LJ Name:  voleuse
Who: Wes/Ethan
  What: A bottle of very, very expensive whiskey
Where: A posh-looking bar
  When: S4 How: Mild angst

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Teetering on the Edge
by Lianne Burwell
May 2004
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Ethan was enjoying a glass of very mellow eighteen year old 
scotch whiskey, and not planning on doing anything else 
with his evening, when *he* walked into the bar, and Ethan 
sat up a little straighter.

It had been nearly four months since he'd taken his leave 
of the very insistent hospitality of the American 
government, and he was only just beginning to feel himself 
again. 

And now, here he was in the so-called City of Angels -- a 
name he'd always found amusing for a city so full of sin -- 
enjoying a quiet evening before he moved on to Sunnydale to 
look up his old pal, Ripper, again. He needed to... thank 
the man for his long vacation from the daily grind. And all 
he'd been looking to do was liven up Rupert's otherwise 
dull birthday celebration. Certainly, he had not deserved 
the extreme reaction.

But the boy who just walked in was intriguing enough to 
distract him from his plans, at least for a little while. 
Tall with dark hair and blue eyes, and a stubbled beard 
that went well with the grim expression. The boy glowed 
like a star to Ethan's inner sight, but a dark star, rich 
with power that was tinged by darkness. He was not 
completely dark, but he reeked of pain so deeply embedded 
that it was probably an old friend by now, assuming he even 
noticed it anymore. All it would take to push him over, 
though, was a small nudge.

Ethan couldn't decide which he would prefer to do; give him 
that nudge or shag him senseless. Perhaps even both. Either 
way, he wanted to play with the poor boy's mind.

The boy headed over to the bar and waved the bartender 
over. He didn't seem to be ordering anything, just talking. 
From the way the bartender was shaking his head, he wasn't 
inclined to tell the boy what he wanted to hear.

Ethan gestured to the waitress with his drink. "Be a dear 
and send one of these to the gentleman over there." She 
followed the direction of his nod, then slipped the bills 
he offered into her vest pocket. A minute later, a glass 
was placed in front of the boy. He frowned, and waved it 
off, but she pointed to Ethan.

Ethan lifted him own glass in a salute, then settled back 
to wait.

He did not have to wait for long. A moment later, the boy 
was striding across the open space of the bar to where 
Ethan sat. He set the glass down on the table with only a 
fraction of the respect that it deserved. "I don't know 
you," he said, eyeing Ethan suspiciously.

A British accent. How surprising. And very delightful.

"Indeed," Ethan said with a smirk. "However, I was hoping 
to change that."

There was a flicker of acknowledgement of his own accent, 
but no more than that. Ethan was finding the boy more 
intriguing by the moment.

"You could sit," Ethan suggested when the boy showed no 
sign of saying anything. He waved to the seat on the 
opposite side of the table.

"Why should I?" the boy asked, no flirtation in his tone, 
sadly.

Ethan shrugged expansively. "Because it could be very 
entertaining? Because that's a fine glass of scotch whiskey 
and should be savored? Because I'm getting a crick in my 
neck staring up at you?"

The boy looked to be considering it, and a little to 
Ethan's surprise, slid into the seat. "Ethan," he said, 
introducing himself.

There was a moment of consideration, then, "Wesley."

"There. And now that we are no longer strangers, do try the 
scotch," he said, waving towards the glass. "It's an 
excellent blend." He picked up his own glass and inhaled 
the fumes deeply before taking a small sip. A good scotch 
whiskey was not a gulping drink.

The boy -- Wesley -- did not seem convinced quite yet. 
Ethan kept his best harmless old queer expression on, 
waiting for the next move.

The move, when it came, actually surprised him. He'd 
already noted the boy's potential -- an affinity to magic 
was obvious to those who knew how to look, was not common, 
but wasn't completely unheard of -- but the careful probe 
along his shields said that the boy also had a great deal 
of practical experience with magic, which *was* unusual.

Ethan countered the probe, just enough to let the boy know 
not to pry, then send a tiny surge back along the 
connection. The boy stiffened, and his eyes glazed over. 
Ethan smirked to himself as he sipped his scotch. The boy 
might know magic, but he obviously didn't know sex magick, 
or he would have been able to counter that move. Of course, 
it *was* intensely pleasurable, Ethan knew from past 
experience, and his own pants were feeling very 
constricting when he finally released the boy. That sort of 
touch was not completely one-sided.

He waited for a moment for the boy to collect his wits, but 
not long enough for him to completely recover. "I have a 
room for the night," he said, now that they were both clear 
on just what he was after.

"What?" the boy said, still sounding slightly dazed.

Ethan chuckled. "I said I have a room. I'm afraid I will be 
leaving town tomorrow, so I do not have time for a more 
thorough wining and dining." Then he sobered slightly, 
putting on a more concerned expression. "And if you'll 
pardon me for pointing this out, you look like you could 
use a good romp in the sack, no strings attached."

Wesley snorted. "I'm not exactly living the life of a 
monk," he said with a baby sneer. Adorable.

"Ah, but that would be all wrapped up in strings, I'm 
guessing," Ethan said, and was rewarded with an almost 
imperceptible flinch. The boy needed to learn how to cover 
his reactions better. "Trust me, there are few things more 
relaxing than an uncomplicated shag."

He reached out with his magic again and sent the boy 
another small surge of erotic energy. Most of it splashed 
up against hastily erected shields, but some of it seeped 
through. Enough to get a reaction. "And you look like you 
could do with some relaxing, if I do say so." The third 
surge was more successfully, and he could see that the boy 
was wavering.

He was beginning to very much regret that he *wouldn't* 
have more time to play with the boy. He was such an 
intoxicating mixture of anger, pain, fear, and exhaustion. 
Oh, the things he could become with the right sort of 
encouragement.

Ethan reached across the table and laid his hand on top of 
Wesley's. He caressed the soft skin lightly with his thumb. 
"A night of pleasure, and no one need know. Just comfort 
for two men in need," he said softly, enjoying the way that 
the boy first tensed, then relaxed at the touch. So 
sensitive.

"Why should I trust you?"

Ethan shrugged. "No reason at all. But are you telling me 
that you couldn't stop me if I did have nefarious purposes? 
I'm not old and frail yet, but you look like you could 
break me without trying." He smiled. "Would you *like* to 
break me?"

That brought a flash to the boy's eyes, and Ethan shivered. 
For a moment he wondered if he had, as they said, bitten 
off more than he could chew. He pushed that thought aside 
and concentrated on that itch he needed scratched so badly 
now that he was aware of it.

"Where?"

Ethan almost crowed in triumph. "The Sheraton down the 
block. Shall we?"

The boy tossed back the last of his scotch in a single gulp 
without taking his gaze off of Ethan's face. It wasn't the 
proper way to drink scotch, but it was oh, so arousing. 
Ethan finished his own drink with a little more decorum, 
then stood. He dropped a tip on the table, then headed for 
the exit. He didn't look back to see if Wesley was 
following; he could almost feel the heat behind him.

They made it back to his hotel in short order. In this area 
of town it wasn't cheap, but he'd tapped into backup 
accounts and investments which had grown while he'd been 
out of commission, so he was treating himself. In more ways 
than one.

Wesley followed him silently into the hotel room. Ethan 
flicked on the lights, then turned towards the boy, only to 
be slammed up against the wall, a very unexpected knife 
pressed against his throat. He raised an eyebrow. "Is this 
really necessary?" he asked.

"You tell me."

In the brighter lights of the hotel room, and from this 
closer proximity, Ethan could see a scar that crossed the 
boy's throat. What *had* this boy been doing with his life?

"Well, since all *I'm* interested in is a good shagging, I 
would say not. But if you're that concerned, you could 
always... restrain me." Ethan tilted his head back in 
invitation. he could probably shake the boy off using 
magic, but he wasn't completely sure. Besides, young Wesley 
was becoming more intriguing all the time.

Wesley's eyes darkened, and Ethan wondered if perhaps he'd 
made a mistake. Then Wesley leaned forward and licked the 
skin of Ethan's neck, right above the blade. Ethan groaned, 
only to be stopped by the boy's mouth coming down on his, 
hard.

Oh, yes, this was what he needed. The harsh scrape of the 
blade against his throat just heightened the thrill of it 
all.

The blade started moving, and Ethan mentally wrote the 
shirt off. Ethan beat him to the pants, shucking them as 
quickly as possible, toeing off his shoes at the same time. 
Wesley stood back, knife still in hand, and simply *looked* 
at him.

Ethan let him look. He did not have the body of a twenty-
year old model, and his incarceration had left their own 
marks, but he felt no shame about his body.

He moved past Wesley, and pulled an unopened package of 
condoms -- bought on a whim -- from his suitcase. He tossed 
it to the boy, then moved over to the bed, sitting down on 
the edge, legs spread. "So. Will you stay or go?" he asked. 
"The choice is yours."

Wesley didn't move, so Ethan started stroking himself 
lazily. It wasn't what he really wanted, but being watched 
while he brought himself off was mildly exciting, and he 
would take what he could get.

"Stop."

Ethan did as he was told, smirking. Wesley slipped his 
knife back into the wrist sheath that Ethan hadn't noticed 
earlier. Then he started to strip.

It wasn't intended to tantalize, but it left Ethan panting. 
Wesley disrobed with quick, efficient moves, right down to 
the skin.

Nude, it was even more obvious how harsh Wesley's life had 
been. He had as many scars as Ethan, if not more. The 
bullet wounds were old, as were the parallel marks that 
looked like claw wounds. There were also bruises scattered 
all over his body, ranging from old green shadows to the 
purple of fresher marks, and Ethan wanted to ask just what 
the boy did for a living that got him those marks, but he 
knew that Wesley wouldn't answer. "Are you going to join 
me?" he asked instead.

Last of all, Wesley set the knife sheath down on the 
bureau, then moved over to the bed. Ethan reached out and 
drew him even closer by that most vulnerable part of a 
man's anatomy. He raised an eyebrow, and took the boy's 
silence as permission. He leaned forward and took the other 
man into his mouth.

It had been far too long. Since the night of Ripper's 
birthday, in fact, since he wasn't going to count those few 
times with the soldier boys. Brutes. Thankfully, mucking 
with the cameras had been too difficult for most of *them* 
to consider it worth the effort.

But the art of fellatio was like riding a bike; you never 
lost it. Ethan had always enjoyed it, and he knew he was 
good at it. He assumed that Wesley was enjoying it from the 
twitches, even though the boy stayed perfectly silent. 
Unusually callused hands stroked the sides of his face 
briefly before gripping the back of his head and taking 
control.

Ethan groaned. The pressure wasn't unpleasant, but Wesley 
was making it clear who was in charge, and Ethan liked it.

Then, without warning he was shoved backwards. Wesley was 
panting hard. Ethan leaned back on his elbows and watched 
as the boy opened the package of condoms and rolled one on. 
There was a silent nod, and Ethan rolled over and kneeled 
up on the edge of the bed, legs spread.

He could hear the boy spitting onto his hand, and then he 
was briskly prepared. It had been so long that Ethan felt a 
flash of pain from the intrusion. It didn't stop him from 
pushing back into the first delicious thrust.

Strong fingers dug into his hips, moving him in time to 
those thrusts. Ethan moaned, and went with it. Amazingly, 
when he'd gone looking for a bar, a shag had been the last 
thing on his mind, but bloody hell, he'd needed this.

Wesley moved harder and faster until the pace was almost 
brutal, but Ethan did not complain. He reached down and 
started to wank himself in time with the thrusts, but had 
trouble keeping up. It was all too wonderful to last.

Ethan spent himself all over the nice clean bedspread, and 
went limp as the boy continued to pump into him in almost 
complete silence. Then he froze and came with a barely 
audible sound, almost a sob. Ethan grunted as Wesley's 
weight collapsed onto his back, but bit back a caustic 
comment as he felt a warm wetness on the back of his 
shoulder that had nothing to do with sex. Wesley shuddered, 
but stayed silent as he cried.

With a tenderness that would have surprised most who 
claimed to know him, Ethan managed to slide out from under 
Wesley. The boy shifted, as if he were going to stand, but 
Ethan stopped him. Instead, he pulled back the covers from 
under Wesley and manhandled the resistant body of his 
paramour into the bed where he joined him, disposing of the 
condom as he did so.

Wesley opened his mouth, but Ethan kissed him silent. "Go 
to sleep," he ordered, brushing his fingertips through one 
of the already drying tear tracks. "You can go back to 
whatever you were doing in the morning. Right now, you look 
like you could use a good night's sleep."

That got him a tiny smile. "I thought it was a good shag 
that I needed," the boy said, and Ethan grinned. Ah, he was 
too pretty, Ethan thought to himself. He wished he could 
keep the boy.

"A *fantastic* shag, you mean," he said. "And now that 
you've had it, it's sleep that you need. Followed, if I'm 
lucky, by another fantastic shag in the morning."

The boy chuckled slightly, but started to shift. "I have 
things to do. I should not have..."

"Taken a little time for yourself? Ah, sweet boy." Ethan 
pushed a stray lock of hair back from Wesley's face. "Don't 
give too much of yourself away. Be a little selfish." Then 
he whispered a small cantrip under his breath, and Wesley's 
eyes started to drift shut, a testament to how far his 
defenses had dropped. Already asleep, he rolled over, and 
Ethan curled up against his back, enjoying the feeling of 
being pressed against another body.

He was nearly asleep himself, and for a moment the years 
seemed to melt away, and instead of this oh-so-damaged boy 
in his arms, it was Ripper, cool and confident.

And if a tear or two of his own escaped, Wesley was too 
deeply asleep to notice.

>>>~~~<<<

Ethan woke late the next morning feeling remarkably well-
rested. In fact, it was so late that he barely had time to 
shower, shave, and dress before checkout time.

He wasn't  terribly surprised to find himself alone in the 
bed, though. In fact, the only proof that he hadn't 
imagined the night before was the ache in his arse and the 
heavy scent of sex that still hung in the air to scandalize 
housekeeping when they came. He was a little disappointed 
not to find so much as a note from young Wesley, but he 
didn't have time to dwell on it.

At ten on the dot, he was at the front desk handing in his 
key, paying his bill, and accepting a single, unexpected 
message.

"Thank you," it said. There was no signature, but then, it 
wasn't really needed, was it?

For a moment, Ethan felt the urge to track Wesley down and 
take him with him, but he quickly quashed that feeling It 
would take too long to find the boy, and suddenly he had 
the feeling that time was short and he needed to leave town 
now or never. An hour later, much sooner than he'd 
originally planned, he was on the road. As he passed the 
outer limits of the suburbs, he felt as though a great 
weight had lifted from his shoulders.

Twenty-four hours after that he was sitting in a motel room 
outside of Sunnydale trying to decide what his plans were. 
A pall hovered over Sunnydale, and it appeared that half 
the normally oblivious town had packed up and left, and 
most of the rest was packing. And when he clicked on the 
telly, nearly every channel was talking about the 
inexplicable darkness hovering over Los Angeles. Apparently 
the sun had refused to rise that morning for just the city.

At that point, Ethan climbed back into his car and started 
driving east. He would look up Ripper -- and perhaps Wesley 
as well -- later.

Much later.

THE END