Remember; Giles/Ethan
Jan. 29th, 2007 11:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparklebutchTitle: Remember
Fandom: Buffy
Characters: Giles/Ethan, past
Inspiration: Keera
Warning: Bladeplay
- -
He was a young man, and craved... marks, things to last, craved pain and to feel high again, wanting something sharp to wake him from his dreams. Ripper was the answer. Ripper with his eclectic tastes and his honed knowledge of blades. Ripper with his stable hand...
Carving marks onto his chest. Little words in cuneiform script, or just symbols he made up, Ethan never knew. Just went with the flow of it, of the pain... of the blood. Of the energy sparking around each and every letter. His chest ached. The cuts were like fire. It wasn't dulled under the warmth of Rupert's mouth. Didn't fade when a wet tongue licked over it.
It hurt and he kept his eyes closed, felt wetness at their edges. Not pain, elation. The knife skirted too close to a nipple, and then made its cut, vicious and somehow unexpected. A step higher. He hissed and Ripper pressed his lips against the wound and drank. A drop or two, probably not more. It was enough.
When he stirred from his haze he looked down and saw a bloody, red and puffy mess. Ugly welts. Skin splotched scarlet all the way to his arms, to his sides. When he found a mirror, he saw it climbing to his neck.
He was thrilled. Thought the scars would last forever.
- -
Ethan stands in front of the mirror. There are scars on his chest, if he looks close, too close. They're nothing more than half-visible, hair-fine white lines. If he didn't know they were there, he'd never see it. No one would. Only, he does know they're there. He knows the letters. Remembers the slashing knife.
Turns out that to leave a mark, you don't need to draw blood. You just need to remember.
- -
[end]
Fandom: Buffy
Characters: Giles/Ethan, past
Inspiration: Keera
Warning: Bladeplay
- -
He was a young man, and craved... marks, things to last, craved pain and to feel high again, wanting something sharp to wake him from his dreams. Ripper was the answer. Ripper with his eclectic tastes and his honed knowledge of blades. Ripper with his stable hand...
Carving marks onto his chest. Little words in cuneiform script, or just symbols he made up, Ethan never knew. Just went with the flow of it, of the pain... of the blood. Of the energy sparking around each and every letter. His chest ached. The cuts were like fire. It wasn't dulled under the warmth of Rupert's mouth. Didn't fade when a wet tongue licked over it.
It hurt and he kept his eyes closed, felt wetness at their edges. Not pain, elation. The knife skirted too close to a nipple, and then made its cut, vicious and somehow unexpected. A step higher. He hissed and Ripper pressed his lips against the wound and drank. A drop or two, probably not more. It was enough.
When he stirred from his haze he looked down and saw a bloody, red and puffy mess. Ugly welts. Skin splotched scarlet all the way to his arms, to his sides. When he found a mirror, he saw it climbing to his neck.
He was thrilled. Thought the scars would last forever.
- -
Ethan stands in front of the mirror. There are scars on his chest, if he looks close, too close. They're nothing more than half-visible, hair-fine white lines. If he didn't know they were there, he'd never see it. No one would. Only, he does know they're there. He knows the letters. Remembers the slashing knife.
Turns out that to leave a mark, you don't need to draw blood. You just need to remember.
- -
[end]
