TITLE: Rayne of Chaos 5/7
AUTHOR: Jaydn Michelle
DISCLAIMER: The characters of Giles, Ethan, Buffy, Willow, Xander, Angel, Cordelia, Jenny Calendar, Quentin Travers, Randall Scott, Merrick and Eyghon are the property of people bigger than me. In other words, it's not mine, never will be mine, yada, yada, yada.
FEEDBACK: Always welcomed

In the locust wind came a rattle and hum
Jacob wrestled the angel - and the angel was overcome
If you plant a demon seed you raise a flower of fire
See them burning crosses, see the flames higher and higher.
- U2
(Bullet the Blue Sky).

"We're a couple of old sorcerers, you and I, and the night is still our
time."
- Ethan Rayne
(A New Man).

________________________________________________________________________

The tap was dripping.

An incessant sound, but Ethan Rayne couldn't be bothered moving, sitting cross-legged amidst the broken shards of a smashed statue.

Awaiting the arrival of a demon had a curious effect on one's psyche, it lent you unparalleled abilities toward apathy. So the tap dripped, irritatingly, while he pondered the merits of moving.

A question worth considering - given the fact he had spent the last hour doing exactly that. //What was Ripper doing?// Ripper, and he smiled faintly.

In truth, the moniker was something that he had barely used in their youth. Randall had overheard him say it once, and it was Randall who had insisted upon utilising it. In those days, Ethan himself had rarely addressed Rupert as anything other than Giles - until now.

Now he used it as a constant, a slap in the face, the bucket of cold water. //Remember, *I* remember, and I'll be damned if I let you forget - or pretend that it was otherwise//. Ripper playing mother hen to four whelps.

Ripper, who hadn't seen or spoken to him in nineteen years. The aching rush of hope and bitterness entwining so sweetly when he had seen the other man stand in this very room.

Like the sticky shroud of a cob-web, clutching at him no matter how he twisted. Blood, pain, the fist that connected with his jaw and sent him sprawling - and that too, was like the last time they had spoken. Time was circular, and there was a part of Ethan that couldn't decide if he were witnessing *another* ending - or the birth of a beginning. Struggling into existence, fists knotted and raging against the inexorable tug.

What of it? Years gone past and it would never be the same. Giles had passed judgment nineteen years ago and had thrown away the key - casting Ethan out forever, their connection little more than the ache of a phantom limb.

He could hate the other man for that.

Emma, Rupert and Ethan.

Every single one of them had been searching for a home - and had found it amongst each other. Ethan Rayne, the little rich boy whose parents never paid any mind to - who saw such beauty in the untamed cosmos. Casting Chaos by the light of a dying star. Ethan Rayne, who had betrayed his best friend...

Emma, Giles and Ethan had been three of a kind - but to this day Rayne couldn't decide if they had belonged to the house of Hearts; or the hardened edge of a cold Diamond.

___________________________________

1979

His ears were ringing - the aftershock of a concert played at full tilt, David Bowie's voice sliding down his spine and he was high. High as a kite and ready to explode. The magic singing in his veins, leashed and hungry, "Come on."

He grabbed Giles by the collar and took off, running down the street, sliding past pedestrians, dodging cars and the dazzle of their lights, snatches of conversation and the cacophony of distant dogs, their howls eerily haunting. Pounding down the sidewalk until pavement gave way to grass, the silhouette of trees and the smell of a summer park. He collapsed, arms out-flung, laughing, aware that Giles had dropped down beside him, eyes quizzical and legs folded.

"Oh gods, I needed that," he sat up with a grin, plucking grass from his collar.

"Restless?"

"As all hell," his grin became sly as he examined the other man, "Care for a bit of mayhem and chaos?"

It was hard to classify the emotion that flitted across Giles' face, reserve, the barest hint of hesitation, there and gone like a dream. "What did you have in mind?"

Ethan caught his hands - and like every other time they touched the connection between them flared, allowing surface emotion to pass readily. He caught the edge of Ethan's plan and laughed softly.

Delusions of grandeur, let them walk free - in earnest, the two young men began to cast.

Little Teddy was eight years old. What awoke him he couldn't say, but there was a strange smell in the air, and by the crack of his door he could see an orange glow; it flickered.

Frowning, he rolled out of bed, snatching his doll (an object that his father detested and his mother thought was cute), and walked forward, hand reaching up to touch the door-knob.

It was hot.

He snatched his hand back with a half aborted cry (because his dad didn't like it when he acted a sissy. Teddy didn't know what a sissy was, but it was bound to be bad), and stumbled back. The smell was worse, noxious, the smell of death, ashes, and fire.

Where was Mrs. Buriat, the Nanny? What had happened to Lisa, his six month old sister?

He glanced once at the door, placed his hand against the wooden frame, and decided right there and then that he wasn't walking through - no way.

Running back to his bed he grabbed it by the post and dragged, feet skidding on the wooden floor-boards, until he reached the window. The smoke was worse, his body wracked by coughs as he unsnapped the lock and opened it wide. Climbing out and dropping to the grass below. Lisa's bedroom was right beside his own, and Lisa was still inside.

He ran, grabbed the garden gnome by the head and hurtled it, watching as it smashed through his sister's window. Little Teddy didn't feel the glass as it sliced into his knees and palms, crawling through the window, and finding his sister's crib by rote. Picking the girl up just as mother had shown him, he left by the same method of entry. And so through the workings of Chaos - two lives were saved.

It was in the papers the following day - eight year old saves sister, with a photo of the two, the little boy declaring bravely that he had always wanted to be a fireman.

Elsewhere, Simon, who was twelve, hugged his arms across his chest, feeling the taut fabric of his uniform. A splendour of blue and red, an S emboldened across his chest, cape flying just like in the movie.

Laughing, he stretched his arms out front, and flung himself outward. Flying, toppling, hurtling downwards, falling silently from the twenty-third window of his parent's apartment.

Like the random flip of a coin.

They were both sweating by the time the spell was finished, swaying in time with the earth.

Forms of magic had different effects on the practitioners - Chaos, Ethan knew, left the user with an after-taste of euphoria, calmness, better than any drug Randall could supply. The spell had been deliberately broad-based, because Chaos was neither good nor evil, it relied too heavily upon the individual quirks or whims of the effected. In any event, it didn't matter - neither man would ever release the ramifications of their act, but they could certainly enjoy the benefits of its after-taste. Giles, he knew, was perfectly relaxed, hair damp, eyes closed, and Ethan crept forward by slow increments. Part of him screaming that he was being an idiot - the other half needing to *know*; and it was the latter that won.

Green eyes flared open when Ethan touched him. One hand curling around Giles' neck and pulling him forward. Slow, so slow, kissing him with a melting kindness and an ache of want. He felt the other man go rigid, body tense as Ethan intensified the kiss; but he didn't pull away, and now that Ethan had begun, he didn't dare stop. Sliding one hand up the flannel shirt, resting his palms against the hard arch of ribs, he pushed - sending Giles back, sprawled flat across the grass, accompanied by Ethan's low purr as he settled on top. Teeth and tongue working in perfect accord as he rode the shirt up high, tasting the flat planes of the other man's flesh.

Giles shuddered.

Ethan slithered up the body, watching with amusement as Giles arched into his touch and then pulled away - it wasn't until they were eye to eye that Rayne became aware. Something that he never thought to see in the eyes of Rupert Giles. Fear, apprehension - they were desperate and intermingled with some other element (desire?), the blind vulnerability of the virgin territory. He knew Giles wouldn't allow himself to be in this position, *ever*, if it weren't for Ethan, and the man was terrified by that silent recognition.

Ethan didn't know what Giles hoped to achieve by revealing all of this. Maybe it was a plea for leniency, a cry for time to allow Rupert to deal with his newfound knowledge - or maybe it was unintentional, and Giles had never meant for him to see. Personally, Ethan didn't care, it was the hard knot of victory that assailed him. //Mine - he *belongs* to me//, and Rayne didn't give a whit about the possessiveness of it all. Grinding down hard as he savaged the other's mouth, fingers trailing over skin, feeling Giles shiver imperceptibly. Not enough, not nearly enough and he pushed into the other's mind, using the link to intensify everything, and felt the defences around Giles crumble. A flare of white and shadow, the scent of a desert storm, and he could *feel* Giles, everything that made him the man he was, tempered by steel, and Ethan groaned as the trembling in Giles' body increased.

//Stay, let me stay?//

Confusion, and a blind shake, //Not meant for you, it's...//

(slayer)

Rage. Ethan biting down hard on the other man's collar-bone to block the thought. His fist clenched in the crotch of Rupert's jeans, hearing the man cry out and arch against him, not in pleasure this time but pain; breath hitching. It was enough - Rayne released him. Head sagging under Giles' chin as he whispered: "Sorry..."

They stayed like that, lying still in the grass as time ticked by.

When the silence became too heavy, it was Giles who spoke: "Can... can this be enough?"

//Enough?// He could still feel the fear emanating from the other man, bordered by determination - that he could give Ethan this, if he so desired.

Yes. It could be enough, hoarded away to keep him company when Giles inevitably disappeared. He'd take it, every last drop, until the man was spent beneath him, and maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to convince Giles to stay.

The Watcher heard no reply, only a hand that curled possessively around his hip-bone.

In fact, Giles didn't know what to expect - he was inexperienced in this field of play and truth be telling, out of his depth. But Ethan didn't seem to care, and what Rayne was doing wasn't exactly unpleasant... it was merely, different, and by all accords, the mystic was in no hurry whatsoever.

The stars had shifted alignment and Ethan was driving him insane.

He shuddered, body drenched in sweat, shaking like a man with palsy, and Ethan kept at it, altering rhythm and touch, the sly flick of his tongue. Taking Giles to the plateau of release, only to draw back, leaving the other sobbing as he pressed his thumb into the base of Giles' cock, letting the orgasm recede - only to begin again.

If he could, Giles would have overthrown Ethan and jerked himself off. But he couldn't move from his position, not bound by ropes or ties, but by magic. Helpless, body spread open and left vulnerable.

Ethan hummed, drugged with contentment; he could feel Giles through the connection, knew exactly when he was about to attain release and altered his actions accordingly. Each pass of his tongue made Giles' entire body jerk, trapped in the confines of an over-sensitised body. He could feel the cusp of that torment, pleasure and pain feeding into one. But he wasn't about to release Giles, not until he had what he wanted. Hands sliding down the sweat-slick flanks and listening to the hitching breath, doubling his efforts in earnest.

Giles had begun the night tense and silent, after the first hour involuntary sounds escaped him; now he couldn't stay still, his body a puddle of desire and no end in sight, a litany that screamed in his mind, //Please, let me come, let me come//, and felt Rayne withdraw.

"No, Ethan, don't...

What did it cost him, those words, pleading, begging, breath uneven and shaking all over? He felt rather than saw Ethan hesitate.

Ethan smiled - Giles was wanton, eyes wild - and he crawled up that body, kissing the other man deeply, listening to the soft sounds that Rupert made.

"Please?"

"What?" //Say it - you're not getting out of this until you say it//.

"Help, Ethan, fuck..."

Ethan caressed a cheek, resting his forehead against the other's, making no answer, and felt Giles shudder like a flame, "I love you, please."

It could have been trite, would have been, if not for the connection between them. But Ethan could *feel* the honest truth in that statement, torn out of Giles unwillingly.

//Yes - Rupert, you were right, this could be enough//.

When Ethan began his previous ministrations, Giles' entire body wanted to curl in on itself, but he was held taut by the magic. The eventual orgasm rendered him near-unconscious - body turning boneless as he sagged. He could feel Ethan's hands, sliding across the spilt fluids, and then had no warning at all as two fingers were shoved into his body. Sleep receded with a cry, body flinching backwards, clenching around the invasion. He couldn't move, blinking furiously until the pain evaporated and he could hear Ethan's voice, the tone you would apply to a startled animal, "Easy." The fingers twisted, stretching him a little wider, pushing in a little deeper - turning as a third digit pressed for entry. It felt like his entire body was going to shake itself apart, Ethan's voice a low purr as he whispered; "Not finished with you yet."

He knew that, but he wasn't sure if he could take any more.

Magic touched him, not the binding that Ethan had performed earlier, the contours were too different, and it was complex. Entering his body as his eyes went wide, fixed on Ethan and the cat grin that spread across his features, whispering, "Don't," even as it soaked into his skin.

A healing magic, restoring his body to prime operandi; washing away the physical traces of his last orgasm, and he tried to thrash as Ethan lowered his mouth. It would drive him insane - if Ethan delayed or taunted like before - Giles would be nothing but a gibbering wreck by the end. Feeling the warmth as Ethan engulfed him, fingers twisting in his body, finding the little nub of his prostrate and rubbing gently. Giles arched at the new sensation, instantly hard, breath ragged and desperate.

Ethan held it for a while, playing the body like a piano, and then moved. Sliding off Giles' cock as he simultaneously slipped his fingers out, watching Rupert convulse at the dual sensation with a cheerful grin.

It didn't take long to position himself, stretching his body on top, kissing the Watcher as he slowly pressed for entry. He felt the echoes of pain, could see it as Giles tensed at the penetration, and brought him back to the kiss, this one, long, deep, kiss. The sweet persistence of lips and tongue, where nothing else existed - and slid in, waiting until Giles adjusted.

"God."

"Nice of you to say so." Ethan rocked softly, sliding into a warmth and a tightness that was almost painful. Driving himself in to the hilt and folding over, resting his forehead against Giles' as he whispered, unbinding the spell and allowing the other man to move for the first time.

Rayne was shaking, groaning when Giles shifted beneath him, driving him in further. The Watcher's broad palms skimmed over his back and down, resting on Ethan's hips as he dragged Rayne close and then away.

Ethan's eyes flared open as he watched, turning incendiary as Giles fucked himself on Ethan's body, and smiled faintly, staring down at his wayward partner as he slowly matched their rhythms. //His// - and leant forward to claim him.

Elsewhere, the spell they had set into motion continued to roll, flitting across souls, and settling on a young man who never slept easily.

It was a whisper. Sly confidence uttered in a web of deceit. The first thing Randall listened for when he fell asleep, and the last thing he heard before awakening. Mendacity with a slither of truth.

Randall Scott loved Ethan - always had. He had use of the mystic's body on the odd occasion, and his acidic companionship on more days than not - but not his affection. That was reserved for Ripper.

It would have been laughable if it weren't so damn annoying. His oldest friend pining after a heterosexual mystic who was mourning the death of a Slayer two years passed.

Except annoyance turned to dislike, flaring into hate - and these past few days, hate itself had warped into something different.

Ethan Rayne, the little rich boy whose attention was always focused somewhere else, on things that were bright, shiny, out of reach. Attracted to magic and power and all things between, and maybe Randall wasn't as proficient at casting as Giles was, but he could hold his own, make the most of it. He was sure. He could prove it to Ethan, they had a demon on hand - and he *could* raise it by himself, because why would you ever need five guards?

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