Summary Buffy makes a wish and finds Ripper and Ethan on the other side
Rating NC17 Het, Slash, multiple
Disclaimer No quality fanfiction was harmed in the writing of this story.
Any injured copyrights were unintentional
Notes Thanks to Scarlettgirl for planting the original seed to this in a parking garage in downtown Philly,
to Mydeira for starting it and then letting me take over (large chunks of the first three chapters are hers, so share the love),
and to Wickedfox for the absolutely amazing graphic she made to go with it!
Chapter 4
Buffy woke up aching.
It wasn’t the dull fire that lingered after a night of slaying, a pain she’d become so accustomed to over the years that now she barely registered it. Instead, this was the warm throb of relaxed satisfaction, which was something she’d had little time in her life to experience, let alone take for granted.
She couldn’t remember much about last night, after the sinful decadence of getting fucked by . . . Giles. She could remember hands and lips, but there were also colors that couldn’t exist and music irreproducible by human voice. But she was tender in unspeakable places, and there was a lingering taste in her mouth that she didn’t want to examine too closely. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t been just sitting around enjoying their high.
The other clue that the evening’s activities had been less than innocent was the fact that she was naked in the warm bedding, spooned back against a warmer, very male body, one lean hand plucking at her breast as the other stroked lightly along the inside of her thigh, arousing her with gentle demand. For a moment she thought she must still be high, as his caresses seemed to be creating soft strains of guitar music that wafted through the room. His touch felt wonderful, stimulating and soothing at the same time, and the music lulled her further so that she didn’t want to question it. But finally she opened her eyes.
Giles sat in the windowsill, an acoustic guitar across his bare lap as his fingers wandered over the frets. Not Giles, she corrected herself. Giles wouldn’t exist for another twenty-five years. This young, dangerous, vibrant man barely older than she was could only be Ripper. She had to stop thinking of him as Giles. By calling him that, she was imbuing him with all her expectations of how Giles thought and acted, none of which held true now. If she didn’t want to go crazy, she just needed to stop thinking of him as anything but Ripper.
Warm lips coasting along her shoulder brought her attention back to the man holding her, his fingertips now gently prodding for entrance in her slick folds and making her gasp. There was no question it was Ethan, but that thought didn’t horrify her as much as it would have even the day before. Maybe it was because of the last lingering effects of the LSD. Maybe it was the skillful way he touched and aroused her. Or maybe it was because for the first time in the longest time, her partner was just a human being, whatever he might become later, warm and pulsing with life, without years or centuries of experience over her.
Despite the pleasure of his hands wandering over her, of his erection pressing against the firm curve of her behind, she had to see him, to wipe away the last lingering memory of the middle aged sorcerer he hadn’t yet become. She turned over in his arms and looked at him.
He looked angelic.
There was no other way to describe him. The waves of his dark hair fell tousled around his face, highlighting his smooth, pale skin and dark, sultry eyes. And he was smiling, a content, affectionate curl to his lips that melted something inside her. When she reached up to caress his cheek, the smile deepened. “Good morning.”
His stubble rasped faintly against her fingertips, but the side of his neck was downy and tender. “Taking advantage of my vulnerable state?” she murmured.
He laughed aloud and wrapped his arms tighter around Buffy to pull her closer. “This coming from the woman who waited until I was half pissed to skin me out of my pants and blow the hell out of me.”
Well, that explained the taste in her mouth. She blushed, which only made him chuckle again and nuzzle against her hair. “Knew if we scratched your surface,” he purred against her ear, “we’d find a little hellcat underneath.” His body was already undulating against hers in anticipation, making her skin tingle and her insides tighten eagerly. When he forced her head back to kiss her, she responded with equal passion.
All thoughts of morality, of what was, what had been and what would be faded under the erotic onslaught of Ethan’s firm lips and talented, curious fingers. Buffy lifted her leg to caress it along the taut muscle of his hip, but he resisted her invitation to focus his attention on her neck and breast until she was whimpering in desperation.
Unable to take any more, she shoved him onto his back and quickly straddled his hips. He blocked her as she moved to mount him, his fingers sliding through her wet folds as he licked his lips, his eyes never wavering from hers. She didn’t hold back her eager cry as she arched into his touch. When his thumb circled with almost loving brutality over her clit, she collapsed atop him, writhing in pleasure as she clung to him.
His lips pressed against her ear in a soft kiss before he murmured, “You’re stronger than me, Annie, but I have my own ways to control you.” He stroked her again, harder this time, making her cry out. “Give in to it, and I promise you won’t regret it.”
She’d played this game before, but unlike then, this time she had no need to struggle for dominance. Instead, she simply nodded, burying her face in his shoulder, tasting the salt on his skin as she kissed him in supplication.
She felt rather than saw his pleased smile, but was instantly aware when he took her hips and shifted her into better position. Lifting her weight onto her arms, she looked down into his eyes, almost seeing the chaos blooming in their dark depths as the plush head of his cock prodded insistently for entrance. Unwilling to wait any longer, Buffy flexed her thighs and slammed down onto him.
His response was immediate and nearly as satisfying as the incredible friction of his cock stretching her. Ethan ground his head back into the pillow, his eyes closed but his mouth open in a surprised, gratified smile, a hoarse chuckle ripped from his throat as his fingers dug into her hips, arching up to bury himself even deeper into her. “That’s my girl,” he encouraged her. “Don’t hold back, Annie. Don’t you hold anything back.”
Buffy’s head was buzzing almost more than it had last night under the effects of the drugs they’d given her. The combination of his cock slamming into her at an ever faster pace, his hands stroking and fondling her breasts and his words caressing her ears and working on her mind, all combined to lift her higher and higher. She could feel the sweat beading up on her skin, tickling down her spine as she rose and fell over him, never taking her eyes from his.
Slowly it began to penetrate her brain that the tickle between her shoulders wasn’t from perspiration, but was the all too familiar sensation of being watched. Never slowing, she turned her head to lock eyes with Ripper.
He took her breath away. She had forgotten he was even there. He still sat on the window ledge, late afternoon sunlight making his skin ruddy and his hair almost auburn. But he had put aside the guitar and now played with himself instead, his hand sliding in leisurely strokes up and down his shaft as he watched them fuck. His eyes challenged her, but rather than startling her off, she was disturbed to find that it only aroused her further. Closing her eyes, she turned back to Ethan, trying to narrow her focus back to all the sensations of him. But the more she fought it, the more she was aware of Ripper, watching them and getting off on it. And the more it excited her. She rose up, shifting the angle of Ethan within her while giving Ripper a better view, posting hard on Ethan as he cupped her small breasts in his hands, his endless stream of words gone guttural as his own orgasm approached. She didn’t look over at Ripper, but could hear his hoarse breathing over the slap of their sweat-sheened skin. And then Ethan’s long fingers slipped between them to rasp over her clit and she forgot everything in the ecstasy of orgasm.
Buffy and Ethan lay entwined as they fought for breath afterwards. It was satisfying to feel his lungs bellowing against his ribs, his heart pounding as he held her close against him, stroking her hair and placing curious kisses on her crown and neck as though trying to decide whether to go again. But finally with a sigh of frustration he rolled her off him gently and slid away. “I need a shower. Got to make a couple of stops before Ripper’s show tonight, make sure nobody’s found you.” He leaned forward and kissed her one last time, using generous amounts of tongue. “Be right back.”
He stood up, unconcerned with his nudity, stretched and scratched at his hair, then disappeared down the hall to the bathroom, leaving her alone. With Ripper.
Still uncomfortable with her reaction to him and genuinely uncertain of what he might do without Ethan there to prevent it, she slid to the far side of the bed, grabbing the first shirt at hand off the floor and slipping into it. It was wrinkled and large, with a scent only vaguely reminiscent of Ethan, but it covered her, if she didn’t think about it too much. Thus armored, she felt safe looking back at him.
He hadn’t moved, still reclined against the window frame, one knee bent and the other draped over the edge, exposing his dusky erection and the heavy hang of his balls to her gaze without shame. She fought the urge to lick her lips. “I’m going to get some coffee,” she said instead, cursing the way her voice cracked. “You want some?”
He just smirked, his hazel eyes knowing as he slowly shook his head. “No, not coffee.”
“Okay, then.” Her heart was pounding again. Making her feel surprisingly like a cornered mouse. She could break him in half if she wanted to, but there was something about him, an aura of domination that made her feel . . . almost like a normal girl. “I’ll just . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t move as she backed out of the room, simply watched her with narrow, hungry eyes. It wasn’t until she was finally out of the room and had escaped the intensity of that gaze that she could finally turn and hurry down the hall.