Threadbare; Ripper/Ethan
Feb. 23rd, 2008 08:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparklebutchTitle: Threadbare
Fandom: Buffy
Pairing: Giles/Ethan
Summary: young men, romantic evening in
There should always be a candle burning. It gives the lot a romantic feel. It's useful in case the power suddenly decides to fail. Plus you can always tip it gently over your lover's body and watch them hiss when melted wax hits their skin.
"And magic."
"And magic," Ethan agrees. "Candles are useful for that, too."
They kiss some more, by the candlelight. Open mouths, messy and wet, one hand on the back of Ethan's neck, fingers threaded in his hair. Other hand carrying his own weight, pressing against the carpet that leaves thread marks on his palm.
He doesn't know where Ethan's hands are, exactly; they travel. Fast and light, featherlike. Except when they pause here and there to squeeze, to pinch. Alternate, sharp and gentle, gentle and sharp, and isn't that just Ethan's style.
"Should always have some element of fire. And some water nearby, or wine in our case. The earth and the air are a given..."
More kissing.
"Now you're just," Ripper starts. Wants to say, you're just being pretentious, you're talking rubbish, must you push the bloody elements into everything. Doesn't say so, because Ethan whispers a word and the little flame on the candle nearest them starts to dance. Ripper watches, fascinated, until the view is obstructed.
Ethan tastes of the cheap wine and of come. It shouldn't taste as good as it does.
He ends up on his back, on the carpet, and slings his arm up over his head. Cold concrete floor, and he pulls his arm back in a hurry. Ethan's on top of him the whole time, kissing, tasting, touching. Making those small hungry sounds.
"Incubus," Ripper murmurs.
"Not quite," Ethan smiles against his chest, and just to make a point, bites him. Sharp teeth. Ripper arches, up and towards the pain. Opens his eyes, which he didn't know he closed.
The ceiling's cracked. Big wet patch in the corner. Ethan's warm against him, sliding up and down him like the best porn. Hard, lithe body. Sparkling eyes.
"Is there any point to it all?" Ripper wonders aloud.
Ethan licks, nibbles. "Have you gone existential on me, Ripper?", in between wet sounds.
"I'd want to marry you," Ripper says to the ceiling. His hand is in Ethan's hair again, but slips away when Ethan sits up.
"Some day," he says and it's almost serious. Might've been, except Ripper knows it's Ethan, and so can't be.
They make love on the filthy carpet, or at least that’s what it feels like at the time, in the moment. They make love and Ripper watches Ethan's face during orgasm, contorted and elated and completely unselfconscious. There is a moment in sex, brief and fleeting, where Ethan lets go. Ripper holds back as much as he can, just to capture these moments.
In the morning, the carpet is just a little bit dirtier than it was the night before. The candles all burnt out, and the only light is the measly grey filtering from outside through boards and broken glass. Ethan wakes and drags himself to a more comfortable corner.
Ripper lingers on for a few moments still, then joins his lover on the mattress. Curls around him, protective, protected. He's not sure. Their bed.
He falls asleep and doesn't wake again until evening.
Fandom: Buffy
Pairing: Giles/Ethan
Summary: young men, romantic evening in
There should always be a candle burning. It gives the lot a romantic feel. It's useful in case the power suddenly decides to fail. Plus you can always tip it gently over your lover's body and watch them hiss when melted wax hits their skin.
"And magic."
"And magic," Ethan agrees. "Candles are useful for that, too."
They kiss some more, by the candlelight. Open mouths, messy and wet, one hand on the back of Ethan's neck, fingers threaded in his hair. Other hand carrying his own weight, pressing against the carpet that leaves thread marks on his palm.
He doesn't know where Ethan's hands are, exactly; they travel. Fast and light, featherlike. Except when they pause here and there to squeeze, to pinch. Alternate, sharp and gentle, gentle and sharp, and isn't that just Ethan's style.
"Should always have some element of fire. And some water nearby, or wine in our case. The earth and the air are a given..."
More kissing.
"Now you're just," Ripper starts. Wants to say, you're just being pretentious, you're talking rubbish, must you push the bloody elements into everything. Doesn't say so, because Ethan whispers a word and the little flame on the candle nearest them starts to dance. Ripper watches, fascinated, until the view is obstructed.
Ethan tastes of the cheap wine and of come. It shouldn't taste as good as it does.
He ends up on his back, on the carpet, and slings his arm up over his head. Cold concrete floor, and he pulls his arm back in a hurry. Ethan's on top of him the whole time, kissing, tasting, touching. Making those small hungry sounds.
"Incubus," Ripper murmurs.
"Not quite," Ethan smiles against his chest, and just to make a point, bites him. Sharp teeth. Ripper arches, up and towards the pain. Opens his eyes, which he didn't know he closed.
The ceiling's cracked. Big wet patch in the corner. Ethan's warm against him, sliding up and down him like the best porn. Hard, lithe body. Sparkling eyes.
"Is there any point to it all?" Ripper wonders aloud.
Ethan licks, nibbles. "Have you gone existential on me, Ripper?", in between wet sounds.
"I'd want to marry you," Ripper says to the ceiling. His hand is in Ethan's hair again, but slips away when Ethan sits up.
"Some day," he says and it's almost serious. Might've been, except Ripper knows it's Ethan, and so can't be.
They make love on the filthy carpet, or at least that’s what it feels like at the time, in the moment. They make love and Ripper watches Ethan's face during orgasm, contorted and elated and completely unselfconscious. There is a moment in sex, brief and fleeting, where Ethan lets go. Ripper holds back as much as he can, just to capture these moments.
In the morning, the carpet is just a little bit dirtier than it was the night before. The candles all burnt out, and the only light is the measly grey filtering from outside through boards and broken glass. Ethan wakes and drags himself to a more comfortable corner.
Ripper lingers on for a few moments still, then joins his lover on the mattress. Curls around him, protective, protected. He's not sure. Their bed.
He falls asleep and doesn't wake again until evening.
