He closed the book with a sigh and placed it neatly back on the shelf.  The research was getting nowhere, might as well go home. Giles turned off the light in his office, grabbed his coat and locked the inner door.  To his surprise, all the lights in the library were still on.  As he passed by the front table, something caught the corner of his eye.  A pant leg, clad in expensive Italian fabric, black in color.  A foot hooked around the wooded leg of a chair. Giles walked over to the study table to wake the young man who had fallen asleep with his head resting against an open book. The page was spread open to a sepia toned portrait of Mayor Richard Willkins the Third.  The scene would have been funny, if not for the reasons why they had to do this research in the first place.

Wesley looked like he was dead to the world, although Giles hated to use that phrase in conjunction with anyone he knew, even if he didn't like said person very much.  Wyndam-Pryce may have been annoying, and prissy, and naive, but he was genuinely dedicated to his work. He must have been there for hours, Giles thought.

He touched his hand to Wesley's shoulder and shook him not too gently.

"Wake up."

Wesley struggled to open his eyes, and peered at Giles in confusion.

"Whuh?"

Then, noticing the time, and his surroundings, straightening his tie and jacket, fumbling with the pile of books.

"I lost track of time, it's very late, isn't it."

"They'll be closing the building in a few minutes. You should go home."

"Yes, of course." Hunting absently for his car keys. "Goodnight, Mr. Giles."

A few minutes later, Giles was walking out to the Citroen, cross in one hand, bag in the other.  Passing through the parking lot, he heard a howl of pain from somewhere in the dark.  Giles ran toward the sound.

"Wesley? What happened?"

"Vampires, I think. I couldn't really see them well. They knocked my glasses off."

"Not broken, I hope."

"No, not broken."

Giles helped him up, noticing a damp stain spreading along Wesley's pant leg.

"You're hurt."

"I am?" said Wesley dazedly. "Oh dear."

"I have a First Aid kit back in the office."

Giles hooked an arm around his waist and together they limped back inside the building.  Wesley propped himself up by leaning against the wall, as Giles unlocked the library doors again.

"They could have killed you, you know." Giles said casually.

"I know, "Wesley made a face.

"You don't have to do this."

"Do what?"

"Stay. This isn't your fight."

"But it is!" Wesley insisted with all his youthful ardour. "The fight belongs to all of us, all of the soldiers of good. You're not a Watcher anymore, yet you stay."

"I have people I love and care about, here in Sunnydale."

"And I don't? What happens here determines the fates of many, not just our friends. I wish to stay and help."

He was looking at Giles with a determined expression. His "resolved face" as Willow would say.

"Take off your pants." Giles commanded.

"Mr. Giles! I feel silly." Wesley complained as he unzipped the trousers and stepped out of them. There was a nasty gash on his upper thigh.  A knife wound. Or possibly teeth marks, you could never be too sure, living on the Hellmouth.

"Well, you are standing in the middle of the high school library at 9:30 p.m and wearing no pants. If you didn't feel silly, I'd be worried." Giles left the room to go get the First Aid kit out of his desk drawer.  When he returned , Wesley had perched himself on the table and was inspecting a hairline crack in  his glasses.  His eyes seemed faraway, as if he were reliving some painful memory.

"We'll get this patched up in no time." said Giles, to try and fill the silence. Wesley winced as the probing fingers  cleansed his wound. Giles felt the firm young thigh tense under his hands. 

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Oh-um. A bit, yes."

"It's just the antiseptic. I apologise if that's making it worse for you."

"No need to apologise." An indrawn hiss. Giles cut off a strip of bandage and applied it carefully.  So far, he had kept his eyes on the task at hand, concerned only with cleaning and bandaging the cut. It was the wrong time to raise his glance.  To the intriuging bulge in the front of Wesley's shorts.  His gaze traveled up Wesley's chest, to his blushing face.

This was new and different.

Wesley closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, waiting, trembling.

*It would be unkind to laugh.* Giles thought. *And strangely, I don't want to. *

"Wesley, look at me please." Wesley opened his eyes slowly.  His eyes were huge, Giles had never noticed just how lovely they were. Especially without the glasses.  It was wrong, it was definitely wrong.  Giles couldn't think of any specific reason why it would be wrong, except for the fact that Wesley was much younger than him. He hadn't felt this kind of passion for anyone since he lost Jenny. Perhaps that was the issue here.

"Put your pants back on. " He said as he turned away.  For the first time since they had met, Wesley obeyed him.

"I'll be going home now." Wesley said quietly.

"See you Monday, then?" Giles tried to keep his voice calm and emotionless.  He turned back around and found his lips kissing Wesley's.  Wesley had decided not to let go, Giles gave in, wrapping his arms around that slender body, prying the other Watcher's mouth open with his tongue.  A stirring in his groin, rubbing against Wesley's erection.  Wesley pushed him away.

"What?"

"I need to put these books away first." He said.  Giles' jaw dropped.  "Mustn't  just leave things lying about."

Wesley gathered up the tomes, and carried them back to the shelves, where he methodically placed them exactly where they needed to go. Giles could bear it no longer. He followed Wesley, cornered him in the dark stacks of the D section, and started kissing his neck, behind his ears, sliding his hands over ass and stomach and chest.

"Do you have a condom?" Wesley whispered in his ear.

"No."

"I don't either."

"That's okay."

"I trust you."

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Giles asked gently.  Oddly touched at the idea of what his young friend was suggesting. Wesley nodded and started attempting to undress them both at the same time.

"Have your revenge."

Giles stopped kissing his way down Wesley's naked chest.

"My what?"

"Never mind." Wesley said quickly.  Giles wanted to ask him what he had meant, but Wesley had gotten on his hands and knees and with that perfect little bottom right in front of his face like that, Giles decided to worry about motives later.

* * * * *

THE LISTENER

Principal Snyder locked up the door to his office and headed out to his parking space. Better get home to Mrs. Snyder, she had been worrying more since they moved to Sunnydale. Sunnydale, the town known for it's disappearing citizens.  Go home, put on his slippers, heat up some soup and watch Diagnosis Murder.

There was a small light still on in the library.

What on earth would anyone still be doing here at this hour?  He slowed as he passed the door.

Hoarse, breathy moans of  someone in ecstasy.  Snyder was pretty sure it was a young man's voice.  A  pair of students perhaps? Students who had decided that the school library would be a novel place to try having sex?  Snyder felt cheered, it had been almost a year since he'd expelled someone.

He was about to open the door and march in, when another voice joined the first one. An older, male, British voice.

Mr. Giles?

And the other man could be no one other that his "assistant" Mr. Wesley Wyndam Pryce.

Snyder had always suspected that it was Buffy Summers, or possibly Willow Rosenberg, that Mr. Rupert Giles was banging behind those double doors.  Goodness knows they spent enough time in the library, and that certainly wasn't normal.  But now the sudden appearance of the pretty young Englishman, hired under vague circumstances, made a lot more sense.  A little mid life crisis, maybe?  Snyder, himself had contemplated getting a hair piece, or maybe a little red convertible.

The Principal stood outside the door, and listened.

The sighs and moans grew louder and more intense. The deeper voice melding with the tenor in a passionate duet, sliding up the scale and swelling to a crescendo. Wesley cried out, a little scream of release.

"There's a good boy." Giles murmured, making soothing sounds. Principal Snyder looked down to discover that his pants were wet.