estepheia: (Ethan)
[personal profile] estepheia
This is the penultimate chapter. Yay!

TITLE: Broken English Part 17
PAIRING: Giles/Ethan
RATING: R (finally!)
SPOILERS: Set after 8x04 The Long Way Home (comics); set in Germany, btw
PROMPT: a vacation or roadtrip, magic, slash
WRITTEN FOR: [info]spikendru
Sorry, unbeta'd.
PREVIOUS PARTS: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16

“This, my friend, is your last chance to bugger me senseless.” Ethan slowly raises his free hand to touch Giles’s face. It sends a stab through his heart when Giles catches his wrist half-way, but he does not struggle. “Because I can promise you one thing, Rupert: come sunrise I’ll be out of your hair. For good.”

Giles’s expression is a kaleidoscope of emotions: anger, pain, sadness, confusion…

Ethan’s next words would have been ‘For crying out loud, Ripper, why can’t you just seize the moment?’ but then Giles does just that.


He lets go of Ethan’s wrists, but only to grab his head with both hands; to hold that wicked mouth in place, so he can thrust his tongue inside. With hungry, forceful kisses Giles brushes all words aside. He encounters a hard mouth that is desperate to be plundered, and a tongue that resists only to yield with complete abandon.

It’s only a dream! Not real. Tomorrow, in the cold light of morning, everything that happens here will be a cocktail of jumbled images, of threadbare memories and wishful thinking.

Only right now? Everything feels utterly real. Ethan feels real. His greedy mouth, and the way his breath hitches; the warmth of his hands on Giles’s skin; his sinewy, masculine body and the way he’s surrendering to Giles. In this mercurial world, where unchecked fury has the power to unleash lightning storms, where buried memories stir restlessly in their graves, where unfulfilled desires dance out of the woodwork, in this world of change, Ethan feels more real, more solid than he ever felt in Sunnydale.

When Giles pulls back to catch his breath, there’s a dark, desperate gleam in Ethan’s eyes.

“I know you don’t want to hear it…,” Ethan mutters. He gropes around, causing the zippers and chains of Giles’s biker jacket to jingle, then grabs Giles by the collar to reel him back in. “But I’ve missed—“

Giles darts at Ethan’s mouth, partly to shut him up, and partly to silence himself; because he’s not ready to say it out loud: that in a closeted recess of his soul he, too, has longed for this, has longed for Ethan.

Even as he is licking and nibbling, and gasping into Ethan’s mouth, and raking his fingers through Ethan’s woefully short hair, Giles can’t quite turn off that nagging Watcher’s voice inside him. The voice that’s telling him he’s playing with fire. That he’s kissing a consummate liar. Just because some of the things Ethan told him ring true, doesn’t mean Ethan is trustworthy. One thing is certain, though: Giles’s anger at finding Ethan in his dreamspace is gone, replaced by the realization that by coming here, into Giles’s mind, Ethan has placed himself at his mercy.

Giles maneuvers Ethan backwards, trapping him between the wall and his own body. Not just to feel Ethan’s hardness right next to his own, but because he senses that this is what Ethan wants him to do.

Perhaps it’s a kind of telepathy, because, technically, they are sharing a brain right now, but deep down Giles knows that whatever Ethan’s hidden agenda may be, it is not about wreaking chaos and destruction. Not this time. This isn’t the Ethan who goaded him until he snapped, the Ethan who relished and nurtured the darkness inside him.

He can feel Ethan tugging at his jacket, and realizes Ethan is trying to push it off his shoulders. Without interrupting the kiss, Giles shrugs out of the sleeves. With a dull thud, the heavy garment lands on the floor. Of course, with a simple snap of his fingers Giles could have teleported it to the moon, along with the rest of their clothes, but where is the fun in that?

“’Kiss the Librarian’?” Ethan chuckles as they briefly separate to yank Giles’s t-shirt over his head.

“A three-piece suit?” Giles parries, while his hands fumble with the buttons of Ethan’s vest. It feels weird. He’s never peeled a man out of a formal suit before. Weirder still: it makes his pulse race.

Once the vest is gone, he reaches for Ethan’s slate-grey tie. Loosening the knot causes a delicious tingle of anticipation.

Meanwhile, Ethan’s hands are deftly unbuttoning his fly and pulling down the zipper.

Their eyes meet. Giles’s heart skips a beat at the sense of finality in Ethan’s gaze. It dawns on him that this time Ethan is truly saying farewell.

It’s a chilling realization, but then Ethan’s hand slips into Giles’s briefs to firmly squeeze his stiff prick and fondle his balls…

From then on everything becomes a blur of eager hands and lips on bare skin. The bed is only a few yards away, but even that is too far. After more rubbing and squeezing, Ethan drops to his knees, to take him into his mouth. The feeling is so intense, Giles grabs Ethan by the hair to slow him down.

He is dimly aware of dozens of candles flaring up. The turntable starts to play. Knights in White Satin? No way! This is still Giles’s dream. Moments later, the Stranglers chase The Moody Blues away.

Ethan’s mouth on his prick feels as brilliant as ever. Actually, brilliant doesn’t even begin to cover it. Starting from the soles of his feet an exhilarating heat travels through his body, up his calves, up his spine, until Giles feels like all his nerve endings are on fire.

But there is one thing he wants even more than Ethan’s mouth. When he pulls back, Ethan stays on his knees, a look on his face that’s one part demure and two parts smug.

‘Get up and turn around.’ Giles doesn’t even have to speak the words. A minute nod of his head is gesture enough.

Smiling, Ethan stands up and turns to face the wall. Both hands braced against the wall, legs spread invitingly, he offers himself to Giles. Putting Giles fully in charge.

“Remember that gig in West Kensington?” Giles mutters, as he aligns himself; then he reaches with his free hand around Ethan’s waist and starts to jerk him off.

Ethan gasps. “Good times,” he chokes out.

“Good times,” Giles agrees, remembering their first - hurried, doped-up but nonetheless brilliant - shag to the sounds of “No more Heroes.”

And there it is: that breathless, speechless moment of completion, when Giles pushes forward. Ethan pushes back, slowly taking him in all the way, until Giles is buried to the hilt.


* * *

They end up in bed, eventually, but only for the afterglow. Lying side by side, and listening first to 10cc and then Brian Eno, they watch the smoke from Ethan’s joint swirl towards the ceiling. Obviously, they can’t get high here, unless they want to, and even then it won’t be the real thing but more like a rerun on TV. Still, the sweet smell has a mellowing effect on Giles.

That tight, venomous ache inside his chest, the petty urge to crush and punish, is gone, at least for the moment. Now when he looks at Ethan, he can think of so many things they could do together, ordinary stuff, like go out for a few beers or maybe a concert, listen to old records, vinyl, of course, talk about books. Grown-up stuff that would have Buffy and the others run for cover. Of course, there is also the option of making Ethan gasp and beg again, and cry out with pleasure.

The trouble is, the suspicious Watcher part of him is back. Giles still can’t shake the dread that Ethan is playing him; or – more likely - that that some unspeakable power, of First Evil caliber, is using Ethan to manipulate him.

Ethan may be like a boomerang, always coming back. But coming back from the dead under his own steam? Way out of his league.

Giles swallows. His mouth is suddenly dry.

“How long have you been back?” He asks without preamble.

“They brought me back this morning, at sunrise.” Ethan does not move. His gaze is trained on the ceiling and his voice is strained. “The earth was wet and cold. And almost frozen. But once I’d dug myself out—”, Ethan turns to look at him “—the air tasted fresh and tart. Like magic. A sea of white mist rolled towards me. When I saw the Tor and St. Michael’s Tower in the distance, poking through the fog, I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Knew who’d buried me there.”

Giles sighs, remembering how he and Willow dug Ethan’s grave in the only fitting resting place for Ethan Rayne: the most magical place in the whole of England: Glastonbury. Avalon.

“Who brought you back?” Giles asks the question that has been burning in his mind ever since Ethan stopped him at the autobahn exit. “Who are ‘they’?”

“Look, all this is still a dream; whatever I tell you now, the memory will scatter as soon as you wake up. I’ll explain everything, answer all your questions. But out there, in the real world. The truth, and nothing but the truth. Scout’s honour.”

Giles opens his mouth to object, but Ethan silences him with a lewd glance and a hand on his thigh, and suddenly more urgent matters require his attention…





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August 2017

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