TITLE: Ripper Days- An Excerpt From Giles’ Personal Journal 2/6
AUTHOR: Captainbliss
SERIES: Ripper Days
PAIRING: Giles/Ethan
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Ethan’s just visited Sunnydale for Halloween. Giles thinks on his decision to tell Ethan to leave; he wishes he hadn’t. Reminiscing, Giles takes us back in time. Back to Ripper days. Back to the day that Ethan confessed his love to Ripper, and Rupert found that he felt the same. Back to the day that Ethan actually got Ripper to be bottom for once. So, should we follow him? Are you willing to take an old sorcerer’s hand?
DISCLAIMER: Joss owns these characters, I don’t. I sometimes borrow them, because I get good ideas for them and have to write said ideas down. If I didn’t, I’d spontaneously combust in one giant, sexually frustrated mess.

WARNING: Hinted drug use.

NOTE: This is basically the prologue. Zipper Sounds was more of an introduction.

An Excerpt From Giles’ Personal Journal.

Let me just…remember this. It’s been an hour since I told Ethan to leave, and I wish I hadn’t. So, now I’m curled up in my bed, and I’m thinking. Thinking of my days with him, as Ripper. Those days aren’t totally gone, as I suspected they were. I believe some part of me still loves the man.  Perhaps I should write this down, so I will. I’ll get my journal.

There are used syringes on the table, and empty cereal boxes in the cupboard. Our flat is cluttered with dirty clothes; the sink is full of dirty dishes. But it doesn’t matter to him, so it really doesn’t matter to me. The only thing that really matters is the bust of Chaos, setting on the living room table, a few cups surrounding it. Cups holding our homage to Chaos; come from our most wild shags. Well, it’s not the only thing that matters, but it’s important.

I can sense him before he enters the flat, and my nostrils fill with the familiar smell of his aura: absinthe and strangely, cinnamon. People don’t think auras have scent, and those are the people that have never met this particular Chaos Mage, because his does. Not to say that he himself smells like absinthe and cinnamon, because Ethan smells of something I’ve never smelt before. It is uniquely him. It smells good, and I love it.

Everything before Ethan was boring, and the prospect of my destiny was just…too much pressure. Then he had come. The mysterious long and lanky man, with a deep voice that was almost musical, and a lopsided grin that promised of darker things.

I’d met him at a pub, of course. He had been standing against the wall, a fag dangling from his lips, looking dangerous in a leather jacket and this pair of wicked black boots.

He was…strangely attractive. Alluring because I could sense a small bit of the power in him…I couldn’t get the full perspective of his power. My father hadn’t gotten that deep into my training before I’d left. Then his friends came over from the bar, drinks and all. Ethan caught me staring and hailed me over.

It all went spiraling downhill from there, the parties, the liquor, the sex, the drugs…the magick.

And that leads me to the particular day in our flat again. It was around noon, and I’d just woken up. Ethan had probably gone out to get breakfast.

Ethan bursts through the door and I call out to him from the bedroom, “Welcome back, love!”

I know he grinned at that, and started stripping off his clothes, because when I got out there, he stood with his arms out, that lopsided smile on his face, his cock standing proudly. I briefly notice the bag of doughnuts on the table.

“Naughty boy,” I purred, and he only grinned wider, beckoning to me. “What’s gotten you so turned on?”

“Our flat smells like sex,” he said, and I kissed him.

“It always does.”

“And it always gets me hard.”

“Mmm. Let’s go to the bedroom.”

Ethan nodded, but caught me before I could go and trailed his fingers to the hem of my white t-shirt. “Want you naked first,” he growled, and lifted the shirt over my head, playing with my nipples as his fingers made an adventure to the button of my jeans. I wore nothing underneath. I never did, not back then. “You’re bloody beautiful,” he said softly, kissing my neck and slipping his tongue along my ear. I groaned in approval, and he turned me around, smacked my arse, and we made our way to the bedroom.

His tongue was all over me, his hands. I moaned and pleaded, begging him to shag me, to please bugger me into the mattress. Oh, but this was a sight to see. Rarely did Ripper beg, it was usually Ethan doing the begging; but, somehow, he’d gotten the dominant role that day, and I still don’t know how.

“Ethan, please! No more fucking around,” I stared at him, loving the wild haze of lust in his eyes, “shag me already!”

His long fingers made their way to my cock, gently caressing it. It was bloody unnerving. My hips thrust wantonly, wanting more friction, “Bloody hell…please, Ethan, please…”

“‘Please’ what, Ripper?”

“Ram your fucking cock in me until all I can see is a blaze of white and my only thoughts are of you, and what you’re doing to me! Now! Please?”

“Quite the demanding little boy…but, you did say ‘please.’”

I sighed in relief when he got the slick out of the bedside table, haphazardly putting some on his hands and his own cock, and moving his fingers to my entrance. He took a few minutes to prepare me, with one, two and then three fingers. Then, his fingers were replaced by something much bigger.

It was pain flavoured ecstasy.

He positioned himself so every thrust hit my sweet little bundle of nerves, and I crooned things to him. Dirty things, encouraging him. I grabbed my cock, and fisted it in time to his thrusts, and soon we were coming, shouting the other’s name. He pulled out of me, and crawled up next to me, draping his arm over my chest. And he said something he’d never said to me before. I’d never said it to him either. “I love you, Rupert.”

“I love you too, Ethan.” And you know what? I meant it.

We kissed softly, one last, lingering kiss before we fell asleep.

There are no used syringes on my table. My cupboards hold no empty cereal boxes. My flat is only cluttered with ancient books, some bottles of scotch, a few of my favourite records. All my dishes are clean, as are my clothes. The cleanliness matters a lot to me. There is no bust of Chaos on my living room table, no cups of blood-tinged seed surrounding it. My flat doesn’t smell of sex.

And I’m still in love with Ethan Rayne.

There are worse things.

[End first excerpt. To be continued.]
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