The Glitter Jungle:
Fiction:
Without
Doing without. Giles/Ethan pwp
He's in the tub, alone, head slung back against the tiles, warm water gently rippling around him. He's trying to relax. He's been trying to relax all day.
It's not working. He's restless, tense, and apparently in heat. Ethan reaches that conclusion with a sigh, having spent most of the day in a state of semi erection and mounting discomfort - maybe "mounting" is the wrong word here, considering it nearly made him moan just thinking about it.
A wank is out of the question. It's not what he's craving, it'll be hollow and dissatisfying, and it would only leave him angry, and hungry. With that decision, he finds that his hand drifted down while he wasn't looking, and that he was now soaping his cock rather thoroughly. And repeatedly. In a very specific motion. And moaning.
He rolls over to kneel in the tub, preferring that to lying on his back, just to fit in a certain fantasy he's been cultivating almost religiously for a while. He's stroking himself with a sure hand, long, drawn out movements, with a vicious squeeze every now and again just to hurt himself, to make it seem, for a moment, that it's Ripper doing it. Ripper's hand giving and denying at the same time.
He leans forward a bit more, his face just above the water. He breathes in the steam and thinks about Ripper behind him. He can't pretend to feel what he wants to feel, so instead he imagines Rupert being there and not touching him; imagines the teasing, light strokes of Rupert's cock just barely making contact with his skin, just promising but not delivering.
His skin is screaming to be touched, his cock in the water wants a more solid wet heat, and he's rocking on his heels trying to ignore the way his ass contracts around nothing. Rupert is *gone*. Away. Not here. No one is here. No one is going to do him; no one is going to take this maddening, endless itch and scratch it until he bleeds. Oh, this metaphor went to a place it shouldn't have. Oh god, he wants Rupert - someone, anyone - no, he wants *Rupert*, to grab his shoulders, dig his nails into flesh, push him just a little further; Ethan dips into the water, holds still, and then comes up for air again, eyes closed and face dripping. Wants Rupert to grip his biceps hard - Ethan caresses his own arm softly - and pull him back, into his embrace. Ethan leans his head back and his hand speeds up on his cock. He moans again, biting his lip and trying to be quiet because his voice echoes in the small room, off the tiles, and it's such a *lonely* voice. A single voice.
He thinks about the items within his reach that he can shove inside himself; thinks which one would be the least stupid to try, looks desperately at the caps on shampoo bottles, at the handle of the back scrubber. At the tooth brush, even. He shakes his head at himself. Better to just suffer in silence. God, he needs to - He finally comes. It takes the edge off, but it doesn't make him happy. He still feels the need to be filled, and held down, and sensitised all over and *hurt* and *fucked* and - That just didn't help one bit, now did it?
Out of the tub, feet wrinkled, he sits at the desk by the window and tries to read a book. Or the first line of a book. He fidgets and squirms in his chair, on occasion rocking shamelessly against the hard wood. It doesn't help his state of mind, and it doesn't help his erectile situation.
It's late at night when he goes into bed and absentmindedly starts humping a pillow. It smells faintly of Ripper and it's driving him insane. The pillow is soft and pliable and has no hard, sharp edges, no muscular planes.
It's almost morning when Rupert goes through the front door. He seems tired, rumpled, and very much not in the mood. He seems like he's been killing demons and vampires for a few hours and all he wants now is a quick shower and a good, long, morning-to-noon sleep. He seems surprised when Ethan's lips wrap around his cock and his back slams against the door.
"Mmmmmm."
"Ethan, wait, no. What are you doing?"
"Mmmm. Sucking your cock. Mmmmmm."
"Oh. Ohhh..."
Ethan stops, and Ripper growls. Ethan rises gracefully to his feet, grins, and turns to walk slowly towards the bedroom. Ripper is two steps behind him, then just one, and then Ethan finds himself pushed into bed face first and Ripper's on top of him, growling quietly into his ear,
"Tease."
It only gets better from there. Ethan's hand may know some tricks, but Rupert's hand knows exactly when to be careless and rough. His pyjama pants being pulled down and Ethan sighs happily and then jerks and almost dislodges Rupert off his back when a finger he's been wanting all day long but somehow still wasn't expecting, is touching, inquiringly, at his opening.
"Just - " Fuck me already, he wants to say, but doesn't have to because Rupert knows him enough to recognise the slight, almost inaudible whine in his voice. So he just gasps and lets Rupert prepare him, which takes all of two seconds because he's so needy he just opens up right away, and even that is two seconds too much.
And then there are three fingers in his mouth to shut him up and he sucks on them, pretends that it's another Rupert with another cock and that he can suck and get fucked at the same time. He feels Rupert all over his body, all over his skin, hitting every spot and not leaving anything important unattended. Inside and out. Hard thrusts and soft touches. Gentle words and harsh gestures, pain and pleasure and perfect. Just the way Ethan likes it, and more.
"I'm going to sleep now," Rupert says, "and you won't be here when I wake up, and I won't be here when you come back."
Ethan nods and wraps himself around his lover.
"So for gods' sakes, Ethan, try to make it through the day without ejaculating
on my pillow."