Hand In Need

by Wolfling

(Rated NC-17)


Ethan was obsessed.

There had been hints of it there from the start, but he thought the fascination would pass; after all, everything in life was transitory.

But it hadn't. If anything it had grown worse, moving from mere interest through fixation into downright obsession.

It was such a strange thing for his subconscious to latch onto, Ethan thought. If he had ever had to predict what sort of thing he'd become obsessed with, he would have picked something that was more... controversial. Dangerous. Provocative.

More obscene.

He never would have imagined he'd be obsessed with anything as prosaic as his lover's hands.

But it was Ripper's hands that so captivated him, Ripper's hands that he found his gaze wandering to whenever it could. Ripper's hands that he imagined when he closed his eyes and let his mind wander where it will.

On the surface, there was nothing very remarkable about them; in appearance they looked like thousands of other hands. Perhaps with longer, more slender fingers than some, but nothing to make them stand out in a crowd.

Nothing except the way Ripper used them.

Those hands had been the first thing that Ethan had noticed when he had spotted the younger boy across a smoky club; a youth with sandy shaggy hair, clothed in leather and attitude and gesturing animatedly as he talked.

Ethan had forgotten everything around him as he had stared. He'd been too far away to hear anything over the club's din, but it still had felt like those dancing fingers were speaking directly to him, calling him, telling him that this was where he was supposed to be, who he was supposed to be with.

It was those hands that had led Ethan to stalk Ripper and find out all he could about him. They led him to approach him and seduce him, and to keep going back until finally one morning Ethan had simply never left.

And still, even now a year later, Ethan would watch Ripper's hands and feel like he was watching a secret language that only he could understand. Everything that Ripper thought, everything that Ripper was, Ethan could discern from watching his hands.

Watching Ripper in a fight, dealing violence with his hands clenched into fists, spoke of his fiery temper and indomitable spirit. It also spoke to Ethan of protection, since most of the time those fists were flying in his defence.

Then there was the other side of Ripper, the side that Ethan saw when those fingers moved gracefully over the strings of his guitar, strumming music that never sounded out of place, no matter how incongruous his song choices were. At those times Ripper's hands spoke of a caring, poetic soul with depths that Ethan feared he could never plumb, not fully. At those times they spoke of all the wonder and fear that being with Ripper brought, of the things that Ethan didn't have the words to admit.

The times when Ripper's hands spoke the loudest to Ethan though were when they touched him. Every brush of those fingers were unspoken words, every touch another secret promised and shared.

And when they were shagging it was like everything that was Ripper was contained in each caress -- the brutal passion and the caring soul warring for dominance, using Ethan's body as battlefield.

Ripper's hands would slide over Ethan's skin, dealing out bruises and pleasure in equal measure and Ethan would feel like he was the focus of the universe, that everything existed merely to bring him to this place, naked and writhing under Ripper's hands.

But it was in Ethan's nature to never be satisfied, that no matter how intense the feelings were, there was a part of him that always yearned for something more, a need to always take things just a little further.

He cajoled and pestered and challenged and taunted and begged and finally, when none of those worked he had simply asked straight out, quietly, sincerely, letting his masks slip enough to show how much he needed. It was that, finally, that made Ripper finally agree.

So here he was, naked on the bed with a pillow propping his hips up, trying not to shake with anticipation.

Ripper knelt between his outstretched legs, his hands running lightly over Ethan's thighs, their touch whispering comfort and reassurance, even as they promised to give Ethan what he so desperately desired.

Ethan calmed under Ripper's hands, his breathing slowing and becoming more relaxed. It wasn't that his need or his anticipation had lessened any, it was just his lover's touch as always grounded him, slowing down the scattershot pattern of his mind and letting him focus more completely on the here and now.

A focus he was more than grateful for when Ripper's slid higher and two fingers found their way exactly where Ethan wanted them.

They had done this much many many times before, and it was always one of the most profoundly arousing things for Ethan that they did together. But despite how it always affected him, it had always seemed lacking somehow.

Two fingers were wonderful, but Ethan wanted... needed... more.

He wanted the whole damn hand.

And now, finally, he was going to get it.

But Ripper was either being exceedingly cautious or exceedingly evil because he was moving so slowly. He took so long carefully preparing and stretching Ethan at each stage that by the time they'd reached four fingers Ethan was a writhing, whimpering pile of mindless need.

Well, perhaps not completely mindless; he seemed to still have enough brainpower to find his voice to demand, "More!" and "Now!" and "Please, Ripper!"

Then, finally, Ripper locked gazes with him, his free hand sliding gently over Ethan's stomach and Ethan knew he was going to do it.

He had just enough time to think that before Ripper slowly began working the rest of his hand into him and Ethan stopped thinking altogether.

Ethan was lost. Lost in the pain and the pleasure and the overwhelming sensation of the act. More than that, he was lost in the knowledge that this was finally happening, that Ripper's hand was inside him. That Ripper's hand was possessing him.

He could feel every little movement of Ripper's fingers, unable to control the shaking that seemed to take over his whole body or the raw, needy, primal sounds that were flowing nonstop from his lips.

It was intense and getting more intense with each passing second, until it obliterated everything else. It was a little like dying must be; everything fading out and shutting down in the face of this overwhelming experience. So much so that when Ethan finally came, he wasn't sure he wasn't dying.

Certainly it was intense enough that the world went away for a while. When it came back, Ethan found Ripper lying next to him, watching him with eyes that tried to hide their concern.

"Was it worth it?" Ripper asked, voice sharp with anger and worry.

Was it? Ethan looked inside himself. For the first time in his memory, he felt... sated. Completely and utterly satisfied. He could feel the echoes of Ripper's hand within him and it quieted that every present need for more. He finally, for once, was content with what he had.

"Yeah, it was," he replied and when Ripper merely frowned at him, he reached for Ripper's hand and entwined their fingers. The language of touch worked both ways.

Ripper's expression softened and Ethan moved to rest his head on his lover's shoulder. Ethan knew his nature, knew that eventually he would grow restless and dissatisfied and need again. But for now he was sated and content.

It was enough.




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