You, Rupert…Me, Jana by Misha

Title: You Rupert...Me, Jana

Author: Misha

Rating: NC-17 for explicit m/f content.

Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Spoilers: "I, Robot...You, Jane" from season 1.

Pairing: Jenny/Giles

Summary: Jenny Callendar tells a story.

Length: 1500 words
Disclaimer: "The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant

Enemy, Kuzui Productions, 20th Century Fox, WB Network, and whoever else

may have a hold on them. The situation is totally mine, and I do not

mean to infringe upon any copyrights."

Feedback: Relished at mishamcm@livejournal.com

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Gypsy stories get under your skin.

A Romni, a Gypsy woman, named Najma Ayashah put it like this:

These are traditional stories in Gypsy culture handed down through generations – grandmothers to mothers to children. The stories each put you in touch with a particular feeling. You hear them over and over, in the village, in school, at work, all around you, and this forms the morals in your mind.

And Rupert thinks techies can’t do lit-crit.

* * * * *

Once the Devil came to a Romni and offered her three wishes in exchange for her soul. The woman thought carefully and said, “There is an apple tree in front of our house which my husband and I have always adored. We were married at the foot of that tree, and every day I bring him an apple from its branches. But the tree grows higher and higher, and I am not as spry as I used to be. The first thing I want is this: whomever I tell to climb the tree must do so, and may not come down until I say so.”

The Devil grinned. “This I do grant. And the second thing?”

“My people work long and hard, and sometimes it is hard to persuade them to rest. Whomever I tell to sit in my chair must do so, and may not rise until I say so.”

“Okay, that is two. And the last?”

“Many times over the years my people have been chased from their homes. Let it be that whenever I remove my shoes and place them inside the door to a place, that place shall forever be a home for my people, in which they can stay as long as they wish.”

“It is done.” And with that the Devil vanished. The Devil was pleased, for not only had he bought the woman’s soul for little cost, it was the soul of a kindly woman who was always thinking of others, and such a person had surely been destined for heaven.

The woman lived a long time. One day the angel of death came to her and said, “Come with me.”

And the Gypsy said, “Let me say farewell to my husband, and bring him an apple as I do every day. Please climb the apple tree and toss one to me.”

The angel of death climbed the tree and couldn’t come down. The Gypsy said, “You let me live another twenty years and I’ll let you come down.” And the angel of death agreed.

Twenty years went by, and this time the angel of death sent the Devil to take her in person. “Very well,” said the Gypsy, “but you look so tired. Please sit here and rest.” And the Devil sat and could not get up. “You let me live another twenty years and I’ll let you get up.” And the Devil agreed.

Another twenty years passed, and this time the angel of judgment, who decides where you should go, came in person to take the Gypsy, and took her to the door of heaven, where people are judged. And the Gypsy said, “I know I am bound for hell, but let me just take a peek at what heaven is like.” And she opened the door a bit and peered inside. With great speed for such an old woman, she removed her shoes and put them inside the door. And so she and her tribe had heaven as their home forever.

When I was a girl I heard many stories like this, with the moral that a clever Gypsy could outwit the Devil, or the King, or some wealthy or intelligent non-Gypsy. But it was also stressed that there is a big difference between cleverness and ivory tower intellectualism. My people were not pleased that I became an academic. I heard stories like this one:

Once upon a time a man of letters wanted to spend his vacation taking a boat ride on the river. So he rented a boat from a Gypsy and hired him to pilot it. During the ride the man of letters asked the Gypsy boatman, “Do you know anything about literature? Do you know how to write? Do you know how to read?”

And the boatman answered, “No, I’m always working, always trying to make ends meet, trying to feed my family, and never had time to learn to read. To me it’s just a waste of time – I know my work, all there is to know about boats and rivers, and that’s all I have to know.”

And the man of letters said, “What a shame – you’ve wasted half your life with boats and know nothing about the more refined things in life.”

So they went arguing back and forth about the need to know about reading and literature and the more refined things in life. All of a sudden a big whirlpool came up and things got scary. The boatman asked the man of letters, “Hey, do you know how to swim?”

“No.”

“Oh, what a shame – you’ve spent half your life studying musty old books and didn’t learn how to swim? Well, if you don’t learn to swim now, it will be all of your life and not just half!”

Okay, I admit that saying, “Rupert, you’ve spent half your life studying musty old books and didn’t learn how to use a computer” doesn’t have the same ring to it, but the principle is the same. Isn’t it?

So, here’s a story of my own:

Once upon a time a demon named Moloch the Corrupter was scanned into a computer, and he could do a lot more damage in there than in a musty old book. So a man of letters, who knew the ritual for trapping the demon, and a techno-pagan, who knew about computers and about sacred circles, tried to force the demon out.

“First thing we have to do is form the Circle of Kayliss, right?”

“But there are only two of us. Really more of a line.”

“You don’t get it, Rupert. We form the circle online. Hopefully enough of my group is online.”

And so it went, he reading the ritual, while I typed it in.

“By the power of the circle of Kayliss, I command you.”

His voice grew stronger. “Demon, come! I command you!”

And then the computer erupted in a shower of sparks.

“The circle’s broken. Did it work?”

Rupert flipped pages. “I don’t know. He isn’t in the book.”

“We’ll have to try again to make sure.”

“But we need a circle.”

And that’s when it hit me. I shrugged out of my jacket and began pulling my blouse over my head.

“Rupert, take off your clothes.”

“Pardon?” he stammered.

“I only know one way to form a sacred circle with two people.”

“Jenny, I don’t—“

“We don’t know if Moloch is bound, and we may not have another chance.”

He was in pretty good shape for a librarian. He didn’t get those pecs from reshelving, that’s for sure. I have to admit, in spite of the situation, it was something of a turn-on. And he was definitely up to the task.

He was uncut, like the men in the Old Country. The men I’d been with since coming to the States were all circumcised. Not that he was like them in any other way. But I realized I’d missed it. I wrapped my fingers around the shaft and took him into my mouth.

Okay, so maybe I was being an anti-academic snob, but the thought flashed through my mind, what if he comes too soon? Then he set his tongue to work on my clitoris and dispelled that thought. In fact, he dispelled any ability I had to muster a thought. You little devil, Rupert! You didn’t learn _that_ from a book!

I sucked his cock, gasping for air and then taking him deep inside again. I thought I could hear his voice in my head: “Come! I command you!”

So I did.

I forgot all about making sure we finished the ritual. I didn’t care about breathing. I wanted him to come before my orgasm subsided. I was very industrious.

He did.

It wasn’t until the next day that I realized something. It was the end of the school day before I managed to get him alone to ask about it.

“Rupert, how did you recite the ritual? Unless I passed out at some point, your mouth was pretty continuously occupied.”

The stammer was back. “Well, I knew I couldn’t break the circle. So I…eh…” He trailed off.

“You what?”

“I spelled it with my tongue.”

So the moral of the story is, a clever Romni can outwit a demon.

And a man of letters can learn to swim.