FIC: Dealing (Ethan/Lindsey - NC-17) 10 b
Jan. 10th, 2005 02:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
estepheiaTITLE: Dealing
PAIRING: Ethan/Lindsey
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: Slash - angst - porn-with-plot - kink
SPOILERS: Set during Seeing Red, spoilers for AtS NFA.
SUMMARY: Ethan and Lindsey play a game of power and dominance
many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sangpassionne who is a very patient friend. Without her pep-talks, betaing, and help this story would never have gotten this far. Um, and all remaining mistakes are mine because I changed stuff since she last read this.
Chapters 1-9 are here.
Part 10a
Part 10b - Mark
Four hours later, the tattoos were done, and Carlos and his taciturn assistant were packing up and getting ready to leave. Lindsey hopped off the bed, grabbed a button down shirt and shrugged into it. His movements were jerky and he repeatedly ran his hands through his hair.
"Say, Carlos," Ethan said, keeping a vigilant eye on his highly-strung apprentice even as he nimbly counted through a wad of dollar bills to pay the two men. "If you knew you were definitely going to snuff it tomorrow, what would you do with your last remaining hours? How'd you go out?" His tone was conversational, placing the question in the realm of the purely hypothetical.
"I'd smoke the best shit in town and eat the world's best empanadas at my mamá's, " Carlos said promptly. "And then I'd grab a few bottles of tequila and take them to the Golden Dragon Massage Parlor down 2nd street, near Folsom, where I'd ask for a twin massage, full service." Carlos laughed. "I'd have myself a perfect day. Of course afterwards I'd go to confession." He winked.
"I say! You're quite the philosopher, aren't you?" Ethan tipped him with an extra twenty out of Lindsey's wallet before turning to the second man. "How 'bout you?"
"I'd do what I always do," the artist answered thoughtfully, dropping his surgical gloves in the trash. "You know, eat, drink, and work on my paintings."
"You'd change nothing?"
"There's this book I'm reading… I might read the last page, to see how it ends." He shrugged. "Then again, I might not."
"Must be some book." Ethan gave him a pat on the back and two tens. His patience was wearing thin, but he managed to show the two men out without undue haste.
"Before you ask -- let me tell you: it's a dumb question," Lindsey groused as soon as Ethan had closed the door behind them. "The world's not ending. Not today, and not with a bang."
Ah yes, the hubris of youth. Ethan missed its luxury, missed the deep-seated conviction that permanent harm would always pass him by. "And you read that interesting piece of news in whose entrails?"
Lindsey rolled up his sleeves. His movements were choppy. "Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. At Wolfram & Hart we always had an apocalypse or two on the backburner. Not to spring it, but to keep the forces of Good busy and off our backs. The Senior Partners like the world just fine. Unless you and I get bumped off by a bunch of run-of-the-mill perps, we'll still be around tomorrow."
As someone who'd made it a calling to give life's inevitable glitches a bit of a leg-up, Ethan didn't share Lindsey's confidence in the Senior Partners. Loaded guns had a pesky tendency to go off when least expected. Why should apocalypses be any different? Besides, over the past few hours the feeling of dread in Ethan's gut had intensified, not lessened. Apparently, wholesale bad karma was still on the menu.
"You still owe me an answer. What would you do? Come on, Indulge me."
"I'd find a way to leave my mark on the world. I'd make sure my death counts. Go out with a bang, a big bang." The way Lindsey obstinately stuck out his chin while lowering his head reminded Ethan of a excitable steer sizing up a foppish torero. Lindsey's small but powerful frame was brimming with barely held-in-check passion: hostility, desire – it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
Ethan grinned. He hadn't felt this randy in ages, but unlike Lindsey he shamelessly embraced his discomfort. It had to be worse for Lindsey, who was feeling the effects of the runes after all. Poor kid. Ethan frowned, startled by the unaccustomed flicker of empathy for his young apprentice. Chaos mages had little use for compassion. Ordinarily, Ethan reserved its atrophied remnants for himself. Maybe getting royally shafted by the Initiative had put a thing or two into perspective, or maybe Ethan was just turning into a boring old sap these days.
"I certainly wouldn't read the latest Grisham or screw around," Lindsey added, his voice dripping with contempt.
It was too good a cue to resist. "Oh, I'd most certainly screw around. I always planned on popping off in mid-fuck," Ethan said, even though Lindsey hadn't asked. "Now shall we?"
* * *
Rayne's sweeping, inviting gestured stopped at the table, but Lindsey's gaze automatically skidded further to land smack on the bed. A dry 'alone at last' popped into his head, complete with the English accent, even though Rayne was silent, and Lindsey knew he'd tumbled into the innuendo trap again.
Maybe he should just fuck the man, if only to get him out of his system.
Reluctantly, Lindsey focused his attention on the table. Rayne had prepared a spell while Lindsey had been tattooed. The silver bowl sat in the middle, surrounded by candles, incense sticks, and an unopened bottle of Evian.
Rayne handed Lindsey two sheets of hotel stationary that were covered in a flamboyant handwriting that was bordering on illegible. "Read this and memorize the section I marked there, you'll have to hum that chant in the back of your head while you gaze into the water."
Lindsey nodded, already deeply immersed in Rayne's description of the spell's ritual and the almost unpronounceable chant. He went through the whole procedure a second time, then lowered the papers, certain that he'd committed everything to memory. "Got it."
"Smart lad," Rayne said.
"What language is this?" Lindsey asked.
"Does it matter?"
"Just curious."
"Finnish, with a bit of Greek and Latin thrown in," the old sorcerer said. "Now, let's talk about Darla. Do you have a photo or some memento, a keepsake? Paves the way, especially for beginners."
After paying Carlos, Rayne had placed Lindsey's wallet on the TV. Lindsey reclaimed it and dug out a small photograph. Taken shortly before her second turning, it was far from flattering. Darla looked pale and haunted. But it was the only picture he had of her.
"Well then, are you quite sure you're up to this? Reach inside. Can you feel the power? Do you think it's enough? Let me warn you. If you run out of juice in mid-spell you could suffer a rather unpleasant whiplash. One should always keep a comfortable margin."
"I'm ready."
For the next ten minutes Lindsey followed Rayne's instructions to the letter, lighting the candles, pouring the water into the bowl and fanning sickly sweet incense smoke over the glittering surface. The spell played in the back of his head like a broken record. However, the water in the bowl stayed crystal clear.
"It's not working," Lindsey complained, peering into the clear, unresponsive liquid, willing it to turn into a canvas. He could feel the power inside his body slowly trickle away, a sure sign that the incantation he'd read was effective.
Suddenly an old black and white photograph appeared in Lindsey's field of vision. "Look for him, instead," Rayne said, "Look for Rupert Giles." The picture showed the spectacled man Lindsey had seen during the shared link. Rayne had referred to him before, but by the name of Ripper.
It was worth a try. Lindsey took the photograph and concentrated on the image and the name of the bearer. The surface misted up at once, faster than a mirror in a cloud of steam. Inside that slowly rotating maelstrom of smoke colors blossomed. Two humanoid shapes appeared, a middle-aged man and a much younger woman.
The man was indeed Rupert Giles, although decades older than in the photograph. As for the girl… for a second Lindsey wasn't even sure the term 'girl' applied, because black veins marred her pale skin like maggots. Lindsey had seen enough zombies to know that he wasn't watching a walking corpse, but with her dull black hair and her unnaturally black eyes she appeared less than human.
"Bugger," Rayne muttered beside him, breaking Lindsey's concentration.
Immediately, all color bled away. Only black and white lines and planes remained, frayed and smudged as in a charcoal drawing, and even those quickly sank beneath the smoky surface, but in a great feat of concentration Lindsey caught the image and dragged it back up, even imbued it with color again.
The man had fallen to his knees. With one swift movement the girl pressed her hand on his chest, a cruel, gleeful expression on her face. Where her hand touched him, a bright glow erupted, bright enough to spill from the scrying bowl and bathe the ceiling of the hotel room in a queasy orange. It was like the link Lindsey had shared with Ethan. Only not.
Lindsey did not need to be told that the girl was rapidly draining her victim of his power, the way she must have drained Rack. The man, Giles, grimaced in pain, then collapsed. It was impossible to tell if he was dead or merely unconscious.
"No!" Rayne's strangled shout carried a multitude of emotions. Shock. Horror. Fury. Grief.
A blink of an eye later, Lindsey was gazing into a bowl that held nothing but water. The image was gone, this time for good. All the candles had snuffed. Breathing heavily from sheer exhaustion, Lindsey staggered back, away from the circle of acrid smoke that curled up from their cooling wicks.
"Bring it back," Rayne demanded.
"Do it yourself," Lindsey snapped, furious. The well inside him was dry, a gaping hollowness. He'd wasted the last few drops of power trying to spy on Rayne's fuck-buddy. "Sorry, but you can only get so far on a quick number in the shower," he added with dripping sarcasm and a jerking off motion. A small part of him knew that his anger was way out of proportion, but he'd left rational thinking several exits back.
Rayne stood frozen long enough for Lindsey to count till ten. Then, in a single outburst of fury, he swept everything off the table. Bowl, candles, and incense holders scattered noisily to the floor. Dark stains blossomed on the carpet, ignored by both men.
There was a sweet satisfaction in watching another man snap, especially if that man delighted in making others crack under pressure. Lindsey didn't even try to hide his glee. "I bet a great sorcerer like you only has to snap his fingers to see or get whatever he wants."
Black eyes hardened, and amiable lines that millions of broad smiles had dug into Rayne's features melted away. For a second Rayne's habitual mask of amused arrogance slipped, revealing the dangerous man W&H had considered recruiting.
"You have no idea what I'm capable of," Rayne said.
"Oh yeah?" Lindsey took a threatening step towards him. "What are you capable of? All you've given me so far are a few tricks and lots of talk."
"I've given you more power than you could have ever hoped for." Rayne stood his ground, but raised his hands.
To appease or to do magic? Lindsey didn't wait to find out. Two more steps brought him close enough to invade Rayne's personal space, close enough to grab the man's wrist with one hand, and his throat with the other. Rayne flinched and tried to knock his hands away. Lindsey was stronger. He manhandled the thin sorcerer backwards by the throat until Rayne's head and shoulders hit the wall and Lindsey had him trapped.
His body felt like it was on fire, unbearably hot. He'd fought it for hours, but now that his outburst had brought him close enough for their bodies to touch, Lindsey dropped all pretense. He was hard, achingly so, and he didn't care if Rayne knew it. In fact, he wanted the sorcerer to know. When he pressed his hardness against Rayne's thigh, he put his full weight behind it.
"You know what I think?" Lindsey snarled, as he pinned Rayne to the wall. "I think you couldn't stop me if your life depended on it. I think you're burnt out. Useless."
Rayne's smile was tight-lipped, and his gaze shifty, which made Lindsey think that he'd hit the nail on the head. For all his affectations and his condescending teacher crap, Rayne was little more than a third-rate charlatan when it came to real magic
"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Rayne choked out, struggling against the hand that was crushing his wind-pipe. "I have more power in my little pinky than you'll ever have." His protest was accompanied by an eager wriggle, one that aligned his hardness with Lindsey's own. The friction sent a pounding wave of arousal through Lindsey's veins. Both men gasped.
Lindsey let go of Rayne's throat and grabbed a shock of hair instead. "Oh yeah? Then try and stop me."
"Stop you? Now, why would I do anything as daft as that?" Rayne breathed.
Suddenly a pair of hands were adeptly unbuttoning Lindsey's pants, even though he couldn't recall letting go of Rayne's wrist. Unwilling to relinquish control, Lindsey gave Rayne's shoulder a rough push. "What do you want, Rayne?"
"You," Rayne said, "I want to fuck you."
"Wrong answer," Lindsey sneered, even though the words struck him like lightning.
"Wanted to fuck you from the moment I clapped eyes on you," Rayne continued, as though he hadn't heard Lindsey. He'd managed to yank down the zipper, now his hand sought out bare skin, closing around Lindsey's rock-hard cock.
With Rayne's hand slowly stroking him, coherent speech had never seemed harder, but Lindsey stubbornly held on to his advantage. He was the one calling the shots now, time for Rayne to acknowledge this. He caught the other man's wrist, stopping the irresistible friction, then fixed Rayne with a hard stare. "Not gonna happen. Try again."
Rayne was breathing heavily. "Very well then. In that case…" He met Lindsey's glare unflinchingly. For a fraction of a second, Lindsey thought he saw a spark of triumph light up Rayne's gaze. It had to be a mistake though, because a moment later the sorcerer admitted defeat. "I want you," Rayne said. "Inside me."
* * *
PAIRING: Ethan/Lindsey
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: Slash - angst - porn-with-plot - kink
SPOILERS: Set during Seeing Red, spoilers for AtS NFA.
SUMMARY: Ethan and Lindsey play a game of power and dominance
many thanks to
sangpassionne who is a very patient friend. Without her pep-talks, betaing, and help this story would never have gotten this far. Um, and all remaining mistakes are mine because I changed stuff since she last read this.Chapters 1-9 are here.
Part 10a
Part 10b - Mark
Four hours later, the tattoos were done, and Carlos and his taciturn assistant were packing up and getting ready to leave. Lindsey hopped off the bed, grabbed a button down shirt and shrugged into it. His movements were jerky and he repeatedly ran his hands through his hair.
"Say, Carlos," Ethan said, keeping a vigilant eye on his highly-strung apprentice even as he nimbly counted through a wad of dollar bills to pay the two men. "If you knew you were definitely going to snuff it tomorrow, what would you do with your last remaining hours? How'd you go out?" His tone was conversational, placing the question in the realm of the purely hypothetical.
"I'd smoke the best shit in town and eat the world's best empanadas at my mamá's, " Carlos said promptly. "And then I'd grab a few bottles of tequila and take them to the Golden Dragon Massage Parlor down 2nd street, near Folsom, where I'd ask for a twin massage, full service." Carlos laughed. "I'd have myself a perfect day. Of course afterwards I'd go to confession." He winked.
"I say! You're quite the philosopher, aren't you?" Ethan tipped him with an extra twenty out of Lindsey's wallet before turning to the second man. "How 'bout you?"
"I'd do what I always do," the artist answered thoughtfully, dropping his surgical gloves in the trash. "You know, eat, drink, and work on my paintings."
"You'd change nothing?"
"There's this book I'm reading… I might read the last page, to see how it ends." He shrugged. "Then again, I might not."
"Must be some book." Ethan gave him a pat on the back and two tens. His patience was wearing thin, but he managed to show the two men out without undue haste.
"Before you ask -- let me tell you: it's a dumb question," Lindsey groused as soon as Ethan had closed the door behind them. "The world's not ending. Not today, and not with a bang."
Ah yes, the hubris of youth. Ethan missed its luxury, missed the deep-seated conviction that permanent harm would always pass him by. "And you read that interesting piece of news in whose entrails?"
Lindsey rolled up his sleeves. His movements were choppy. "Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. At Wolfram & Hart we always had an apocalypse or two on the backburner. Not to spring it, but to keep the forces of Good busy and off our backs. The Senior Partners like the world just fine. Unless you and I get bumped off by a bunch of run-of-the-mill perps, we'll still be around tomorrow."
As someone who'd made it a calling to give life's inevitable glitches a bit of a leg-up, Ethan didn't share Lindsey's confidence in the Senior Partners. Loaded guns had a pesky tendency to go off when least expected. Why should apocalypses be any different? Besides, over the past few hours the feeling of dread in Ethan's gut had intensified, not lessened. Apparently, wholesale bad karma was still on the menu.
"You still owe me an answer. What would you do? Come on, Indulge me."
"I'd find a way to leave my mark on the world. I'd make sure my death counts. Go out with a bang, a big bang." The way Lindsey obstinately stuck out his chin while lowering his head reminded Ethan of a excitable steer sizing up a foppish torero. Lindsey's small but powerful frame was brimming with barely held-in-check passion: hostility, desire – it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
Ethan grinned. He hadn't felt this randy in ages, but unlike Lindsey he shamelessly embraced his discomfort. It had to be worse for Lindsey, who was feeling the effects of the runes after all. Poor kid. Ethan frowned, startled by the unaccustomed flicker of empathy for his young apprentice. Chaos mages had little use for compassion. Ordinarily, Ethan reserved its atrophied remnants for himself. Maybe getting royally shafted by the Initiative had put a thing or two into perspective, or maybe Ethan was just turning into a boring old sap these days.
"I certainly wouldn't read the latest Grisham or screw around," Lindsey added, his voice dripping with contempt.
It was too good a cue to resist. "Oh, I'd most certainly screw around. I always planned on popping off in mid-fuck," Ethan said, even though Lindsey hadn't asked. "Now shall we?"
* * *
Rayne's sweeping, inviting gestured stopped at the table, but Lindsey's gaze automatically skidded further to land smack on the bed. A dry 'alone at last' popped into his head, complete with the English accent, even though Rayne was silent, and Lindsey knew he'd tumbled into the innuendo trap again.
Maybe he should just fuck the man, if only to get him out of his system.
Reluctantly, Lindsey focused his attention on the table. Rayne had prepared a spell while Lindsey had been tattooed. The silver bowl sat in the middle, surrounded by candles, incense sticks, and an unopened bottle of Evian.
Rayne handed Lindsey two sheets of hotel stationary that were covered in a flamboyant handwriting that was bordering on illegible. "Read this and memorize the section I marked there, you'll have to hum that chant in the back of your head while you gaze into the water."
Lindsey nodded, already deeply immersed in Rayne's description of the spell's ritual and the almost unpronounceable chant. He went through the whole procedure a second time, then lowered the papers, certain that he'd committed everything to memory. "Got it."
"Smart lad," Rayne said.
"What language is this?" Lindsey asked.
"Does it matter?"
"Just curious."
"Finnish, with a bit of Greek and Latin thrown in," the old sorcerer said. "Now, let's talk about Darla. Do you have a photo or some memento, a keepsake? Paves the way, especially for beginners."
After paying Carlos, Rayne had placed Lindsey's wallet on the TV. Lindsey reclaimed it and dug out a small photograph. Taken shortly before her second turning, it was far from flattering. Darla looked pale and haunted. But it was the only picture he had of her.
"Well then, are you quite sure you're up to this? Reach inside. Can you feel the power? Do you think it's enough? Let me warn you. If you run out of juice in mid-spell you could suffer a rather unpleasant whiplash. One should always keep a comfortable margin."
"I'm ready."
For the next ten minutes Lindsey followed Rayne's instructions to the letter, lighting the candles, pouring the water into the bowl and fanning sickly sweet incense smoke over the glittering surface. The spell played in the back of his head like a broken record. However, the water in the bowl stayed crystal clear.
"It's not working," Lindsey complained, peering into the clear, unresponsive liquid, willing it to turn into a canvas. He could feel the power inside his body slowly trickle away, a sure sign that the incantation he'd read was effective.
Suddenly an old black and white photograph appeared in Lindsey's field of vision. "Look for him, instead," Rayne said, "Look for Rupert Giles." The picture showed the spectacled man Lindsey had seen during the shared link. Rayne had referred to him before, but by the name of Ripper.
It was worth a try. Lindsey took the photograph and concentrated on the image and the name of the bearer. The surface misted up at once, faster than a mirror in a cloud of steam. Inside that slowly rotating maelstrom of smoke colors blossomed. Two humanoid shapes appeared, a middle-aged man and a much younger woman.
The man was indeed Rupert Giles, although decades older than in the photograph. As for the girl… for a second Lindsey wasn't even sure the term 'girl' applied, because black veins marred her pale skin like maggots. Lindsey had seen enough zombies to know that he wasn't watching a walking corpse, but with her dull black hair and her unnaturally black eyes she appeared less than human.
"Bugger," Rayne muttered beside him, breaking Lindsey's concentration.
Immediately, all color bled away. Only black and white lines and planes remained, frayed and smudged as in a charcoal drawing, and even those quickly sank beneath the smoky surface, but in a great feat of concentration Lindsey caught the image and dragged it back up, even imbued it with color again.
The man had fallen to his knees. With one swift movement the girl pressed her hand on his chest, a cruel, gleeful expression on her face. Where her hand touched him, a bright glow erupted, bright enough to spill from the scrying bowl and bathe the ceiling of the hotel room in a queasy orange. It was like the link Lindsey had shared with Ethan. Only not.
Lindsey did not need to be told that the girl was rapidly draining her victim of his power, the way she must have drained Rack. The man, Giles, grimaced in pain, then collapsed. It was impossible to tell if he was dead or merely unconscious.
"No!" Rayne's strangled shout carried a multitude of emotions. Shock. Horror. Fury. Grief.
A blink of an eye later, Lindsey was gazing into a bowl that held nothing but water. The image was gone, this time for good. All the candles had snuffed. Breathing heavily from sheer exhaustion, Lindsey staggered back, away from the circle of acrid smoke that curled up from their cooling wicks.
"Bring it back," Rayne demanded.
"Do it yourself," Lindsey snapped, furious. The well inside him was dry, a gaping hollowness. He'd wasted the last few drops of power trying to spy on Rayne's fuck-buddy. "Sorry, but you can only get so far on a quick number in the shower," he added with dripping sarcasm and a jerking off motion. A small part of him knew that his anger was way out of proportion, but he'd left rational thinking several exits back.
Rayne stood frozen long enough for Lindsey to count till ten. Then, in a single outburst of fury, he swept everything off the table. Bowl, candles, and incense holders scattered noisily to the floor. Dark stains blossomed on the carpet, ignored by both men.
There was a sweet satisfaction in watching another man snap, especially if that man delighted in making others crack under pressure. Lindsey didn't even try to hide his glee. "I bet a great sorcerer like you only has to snap his fingers to see or get whatever he wants."
Black eyes hardened, and amiable lines that millions of broad smiles had dug into Rayne's features melted away. For a second Rayne's habitual mask of amused arrogance slipped, revealing the dangerous man W&H had considered recruiting.
"You have no idea what I'm capable of," Rayne said.
"Oh yeah?" Lindsey took a threatening step towards him. "What are you capable of? All you've given me so far are a few tricks and lots of talk."
"I've given you more power than you could have ever hoped for." Rayne stood his ground, but raised his hands.
To appease or to do magic? Lindsey didn't wait to find out. Two more steps brought him close enough to invade Rayne's personal space, close enough to grab the man's wrist with one hand, and his throat with the other. Rayne flinched and tried to knock his hands away. Lindsey was stronger. He manhandled the thin sorcerer backwards by the throat until Rayne's head and shoulders hit the wall and Lindsey had him trapped.
His body felt like it was on fire, unbearably hot. He'd fought it for hours, but now that his outburst had brought him close enough for their bodies to touch, Lindsey dropped all pretense. He was hard, achingly so, and he didn't care if Rayne knew it. In fact, he wanted the sorcerer to know. When he pressed his hardness against Rayne's thigh, he put his full weight behind it.
"You know what I think?" Lindsey snarled, as he pinned Rayne to the wall. "I think you couldn't stop me if your life depended on it. I think you're burnt out. Useless."
Rayne's smile was tight-lipped, and his gaze shifty, which made Lindsey think that he'd hit the nail on the head. For all his affectations and his condescending teacher crap, Rayne was little more than a third-rate charlatan when it came to real magic
"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Rayne choked out, struggling against the hand that was crushing his wind-pipe. "I have more power in my little pinky than you'll ever have." His protest was accompanied by an eager wriggle, one that aligned his hardness with Lindsey's own. The friction sent a pounding wave of arousal through Lindsey's veins. Both men gasped.
Lindsey let go of Rayne's throat and grabbed a shock of hair instead. "Oh yeah? Then try and stop me."
"Stop you? Now, why would I do anything as daft as that?" Rayne breathed.
Suddenly a pair of hands were adeptly unbuttoning Lindsey's pants, even though he couldn't recall letting go of Rayne's wrist. Unwilling to relinquish control, Lindsey gave Rayne's shoulder a rough push. "What do you want, Rayne?"
"You," Rayne said, "I want to fuck you."
"Wrong answer," Lindsey sneered, even though the words struck him like lightning.
"Wanted to fuck you from the moment I clapped eyes on you," Rayne continued, as though he hadn't heard Lindsey. He'd managed to yank down the zipper, now his hand sought out bare skin, closing around Lindsey's rock-hard cock.
With Rayne's hand slowly stroking him, coherent speech had never seemed harder, but Lindsey stubbornly held on to his advantage. He was the one calling the shots now, time for Rayne to acknowledge this. He caught the other man's wrist, stopping the irresistible friction, then fixed Rayne with a hard stare. "Not gonna happen. Try again."
Rayne was breathing heavily. "Very well then. In that case…" He met Lindsey's glare unflinchingly. For a fraction of a second, Lindsey thought he saw a spark of triumph light up Rayne's gaze. It had to be a mistake though, because a moment later the sorcerer admitted defeat. "I want you," Rayne said. "Inside me."
* * *
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-01-10 01:50 am (UTC)Interesting that from Lindsey's perspective here, being fucked means defeat. I think he'll find that assumption to be quite wrong.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-10 02:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-10 07:21 am (UTC)Thank you, Ely.
You can find out TONIGHT, because the next part is written. I merely have to give it a quick read-through and tweak a little, to make sure the continuity works. If you write chapters out of sequence a final tweak is necessary.
*bounce*
I am insanely happy to be reaching the conclusion of this brain-eating saga. :-)
no subject
Date: 2005-01-10 03:05 am (UTC)Can't wait for the next part.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-10 07:16 am (UTC)*bounces happily*
Next part coming up TONIGHT! Wheee!
no subject
Date: 2005-01-10 04:54 am (UTC)Well done.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-10 07:19 am (UTC)Heee. I'm not telling you anything. Lala la... *whistles innocently*
As for Ethan's reaction to Giles's fall, well, looks like Ethan has not fully moved on yet. I think we can safely assume that he was surprised by his own reaction....
no subject
Date: 2005-01-11 02:03 am (UTC)