TRIPPING
1
by
Maz
Xander's whole
world was concentrated in his mouth. He was his mouth. Dimly aware that his
eyes were shut and he lay on his stomach on an soft, uneven surface; the warm,
wet sucking of the flesh lollipop in his mouth was his universe. He discovered
his hand, so he placed it on the stomach above his head and stroked. The wind
roared in his ears like a desert storm and he flushed and burned in the heat of
the sun as pleasure spiralled through him, before concentrating the universe
abruptly back onto his tongue. A hand gripped his hair and he spun up and then
down through the comforting, dark sensation. Stars flashed across his brain as
his tongue once again found the slit at the tip. The ocean in his mouth sloshed
and sucked, seagulls soared overhead as his tongue swirled around the knob at
the end and the waves crashed against the shore. The hills stretched away
forever, rising and falling like waves of impossible green. Small yellow and
blue birds fluttered like butterflies. They were butterflies. The world closed
around him, warm and safe as his throat contracted, swallowing the saliva as he
sucked on the object of his existence. This was what he was. All he knew. He
was the one who sucked. He had been here forever. An existence without
beginning or duration. He was without form. He was void, except for the
infinite expanse of star strewn sky, swirling galaxies and sprawling nebulae as
he floated free on his back gazing up at them - all in his mouth.
The hand in
his hair spasmed and the sky flashed orange, pink and clear, clear blue as his
mouth filled with a warm thick fluid that became fudge sauce as he sucked on
the retreating, shrinking ice cream in his mouth. With a click the world
slotted back into place and as Devon shifted away from him, Xander sat up. His
new, clear vision and understanding took in the cushion-strewn floor, the
scattered musical instruments, the recumbent figures, Oz sitting cross-legged
in the corner leaning against the wall with his bass, plucking individual notes
at extended intervals, a soft smile playing on his lips. He raised his head
slightly, opening heavy-lidded eyes and gazed at Xander.
Devon had
collapsed back onto the cushions, arms thrown out to the side, abandoning his
attempts to do up his jeans. The utter and complete the ridiculousness of green
walls struck Xander and he began to giggle. And there was nothing else - the
universe stretched forever on a laugh.
A roar of
vertigo broke the laugh into a million pieces which crashed in shards around
him and Xander stared at the ceiling as the world fell into place. Moving
carefully, he crawled across the floor cushions to Oz's side and settled
himself, leaning against the wall.
Devon raised
his head. "I'm hungry," he said. His voice echoed and roared, like
someone calling to them from a speeding car.
"Doppler,"
said Oz.
Xander smiled
as he watched the car disappear down the road.
The world
burst back into sharp-edged existence around him and Devon stood up. He towered
like an Atlas above them, legs straddling the harbour entrance. He hitching his
jeans up and closed the zip. His lips moved and a moment later the words
reached Xander's ears. "I'm hungry," they said. Devon reached down
his hand. "Come on," he said. "Let's go get pizza."
Xander allowed
Devon to drag him out of the mud and into the daylight until he staggered,
grabbing Devon's arm to prevent himself falling back into the sea. He turned to
Oz.
"Shouldn't
go," said Oz. The words reverberated around his head, echoing away to the
horizon and Xander was glad they were gone, he could feel the threat that they
would pull him down into chaos.
"Oh,
man!" Devon laughed and Xander felt the hyena stir.
Devon threw
his arm over Xander's shoulder and they walked to the door.
The mist cleared
as the world snapped back into focus.
The outside
air hit like a burning wind off the desert and an arctic blast. It smelt dry
and empty and clean. The street lamp cast a clearly-defined disc of light on
the ground below and Xander was hypnotised by it and the darkness beyond.
He walked
towards the light.
He heard
Devon's exclamation of annoyance, but it didn't really mean anything. He
understood the words when Devon called out, "Got to get my shoes,
man." But they meant nothing to him. He had his shoes. They were on his
feet. He didn't want Devon's shoes, too. He reached the street lamp and put his
arms around it. It was lonely.
Staring into
the surface of the cement post he saw a world. Tiny gullies ran between sand
grains, an infinite variety of shades of yellow and brown and white. He thought
he saw tiny people struggling across the uneven surface, clambering over grains
of sand, scaling the mountain of a single chip of gravel. He felt the infinite
sadness and wonder of worlds within worlds within worlds, each so small to the
one that contained it. He heard Oz's voice say, "The last visible
dog." He switched his gaze the other way and lost himself in the enormity
of the next world up and the one beyond that. "Lilliput" said Oz's
voice. But Oz's wasn't there.
What was there
was a voice that said, "Well, well, well. What have we here?"
Bracing
himself against the lamp post, Xander peered into the darkness. The boots
arrived first. Just the boots. Then the legs grew on top of them. Then the
hands appeared, floating next to the hips as the arms and chest built upwards.
Finally the head flowed smoothly into existence, the tight cap of bleached hair
closing over the top with a *ting* as it caught and released light.
Xander cocked
his head to one side and looked at Spike. "Pretty vampire," he said.
Spike's mouth
became a straight, hard line and Xander was lost in the broken curve of a
raised eyebrow.
"So,
what's the Slayer's toy doing out alone at this time of night?" Spike
asked.
"Pretty,"
said Xander. He pushed himself away from the post and managed to stand up
straight, with only a small wobble, and added, "I'm Xander."
Spike snorted.
"You're pissed, aren't you, Mate?" he asked. He stepped up to Xander
and put an arm around his waist. "Come on, Pet," he said. "Let's
get you out of here." He pulled Xander towards him and walked him away
from the lamp post and into the dark.
Xander's
immovability crumbled before the irresistible force of Spike's arm, as did his
determination to assert his name. Spike's gravity drew him along the street and
he tumbled and twisted and turned, head over heels over head through the
airless void, as the stars danced around him and the arm guided him in the
endless ballet of the spheres.
"Are we
dancing?" asked Xander, as the street clicked into existence around him.
"Yeah,
Mate. We're dancing just around this corner."
The walls of
the alley stretched up into the sky. Xander tilted his head back and watched
them grow, waiting for the moment they would meet and enclose him, trap him in
their womb. He was sucked upwards, travelling forever into their infinity. Then
they tilted 90 degrees and he felt himself fall back onto one wall as he stared
upwards at the other. A face hovered above him, made of white marble, all angles
and sharp edges, pierced by blue, blue eyes. Spike was lying on top of him, his
weight the only thing stopping Xander from a floating up to meet the wall
above.
There was a
sharp prick at his neck and he really did float away as the warmth and lust
flooded through him. His hips bucked against Spike's weight and he ground into
Spike's leg.
Then it
stopped. Everything stopped. The loss of sensation at his neck left him bereft
and disorientated.
A disgruntled
voice sounded near his ear. "Oh, bloody hell! No! Not doing that again.
Fine at Woodstock, but not in bloody Sunnydale. You're not pissed, are you?
You're tripping." Xander slumped back against the wall as Spike's face
came back into view. "How long ago you drop it?" Spike asked.
Xander blinked
and contemplated the concept of time. He raised his arm to peer at his watch.
The second hand enthralled him with its relentless jerky motion. The tick,
tick, tick echoed in the hollow space where his head used to be.
"Pointless
asking you, in'it?" Spike's voice broke through the hypnotic rhythm,
sending time scattering in broken pieces across the floor of the alley.
"Well, I guess I can wait a few hours until you come down. Going to find
you a comfy bed to sleep this off."
That sounded
like the best idea Xander had heard all day, maybe ever. So when Spike put his
arm around his waist and started to guide him back out into the street, Xander
followed his lead.
Since time had
ceased to exist, Xander suddenly realised he was free. If he had broken time
then he didn't have to do anything. He didn't have to go home. He didn't have
to go to school. He didn't have to explain to Buffy or Willow or Giles what he
had been doing taking acid with Devon and Oz. He floated down the street a
passive observer to the shifting angles of the world.
The arm had
become his only anchor. It had replaced time as the ruler of his life. It led
him, eventually, away from the sky into a different space and then he was
floating on a cloud. Soft. And he remembered earlier with the pillows on the
floor and sucking Devon off. He squirmed in remembered pleasure and watched
Spike's head shoot up.
Spike took a
deep breath as he turned from locking the door. "Is that for me,
Pet?" he asked, as he walked towards Xander.
'He slunk'
thought Xander. 'Or is that slinks?' The effort of trying to figure out
language defeated him and he fell back into the warm pool of silky comfort.
Spike crawled
across the bed until he knelt above him, knees on either side of Xander's hips,
hands by his shoulders. The eyebrow arched in question. Xander smiled. "So
pretty," he said.
"Yeah,
you said." Spike didn't sound very impressed. "Well. Might as well
have some fun before I eat you," he mused.
Xander opened
his mouth to protest that idea but Spike's mouth on his prevented the words
escaping and then he couldn't remember they had ever been there, as he joined
in the kiss. His lips became the focus of his consciousness, until his tongue
took over as the source of all sensation, rubbing slickly against Spike's, which
was cool and sinuous as a snake.
Spike pulled
back. "You taste of spunk," he growled, lowering his hips to grind
down into Xander's groin. Xander arched his back as far as he could, desperate
for more touch. "Randy little bugger, aren't you? Do you like sucking
cock, then?" Xander felt the grin cutting his face in two. "Right.
Might as well get what I can, first," Spike muttered.
Xander felt
Spike's hand moving between them. Heard the draw of leather through metal and
the scratching rustle of denim. Then Spike's mouth was back on his and Spike's
arms were around him, rolling him over. They pushed him down, away from that
mouth. Xander mewled a protest but Spike could not be resisted. And then he was
lying on the bed, head on Spike's stomach, staring at the glistening one-eyed
head of Spike's prick.
Memory flared
and he knew that time had taken him in a circle. He considered saying something
to Oz about how he had broken time so that it ran in circles now. But he
couldn't pull his eyes away from the cock in front of him. So he leant forward
instead and licked the tip. Flavour burst into his mouth, sparking every taste
bud, electric and sharp. He gasped and lunged forward and the circle closed
with a snap. He shut his eyes and sucked, exploring his new toy with his tongue
and lips. Licking, sucking, slurping, his mouth became the centre of his
universe. It was his universe. He was a mouth that sucked and tasted. He ran
his tongue around the head exploring the foreskin. A tiny voice somewhere
inside said 'that's different.' But then he lost that too as language fell away
and the mouth-ness of him was all there was.
* * * * *
The reference to 'The Last Visible Dog' is from Russell Hoban's novel 'The Mouse and his Child'.
Lilliput is obviously from Jonathan Swift's Gulliver's Travels.