Happy Birthday, Wolfling!

Well it's tomorrow now in the UK, so it's wolfling's birthday! Actually, the main reason I'm posting this now is that she looked cute and hinted that early presents were of the good. When I started writing this two days ago, I was imagining something a little shorter -- hope you like it, dear!

Pax Potior Bello
(peace is stronger than war)

Fandom: BtVS
Rating: R, for a little intimate violence
Pairing: Giles/Ethan
Length: 7,750 words.
Timeline: This is set somewhere between Restless and Buffy Vs Dracula.
Warnings: I'm told by one of my beta readers that this story does not qualify as schmoop. Well, I did my best, Wolf, but it seems I just can't do it without you. Nonetheless, I don't think you'll have a problem with this tale.
Dedication: For wolfling! For eighteen months now, she has been the Giles to my Ethan. Happy Birthday, dearest.
Notes: Thank you to beccaelizabeth and paratti for the rapid beta-reads -- much appreciated!



"I'm proposing a spot of pax in bello for the night, Rupert."

Giles glared at Ethan with distaste. When he'd come to the Espresso Pump earlier this evening it had been with the intention of singing a few songs to an appreciative audience and perhaps chatting to the rather lovely Rosemary. She'd showed, he'd thought, a promising amount of interest after his last performance.

Almost the last thing on his list of probabilities for the night would have been Ethan Rayne turning up, so of course, Giles' insufferable nemesis had come sauntering over from somewhere near the back of the coffee bar. Giles had been accepting a congratulatory cappuccino from Rosemary and her charming friend whose name he hadn't caught. The usual half-smirk had been on Ethan's lips, inviting violence with its implicit taunt. His hips had been equally inviting, sashaying subtly in his tight trousers, but what *they* invited, Giles hadn't wanted to think about.

Ethan was Giles' own personal curse -- his punishment for the extremes of his youth -- and one who seemed determined to hound him to his grave.

Precisely one minute after arriving at the table, Ethan had charmed the women into inviting him to join them, quite against Giles' wishes. Five minutes after that, Ethan had, through hints, clever body language, and completely unwarranted demonstrations of affection, managed to give the two women the impression that Giles was gay. That Ethan, in fact, was Giles' long-term partner.

Giles' stammered denials had come to nothing, gaining only disapproval from Rosemary, who'd looked at him exactly as if he were St Peter denying Christ. It was really quite intolerable. Seven minutes exactly after Ethan had arrived, the women had gone, leaving Giles glowering at Ethan and demanding to know what he wanted.

Ethan's answer, the proposal of pax in bello, had not really been an answer at all. A white flag from Ethan was merely something for him to hide the nasty surprise behind. Giles gave him a disbelieving look. "Do you really expect me to trust you? After the last time?"

Ethan pressed his lips together in a pose of thought. It was all posturing with him these days; anything real or human seemed long gone, burnt away by years of Chaos worship. "No," he said. "But trust would only be an excuse, wouldn't it? It's not really necessary." He sipped from the mocha grande that Rosemary's friend had bought him.

"An excuse for what precisely?"

"Why, for doing exactly what you want to do anyway." Ethan gifted him with one of his irrepressibly bright grins, and Giles had to struggle to stop his own lips responding in kind. This only made him feel more irritated.

"And what is it that you're so convinced I want to do?" He sipped at his coffee and added, sotto voce, "As if I didn't know." It was obvious from every posture of the slim body in front of him, in every lick of those twisted lips. It had been a long time, but he could hardly miss *those* cues.

"Come now, mate," Ethan said encouragingly. "Ask yourself -- when was the last time you had sex? And once you've answered that, try the bonus question for twenty -- when was the last time you had *good* sex?"

Giles thought about Olivia and wondered if he'd ever see her again. Probably not, and who could blame her? Sex with her had been good. Not good in the way Ethan meant of course, but good enough. The last encounter wanton and wild enough to meet Ethan's high standards (if that were not a contradiction in terms) had been with Joyce while under the influence of Ethan's bloody band candy. Giles could feel himself glowering again. "My sex life is none of your concern."

"Isn't it?" Ethan made a moue of his lips in a posture of hurt. "Was once."

"That was over twenty years ago!" Giles winced at his rising volume and resolved to remain calm at all costs. He wouldn't let Ethan get to him this time.

"Twenty five years to be exact," Ethan said. "And we do like to be exacting, don't we? But somehow I'm not surprised you hadn't realised the significance of the date."

Giles sighed. "Some terribly important anniversary, I'm forced to assume."

"Still such a git, Ripper," Ethan commented with a friendly smile. "So heartless. Such a shame. And no one knows that but me, like so much else about you. You've never thanked me properly for not telling all your pretty children what a nasty old pervert you are."

"I am not!" So much for that resolution. Giles swallowed and looked away in exasperation at himself. "I have a near celibate life, if you must know."

Ethan smirked knowingly. "Really? How unfortunate. Tell me, Ripper. If an artistic genius refuses to pick up a paintbrush a few masterpieces into his career, would that make him then not an artist?"

"Yes... no... " Giles' fingers itched to grasp a certain scrawny neck. He forced a bored note into his voice when he added, "It's not the same, Ethan, as well you know."

"Of course it isn't," Ethan agreed, in a tone entirely devoid of agreement. "Well then, you haven't thanked me for not telling them what a nasty old *ex*-pervert you are."

"Is that what this is? Blackmail?"

"This?" Ethan waved his hand airily around, indicating the Espresso Pump. "No, this is two old mates about to go for a drink together to toast the past."

"It certainly isn't. Do you really believe I'd drink with you again after what happened last time?"

Ethan eyed Giles' now empty coffee cup with a cheery grin. "I don't see why not. Just don't go to the loo this time, and there'll be nothing for you to fret about. Anyway, mate, maybe I've learnt my lesson. Maybe my spell in prison has taught me the error of my ways."

Giles snorted. "Did you even get to Nevada?" He was reasonably confident that Ethan hadn't had a chance to interfere with his coffee.

"Would it make you feel better if I said I did?"

"Actually, no," Giles admitted. "The Initiative proved to be... well, let's just say I wouldn't have wanted even you to have been in their clutches."

"That would be why you dashed over there to rescue me then." Ethan raised his cup in a toast. "Oh no, that was just in my dreams, wasn't it? I'm touched, Ripper. Almost a whole smidgeon."

"Go away, Ethan." The guilt he was now feeling -- despite his very good reasons to positively relish Ethan's suffering -- was not helping Giles' mood.

"Rather not if it's all the same. It's an important day, old mate. Celebrate it with me. Really, it's the least you can do." Ethan leant forward over the small table that divided them, his eyelids at half-mast. The look, the gesture, was so evocative of twenty odd years ago that Giles felt his body respond automatically as it would have then.

Angrily, he pushed his chair back, moving out of Ethan's manipulated intimacy.

Ethan looked disappointed, perhaps genuinely, but he just leant back in his chair again and said, "I caught your act. It took me back. I wondered if I should scream at the end and throw my underwear at you."

God forbid. "You're wearing some?" Not the right question to ask under the circumstances. Giles smacked the metaphorical flail into his back.

Ethan sniggered. "Only the very best for tonight." Which didn't actually answer the question at all.

Giles stared at him, feeling, as usual with Ethan, increasingly out of his depth. "For God's sake, man, I'm not about to have sex with you. It's been a quarter century. I don't..."

"Bugger men anymore? Shame, that. Tragedy for queen and country." Ethan's smirk was becoming pronounced.

"Do you have to talk so loudly?"

As Ethan hadn't -- Giles admitted uneasily to himself --  been speaking all that loudly, he would have been quite within his rights to protest. Instead, he just said in a voice dripping with 'sympathy', "Oh Rupert. Living a lie for over half your life -- aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

"That isn't... relevant." He wasn't about to talk about any of that in a crowded coffee shop. He lowered his voice further to say, "I'd have to be insane to shag you, Ethan. If a drink ends with me waking up a demon, I truly hate to think of the repercussions of sharing a bed with you."

"Oh." Ethan had the audacity to look taken aback. "Well, personally, I was imagining a nice orgasm or two to start with, a bit of a kip, and then another jolly climax followed by a touch of brekkie..."

"No."

"Have I grown so repulsive to you?" Ethan's expression was now coy with a clever hint of vulnerability to it. Giles resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. "You used to call me beautiful."

"We were boys." He simply wasn't going to get drawn into this.

"And now we're old men. And one of these old men wants to shag for old times sake. Is that so terrible?"

Giles put a cold tone into his voice in an attempt to end this before it went any further. "I suggest you find yourself an aging hustler and close your eyes."

"Bastard," Ethan said, good-naturedly. "I'll let you hurt me more if you like. Really hurt me. That's something you've never lost your taste for, isn't it? Any chance you get, putting the boot in -- you like to make me cry out."

Ethan had said that as if trying to encourage a child to do something that scared it. Giles felt a little sick. Other things too, but best to concentrate on the sick under the circumstances. "That is not the way to seduce me, Ethan."

"Isn't it? So that twitching in your trousers just then was simply a trick of the light?"

Alarmed, Giles caught himself looking down to check that, yes, Ethan couldn't possibly see where he was claiming he could. But of course, by checking, Giles had given himself away. Thoroughly annoyed, he stood up. "That's it. I'm going home."

"Oh goodie." Ethan also stood. "I'll just grab my coat."

"You are not coming with me, Ethan."

"How you do love to say my name. Do I still feel good on your tongue? I bet you still feel good on mine." Ethan chuckled. "Twenty five years -- it's a long time to go without a decent shag, isn't it? Let me remind you of what you've been missing. Remember my mouth, Rupert?"

As if he could ever be lucky enough to forget that. "Ethan..." Giles was beginning to realise that the only way to get Ethan to leave him alone would be to resort to violence again. He turned and strode out into the cool air outside, where he gulped for breath as if he'd been stifled.

Ethan sidled up behind him and murmured far too close to Giles' ear. "Take me home, Ripper. Tie me up if you must, if it will make you feel safe from my iniquity. Gag me, so I can't cast."

If doing so could possibly make a difference to his plans, Ethan wouldn't have suggested it. The thought of Ethan roped up and helpless was satisfying though; Giles had to admit that. "I'm hardly going to be enjoying your famed mouth if it's full of cloth and leather." He strode off down the road, forcing Ethan to trot to catch up.

"Point, but I have other enticing places you could console yourself with."

Dear God, Ethan was persistent tonight. The direction of this encounter was unexpected too; Ethan hadn't tried to seduce him for well over a decade now. What, Giles pondered, would be the punch line of this particular game? Some kind of revenge for whatever it was that had happened twenty-five years ago today, he supposed.

Suddenly Giles had an idea. He slowed down and turned to Ethan. "All right. Come on."

"You mean it?" After Giles nodded, Ethan beamed. "You won't regret *this* night, Ripper. Promise."

He wouldn't, no, but Ethan, on the other hand, was another matter.

***

"Sit there." Rupert pointed at the hardback chair he'd moved into the space near his desk.

Ethan stared at the unpromising furniture. "Just sit?"

"Yes."

"Fully clothed?"

"Yes. Either that or get out."

Sighing, Ethan did as he was bid. "Well, this is a little disappointing, I must say."

"You still have the same low tolerance for delayed gratification, I see." Rupert walked over to a large chest by the counter wall that barricaded off the kitchen. "It's a sign of sociopathic disorder, I believe."

"And this surprises you?"

"Not in the slightest." Opening the chest, Rupert bent low, and Ethan watched with interest as Rupert's trousers pulled taut over his arse.

His Ripper had filled out a tadge, it had to be said, but it didn't make the slightest difference to his appeal. Especially now the man had stopped wearing his tweedy hairshirts. But really, even wearing the body of a Fyarl demon, Rupert had still exuded sex through his pores.

Well, if Fyarls had pores he would have done.

All that writhing masculinity and violence so palpable just below the skin of dull respectability -- what got Ethan was the fact that no one else seemed to see it. People were shockingly lacking in insight these days. "If you bring that nice arse of yours over here, mate, I'll start my lessons in remembrance. Perhaps a little tongue first. Do you fancy that?"

Rupert stopped his rummaging in the chest for a few moments, but then carried on without comment. Ethan sighed and tapped his fingers on the chair's armrests. He was beginning to wonder if he hadn't been as successful as he'd thought in his seduction. It had been rather easy; he hadn't even had to use the aphrodisiac.

There was still time. "Any chance of a drink? I'll pour if you're busy with... whatever it is you're doing in that clearly fascinating chest."

"Stay where you are." Rupert stood and turned, his hands full of intriguing things. The only item Ethan could identify was a length of white rope. So it was to be bondage after all then. Ah well. Choosy beggars and gift horses and all that; stable doors too, no doubt.

Rupert walked behind him, and Ethan heard noises he interpreted as the intriguing things being put on the floor. He twisted around to take a look and calculate what Rupert was planning, but a strong hand clasped to his shoulder, forcing him back.

"Face front and don't move."

"Masterful, my dear," Ethan said sarcastically. "Truly masterful." Nonetheless, he obeyed, a small shiver running through him.

Rupert moved round and began to rope Ethan's legs to the legs of the chair in a very businesslike way. "This will keep you still."

"So would asking nicely," Ethan replied, looking down at what was happening with a slight sense of dismay. "Rupert, old mate, whilst I am, as you may remember, not averse to playing the victim in your inventive little scenarios -- and whilst the position you are currently in is not without promise either -- I'm really not at all certain you've thought this through thoroughly enough."

"Oh yes?" Rupert enquired politely, fastening the rope around Ethan's left leg with an unpleasantly tight knot before moving on to the right. "Why's that?"

"Well, this isn't really the position in which to tie me to make the most of my many... capacities, is it now?" Ethan dared to comb his fingers through Rupert's hair and then stroke down the side of his face. "I have condoms, if that's what you're worried about. I even managed to find a tube of our favourite lube -- bet you didn't even know they still made it."

Rupert stood, Ethan's hand falling limply to his lap. He looked at Ethan appraisingly. "You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you? I suppose the lube's enchanted with something unspeakable."

"Afraid not." Ethan shrugged, knowing he was suffering the fate of the wolf-crying boy. "But if you have some of your own, we can use that. Am I going to get a kiss before the brutality starts?"

He watched Rupert's lips twist with wry humour. "Why not?" he said after a pause, and put his hands on the chair back to either side of Ethan as he bent low. Rupert's lips touched Ethan's for the first time in twenty-five years and something revenant and unwelcome dug its way out from the graveyard soil of Ethan's heart.

Bugger. But then, really, what did he expect? He knew he was playing with fire here. His own, personal bonfire, collected over the years of drought, tinder dry and spark hungry. He swallowed as Rupert pulled back, and he managed not to beg for more. That would really be rather pathetic at this early stage in the proceedings.

Rupert too looked rather pensive for a few moments, but then he shook his head in a convulsive movement and got back to work, this time tying Ethan's wrists to the chair arms. As he finished the first one and moved to complete his tally of Ethan's limbs, he said, "I still don't understand how you could possibly believe you'd be able to seduce me."

"Well, I have, haven't I?" Or had he? Ethan's stomach clenched as the rope looped around his remaining wrist and pulled tight. He tried to yank his hand free...

A second later, he was heaving for disobliging breath, having been punched hard in the gut without warning. By the time he could breathe again, his wrist was inescapably fastened to the chair. He glowered at Rupert.

"Is this revenge, Ripper? How parochial of you. Weren't the soldier boys punishment enough for my misdeeds?"

"They would have been, had they held you." Rupert stood in front of Ethan looking down at him with a preoccupied frown. He ran his hand over his mouth. "Be grateful they didn't."

"How can you be so sure they didn't?" Keep him talking, wondering, and use the time to consider options. Did Ethan have enough time to get to the end of Herzam's Chant to Freedom before Rupert realised what he was up to and stopped him with more violence?

He doubted it.

"You're still here," Rupert said, moving around behind Ethan. "You're still in one piece. Therefore, you haven't spent much if any time with the people behind Room 3-14. I found it slightly ironic that it was you who warned me about that place."

"For all the thanks I got. Maybe my scars are on the inside."

"And maybe, as always, Ethan, you're full of shite."

"Charming."

There was a clicking noise, and then a waft of rank smell hit his nostrils. Ethan strained around in the chair, wanting to know what Rupert was up to and then wished he hadn't bothered. Rupert had a bundle of woody herbs in his hand, which he was setting to smoulder.

Turning back to face the front, Ethan tutted. "For someone who claims to abhor magic, you seem to be using it more and more these days. Magic is evil and terrible except for when it's... handy. Is that right?"

"You cannot possibly know how much magic I've been using or not." Rupert came forward and began wafting the nasty smoke around Ethan.

"Can't I? I know you're casting spells rather more often than you're shagging. Sad, that." Ethan let himself smirk. Even bound like this, he was far from helpless. There was the inevitable sage in the bundle, but something else too -- rosemary? And something fouler that he rather thought was hellebore. Now what did that add up to?

"Ethan, are you seriously suggesting that you have a way of knowing when I use magic?" Rupert paused for a moment then added, "And when I have sex too, for that matter."

Ethan pursed his lips as if resisting laughter and looked down. "I'll take the fifth."

Rupert took a deep breath and let it go with a growl. "Well, that's one more question to add to the list, I suppose." He began waving the herbs about again, this time with more vigour, and Ethan had to duck away from the sparks.

"I think I'm anointed enough now, don't you? What list?"

"You'll see. Shut up now or I'll happily gag you." Rupert took a small book from his pocket and opened it.

Ethan had a very bad feeling about where this was going. "How about we call it quits, old mate," he said, and he was unable to keep his nervousness from his tone. "I'll stop my attempts to shag you, which were clearly in very poor taste, and just be on my way."

Rupert... smiled. That was all -- a broad, predator smile that made Ethan's pulse rate increase and his hackles rise. Bugger, Ethan really was in big trouble here. Looking down at the book, Rupert began to read. "Elobe, enemy, be now quiet. Let your deceitful tongue be still..."

Oh no, no, no. That was Bind the Forked Tongue. Ethan knew that one. It was a sodding truth spell, and he had to get out of here. He tugged hard at his bindings. "You have to be kidding, Rupert. This is not a good idea -- for either of us!"

"Let no untruths be spoken. Let all paths be straight. Uncover the lanterns and let truth shine bright..."

"Fuck it, Rupert, no! Don't be bloody stupid!" Ethan struggled so hard the chair nearly tipped, but Rupert's shoe appeared suddenly between Ethan's legs, pressing the chair down hard and pushing uncomfortably into Ethan's balls.

Rupert wafted more of the smoke into Ethan's face and grinned the wolfish grin again. "Leave no question unanswered. Let truth be transcendent. Elobe, enemy, you shall now sleep!"

Ethan felt the spell hit him with a moment of extreme vertigo. He clenched his eyes -- and his mouth -- tightly shut.

Rupert laughed, his shoe removing itself from Ethan's balls. "Why are you in Sunnydale, *mate*?"

It would be all right. Ethan could resist this. He'd built up a fair bit of resistance to magic over the years, more than Rupert probably realised. All he had to do was not speak. The impulse to answer was strong, but if he kept his mouth shut...

"Answer the question, Ethan." He felt a hand slide up his leg and opened his eyes to see Rupert crouching beside him. "Why are you in Sunnydale?"

"To see you." He might as well answer the harmless questions. No point in wasting all his willpower resisting answers he would happily have given without the spell.

"Why did you want to see me?"

"Because today's twenty-five years since you--" Ethan pressed his lips tightly shut.

"Since I?" The hand slipped between Ethan's thighs, squeezing the leg it rested on slightly. Ethan stared down at it in bemusement. "Since I did what?"

Rupert had to know the answer to that, so why was he pushing here? It really was very hard to resist speaking. The hand felt very nice though. Ethan shrugged in a full-bodied way that brought him a little lower in the chair, and he said simply, "Left."

"Ah yes. I can see how that would be something to celebrate," Rupert said dryly. "That isn't quite what you were originally going to say, was it?"

Ethan allowed himself a small smile. "Not quite, no. Truth is, after all, a relative thing. It can come in many shades and intensities. It's also very dangerous. I really think you should let me go, Rupert. If this little game of yours continues much longer we may both end up regretting it." There -- a whole little speech of nothing but truth, but still saying only what he wanted to say. Ethan felt a little proud of himself.

Rupert looked unimpressed. He took his hand away from Ethan's leg, much to Ethan's disappointment, and stood. "Why--" he paused and seemed to reconsider. "What was your plan for tonight?"

"I've already told you that." That provoked a frown on Rupert's face, and Ethan laughed. "You were so convinced I was trying to trick you, weren't you? Sorry to disappoint."

"There has to be more to it than simply getting me into bed." That wasn't a question or even a demand, so Ethan didn't have to answer it. He smiled cheerily up at Rupert. Things were going quite well so far. Rupert glared back. "Why on earth is having a shag for old times sake so important to you?"

Ah, so much for going well. The compulsion to answer felt like an up-welling sneeze -- natural and almost impossible to resist. Ethan gritted his teeth and held his breath, willing it to pass. He'd noticed that once Rupert asked a new question, the urge to answer the old one seemed to fade, so he only had to wait for Rupert to get fed up and move on.

"If you don't answer, I'll use force to make sure you do." Rupert crouched down beside him again and put his hand back on Ethan's leg. "And you don't want that, do you?"

A question. Glory hallelujah. "Pain, you mean? I'd hardly try to engineer an evening with you, Ripper dear, and not expect some pain to be part of the equation, now would I?"

Rupert's hand twitched on Ethan's leg. "Tell me why sex with me tonight is so important." Bugger it. Ethan pulled up the corners of his lips in a quick, meaningless smile and kept his mouth tightly shut.

Of course, the second punch in the gut of the evening soon opened it again. Not the solar plexus this time; Rupert was placing his blows safely apart from each other. Conscientious even when he was being a violent bully -- that was Ethan's Ripper.

"Just tell me, Ethan. Is this dance really necessary?"

"No, but I thought you might enjoy it." Ethan was still bent over with pain, but he kept his tone flippant in just that way he knew annoyed Rupert the most.

If he kept talking, Rupert wouldn't be able to. Or Ethan would get hit again, but that was better than answering questions. If he were clever enough, he could concentrate on the truth of individual sentences and still at least give an implication of what he really wanted to say.

He smirked at Rupert. "Are you nice and hard now, or do you need to hit me again? So sad, but sometimes even the best of men need a little extra help. Still, look on the bright side -- you're living in just the right place for a man with such a problem -- opportunities for lovely erections stalking through every graveyard. I bet on a really good patrol night, you--"

Ethan stopped talking abruptly as a hand closed round his balls and squeezed.

"Would... an apology... help?" he asked between whimpers.

"A straight answer would."

"Hard... to talk... currently."

The hand let go. "Try now. Why d'you want to fuck me tonight?" Rupert's accent slipping was always a bad sign for someone, and tonight that someone was Ethan.

Grimacing with distaste, Ethan stopped fighting the impulse to answer. "Because it's been twenty-five years since we last fucked, and I've missed it every day since." Christ, could he have incriminated himself more? Well yes, he could, and with a nauseous feeling, Ethan realised that the way things were going he probably would.

He *really* had to get out of here.

Rupert, still crouching, was staring at him in disbelief. "You've missed our... our fuck sessions that much?"

"Yes, and so have you. You've never had anything like that since."

Rupert snorted dismissively. "You were never *that* good, Ethan."

"Bollocks, Ripper old mate. Maybe you should be the one under the truth spell." Ethan moved forward, as far as the ropes holding his arms would allow him so that his face was very close to Rupert's. "Look me in the eye and tell me you've had better. Go on, I dare you."

Rupert grunted. "Yes, well, be that as it may..." He stood up again, turning away from Ethan, who laughed.

"One difficult question and out comes the metaphorical tweed again, eh? You can deal it, but you just can't take it. Such a nasty thing, hypocrisy. So contemptible."

Rupert whirled around, his face full of anger. "So this was just about sex? Nothing else?" Ah. Damn. Ethan winced and turned away, swallowing desperately as he brought the words for Herzam's Chant to Freedom to the forefront of his mind. It had to be worth a try. "What else, Ethan? Tell me."

Ethan opened his mouth, and after a brief but intense fight with the truth spell, managed to mutter, "Vincula solve. Catenae robinginem trahe. Ianuae aperi. Carceres expugna--" He bit back a scream as Rupert's fist slammed into his bollocks.

"One more word of Latin and I'll get out the knife." He would too; there was no one more stubborn than Ripper once he set his mind to something. "What else was this about?" He pressed his knuckles in harder.

Tears of pain were streaming unhindered down Ethan's face. "Love, you bastard." He'd surrendered, as he always did in the end. He could have lasted out longer, but what was the point? Rupert would get it out of him in the end. "Love and need and self-hatred and twisted humour and maybe a little vengeance." The spell forced it all out in a nauseous rush. "Oh, and a desperate desire to put an end cap to... well, to us. There, that's the lot. You have the terrible truth for all the good it's going to do you. Now let me go so I can lick my wounds in private somewhere."

He'd never be able visit Rupert again. Not now.

Rupert was staring, blank-faced. "Vengeance?" he asked a little tremulously, as if that were the only part of Ethan's appalling list that he could understand.

Ethan shrugged bodily and then wished he hadn't as Rupert's fist was still frozen against his balls, and they hurt. "I had some vague ideas about making the sex so good you'd spend the rest of your life aware of what you'd lost," he said, tight-voiced.

"I've always been aware of that," Rupert said -- his voice was taut with some emotion. He stared at his hand between Ethan's thighs and seemed to shudder before drawing it away. "I missed you a great deal, if you must know. But you were still worshipping Chaos, and well, there was no going back."

Ethan laughed. Well, it was that or cry really. "Did you ever once consider asking me to give it up?"

"Chaos? It was your religion!"

"*You* were my religion, you stupid, self-punishing, over-righteous bastard." Ethan felt his lips curl back in a grimace of a smile. The damage had been done, and he really didn't care what the spell made him say now.

Rupert's hand was on Ethan's thigh again now, rubbing absent-mindedly. "Then it's all been about me? The attacks on the British Museum? The repeated visits to the Hellmouth? You were... trying to get me to pay attention. Oh Ethan... why the bloody hell didn't you say something?"

"Do I really have to answer that?" It seemed he did. "Because you hated me. You'd blamed yourself for Randall, but blamed me for the person you'd become, so conveniently making everything my fault. When I turned up to see you, you'd look at me as if I were something nasty under your fingernails. Instead of a greeting, you would hit me. You--"

"Enough!" Rupert had clearly heard sufficient truth. He looked thoroughly flustered. "Ethan, I..."

"What? You're sorry? There's a turn up."

"I... you've done some terrible things. You've hurt people."

"Oh come now, I'm hardly one of your major villains. I just play with people's realities a little -- well, a lot. I force them to look at things from different angles. It's healthy, in a way." The spell made him add, "Well, that's debatable, I know, but I could debate it."

"People could have died and probably have over the years."

Fortunately, the spell didn't seem to want to compel Ethan to answer that. "I don't suppose you want to let me go now?"

"What? Oh, of course." With a deep frown, Rupert dropped from his crouch into a kneeling position and began to tug at the rope around Ethan's nearest leg. Then he stopped and looked up. "In a perfect world, Ethan, what would you most like to have in your life?"

Ethan looked ceiling-ward. "Oh Ripper, have pity!"

"Tell me, Ethan, please."

"Because pity would be too kind? It's the same answer as all the previous ones. I really don't see why such a big brain as yours can't work it out for itself -- you, love, sex, an end to pain and need... peace. God, I hate y--" The spell wouldn't let him say it. "Enough now, Rupert. Let me go."

"What will you do if I release you?"

"Leave, as quickly as possible."

"Will you come back?"

"No. At least, I hope not."

"Then I can't release you. I'm sorry."

***

"I need the loo, Rupert."

The annoying thing, Giles thought, was that Ethan's claim had to be the truth. "I have a bottle you could use." He didn't want to free Ethan, not yet. Not after everything that had just been revealed. He needed time to think before Ethan disappeared off the face of the earth again. "Let me know when you're desperate enough to agree to that."

"Oh come on!" It had been a long time since Giles had seen Ethan this openly pissed off. He wouldn't even meet Giles' eyes. "I'm pretty sure this is against the Geneva Convention, you know."

It probably was too. Giles sighed. "I want you to stay tonight, like you originally planned."

"My plans held nothing about being tied to a chair until I wet myself, not even in the small print."

"I'll untie the ropes... after you promise while under the spell that you won't try to leave for, hmm, twenty-four hours."

Ethan shrugged. "I don't think the spell works like that, mate, but very well. I promise not to try to leave for twenty-four hours."

Giles came closer, watching carefully. "Do you intend to keep that promise?"

"No." Ethan winced, clearly having been caught out by the spell.

"Then you stay tied." Giles found he couldn't resist reaching out a hand to Ethan's shoulder, rubbing over it soothingly, but Ethan froze under the touch so Giles reluctantly took his hand away again.

Ethan managed to raise his eyes to meet Giles' for a fraction of a second before flinching away. "Changed your mind about shagging me?"

Giles chuckled softly. "Maybe," he said, and he was self-aware enough not to be surprised by that admission. "But mostly I want you to stay as you've given me a lot to think about. I want you to still be here once I've done so."

Ethan looked back up, and this time he maintained eye contact, staring searchingly at Giles. "May I have another kiss?" he asked quietly after several moments had passed. He asked with an almost childish politeness.

Giles didn't hesitate, and that *did* surprise him a little. He bent and touched his mouth softly to Ethan's. As it had earlier, kissing Ethan felt natural in a way that was both exciting and worrisome. There was, Giles had to admit, rather less worry this time round. He deepened the kiss, pushing his fingers into Ethan's hair and letting his tongue flicker around Ethan's lips.

Ethan whimpered and moved lower in his chair so that he could tip his head up more. After a passive start, he now kissed back hungrily in a way that spoke straight to Giles' groin.

Giles pulled back uneasily. "That's enough. For now."

"I really have to disagree." But Ethan sounded calmer than he had done for a while. "Rupert, I will stay for twenty-four hours. After that, I make no promises at all."

It was enough. Giles broke the truth spell with a snap of his fingers and then crouched to untie the ropes.

After a slightly tense interlude in the bathroom, where Giles had been unwilling to leave Ethan unattended, the two sat down together on Giles' sofa, drinking his best whisky. Ethan was very quiet, and Giles was... pensive. He was aware of a strong desire to touch Ethan, but wasn't certain that he should.

"Want something to eat?" he asked in the end. Ethan shook his head; he was starting to look sulky. Giles sighed. "What *do* you want?"

Ethan's expression was scornful. "Gosh, Rupert, I do believe you already know that. Some fool must have told you; can't think who."

Giles pushed his head into the back of the sofa, feeling frustrated. This was so like Ethan. Kiss him, and he became immediately pliable and amenable. Try to talk to him, and all you'd get was snipe and acid. Giles was already regretting ending the spell.

Ethan put his empty tumbler down and folded his arms, staring forward. "So now you know my dirty little secrets. I'm not sure what good you think it does you to know. It changes nothing."

"It changes everything." After finishing his own drink, Giles twisted his leg up onto the sofa and turned to face Ethan. "Don't you understand? All this time, all the horrible things you've done to me and because of me -- I thought they were because you hated me."

"I do," Ethan answered promptly.

"No, you don't." Giles reached out for Ethan's upper arm, stroking his hand down it.

Ethan looked down. "No, I don't," he accepted quietly. "But it still changes nothing."

"Of course it does. You get to stay here now, with me." Why the bloody hell had he said that? Keeping Ethan by the Hellmouth would be like locking an alcoholic in an off-license. "Well, if we can come to some kind of, um, arrangement, anyway."

Ethan snorted and seemed to feel it was eloquence enough, as he didn't answer with words. Giles leant forward, intending to kiss Ethan's cheek. He felt a strong desire to pull Ethan out of his sulk and talking was only making matters worse. But Ethan jerked his head to the side, away from Giles.

"I still worship Chaos, you know. And if you're about to suggest I give it up, you're about twenty-five years too late. I couldn't give up Chaos now if I wanted to, which, my dear Ripper, I don't." Ethan gave Giles a rictus of a smile. "I like Chaos. No, I *love* it. It's been a good friend to me over the years, surprisingly loyal, all things considered."

"Oh." Giles slumped back into the sofa. There wasn't a lot he could say to that... except, "When I asked you what you wanted in an ideal world, you never mentioned Chaos."

Anger flickered momentarily over Ethan's face. "I'm sorry to shatter any precious illusions, but this isn't an ideal world. While I'm at it, you might as well know that Father Christmas was invented by Coca Cola, and Heaven is a small and rather dusty town in deepest Georgia. Quite close to Sodom in fact."

Ethan was emanating pure essence of sulk. Giles found himself wondering if it would be possible to bottle it, and then wondered why anyone would want to. "I'm sure there must be ways of worshipping Chaos that aren't so..."

"Chaotic?" Ethan supplied helpfully.

Giles frowned. "Troublesome."

"Ah, you'll be wanting the Unitarian Universalist church of Chaos then? Try just down the road." It was hard to imagine how Ethan could imbue his words with more bile than he had.

"You love me," Giles reminded him gently, and he enjoyed saying it, he couldn't deny that. "You *love* me."

"We've already established that. It means nothing."

"No, it does." Giles leant forward again and this time held Ethan's arm tightly so he couldn't move away as Giles kissed his cheek. "It means that you, Ethan Rayne, love me, Rupert Giles. You want to be with me."

Ethan's skin seemed to be trembling ever so slightly under Giles' lips. Giles found he wanted to gather Ethan to him, give him comfort. He knew these signs and signals of old. There had been a time -- before the callous, flippant mask had dropped over his lover's face -- when Giles had been able to read Ethan's mood from just the slightest signals. But Ethan wasn't ready to accept comfort, not yet.

"I've missed you a great deal," Giles told him, pressing soft kisses between the words like excess punctuation. "I've never been able to block you from my dreams or even my fantasies, no matter how hard I've tried." He owed Ethan some truth in return.

"What's this?" Ethan asked. "The booby prize?"

Giles frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"I love you, but you don't love me, so you're trying to give me what scraps you can? Christ, I hate you."

Oh. "I... I don't think it would take all that much to reawaken my old feelings for you, love. You have to understand, after Randall died, I buried everything that I--"

"I've understood *that* for twenty-five years, Rupert. As I have also understood that if you had loved me the way I love you, no amount of repression would have succeeded. I think I *am* hungry after all. I'd like something complex that will take you hours in the kitchen to prepare, thank you."

"Maybe later. Ethan, look at me." He pushed Ethan's head around by the chin, meeting only minimal resistance. "I loved you. When I left -- London, my youth, magic and you -- I cut myself off from all of that, from a huge part of myself. When you came visiting, it made me ache inside because I wanted you so much, but you were everything that was most dangerous to me. Everything that made *me* dangerous. I..."

Ethan was stony faced. Giles was trying so hard, speaking about things he'd never really verbalised before, but Ethan quite clearly didn't want to hear. Feeling depressed, Giles pulled away again and leant his elbows on his knees. He rubbed his face in his hands, hiding in the darkness they offered.

After a pause, he felt Ethan stir beside him and then welcome fingers were caressing the back of his neck. "Rupert, don't. You know as well as I do that if I stay, you'll be thinking fondly of murder before the week's out. That's if your Slayer hasn't already done away with me by then."

Giles didn't want to consider Buffy's reaction at that moment. "Won't you even give it a try? I'm trying to offer you what you said you wanted most, Ethan." He was pleading and he knew it, although he still felt rather confused about how he had gone from being horrified at the idea of sleeping with Ethan earlier in the evening, to being desperate for him to stay for at least an attempt at the long term now.

Ethan snorted softly. "And on the morning you wake up to discover a circle of blood on your nice wooden floor and me sitting inside it summoning Eris?"

Letting his hands drop from his face, Giles turned back to Ethan and pulled him close, ignoring Ethan's immediate rigidity. "Then I will beat you until you bleed another circle and make sure the summoning is defused. But I'll still want you to stay. Let me hold you."

"I hate you." But Giles could feel Ethan start to relax in his arms.

"Just as long as you love me too. Want to go to bed? I find I'm suddenly rather keen to rediscover those capacities you were mentioning earlier."

There was a little chuckle from Ethan at that, and Giles felt Ethan's hand moving on his chest. "At last we get back to my plan for the night. Have you ever heard the Persian story of the Wise Man and the Fool?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Giles said indulgently, as he pressed kisses to either side of Ethan's mouth.

"Oh, both of them reached their destination in the end, but the wise man walked straight there, whereas the fool capered and scampered and took ten times as long." When Ethan finished talking, he pulled Giles in for a kiss.

It lasted a good five minutes.

"That's not much of a story," Giles said rather breathlessly once the kiss was over. "Although I suppose as ways of calling me an idiot go, it's fairly elaborate."

"I told the wise man version," Ethan said, winking. "The fool's version goes on a lot longer."

Giles reached a decision. Who knew about tomorrow or the next day? With Ethan, there could never be any guarantees. But Giles knew what he wanted now, and he was going to take it. He stood and hauled Ethan up after him. "We're going to bed."

Ethan looked at him from under heavy lids. "The left side is mine, of course."

Laughing, Giles pulled Ethan by the hand to the stairs. "One thing I can guarantee, love, is that the sinister side will always be yours."

As they reached the bedroom, Ethan gave Giles his first full grin for several hours and sashayed close, slipping his hands under Giles' sweater. "Pax in bello, Ripper?"

Giles smiled and kissed him, declining to answer with words. He wanted more than a temporary truce, and he hoped that there would prove to be some truth in the old maxim that peace was ultimately more powerful than war.