Ethanficathon
Apr. 13th, 2004 03:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonlettuceThis was written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kindkit, who requested post-Eyghon, pre-"Halloween", the Watchers' Council (or someone from it); some
reflection on the nature and meaning of Chaos and absolutely no submissive!Ethan. Hope you enjoy :-)
Holding My Last Breath
By Claire
"Ethan Rayne, you are a disgrace."
The condemnation is delivered as Roger Wyndam-Pryce finally stops circling.
"A disgrace to your father."
May his soul rot, wherever it may be.
"A disgrace to you teachers."
All of who spent less time teaching and more time complaining about the state of this new generation of Watchers. Idiots. It wasn't his fault that they didn't see the times were changing, that they didn't understand.
"But most of all you are a disgrace to this Organisation."
And Ethan can just hear the capitalisation in that, as the rest of the Watchers in the room nod and murmur their agreement. It takes all his effort not to laugh. It makes perfect sense that he's the disgrace and not, say, Collins, whose wife seems to walk into a new door every week. Or Anderson, who Ethan's seen walking out of the demon brothel in town on more than a few Friday nights. And old Roger himself has no room to talk. Ethan's seen the bruises on his son's skin, seen the way Wesley cowers when his father looks at him, the way he stammers answers to questions no seven year old should know.
"What you did was reckless and arrogant."
It's with those words that Ethan find he can't hold back any longer. He looks up, eyes fixing on the pompous twat glaring at him.
"I was hardly the only one."
Wyndam-Pryce's eyes harden. "The others will be punished appropriately."
Yet another lie. Unless the tea and crumpets he saw Ripper having with his dear old dad that morning were some form of ancient Sumerian torture. Death by cream scone and all that.
"To assume you could bind a third level demon was preposterous. Your actions have cost a young man his life, as well as bringing us to the attention of outsiders."
Because that's what it all comes down to. Maintain the veil of secrecy; can't let others know what's going on. Knowledge is king, but only when other people don't have it.
Wyndam-Pryce stops, taking a breath and glancing at the men behind him before continuing. "However, never let it be said that the Watchers are an inconsiderate organisation. If you have anything to say, Mr Rayne, then say it now. We are listening."
And what they mean is tell them what happened in every intimate detail. Let them relieve their voyeuristic tendencies without the appearance of impropriety. Spin them a tale of sex and blood that will have them wanking before Sunday dinner for the next five weeks.
Only it's not as though he can actually remember everything that happened. Much of the night is too much a blur of colour and sensation. He recalls there were words, his tongue wrapping around chants that hadn't been spoken in centuries. Concentrating so heavily on getting each syllable right, only to find them starting to flow through his body, slipping easily from his lips and inscribing themselves into the night air.
He knows there'd been Deirdre, all light floral perfume and soft pale skin, sitting cross-legged while clinging to Thomas's hand and looking fragile, but whose voice had been stronger than the rest. And Thomas, so sure that what they'd been about to do was a mistake, but who was there because his girlfriend was. Next to him had been Phillip, whose hands hadn't even shook as he'd cut himself to spill the blood they'd needed. And then there'd been Randall, so sure, so positive that he could handle Eyghon.
Then finally there'd been Ripper. Little Rupert playing so hard at being something he wasn't. Ripper, who'd turned up at the bar one night with Randall, all leather and denim and attitude, denouncing the very father he turned and ran to when things got tough.
Raising the demon had been Ripper's idea in the first place, an idea that Randall had quickly latched onto. It was hardly Ethan's fault that the Randall's magic had never been as strong as he claimed it was. It hadn't been until part way into the summoning that he'd realised there was no way that Randall could house Eyghon, no way that his body could contain the power.
Although maybe it is his fault. After all, there have been other people around him who have lied about how powerful they were, but he'd always recognised them. Of course, all the other times he'd never been too busy trying to get into Ripper's pants to realise they were spinning him a line.
And he'd tried once he'd realised. Tried to pull the demon back into the circle, tried to contain it, and then the magics had hit him full on, and he hadn't cared anymore.
Colours had danced and silent music had played and the high had been better than anything he'd ever had from the coke he has hidden in the inside pocket of his jacket.
He remembers the slide of flesh against flesh, the anticipation heavy in the air and making him hard. And he's sure the moan he still has reverberating around his head came from Ripper. But apart from that,
"I don't remember."
Wyndam-Pryce frowns, the words obviously not what he wants to hear. "This is your last chance, Mr Rayne."
Ethan looks at them all one by one, fixes his gaze with each of them in turn. "I said, I don't remember."
He doesn't remember Randall's scream, and the slick streak of blood that his hand ran through. And he certainly doesn't remember being only a few words away from completing the binding spell against Eyghon, from being only a breath away from sending the demon back to where they'd summoned him from, before Ripper had panicked, knocking one of the candles and breaking the circle. He doesn't remember frantically re-sealing the circle, but not being in time to save Randall, and he doesn't, he'll never, remember the feel of Eyghon as the demon's fingers reached out and slid down his cheek, promising pain and pleasure and a thousand things in between.
"Very well." Wyndam-Pryce looks back at the others, receiving nods from each of them. "Ethan Rayne, you are hereby removed from the annals of the Watchers. You are to leave the Academy immediately. You shall have no contact with anyone within the Organisation." He pauses before, "this meeting is concluded. Mr Rayne, you are excused."
They file out until the room is empty apart from him, and all Ethan can hear is the sound of his own breathing.
*
His bag isn't as heavy as he'd thought it would be as he walks across the grounds, gates coming closer with every step.
"Ethan!"
He closes his eyes as his steps falter, the voice that reaches him the one he didn't want to hear before he left. He turns just as Rupert comes to a halt beside him, all demure tweed and no hint of Ripper in sight.
"You took your earring out."
Because he needs to say anything to fill up the silence, say anything before he says what he wants to.
Rupert's hand goes to his ear, fingers brushing lightly over the hole that's still there. "Yeah. It wasn't the right image for-"
But the rest of the words are cut off in the bark of laughter.
"Not the right image? Bloody hell, Rip, they really have got to you, haven't they."
Ethan feels as pang of something as Rupert looks down. Damn it, he hasn't felt guilt since the time he kicked that puppy in Newcastle. Granted, it was a demon puppy and it was about to take his foot off, but still, it was sort of cute in a dripping ichor, glowing orange eyes kind of way.
Ethan reaches out, laying a hand on Rupert's arm. "I have to go." The tone of his voice as close as he can come to apologising. Because if he says the words then he'll end up saying a lot more besides. And anyway, doesn't love mean never having to say you're sorry.
Rupert looks up, hearing the unspoken words. "Don't leave. We can get the Council to overturn the decision. My father-"
Ethan stops the flow of words with a finger over Rupert's lips. He's more than sure that, even if he begged, even if he wanted to, Marcus Giles wouldn't lift a finger to help him stay in the Watchers.
"I was never meant to stay here, Rip."
No matter how much he'd wanted to. No matter how many times he'd looked at Rupert Giles and hoped to Janus that their paths led in the same direction.
Ethan shrugs. "That's the nature of Chaos, change. Who am I to deny that?"
Nah, he can't change the overall path Chaos has set for him, but he's pretty sure he's got some wiggle room in there. After all, destiny and fate may be all set out, but when it all comes down to it, Chaos does what it needs to, and to hell with the rules.
And Ethan smiles, reaching a hand out and pulling the other boy to him, fusing their mouths together, catlike licks encouraging the sealed lips to open and then plundering inside, marking himself on every part of Rupert Giles's soul. Pulling back, he takes the stud out of his own ear and slides it into Rupert's, sliding his thumb over the small silver ball. "Much better," he declares, picking his bag up and slinging it back over his shoulder.
Taking a final look around, Ethan grins at the glint in the other boy's eyes. "Be seeing you, Ripper," he murmurs before he walks out of the gates and doesn't look back.
End.
The masterlist for the ficathon is here.
kindkit, who requested post-Eyghon, pre-"Halloween", the Watchers' Council (or someone from it); somereflection on the nature and meaning of Chaos and absolutely no submissive!Ethan. Hope you enjoy :-)
Holding My Last Breath
By Claire
"Ethan Rayne, you are a disgrace."
The condemnation is delivered as Roger Wyndam-Pryce finally stops circling.
"A disgrace to your father."
May his soul rot, wherever it may be.
"A disgrace to you teachers."
All of who spent less time teaching and more time complaining about the state of this new generation of Watchers. Idiots. It wasn't his fault that they didn't see the times were changing, that they didn't understand.
"But most of all you are a disgrace to this Organisation."
And Ethan can just hear the capitalisation in that, as the rest of the Watchers in the room nod and murmur their agreement. It takes all his effort not to laugh. It makes perfect sense that he's the disgrace and not, say, Collins, whose wife seems to walk into a new door every week. Or Anderson, who Ethan's seen walking out of the demon brothel in town on more than a few Friday nights. And old Roger himself has no room to talk. Ethan's seen the bruises on his son's skin, seen the way Wesley cowers when his father looks at him, the way he stammers answers to questions no seven year old should know.
"What you did was reckless and arrogant."
It's with those words that Ethan find he can't hold back any longer. He looks up, eyes fixing on the pompous twat glaring at him.
"I was hardly the only one."
Wyndam-Pryce's eyes harden. "The others will be punished appropriately."
Yet another lie. Unless the tea and crumpets he saw Ripper having with his dear old dad that morning were some form of ancient Sumerian torture. Death by cream scone and all that.
"To assume you could bind a third level demon was preposterous. Your actions have cost a young man his life, as well as bringing us to the attention of outsiders."
Because that's what it all comes down to. Maintain the veil of secrecy; can't let others know what's going on. Knowledge is king, but only when other people don't have it.
Wyndam-Pryce stops, taking a breath and glancing at the men behind him before continuing. "However, never let it be said that the Watchers are an inconsiderate organisation. If you have anything to say, Mr Rayne, then say it now. We are listening."
And what they mean is tell them what happened in every intimate detail. Let them relieve their voyeuristic tendencies without the appearance of impropriety. Spin them a tale of sex and blood that will have them wanking before Sunday dinner for the next five weeks.
Only it's not as though he can actually remember everything that happened. Much of the night is too much a blur of colour and sensation. He recalls there were words, his tongue wrapping around chants that hadn't been spoken in centuries. Concentrating so heavily on getting each syllable right, only to find them starting to flow through his body, slipping easily from his lips and inscribing themselves into the night air.
He knows there'd been Deirdre, all light floral perfume and soft pale skin, sitting cross-legged while clinging to Thomas's hand and looking fragile, but whose voice had been stronger than the rest. And Thomas, so sure that what they'd been about to do was a mistake, but who was there because his girlfriend was. Next to him had been Phillip, whose hands hadn't even shook as he'd cut himself to spill the blood they'd needed. And then there'd been Randall, so sure, so positive that he could handle Eyghon.
Then finally there'd been Ripper. Little Rupert playing so hard at being something he wasn't. Ripper, who'd turned up at the bar one night with Randall, all leather and denim and attitude, denouncing the very father he turned and ran to when things got tough.
Raising the demon had been Ripper's idea in the first place, an idea that Randall had quickly latched onto. It was hardly Ethan's fault that the Randall's magic had never been as strong as he claimed it was. It hadn't been until part way into the summoning that he'd realised there was no way that Randall could house Eyghon, no way that his body could contain the power.
Although maybe it is his fault. After all, there have been other people around him who have lied about how powerful they were, but he'd always recognised them. Of course, all the other times he'd never been too busy trying to get into Ripper's pants to realise they were spinning him a line.
And he'd tried once he'd realised. Tried to pull the demon back into the circle, tried to contain it, and then the magics had hit him full on, and he hadn't cared anymore.
Colours had danced and silent music had played and the high had been better than anything he'd ever had from the coke he has hidden in the inside pocket of his jacket.
He remembers the slide of flesh against flesh, the anticipation heavy in the air and making him hard. And he's sure the moan he still has reverberating around his head came from Ripper. But apart from that,
"I don't remember."
Wyndam-Pryce frowns, the words obviously not what he wants to hear. "This is your last chance, Mr Rayne."
Ethan looks at them all one by one, fixes his gaze with each of them in turn. "I said, I don't remember."
He doesn't remember Randall's scream, and the slick streak of blood that his hand ran through. And he certainly doesn't remember being only a few words away from completing the binding spell against Eyghon, from being only a breath away from sending the demon back to where they'd summoned him from, before Ripper had panicked, knocking one of the candles and breaking the circle. He doesn't remember frantically re-sealing the circle, but not being in time to save Randall, and he doesn't, he'll never, remember the feel of Eyghon as the demon's fingers reached out and slid down his cheek, promising pain and pleasure and a thousand things in between.
"Very well." Wyndam-Pryce looks back at the others, receiving nods from each of them. "Ethan Rayne, you are hereby removed from the annals of the Watchers. You are to leave the Academy immediately. You shall have no contact with anyone within the Organisation." He pauses before, "this meeting is concluded. Mr Rayne, you are excused."
They file out until the room is empty apart from him, and all Ethan can hear is the sound of his own breathing.
*
His bag isn't as heavy as he'd thought it would be as he walks across the grounds, gates coming closer with every step.
"Ethan!"
He closes his eyes as his steps falter, the voice that reaches him the one he didn't want to hear before he left. He turns just as Rupert comes to a halt beside him, all demure tweed and no hint of Ripper in sight.
"You took your earring out."
Because he needs to say anything to fill up the silence, say anything before he says what he wants to.
Rupert's hand goes to his ear, fingers brushing lightly over the hole that's still there. "Yeah. It wasn't the right image for-"
But the rest of the words are cut off in the bark of laughter.
"Not the right image? Bloody hell, Rip, they really have got to you, haven't they."
Ethan feels as pang of something as Rupert looks down. Damn it, he hasn't felt guilt since the time he kicked that puppy in Newcastle. Granted, it was a demon puppy and it was about to take his foot off, but still, it was sort of cute in a dripping ichor, glowing orange eyes kind of way.
Ethan reaches out, laying a hand on Rupert's arm. "I have to go." The tone of his voice as close as he can come to apologising. Because if he says the words then he'll end up saying a lot more besides. And anyway, doesn't love mean never having to say you're sorry.
Rupert looks up, hearing the unspoken words. "Don't leave. We can get the Council to overturn the decision. My father-"
Ethan stops the flow of words with a finger over Rupert's lips. He's more than sure that, even if he begged, even if he wanted to, Marcus Giles wouldn't lift a finger to help him stay in the Watchers.
"I was never meant to stay here, Rip."
No matter how much he'd wanted to. No matter how many times he'd looked at Rupert Giles and hoped to Janus that their paths led in the same direction.
Ethan shrugs. "That's the nature of Chaos, change. Who am I to deny that?"
Nah, he can't change the overall path Chaos has set for him, but he's pretty sure he's got some wiggle room in there. After all, destiny and fate may be all set out, but when it all comes down to it, Chaos does what it needs to, and to hell with the rules.
And Ethan smiles, reaching a hand out and pulling the other boy to him, fusing their mouths together, catlike licks encouraging the sealed lips to open and then plundering inside, marking himself on every part of Rupert Giles's soul. Pulling back, he takes the stud out of his own ear and slides it into Rupert's, sliding his thumb over the small silver ball. "Much better," he declares, picking his bag up and slinging it back over his shoulder.
Taking a final look around, Ethan grins at the glint in the other boy's eyes. "Be seeing you, Ripper," he murmurs before he walks out of the gates and doesn't look back.
End.
The masterlist for the ficathon is here.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-04-13 07:42 am (UTC)Also, good use of the earring.
Good job. :-)
no subject
Date: 2004-04-14 10:57 am (UTC)Ethan as a Watcher is always something I think is fun to play with. Hell, Ethan's fun to play with full stop ;-)
no subject
Date: 2004-04-13 08:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-14 10:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-13 11:18 am (UTC)Wesley was head boy of the Academy when he was 16 or 17 though, so either Ethan is *way* younger than Ripper, or the mention of the Academy is a bit off.
no subject
Date: 2004-04-13 12:14 pm (UTC)/pedant
no subject
Date: 2004-04-13 12:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-14 11:00 am (UTC)As for Wes, I was thinking more of him being around 7-ish, but figured that he'd be seen around the Watchers since his dad would most likely drag him there. Although, the story doesn't really make that clear, so I'll add something in to make it clear Wes isn't the same age as Ethan and Giles :-)
no subject
Date: 2004-04-13 12:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-14 11:01 am (UTC)::licks you::
no subject
Date: 2004-04-13 08:58 pm (UTC)You do a wonderful job of showing Ethan's love for Giles without overdramatizing it. I especially like Ethan's giving Giles the earring, which means so much in such a small gesture.
Thanks for a lovely story!
no subject
Date: 2004-04-14 11:03 am (UTC)