A/N and warning: This story is both slash and really fucking weird. It contains heavy mentions of violence/cutting, particularly during and after sex (between two males). It takes place way before Warren and Andrew came on to Buffy.

Warren wasn't fully… aware the first time it happened. Andrew knows this. Warren might have initiated it, but he and Andrew had worked their way through two packs of cigarettes and a bottle of vodka. He was too dizzy off alcohol and orgasm to really know what he was doing.

They were sprawled across Warren's bed. His parents wouldn't be home for hours, so the house was completely empty. Warren was propped up against the headboard, Andrew was lying with his head in the older boy's lap. Warren leaned over towards his desk and opened one of the drawers, rummaging around in it. After a moment, he extracted an X-Acto knife and leaned back into place.

"Give me your hand," he said softly. Andrew sat up and extended his hand obediently. Warren pressed the handle against Andrew's palm and closed his fingers around it. He guided Andrew's hand to his own arm and pressed it down slightly. Andrew yanked his hand away from Warren's forearm.

"What are you doing?" he asked nervously. Warren took hold of Andrew's wrist and pulled the blade back towards him.

"Just trust me, Andy," he said. Andrew let Warren position the blade over the pale, unmarked skin on his forearm. Warren applied slight pressure on Andrew's hand until the blade finally broke the skin. He gave a short gasp, then released Andrew's hand.

"Don't stop, Andy. Just… keep going," he said. Andrew took hold of Warren's shaking arm to steady it and slowly cut a thin, red line onto his skin. He set the blade down on the blanket next to them and pressed his palm down against the blood.

"A-Are you okay?" he whispered. Warren nodded.

"I'm fine. I… It's weird. It's…. It's intimate," he said. Andrew stared at him.

"Intimate," he echoed. Warren nodded. "More intimate than sex?" he asked. Warren's eyes were on Andrew's hand, still clamped over the cut.

"In a way, yeah. You can fuck anyone, but you can't trust just anyone like that. You can't let just anyone do something like that," he said. Andrew removed his hand from Warren's arm. There was still a line of blood. Slowly, Andrew turned his own arm over.

"Do it," he said in a barely audible voice. Warren finally looked up at him.

"Are you sure?" he asked. Andrew nodded and handed him the knife.

"Do it," he repeated. Warren moved to the side.

"Lie down," he said. Andrew slowly lowered himself down onto the mattress, his head resting gently on one of the over-stuffed pillows. Warren kissed him lightly on the collarbone.

"Do you trust me?" he whispered. Andrew nodded. Warren raised Andrew's arm off the bed and stared right into Andrew's eyes as cut a line across his arm.

It hurt. Warren had made it seem like it was just a brief, little jolt of pain, but it felt exactly like what it was. Like someone was carving a line into his skin. At the same time, he knew exactly what intimacy Warren had been referring to. Sex was sex, but this… this was blood and life and death, all rolled up into one movement of a knife. Warren placed the knife carefully back on the desk and then pressed his hand against the cut.

"You okay?" he said gently. Andrew nodded and closed his eyes. Physically, it hurt. There wasn't any pleasure in that. But there was this intensity and trust behind it Andrew had never felt with anyone before in his life that left him aching for more. It was the biggest mental orgasm ever.

He was fourteen that first time it happened.