Artistic License

Spoilers: None
Rating: NC-17
Completed: April 2, 2004
Disclaimer: Property of Joss and ME. Just playing.
Summary: After leaving Joyce at the gallery, Giles and Ethan must
find a way to pass the time and not kill each other.
A/N: Set in the Ménageaverse. Part two in the Artistic License series.
Immediately follows Pre-Columbian Art.
Explores the darker aspects of Ethan and Giles’ relationship.
And a big thank you to Sadbhyl for the beta.

“Don’t say anything,” Giles said as they got in his car.

“What is there to say?” Ethan countered.

Giles threw him an exasperated look before turning the key. The car gave a grumble before starting to life.

Toying with the window, Ethan statee obe obvious, “You could have said no.”

Not bloody likely. Giles was learning very quickly that it was nearly impossible to say no to Joyce. Not nearly. It was impossible.

“She already has us whipped, you know,” Ethan responded to his silence. “Joyce says go, so we go. And I know the last thing you want to do right now is spend quality one-on-one time with me.”

Giles focused on the road. If he ignored Ethan long enough he just might shut up. Right. The chances of that were about as good as his saying no to Joyce.

“Why in the hell did you have to come back now?” he said finally.

Ethan flashed him one of his knowing smirks. “Because I knew it would piss you off the most.”

The car came to a screeching halt outside Giles’ apartment. Grabbing his keys, Giles got out, slamming the door behind him.

“Careful. Wouldn’t want you to destroy your Citroen on account of me.” Ethan warned with mock severity.

Ripper reached out lightning quick, and grasping Ethan by the collar, flung him against the car, pinning him there, hand tight against his throat.

“Don’t you dare use Joyce like that,” he growled. “She’s not some pawn to be used in your sick game against me.”

“Give me some credit,” Ethan croaked against Giles’ hold.

“I won’t let you hurt her. She’s been through enough,” Ripper pullack ack somewhat.

“I assure you,” Ethan said, taking advantage of his momentary freedom to break out of Giles’ grasp. He twisted behind and pinned Giles tightly against the car, effectively trapping him there, “harming Joyce is the farthest thing from my mind.”

Ethan leaned close and bit lightly at Giles’ ear. Giles tried unsuccessfully to suppress the groan elicited by the act.

Ethan’s tongue darted out, teasing the lobe. “You forget, Ripper, old man, I’ve always known you better than you’ve known yourself. The fact of the matter is, you never liked to share.”

Giles attempted to deny this, but one of Ethan’s skillful hands found its way down and was firmly pressed against his already prominent erection.

“And you know what upsets you the most?” Ethan whispered, massaging him.

“That you’re still a smug son of a bitch,” Giles forced his voice to come out even.

Ethan increased the pressure of his ministrations. Against his will, Giles found himself pressing back against Ethan, seeking more contact.

“Is the truth really that awful?” Ethan coaxed.

The blood having left his head, Giles was finding it very difficult to remember why exactly he had been upset. Ethan, always the master manipulator. While Giles may have forgotten, Ethan, it seemed, remembered exactly how much his touch always affected him. Just as his balls started to clench, readying for release, Ethan pulled back, denying Giles the satisfaction he craved.

“What upsets you most,” Ethan said, backing away and waiting until Giles had turned before he finished, “is that when you walked in on Joyce and me, you weren’t sure which one of us you wanted more.”

Jangling the keys he had managed to get a hold of, Ethan made his way toward the apartment, leaving Giles alone, frustrated in more ways than one.

“Arrogant, self-serving, egotistical . . .” Giles muttered to himself.

Setting his jaw, Giles began to walk toward the apartment. He knew full well that Ethan was just baiting Ripper to come out and play. Always did know the right buttons to push. Ripper smirked, he was more than willing to oblige.

He found Ethan raiding his liquor cabinet.

“Good to see you still have some taste. Twelve year old scotch, very nice,” Ethan appraised, grabbing the decanter and pouring himself a glass. Before he could drink, Ripper took the glass from him and drank it down.

“How considerate of you,” Ripper said, voice smooth as silk, tossing the glass aside.

“I have my moments,” Ethan stood his ground as Ripper approached.

“Few and far between.”

“Makes them all the more meaningful,” Ethan said lightly, moving to step around him.

Ripper’s hand shot out, gripping Ethan’s upper arm hard enough to bruise. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Away from your liquor cabinet. Would hate to damage such a fine piece. Nineteenth century?” Getting no response. “I’ve always preferred more modern styles myself. Particularly Art Deco. I find the simplicity soothing.”

Ripper narrowed his eyes, calculating his next move.

“I man man of many tastes,” Ethan clarified. Then looking at his arm, “Are you going to make a move some time this century?”

Using his hold, Ripper swung Ethan forward, sending him flying against the end table. “You never know when to bloody shut up, do you?”

Ethan wiped at his lip, bloody from biting it in his fall. “Apparently not.”

Latching onto Ethan’s shirtfront, Ripper hauled him to his feet and held him close. “I would think after all these years you would have learned that much.”

“And ruin my fun?” he blinked innocently.

Ripper attacked Ethan’s mouth then, violently and unrelenting, tongue pushing inside with vicious intent. He subverted Ethan’s attempts to respond; Ripper was in control. And when Ripper had enough, he pushed the other man away.

Ethan stumbled but managed to stay upright, challenging him to do his worst.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Ethan said, backing up, leading, not retreating. “Letting go after all this time.”

Ethan was back-handed into the wall. Then Ripper was on him, pinning him against the stucco. Ethan opened his mouth to say something more but Ripper cut him off, delving in deep, swallowing the smartass comment as he reached between them and undid his own pants.

Finally, Ripper stopped and took a step back. With his pants open, his cock stood out proudly. “Why don’t you finish what you std?” d?” It really wasn’t a request.

Ethan dropped to his knees obediently, eyes dancing. In one swift movement, he took the shaft all the way into his mouth, head to base, and then reversed, tongue swirling to the tip. Then down again, tongue only, pressing firm against the underside.

Ripper threaded his hands through the other man’s hair, as much for guidance as for balance. He let his head drop back, giving himself over completely. Ethan had always given great head, and the nearly two decades that had passed since the last time had only improved his skill. Soon Ripper felt the familiar tightening taking hold, but Ethan didn’t pull back and instead latched on firm, drawing him out.

“God, Ethan,” Ripper came with a shuddering groan, hands jumping to the wall for support as he spent himself inside Ethan’s still working mouth.

Ethan finished with a final lick and got to his feet, a look of smug satisfaction toying about his lips.

Breath slowing, Ripper turned his head. “Upstairs. Now,” he said, voice commanding and cold.

Without a word, Ethan started on his way, undoing his buttons as he went. Ripper watched as Ethan dropped his shirt, then turned his attention to undoing his pants as he ascending the stairs. At the top he toed off his shoes, dropped the pants, and turned into the bedroom.

Ripper shifted and his own pants fell to the floor. He kicked them away with his driving m the then slid off the boxer-briefs (unfortunately white). His sweater landed on the banister as he walked up the stairs. And his shirt joined Ethan’s pants at the landing.

Ethan lay sprawled on the bed, propped up against the pillows and patiently waiting.

The men faced off, never breaking eye contact until Ripper reached the nightstand. Opening the drawer, he removed the box of condoms and newly purchased lubricant, setting them on top.

Ethan made as if to turn.

“No.” Giles shook his head. To answer Ethan’s perplexed look, he got on the other side of the bed and knelt in front of the headboard. Gripping his hands at the top, he cocked his head to look at Ethan.

“Ripper?” the man asked, uncertain.

Giles shook his hand.

“Rupert,” Ethan said. “This isn’t how—”

“Things change, Ethan,” he said, Ripper creeping back for just a moment.

When they had been together in the past, two things were an absolute certainty: they played rough and Ripper almost always took Ethan. He rarely liked to give up complete control. But on rare occasions, when he felt particularly trusting, he would let Ethan fuck him. The older they had gotten, the less Ripper gave up and the more he took, until he finally left having gone too far. And now, twenty years later, when he trusted Ethan the least, Giles was willing to give control to the other man.

“Why?” Ethan still wasn’t sure. After all these years, the confidence still didn’t extend this far.

Taking a deep breath and certain he would live to regret what he was about to say, “Because I want . . . because I need you.”

Surprisingly, no witty remark or sharp retort came in response. Ethan simply nodded.

Giles looked back at the wall and braced himself, waiting. Surely Ethan would use this to his full advantage. But if things were going to continue between the three of them, he had to be willing to trust Ethan this far.

Instead of the cold, slick intrusion he had been expecting, Giles was surprised when he felt warm lips softly kissing along his left shoulder toward his neck and across to his right, then back. As Ethan approached his neck on the return trip, Giles felt one finger slide slowly inside, almost tentative. When the second finger was inserted, a groan escaped unbidden and his cock twitched back to attention.

Ethan established a careful rhythm, giving Giles the chance to remember and relax. The fingers were removed and the head of Ethan’s cock pressed gradually into the prepared opening.

“I will stop,” Ethan said, voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Don’t,” Giles grunted as Ethan inched farther in.

Finally, all the way in, Ethan pressed against his back, left hand by Giles’ on the headboard and right stroking lightly across Giles’ front. Ethan began to move, small thrusts at first, but then pulling out a bit more each time to sink deeper. His hand kept time, working through the delicate coarse hairs that covered Giles’ chest and stomach.

“Fuck . . . Rupert . . . so good . . .” Ethan panted close to his ear.

The right hand finally trailed low enough to brush against Giles’ aching cock. He moaned and Ethan grabbed on, pumping in front to match the rhythm he set behind. Giles clung to the headboard, already close again, but waiting for Ethan. Soon the other man began to tense and Giles leaned into the thrusts more. Ethan’s left hand worked over until it was resting atop Giles’ hand. He gripped tightly as he began to shudder. Giles came as well, overwhelmed both inside and out.

They knelt there, worn and sweaty, coming down together.

“What are you doing to me?” Ethan mumbled against his back.

Giles was thinking the very same thing. What had they gotten into?

~*~

Joyce entered the apartment, careful to close and lock the door behind her. Setting her bag down, she took in the room. A scotch glass lay forgotten by a pair of pants. The end table had been knocked over and next to it lay Ethan’s shirt. She carefully picked her way through the debris. Things were quiet, almost too quiet. Maybe they had killed each other. Joyce shook her head. While something had gone on, it didn’t look like murder.

She quietly made her way up the stairs, leaving her shoes at the bottom. Reaching the bedroom, she peeked her head in and smiled. Rupert and Ethan were collapsed on the bed, glistening in the dim light, asleep.

Undressing, Joyce went to the foot of the bed. Oh so carefully, she got on and began to stealthily crawl up and between the two men. She could wake them up, but such a shame to disturb them when they looked so peaceful. It was probably the only time they wouldn’t argue with each other. Well, they would have a pleasant surprise to wake up to.

Joyce lay down comfortably between them, Ethan on her right and Rupert on her left. She was just starting to drop off when she felt slight movement. She barely registered the feel of silk before she found her wrists tied and bound to the upper corners of the bed.

Blinking her eyes open, she saw Rupert and Ethan watching her.

“Good evening, Joyce,” they shared identical smirks.

Joyce glanced at her restraints, and realized she could probably get out if she wanted to. But that was the last thing she wanted.