girl’s head still for a moment and tried again. “Home early, are you?”
Carolyn released him with a wet slurp and sat back, looking over her shoulder. She was remarkably cool about being caught arse up blowing some bloke.
“Ethan! I didn’t know you lived here.” She idly fisted Giles’ cock as she talked, keeping him hard.
Ethan raised his eyebrows, all polite attention. “Ahh...it’s....?” He smiled brightly. “We met....?”
It was clear he had no idea who she was.
“Carolyn! The Brinsley Schwarz gig? At The Crown. Back stairs?”
Ethan leaned forward, encouraging, willing to remember.
“We...you know...” She looked at him significantly, continuing her rhythmic hand movement. Giles leaned up on his elbows.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Ethan. You’re such a berk.”
Ethan brightened as though light was dawning.
“Oh, Carolyn. Why didn’t you say so? Yes, of course, I remember.”
The girl’s face darkened. “You said you’d call....”
“Sweetheart, I wanted to. Tried to. Honest. But I lost the slip of paper....”
Giles rolled his eyes. “Oh give it a break, Ethan. She’s not a fool, are you darling?” He reached up and ran his forefinger gently down her face. “Forget him. He’s a wanker. Now can we get back to what we’re doing?”
Ethan rocked back and forward, hands still jammed in his pockets. “Well, I suppose I could go round to the pub until you two....Unless you’d like me to....?” He looked hopefully in their direction.
“No.” The word came out in chorus.
“Oh well then. TTFN, darlings. Take your time. Don’t wait up for me.”
It was the small hours before Ethan reappeared, weaving slightly and disheveled, his shirt untucked and hair rumpled. Giles came awake to discover him trying to crawl into bed beside him, muttering drunken endearments.
“Fuck off, Ethan. You reek. Get away from me.” Giles gave his octopus companion a hard shove, tipping him onto the floor in a clatter of elbows and boots.
He woke several hours later, the mid-morning light streaming in through dirty windows and the sound of dustbins crashing down below. Someone cursed next door, a stream of spectacularly obscene invective in a broad Glasgow accent. Ian. Probably searching the ashtrays for a fag end. Carolyn was long gone. He’d given her money for a taxi and she’d slipped away, making him promise to phone the next day. He’d tossed the number into the bin as soon she’d left.
A snort from the floor by the bed revealed Ethan’s location. Apparently he’d been too drunk to drag himself over to the sunken mattress where he usually slept.
The squat was as squalid as they usually were, but Giles had managed to set up a stereo and speaker system that was the envy of the building. Their place had become party central. Lately though, the electricity was off and things had been pretty quiet.
Giles scratched his belly and watched a pair of bluebottles spiraling in their mating flight in a shaft of sunshine over his head. Or perhaps they were fighting. Giles realized what he knew about the sex life of flies could be fit on the head of a match. Pretty though-their bodies gleaming peacock blues and greens as they twisted in the light-remarkably beautiful for such filthy creatures. Giles stretched and yawned, and then gagged as the smell of rotting garbage hit his nostrils. Fucking Ethan. Never remembered to take it out.
Giles kicked tangled sheets aside and rose from the bed, stepping round Ethan’s head to reach for his jeans and t-shirt lying rumpled on a chair. On the way past, he prodded the snoring man, not gently, with his toe.
“Up and at ‘em, Sunshine. I’m off down to the shop for fags. Take the garbage out. It stinks in here.”
By the time he got back, Ethan was sitting at the table, head in hands. He’d boiled water on the primus stove and stared moodily at a steaming mug as if contemplating whether his stomach would tolerate even weak tea.
“Did you take out the garbage?” Giles clunked a couple of bottles of milk noisily onto the table.
“For Christ’s sake...” Ethan glared up from under his brows, looking as though he was ready to bolt for the bathroom. “Keep it down, for the love of...” He petered off weakly, lifting his mug in trembling hands.
For some reason, Giles never felt more vigorous than when he had a hung-over Ethan at his mercy.
“Got just the thing. A little jaunt to the countryside. Fresh air, the chortle of turtledoves in the undergrowth, fresh cow pats steaming in the sun, fluffy sheep. It’ll make a new man of you.”
“Fuck off.” Ethan took a tentative sip, squinting through the steam. “You get any fags?”
Giles rustled in the carrier bag with just a bit more enthusiasm than necessary and held up a packet of Drum. “Here.” He tossed it toward Ethan, smirking as he spilled his tea trying to snatch out of the air.
“Wanker.”
“Twat.”
Giles left Ethan rolling up, spilling flakes over the table as he fumbled with slippery rolling paper. His bike needed a tune-up and if he didn’t get at it soon, the day would be shot.
It was well past noon by the time Giles hauled Ethan out of his bed where he’d curled up like a prawn, sheet pulled over his head.
“Leave me alone, why can’t you. I’m not well.”
But Ethan’s protests went nowhere and now he was helmeted and sitting behind Giles as he released the clutch of his Norton Commando S and eased away from the curb in a roar of exhaust.
Soon they were clearing the last houses of Oxford and heading north up the A44. Traffic was relatively light and the road unspooled ahead of them, the centre line a pale blur and telegraph poles ticking off the miles. It had rained the night before and the air was unusually clear, filled with the damp green smell of woods and wet grasses. Giles felt his heart expand in his chest with child-like joy as they left behind the everyday worries and routines of town life.
They had to stop once for Ethan to be sick by the side of the road, the vibration doing violence to his queasy stomach, but the fast upchuck and a rinse of the mouth from the water bottle seemed to settle things. Soon he was playing his usual games, stroking Giles’ cock through the crotch of his jeans, trying to distract him as they leaned into curves. More than once in the past they’d had to pull over to pass an urgent half hour, Ethan on his knees blowing Giles as he leaned back against the bike, legs spread and jeans open. They didn’t go out of their way to hide what they were doing; a slight screen of bushes or tall grass was enough. And they’d straighten themselves away afterwards, breathless with spent lust and laughter, carefree as the day was long.
“We’re not going to Chipping Fucking Norton, are we?” Ethan was leaning forward to shout in his ear. He still smelled like stale beer from the night before.
“No, we’re not going to Chipping Fucking Norton. Are you crazy?”
They’d barely got out alive a few months before. Ethan, as usual, was playing silly buggers and got some of the local lads wound up. They’d ended outside the pub, surrounded by thick-necked youths shouting dire promises of bodily harm at them. If Ethan hadn’t managed to throw a glamour just as the lead thug raised his tire iron, they’d have been nothing more than a couple of bleeding lumps on the ground when the milk van came by in the morning.
Clearly, Ethan was feeling much better. Giles could feel a prickling atmosphere enveloping them both as a hard cock pressed into the base of his spine. When Ethan was feeling sexy, his magic surged high.
The energies were fused in his friend, never one without another. He’d felt it the first time their gazes locked at a local pub, eyes snagging over the heads of the other punters. Giles was with university friends, laughing at a hilarious account of someone’s abortive attempt to seduce an American student by the usual method of plying her with liquor and philosophy. The hapless suitor had woken the next morning under a bush near the cricket field. He was wearing a handcuff on one wrist, chafe marks on the other, and his bottom felt distinctly twingey. He thought he’d had a good time, but wasn’t sure. The crowd had roared in delight, obscene speculations filling the air.
Everyone in the pub looked to see what the uproar was about, and that’s when Giles’ breath caught in his throat. Ethan was leaning against the bar, pint in hand, watching him with a stare so intense Giles felt his stomach turn over with something like fear. Or anticipation. As their gaze held, Ethan nodded slightly toward the exit, finished his beer and walked out without a backward glance.
The blowjob Giles got when he followed, his back pressed into the bricks of the cellar, mortar gritting against his jacket, almost made him black out. When he came, thrusting into that hot, slick mouth, the air around them filled with sparkling light as if dust motes had taken fire. Each pulse down Ethan’s throat was met with a corresponding flare of brightness in the undulating curtains of blue, green, violet until the light faded and it was dark again.
“Fuckin’ hell,” was all Giles could utter, slumped boneless against the wall, too weak to consider the possibility of doing anything more energetic than regain eye focus.
Ethan moved in the next night, dumped a sleeping bag on the floor and forgot to leave. Giles had learned a thing or two about magic and sex since then and was pretty sure he’d never go back. If this was addiction, there were worse ways to lose yourself.
He felt Ethan’s fingers tense on his hip as he took a sudden left turn and leaned into the curve. A driver following too close behind blared his horn, dopplering into the distance along the main road.
“Bloody dangerous, that sort,” Giles shouted over his shoulder and saw Ethan’s teeth flash in the corner of his vision.
There was a sharp rap on the back of his helmet.
“Knock, knock.”
Giles sighed.
“Who’s there?”
“Ripper.”
“Ripper who?”
“Rip’er down, I wanna fuck you.”
Jesus. Giles groaned at the lame joke and concentrated on the road ahead, undulating gently through well-cultivated fields though the speed they were going, it was more like a roller coaster-stomach dropping dips and exhilarating crests. There were some sharp curves coming up and if he did them right, he could scare the shit out of Ethan, always satisfying when he could make it happen. Truth be told, more often than not, Ethan scared the shit out of him. His magic was strong, very strong and he had a taste for riding the edge of disaster. Giles found it simultaneously intoxicating and terrifying. And the sex afterwards was mind blowing, better than any drug he’d ever taken.
“Why are we going to Charlbury?” Ethan was yelling in his ear again.
Giles ignored him until they got to town, weaving through tourist traffic and finally down the long, tree lined entrance to Cornbury Park. He turned off across an unmown part of the great field, spooking clusters of roe deer grazing in the early afternoon sun. With a dying sputter from the engine, Giles coasted under a widespread oak and came to a rest, kicking the stand down and nudging Ethan to get off. In the distance, the sounds of cheering and clapping drifted in the light summer breeze, punctuated by the soft coo coo of a wood dove somewhere in the foliage of Wychwood forest.
Ethan leaned against the bike and pulled a joint from his jacket pocket. He lit up, pulling into his lungs and holding as he gazed down the hill toward the stately ancestral home. It glowed golden in the afternoon sun, forming an elegant backdrop to the colourful crowd gathered in the park.
“Pretty. What’s happening?” He passed the joint to Giles, exhaling in a long billow of smoke.
“Southwest Motorcycle Meet. But they’ve got some great bands lined up. There’s a rumour Zep might show. Friend of a friend is an old school pal of Jimmy’s.”
Giles dropped into rock star stance, pulling up hard on the neck of his air guitar, face in a rictus of stoked out ecstasy. He fingered the chords to Stairway, mouthing the lyrics. And then let go with a pleased grin and wandered off down the hill. Ethan ambled behind, hands in pockets. He liked crowds. Always something happening and opportunities for play.
All the usual people were there-men in studded leather gear, biker chicks with fleshy cleavage jutting out over slack bellies, spotty sixteen year olds with lank hair, the skin on their bony chests corpse white, Rasta girls in loose Indian cotton pants, and children, naked and beaming with health astride their father’s shoulders. The smell of barbecued meat and curry roti hung in the air.
An up-and-coming local punk band had the stage, spiked, ripped and scowling. Giles and Ethan watched for a couple of songs before declaring them rubbish. Keeping to the edges of the crowd, they leaned against the trunk of a beech tree and observed the scene, nudging each other when something piqued interest: a middle aged man, graying at the temples, trying to hold in his stomach as he passed the pretty young things; a rosy cheeked toddler, its mouth in a pout of distress watching a balloon disappear into the blue; a youth, floppy haired and shy, shifting uncomfortably with a wayward erection as he tried to make conversation with a stunning girl in a bikini top.
“Way out of his class,” Ethan murmured, “but his hope is charming.” He flicked his fingers in their direction, making Giles snort with laughter when her straps untied. Startled, the youth jerked forward in a reflexive attempt to catch the top as it fell, but ended up groping her breasts. She reared back, clutching the fabric to her and spat out a ferocious comment as she turned away. It wasn’t clear what she said, but by the look on the boy’s face and his wilting erection, it must have stung.
A tattooed biker walked by, his arm across his girlfriend’s shoulders. Too tempting. Giles made a sign low down with his right hand and the end of the biker’s bandanna twitched. He glanced over his shoulder and straightened the headgear, looking suspiciously at his partner. She had been gazing at the menu on an ice cream van and suddenly realized she was being stared at. Her brows came together. “What?”
Giles gestured again. The biker’s head swiveled, eyes like an angry boar looking for something to gore, but no one was close by.
Ethan’s face lit up and he crowed with delight.
The biker swiveled toward them, signaling his girlfriend to stay where she was. He strode forward, arms held away from his body, boots raising puffs of dust from the ground. Ethan flashed a vivid look in Giles’ direction, grinning madly. This is going to be fun. Giles straightened up, fists knotted.
“Oi, what are you lookin’ at, wankers.”
“Something on your mind, squire?” Ethan’s accent was so plummy he could have made jam. He was an arrogant prick when he wanted to be. The biker glared, lips curled into a snarl. He leaned forward and stabbed a finger at Ethan’s chest.
“Yeah, arsehole. What’s so fuckin’ funny?” He was right in his face
Ethan leaned back at the same angle of inclination and looked down his nose at the enraged man. He cocked on eyebrow and spoke slowly, smirking as he enunciated each word.
“You are, mate.”
Things got a bit blurry after than. The biker blinked in surprise and then his face mottled with rage. He got in one blow, staggering Ethan backwards before Giles piled in, punching and kicking with the fierce concentration that always came over him when things got messy. He loved the adrenaline high, the crystalline purity of perception, skin of his knuckles pulled tight, fists crunching against bone and flesh. Everything became so very simple.
A few of the biker’s friends arrived at the run and out of the corner of his eye, Giles saw Ethan slide away, eyes dark with arousal, the air around him shimmering. Bastard. But he was never a fighter, just liked a little aggro from safe distance. A fist caught Giles in the side of the head, swinging him round and he was caught by rough hands, holding him upright but imprisoning his arms. When his head cleared, he was facing the biker whose nose he seemed to have broken as blood dribbled from his nostrils, smearing his upper lip. The yob wiped it away with the back of his hand and gave him the hard man stare, pale blue eyes promising lethal violence.
“Last words, cocksucker. Make them good.”
Giles lunged forward trying to get close enough to get a knee up between the bastard’s legs, but he was dragged back, someone behind chopping his kidneys in a series of tight, rapid blows. He grunted as each landed, forcing harsh expulsions of air. He felt nauseated from the pain radiating out from the bruising and swallowed hard. An arm hooked around his throat crushing his windpipe and he felt himself gray out, his legs folding under him.
Suddenly, the restraining arms were gone and he fell forward onto his hands and knees, head down, shuddering oxygen into his lungs. As he struggled to breathe, his scalp prickled with the characteristic building charge of magic seeking its target, followed by the thudding rush of many legs running past him and the musky shit smell of animal hide. He looked up just long enough to see a fleeing cluster of wild pigs race squealing into the undergrowth and then Ethan’s legs strolling over. Looking up, Giles squinted his eyes against the sunlight throwing a completely undeserved halo round Ethan’s head. His face was in shadow, but it was clear from the chuckling laughter coming from above he’d been having a hell of a good time.
“Left that a little late, don’t you think?” Giles rose, dusting his jeans and then straightening to arch his spine, rubbing his back where his kidneys ached from the abuse. Bloody Ethan. He liked watching him suffer.
“But you were enjoying yourself so much, Ripper. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Ethan hooked an arm round his neck and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. “My hero. All brawn and very little brain.” He ducked away to avoid the retribution he knew was coming, looking around with a satisfied air. “I like this place. Lots of lovely energy.” He spread his arms wide and rotated in a circle, as if summoning spirits. “I can feel them.”
“There are ancient burial vaults everywhere in these parts, ley line convergences, standing stones, all the usual hot spots,” Giles said and murmured to himself, “Draca sceal on hlaew, frod, fraetum wlanc.” The dragon shall be in the tumulus, old, rich in treasures. In his first year at Oxford, he’d read Beowulf, loving the feel of Anglo-Saxon on his tongue, the gutteral syllables so earthy and primal. There were several burial chambers or barrows in Cornbury Park, probably within sight of where they now stood. Giles watched his lover, still turning, his face tilted toward the sky. Tall, slim, elegant, Ethan was a fey creature, magic welling up in him, rich and dark. He’d seen it in him the first night and was drawn to it like a moth to the flame.
A new band was starting up after a brief shriek of feedback, launching into a thunderous driving beat. A rapturous cry rolled across the park, setting flocks of starlings into the air in thick dark clouds, wheeling and twisting over the crowd below. Led Zepplin had arrived and everyone was primed and ready after an afternoon of music under the hot sun. The guys were on, leaping and hopping about the stage, hair flying, supercharged with energy. As the music soared, the bass guitar throbbed its steady rise and fall against the bedrock of pounding drums, and Plant’s wailing vocals climbed to a screaming crescendo.
The audience went wild, yelling and pumping the air in an ecstasy of adrenaline fueled joy. Dust rose from the dry ground under the thrumming feet, hanging over their heads in a thin veil that seemed to pulse in time to the drums’ primal rhythm. Page looked back at Bonham and the beat changed to the blues as they launched into ‘I Can’t Quit You, Baby’. Page’s fingers blurred over the strings, riffing against the slow thudding drum line, leaving Giles wide-eyed with awe. When the band soared into a locomotive version of ‘How Many More Times’ the crowd became a roaring beast, unified in the torrent of sound crashing around them, echoing across the fields and through the woods. The sun was declining toward the west, throwing long shadows from the trees of the Wychwood, and the dancing bodies leaping in perfect synchrony with their darker selves.
Giles looked over at Ethan, electrified, and saw his intent hawk face still, listening, an eerie calm in the midst of the seething crowd. His mercurial lover was never like this unless...Giles’ heart did a violent turn in the middle of chest. Something was coming and Ethan sensed it.
And then even Giles could feel it, a change in the air around them as if a storm was brewing though the sky above was clear and blue. He shivered, scanning the crowd and surrounding woods. His skin prickled and he rubbed his fingers against the denim of his jeans, instinctively getting ready. He’d been with Ethan before when he’d summoned spirits and sometimes they’d woven spells together, tearing open the veil between the worlds with the knife edge of their orgasms, semen and sexual intoxication transporting them into the beyond. But Ethan wasn’t controlling whatever approached. He hadn’t called it. If anything, the crowd was even more frenzied and the music now vibrated in the ground beneath them and rumbled in their viscera.
“What’s happening?” Giles moved closer to Ethan, looking at him with alarm. Ethan turned slowly, unwilling to pull himself away from his inner sight.
“This place amplifies energies. The crowd. Something’s attracted by the crowd.”
Giles could see Ethan’s rising agitation, his nostrils flaring as if he were sniffing out the source of the altered atmosphere.
And then it arrived. The milling chaos of the dancing crowd took form, lines of people swirling round a point in a giant vortex of human flesh.
“There.” Ethan pointed, finger quivering with tension. “In the middle. It comes.”
Giles squinted his eyes against the light. A huge figure stood silhouetted in the middle of circling dancers, their faces alight in ecstasy, arms aloft and waving as if worshipping. Women’s voices keened and sobbed, and men panted cries of animal excitement. As the sun’s brightness dimmed momentarily under a cloud, the creature’s form resolved into clarity-the shape of a goat, shaggy limbed, with the torso of a man, its head crowned by horns sweeping high before curling round pointed ears.
A mental image of Shepard’s illustration of Pan in Wind in the Willows superimposed itself over the arresting figure standing in the swirling crowd. Pan, the god of flocks and fields. Giles suspected that this one wouldn’t be the calm, protective, Christianized demi-god of Grahame’s novel. No ‘Friend and Helper’ here. Giles had left those safe childhood illusions behind him the first time his father had opened the bookcase where the Watcher journals were kept.
“It’s time you began to prepare, Rupert.” So he’d read and during the first long night of appalled absorption in the annals of Watcher and Slayer, realized what a cruel lie his childhood had been.
The real Pan, mythic form of an ancient nature spirit, spoke of earliest man’s understanding of nature, red in tooth and claw. He was eons distant from the cosy animals of Grahame’s book. Among the Celts he was Cernunnos, the horned god, Lord of the Wild Things. His arrival bode no good.
Through the cries and screams of laughter filling the air, Giles saw the main vortex surrounded by smaller ones, curling round in fractal branches, the centre of each revealing fairies, elves, fauns, goblins-the entire cast of English children’s stories emerging on the field. As he watched, the creatures dispersed into the crowd, some launching into the air to hover and dart overhead, others slipping between bodies, chasing and dancing among the humans drunk on sunshine and music and life.
Ethan began to walk toward the melee as if drawn forward on strings, eyes wide open and fixed. His hands twitched, sparks trailing from the tips of his fingers. Giles could see his aura charging as he drew from the ambient magic, absorbing it through his skin and into his lungs with every breath he took. Breaking into a run, Giles followed, uneasy but excited, a low heat rising from his balls, flowing up his spine and flushing over his scalp.
“Wait!” He grabbed for Ethan’s elbow, half turning him. And then froze, transfixed. Ethan’s eyes glowed in his flushed face, his hair shimmering strands of copper and mahogany in the long rays of the setting sun. He was vivid, filled with light in its deeper tones--the colours of peat streams and mountain tarns, of jade and quartz, of root and loam--all the hues of the under earth. Ethan’s eyes caught a slanting ray from the horizon and lit up, revealing their transparent amber depths. Giles stared, watching the magic seethe, seeking release and he felt his cock stir and rise in response.
“I...maybe we should....” But Ethan shrugged him off, striding toward the milling dancers until he was lost in their midst.
Giles stood watching for a moment, worrying, and then broke into a run, trying to fight through the writhing bodies at the point where Ethan had disappeared. He was jostled and elbowed as he fought his way through men, women, youths, all caught up in a herd frenzy, jerking to the pulsing drumbeat.
Every once in a while, he would catch sight of Ethan striding onward toward the house, the crowd parting to let him pass. Something there had caught his attention and he moved inexorably toward whatever was taking place.
Giles hurried to catch up, and as he passed the low wall surrounding the lower garden saw a group of men surrounding a girl. She was young, maybe sixteen, dressed in a flowing dress of white muslin. Her feet were bare, her long legs tanned and lithe as she danced, caught up in a world of her own. At some point earlier in the day, she’d woven field daisies into a coronet and it sat, slightly askew on her shining hair. The men stood around her in a loose circle, entranced and yearning, waiting for her to choose.
Ethan had stopped on the edge of the group and as Giles watched, he raised his arm and muttered an incantation. A flare of light leapt from his hand and flowed toward the girl, spiraling up over her head and then dropping down in fiery coils. Strands separated and sought her hands and feet, weaving round until she was bound in light. Her feet lifted up, until she hovered horizontally as if floating on a bed of air. Her dress parted, exposing her flat belly and rounded thighs, held apart and vulnerable. The men groaned and moved forward, eyes fixed on her centre.
“No-o!”
The cry tore from Giles’ throat as he ran forward to grasp Ethan by the shoulders “What are you doing?”
Wild eyed and staring, whatever was left of his mind far away, Ethan tried to wriggle free. He breathed rapidly through his nostrils, chest rising and falling as if he’d run a long distance.
Giles shook him violently, shouting into his face.
“Ethan, you must stop this. Are you crazy? It’s madness.”
His lover stiffened under his hands. His features blurred for a moment, something rising under the skin, and then it subsided and Ethan was back.
“Ripper? Why are you hurting me?” He shook free, rubbing his shoulders. Then he turned and saw the girl. One of the men had placed himself between her legs and she whimpered in fear, struggling in her bonds.
Ethan pulled himself up to his full height, breathing deep, drawing in his power and then he exhaled.
“Quiesco”
With a rapid gesture of his fingers, he threw the command, halting the man as his hands slid up the girl’s thighs. The fellow froze and then came to, snatching his hands back as if her legs were on fire. He turned away, zipping up and ran down the terrace stairs, followed by the rest.
“Jesus, Ethan. What were you thinking?” Giles looked as his lover, brow furrowed in consternation. They’d done magic together, but it had never involved active harm to another human being.
Ethan bowed his head and stared at his feet. When he looked up again, it seemed as though he was trying to don his usual ironic expression, but it wouldn’t fix. His dark eyes were troubled, and for the first time in all the months he’d known him, Giles saw fear.
“We’ll talk later.” Giles knew his tone was brusque, but he didn’t know how to be any other way. There had never been a crack in the smooth, confident demeanor of his lover before. It was deeply unsettling. But the alternative apparently could be a great deal worse. Ethan had got too close to something today and his arrogance had led him there. Both of them had been arrogant, stupid and careless, Giles recognized with a flare of disgust.
The uproar behind them grew louder. As they gazed over the crowd, they could see that things were reaching an orgiastic climax. Dancers were dropping to the ground exhausted, many with faery creatures perched on their bodies, exploring curiously, rifling pockets, tugging hair, carrying away objects. Pan had taken a perch on a tree stump and overlooked the scene, eyes glittering. A handsome youth was held captive in his hairy grip, sullen and passive. Whatever the demi-god intended for him, it hadn’t happened yet, but the boy had already given up. He wouldn’t resist.
At the fringes of the crowd, forest creatures had drawn close. Foxes sat watching with intelligent black eyes, ears pointed forward. One yawned wide, showing razor teeth. Several badgers snuffled about, occasionally sniffing the air, their powerful digging claws sunk into the grass as they stretched their necks to sift the odours on the wind. A band of ferrets slunk around the periphery of the field, backs arched as they flowed along the ground, eyes beady and feral. Clusters of deer stood under the trees, the antlers on the proud bucks branching high, ending in sharp tines. The grass rustled with millions of chitinous things, creeping and scuttling toward the light. And overhead, the starlings circled in great, dark wheels over the heads below. Crows ranged above them, tumbling and cawing, talking excitedly to each other of corpses and battlefields.
Things were building to a bloody end.
Giles looked at Ethan. He knew his lover was powerful, but this was huge, the forces elemental. He raised an eyebrow, questioning.
Ethan gazed back, his expression unreadable. And then he smiled.
“Mere bagatelle, Ripper. Nothing to worry about.”
But of course there was. Messing about with earth magic when Pan was in attendance, no small matter. Giles sighed and waited for instructions.
“A dispersal spell. Nothing to it.” Ethan was looking at the garden surrounding the terrace and then vaulted over the low wall, running his fingers over the plants growing there.
“Coleus, lavender, thyme, thistle-don’t you just love English gardens, Ripper? A wizard’s delight.” He began plucking leaves and flowers, handing them to Giles as he rapidly gathered what he needed.
He climbed back onto the terrace, rummaging in his jacket pocket for something and coming up empty. The howls and screams were getting louder.
“Have you got cigarettes?”
Giles stared at him, dumfounded. Nature was about to unleash itself upon human kind and Ethan was taking a smoke break? He felt in his shirt pocket and extracted a pack of Players.
Ethan thumbed the lid up and felt around with his long, slim fingers, finally coming up with the silver paper.
In the distance Pan had stood up, his shaggy thighs powerful under the barrel torso. He tugged at the youth, pulling him to his feet.
“Hurry up. Curtain’s about to rise.” Giles couldn’t control his anxiety, but he was also aware of a rising excitement. The spell Ethan was about to weave was huge and it would need everything he could bring to it to augment its power. This would be bigger than anything they had ever attempted before.
Ethan tore the herbs into pieces and unrolled a joint, tipping the buds onto the pile on the silver paper. “And a little cannabis sativa for a boost. Got a lighter?”
Giles flipped the lid open and applied the flame, waving it over the herbs until they crackled and began to smoke.
“We’re going to pull a net over the field, trap the energies that opened the doorway to the underworld. We form the bond and then run like hell, pulling it over the whole field. Understand?”
Giles nodded. He’d never heard of a spell that required a 400-meter dash as part of the procedure, but he was in if that’s what was necessary.
Ethan reached for his hands, forming the bond and began the incantation, eyes closed and a deep furrow of concentration between his brows. Giles muttered his complementary part, buttressing Ethan’s construction with energy staves, placing each where it would support and distribute the magic, forming arches and columns of elemental stuff until they’d vaulted the spell over their heads. The air sizzled and fizzed, electrons speeding up, closing the gaps over with a haze of electricity.
“Ready?”
Ethan’s pupils completely filled his eyes, but Giles knew that his too were fully expanded, opened to the Other Place. He nodded and they parted hands, drawing a sheet of fire between them. It billowed and breathed as if it were alive.
“Ru-u-unnn,” Ethan yelled and they leapt from the terrace, holding the points of the elemental fabric between them and hitting the ground at full sprint. Ethan dashed to the left and Giles to the right, expanding the fiery web between them like parachute silk, glowing golden and red. It billowed high over the crowd, sliding between the people below and the circling birds. Pan raised his head and roared, his neck bulging as his bugle cry rang out over the field.
Animals broke away, startled into flight and Giles raced a fleeing hare until it darted into the Wychwood. Larger and larger the net grew, until it floated over the entire field, encompassing all below and anchored by the hands drawing it behind. As the grass began to rise toward the hill at the end of the park, Ethan turned in toward Giles until they met, arms high holding an undulating cloud of energy cracking between them. They touched hands, completing the circle and the net floated down, smothering the spell that had consumed the day. It gave a last surge of light and then died.
Ethan had his head down, one hands braced on his knees, heaving air into his lungs. Giles wasn’t in much better shape and he struggled to get control of his breathing.
“Got to give up the fags, mate,” Ethan said when he could finally speak. “That was one motherfucker of a spell.” He grinned hugely at Giles and they both dissolved in laughter.
Below them in the distance, people were picking themselves up from where they’d crumpled to the ground in exhaustion. They looked dazed and wandered around staring at each other as if they didn’t know where they were. On the stage, the band members were stretching, flexing their fingers and gazing hollow-eyed at the ragged remnants of an audience.
“Bet they’ll be talking about this gig for a long, long time,” Giles said, still giggling. And then he pulled Ethan to him and kissed him hard. The magic still zinging in his veins made him ache to be inside.
“First one back to the bike gets to top,” he said, knowing it would always be him and Ethan would always let him.
They stumbled up the hill at a half run, pulling at each other’s clothing, kissing and groping in breathless lust. When they got to the bike, Giles broke away long enough to rummage frantically in his jacket, finally coming up with lube which he palmed as he grabbed Ethan to him again. A field of flickering light surrounded his lover, residue of the spell, but fed now by their desire, it grew and crackled, a glowing cloud streaming over his head and down his back, lifting the strands of his hair as if they were ionized in an electrical current. .
“Get down.” Giles could hardly speak, his need so violent his hands trembled as he ripped open Ethan’s shirt and pulled it off. Ethan fumbled with his jeans and slid them down, kicking them away in frantic haste. He dropped down to his knees. “Hurry. For Christ’s sake...”
It was only a matter of seconds and Giles was behind him, slicked and kneeing his thighs apart, straining to get in but clumsy with passion. Ethan arched, reaching back, feeling for the cock pressed against his arse. He held it steady and then sank down, impaling himself. A helpless groaned fell from Giles’ lips and he began to thrust, holding Ethan’s hips as he drove forward. There was no finesse to their lovemaking after magic. It was all heat and fury and overwhelming lust. He was barely conscious, aware only of the hot, tight pressure of the body beneath him and the undulating waves of Ethan’s response. He might have been sobbing with each panting breath. All too soon, it was over, both crying out in ecstasy and exhaustion.
With a last shuddering jerk into Ethan’s body, Giles felt himself begin to collapse. “Ripper...” Ethan sighed his name and fell forward onto his forearms, flattening underneath him until they were both tumbled together, limbs spread out on the grass. For a few dazed moments, Giles lay still and then rolled onto his back, staring up at the evening sky.
The sun had dropped below the horizon, leaving a glow of red like fine silk, lining the edge of the land. The space above had turned delicate shades of blue, violet and palest aquamarine, thin skeins of cloud touched pink in the dying rays.
Ethan was asleep, judging by the soft snores coming from the body next to him. Tomorrow they would talk, perhaps about magic, probably about their future. At some point, there had to be a reckoning for the way they lived, but for now the peace of the countryside soothed Giles’ troubled mind, and he too let it all go.