"Ok," Buffy said, slipping smoothly into command mode. Rupert's inner Watcher smiled and nodded with satisfaction. "You guys go to Eric's, we can go to Chris's, and meet up."
"Oh damn," Rupert said, his inner Watcher abruptly and completely shoved aside by his inner husband.
Buffy snapped a look at him. "Problem?"
He whipped off his glasses, already trying to think of how to explain the situation to Ethan... who was going to be furious. Or worse, just hurt. "Tonight. I-- I promised Ethan we'd, we'd go out."
"Go, then," Buffy said, with a shrug.
"Well, yes, but shouldn't I, I--I, um..."
"Giles, it's fine. We can deal. Besides, you stand up Ethan one more time, I think we're gonna have another dead body to deal with."
Jenny, who had been helping with the research, smirked. "She's not wrong."
He looked over the little group. They were far from incompetent, but it still seemed wrong to-- But, dear god, Ethan really would have his head if he canceled *again*. "All-- All right. If you're absolutely sure?"
"Totally sure, Giles. I can handle a couple of human creeps on my own."
"Right. Yes. I'll, I'll make sure our mobile is on, of course, if you need anything at all, just call."
"Woohoo!" Xander said, "No Watcher! Paaaaar-tay!"
Rupert cringed.
***
"I know you're fairly technically incompetent, Rupert, but you do know that if someone wants to talk to you, that thing will actually *ring*. Staring at it really won't tell you anything."
Rupert set the phone down, pushed it an inch or so away, and carefully removed his hand from it. Looked up to find Ethan looking peeved across the table.
"Sorry," he said. "I--"
"I know. You told me. Buffy's out there, all alone except for not one, but two friends, and armed with only her extraordinary, superhuman strength and an armory of edged weaponry. However will she cope without you?" Ethan jabbed at the tablecloth with the tongs of his salad fork as he made this sardonic pronouncement.
"Fine. I know. I know she'll be fine. I know she doesn't need me hanging over her shoulder every minute, I know--"
Ethan tossed the fork aside and cut him off, "Could we possibly, for once, actually talk about something other than the glorious Chosen One?"
"Sorry," Rupert said, again. He looked down, and for a moment, without thinking, his eyes flicked towards the mobile. He pulled his gaze forcibly away a moment later, down to the folded napkin in front of him. He looked, silently, at the napkin for a moment, then grabbed it off the table, shook out the folds and draped it over his lap, giving himself a moment to regroup, to try to think of a topic. "How are things at the shop?" he said, looking up again.
"Dull," Ethan said, looking Rupert straight in the eye as though this statement were a challenge.
Something snapped in Rupert, and he leaned forward suddenly, gripping the edge of the table. "*Dammit*, Ethan," he hissed, in deference to the public setting, "I am *trying* here. If you can't even *attempt* to meet me in the middle--"
Ethan's eyes went wide. "The *middle*? *You* are honestly asking *me* to meet *you* in the fucking middle? You bloody bastard. I moved halfway round the world for you. I left my shop, my home, my friends, my *life*, and *you* are asking *me* to meet you in the middle? Fuck you, Rupert. The middle is somewhere in the Atlantic right about now, we are so far beyond the middle--"
Taken aback by this vehemence, all Rupert could say was, "Ethan--"
But Ethan was apparently on a roll, and continued, "You spend all your time with her. You'd throw yourself in front a bullet for her, Rupert. And somehow now it's too much to ask that we have dinner together occasionally? I've spent half my life changing myself for you, and now you won't even spend a whole Saturday afternoon at home? Bugger that, Rupert."
He shoved his chair back and went for the door without even looking back. Rupert barely remembered to throw a couple of twenties on the table and grab his coat before hurrying after him.
He caught up with him in the parking lot, grabbed his arm.
Ethan turned on him, yanked his arm free with a sharp jerk. His eyes blazed, even in the darkness. "Fuck off."
Rupert could feel his own heart pounding, feel the light tremors of nervous adrenaline. In spite of his effort to speak calmly, he could hear his voice shaking. "It isn't safe to walk home alone. I'll give you all the space you want, after we're home."
Ethan looked away, but followed Giles back to the Citroen.
***
Neither of them said a word on the drive back, nor while walking up to the door or into the flat. When they both reached to hang their coats, their arms brushed and Ethan flinched away. Rupert inhaled, but said nothing. Ethan walked into the living room, sat down on the couch. Rupert stayed by the door, watching Ethan's shoulders move as he breathed, torn between staying true to his promise to give him room and wanting so badly to go to him.
Ethan slouched forward, took a deep long breath and let it out, and staying there, by the door, just seemed like the biggest mistake Rupert could possibly make.
Promise or no, he crossed the flat and rounded the couch, stopping a few feet back from where Ethan sat, his face buried in his hands.
After a silent moment, Ethan sat up, folded his arms in his lap, and looked up at Rupert. His expression was flat, utterly unreadable. They regarded each other without speaking, as a pain built in Rupert's chest, sharp as a heart attack.
Rupert let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding with a word, "Ethan--" and tasted salt at the back of his tongue. He didn't seem to consciously decide to take the next few steps forward, to drop to his knees in front of Ethan, between his feet. Ethan never said a word, just kept watching him, giving away nothing, moving just enough to uncross his arms, rest his hands to either side of himself, out of the way. Rupert raised his own hand, hesitated for a moment, then lightly trailed his fingers down Ethan's arm, down to curl around the back of Ethan's wrist, resting on the couch cushion. Ethan looked down at where their skin touched. He didn't pull away.
"Ethan--" Rupert said. "Ethan, I love you. And I am sorry. God, I'm sorry."
Ethan pressed his lips tightly together, then finally said, "That's not enough."
Still, Rupert felt as though he'd been granted some huge reprieve. "I know," he said. "I-- I know."
"I can't... I can't do this, Rupert. Not... like this."
"I know. I-- We can work something out," Rupert said, "We... after school hours, we could all meet in your shop, if you don't mind having them around. I could keep my books there. You... you have a back room, we could train there."
Ethan nodded, once, just a tiny dip of his chin, but it was there, it was progress.
"Yes?" Rupert said, carefully.
Ethan nodded again, more obviously this time. Rupert dared to let himself smile, just a bit. Ethan blinked, then curled one hand behind Rupert's head. Rupert shut his eyes for a moment, leaning back into that hand, then opened them when Ethan tugged, found Ethan leaning down. He rose up on his knees to meet him, and then, thank god, Ethan was kissing him. Warm lips, warm tongue, kissing him hadn't felt this good in years, maybe not since the first time, when they'd kissed and it had hit his system like cocaine, an instant addiction, male lips, Ethan's lips--
They parted, and stood, and, silent again, went upstairs. Both shirtless by the time they fell back on the bed, Rupert on top of Ethan, kissing. He ran his hands all over Ethan, as though he'd never felt him before, drunk on the feeling of his skin. Ethan rolled his head back, eyes closed, breaths short and hitched. Giles buried his face in Ethan's chest, inhaling the smell of him, then mouthed at his skin, moved his head slightly to bite lightly at his nipple. Ethan breathed in, sharply, and rushed one hand down and then up Rupert's bare back. Rupert slid down further, stopping at Ethan's stomach, licking and sucking the skin there as his hands undid Ethan's fly, shoved his trousers and pants down.
For the first time, then, he got a sound out of Ethan, a groan, and Ethan rocked his hips up. The tip of his hot, hard cock brushed against Rupert's chest, and then Rupert slid down the last few inches and took it in his mouth. He cupped Ethan's balls in one hand, sucked, circled his tongue around the tip of the head of Ethan's cock. Eyes closed, he flared his nostrils to breathe in and smell the scent of Ethan, then pushed down, wanting more, wanting to feel his jaw ache, feel Ethan sliding into his throat, inside him, deep inside him. Pulled back, inhaled, tasted a hint of salt at the tip of Ethan's cock, and then, before he could take him deep again, Ethan spoke.
"Fuck me. Rupert, fuck me."
Rupert pulled back, still holding the base of Ethan's cock, found Ethan's eyes on him. Ethan nudged the bottle of lube a couple inches closer, and Rupert sat up, took it and got a bit on his hand.
They never broke eye-contact as Rupert prepared him, got up over him, pressed inside of him. Only then did Ethan's eyes fall shut again. He rolled his whole body up, and Rupert groaned and shut his own eyes as he slid deep inside of him. Had never felt like this, not in as long as he could remember. This good. Rupert was trembling as he pulled back, pushed back in, a fire storm of sensation rushing through him that seemed too massive to be coming from just his cock, seemed to be coming from everywhere, burning up his spine...
He opened his eyes as he fucked Ethan, staring down at him, watching his chest heave, his shoulders tense and relax as he rolled his body up to meet each of Rupert's slow, deep thrusts. Sweat shone in the hollow of his throat, his head was still flung back, his mouth open, breathing. Rupert shuddered as he thought, *I could lose him. I could have lost him.*
He can't really talk, he can hardly even think, he can hardly even breathe, but somehow he manages, every time he presses inside, to say, "Love you."
***
Later, much later, after their stomachs growled once too often, they ended up at an all-night fast food joint. They sat across from each other in a small booth, their legs tangled together under the table, holding hands on top of the table. They ate ridiculously unhealthy burgers and fries one-handed, while talking about England and California and American football and a dozen other things that they no doubt never would have talked about at any time other than those small hours of the morning. Ethan offered Rupert a french fry and Rupert ate it from his fingers, and they both chuckled.
In the parking lot, Rupert pulled Ethan into his arms, and Ethan seemed to relax completely, seemed to melt and meld with him. They stood, embracing, for a long, long time.
The End
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