Absolute Power
Ethan worshipped chaos because chaos meant power. Order was the suppression of power. If Ethan's father had worshipped anything, apart from Church of England, then it would have been order.
Ethan Rayne hadn't been brought up by the Church of Chaos like he'd told that chippie in the pub the other night, neither had he been raised by a Satanist father and a prostitute mother which was what he'd cheerfully told that rent boy as he merrily unrolled twenties. He hadn't even had the good fortune to be related to a member of the watchers council, and that bunch of pansies would let anybody in. Ethan Rayne was the only son of Robert and Ann Rayne, an accountant and a schoolteacher by trade, and worshippers of order if ever there were any.
"Tidy your room Ethan."
"Do your homework Ethan."
"Go to university, study hard and become meek and pathetic just like us."
It had sickened Ethan, not an inch of power in any of them. Some people were born lucky; they had power in them, raw animal power that they could release on an unsuspecting power without any warning. Slayers had it, some witches and warlocks, the really powerful ones, they had it, and even some mortals had it. Rupert had it and it killed Ethan to see him bury all that potential under layers of tweed and old books.
Ethan knew he didn't have that kind of power in him, whatever he did he was still too much like his father. He had to borrow his power, from Eygon, from magic and it was a good feeling, but he still longed to feel that raw animal rage welling up in his chest, a power that was just his. He wanted power that was his alone, he wanted to know that he alone had the ability to cause absolute chaos and that he would at his merest whim. Of course there were ways of achieving that kind of power. Spells and invocations, many of them originating in Africa, but not actually have a Hyena to hand they were of no use to Ethan.
He had developed a knack for sensing power in others, he sensed it in the boy as soon as he saw him in the bar. He was unremarkable looking, pretty enough Ethan supposed, small boned with sharp features and spiky red hair. But power and rage, he reeked of it, not that anyone else would be able to tell. He was sitting calmly at the end of the bar gazing evenly out at the room and sipping from a half pint glass. Most men looked like wimps drinking half pints, but this boy looked fine doing it, maybe it was because he was small, he would look out of proportion with a full pint.
Ethan recognized him as a lycanthrope almost immediately, he'd met a few in his younger days, there weren't many left in Britain since the watchers council's purge. But none of those Ethan had met had hidden it half as well as this boy did.
"Ethan Rayne," Ethan introduced himself with a smirk as he hopped onto the bar stool next to the young werewolf.
The boy frowned quizzically, the sort of expression you see on people who are trying and failing to remember something that happened a long time ago that they haven't thought about since. "Oz," said the boy with a shrug by way of an introduction, clearly giving up his struggle with memory.
"You're an American," Ethan observed picking up the accent, American but not strong, some costal state somewhere.
"California."
"Ah, I've been there you know, lovely weather, lots of strange things going bump in the night. I can't go back, the home office frowns on my leaving the country these days."
"Oh?" Ethan didn't know if that was a question or a comment but he answered anyway.
"Unfortunate incident involving my being arrested and deported by the American military police."
"I was once held prisoner by the military," Oz said unperturbedly.
"Really, what happened?" Ethan leaned into the bar and closer to Oz.
"The locked me naked in a cage and performed experiments on me," Oz replied, if he felt badly about this episode it wasn't betrayed by his stoic exterior.
"Odd that," Ethan brushed Oz's wrist with his own as he snatched up a peanut to pop into his mouth, "almost the exact same thing happened to me once."
"I guess we're soul mates then," only the slight raising of Oz's left eyebrow betrayed this as sarcasm.
"I guess we are, can I buy you a drink, Oz?"
"Bugger," Ethan cursed as he observed his unblemished arms, he turned so he could see his naked back in the mirror, not so much as a scratch on that either. "Bugger."
All he needed was one tiny scratch, it shouldn't be this bloody hard, werewolves were hardly famed for there self control, especially during sex. He'd done everything he could to make the boy lose control. He'd tugged fistfuls of red hair, yanking Oz's head to the left and biting at the sensitive flesh of his neck. He'd kneaded and squeezed the boys balls until he grunted and yelped. He'd thrust carelessly into him, using only enough lube to allow him to push into the boy's tight hole. And still nothing!
There was another way. It wouldn't have been Ethan's first choice , he didn't like being subservient in any aspect of his life, just another aspect of his quest for power. But beggars couldn't be choosers.
Oz hadn't planned to stay in England more than a few days, he didn't stay anywhere long these days. He didn't want to run the risk of getting attached to anyone. But he'd been in England over three weeks now, and at least part of that was down to Ethan. He reminded Oz somewhat of Giles, or more accurately, of a Giles that might have been if he hadn't become a watcher. And he talked a lot, it meant Oz didn't have to talk, or think.
And then there was the sex, it wasn't that it was great, it was good, but not great. But it was rough, painful sometimes. It helped Oz control the wolf.
He looked down at Ethan's naked back, cock twitching as he positioned himself between the older mans thighs. Oz had never been much of a top during sex with guys, not with Devon, or in his occasional fantasies about Giles or Angel. But the wolf in him wanted to take Ethan, to dominate and control him.
Oz leaned down and rummaged in the pocket of his jeans, producing a condom in it's wrapper. As soon as he tore the packet Ethan's hand shot back, catching Oz's wrist in a vice like grip.
"Don't."
"What?" Very rarely had Ethan heard emotion in Oz's voice, this time it was genuine confusion.
"Oz," Ethan turned to face the boy, "this is the best way. Think of what we can do when I'm like you, think of the power we'll have. We can do what we like, go where we like, you won't be alone anymore. We'll have more power than you could imagine."
Oz's already hard cock twitched painfully at the thought of Ethan and himself running wild during the full moon. No more sitting in the dark in dank hotel rooms chanting and trying to suppress something that was an integral part of him. But when he looked up at Ethan's face all he could see was Veruca's face after he'd murdered her, the next morning when she'd reverted to human form. Pale, turning blue, splattered with dried blood from a throat that was no longer there.
Oz didn't like having to suppress the wolf, but the consequences for letting it run wild were too high.