tarnished -- part one -- trekker |
Chapter Nine | |
Power |
He'd spent the evening too unsettled to read, too depressed to compound it by watching TV, and constantly trying to talk himself out of a drink. On the bright side, he had ended up getting a bit more unpacking done, in the midst of his wandering about the apartment.
And then his door--which he had, in fact, locked--flew open and an incredibly irate Ethan stormed into his apartment, saying, "You righteous, hypocritical bastard."
Which was, at least, more entertaining than mindless television. Still, it was embarrassing the way it made him yelp and dive for a fireplace poker before he realized who it was. Then he just segued directly into annoyance and tossed the poker aside with a clatter loud enough to make him cringe.
"Get out," he snapped. "I told you to stay the hell away."
Ethan just kicked the door shut and stomped across the room.
"Fuck you, Rupert."
"Me? You--"
Before he could finish that sentence, though, Ethan threw his arms open wide, and Giles saw but couldn't react as a rippled wave of clear energy flashed through the air. He didn't even have time to cry out before he slammed into the wall beside the window and found himself pinned there. It took a moment for the pain of the impact to sink in, and when it did, it momentarily shocked tears into his eyes.
"Shut. Up," Ethan said. Then, "You. You always go on and on about what's good and what's right. Then you turn around and treat me like I'm some inferior form of demon or something. Not that I mind that so much, it's just the utter hypocrisy of it that kills me, you know?"
Giles breathed in sharply, tugged helplessly against the magical bonds, and wondered if Ethan had gone insane.
"You were honest when I knew you, Ripper. Honest and free."
"No, I wasn't. I was lying to everyone back then, damn it. Especially myself."
"No. You weren't. But you desperately wish you were, now, don't you? It's sad, really, how much you hate yourself."
Ethan flicked his hand and the bonds let Giles loose, and he barely managed to catch himself from falling flat on his face.
"You're a murderer, Ethan. How many people have died because of you? You would have killed Buffy more than once. Would have had me kill her. Why should I treat you like a human? You've never shown that you are one."
"Oh, please. Just because I don't snivel and whine at every opportunity, just because I don't break down and sob when someone gets hurt."
"You *cause* that hurt, Ethan. You're a sociopath, for god's sake."
Ethan rolled his eyes and stalked forward again, and Giles found himself glancing down to locate the poker he'd dropped.
"You've been spending too much time in California, Rupert, with their psycho-babble. I'm a sorcerer and a damn good one and I do what I have to to make a living."
"Bollocks, Ethan. There are plenty of things you could do that don't involve anyone dying."
"Magic is who I am, Giles, and quite frankly, you good guys just don't pay well enough for a man make a living. All about the charity work and the doing it for the good of humanity bit. The good of humanity really doesn't pay the rent, I'm afraid."
"Work in a bloody magic shop, then, Ethan," Giles growled.
"Oh, of course. And I suppose you'd have been content if you'd just been a grocer, then?"
They'd been slowly advancing on each other through this, and finally reached arm's length.
Giles threw the first punch, but to his surprise, Ethan blocked the blow rather handily, and returned it with one of his own that sent Giles reeling into the molding of the fireplace. The sharp edge of the mantel caught him in the side and made hot pain-sparks dance in his eyes, pain enough to make him snarl, and charge back at Ethan.
This time he landed a blow to Ethan's ribs, a knee to Ethan's hip, but Ethan grabbed him and threw them both to the side and down and they hit the floor in the hallway in a clatter of limbs and a pair of shouts, and then Giles surged up and rolled them over, pinning Ethan and managing to land another sound blow on his jaw.
Drew blood, and his heart was pounding, and his body didn't seem to care that this was a fight, not some other reason to be rolling on the floor, and when Ethan flipped them both over and drove his knee into Giles' stomach, that wasn't the only reason he was gasping for air. Hated that it wasn't the only reason, snarled dark imprecations and tried to catch his breath.
Then Ethan gestured again, and the binding magic kicked up and pinned him in place.
Ethan slipped down, straddled his knee and cupped his hand around Giles' erection. Giles' muscles twitched, but it was the only protest he could manage.
"And yet, you want me. You love this. You *lie*, Rupert."
"I can't control my bloody adrenal glands, you berk."
"Still lying," Ethan growled, as he unzipped Giles' trousers and pushed his hand inside and around Giles' cock. "You love this, Ripper."
Stroking him, now, and it was still good, in spite of everything. In spite of all of it. And Giles suddenly realized that there was nothing he could do to stop Ethan, not with the spell in place, and with the realization, relaxed completely. Almost completely. Muscles in his lower back still strained slightly to push up into the touch.
He swallowed hard, and felt his heart race.
"Good," Ethan murmured.
Then he pulled his hand away and released the spell.
The rush of disappointment shocked Giles. Why on earth would he be--
Then Ethan reached down and began stroking him again. Giles' breath slowed down, to a careful, slow beat, and he didn't want to pull away. God, he knew he should. But he could hardly stand the thought. Loved that touch, loved the way Ethan's eyes were glittering as they pinned his gaze in place as strongly as any binding spell.
It was so easy to lie there, and would be so hard to get up, fight Ethan off.
So hard to spend another night alone.
He didn't want to think. He was so bloody tired of thinking. He'd been thinking for the past six years, he just wanted to stop.
"Do you still have those handcuffs?" Ethan asked, as easily and naturally as though asking for a cup of sugar.
Giles said, softly, "I don't trust you."
Ethan leaned closer. "You don't have to. That's the thrill of it."
His hand had gone nearly still, was just moving slightly, listlessly against Giles cock. Giles breathed in, let it out, was trembling from the discomfort of being awkwardly splayed on the hard floor.
"Yes," he said. "Box, under the bed."
Standing up was sobering. Too much so, perhaps. It made him wonder why he was doing this, made him think again. It made the guilt and self-loathing spring back up, hot and searing as he stopped in the doorway of his bedroom and Ethan pulled the old pair of steel cuffs out of the junk box he kept under his bed. This was ridiculous, he hadn't even managed to go a day--
A battering, clumsy force of magic swept him onto the bed with all the grace of a child abandoning a rag doll. This meant Ethan's power was running low. It meant that if he fought back now, he'd win. He rolled over onto his back and Ethan straddled his hips.
All Giles did was put his arms over his head, and all he felt when the cuffs locked was relieved.
He barely had to move at all as Ethan unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it up around his wrists, then undid his trousers and pulled them and his pants off. He felt starkly naked next to Ethan, who hadn't even unbuttoned his shirt, but the feeling wasn't a bad one.
He closed his eyes as Ethan began to run his hands over his body. At first, they moved with surprising gentleness, touching each inch of skin, and seeking out Giles' hidden, private places. That spot just below his ear that never failed to make his breath quicken, that soft patch of skin just between his ribs and stomach, the pulse points in the crooks of his elbows and the hollow of his throat.
Then one of Ethan's thumbs found the bruise from the mantle, circled it once, and then homed in and jammed into the center. Radiating sparks of heat and pain, and Giles groaned and pushed his hips up. Pain, but good.
Ethan sought out each bruise and then, he leaned in and set his teeth against the softer parts of Giles' flesh, bit down, hard enough that Giles knew there would be bruises in the morning. Each bite a slow progression of pain, from nothing but a sensation of pressure to a blossoming awareness of too-much, to a squeezing ache that made him grunt and made his muscles contract in a subconscious desire to get away.
By the time Ethan shoved him over onto his stomach, he was sweating and hard.
Giles pushed his legs apart and groaned, "Fuck me. Please, Ethan--"
Needn't have asked. Ethan's fingers appeared moments later, slick and urgent, preparing him far too fast, there would be pain, he knew, but this time he didn't care.
He met Ethan's penetration with a string of obscenities and shoved his hips up, glorying in the stabbing pressure, the strain. Ethan still moved slower than he would have liked, but by the time they'd worked up to the real pace, by the time the bed was groaning under their fucking, he'd long forgotten that. Forgot everything, but the perfect burn of Ethan inside of him, and the flame of the cuffs around his wrists.
Ethan raked his nails around the curve of Giles' shoulder. The superficial pain was a stark, fascinating contrast to the deeper burn. It lit up nerves Giles seemed to have forgotten he had.
Giles had bent his elbows up under his chest for support, and the position pulled his wrists against the cuffs, reminded him constantly that they were there, that he was handicapped if he wanted--needed--to fight back. He had his forehead tucked against the sheets, his eyes shut, seeing nothing but the sparks in his mind.
"Ripper," Ethan breathed between his shoulder blades, and for once, it didn't sound like an insult.
Ethan had slowed his pace, and their movement together became more languid, more sensual. It was easier, in a way that let his mind wander just enough to notice smaller things, like the heat of Ethan's body against his back, and the way their legs were pressed together, parallel, heat and sweat and friction where their skin met, where coils of their body hair caught together.
He could hear the harsh rhythm of Ethan's breath echoed in his own, feel it in tropical gusts against his spine, and then Ethan's lips, dry and chapped, touching each of his vertebra from the middle of his back to his neck, then mouthing just below the hair at the nape of his neck, finding skin not accustomed to handling, where just the faintest touch sent delicate shivers of sensation to his nipples and his balls and the head of his cock.
Then Ethan's hand reaching up under him to palm the base of his shaft, then to grip him and stroke him, slow but firm. He felt his balls draw up against his body, felt the dizzying shift of impending orgasm, felt Ethan inside him, pressure and pleasure. The cuffs still digging into his wrists. The darkness before his eyes hazed red and he surged forward as he came, distantly felt Ethan all but clinging to him, and then Giles was flat on his chest on the bed, panting, and Ethan had let his weight down over him, still inside him, still moving.
He expected Ethan to rush, then, to end it, but he didn't. He took his time and pulled them over onto their sides and moved slow, with a patience and an appreciation for savoring Giles hadn't thought Ethan could possess.
By the time Ethan did come, with an understated cry, the slow sensuality and the relaxation of his own climax had lulled Giles into a near-meditative state. He was quiescent and drowsy as Ethan pulled out and away, and before Ethan had even returned from the bathroom, Giles was asleep.
tarnished -- part one -- trekker |