Hushed

Spoilers: None
Rating: NC-17
Completed: April 10, 2004
Spoilers: “Hush” through “New Man”
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Property of Joss and ME. Just playing.
Summary: Giles has promised Buffy that he would keep an eye on Ethan and Joyce for the evening. Silly Buffy.
A/N: Follows The Sound of Silence. I was afraid I’d broken my beta at some point during this. I couldn’t do it without you, Savvy.


It was almost too good to be true. Buffy really couldn’t suspect a thing if she was asking Joyce to spend the night at Rupert’s. Joyce was very glad she had decided to pack more than one change of clothes the night before. Buffy had laughed at her for years for always packing extra, just in case. Looked like the habit had finally paid off.

The questioned remained, however: What now? More research, apparently, since Rupert had turned his attention back to his texts. Even Ethan had returned to the sketch he had been working on. Curious, she made her way to the back of the couch and peered over his shoulder.

Ethan had drawn a fairly good likeness of Willow, but at the same time it wasn’t Willow. At least not a Willow she had ever seen. There were no traces of the upbeat girl in the rendering. Instead a young woman with cold, black eyes stared angrily out from the page. Several words had been scattered around as a loose sort of frame. Power. Darkness. Guidance.

Joyce realized Ethan had stopped working and was now staring at her.

“What is this?” she mouthed.

He flipped to a clean sheet. An impression, mostly. A potential outcome. Seeing her confusion. Just a feeling I got from her this afternoon. Might be nothing.

Borrowing his pencil, Do you do this often? Sketch, I mean. It’s good work, if a little unsettling.

I’ll take that as a compliment. I mostly do it to pass the time. Ethan smiled, eyes dancing. Don’t you think it’s time old Rupert took a study break?

It does help to clear one’s thoughts, she agreed, thinking it over. Then leaned down and kissed him, a brief exchange before pulling back. I forgive you.

For…

Letting my daughter capture you this morning.

One moment Ethan was setting the pad and pencil aside, and the next, Joyce found herself pulled over the couch and onto his lap.

She nodded toward Rupert. Didn’t they have another plan?

“He’ll catch on,” he seemed to say before capturing her mouth with his, sensual and slow.

The deeper his tongue sought, the closer she pulled him, wanting more. Maybe it had been the game of pretend she’d had to play all afternoon around the kids, but she was suddenly on fire. Joyce broke away, panting, and moved so she now sat astride Ethan, wishing she had worn the skirt she’d packed instead of the simple black slacks. When she didn’t immediately do anything, Ethan shifted, rubbing her just right, and she let out a silent gasp. He grinned and did it again. Joyce kissed him finally, pressing tightly against him and grinding down.

Joyce tugged at Ethan’s shirt, moving her hands up and under once it was free to fan across his smooth back. As he made his way to her neck, Joyce was able to look in Rupert’s direction and saw that he was frozen, book forgotten midway off a shelf. She held his gaze and flashed an inviting smile. There was plenty of time to research later.

~*~

The first thing Giles had wanted to do after Buffy left was to take her mother upstairs and shag her senseless. Having to go through the entire day acting like Joyce was no more than an acquaintance and mother of his Slayer had been trying, to say the least. And Ethan not leaving her side only made things worse, compounded by his own self-imposed distance. It was amazing he had been of any use at all.

He did not give into his first impulse and instead returned to his books. Joyce went over to inspect Ethan’s sketching. If Giles remembered correctly, Ethan had quite a talent, but he thought his friend had given it up years ago.

Sitting down at his desk, Giles went over the notes he had made earlier. Research was going nowhere, at least until they got a lead of some sort, but that didn’t mean he could give it all up because there were suddenly more enticing pursuits.

Giles had been so absorbed in the texts before him, that it wasn’t until he had to get a new book on the other side of the room that he realized something was going on.

In the middle of reaching for Caroid’s Catalysts, he heard Joyce gasp and turned to see her now astride Ethan, hands playing across his back. Then she was looking right at him, and he knew he was lost. Research was now the last thing on his mind.

Giles replaced the book and made his way over to the couch. Joyce reached out and pulled him down to her.

“Took you long enough,” she grinned and then kissed him hungrily.

Ethan, he noted, sat back and watched, seemingly quite amused. Smug bastard.

Not breaking the kiss, Giles moved Joyce’s arm around his neck and managed to hoist her up, off of Ethan, and into his own arms. Pausing long enough to throw Ethan a triumphant smirk, Giles headed up the stairs and into his bedroom with Joyce.

He placed her gently on the bed and, kicking off his shoes, joined her. He was on her then, pouring every ounce of his pent up lust into the kiss, dexterously undoing the buttons on her shirt. Rolling then so she was on top, he slipped the shirt off and tossed it aside. When he unclasped her bra, Joyce sat up, letting it slide down. She threw it behind her.

Surprised to not hear it land, they both looked in the direction she had thrown it to see Ethan dangling it casually from his finger. Giles sat up and pulled Joyce in for a searing kiss, not letting up until she was gasping for air. He worked his way slowly past her chin, down her neck, lightly tasting her collarbones before descending between her breasts, all the while pressing her back until she rested where his legs had been, head almost hanging off the foot of the bed.

Giles made quick work of her pants and underwear, drawing them back and off. He removed his shirt before sliding his way up between her spread legs. Seeing that Ethan was still in the doorway, reclining, watching, Giles dipped his head, delving deeply into Joyce’s moist folds. Her hips arced off the bed in response, and if she could speak, Giles was certain she would have cried out.

She lifted her head up to mouth one word, “More.” And let it fall back.

Knowing that Ethan could see the play of emotions across her face while he could not, Giles drove Joyce hard and fast, licking and sucking until he had to hold her hips to keep her from writhing away. He increased the pressure a little more and sent her over the edge, shaking with a silent scream.

Finished, Giles sat back, making a production of licking his lips for Ethan’s sake. Ethan, who had actually been sketching the entire time, set the paper and pencil aside, and stalked toward the bed. Before Giles knew what hit him, Ethan had pounced, pushing him back and pinning him firmly to the bed. And then Ethan was kissing him, savage and relentless, seeking out, Giles knew, every last bit of Joyce. It was the same thing he would have done, were their roles reversed.

Giles tested the hold Ethan had; he wasn’t going anywhere until Ethan chose to let him. So that was the game? Ripper bit down on the other man’s tongue just hard enough to get his attention. Ethan pulled back, eyes dark but pleased. Ripper took advantage of the moment and flipped so he was now in power. In one swift motion, he tore apart the buttons holding Ethan’s shirt together. Next he undid the belt and pants, reaching his hand in to take firm hold of Ethan’s throbbing cock and began pumping, a practiced mix of pleasure and pain.

Still focused, Ethan quickly undid Ripper’s pants and reached inside. The contact of hand to aroused flesh made Ripper hiss. Damn, he’d denied himself too long. Ethan began to keep time, fast and rough. They matched each other in a frenzied race, building but holding themselves back, waiting for the other to go over first. Soon they came and Ripper collapsed on top, t flu fluids mingling between them.

They lay there for a moment, both catching their breath until Giles, back in control, rolled off. He opened his eyes to see Joyce looking on. Shit, he hadn’t ever meant for her to—but she didn’t look horrified. Quite the opposite. The whole exchange seemed to have turned her on because her own hand was working low, pressing and rubbing in just the right spots. Ethan propped himself up next to Giles, and they both watched as Joyce got herself off.

~*~

Ethan moved the pencil lightly over the page, briefly outlining the scene at hand before committing it to darker definition.

Rupert was propped up against the headboard, book open in his blanketed lap, sound asleep. His right hand had strayed at some point to toy with Joyce’s hair and had settled there, entangled. He looked younger and more relaxed that Ethan had seen him in years. Joyce was asleep as well, curled against Rupert’s side, her head rested on his chest.

It was a peaceful, almost domestic scene, if one didn’t know better, that was.

Joyce’s hand, Ethan noticed, was now reaching behind her, searching for something. When she didn’t find it, her eyes opened and she began to look around the room until she finally spotted him, a slow smile spreading across her face. She patted the empty space behind her. Come to bed, the gesture said.

He nodded and mouthed, “Soon.” Happy with his answer, Joyce shifted against Rupert and closed her eyes.

Realizing his pencil was dull, Ethan decided to head downstairs in search of a fresher one, or a sharpener at the very least. Throwing on Rupert’s robe, he made his way down the stairs, sketchpad in hand.

With the light from the kitchen, he began rummaging about the desk, careful to not make too much noise. His head snapped up when he heard movement outside. Going to the window, Ethan peered out onto the silent street. Dead as the proverbial tomb. He was about to go back to his search when a movement across the street ht hht his eye.

In the orange street glow, he could just make out a couple of shadowy figures that seemed to be floating along the sidewalk. Nighttime oddities, one of the many charms of living on a hellmouth.

Ethan jumped back as a figure passed close by the window. In the shadows he could see but was not seen. The figured that passed had been dressed in a sharp suit and tie. But the face was what gave Ethan the chills, and he was a man who was not easily frightened. Skin stretched taut, wide menacing grin permanently affixed. It reminded him of the story his mother had told him when he was little of monsters dressed like men on their way to Sunday church. They came to town and stole something from the naughty little boys and girls, and the men silenced their screams. Mother did love to exaggerate.

Still, it might be of some use. Ethan made his way back to the desk, sat down and began to sketch. Wouldn’t it just kill Ripper if Ethan beat him at his own game.