The London Sonnets

Spoilers: Anything through Buffy S4 is fair game.
Rating: PG-13/R
Disclaimer: Property of Joss and ME. Just playing.
Summary: Back to the table.
A/N: Follows Or Some Fierce Thing Replete With Too Much Rage. The title is taken from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18. Without the awesome Savvy my procrastination would take hold and subject this to limbo which would be a tragic, tragic thing. And I must thank Joyce who keeps surprising me. For previous installments of the Menageaverse, please visit our website at www.responsibleadults.sadbhyl.riverworld.net.


Ethan set Joyce carefully on her feet. As she stood there in silent shock, he set about straightening her clothes.

“Joyce?” he asked softly.

She blinked. “I’m going to go use the restroom. I’ll be right out.”

With that, she left him in the dark alcove alone.

After attending to clean up, Joyce went over to the mirror to make sure she still looked presentable.

Shining eyes stared back over still-flushed cheeks. Her lips were also a little puffy. She looked well and thoroughly ravaged.

Joyce realized that she was still on edge. The violence of her emotions had abated somewhat, but the fierce sense of possession and jealousy still lingered. What was wrong with her? Just because Rupert was chatting with some woman? Why did she feel like she was about to lose control?

Unable to find any answers, she pushed the thoughts away. Joyce washed her hands and went out to find Ethan waiting.

“It didn’t go away, did it?” he asked knowingly.

Sometimes he read her too well. “I think we should probably get back to Rupert,” she said.

He studied her closely, then frowned. “Yes, we probably should.”

Joyce followed Ethan as they made their way back to the table. She wasn’t sure what to think about what had gone on between them. Especially the violence of her response. The sheer aggression she felt while she and Ethan fucked . . . she’d never felt anything like that before. Seeing Rupert with the blond woman had made her feel very possessive suddenly. Like her territory was being threatened. Speaking of which . . . Joyce felt her blood rise again as they neared the table. Not wanting to think too much about the reason behind her feelings, Joyce brushed past Ethan and stalked up behind Rupert.

“We leave you alone for a few minutes and you find yourself someone new?” she said, voice low and seductive, biting at his ear. “Couldn’t you wait your turn like a good boy?”

She sat on Ethan’s lap as both men gaped at her. The woman was unreadable.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend, Ripper?” Ethan, the first to recover, prompted, taking charge of things. Calm as he sounded, Joyce could feel the tension running through him, the feather-light touches of his fingers ghosting across her thighs increasing in intensity.

“Joyce Summers. Ethan Rayne. I’d like you to meet an old colleague of mine, Cassandra Jameson,” Rupert said.

“Summers?” Cassandra inquired. Then with a laugh, “It’s a good thing you’re no longer with the Council, Rupert.”

Council? Joyce liked this woman even less.

“For a number of reasons,” Rupert said flatly.

Cassandra nodded. “Of course. So, Joyce, Rupert tells me you work at an art gallery.”

“Own, actually,” Joyce returned coldly.

“Impressive.”

“I like to think so.” Joyce felt Ethan squeeze her thigh. She turned to glare at him. “Play nice,” he mouthed. Frowning, she turned back to Cassandra, “You’re a Watcher then? That must be difficult.”

“An uphill struggle for the most part, but it will be worth it in the end,” she said, her voice proud.

“Cassandra, if you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Rupert stood. “Joyce, would you care to dance?”

“I’m not really . . .” she stopped, reading his look. He was not happy. “Sure.”

As they took the floor, Joyce spared a glance back at Ethan who was already carrying on a conversation with Rupert’s friend.

“Joyce, what’s going on?” There was concern in Rupert’s voice, and maybe just a touch of anger.

“Nothing,” she said lightly, looking anywhere but at Rupert.

“Joyce, look at me,” Rupert said in a voice that brooked no argument, so she did. “Cassandra Jameson is an old friend, that’s all.”

“Like Ethan is an old friend?” she asked tersely.

“No,” he said firmly, but she noticed a shadow pass across his face.

“You were her lover!” Joyce exclaimed.

“It was a long time ago, back in the Academy,” he answered with resignation. “And a mistake.”

Joyce just shrugged.

“Is there something else? You don’t seem quite yourself. Did Ethan—”

Fuck me hard in a dark corner, yes, yes he did, she wanted to say. Instead, “No. Ethan’s fine. And a much better dancer than you,” she said realizing they were standing still.

She cringed at the look of hurt that crossed his face.

“Rupert, I’m sorry, I just . . .” Joyce pulled away. “I think I need to go get some air.”

Leaving Rupert and his protests behind her, Joyce fled past the bathrooms and alcove out into the dark back alley.

What was wrong with her? Joyce leaned shaking against the cold brickwork. She wasn’t being fair and she knew it. But there was something about Cassandra Jameson she didn’t like on sight, literally. And then talking to her had only made things worse.

It wasn’t like her relationship with Rupert was exclusive or anything. Early on they had laid that out. But for her, at least, it had been. Not by any conscious thought. She just didn’t desire men who weren’t Rupert or Ethan.

She began to pace. Things had finally started going well and then this Cassandra woman had to show up and . . .

The door creaked open behind her. Probably Rupert checking up on her.

“I’m fine really, I just need some—” When she felt the light weight of a hand on her shoulder, Joyce realized it wasn’t Rupert. “Cassandra.”

“Joyce,” the woman nodded, removing her hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but I wanted to see how you were. Did I do something to offend you?”

Where do I begin? “No, of course not.”

“Rupert is an old colleague, nothing more, I assure you.”

“But used to be more,” Joyce said, trying very hard to hang on to the calm she had nearly regained.

“Yes, when we were still practically children. But we found we got along better as friends,” Cassandra explained. “You’re a very fortunate woman, Joyce. He’s a good man. Couldn’t keep his eyes off you while you were dancing with . . . Ethan, was it?”

“He couldn’t?” she asked, too much hope in the question for her liking.

“I just thought you’d like to know.” Then after a pause, “Well, I should probably get going.”

“I’m sorry, Cassandra, I didn’t mean to—”

“You had every right. And I wouldn’t leave, except there are some things I need to take care of tonight. Shouldn’t have stayed as long as I have as it is,” Cassandra cut her off. “Should I send Rupert or Ethan out here?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Just need to clear my head a bit more.”

“Understood. It was good to meet you tonight, Joyce,” she said, before leaving Joyce alone in the alley again.

Joyce still didn’t like Cassandra, but she did feel bad about how she had treated the other woman. Oh well, what was done was done. There was nothing she could do about it now except for feel like a fool. Well there was something she could do. Go nd tnd try and salvage the evening with Rupert and Ethan. She could probably find a way to make it up to them.

She had her hand on the door to reenter the club, when Joyce heard a crash behind her in the alley. Living in Sunnydale had its benefits. A quick glance into the shadows behind her was more than enough to convince Joyce to get inside fast. She pulled at the door. Only it didn’t open. Wonderful, probably locked from the inside. Maybe it wouldn’t have been a bad idea to have had Cassandra send one of the guys back.

Well, there was nothing for it, she would just have to go round to the front of the club. Hopefully it was just a stray cat. She knew that was a foolish hope even before she turned around and saw what had caused the disturbance.