* * * * *

Andrew knows he's in for something serious when Warren sends Jonathan out on a major errand that afternoon.

Warren had gone out to get everything ready in the van earlier, and he'd said he'd tried to turn the engine on for the air conditioner, but the transmission wouldn't start. Warren says it needs a new battery. Andrew suspects the errand is contrived, and that Warren maybe removed the distributor cap or something. Warren knows about that stuff.

A thought occurs to him--this afternoon will be the last chance Warren will have to manipulate Jonathan, who will have to drive one of their black stake-outfitted four-wheelers all the way into Dutton to pick up a new battery. It's a trip that should take at least an hour, maybe an hour and a half.

By this time tomorrow, Jonathan will be on his way to the Big House. The Pokey. The thought gives Andrew a tiny twist of guilt in his gut, but he ignores the twinge

/that's a weakness/

and Warren's been looking at him all afternoon with a peculiar, appraising gleam in his eye. A familiar gleam.

Warren's horny. Andrew's been laid out under him enough times to recognize _that_ expression. The Orbs of Nezzla'khan are pretty groovy with the superstrength and the invulnerability, but there are some itches apparently even supercool magical items can't scratch.

Jonathan's grumpy, possibly about being sent out alone. He usually wants to be accompanied by Andrew on any errands Warren orders him to run. Lately, though, Andrew thinks Jonathan's started to prefer being alone.

But he's still grumpy as he leaves. Jonathan wears the distrustful scowl he's practically trademarked almost all the time now.

The minute Jonathan's out the door Warren goes to it and twists the lock. From his vantage point across the room, Andrew can see the wood of the door straining under the heavy pressure of superstrong fingers. Ever since they got home from the caves, Warren's been breaking things.

Andrew spins around in his whirly chair and nervously sticks his elbows on the arm-rests. As always, he waits for Warren to make the first move. They might be supervillains in love, but Warren still does the driving.

Brushing dust off his hands, Warren doesn't keep him waiting. The moment he's locked the door, he walks back across the lair with his head down and his eyes fixed on Andrew. The intensity of him makes Andrew twitch.

"I'm feeling, you know, pretty powerful tonight," Warren says, stopping three feet from Andrew and looking down at him with deliberate eyes. "You ...busy?"

Andrew shakes his head and stands up. "Nope," he says, and his voice cracks. Because even though he knows Warren cares about him, Warren makes him nervous. Point of fact, as of three and a half weeks ago Warren can make him more nervous than anyone else, just by standing around and looking at him in that weird focused way that is peculiarly Warren.

Warren slowly comes closer, with calculation in his eye and motion until mere inches separate them. "Great," he says with a big smile, and for a second he reminds Andrew of a friend of his father's, a vitamin merchant who was on the sleazy side. Huge smile, Andrew remembers, and he quivers.

"I hope you're up for something a little rough for the next hour? I'm not sure I know my own strength just yet." Warren flexes the muscles in one hand, clenching and unclenching slowly, watching Andrew.

"Okay," Andrew says uncertainly, but he backs away a step, because the look in Warren's eyes unnerves him.

Warren advances on him. He's surprised when Warren stops and looks at him.

"You love me, don't you?" Warren asks. Warren's asked him this question before, but previously it's always been uttered in a low voice, hot with passion during one of their messing-around sessions. Or during sex. Out of bed, in normal conversation, it's such a non-Warren question that it momentarily confuses Andrew; Warren doesn't like to talk about feelings much. But Andrew knows the proper answer.

It just so happens that the proper answer is the truth.

"Yes," he says simply, and Warren pulls him into a tight embrace, lips to his throat. The breath is squeezed from Andrew almost immediately. "Warren!--" he gasps, and when Warren releases him, Andrew bends double and gasps. "Jesus, Warren," he sputters out once he has breath.

"Sorry," Warren says, but he doesn't sound particularly sincere. Altogether it's an unconvincing apology, and Andrew's chest feels weirdly bruised, ribs squeezed. Meanwhile Warren takes hold of Andrew's T-shirt with both hands and rips it off effortlessly.

Andrew jerks back, gulping breath, shoving at the leader of the Trio furiously enough to give Warren just a moment's pause. His poor Florida T-shirt. He's pissed now and thinks Warren can tell.

"I know you're all high and flying on your superpower, 'Wolverine', but you could have killed me just now." Andrew's voice sounds colder and more pissed off than he had anticipated, and it gives him an ounce of pride, a bit of steel, which is more than he has inside most days. "And look what you did to my shirt!"

Warren smirks, but his dark eyes soften, and his nod comes close to apologetic this time. Warren gently curves both hands around Andrew's upper arms, and Andrew's hands fly of their own accord to rest around the dark-haired boy's hips. He does love Warren. Andrew pulls him closer.

"I'll make it up to you," Warren whispers, and slips to his knees. Andrew watches in disbelief as Warren begins unbuttoning his jeans, humming a little tune as his half-deft fingers unfasten and unzip. Andrew's stomach, meanwhile, has commenced turning over and over inside him and spasming with nervousness. Warren's about to go down on him, and they say every day brings something new. Having Warren suck him off would be like turning the sex act on its head--definitely not their everyday thing.

Warren yanks Andrew's jeans down together with his boxers. Kneeling, Warren regards what he finds curiously before he looks back up at Andrew.

Yay for trying new things, Andrew thinks.

Andrew cannot stand still. The anticipation is killing him--his knees are shaking, and he's twitching and trembling all over, like a leaf in a breeze. Warren's head has never been this close to his dick before. The idea that Warren might actually suck him off is terribly exciting and insane and the anticipation is killing him. There's also an element of profound terror. Because, he last washed down there almost, crap, seven hours ago, and what if he tastes bad? What if Warren accidentally bites him? What if, holy fuck, Warren bites him on purpose? Warren's not exactly Mr. Stable Guy these days. What if, he thinks, but when one hand closes gently over Andrew's sex, stroking him, all Andrew's thought processes grind to a halt.

Andrew's knees get weak when Warren starts to lick him, like his muscles and joints are melting inside his skin. Warren doesn't take much more than the head into his mouth, but with one hand he touches Andrew's balls, toying with them and it feels like heaven. Andrew sways backward and lets the wall prop him up. He loves Warren. He's about to have sex with Warren--again--and the thought makes him feel dirty, weak and dirty and desirable, a strange cocktail of emotions that leave him, oddly, feeling pretty good.

Still scared, yeah, but hot.

When Warren's tongue slides tentatively over the head of his cock, Andrew moans. Before he has time to think about the wisdom of it, Andrew's hands tangle themselves in Warren's hair.

Warren swallows around the head of his dick. The sensation of suction is new to Andrew, new and wholly unbelievable and then Warren begins sucking in earnest. Andrew tries to start thrusting into his mouth, the way Warren always does to him, but Warren chokes. After that, Warren's hands find his pelvis and quickly put an end to the thrusting action. With his preternatural strength, Warren can hold Andrew completely still even with no leverage, even on his knees. But it doesn't matter. Andrew thrusts forward the tiny bit that he can and just goes with the sensations, the suction and the gentle hands stroking over his length.

Andrew feels himself quickly reduced to just dick and balls, and his dick is harder than steel and his balls yearn for release. Warren's mouth is hotter than anything Andrew's ever felt, and he wants to come and he wants it to never end.

Andrew suddenly imagines his dick as incredibly big--five point six inches feels suddenly and completely like twelve. The sensation sometimes comes upon him during the best masturbation sessions, usually mere seconds before he comes. He's close, so close.

But not close enough.

"Oh god please don't stop," he says, desperate when Warren's mouth suddenly abandons his surging cock to the cold basement air. "Please Warren, finish...finish me," he begs.

Warren gives him one last, long lick down the side of his dick and stands up. "Don't worry, cupcake, I'll finish you." He rubs his left knee, and there's a dark shine in his eyes when he sizes Andrew up. "Take off your pants."

Andrew's hand travels without conscious decision to his cock, but Warren seizes his wrist and pulls it away. "I said, take off your jeans."

Andrew slumps against the wall. The sheer, mindless desperation to come has gone, but he's throbbing and he still wants nothing more than to _finish_.

"You need to learn patience," Warren observes, laughing at his discomfiture.

Andrew sighs and stills against the wall, letting the sensation fade. Only the promise of orgasm kicks him back into action. "Luckily I have you here to instruct me," he finally grumbles, kicking off his jeans and boxers.

"Maybe, maybe. Depends on whether you'll call me 'Master,'" Warren answers playfully, and stops to fasten a brown leather collar around his neck, then to carefully transfer the pouch containing the Orbs of Nezzla'khan to the collar. When he's done, the orbs rest against the back of his neck.

Andrew stares at him. The collar measures about an inch thick and looks like it was made for a serious submissive. In Andrew's opinion, the accessory makes Warren look even sexier than usual. If such a thing is possible.

"Mmmmm, you like it, kitten?" Warren laughs at Andrew's expression and shucks off his own jeans, so that they're both standing there naked.

"It's. Nice," Andrew answers, two separate sentences. His voice doesn't stay as neutral as he'd like--it comes out sounding low and gravelly. He can't remember the last time he was this turned on.

Or this disturbed.

Warren laughs and grabs Andrew around the waist, pulling him close. "We'll have to see about getting you one of your own. Would you like that, baby? Could put a nice leash on it, too." Warren uses one hand to take by the wrists, holding them tightly behind Andrew's back.

Andrew winces at the firmness of his grip. "Um, ow!"

"Sorry." But Warren doesn't let go.

"Warren, Jesus that hurts," Andrew complains.

"Sorry. I'll be more gentle," Warren replies calmly, and loosening his grasp slightly, leans in to kiss him. But Warren's hand is still cutting off the circulation in his wrists, and Andrew tries to twist them from his grip and can't.

"You're not though! Let go of me!" Andrew yanks his head back, and finally Warren loosens his hold enough to allow his veins and arteries to do their thing. "Look, maybe you can just, um, tie me up with something tonight? Because I don't think I want you to hold me down like, um, usual."

Warren's eyes slide down Andrew's body. "I don't want to tie you up."

"Well, be a little more careful then," Andrew retorts, and it's lame but so what.

Warren pulls away a few crucial inches. "Why? Do you want me to stop?" he asks, and his voice borders on dangerous.

And that makes Andrew pause.

"No," Andrew admits. He's not sure Warren would stop even if he did say no, but he doesn't want Warren to stop. Warren's other hand rubs lightly over his shoulder, and he only wants to be loved. He wants Warren's strange love, a love Andrew didn't ask for and yet is profoundly and eternally grateful to have had handed to him like a feast on a sumptuous silver plate. Warren loves him. "I want you to--fuck me." He's proud of the way it comes out, nervy and cool and not sweating strangely like he feels inside. Warren's way too weird tonight. He's always been rough in bed, but never quite this careless with Andrew, never handled him this negligently or hurt him with so little interest in the pain he was causing. This superpower strength-and-invulnerability thing has really messed with his head. "Just don't break my wrists, ok? And don't touch my dick when you're gonna come, I'd like to keep it attached to my body."

Warren turns his head to the side, mocking. "Andrew, you disappoint me." Warren lets Andrew's wrists go so he can run both hands over Andrew's tight, rounded butt. His ass is the only place Andrew's flesh has any give at all, and it's one of Warren's favorite places to play. Abruptly, he slaps one cheek. "You seemed to like it okay when I was touching it before," Warren murmurs.

The slap stings, but in a good way, and Andrew flushes a little. "Yeah."

Warren picks him up effortlessly, like he weighs nothing. Which, Andrew supposes, is what carrying him must feel like to Warren now. Carrying him must feel like carrying a light pillow or a child. Warren carries him like they're married and going over the threshold, with one arm under his knees and one around his shoulders. It's retarded, Andrew knows, and Warren's doing it more out of love for his super-strength than love of Andrew, but being carried feels sweet, sweet and kind of romantic. Tender, the way Warren usually handles him. Before he gets rough, that is.

Warren kisses Andrew as he takes them both into Andrew's bedroom. Naked, Warren lays him out on the bed and crawls on top, pressing Andrew's knees up and back and still kissing him as he goes.

"I like you like this," Warren says when he pauses from the kissing, and his voice is husky.

"How's that?" Andrew asks. He's got Warren's saliva coating his lips, but his mouth feels dry.

Warren smiles a little and looks down at him. "All twisted up with your legs spread, all ready and waiting for me..." he whispers, trailing off, and he nips Andrew's ear. Andrew's throat makes a noise.

Reaching idly up, he runs pale hands over Warren's chest, fingering the baffling patterns of black hair that sprout there thickly, the loose black mat that hides Warren's heart.

And then Warren's voice snaps back to businesslike. "So, really want me to tie you up?" Warren asks, and he's serious now. "I don't need to. I'm pretty sure I could pin you with two fingers." Andrew thinks about the way Warren snapped the neck of the Nezzla'Khan demon, and the way Warren almost crushed his ribcage earlier, and he knows Warren isn't just whistling Dixie. "But if you're really in the mood for something kinky, I have a set of handcuffs in the other room. I've been saving them for ...sometime special."

"That's ok," Andrew says weakly.

"What's the matter, don't you trust me?" Warren asks half-mockingly, and traces his beautiful hands in imaginary lines down Andrew's body. The sensation takes Andrew's breath away. "Tonight's definitely special, and I don't want our sex life to get boring."

The remark startles Andrew out of his pleasure-induced coma. "You think our sex life's getting boring?" He can't keep the hurt out of his voice, but Warren immediately soothes him.

"Nonono, I just meant we need to, you know, keep it lively. I'm not bored." Warren rubs his hardness against Andrew's thigh. "See how not bored? We just need to try new things...it's important to always try new things," Warren says, and raises his eyebrows with an experimental spirit. "Preventative measures."

Andrew doesn't get it. "Preventative measures? Like condoms, condoms for our sex life?"

Warren shrugs. "Yeah, like that."

Andrew frowns. "Um, have we ever used condoms?" He doesn't think they have.

"Forget it, it was a bad analogy. But handcuffs, why not?"

"You can just hold me down if you want to," Andrew says shyly. The handcuffs might be getting introduced for the first time, but Warren's kinks are not unfamiliar to him.

Warren smirks. Raising Andrew's wrists above his head, he staples them to the bedspread with one hand. Tentatively testing Warren's grip, Andrew finds himself effectively immobilized. "No, you're right. I don't think handcuffs will be necessary," Warren murmurs, and licks and kisses Andrew's nipple. "Another time, then.

"Too bad Jonathan'll be back so soon," he remarks, and bites the nipple he kissed not four seconds before. Hard.

Andrew squeaks, and as Warren draws the bite out into a swirling, lingering lick, his squeak turns into a moan.

"Cause I think with the superhuman thing, I could fuck your little ass all night," Warren continues when he finally removes his mouth from Andrew's nipple. "And I do mean all night." He snatches up the bottle of vanilla-flavored lubricant from Andrew's drawer. "Just as well I guess, cause you wouldn't be walking for a week when I got done with you."

"Maybe next time," Andrew breathes. Warren touches the nipple he just finished biting, fondling it and watching Andrew's face. Andrew squirms helplessly, turning his wrists around inside Warren's hand. Inside his slender torso, Andrew's stomach is riding the Tilt-A-Whirl. Sometimes he thinks Warren gets off on messing with his head.

"You," Warren whispers, "are my bitch."

Andrew's panting and pinned, but he can still manage a touch of defiance. "Territorial much?" Warren's really twisted tonight. But....it is kind of hot. When Warren's hand drops down to rub at his crotch, he gives into it completely, thrusting his hips up and moaning. And nothing wrong with that. He's getting off with the guy he loves, and what could be more right than that?

Something inside him wonders.

Warren jerks him off for about ten seconds before slipping his hand farther down. Thoughtfully he fingers Andrew's ass, dipping the tips of his fingers in and around, playing there. A kinky expression fills his face.

When Warren parts his asshole with two wet fingers, Andrew makes his oh-god sex noise. Warren's being careful with the superstrength, and the opening doesn't hurt too much. But when Warren starts to push his cock in, it's a different story. The pain overwhelms him, and Andrew writhes like hooked bait. He hasn't had much preparation tonight, and the stretching hurts. Andrew's aware of Warren's eyes on his face as his dick pushes in.

As always, the pain turns slowly into good pain, hot pain mixed with the sweetest pleasure as Warren touches him in that place deep inside. "I love you," he says wildly, unexpectedly, and his mouth is quickly filled with Warren's tongue, a thing capable of transforming one's reality. Andrew didn't use to like kissing Warren so much, but Warren's various techniques have improved a lot over the past few weeks. He's learned quickly what Andrew likes--what makes Andrew squirm, what makes him groan, even a couple of things that make him scream. And Andrew's given Warren as much practice time as they can muster with Jonathan still around. Andrew feels bad about the plan to set Jonathan up to take the fall with Buffy, but he can't wait til he and Warren are truly alone.

Warren pulls almost all the way out, pours more lube on and thrusts back into him hard. Andrew's muscles clamp down on the dick that's still pushing into him, and Warren's face twists with desire, echoing Andrew's own.

"Call me Master," Warren demands, his eyes closed, his hips rocking.

"Ok," Andrew pants, and Warren starts to fuck him again, faster now. "But not out of bed," he adds breathlessly.

"Whatever," Warren says, and his superstrong fingers caress Andrew's skinny, narrow hips a bit too hard.

Andrew bites his lip until Warren releases him. "That's gonna bruise," he whispers, and then softer, "Master."

Warren's focused primarily on the sensation of Andrew's ass clenching around him, and his answering laugh comes out strained and dissolute. "That's the idea, cupcake." His free hand searches out Andrew's sex, rubbing gently until Andrew shudders against him.

Warren grimaces, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and baring his teeth. Andrew can admit that the expression isn't all that conventionally attractive, but to Andrew, any expression on Warren is hot. More importantly, that particular expression signals that Warren's about to come, and Andrew moans as much from the thought of Warren coming inside him as from the feel of Warren's hand moving fast over his dick.

And then something weird happens. For approximately twenty seconds, Warren fucks him very fast. Warren becomes an almost scary blur of color above him. Warren's talking, groaning, grunting, babbling endearments and less tender things.

With the intensified speed the pain feeling conquers the pleasure angle. It feels like he's being intentionally battered, bruised instead of fucked, and Andrew sucks in a breath.

Aside from the hurting, the freakiness of Warren's speed-fucking is deeply distracting. Andrew can feel when he starts to lose his hard-on, but he doesn't say anything. It's enough to watch Warren move; the sight is incredibly fascinating beyond the pain, beyond even orgasm. Wincing, he pushes his hips back up against Warren's fast-moving thrusts, once, twice, three times, mostly out of curiosity, and Warren whispers, "You're mine," as he comes.

Andrew watches Warren's eyes snap shut, his face contorting with nothing but need.

Andrew places his arms around Warren's back when he does his customary collapsing act afterwards, but tonight he feels heavier than usual. When Andrew wriggles a bit under him, struggling to breathe, Warren rolls off. He lies on the bed quietly next to Andrew, catching his breath. Andrew takes his dick in hand, stroking himself back to hardness. Tentatively he tightens his sphincter. His ass feels painfully stretched and sadly empty, and he needs to get off or he's going to have some major aching later.

He can feel tears on his cheeks from the pain.

Andrew half-wipes his eyes on the pillow, but when Warren finally comes out of his fog, he does notice Andrew's face. Takes him a minute, but he notices. "Did I hurt you?" he asks.

Andrew shakes his head 'No.' He gives Warren a somewhat tremulous smile--it's meant to be bright, but fails miserably.

Warren regards him thoughtfully for a minute, then leans in and kisses him. Just one little kiss, but his lips are soft and sweet and in that moment Andrew forgives him everything.

"Warren."

"What?"

Andrew rolls over, presses against him and thrusts once, twice. "You said you'd....I'm kinda..."

"Oh!" Warren looks at him, then glances down, seeming honestly surprised. "Sorry. I didn't realize you hadn't, uh, arrived." Warren seems stumped for a second, then reaches for the vanilla lube again and pours a generous amount into his palm. Rolling Andrew over onto his back, he again reaches between Andrew's legs and strokes him gently. "It kind of, y'know, felt like you did."

Or maybe you weren't paying attention, complains some tiny, unforgiving part of Andrew's brain.

For a second Andrew raises himself on his arms to watch Warren's hand move slowly, rhymthically over his dick. Andrew loves Warren's hands. Warren's fingers are a bit on the short side, but his hands manage to be quite handsome in spite of that. Beautiful hands. Warren slides two long fingers back inside him, curling them at the tips to tease from the inside as he rubs Andrew with the other hand. The sensation is nothing but pleasure and Andrew loses his breath again. "It's ok," he manages. "I like this--oh god--I, uh, I like this just as much."

Andrew writhes as Warren continues to stroke him, bringing him close to the edge quickly. Jonathan's not around and so Andrew doesn't bother suppressing the volume of his cries. Warren watches him thoughtfully, strokes him faster when it becomes appropriate.

Andrew moans Warren's name when he comes. He's pretty sure he always says Warren's name.

Warren wipes his fingers on the sheets before wrapping his arms around Andrew, cuddling them together loosely, his front to Andrew's back. They still have at least fifteen minutes until the earliest that Jonathan should be back.

Warren lies quietly. Andrew catches his breath. He can't tell if Warren's thinking or dozing.

Warren's quiet for a minute. "Nah. Peace over Anger, Honor over Hate, Strength over Fear. There is no Passion, there is Serenity," he recites. "No love and no sex." Again, there is silence for a moment, and then Warren adds, "But you know the Sith do."

Andrew tilts his head to look at his friend--his lover? his boyfriend? "Why, because they're evil?" Best-friend-with-benefits?

"Sure." Warren runs his hand over the place Andrew's waist meets his sharp hipbones. "If supervillains are even remotely good-looking, then hot, wild sex is practically in the job description." He licks Andrew's ear, eliciting a giggled snort. "Sometimes you can fuck even without the good-looking requirement, if you're powerful enough. Like...Goldfinger."

Warren nods like he's proud of his example.

Andrew avoids the temptation to bring up Timothy Dalton's unrecognized Oscar-caliber performances. "What about Sidious? He's got power, like, among the powerful."

"Andrew, oh my god," Warren laughs and shakes his head. "Sidious? I was thinking about Maul. Have I ever told you you're really kinked?"

The question seems rhetorical. Andrew rolls over onto his back. Warren lets him. "So how about the Sith with each other? Sidious is totally on a power trip."

Warren smirks. "Next time, it's handcuffs and role-playing."

"You're the one who wants to be called 'Master'," Andrew points out, but Warren doesn't even pause.

"Little Sith-on-Sith action, is that what you want?" Andrew finds Warren suddenly on top of him again, the weight of his folded arms a bruising pressure on Andrew's chest, which struggles to rise and fall. "You are so kinky," he says, like he's marvelling at Andrew. "You want me to force you sometime, don't you. You think it would be hot."

Warren's eyes are very dark, and Andrew shivers. Warren has a tendency to push opinions on him without warning, to assume both agreement and complicity, and Andrew never denies him either one. It's one of Warren's qualities that he both loves, appreciating the security it gives him, and at the same time resents a little.

"Maybe," he says doubtfully, thinking about Katrina and her furious rape accusations, Jonathan and prison sex. He adds, more quietly, "You would never have to force me."

"Well, we could always pretend."

Andrew nods, lifting his head for a kiss. Warren obliges him, and they exchange wet, sweetly chaste kisses for several moments.

Warren finally breaks it off, licking his lips and smiling. "You are one bent little slut," Warren says playfully, and gets up. "And I'm gonna keep it in mind," he adds, more distantly. Warren often gets distant after sex. Sometimes sooner, sometimes later, but he gets a distracted, strained look on his face and then puts physical space between himself and Andrew. Sometimes this tendency disturbs, but today Andrew's too exhausted to think about much of anything.

Warren, on the other hand, leaps up as though the sex has refreshed him. "I'm gonna shower before Jonathan gets back."

Andrew curls up in their come-stained, vanilla-sticky, sweat-damp sex sheets. "Turn the fan on? And wake me up in an hour. I need a nap."

"Ok." Warren pauses at the door, still naked. "Find something cute to wear. I have the jet-packs hidden under the second console in the van. We're gonna change on the way. There's some stuff I want to do before the big event."

Andrew wonders what Warren has in mind, but he knows better than to ask. He yanks the corner of the pillow into his preferred height for sleeping and pulls the blanket up over him. Andrew's tired, and they have a big night ahead of them. A long night, and the afternoons and evenings have gotten cold by Sunnydale standards.

It'll be ok, though. Andrew's eyelids slowly start to shut, and he hears the shower turn on in the bathroom.

Warren's love makes him feel warm.

-finis-