Be my Valentine

There were moments, moments like this one, where it all seemed worthwhile—scrimping and saving all winter; living off bloody beans on toast in a cold, draughty rat-hole of a flat, with no heating except that which they made themselves.

He watched the emotions play across his lover’s face—wonder, joy, delight, then a slight flickering of uncertainty. Stepping closer he wrapped his arms around Ethan’s waist, pulling him back against his chest.

“You like it?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know—hadn’t seen the younger man wistfully eyeing it in the shop window for the last seven months.

“Like it?” Ethan breathed in disbelief. “I love it. But how...”

“It’s not hot, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ripper assured him. “You can wear it out.” Taking the watch from his lover’s hand he gently fastened it, his fingers lingering for a fraction longer than necessary before withdrawing. “It looks good on you,” he breathed against Ethan’s ear, before pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin below.

“I didn’t get you anything,” Ethan admitted, his head lolling back against his love’s shoulder and tilting slightly to allow better access.

“Yes you did,” Giles replied, his hands pulling roughly at the other man’s shirt, tugging it free of the tight-fitting jeans. “Yes you did.”