Scott never thought he could hate someone before. Then he met Dillon. He really wished the amnesiac cyborg remembered at least his surname, because being mad at someone always rolled off of the tongue better the more names you put to it. The best would be if he had a first, middle and last name, especially one of those that just rolled right off of the tongue. Scott knew. He had been in trouble with his parents before, and he suspected that was why both he and his brother had two middle names. Because when their parents got angry they knew it in the way each syllable rolled off of Mason Truman’s or Scarlett Launder’s tongue. Or possibly both at once.
He really wished Dillon had a last name. And a middle name. More than one middle name, actually.
That led him to imagining what Dillon’s names would be, whenever he got mad at the black ranger. It kept him from giving up and actually hitting the other man. Dillon, Dillon, Dillon. What names when with Dillon? Wolfgang, maybe in reference to the animal that the black ranger emulated, or maybe, Wolfe could be his last name. Dillon Wolfe sounded like a writer, probably because of Virginia Wolfe…Dillon Virgil Wolfe…? Nah, it sounded too contrived. He liked Wolfe, though; maybe he would keep that and just dump the Virgil.
So, every time the black ranger pissed him off, Scott thought of a new name that went with Dillon. He would toy around with screaming them in his head, like his parents had when he was younger. The thought of actually sounding like his parents at the age of twenty-three almost scared him into stopping, but the idea almost became a game to him. And so, he kept on trying to figure out a name that would suit Ranger Black.
Soon, he started doing it even when he was not mad at Dillon, sneaking peaks at the brown haired man out of the corner of his eye when Dillon would sit moping in his car. Morpheus, for the darkness, maybe? No, it would only encourage him. Scott toyed around with biblical names when he ran through all of the mythological ones that he knew and none quite fit. Noah, Abraham, Adam, Seth, Elijah, Moses, Peter, Gabriel. Thomas, for some reason seemed to fit Dillon rather well. And Dillon Thomas Wolfe really had a nice ring to it.
He started long lists in his journals of names that he thought might fit when strung together in some kind of combination. He crossed a lot of them off as soon as he had written them down. Some only after a time, of trying to work them into his name for Dillon. Others when they made a new name work less with the whole. He should have known though that when he wrote it down, someone was bound to find it. Especially after he left it lying around the living room. So when he saw it in Ziggy’s hands, it took every bit of strength he had to ask politely for it back.
Ziggy smiled. He knew not to pick a fight, especially with the red ranger. So he handed the leather bound journal.
“So…”
“Drop it, Ziggy,” Scott ordered.
“Drop what?” Ziggy asked. “I’m not holding anything. But if you ask me, Dillon Jasper sounds nice, and you might want to channel your, uh, like of my best friend in a different way. Like maybe you could actually tell him how you feel. Or something. I’m just saying.” Ziggy very quickly vacated Scott’s area after that and left Scott to think on it.
Scott did not like Dillon. Maybe, he had grown to understand the man a little better over time. But he did not like Dillon. And he certainly did not like, like Ranger Black. He did not occasionally think about what Dillon looked like naked. He did not wonder what it would be like to kiss him. He did not guess as how to the black ranger would react when Scott handed him the perfect name. And he certainly did not hope the reaction would be with a kind of joy at finally having something to call his own, on a deeper, more spiritual level. Scott didn’t. Did not, no way, Jose.
Okay maybe a little. Okay, maybe he really wanted to know what Dillon looked like naked, but that was beside the point. The point was he did not think he could ever tell Dillon just what he thought of him. So, naturally, when his journal wound up in Dillon’s hands the next day, Scott vowed to kill Ziggy Grover in the most painful way he knew possible, just as soon as the war was over (and when he knew what Ziggy’s full name was).
“Uh, hey,” Scott said. Dillon was sitting on one of the couches, thumbing through the pages of Scott’s journal. No one else was around. The whole thing reeked of a set up. “Could I have that back?”
“Dillon Thomas Jasper Forest Wolfe,” Dillon recited. “Any reason why I needed so many of them?” Scott flushed.
“So that when I got mad at you, I could you know, yell at you proper.” Dillon smiled. It was almost creepy, partly because Dillon did not smile much, and partly because his smile was somewhere between a grin and a smirk.
“Mmhm…” He stood, flipping through the freshly written pages, the ones Scott had penned only last night. “And what’s this about wanting to see me naked?”
“Dillon come on, that’s private.” Scott reached for his journal, but Dillon of course held it back.
“Say it,” Dillon commanded.
“Say what?”
“Say my name Scott.” Dillon looked him right in the eye and Scott felt like he would melt.
“Dillon Thomas Jasper Forest Wolfe,” Scott repeated.
“Hmm…I think it’s too long, what about you?” Dillon flipped through the journal some more as he began to jog up the steps that led to their rooms. Scott rushed after, desperately trying to grab at his journal, although Dillon probably knew all of its secrets. Dillon smiled at him again, and pushed open the door to his room, letting Scott fall in before he closed the door behind him. “Do I really look like a Forest to you?” Dillon asked, pushing the red ranger back onto his bed. Scott watched as his journal went flying off into a corner of the room. Naturally this meant that he never saw Dillon lean down, and that he felt a very hot pair of lips before he could see them.
Dillon pinned him into the sheets of the unmade bed, his tongue licking the roof of Scott’s mouth, making him itch for more. Dillon pulled away and licked at the red ranger’s ear. “Say it again,” he ordered, right before he wrapped his teeth around Scott’s pulse point. Scott moaned and panted, but managed to get out,
“D-Dillon Thomas Jasper Wolfe.”
“Mmm, still too long,” Dillon said as he hooked his fingers under Scott’s tee-shirt to pull it over his head. Dillon’s mouth made it all around Scott’s nipples, which were already hard as rocks, betraying his arousal to the other man, as his clever fingers slid under Scott’s belt buckle, undoing the leather and metal from around Scott’s waist. “Where exactly, did you come up with Jasper?” he asked, leaning down to suck on Scott’s belly button.
“Ziggy’s…Ziggy’s idea,” Scott said, renewing the idea of giving the green ranger a slow and painful death. Dillon rolled his eyes.
“Of course. And what about Wolfe?” His jeans were slipping off, colliding with his shoes still tied to his feet, but Dillon made quick work of tugging everything off, leaving him only in a pair of red shorts. “That was your idea, wasn’t it?” Dillon’s hand squeezed around his hardening cock, and Scott bucked a little on the bed.
“Yes,” Scott chocked.
“Yes what?” Dillon asked, his hand sliding beneath the cotton shorts.
“Yes, it was my idea!” Scott hissed.
“And why was that?” Dillon was rubbing along Scott, the feel of leather and denim against his bare skin sliding, coarsely caressing, and even scratching him in the places where the zippers caught him.
“Because you…you’re the… you’re the wolf, Dillon.” It had made so much sense to him when he thought it up, but now it sounded very stupid when Scott said it aloud. Dillon let loose a growl in Scott’s ear.
“Oh yes I am,” he whispered. He tore the boxers down Scott’s legs and when he could not each any further form his current position, he pulled up, ripping the fabric from Scott’s body all together. Scott thought he had to be dreaming. He had dirty, wet dreams like this sometimes, filled with fetish and a very naked Ranger Black. But he was never quite so thoroughly dominated in his dreams, or at least not like this where a very word sent shivers down his spine.
Dillon hauled them to sit up, to where Scott’s legs rest on either side of Dillon’s lap. “You wanted to see me naked, didn’t you?” he asked. “So make your dreams come true, Scott. Strip me.”
Scott thought he could come, right then and there. But he did not. Instead, he unzipped Dillon’s jacket, pushing it off of the other man’s shoulders. His hands slid over Dillon’s chest, before they moved under the thin fabric of the black shirt, lifting it off all together. Scott had to move off of him to pull the jeans and the boxers down, but it was well worth it, when he could pull off the last bits of clothing that kept them apart.
Dillon pulled him back up to his lap when Scott was done stripping him. Dillon grabbed him by the neck and kissed him, hot and hard. Scott wanted to explode and fade into oblivion. He wanted Dillon to keep bucking so that their cocks would slide together forever. He wanted to move and stay still at the same time. He wanted Dillon to keep touching him, to keep tweaking his nipple and squeezing his ass. “Say my name,” Dillon ordered, pulling away from him.
“Dillon,” Scott panted.
“Say it again.”
“Dillon!”
“Again!”
“Dillon! Fuck! I’m gonna come!” Dillon grabbed his cock and pulled him close so that their noses touched.
“See? One name is all I need.” Scott wrapped his arms tighter around the other man.
“Dillon, please?” he begged. “Please, I need to. I need you. Oh my god, Dillon, please.” Dillon’s hand wrapped around Scott’s leaking cock, and with a few quick jerks, Scott came over both of them. When the color spots left his vision, he remembered to lean forward and kiss the other man, while jerking him off as well. Dillon came, and collapsed on top of Scott, laying them both back on the bed. Scott left his arms wrapped around the black ranger and closed his eyes to fall asleep.
Eventually, Dillon rolled off to the side, and Scott, who was half asleep at that point, almost did not have the strength to roll slightly so that his head rested on the crook of Dillon’s neck, and his half his body covered the other man.
“You know,” the other man croaked, “I don’t think Thomas is that bad.” Scott snorted.
“So, Dillon Thomas, you still need a last name.”
“No, I kind of like that the way it is. Dillon Thomas.” Scott rolled his eyes.
“I guess I could live with that.”
“Yeah, I guess you’ll have to, Scott Pietros David Truman.”
“You know, when I wake up, I’m going to be pissed at whoever told you that.”
“Blame Ziggy. He knows everything.” Scott closed his eyes, thinking of what to do when he woke up later that evening. First order of business: find out Ziggy’s full name. Second: Kill Ziggy. Third: Find an occasion to yell at Dillon properly, now that he had something of a name to do it with.
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