Title: A Walk in the park

Author/pseudonym: drovar

Fandom: The Others

Paring: Warren/?

Rating: R

Status: A snippet

Notes: My first attempt at an Otherfic. This is the first non-Spender story I've written in a *very* long time. This is a real quick one, thanks to BethLynn for looking it over, any mistakes remain mine.

Disclaimers: slash maybe?

Summary: Warren is literally haunted by his past.

Warnings: Very likely AU

A WALK IN THE PARK

By Drover

Warren wiped his hand over his face to clear his eyes, otherwise ignoring the cold and the rain.

"Warren . . . "

There it was again, the ephemeral ghostly voice calling him on. He'd heard it outside the coffee shop and had followed it to the park, he always followed. It was as if his will was stripped from him at times like this.. He seemed to move as if jangled and directly by gossamer strings.

"Warren . . . "

Lower, he had to get lower. The trail was leading him in the wrong direction, it was heading higher and deeper into the woods, wrong, wrong, wrong. Lower, he had to get lower.

Warren headed off the trail breaking into the underbrush and sliding down the hillside. Even as the twigs and rocks caught and cut at him, he moved on.

"Warren . . . "

He jumped a drainage ditch at the bottom of the hill, landed and rolled to his hands and knees on the asphalt, staring into the depths of the park The tunnel . . . the source of the calling spirit . . it was just ahead. His knees were skinned bloody through the tears in his mud-caked jeans and his hands were scraped raw.

He staggered to his feet and stumbled forward, unmindful of anything but the calling voice, the tremulous, whispering voice that resonated in his thoughts like a banshee wail.

"Warren . . ."

Lightning and deep rumbling thunder crashed overhead, Warren didn't notice. He heard the voice; a bare whisper of sound that somehow blocked all other noise from his mind.

The tunnel was dark and dank, with rivulets of rainwater coursing through from end to end, pooling and gathering in all the cracks and low spots till it nearly covered the tunnel floor. He pushed deeper into the dimness. A distant lamp cast a shallow rain-filtered light that did more to cast shadows than reveal what was there.

"Where are you?" Warren gasped out as he brushed against the graffiti covered wall and pushed himself forward.

Blood and fire . . . there was blood here . . . burning . . . pain .. . loss, some much pain, and fire . . . the ravenous beast devouring all that it touched, even flesh, even love.

"Warren . . ."

"I'm here, where are you? I can't see you? I can't . . . please stop. . stop . . . stop . . . " His voice trailed off to a whispered plea as he sagged against the wall, tumbled down into a sit with his legs stretched out into puddles of cold dark water, and closed his eyes.

"Where? There's so much fire, I can't find . . . where? . . . where?"

"Here . . ."

The voice, it was so familiar, so filled with memory, with need and longing.

Warren gasped as a thin tendril of something otherworldly slid across his body. He couldn't open his eyes; he didn't dare to. Another touch joined the first then another, sliding along his chest, as if feeling his reality more than his body. The touch had become a full hand now, a hand with strength and purpose that slid up his chest and touched his lips, his nose, and his closed eyes. It was like being investigated by a blind person, his features discerned by touch and feel, not sight.

"Warren . . ."

The touch was replaced by lips, or the whispered suggestion of lips, lips so soft and transient they might have been imagined. He turned his head up, tried to bring the lips to his, even the touch of the discorporate was more than he'd felt, more than he'd let himself hope to feel since . . .

The lips met his and the touch became a full grinding body pressing heavy and hard against his own.

"Please," he moaned through crushed lips. He began to respond to the aggressive touch, pushing his own body against what seemed to be firm flesh and bone. His hands came up and felt warmth and skin, even as hands slid down and undid his clothing.

"Please," strong hands kneading his heavy flesh, hot breath on his skin, fire and flame roaring up in his mind, so much pain, so much . . . pleasure, warm flesh melding to his, touching him in impossible ways, forcing him, close to the brink, back again, over and over till his body seemed to vibrate in time with the movements.

He climaxed in a galloping rush of sensation, the fire, the rain, the touch, the whispering thundering voice all swirled up into a spinning vortex of thought and sound.

"Warren . . ."

"Warren . . ."

"Warren!"

He was being shaken.

"Warren, are you alright?"

He opened his eyes to see the concerned face of Dr. Mark.

"Warren?"

Warren looked down, he was sitting in water, his clothes were as they'd been when he entered the tunnel. The blood on his knees and jeans had dried.

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay . . . . fell asleep"

"You're soaked, c'mon, lets get you home and dried off, then I'll take a look at those knees. Did you fall?"

The rain had stopped. The sky was dark and clear. The night was cold and silent. Warren cast one glance at the dark tunnel. It was cold and dark and lifeless.

"Yeah, I fell hard."

[End]

Who is Warren's mysterious partner who seems to have died under tragic circumstances? I've *no* idea. Hope the series gives me an answer and maybe a gender.