tarnished -- part three -- trekker |
Chapter Eight | |
Love and War |
He'd been convinced he was dead, but he'd still thrown the last of his energy into knocking back the demons, just once, even though it knocked him out. His reasoning, such as it was in that moment of panic, was at least he'd be unconscious. He'd collapsed and not even felt himself hit the roof.
And yet, the next time he'd opened his eyes, he was not dead. The smell of tar, from the roof sealant, filled his nose, and the world was blurry but still present around him and he wasn't even in very much pain. Well, he was in no more pain than he'd expect to be after draining himself so spectacularly.
He'd raised his head slightly, trying to figure out why he wasn't dead, and the first thing he'd been able to focus on was the dingy hem of Giles' jeans. Ripper. Ripper was there. Standing over him. Cursing, actually. Ethan had squinted and peered up just in time to see Giles drive his sword through a demon's gut. Ripper. Saving his life.
He'd passed out again, and the next time he'd awoken, Giles had been kneeling over him, feeling for his pulse.
He passed out again after a weak quip or two, and then woke up a third time, rudely and abruptly, to the shock of smelling salts. He coughed and batted the acrid scent away.
"What--" he choked, wondering why anyone would be so cruel.
"Can you walk?" Giles asked.
"No, go away," Ethan snapped. The ground was comfy, and the demons were gone for the moment. Why should he move?
"Get up, Ethan," Giles said, the same way he used to sometimes when he was feeling restless at ridiculous hours of the morning. Like eleven.
"No."
But Ripper just grabbed his arm and hooked it around his shoulder and manhandled him to his feet anyway, with the assistance of someone smallish and all-too-strong. Ethan glanced over to find Lisa helping to prop him up. Katie hovered a few feet away, looking concerned and bloody. Fortunately, it seemed to be demon blood.
"I've got him," Giles said, tugging Ethan's weight over onto him as though Ethan wasn't actually present to have a say in the situation. At which point Ethan noticed for the first time that he was no longer actually on the roof, but on the ground, next to the office. His head ached and his feet didn't seem to want to cooperate with him.
"Come on," Giles said, somewhat gentler. "We're setting up just across the street. It's not far."
It seemed far, though. It was a big street, after all. Giles let him stop now and then to catch his breath. Ethan tried to ignore the concern in his eyes. Also tried to ignore the way Lisa and Katie were scanning the streets with that predatory alertness that suggested the demons may not be as gone as he'd believed and that perhaps they were still in danger of being eaten at any moment.
They reached the building, finally. A bank. The girls were camped out on the floor already, some with wounds wrapped in gauze, others just dusty and bloody and tired. Ethan would have been happy just to collapse inside the door and take a nice nap on the shiny blue marble. Giles didn't seem to like that plan though, and hauled him through the crowd of Slayers back to a hallway lined with glass-fronted offices.
"Oh, so we... rate an office... tonight, eh?" Ethan asked, using up, by his own estimate, all the breath he'd have to spare for the rest of the week.
"Special privilege for the wounded hero," Giles said, with his usual dryness, as he let Ethan sit down, finally, on the sleeping bags someone had already laid out.
"You're wounded?" Ethan said, looking at him but not seeing any human blood.
Giles frowned a bit, and said, "Was that a joke, or an actual question?"
"I have no idea," Ethan said, then collapsed happily on the semi-softness of the sleeping bags.
"That's all right," Giles said, and Ethan, snuggling down into the warm blankets, couldn't find it in him to be annoyed by the patronizing tone. Especially not after Giles laid down next to him and pulled him into his arms. Yes, this was a vast improvement over unconsciousness on the cold pavement. Perhaps it had been worth the effort of walking across the street, after all.
Then he more or less pleasantly drifted in a doze for some time.
Until Giles murmured "You drained your power, yes?"
"Mmm," Ethan said, in an agreeable tone.
"What do you need?"
"Time. Rest."
"How much time?"
"Don't know. Never quite did myself this badly before, actually," Ethan said, waking up slightly, and feeling for the first time a small flicker of panic at just how exhausted he was.
He shut his eyes again. Giles moved under him, then gripped his arm and tugged Ethan over top him a bit more, as though he were a human blanket. Ethan settled against him, trying not to wonder how the hell he was going to be able to keep up with the troops the next day, but then, Giles took his hand, and pulled it between them. Then he spread Ethan's hand flat over the center of his own chest, and held it there, in the warm pressure between their bodies.
Ethan's eyes snapped open.
"Giles--"
"Do it. Slowly, and it won't hurt me."
He knew what Giles was offering, to allow him to drain his magic to replenish his own. Done wrong, done fast, it could easily be fatal. Giles had, in fact, carried the scars from Willow's attack for months afterward. Done slowly, though, it would still hurt, but it wouldn't harm him, any more than mild bloodloss might.
"It's all right," Giles said. He reached up and stroked his fingers lightly through Ethan's hair. Ethan didn't move, for as long as he could hold himself up, which wasn't long. Then he tucked his face against Giles' shoulder.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," Giles said, and Ethan felt him relax, all but for his hand, that pressed Ethan's own a little more firmly to his chest.
***
Willow trailed Buffy down the hall from the office they'd claimed for the night.
"I screwed up," Buffy said, "I screwed up bad, Willow."
"Buffy--"
"I should have--we were totally unprepared for that--"
"We won, Buffy."
"By luck!"
"No, we won because we had the right people. That's called good planning, ok?"
"We were lucky."
Willow sighed. "Fine. Fine, just--ok."
They were walking down the hall from the office they'd claimed, back towards the bank floor where most of the Slayers had gathered. Willow glanced over at the last office as they passed, just to see how Giles and Ethan were doing. And for a moment, she stopped dead in her tracks.
She tried to keep going after that, as quickly as possible, but Buffy had seen her step falter, and looked where she'd looked.
Buffy just stopped and flat-out stared through the glass front of the office, looking grossed-out. "Ok. Hello? Exhibitionist much?"
"Buffy, they're not--"
"Wait a minute," Buffy said, peering closer, as though Willow hadn't spoken, "What the hell is he doing to Giles?"
Willow caught her arm before she could storm indignantly into the office.
"He's... borrowing his power."
"What? Whoa, wait a minute. That looks like... like... isn't that what you did? He's going to--"
"Buff, relax. It doesn't have to hurt him. If you're careful, it's not dangerous. I just..."
*I wasn't,* she added, silently, and the memory still hurt. Which was as it should be.
"How do you know he even asked first?" Buffy said, still looking like she was plotting homicide, "How do you know he's being careful?"
"Giles told me he was going to offer. So *I* wouldn't freak out, actually. Come on, Buffy, leave them alone."
"He offered?"
"Yeah. Ethan drained his power pretty bad. It's... it's not a good thing to do."
Buffy didn't seem to be planning on going anywhere, however, and, as eight years of hanging with Buffy and a year of living with Kennedy had taught Willow, a stubborn Slayer is the proverbial immobile object and Willow knew she was no unstoppable force... unless she resorted to witchy mojo, which would definitely have been a bit of overkill in this case.
"Just... don't kill him, ok?" Willow said. "I'm going."
As far as she was concerned, it was a private moment, and she was going to be elsewhere.
***
Willow walked away, and Buffy was left standing alone in the hall staring through the glass at this nearly-inexplicable spectacle. Giles, with Ethan sprawled on top of him, like they were in a far more intimate situation... or maybe like this was, in fact, an intimate situation. Both of their hands together, resting over Giles' heart, a faint yellow glow where Ethan's palm met Giles' chest. Ethan had his head ducked down against Giles' shoulder, blocking most of her view of Giles' face, but from what she could see--eyes squeezed shut, brow deeply furrowed--he did seem to be in pain... but belying that pain was his free hand which gently ruffled through Ethan's hair. Ethan too, seemed to be stressed. Teeth gritted, eyes shut.
*Drink me,* she remembered, suddenly, sharply, with the intensity of a flashback. Angel's teeth sinking into her throat. She could remember it all. The pain, the cold stone floor beneath her back, the deep ache of bloodloss. But more... the passion. The needy sounds Angel made, that had sent a shudder of desire through her that matched or even exceeded the feeling of making love to him. Above all, her desire to save him. To give whatever she needed to save him. The fierce, angry, painful joy of giving herself so he would live.
Love. Sacrifice.
Giles' hand flinched, and clenched, and she saw his body go tense for a moment, saw Ethan's lips move, a whisper, and then Giles slowly relax again, his hand motionless--no, shaking--and half-curled for a moment before going back to running through Ethan's hair.
Her lips parted slightly, suddenly dry, and she swallowed hard.
She was intruding on a moment she shouldn't be seeing. Quietly, all the rage drained away and left her strangely empty and shaky and different. She turned her eyes away and continued on out into the body of the bank. There were other people who needed her.
***
It hurt. No two ways around that. It was not, in and of itself, even by any means the good kind of hurt. Giles breathed slowly through the pain, concentrated on the soft strands of cool hair around his fingertips, Ethan's occasional whispered apology, the feeling of both of their bodies shaking, his own from the ache, Ethan's from the effort of restraint. It was intimate, the way his magic slipped into Ethan. He could sense him, his pleasure, his concern, everything. Half-read his thoughts, though not as strongly as he'd read Willow's, that time.
"Gods," Ethan gasped, coinciding with a small, sharp, painful jerk, "Great gods. Rupert."
Pain, but Giles was hard. Ethan was hard. Was moving against him now, small restless hitches of his hips, his breath hot and fast through Giles' shirt at his shoulder. Giles moaned softly. A moment later, the pain began to ease, Ethan let the flow slacken.
His hand drifted down, through Ethan's hair--loving the length it was at now, just long enough to catch in coils around the first knuckles of his fingers--to the warm nape of Ethan's neck, and curled there. Warm skin. He felt the echo of Ethan's pleasure at his touch through the faint link between them, feeding into his own, a feedback loop. It was good, very good, and almost subconsciously, he held Ethan a little tighter. Pushed his hips up against Ethan's as Ethan continued to fidget.
He wasn't quite sure if it was really him or if it was Ethan who didn't seem to care that they were in full view of anyone who happened to walk down that hall. Touching him now seemed more vital than breathing. He wrapped an arm around Ethan, held him close and tight as Ethan raised his head, nuzzled up Giles' neck and then they sank into a deep kiss. Giles just let his body do what it wanted, let himself press up into Ethan's solidness and weight.
Ethan's movements picked up in intensity and in intent. They rolled against each other, gasping against their kiss, the pain fading away to nothing as the sex hormones flooded his bloodstream.
It was good, and quick. Ethan's hand pushed between them to stroke him through his trousers, and Giles quickly moved to return the favor. Ethan came first and Giles followed him shortly.
Giles panted as he collapsed bonelessly across the sleeping bags. He grinned as Ethan began to chuckle.
"Blood hell, we need to get cleaned up. I only have one other pair of trousers," Ethan said.
"Right. We do," Giles said. But after a moment of neither of them moving except to snuggle closer and shift their hips uncomfortably, he added, "But I don't want to get up."
Ethan hummed in an agreeable tone and snuggled a little closer. It would have been odd if it hadn't been so nice, actually. Giles just went with it, sighing contentedly and holding his lover close. Which lasted about all of ten seconds before they both scrambled to their feet with a cursory, mutual, "Clean up. Yes. Now."
Fortunately, there was a restroom down the hall, saving them from the dangerous trek through the bank floor full of Slayers with their... enhanced senses or whatever it was they actually had. Even Giles wasn't entirely sure if that was part of the Slayer's abilities. In any case, it wasn't an issue. Also fortunate was the fact that, though this part of the city lacked power, it still had running water.
And a final fortunate fact was that they were, naturally, using the men's room which was, given the ratio of males to females, deserted. Through the wall they could hear a faint cacophony of voices debating something in the neighboring women's restroom. They both broke down into highly unmanly giggles as they undid their trousers almost in sync. Giles chuckled again and shook his head.
"I used to have dignity, you know," he said.
"Really?" Ethan said, taking the paper towel Giles offered. "When was this?"
Giles swiped his paper towel under the running faucet, not really looking at what he was doing, because Ethan, grinning, was much more interesting.
"I'm fairly certain I had it for a few years in my thirties."
"I'm sure you did," Ethan said, with all the patronization he could manage... which was a great deal. However, any air of superiority he may have mustered was nullified a moment later when he stuck his hand down his pants and then yelped, "Shit, that's fucking cold."
Giles tried to fight it, but lost the battle and broke down in laughter again.
"Oh, dear lord," he gasped as he got a hold of himself. "Three days into this damn war and I'm already sleep-deprived and inappropriately giddy. This doesn't bode well."
"Well, fortunately, you're charming when you're giddy. Or at least amusing. For the moment."
"Trust me, it will get old fast," Giles said. Then giggled a little more. Then said, "Oh, god. Kill me now."
But when he looked up, he found Ethan suddenly grave. Ethan looked away, tossed his paper towel in the trash, turned to lean back against the sink, and zipped up his trousers.
"Ethan?"
Giles zipped his own trousers, sensing this shift in mood called for being fully clothed. Ethan's lips had slimmed down to a thin, pale line, and his eyes narrowed.
"Rupert..." he said, but didn't go on for quite a while. Giles waited. Let him work through whatever it was that was running through his mind, enough turmoil that Giles could sense it even though the link had already faded to almost nothing.
"Thank you," Ethan finally said. "For saving my life."
There was nothing to say to that but, "You're welcome."
"Giles... I--" Ethan didn't manage to finish that sentence. Eventually, with his arms crossed tightly across his chest and his eyes fixed on a point on the floor, he simply started over with, "Just for the record, how naive am I? If I think this could last?"
Some part of Giles seemed as though it had been waiting for almost a year now for a question like this, and the answer came easily, with a small surge of joy, mixed with relief and a little fear.
"No more naive than I am," he said.
Ethan's small smile looked like it hurt. "Oh, good. At least we're both fools, then."
"Well, that is what makes us so good together," Giles cracked, lightly.
"Ever so true," Ethan said. Giles saw him swallow hard, and understood the feeling, the thin veneer of humor that he was clinging to. When Giles stepped close and kissed him, he tasted like tears, but his eyes were dry when they parted.
"I love you, Ethan."
Ethan huffed a small, sad laugh. "You know I've been waiting thirty years to hear you say that again."
"I wasn't... sure, how you..." Giles said, suddenly scared that perhaps Ethan didn't... that it was too late.
"I've always loved you, Giles. Even when I hated you. Even before I knew you. It was always you."
"Ah. Well, then. That's. Good."
"Such enthusiasm," Ethan said, smirking a bit.
Giles narrowed his eyes. "You want enthusiasm? I'll give you enthusiasm."
Ethan grinned into the kiss.
tarnished -- part three -- trekker |