Because it's wrong!

[cheesygirl.livejournal.com]

That's just wrong! drabble. Wesley/Giles, 300 words, R. No rare books or precious watchers were harmed in the writing of this drabble.


Wesley and Giles stumbled out of the stacks. They frantically pulled at each other’s clothing, unbuttoning and unzipping until their hands met bare flesh.

As they kissed and groped, Wesley felt his back touch the edge of the research table. Giles slowly pushed him onto it and the papers and books spread upon it.

Wesley’s training in document handling and conservation momentarily overrode his desires. “Wait! We can’t do this, not here.”

Giles ignored his protest and began kissing his way down Wesley’s neck. “Everyone’s gone home. The library is empty. No one’s going to see me do this—“ Giles slipped his hand into Wesley’s trousers.

“Oh, God.” Wesley was torn between the magnificent sensation of Giles’s hand on his cock and the horror of a 9th century scroll being crushed between his shoulder blades. The guilt was killing him. “The books--the scrolls. We’re damaging them. It’s wrong!” he gasped.

Quietly, Giles answered, “Yes, I know it’s wrong. We’ve both been told all our lives that sacred and rare texts should be handled with great care. They’re precious and should be treated as such.” He continued to caress and kiss Wesley.

“But…”

“Wesley, they are precious things, but so are you. I’m more interested in taking great care of you right now.” Giles smiled.

“Really?”

“Of course.” Giles slyly grinned. “And taking care of you on these fragile books is so very, very wrong—and doesn’t that make it feel very, very good?”

Wesley thought of the rare copy of Bingham’s Demon Almanac that was currently beneath his bum. Father made him stay indoors memorizing its passages one summer when eight-year-old Wesley was dying to go outside and play instead.

That boring book was dreadful.

Giles’s talented hands were fabulous.

Wesley returned Giles’s naughty smirk. “Very good, indeed.”