Rating: NC-17
Author: Trekker
Pairing: Giles/Ethan
Fandom: Buffy
The package had arrived in the mail, a mundane form of delivery, given that the name after the "From:" was Ethan. It was wrapped in cheerful red and green and looked so innocuous, it had simply been placed under the tree with the rest, name tag unchecked until now, as the whole group of them sat in the living room, gift paper strewn around them.
"Uh, ok, Giles," Buffy was saying, "given our history with this guy, I think I should be here when you open it. Given that it'll probably explode. Or turn you into-- something."
"Far more likely it will simply humiliate me in a far less mystical manner," Giles said, sighing as he looked down at the box. "Though I can't fault your logic."
He cut open the packing tape and two video tapes slid out into his hand. One was an unremarkable, unlabeled VHS tape. The other was an old Betamax, with a faded label and a crack in the corner of the casing...
Oh. Dear. Lord.
He blushed so deeply it felt as though he may be exsanguinating.
"Tapes?" Buffy said. "We'd better see what's on them."
"I... I know what's on them," he said.
"You do? What is it?" She reached for them. He pulled them away. Quickly.
"Probably pornography," Anya said.
Giles ignored her. "Nothing of import."
"So then why'd he send it to you?" Buffy said, still craning her body trying to get a look at the tapes.
Giles tucked them away. "Buffy-- quite frankly, this is not your business."
Thwarted, she sat back. "Uh, evil chaos sorcerers? Definitely my business."
"It's private."
"Ok, Giles? The last time you got all 'this is private'? It led to demonic possessions and nonconsensual tattooing."
He gave up. "Fine! You want to know? Anya's right. It is pornography. Satisfied?"
"Porn?" Xander jumped in.
"Porn??" Buffy said.
"I told you," Anya said.
"Yes, all right? Now can we leave it alone?"
"What if it's cursed?" Buffy said
"Yeah. I mean, something as, as... um... you know, er... charged... as, as... that... it's good for holding curses." Willow added.
"Cursed porn?" Xander said, "Wow, maybe we should watch it. You know, uh, purely in the interests of making sure it's safe, and all."
"I very much doubt it's your genre, Xander," Giles said. He tucked both tapes back into the box and thanked the lord for Joyce when she distracted everyone by offering dinner.
***
"Pornography??" he'd said, twenty or so years ago.
"What?" Ethan had retorted, "It's not as though you've never traded sex for money before."
"I have n-- ONCE. And it was-- there were circumstances."
Ethan had rolled his eyes. "You wanted to get high. It's not like you wanted to finance surgery for a dying child."
"Ok, yeah, but that was--"
"Oh, come on. It's a chance to get paid for doing what we would be doing anyway."
"If my father finds out..."
"Really, Ripper," Ethan had said, and Giles could still remember the way he arched one brow, "if your father runs around buying third-rate gay porn, he must be more interesting than you've made him out to be."
"It's, it's... it's exploitation."
"Oh, just take your bloody clothes off and shag me, Ripper," Ethan had said, and that had been the end of the discussion.
***
That night, when he got home, he'd placed the box on his desk, and left it. He went to the kitchen, poured a finger of scotch. He wandered into the living room, browsed his bookshelves, hoping a title would catch his eye. He drew all the blinds and locked the front door. He turned on the TV and watched a few minutes of "It's A Wonderful Life."
Then he sighed, stood up, and went and got the tape.
A jittery camera sweep takes in peeling-paint walls and a dingy floor and then, almost as if by accident or luck, wobbles up along a pair of bare legs and lingers for a moment on a crotch--his crotch, to be precise--zooming in and going dizzyingly out of and then back into focus on a half-erect cock, before the subject in frame turns and leaves the camera with nothing but a flash of hip, a hint of arse. The camera wobbles again, then swings up to be braced on the cameraman's shoulder. It catches a single flicker of Ethan's grin before settling on an empty bed. For a moment, the screen gives way to snow.
Giles downed the rest of the scotch in one swallow. His eyes stayed fixed on the screen.
When the picture comes back, his own voice is saying, "I'm going to kick your arse, Ethan," and Ethan is on his knees on the bed, in the center of the frame. He's naked, hard, grinning from ear to ear, with his eyes fixed on Ripper off-camera. "Why wait?" he says. He tosses his hair back with a familiar flick of his head. Even with the poor quality of the tape, the bright lights leave nothing of young Ethan's body to the imagination. He's smooth and lithe, his nipples peaked and brown, his cock long and lean as is the rest of him. It's hard and curving just slightly to the left.
So young. God, it was shocking how young Ethan was. He was, what? Nineteen? No, maybe eighteen. Hell, maybe even younger. He could have been lying. He hadn't seemed young then, but now the boy on the screen was younger than Buffy and Willow and Xander. He was young enough that Giles shifted uncomfortably as his cock began to fill with blood, hardening in his slacks. He shouldn't... twenty years ago, perhaps, but this was just a boy... young... and male. Giles hadn't touched a man since one awkward drunken evening in his thirties, and before that, not since Ethan. Not before Ethan, either, though *during* Ethan, so to speak, there had been Thomas and Randall and Philip, but them only during rituals or while intoxicated.
Ripper's next comment is covered up by a grating of static, but Ethan's laugh comes through bright and clear. For a moment, Ethan nearly loses his balance on the shifting mattress. He looks happy, uncomplicatedly gleeful. One slim, long-fingered hand swings out to catch his balance, and once it's caught, the hand returns to his side, then slides down, cups around his cock and balls almost as an afterthought. Ethan is still looking off camera and grinning, fondling himself lightly as though there's no such thing as shame in the world. "Com'on, Ripper. Get over here. You're supposed to be sucking my cock." "Suck your own cock." Ripper's mutter comes through, faintly. Ethan only laughs again. "Would that I could, love." So, Ripper sulks unwillingly into the frame.
He, too, was young. Seeing it was a shock. Aging happened so gradually, it staggered him to see just how much he'd changed. He was never slim--not like Ethan, anyway--but this younger him was all muscle, everything else stripped away, leaving him looking like a living weapon. The film quality was too bad to pick out all the scars this younger him didn't have, but the light was still stark enough that he shone in it. Old and gross, Buffy had said once. God, what would she think to see him then? He'd been young and powerful.
Ripper pauses at the edge of the bed, and his body pivots slight at the waist, as he turns towards a person behind him, off-camera. The movement throws the light just right across his chest, his abdomen, setting in sharp relief his pecs and abs, all of those muscles as tense as his clenched fist. His cock, harder now, curving up towards his belly. It's slightly bigger than Ethan's, and thicker, but then, so is Ripper in general. Ethan's eyes are fixed on it now, his grin has faded away. His hand moves slightly on his cock, and for a moment, he is almost pensive. His eyes wander quietly until Ripper turns back to him, and then the smile is back, as though it were never gone. Ethan drops down to the bed, sitting between his heels, his knees spread wide, his cock jutting obscenely in front of him. "About time," he says. His hands curl around his ankles, and his hips cant forward, as though he's offering Ripper an irresistible treat. And Ripper is captivated. He eases one knee up onto the bed, never turning his eyes away, as though he's just now finally noticed his naked lover. Ethan's grin is gone again. He moans, "Ripper."
Giles broke out in sweat. His cock surged undeniably harder and his mouth watered. He remembered this, this moment. His hand twitched and the screen froze, the pause button of the remote under his finger. Ethan froze in that moment with his cock hard, waiting for, wanting, needing Ripper's mouth. Giles could remember clearly the taste of precome, the smooth of velvet skin over straining, steel want, the spongy head under his tongue and the way it made Ethan cry out, made his muscles twitch. He had loved the taste of Ethan's come, loved to feel it pump into his throat, coat his mouth with that bitter, thick tang. There had been some odd kind of peace in the weight of a hard cock on his tongue, filling his mouth, sliding down his throat. Of all the things he'd done in his youth, that was one of the few things he missed, still, to this day. Every now and then, once or twice a year, it would drive him to a club or a bar. He'd get as far as watching another man, imagining that hardness and fullness, and then he would lose his nerve every time. It wasn't him anymore. He didn't want it to be him.
His finger slid over plastic and found the play button again.
Ripper climbs onto the bed and kneels in front of Ethan, who looks up at him, dark-eyed. "Hello, Ripper," he says. Ripper has eyes only for him now. The camera rolls, unnoticed. It looks, for a moment, as though they will kiss, but instead, Ripper goes to all fours, and Ethan rises up to his knees again, and his cock slides across Ripper's cheek. This time, it's Ripper who moans. His eyes close as he turns his face towards Ethan's cock, and then mouths along its length. Ethan's eyes are closed, too, as he curses and plants a hand on Ripper's far shoulder, steadying himself. He rolls his head back, exposing a long, pale throat. His Adam's apple moves as he swallows, and then, Ripper reaches the end of his cock, opens his mouth and takes the head inside. The camera sways, abruptly, and then moves and zooms. Ripper's eyes are closed, he doesn't notice the camera inches away, filling the screen with his jaw and Ethan's cock. He pushes halfway down Ethan's shaft and Ethan's hips nudge forward to meet him. Then Ripper pulls back, 'til he holds only the head of Ethan's cock in his mouth again. Wet skin shines. Ripper's lips are stretched and sealed. There's a hint of movement in his cheek as his tongue works.
Giles shifted on the couch, pushing his hips forward a bit, giving himself more room in his trousers. He shuffled his feet further apart. Reached one hand down, paused, then continued the movement, quickly adjusting himself and letting go, putting his hand firmly down on the couch beside him. Ignoring the dampness of sex-sweat gathering in his armpits and at his groin, and the zing of arousal his own touch caused. He wouldn't. Would not. He comforted himself with the knowledge that he couldn't help that the ache of arousal was a pleasure in itself.
The camera rocks back and at the edge of the frame, Ethan's hand slides from Ripper's shoulder to cup the back of Ripper's neck, Ripper's light, soft, short curls falling over his wrist and fingers. His arm tenses, pulls, and Ripper obliges the unspoken command, sucking in an audible breath through flared nostril and then pushing down further, taking Ethan's cock deep inside of him. Ethan swears, "Fuck, yes, Ripper," and the camera pulls back further, glides up Ethan's body, showing him throwing his shoulders back, his head limply rolling, hair hanging behind him, his eyes shut, mouth open, chest heaving with breath. The camera is unsteady and one swing comes close to his chest, getting a sharp shot of shadowed ribs and a hard, erect nipple. Then the focus is back on Ripper, pumping the base of Ethan's cock, flushed red now, with one hand and licking around and up the shaft like ice cream. His lips, Ethan's cock, shine with saliva, a drop on his chin catches the light, and his eyes are open now, focused on Ethan.
Giles realized that he was touching his face, drifting two fingertips across his lower lip. He pushed his thighs open wider, his erection aching and tenting his slacks. He didn't pull his hand away. He could feel his own breath, quick against his fingers. Then, feeling hot, shameful blood rush to his cheeks, he let those two fingers slip into his mouth, shallowly, just to the first knuckle. He trailed his tongue across them. Then he pushed them in deeper. He sucked almost by reflex. He couldn't look away from the screen, not because he was under a spell, but simply because he was transfixed.
The screen is dominated again by Ripper's face and Ethan's cock. Ripper's eyes are closed again, and he has taken Ethan into his mouth, his throat. His cheeks hollow with suction, and a tear shimmers at the corner of his eye, from having Ethan so deep, teasing at his gag reflex. He's sucking hard, throat muscles moving as he swallows around the bulk in his mouth, nostrils wide as he gasps quick breaths each time he pulls slightly back. He's still pumping the base of Ethan's cock, bumping his own lips with each stroke, his knuckles soaked with his own saliva. The only sound is Ethan's ragged, grunting breaths. The camera jitters, and for a second, reveals Ethan's hand at the back of Ripper's head, knotted in Ripper's hair.
Forgetting his earlier vow, Giles unzipped his trousers and reached inside, working his fingers into the fly of his boxers. He gripped his hard cock and pulled himself out of his pants. God. God. He couldn't not touch himself. Couldn't... memories and the visual before him, the feeling of his own fingers pressing on his tongue, a pale imitation of what he craved, crowded his mind, shoved his objections back and away. He began to stroke himself.
An unfamiliar voice, caught by an errant boom mic, says, "Come on his face." "Fuck," says Ethan. Ethan's hips jerk. Ripper's brow tenses and he pulls back sharply, losing his rhythm for a moment. He regains it in a heartbeat, after one quick-drawn breath, and slides his mouth down Ethan's shaft again, sucking rhythmically. The camera has drawn back, far enough to take in Ethan's hand still gripping Ripper's hair, and the curve of Ethan's arse, and Ethan's stomach muscles tensing and relaxing as he shallowly fucks Ripper's mouth. Then suddenly, he yanks his hips back, and gasps Ripper's name. He slides out of Ripper's mouth, but Ripper doesn't back away. Ethan's hand bats Ripper's aside and he grips his own cock, pumping fast and desperate. The head of his cock brushes Ripper's cheekbone, his knuckles knock against Ripper's chin, but Ripper doesn't move, his eyes closed, his lips parted slightly.
This, Giles also remembered, clear as the air on a crisp winter day. The feelings of that moment surged in him again, a fascinating, exciting mix of humiliation and anticipation. He could remember the men standing a few feet away, three of them. The sound of their feet on the concrete floor had reminded him even with his eyes closed that they were there and that he was naked and excited with Ethan's hot, damp cock bumping against his face. He remembered the rough-slickness of the bare mattress under his hands and knees. His hand moved fast and hard on his cock as he watched and without any conscious intention, he made the same strangled sound as Ethan at the same time Ethan came, draping sticky threads of semen across his younger self's cheek and in the hair at his temple. A hard, stabbing surge of heat and want rushed up his spine, and he felt his balls jerk tight and close, the muscles in his cock surge. His orgasm crushed his mind, darkened his eyes, jolted his hips up off the couch. He felt warm wetness on his knuckles and kept stroking himself through the small aftershocks, until he felt his cock begin to soften in his hand.
Then he opened his eyes and immediately froze, knowing with a sinking certainty that Buffy had been absolutely right.
He tasted ozone on his tongue and felt his arm hairs tingle and stand on end. He barely had time to breathe two breaths before it hit. A crack like thunder hammered against his ears and a flash whited out his vision. When he lowered the arm he'd thrown over his eyes, the TV screen was dark, and there was a naked man sprawled on his back on the floor of Giles' living room.
It wasn't just any man, of course. It was Ethan.
***
Ethan jolted awake with a startled cry, and hurled himself back, curling up sitting with his back to the nearest bookcase. His eyes darted around the room. Then, gradually, he relaxed.
"Oh," he said.
Giles, who'd barely managed to tuck himself back into his trousers and make it two steps closer to where Ethan had been before this explosion of panic hit, said, "Oh?" He tried to lace it with the full force of confusion and skepticism he was feeling at that moment, but that would have been difficult to accomplish.
Ethan uncurled slowly, and then braced himself against the hearth and stood.
The anger that had been starting to make its way through Giles' confusion vanished with a shock. Ethan was skin and bones. Skinnier than he'd been even when he was young. He wavered a bit where he stood, and his ribs and hip bones pushed out against his skin.
"Dear god," Giles said.
Ethan looked down at himself, then up at Giles. He crossed his arms across his chest. "Prison food didn't exactly agree with me," he said, his voice dry and annoyed. "I'm fine aside from a bit of malnutrition, so if you're planning on feeling horribly guilty, I'd really rather you saved it. Your guilt never was attractive."
Giles blinked. "But how... the tape--"
"A little thing I set aside with my lawyers. If I ever failed to appear after a given amount of time, they were to send it to you. Which they did. And you, I can see," Ethan said, his gaze drooping pointedly down to Giles' stained shirt, "graciously provided the catalyst for my little spell."
He'd thought Ethan would escape. Never imagined he'd still be in there. After what the Initiative had done to Oz, Giles never would have wished this on any human. Imprisonment was one thing. Inhumane treatment, experiments, torture, that was another. Ethan had his forearms carefully turned in towards his chest, but Giles could imagine them lined with track marks. He could see a scar he didn't recognize curling around Ethan's throat.
He realized that neither of them had moved and then realized that he was standing between Ethan and the only exit. Ethan's pose seemed nonchalant, but his eyes gave him away, searching quickly around the room.
Giles took a few breaths, meant to be calming, and said, "Stay for a bit. I'll get you something to eat and something to wear. Uh. The, the shower's down that way." He pointed down the hall. "You're welcome to it."
Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly, but after Giles stepped clear of his path between the living room and the hallway, he headed that way. As Giles started up the stairs to his bedroom, he heard the water go on and he began to tremble. His knees gave out on him three steps from the top and he turned and he sat down heavily, gripping the stair railing with white knuckles. His stomach churned slowly. Dear God, he thought, again. It was all that he seemed able to come up with. He'd done this. He'd let them. He hadn't known, but he should have known. He should have checked. After Oz, at least, he should have checked. The Council, perhaps, could have pulled strings.
But he hadn't. And so he'd done this to Ethan.
Ethan, who, once, he'd loved.
***
Ethan hadn't said more than three words since he emerged from the bathroom. He sat on the couch now, where Giles had sat earlier, wearing a too-large sweater and firmly-belted jeans. He'd picked at the toast and had only tried a bite of eggs. Giles sat across from him in the arm chair, watching him, but also not speaking.
Ethan pushed the plate away and looked up. "What day is it?"
Giles, slightly startled by the sound, said, "Christmas."
"Ah," Ethan said.
"Boxing day, actually," Giles said. "It's after midnight."
"Right."
They were silent, again, then. Ethan sat with his hands clasped in front of him, looking down, apparently at a spot on the coffee table. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "I suppose you're not planning on letting me go without a fight."
Giles frowned. "Of course I am."
It was Ethan's turn to look surprised. "Why?"
"I never should have let them take you, Ethan."
"Oh." Ethan raised his brows slowly. "Well, in that case... I guess I'll be going."
He got up, moving with the slow deliberation of a man far older than he was, and started for the door. Giles watched him halfway there, then got up and followed him, catching him just before he reached the door. "Ethan."
He caught him by the shoulder, and turned him.
"Changed your mind?" Ethan said, sounding unsurprised.
Ethan's eyes were hooded and cold. Giles found himself missing the way they'd used to look, the way they'd looked in the film, shining with naked affection. "No," he said. "I just... I..."
There was too much to say, too much of a debt, too much history. Ethan's lashes fluttered, and he started to pull away, and then Giles had to say something or lose the chance entirely, so he just said the first thing that came to his lips, and as he said it, he realized it was the right thing.
"Stay the night," he said, and when Ethan looked to be about to say no, he said, "Please."
He watched the debate in Ethan's eyes, saw both sides gaining ground and losing it. Then finally, when he was about to step back and just let him go, Ethan nodded.
The End