Rating: NC-17
Author: Trekker
Pairing: Giles/Ethan
Fandom: Buffy
“Why are you here, Ethan?”
Ethan dabbed the blood off his lip with his thumb, glanced at it, and then looked at him, his dark eyes smoldering.
“Because I want to fuck you, Ripper. Why else would I be here?”
He opened his mouth, as though to protest, and Ethan crossed the space between them in a single stride.
“Oh, and don’t even start with the protests. I know that hitting me makes you hard. And you know that being hit by you makes me hard. Don’t try to tell me any of this is a surprise.”
And Ethan held him tight and close by his shirt as he spoke, and roughly gripped Giles’ erection through his trousers. Giles could have pushed him away. Could have objected. But didn’t. Because Ethan’s hand was moving on him now, rubbing him with quick sharp strokes, just the way he liked, and Ethan’s eyes were like inverted flames, so dark they seemed to draw in the light from the room, seemed to trap his own gaze.
“You want this.”
He breathed in, closed his eyes, as Ethan’s hand unbuttoned and unzipped him, pushed inside his trousers and pulled his cock out. Long fingers, wrapped punishingly tight around his shaft, thumb tracing semicircles on his head. His cock knew that hand, and that hand knew his cock, and still, after all these years and all that had passed between them, Ethan could make his body lax with pleasure.
He shoved him away.
“Shut up,” he said, and then he stalked up the stairs to the loft, trousers still undone, knowing Ethan would follow.
Toed off his shoes, pushed off his trousers, pulled off his shirt, and was naked by the time Ethan crested the stairs.
“Sure of ourselves, aren’t we?” Ethan said.
“I don’t have to be,” he said, as he sat on the end of the bed. “You already told me this is what you want.”
Nonchalance betrayed by his fiercely hard cock. By the tremors that were dancing over his skin just from being naked with Ethan. God, when would he be free of him? Never? It was beginning to appear to be so.
Ethan was undressing at his leisure, with the unhurried air of a man at a physician’s appointment.
Age had changed Ethan. Not in any way necessarily bad or good. But he was different. No longer the slender, smooth man-child he’d been at twenty-one, he was wiry, with an unexpected hint of power in his frame. Solidness. He’d matured since those days. No one would mistake him for a boy now.
And, yet, different as he was, he somehow still had this power over him. His broad shoulders, his strong, flat chest, all of it. Just seeing it, exposed as Ethan shrugged off his silk shirt, was captivating. His cock stiffened a little more as Ethan turned, folded his shirt, and placed it on the dresser, the lamp light playing over the muscles in his back, and the denim of his jeans, stretched across his arse. Giles felt suddenly exposed and undignified, sitting there with his erection jutting out in front of him, and reached down and curled his hand around it, felt it jump against his palm.
And then Ethan turned back around, and his eyes fell immediately to Giles’ hand on his cock, and he smiled, slowly.
“Go on, then,” he murmured, as he reached for the button of his jeans.
Of course, a part of him resisted, simply out of contrariness, but the rest of him... the rest of him didn’t mind taking Ethan’s orders, and didn’t mind at all Ethan’s gaze on him, powerful and hot, as he leaned back on one hand and began to stroke himself with the other. Long, slow strokes, gripping tight. Waves of pleasure through his body, matching pace with his hand. He watched Ethan kick his jeans away through half-closed eyes.
And then Ethan was naked, on his knees between Giles’ legs, and so Giles dropped back onto his elbows, watching and feeling as Ethan wrapped his hand around him, pumped him once, twice. And then, Ethan pulled him towards him, and bowed his head forward.
His eyes remained almost disconcertingly focused on Giles’ face as he took his cock in his mouth. His tongue was soft as nothing else could be, pushing his foreskin back, circling the head of his cock, and flicking, just lightly enough to not-quite-hurt, over the slit at the tip.
Giles sank down on his back on the covers, arms shaking too hard to hold him up, and then Ethan leaned forward, pulled him in deeper, began to pump the base of his cock with his hand, curled the flat of his tongue around his shaft. Giles could feel a hint of his teeth, enough to make his body tingle, could feel the ridges of Ethan’s palate against the head of his cock. Wanted, suddenly and desperately, to fuck him.
*Ethan*. God. Ethan.
Awkward adolescent fumblings aside, they’d been the ones who’d taught each other to fuck. Learned each other’s bodies and their own in alleys and on the cheap thin mattress and creaking springs of the cot in their rundown flat. In dark corners of clubs, Ethan’s light frame pinned beneath him, quaking with desire, whispering desperate nonsense under the throbbing beat. In the living room of Diedre and Thomas’s house, on his back, the carpet like fire under his back, one knee drawn up to his chest and Ethan’s cock inside of him, Eyghon and lust shining in Ethan’s eyes.
He clenched the covers in his fists and rolled his hips up, his cock sliding deep in Ethan’s throat, soft slick muscles caressing him... he remembered them learning to do this, Ethan doing obscene things to bananas and carrots and him... Breathing in hurt, like there was a weight on his lungs. His knuckles ached. His cock was satisfied and hungry all at once. Ethan sucked him hard, and he was on the edge of coming, far too quickly, far too soon...
“Fuck,” he said, like a gunshot in the dark, the word escaping on a harsh rush of breath that dropped his body deflated and limp for a moment on the covers. He was suddenly hot, could feel his biceps slipping against his sides on a new layer of fresh sweat.
He breathed in, shuddering, and said, “Yes, god, yes.”
As Ethan moved on him, lips sealed tight around him, tongue--god, his tongue--
Needed, wanted--he pushed up again, fucking that hot, tight mouth. And then Ethan was gone. His cock dropped to lie flat on his stomach, abandoned, his balls still tight with want. He groaned extravagantly. It was an effort just to raise his head enough to look down his body at Ethan, down there, kneeling between his thighs.
“Honestly, Ripper,” Ethan said. He was smirking, and Giles decided he didn’t need to see that, so he flopped back limply on the bed. His muscles still quivering. Wanted.... “How long has it been? Your manners are atrocious.”
Oh, for god’s sake--
“Shut up and get back to it,” he growled.
“Case and point,” Ethan said, and that was really about all he was willing to take from the man that night.
Giles lunged off the bed and they both hit the floor, hard. Ethan laughed, and Giles growled again, wordlessly this time, lust and frustration all mixed up in the sound. Ethan was trapped beneath him, and he straddled his stomach. Felt his laughter. He pinned his wrists to the floor over his head, and found himself looking down into smiling brown eyes, and he couldn’t help a sudden rush of affection.
And more. He arched his back, and his cock slid against the soft skin just beneath Ethan’s sternum. Felt good. Hot pressure, smooth and yielding. He looked down his own body to watch himself move against Ethan’s flesh. Hot spirals of pleasure chased up through him, through his cock, up his spine, and then all throughout him, as though he were stealing it straight off of Ethan’s skin.
Ethan was watching, too. And breathing faster.
Maybe not just taking pleasure. Maybe giving it too.
No. There was no maybe about it. He knew Ethan. Knew he loved this.
“Such a slut,” he said, and his voice felt rough and deep in his throat. Ethan’s eyelashes were lowered--they were dark and long and devastating--his eyes focused down on where their bodies met. “Pretty, pretty slut.”
Ethan’s head dropped back with a thunk on the hardwood floor, and he suddenly pressed up, into Giles, meeting his slow thrusts.
“Gods, yes,” Ethan said, agreement in his tone, his voice breathy.
Fuck, he was amazing. Right now, when it didn’t matter what they did outside, who they were, that twenty years had passed, he was like a siren: inescapable, pleasurable doom. And Giles knew, as Ethan’s wrists grew hotter under his grasp, that tonight he was going to happily sail onto those rocky shoals.
He inched up, knees catching on polished wood, until his cock rested against Ethan’s jaw.
Ethan was breathing faster, he could feel his chest rising and falling beneath him, feel the air moving against too-rarely touched places. His inner thighs, his lower stomach. Ethan’s hands moved and pulled a bit, and he loosened his grip, knowing it meant Ethan’s fingers were going numb.
“Now,” he said, “Where were we?”
He needn’t have spoken, though; Ethan was already turning his head, nuzzling the base of his cock. Sparking pleasure as he mouthed along its length.
Then Giles pulled back his hips, and pushed forward again. He slid back into the warm heaven that was Ethan’s mouth.
Closing his eyes, he let his head drop back. He’d always liked this position. The power of it. Ethan didn’t, not as much, and Giles had been in the subservient position before himself, and understood why. Just a moment or two, then.
Long enough to feel Ethan firmly trapped beneath him, long enough to roll his hips through five or six languid, short thrusts. Long enough to remind Ethan who was in charge around here.
And then he moved off, just far enough to settle back down over Ethan’s chest, and keep his hands in place. He met soft eyes looking up at him, and suddenly, something was hurting inside. Loneliness, maybe. He found himself smiling back, and realized how much he’d missed this. Intimacy, lovemaking. Having someone look at him and not think father or boss or teacher.
He shifted both of Ethan’s wrists under one of his own hands, and touched Ethan’s face with the other. Ethan’s lashes fluttered and his lips parted. Giles traced the curve of one brow, his fingertip gliding on silky soft hairs. Off the end of the brow, his finger followed the curve of bone, around one eye and along the ridge of Ethan’s high cheekbone.
Then, those pink parted lips became too tempting, and he touched them. Smooth skin. Ethan’s tongue flickered out, just for a moment, maybe even subconsciously, although Ethan’s actions were rarely unplotted.
He pushed two fingers inside, and that tongue flexed beneath them. Teeth dragged over his knuckles. Funny how watching Ethan’s lips tighten around his fingers, seeing his cheeks hollow as he sucked, could be almost more erotic than the actual sensation of those actions on his cock. But it was.
Ethan’s eyes were shut now, as he focused. Giles fucked him slowly, varying depth and speed, sometimes nearly slipping out, sometimes pressing back far enough to feel a hint of soft palate, clenching slightly at the invasion. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. His fingers glistened with Ethan’s saliva, slid in and out. Ethan’s throat moved as he swallowed, the suction tugging on Giles’ hand.
His desire was a low, hot burn in his groin, in his stomach, across his chest. He felt a drop of precome slide down his shaft and shuddered.
“Fuck, Ethan,” he said, breathless. Ethan opened his eyes then. Dark and dangerous and tempting, boring straight into his own eyes, into his soul, into his body.
The burn grew hotter, and his cock surged harder. Hard enough to hurt, to demand. Need. Ethan.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” he said, and viciously loved the way Ethan’s eyes flashed, the way Ethan’s body jerked under his own. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
He was humping him again, faster than before, with more intent. Pleasure fire up his back, and his eyes never left Ethan’s.
“Wanted me to roll you over, bury myself inside you, fuck you ‘til you bled and screamed and begged for more? Isn’t it?”
He was gripping Ethan’s wrists too tightly now. Liking the tiny lines of pain-tension around Ethan’s eyes probably as much as Ethan himself was.
“Tell me,” he said, and if they had been breathing the same air, Ethan’s answer would have come on the same breath: “Yes. Gods, yes, Ripper.”
“Good.”
He stood abruptly, leaving Ethan alone on the floor behind him. Went to the dresser and opened it.
“Get on the bed, I’m not doing this on the floor,” he said, keeping his tone almost dismissive as he rooted through the drawer. He wasn’t feeling that way at all, however. Even the sound of Ethan’s bare skin shuffling on the wood floor was enough to send a pulse of heat through his cock. And the sound of the bed shifting under a new weight was enough to completely distract him from his mission.
Someone here. Ethan here. With him. Wanting him.
He shouldn’t. They shouldn’t.
But they were, clearly.
Even given how disastrously bad things had gone the last time...
His hand hit cool plastic and he picked up the bottle without thinking. No more excuses for staying away from the bed now. No more excuses for not turning around.
“Thinking too much, Ripper, love,” Ethan drawled.
And, yes, he was. Interesting how Ethan was always all too happy to remind him of that fact.
Then, that thought stopped him again. Ethan was always. God, there had been a time when they’d known each other’s every quirk, finished each other’s sentences. They’d been joined at the hip, and everyone knew you never saw one of them without the other. He’d missed him, terribly, after he’d left. Just missed having him around, someone to talk to, someone who understood him.
They didn’t know each other anymore, of course. Not really. Too many years, too much change. Or too little.
The bed rustled again, and bare feet crossed wood. He was still standing by the dresser, looking down at the bottle in his hand when Ethan’s arms slid around him.
It was almost too much, having that skin against his own while having these thoughts. Somehow it hit him, then, in a way it hadn’t in years, that this was his Ethan, his best friend, his lover. He *had* changed, of course. But he was still Ethan. Still the man who’d liked to cuddle against his side and grumble in the mornings, still the man who’d pick bar fights just to stand back and watch Ripper go, because he had known how much Giles loved it.
Ethan, who probably knew him well enough to have at least a vague idea of what he was thinking right now.
Who nipped his earlobe and said, “I believe there’s a plan? Something about fucking and screaming and begging?”
Ethan plucked the lube from his hands.
“It’s a good plan,” he said, and then was gone again, back over to the bed.
Giles was still shaken, but it didn’t require too much conscious intervention to pluck a condom out of the box in the drawer and turn back to the bed.
Where Ethan was lying on his back, arms behind his head, as relaxed as though they hadn’t been enemies for years. He had one foot up, a smile on his lips, and his cock was hard against his stomach. They’d been in love. Rather soppily in love, in fact. And they’d been partners, friends.
He knew that there would, in fact, *be* harm in letting those old feelings out, even for one night. Massive harm.
But they were already stirring. He swallowed hard and crossed to the bed.
He told himself that touching Ethan, then, as he came up beside him, lay down on his side next to him and ran his hand up his arm, was like touching a ghost. Touching a memory. Solid, yes, but not real. Those eyes, so familiar, were only an illusion of the eyes he’d once gazed into for hours.
He told himself that, but it was hard to buy as Ethan leaned in and kissed him, and tasted just like he always had.
Ethan’s hand dropped down to stroke him, and he realized that during his thoughts, his desperate desire had slipped away. He grunted softly and pressed into Ethan’s touch, ducked his head to kiss him again. Soft, teasing kisses, their lips just playing together. Ethan nipped at him, and they both smiled, breathed soft laughter-breath.
Ethan’s hand felt so good.
Most of his life, he’d tried to tell himself he liked to be alone. Most of his life, he’d believed it.
His hand fit so nicely around Ethan’s shoulder. Always had.
It was a lie. And somehow, being here with Ethan made him more lonely than he’d been in years.
So all there was to do was roll them over, capture Ethan beneath him and kiss him, deeply. Try to bury the feeling in other feelings. Hot body beneath him, talented hand on him. Tongue moving in his mouth.
He was touching him. He shouldn’t have felt so far away.
“Ethan,” he said, between their lips, and it sounded more desperate than he intended.
They were moving together now, Ethan’s hand had gone from between them. Hips working, he could feel Ethan’s cock, hard and slick, sliding against his own, and he broke out in sweat again. Their lips parted with a click, and Giles ducked his head, pressed his face into Ethan’s shoulder.
Fast and hot, it was more like fighting now than fucking. Shoving against each other and seeking more friction than they could find. Finding less than they needed, and the desire for more only made them hotter.
Ethan was breathing in sharp grunts now, his hips jolting under Giles’.
“Ripper. Yes. Fuck, yes.”
Giles’ hand pressed into the bed at the side of Ethan’s neck, he could feel the curve of his throat and shoulder bumping against the underside of his arm with their movement. Sweaty, panting Ethan under him, frantic and needy.
He bit down on the skin over Ethan’s collarbone, just to feel him flinch and groan.
Hotter now, his lost arousal back in full force.
He pulled away, just for a moment, up on his arms over the other man, and Ethan didn’t even need a word spoken, just rolled over smoothly, and Giles was back, flush against him before more than a heartbeat had passed.
He ground his hips down against Ethan’s arse, and with one hand found the lube, flipped the bottle open. Uncaring about the fate of his comforter or the mess or anything other than sinking his fingers deep inside.
Ethan bucked and cried out, spread his legs.
It had been a long time since he’d done this, so he grinned in savage triumph as his finger slid unerringly over the small, firm spot just there inside. As Ethan shuddered and pushed back against him, and said, unnecessarily, “Yes, right there, yes!”
Two fingers and then three inside him, pressing there on that spot. He watched Ethan as he did, and he was beautiful. Lamplight playing over the fresh sweat on his back, creating fields of light and shadow. A long, dark curve in the dip of his backbone, a rippling field of muscle.
Further up, Ethan’s biceps were tensed, his fingers curled into the sheet. His head was turned to the side and his eyes were shut tight, gritting his teeth through the pleasure.
Beautiful.
Time. Now.
He fumbled with the condom, but then it was on, and a moment later, he was inside. One hard thrust, no real warning. Ethan arched under him and wailed, and it was perfect. He set a hard and fast pace, and Ethan rose to meet him. Nonsense words of approval, encouragement, mixed with grunts and gasps. So good, he’d almost forgotten it could be so good, so tight. The bed hitting the wall with each thrust.
Ethan lithe and animal beneath him.
Ethan had got up on elbows and knees, and so Giles could brace himself against the headboard with one hand, and reach beneath Ethan with the other. Find his cock, hot as a car in the sun, and as hard it seemed, slick at the tip, enough to make his hand slide as easily on the shaft as his cock was sliding in Ethan’s body.
So good. So good, he’d forgotten. How good it was to be inside Ethan. How good it had been. To be in love. To be loved.
It was too frantic to last for long. They both fell quickly, and then collapsed in a heap on the covers. Twined together, panting.
He couldn’t stand to let it end, so he kissed him, and didn’t stop kissing him. Didn’t let go.
It wasn’t until the sunlight fell through blinds that they finally drifted off into exhausted sleep, arms around each other.
The End