*****

Giles was rapidly getting distracted, and he wasn't entirely sure why. He was in his own home, alone. The house was neither cluttered nor obsessively neat. His iced tea was just as good as his regular tea.

The book in front of him was pleasantly indecipherable -- a volume of no known importance that would provide hours of speculation before any translation could be done.

The sort of thing to keep all the right muscles in order with none of the usual stresses attached.

He chewed lightly on the frames of his glasses and tried to put a name to his vague sense of unease.

In less than a minute he was seriously considering taking the small axe to every clock in his home -- just a few seconds without shifting in his seat or turning a page and tick-tick-tick-tick...

He wondered how long it would take before he started taking the small axe to people.

Tick, tick, tick.

Giles decided he'd been keeping the house far too quiet, and rummaged through his music collection for something just non-neutral enough to drown out the clocks.

A week later, all but the one digital clock had been summarily removed to attic retirement.

The air was really much too dry up there for some of the wood, but the axe would've been a hell of a lot worse.

A few days after that, Giles brought home a few more classical CDs. Listening to Iron Butterfly while trying to determine which of the ancient dragons had, in fact, been demons worked perfectly well, but...

Well, it didn't inspire quite the right mood.

A few days after that Giles gave it up and took himself to the library, assuring himself all the while that it was perfectly natural for him to go back to the school even in *this* peaceful summer.

Something could always come up, and besides, it was a *library*. It just didn't count as an actual place of business.

Giles smiled at himself for that. Years may have passed, but he still felt as though he were getting away with something, what with being *paid* to spend time around books.

He walked into the school with a smile that faltered only a little at the sound of his steps echoing in the scrubbed halls, and made his way into the library.

Where he was accosted by a remarkably tuneless hum coming from somewhere over...

"Bookdaddy!"

Had G-Man really been so bad? "Xander... I didn't expect to see you here..."

"Well, Uncle Rory decided it was time for a little consciousness raising."

The one with all the dead animals? "Oh... is he here, too?"

Xander smiled, refolded himself partially out of the sprawl he'd adopted at one of the tables. The earphones were off, and whatever he'd been listening to was just loud enough to appeal to the translator within him, albeit futilely. "Sunnydale? No, way. It's barbecue season."

The music's influence appeared to be spreading. "Of course?"

"Uncle Rory has this thing about how meat should be prepared. A ritual, really. OK, a compulsion. Barbecue season causes him pain."

"So he decided you should come to the library to be away from all the flaming hibachis?"

Xander grinned at him. "No, I just wanted someplace quiet to go so I could read."

Giles gave up and decided to stick with the area he knew best. "Really? What book?"

Xander held up a paperback that seemed about as thick as a dictionary. "The Amiri Baraka reader. Seems to be a greatest hits album of Issues."

"Well, yes. He's angry."

"Yeah, I caught that. Seems to be his strong suit."

Giles chuckled, unlocked his office for the first time since the year ended. "Your Uncle Rory appears to be going for the radical approach to... consciousness raising."

"I think it's probably because he met Buffy a few weeks back."

Giles leaned out of his office to try to catch Xander's eye, but he seemed to be arguing silently with the text in front of him, on the edge of laughter. Yes, he supposed Buffy might be enough to make someone take drastic measures.

He found himself a codex he'd been neglecting and settled at the other end of Xander's table, which was apparently enough to earn him a smile. And the quickly aborted attempt to start a conversation, followed by the oops-Giles-is-reading expression and another smile -- this time just the tiniest bit apologetic.

And then Xander put his headphones back on and Giles read and Xander read and when Giles got home later that evening he wasn't sure whether the library had a ticking clock or not.

Rather, he was sure it did, but the tinny whispers of Xander's music must have drowned it out.

The next day he went to the library again, and there was Xander, deeper into the Baraka reader. His forehead was creased, and he was fidgeting in a way that -- briefly inexplicably -- made Giles wonder if Angel was around.

And then it hit that he was waiting for Xander to explode into argument. It was briefly shocking to find that he was absolutely sure he was right about Xander on this. When did he start knowing things like that?

"You know, there are other choices for consciousness raising."

Xander started and the book twitched under his hand. Giles thought Xander needed to be out somewhere, expending some of that energy.

"Oh, yeah, I know, but this guy... it's almost like a *pathology*. Uncle Rory was pretty insistent that I start here, though."

"Why aren't you... well, outside?"

"Gee, Mom, can I have a fudgicle before I go?"

"No, I mean, Buffy, Willow. Oz..."

Xander turned back to his book, his bag beside him. "Well, we're meeting up later... This old friend of Uncle Rory's... he's teaching a funky little political theory class I'll be taking and..." Xander trailed off and looked up. "Am I bothering you? I could go."

He was up before he'd even finished speaking. In the silent pause after the last syllable -- 'Tick.'

"No, no, I was just... just wondering. Baraka can be frustrating... Summer and all."

Was he making *any* sense?

"So... you don't mind me staying?"

"No, not at all..." Giles thought for a moment. "What about a little Angela Davis? She's just as angry, you know, but she's the sort of writer you can speak with. Well, not really speak with but --"

"She won't inspire me to use the book to beat someone to death?"

"Yes, that's it exactly."

Xander smiled at him and Giles looked at the smile and then he remembered the *book* and went to retrieve it.

"Here you go. _Women, Race, and Class_. Not her first but it might have that mood... Well, yes."

Xander was already partially resprawled when he had returned, oddly colored beverage beading water beside him. "Thanks." Another short grin. "Hey, I have another, if you want?"

"Hmm...?"

"Tea."

"That's tea?"

"Yes, Giles. Don't be afraid, it will not hurt you."

"Are you sure? I don't think that color occurs naturally..."

"That's just part of the fun."

"Yes, well... No. Thank you. I brought some water along..."

"Gotcha."

And Giles retrieved yesterday's codex and eventually realized the reason he'd been neglecting it was that it was insufferably dull. No matter, he'd brought the dragon book with him, too.

Sometime later,

"How big would you say that afro was?"

"Radiated four to five inches away from her face, easily."

And then it was silent again, which was fine.

But Giles didn't stay very long after Xander left.

The next day the bakery he passed had a special on cranberry muffins. Giles bought too many, or thought he had until after Xander had devoured his fourth.

"You got these from Zayda's, right? Most places make the muffins too dry. You sweep up more than you eat. Zayda's does it right."

Giles nodded, and passed him another muffin.

A few days later, a slim book of Gertrude Stein fiction caught his eye as he was on his way out of the house. He rearranged himself carefully, managing to slip it under his arm, extra large thermoses of iced tea or no.

A few days after that the air conditioning died *right* in the middle of a discussion. An act of God, perhaps. Xander had somehow tricked him into arguing for British imperialism.

They kept at it for a while, but the fact that it was late July asserted itself powerfully after a very short while and the library became truly... oppressive.

Xander grinned at even that small joke.

Giles surprised himself not at all by calling the maintenance man at home that very evening.

But when he arrived the next day the library was still a perfect oven, and Xander wasn't there. The photocopied Gayle Rubin essay flopped wearily in his hand.

The donut holes were melting -- Giles could feel them through the waxed cardboard.

He refused to let himself leave just because of that, though, and set himself to putting away some of the books Xander and he had left strewn about.

Giles was deep in the stacks with a bit of Ella Baker obscurity when Xander called from downstairs.

"You up there, man?"

Giles' mouth twitched at the slight edge of unease in Xander's voice before he could stop himself. "Right here!"

He moved out of the stacks and was greeted with the sight of Xander in old cut-off jeans and a dust-smudged t-shirt plastered to his chest with sweat.

He was holding what appeared to be the world's largest, oldest, and filthiest floor fan in his arms, smiling with triumph. His face was as smudged as his shirt. Giles couldn't help but notice that Xander had managed to acquire a mild tan despite spending all his time in the library...

It made Giles feel eased, somehow, though he couldn't quite say why.

"Where should I put it?"

"Hmmm...? Oh, there's an outlet over by the windows..."

"'K."

Giles came down and helped set it up. The engine sounded like an aging tank going uphill, but there was suddenly oxygen in the room again and that was all that mattered. He breathed luxuriously.

"Xander, where'd you find this miracle?"

He turned to see the other man raking hair out of his face, eyes closed, lashes damply elegant soot on his cheeks. Oh, he thought, but Xander was answering him.

"... be amazed how hard it is to get into the attic."

"Well, they lock it, don't they?"

"Yeah, which was a real pain in the ass, let me tell you."

"I can only imagine."

Giles let the fan send gales whipping through his clothes, thrilled he'd chosen to go for slightly looser-than-usual slacks and shirt today. When he opened his eyes again he caught Xander staring at his arms. Giles paused in the middle of rolling up his sleeves and waited, helplessly, for Xander to catch his eye.

Oh.

A dusty beam of sunlight caught golden against where Xander was plucking at his t-shirt.

"Giles..."

His tongue curled hard against his teeth, anticipating the salt of Xander's skin.

"We... I..."

"Yes," said Giles, and dove in to claim the kiss waiting for him. Soft lips, wet flame of Xander's tongue. Groan that shook him to his heels.

Giles abruptly found even that too subtle for him and slipped his arms around the other man, prompting Xander to mold himself entirely to him.

God, he was going to be filthy... He slipped his fingers beneath the low-seated waistband of Xander's shorts and Xander jumped, thrust hard against him, mouth open cry into Giles' mouth. There was no time to make the kiss less savage and so he didn't bother to try.

He took Xander's lower lip between his own and sucked hard, pulling back only long enough to get the t-shirt up and over Xander's head and then found himself faced with a sweat-damp chest and copper-coin nipples, spiked and wet and Giles bent down to suck at them, too.

They were moving together, half-falling, and the jar of Xander hitting one of the tables pushed Giles' face harder against his chest, knocked out another sharp cry and he could feel Xander's fingers in his hair, moving down to his neck and back, rubbing, clutching at him...

Giles reached down again and opened Xander's shorts, pushed aside denim and cotton and was rewarded with a palmful of solid heat and Xander said "please" in a voice too low and hoarse, perfectly low and hoarse, and Giles took Xander's cock in his fist and stroked hard and fast and then Xander was yanking him up by the hair for another kiss and coming hard and loud and shameless and kissing, and kissing...

Another few moments there, right there and then Xander was making small, half-hearted motions to push Giles a little away. Giles complied with some regret when he could.

The fan drowned out the sound of their breathing, but not the pound of Giles' blood in his ears. Xander was watching him dazedly, goofily.

"Yeah... yeah, that."

Giles tried to focus. "That?"

"Yeah. Take off your shirt?"

Breathy, but otherwise a perfectly normal tone of voice. Giles couldn't help smiling, and his shirt was off before he had time to think about it. Not that he could've, but still --

"Only you would have a t-shirt on under there in this heat."

"Xander--"

"You are so fucking *sexy*."

And then Xander seemed to slide, boneless, off the table and onto his knees and the only thing Giles could do was rest his hands on the hot, bare flesh of the other man's shoulders and offer himself and be taken.

"I've been waiting..."

But Xander had Giles in his mouth before he could finish the sentence and Giles' knees threatened to buckle because God he had barely gotten used to that muscle, that wet-bladed knife in his mouth and now, and now.....

And now it was licking the secrets from him, scoring his flesh. Giles tried to figure out what sounds he was making but it was beyond him and then there was suction and he forgot what he was trying to do and pumped.

God, so fast and he knew he was going to lose it before Xander did anything else at all and he squeezed the other man's shoulders and thrust raggedly and the sunlight through the window was making him dizzy, that had to be it and oh --

Later, Giles mentioned the fact that he had air conditioning in his home.

Xander nodded, shifted to catch his mouth again in a long, slow caress of lips and tongue, and then settled himself back on Giles' chest.

end.