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"Oh, you know. Not all at once. A few here, a few there." Xander moved some of the comic books from one pile to another. He obviously had a system of some sort, which Giles had made little attempt to understand; he assumed it was enough that he left the piles alone and didn't complain that they cluttered up his living room. "You want help with that?" It took a moment for Giles to realize that he was the one being spoken to. "Oh," he said, laying the halved mushrooms and tomatoes on the broiler pan. "No, it's fine. Thank you." If Oz hadn't been there, things would have been different. For one thing, the earlier part of the morning would have been spent in bed, with Xander wrapped around him and a minimum of two orgasms. Instead, Oz had spent the night, and since there was sleeping space for three and, as Xander had said in a hushed tone to Giles, "It's not a big deal, me and Oz sleeping in the same bed. Friends do that. It's not like we won't be wearing clothes." And so somehow Giles had been banished from his own bedroom to the sofa, where he'd slept poorly and woken with the first morning's light because it hadn't occurred to him to close the curtains. Several cups of tea had done little to improve his mood, and it wasn't until Xander stumbled downstairs, rubbing sleep from his eyes and kissing Giles. "Morning," he'd said. "Mm. Missed you last night." "Good morning," Giles had said, and they'd chanced another kiss. Then Oz had come downstairs as well, yawning and stretching, and the two boys -- which was what they were, Giles reminded himself -- had begun to talk about comic books. Which was what they'd proceeded to do for the next hour. Finally Giles, in an attempt to save his sanity after fifty-nine minutes too many listening to talk about kryptonite, Superman, and the apparently debatable hotness of Wonder Woman, had got up and gone to make breakfast. They were still talking, for God's sake. Giles sighed and slid the pan under the broiler, then lowered the heat beneath the pan where the sausages and bacon were nearly done. "You both want eggs, I assume?" he asked. "Eggs are good," Xander said, looking up and meeting his gaze from across the room, and there was enough warmth there that Giles relaxed a bit, the tightness in his chest easing. "Yeah, I like eggs." Oz glanced at him, too. "You sure we can't help?" "The kitchen's rather small," Giles said, trying for an apologetic tone when in reality it was an excuse. "Up to you," Oz said. He'd perfected the art of sounding casual, as if nothing mattered much, but Giles knew that was only true to a certain extent. There were things Oz cared about -- Willow was one of them. By the time Giles had finished cooking and doled out the food, his mood was souring again. "I hope you aren't going to talk about comic books all day," he said as the boys came into the kitchen to collect their plates. "Why, what else should we be doing?" Xander asked. "Studying?" Giles suggested. "Spending time outside in the fresh air?" "You sound like my dad," Oz said, grinning and stabbing his fork into a sausage, then taking a savage bite from it. "Hey, that's good." "Yes, well, you might want to try to avoid comparing me to your parents," Giles said dryly. It didn't seem reasonable to be too irritated about it because it was, after all, a fair comparison, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "Sorry." Oz sounded as if he meant it. Xander sat on the floor next to the couch and poked at a tomato half. "What's the deal with these tomatoes, anyway?" he asked. "They're part of a traditional English breakfast," Giles said. "Yeah, I get that, but why? I mean, why tomatoes for breakfast? Did somebody look at them and say, 'Fruit's good for breakfast, but instead of being normal and going with something like cantaloupe or strawberries, let's use tomatoes?'" He didn't, Giles noted, seem to have any trouble eating said fruit. "'And hey, let's cook them first.'" "I think it's a love thing," Oz said suddenly. "A what now?" Xander said. "Love apples," Oz said. "Maybe the English need more love." "That's just wrong," Xander said. "Wrong, and creepy. It reminds me of that witch in Sleeping Beauty. You know, with the apple?" Oz nodded. "But these aren't apples," he pointed out. "And I don't know if it would be more creepy or less creepy if they were." Xander went back to eating as if it were that easy to forget the conversation, and a few moments later he and Oz were discussing comic books again. At that point, Giles found the topic a relief. It was more of a relief when Oz, after stating calmly that he and Xander would do the dishes and then actually doing them, thanked Giles for breakfast and went off to do whatever it was he did during the day. Within moments of the door closing, Xander was nuzzling Giles' throat, warm hands pushing up Giles' t-shirt to settle on the small of his back. "Longest morning ever," Xander said fervently. "Did you think so?" Giles asked, pleased. "God, yes." Xander kissed him, his mouth tasting of fennel and other wild things, and Giles pulled him closer. "I mean, don't get me wrong." Xander's eyes were dark, full of promises. "I like Oz. He's great, even." "He is," Giles said. He was barely paying attention to what Xander said, more interested in the fact that Xander's hands were unbuttoning the front of his trousers. "And he knows about us," Xander said. It was, briefly, as if time had stopped. "He does?" Giles said. Slowly, he stepped back, took off his glasses, and began to clean them. "I didn't tell him," Xander said. "He just figured it out." "Really." "Yeah. What, you think I go blabbing it around school? Oh, by the way, my boyfriend is the librarian?" Giles shook his head. "No. No, of course not." That wouldn't be like Xander, who was as careful to keep their relationship private as Giles was himself. "Actually, I think it was a werewolf thing -- he said something about being able to smell me. Which is a little freaky if you spend too much time thinking about it. Anyway, I didn't think..." Xander looked down and then up again, the perfect picture of innocence. "It's not like you'd do anything with him around. You know. Kissing, or whatever." "No, I wouldn't," Giles agreed, going to him and taking his hand, then tugging him over to the couch. He sat and pulled Xander down into his lap, which was a bit awkward, but worth it because of the way it made Xander look at him. "But not because I'm ashamed; it's because I don't want to share you. Not with anyone." "I get that." Xander kissed him. "I don't want to share you, either. You're pretty much the best thing that's ever happened to me." "Am I?" Giles moved his hand up to the back of Xander's neck and into his tousled hair, and Xander shivered and pressed closer. "Yes," Xander said. Their noses were almost touching. "You are." He grinned suddenly. "Even if you don't know anything about the important things in life." "Oh, really," Giles said. "And what would those be?" "Comics," Xander said. "Movies. Stuff like that." Giles slid a hand up the inside of Xander's thigh, and smiled when Xander's breath hitched in anticipation. "Those aren't the most important things," he whispered, lips brushing Xander's ear. "They're not?" "No," Giles said. He moved his hand half an inch higher. "Would you like me to show you what is?" The squeak Xander made as Giles' thumb brushed against his erection was immensely gratifying. "Yes," he said, high-pitched and eager. "Then let's go upstairs." Xander scrambled off Giles' lap and waited for him to lead the way.
Before Giles' foot touched the first step, he was smiling.
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