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I'm really in a mood for this fic at the moment...here's more.
Previous parts here
Chapter Six
It did not, of course, take over long for Ethan to fathom the reason behind both the satisfied smugness of Angel and Wesley and the subdued behaviour of William.
And the friendly pat Angel bestowed upon William’s backside as they entered the dining room, that made Wesley chuckle and William give Angel a flickering, beseeching look from under his lashes merely served to confirm his deductions.
He was astonished by the envy he felt. Should he not, at his age, be censorious about such activities, condemning them as the extravagances of youth they undoubtedly were? Perhaps...but instead he found himself wishing he and Giles did not usually ride to wherever they were going...and remembering, with a pride he felt to be misplaced but could not dispel, his own encounter with Rupert in the lake.
“Not so old, after all,” he murmured to himself.
“Indeed not,’ Giles said softly, coming up behind him and catching his words. “And now that you’ve recovered and have forgiven me my sins, perhaps we can take advantage of your youthful vitality later on.”
He moved past Ethan without giving him chance to reply, and behaved with the utmost propriety at the table, confining his conversation to Angel, who had been placed at his left side, and never, as far as Ethan could tell, doing more than glance at Wesley, who had been placed at Ethan’s left. William seemed to regain his spirits as the meal progressed but made no protest when Ethan engaged Wesley in a conversation that was as open as he wished it to be; he did not allow his servants to remain in the room while he ate, preferring that they come, when summoned, to bring the next course and clear away the plates. Their talk turned naturally to magic and Ethan found himself admitting that Giles’ penchant for the lad was not without some justification; Wesley was quick-witted, with a dry humour that matched his own, and a gravity beyond his years. If he had a fault, Ethan thought, it was that he had a tendency to rely a little too heavily on the written word, accepting what he was told rather than meeting it with a healthy scepticism.
Ethan tried to recall ever being quite so humble in the face of perceived wisdom and failed utterly.
When they had retired to the library with drinks, sitting down in the comfortable seats with contented sighs of repletion, and, Ethan noted with an inward smile, a wince from William, who was nevertheless quick to be the one who sat on the couch beside Angel, Ethan raised the subject of the medallion. As he had expected, only Wesley showed more than a polite interest in it, but his enthusiasm more than made up for the tepid indifference of Angel and William. As they seemed content to sit, talking in soft whispers, William’s hand straying to rest on Angel’s arm as though unconscious that it lay there, Ethan swept Wesley and Giles off to his study, leaving the other two to resolve whatever had set them at odds.
Wesley leaned over the medallion, his blue eyes shining with interest. “It seems very old!” he exclaimed. “Have you been able to ascertain an exact date?”
Giles shrugged. “It’s highly intricate and made of bronze; that gives us a starting point...but, you know, I’m not sure it is as old as we first thought. We were misled –”
“’We’?” Ethan said, mocking Giles gently. “You galloped off eagerly in quite the wrong direction whilst I was sick abed. I never shared your quite unwarranted assumption that because it was found near a Roman villa it needs must be Roman.”
Giving Giles a comforting glance of – quite unnecessary in Ethan’s opinion – commiseration, Wesley said quickly, “I am sure I would have done the very same, Giles! So – not Roman then?”
“No,” Giles said, still with slight reluctance, Ethan noted. “It’s not really typical workmanship, but there’s something else...” He gestured at the object. “Do you see anything strange about it? The lines connecting the holes bored through it?’
Ethan cast up his eyes as such a leading question, certain Wesley would claim that he did, but the lad shook his head. “No. They form a pattern, I can see that much, but other than that? No.”
“They move,” Ethan said abruptly, tiring of the wait. “Move and twist until it sends one dizzy to watch them.” He stepped closer and frowned. “Except they do not move now. Rupert?”
“They’ve stopped,” Giles agreed, looking interested rather than annoyed. “How strange.”
“You’ve both seen this happen?” Wesley asked, sounding a trifle doubtful.
“Yes; Ethan saw it first, but put it down to his fever. I saw it later and since then –” Giles shrugged.
Wesley tapped his finger against his lips as he considered this. “Experiment,” he said. “See if the phenomenon occurs with just one of you present, if it differs when you both are near; if touching it changes anything...and perhaps you should see if it always stops when there is an observer, or if ‘tis I alone who dampen its energy.”
Ethan felt a surge of excitement. “You think it in some way attuned to us?” he demanded.
“It’s clearly magical,” Wesley said, sounding matter of fact about it. “And you found it, did you not? And Giles is linked to you, and so...”
His suggestion was applauded by Giles at once. “Yes! And you recall what happened directly after we found it, Ethan.”
Ethan discovered that he could still blush. “Yes,” he said in quelling tones, unwilling to discuss their coupling. “Doubtless you’re perfectly correct, young – ah, Wesley, that is. Would you think me discourteous if I asked you to step outside for a moment so that I might perform the experiment you suggest and see if, with we two only present, it might be persuaded to resume its activities?”
Wesley made him a slight bow. “Of course,” he said politely. “I’ll return to the library. I think William and Angel have had ample time to kiss and make friends ...”
“In my library?” Ethan said, as shocked as if he had not tumbled Giles on that very couch more than once, with the firelight painting their skin crimson and their softly whispered moans of delight sounding loud in the quiet peace of the room.
Wesley’s mouth fell open at the suggestion that his friends had been so forward ,and he gave Giles a hunted look. “I –I meant only that they have much to discuss,” he stammered.
Giles rescued him, giving Ethan an exasperated look and patting Wesley’s arm reassuringly. “Ethan means that – oh, you know what he means,” he finished, clearly giving up the attempt to smooth over the gaffe. “What ails them anyway?” he said curiously, “if it is not betraying a confidence?”
“Oh, it is not,” Wesley assured him, leaning back against a table and looking far more self-possessed now that Giles had broached the subject. “William is all but ignoring us in favour of his writing.”
“How peculiar of him,” Ethan murmured, feeling a slight pang of sympathy for the poet.
“It is,” Wesley said with some dignity, refusing to retreat. He met Ethan’s gaze squarely. “You know how it is with we three and for him to withdraw from us to such an extent is disturbing. As though we had lost part of ourselves.”
The distress he felt was evident, but Ethan, who had after all, endured twenty years of being ignored by the one he loved, could not but feel that while William was still within reach to be scolded, chastised and forgiven, their case was not so very hard after all. He gave Wesley an insincere smile and sighed slightly too loudly as Giles made up for his shortcomings by launching into a speech about outside interests and the need to give William space to express his creativity that had Wesley glassy-eyed within moments and eager to escape.
Which might, Ethan reflected, have been Giles’ purpose, as he was not usually so tedious and rarely slow-witted.
The door closed and he raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Love, were I to have spurned your fervent embraces, would you have been as understanding as all that? I think not.”
“I was trying to lessen his embarrassment!” Giles said hotly. “Really, Ethan! To suggest that in the short space of time they had, in a public room in the house of a virtual stranger, William and Angel fell upon each other in such a way...well, ‘tis ludicrous.”
“Oh, of course it is,” Ethan agreed, his voice a purr of delight as he pounced on the defenceless, soon to be soundly trounced, Giles, who had given him the perfect opening through which to attack. “We would never have behaved – yet, stay!”
“Ethan...” Giles said warily. “You look full of mischief. What memory do you plan to taunt me with, now?”
Ethan pursed his lips and then smiled angelically. “Why, Rupert, my dear, can it be that you have forgot the act you performed upon me when we retreated from the hell of Lady Amelia’s solo on the pianoforte to the blissful – and it was blissful, was it not? – solitude of her mama’s pink drawing room?”
“Oh, Good Lord!” Giles groaned, shading his eyes with his hand and failing to hide the shamed grin that spread over his face. “Ethan, you rogue; do you recall every such occasion?”
All levity left Ethan. “Yes,” he said, his voice sounding desolate even to his ears. “I had nothing else to do but count them up and recall them, you see.” He glanced at Giles, with an almost apologetic smile. “I do not think there is a single kiss or caress, a word of love from your lips, that I do not perfectly recall.”
The silence that fell was broken by Giles saying his name and coming to gather him in an embrace that went from comforting to passionate in a moment as their lips met hungrily.
“I wish only to give you new memories,” Giles said, his eyes fierce, his hands demanding and imploring at one and the same time. “Do you hear me, Ethan? I want you to have no time to think on anything but what I will give you now, tomorrow, every day...”
“But I like those memories,” Ethan protested, less because he disapproved of Giles’ intentions, confused and vehement though they were, and more because it was pure joy to hear him say them. “And as for Lady Amelia, why I think of her with much fondness, I assure you.”
Giles kissed him again, teeth hard against Ethan’s lip, his tongue busy. “If that is truly the case,” he said a moment later, his breath catching in his throat, “then shall we see if her memory is yet green?”
“Our guests...” Ethan protested, without a shred of conviction as he was spun around and bent over a table.
Giles paused as he completed his task of peeling Ethan’s breeches down. “Oh, if I recall, this shouldn’t take long,” he said, falling to his knees behind Ethan. “Not long at all...”
Ethan closed his eyes as he felt the first warm, wet touch against his skin and decided that the years had not dimmed his Rupert’s memory either. Each assured lap of his tongue, each circling lick, each gently probing jab...all were achingly familiar – and he came, just as he had that night long ago, when Giles rose from his knees and thrust inside him, calling out his name with an urgent need that he shared completely.
After a short space of time in which all they could do was cling to each other, recovering from an encounter both unexpected and welcome, they made hasty adjustments to their clothing, laughing helplessly, as if they were still those reckless youths.
“Ethan, you are the most terrible influence on me,” Giles said, stroking his hand lovingly across Ethan’s face.
“I know,” Ethan nodded. “I pray, ‘twill always be so. I’ve no wish to be anything else, particularly if my reward is to be transported in such a fashion.”
“We should go back,” Giles said, with a reluctance that gladdened Ethan’s heart. “And see,” he added, walking over to the medallion. “It moves again.”
Ethan joined him. “Indeed it does.” On an impulse he said, “Let us touch it, together, as Wesley suggested.”
“Very well,” Giles said. He gave Ethan a smile. “On the count of three...”
Darkness. Darkness and pain and endless night...
Previous parts here
Chapter Six
It did not, of course, take over long for Ethan to fathom the reason behind both the satisfied smugness of Angel and Wesley and the subdued behaviour of William.
And the friendly pat Angel bestowed upon William’s backside as they entered the dining room, that made Wesley chuckle and William give Angel a flickering, beseeching look from under his lashes merely served to confirm his deductions.
He was astonished by the envy he felt. Should he not, at his age, be censorious about such activities, condemning them as the extravagances of youth they undoubtedly were? Perhaps...but instead he found himself wishing he and Giles did not usually ride to wherever they were going...and remembering, with a pride he felt to be misplaced but could not dispel, his own encounter with Rupert in the lake.
“Not so old, after all,” he murmured to himself.
“Indeed not,’ Giles said softly, coming up behind him and catching his words. “And now that you’ve recovered and have forgiven me my sins, perhaps we can take advantage of your youthful vitality later on.”
He moved past Ethan without giving him chance to reply, and behaved with the utmost propriety at the table, confining his conversation to Angel, who had been placed at his left side, and never, as far as Ethan could tell, doing more than glance at Wesley, who had been placed at Ethan’s left. William seemed to regain his spirits as the meal progressed but made no protest when Ethan engaged Wesley in a conversation that was as open as he wished it to be; he did not allow his servants to remain in the room while he ate, preferring that they come, when summoned, to bring the next course and clear away the plates. Their talk turned naturally to magic and Ethan found himself admitting that Giles’ penchant for the lad was not without some justification; Wesley was quick-witted, with a dry humour that matched his own, and a gravity beyond his years. If he had a fault, Ethan thought, it was that he had a tendency to rely a little too heavily on the written word, accepting what he was told rather than meeting it with a healthy scepticism.
Ethan tried to recall ever being quite so humble in the face of perceived wisdom and failed utterly.
When they had retired to the library with drinks, sitting down in the comfortable seats with contented sighs of repletion, and, Ethan noted with an inward smile, a wince from William, who was nevertheless quick to be the one who sat on the couch beside Angel, Ethan raised the subject of the medallion. As he had expected, only Wesley showed more than a polite interest in it, but his enthusiasm more than made up for the tepid indifference of Angel and William. As they seemed content to sit, talking in soft whispers, William’s hand straying to rest on Angel’s arm as though unconscious that it lay there, Ethan swept Wesley and Giles off to his study, leaving the other two to resolve whatever had set them at odds.
Wesley leaned over the medallion, his blue eyes shining with interest. “It seems very old!” he exclaimed. “Have you been able to ascertain an exact date?”
Giles shrugged. “It’s highly intricate and made of bronze; that gives us a starting point...but, you know, I’m not sure it is as old as we first thought. We were misled –”
“’We’?” Ethan said, mocking Giles gently. “You galloped off eagerly in quite the wrong direction whilst I was sick abed. I never shared your quite unwarranted assumption that because it was found near a Roman villa it needs must be Roman.”
Giving Giles a comforting glance of – quite unnecessary in Ethan’s opinion – commiseration, Wesley said quickly, “I am sure I would have done the very same, Giles! So – not Roman then?”
“No,” Giles said, still with slight reluctance, Ethan noted. “It’s not really typical workmanship, but there’s something else...” He gestured at the object. “Do you see anything strange about it? The lines connecting the holes bored through it?’
Ethan cast up his eyes as such a leading question, certain Wesley would claim that he did, but the lad shook his head. “No. They form a pattern, I can see that much, but other than that? No.”
“They move,” Ethan said abruptly, tiring of the wait. “Move and twist until it sends one dizzy to watch them.” He stepped closer and frowned. “Except they do not move now. Rupert?”
“They’ve stopped,” Giles agreed, looking interested rather than annoyed. “How strange.”
“You’ve both seen this happen?” Wesley asked, sounding a trifle doubtful.
“Yes; Ethan saw it first, but put it down to his fever. I saw it later and since then –” Giles shrugged.
Wesley tapped his finger against his lips as he considered this. “Experiment,” he said. “See if the phenomenon occurs with just one of you present, if it differs when you both are near; if touching it changes anything...and perhaps you should see if it always stops when there is an observer, or if ‘tis I alone who dampen its energy.”
Ethan felt a surge of excitement. “You think it in some way attuned to us?” he demanded.
“It’s clearly magical,” Wesley said, sounding matter of fact about it. “And you found it, did you not? And Giles is linked to you, and so...”
His suggestion was applauded by Giles at once. “Yes! And you recall what happened directly after we found it, Ethan.”
Ethan discovered that he could still blush. “Yes,” he said in quelling tones, unwilling to discuss their coupling. “Doubtless you’re perfectly correct, young – ah, Wesley, that is. Would you think me discourteous if I asked you to step outside for a moment so that I might perform the experiment you suggest and see if, with we two only present, it might be persuaded to resume its activities?”
Wesley made him a slight bow. “Of course,” he said politely. “I’ll return to the library. I think William and Angel have had ample time to kiss and make friends ...”
“In my library?” Ethan said, as shocked as if he had not tumbled Giles on that very couch more than once, with the firelight painting their skin crimson and their softly whispered moans of delight sounding loud in the quiet peace of the room.
Wesley’s mouth fell open at the suggestion that his friends had been so forward ,and he gave Giles a hunted look. “I –I meant only that they have much to discuss,” he stammered.
Giles rescued him, giving Ethan an exasperated look and patting Wesley’s arm reassuringly. “Ethan means that – oh, you know what he means,” he finished, clearly giving up the attempt to smooth over the gaffe. “What ails them anyway?” he said curiously, “if it is not betraying a confidence?”
“Oh, it is not,” Wesley assured him, leaning back against a table and looking far more self-possessed now that Giles had broached the subject. “William is all but ignoring us in favour of his writing.”
“How peculiar of him,” Ethan murmured, feeling a slight pang of sympathy for the poet.
“It is,” Wesley said with some dignity, refusing to retreat. He met Ethan’s gaze squarely. “You know how it is with we three and for him to withdraw from us to such an extent is disturbing. As though we had lost part of ourselves.”
The distress he felt was evident, but Ethan, who had after all, endured twenty years of being ignored by the one he loved, could not but feel that while William was still within reach to be scolded, chastised and forgiven, their case was not so very hard after all. He gave Wesley an insincere smile and sighed slightly too loudly as Giles made up for his shortcomings by launching into a speech about outside interests and the need to give William space to express his creativity that had Wesley glassy-eyed within moments and eager to escape.
Which might, Ethan reflected, have been Giles’ purpose, as he was not usually so tedious and rarely slow-witted.
The door closed and he raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Love, were I to have spurned your fervent embraces, would you have been as understanding as all that? I think not.”
“I was trying to lessen his embarrassment!” Giles said hotly. “Really, Ethan! To suggest that in the short space of time they had, in a public room in the house of a virtual stranger, William and Angel fell upon each other in such a way...well, ‘tis ludicrous.”
“Oh, of course it is,” Ethan agreed, his voice a purr of delight as he pounced on the defenceless, soon to be soundly trounced, Giles, who had given him the perfect opening through which to attack. “We would never have behaved – yet, stay!”
“Ethan...” Giles said warily. “You look full of mischief. What memory do you plan to taunt me with, now?”
Ethan pursed his lips and then smiled angelically. “Why, Rupert, my dear, can it be that you have forgot the act you performed upon me when we retreated from the hell of Lady Amelia’s solo on the pianoforte to the blissful – and it was blissful, was it not? – solitude of her mama’s pink drawing room?”
“Oh, Good Lord!” Giles groaned, shading his eyes with his hand and failing to hide the shamed grin that spread over his face. “Ethan, you rogue; do you recall every such occasion?”
All levity left Ethan. “Yes,” he said, his voice sounding desolate even to his ears. “I had nothing else to do but count them up and recall them, you see.” He glanced at Giles, with an almost apologetic smile. “I do not think there is a single kiss or caress, a word of love from your lips, that I do not perfectly recall.”
The silence that fell was broken by Giles saying his name and coming to gather him in an embrace that went from comforting to passionate in a moment as their lips met hungrily.
“I wish only to give you new memories,” Giles said, his eyes fierce, his hands demanding and imploring at one and the same time. “Do you hear me, Ethan? I want you to have no time to think on anything but what I will give you now, tomorrow, every day...”
“But I like those memories,” Ethan protested, less because he disapproved of Giles’ intentions, confused and vehement though they were, and more because it was pure joy to hear him say them. “And as for Lady Amelia, why I think of her with much fondness, I assure you.”
Giles kissed him again, teeth hard against Ethan’s lip, his tongue busy. “If that is truly the case,” he said a moment later, his breath catching in his throat, “then shall we see if her memory is yet green?”
“Our guests...” Ethan protested, without a shred of conviction as he was spun around and bent over a table.
Giles paused as he completed his task of peeling Ethan’s breeches down. “Oh, if I recall, this shouldn’t take long,” he said, falling to his knees behind Ethan. “Not long at all...”
Ethan closed his eyes as he felt the first warm, wet touch against his skin and decided that the years had not dimmed his Rupert’s memory either. Each assured lap of his tongue, each circling lick, each gently probing jab...all were achingly familiar – and he came, just as he had that night long ago, when Giles rose from his knees and thrust inside him, calling out his name with an urgent need that he shared completely.
After a short space of time in which all they could do was cling to each other, recovering from an encounter both unexpected and welcome, they made hasty adjustments to their clothing, laughing helplessly, as if they were still those reckless youths.
“Ethan, you are the most terrible influence on me,” Giles said, stroking his hand lovingly across Ethan’s face.
“I know,” Ethan nodded. “I pray, ‘twill always be so. I’ve no wish to be anything else, particularly if my reward is to be transported in such a fashion.”
“We should go back,” Giles said, with a reluctance that gladdened Ethan’s heart. “And see,” he added, walking over to the medallion. “It moves again.”
Ethan joined him. “Indeed it does.” On an impulse he said, “Let us touch it, together, as Wesley suggested.”
“Very well,” Giles said. He gave Ethan a smile. “On the count of three...”
Darkness. Darkness and pain and endless night...