TITLE: Zipper Sounds 1/6
AUTHOR: Captain Bliss
SERIES: Ripper Days
PAIRING: Ethan/Ripper
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Ripper and Ethan perform a spell. Ripper reflects on meeting Ethan.
DISCLAIMER: Joss owns them, not I; but, I take them out from time to time...play with them...try them on...dance around naked with them tucked between my legs like that one freaky picture of Brad Pitt that makes him look like Buffalo Bill from Silence of The Lambs...(I dunno if it's photoshopped or fake or whatever, but it IS creepy. *shudders*)
NOTE: This is just the introduction to this series. This will be followed by a prologue. *g*
Zipper sounds. Cutting, metallic, trying to echo in the filthy little room but getting all caught up in the scent of sex, and liquor and pot and magicks that tasted like a dangerous combination of raspberries and cigarette smoke if you opened your mouth, sweet on the front of the tongue, sour on the back. Yes, you could cut the heady smell with a knife. Bloody hell, yes.
The adrenaline here is poignant. It surges through the air, like an electric yellow current mixing with luminous brown and effervescent green that, if you looked at it, would relax you to no end. Fragrance of copper hangs heavily in the air, now, mingling with all the other smells as the ritual is started.
Magicks crackle together, buzzing, cracking, clapping and twisting around each other, those brown and green powers that match the owner’s eyes. They form into a roaring serpent of magick and lay waste to the pot smoke in the air, cutting back the veil and illuminating a pile of writhing bodies on the bed; a beat up thing with no frame or headboard, and tears in the material, revealing spongy goldenrod foam.
They aren’t at it yet, no. Just touch is happening now.
Touch.
Crackle.
Touch.
Crackle.
It’s all about the magicks. Right here, right now, fingertips and tongues and hands all crackling blue sparks across salty, sweaty skin.
When green eyes gaze down into brown, he can hardly believe how old they are. For a seventeen year old, that is. Yes, he’s always been a full two years older than Ethan Rayne.
And Rupert Giles was so much younger than him in the beginning. A boy of nineteen down from Oxford, breaking out of the books, in tweed and sweatshirts and suits, oblivious to the teenage style. And no, Rupert had never been to London before.
It was new.
Ethan was seventeen and dangerous. Seventeen going on thirty five in his sequins and his make up. He was a street boy, capable of making money as a freelance sorcerer. He’d been alone for five years, he’d had to learn to fend for himself.
And Rupert was drawn to it as soon as he saw him.
The boy dripped sexuality in more ways than Rupert could count, and there was this…aura about him. Being so young, Rupert could only catch the edges of it, but he wanted more.
Ethan took him under his wing. Taught him. Turned him into the tough, hard skinned, street smart Ripper.
And still gazing into those brown eyes, Rupert realizes that he’s learned more in the past few months than he ever could have dreamed. He never knew magicks could be used like…this. He dips down, catches Rayne’s bottom lip and tugs, feeling the crackling there as skin met skin.
Fingers curl around thin arms that are taut with strain, well muscled as his large hands gripped them, leaving white marks that slowly faded to red, and he licks the cut he made earlier, then, tasting magick thickened blood, and it’s so good. So damn good.
He doesn’t notice the papers and clothes that whirl about the room in their magickal storm; drawings and poems, research from books of the occult…in fact, if he had noticed, he wouldn’t have cared.
Bends his head, licks at all the tattoos on Rayne’s skin, the runes that spell out ancient spells of protection and power and love. Yes love, ones he’d put there, etched hour by agonizing hour, and a human’s skin is like a novel. Ethan’s skin told of a past of wonder and ruin, a future of destruction and chaos, the story written with knives and needles and ink, and most of all, magick.
Janus, Ethan’s god, his Chaos Lord, was tattooed on his left shoulder blade, the two faces grinning and grimacing either way. Latin script trailed up his arms, marred here and there by gashes and scars and God…he was only seventeen.
Rupert growled low in his throat. “Mine.”
Ethan only grinned up at him. “Always.”
And the knife travels up the hard chest covered in a story, a greedy tongue following it, catching the magicks in the blood. Ethan muttered the Latin spell low on his breath, and cried out when Rupert thrust into him, moved slowly within him, magick crackling and lighting where they joined, making the action all the more pleasurable.
The look on Ethan’s face as the Latin dripped off of his tongue was one of pure, unadulterated, hedonistic bliss. He gripped his cock in his hand, fisting it at a languid pace as Rupert gradually built up the speed of his thrusts. Rupert took up his part of the spell, his green power surging around them.
And bloody hell, Chaos was such a giving deity. If this was the best way to complete a spell and have it turn out right, then Rupert wanted to do spells more often.
The room was bathed in white light that matched the white explosions behind each man’s eyes as they came simultaneously and the spell was completed.
They lay panting for a while, cooling off and cooling down, watching the magicks slowly fade from the room and the papers and things float to the floor. The spell had been for good luck and prosperity; they’d been in a bad way lately with getting clients…normally, they could’ve done this spell without even touching each other, but Rupert had wanted to.
“Ripper…that was…” Ethan managed finally, not even able to string a sentence together.
“Intense?” The green-eyed man offered.
“Yeah. It hasn’t been that intense for like…three days. What got into you?”
“Nothing, love. Just had a dream. A dream of zipper sounds, blue sparks, and touching you.”