Librarians Gone Wild

"Now here's a librarian with brass knackers!"

"I assume that's a slur on Giles, in which case, continue."

"Eh? Thought you lot liked Rupes."

"Oh, I do. I just like making fun of him even more. So please go on." Xander leaned over the back of the couch, mainly because sitting wasn't currently an option. Not that he minded, since getting that way had been pretty nice, but it did make reading the newspaper more awkward than usual.

"Well, this Indian librarian's got him beat cold for stones. He's certainly not the type to let a little thing like the school blowing up put him out of work."

"Uh. Giles is the one who blew up the school, Spike."

"Well, this fellow knows how to get his superiors' attention," Spike continued, not quite listening yet.

"I think blowing up the school got their attention, but okay," Xander said, moving to sit on the couch, thinking better of it, and leaning a hip casually against the edge instead even though a smirking Spike was currently his only audience. "How about you tell me what it's actually about."

"Right, then." Spike shook out the newspaper, cleared his throat, then paused again as Xander's words caught up with him, looking up at Xander with the wide eyes of a child who's been told that Santa is real. "Rupert blew up Sunnydale High? All by himself? Good for him!"

"Spike!"

"Yes, luv?" Spike blinked the big blue eyes of doom and destruction at Xander, and got a cuff to the head for his troubles. "Bloody. . . fine then."

"Read," Xander ordered, pointing at the newspaper.

"Love it when you're all dominant, pet." Spike's tongue curled in behind his teeth, and his eyes traced a wicked trail from Xander's lips to his ass, making it throb in memory.

"It wasn't me getting all dominant last night, Fang Boy."

"Have to remind you of your place from time to time, don't I?"

"And where would my place be, o bleached wonder?"

"Just then?" Spike's tongue made a reappearance, wetting that full lower lip. "Over my knee, 'course. Now belt up if you want me to read."

"Yes, sir, master vampire, sir."

"Pathetic. Least you could do is learn to be obsequious properly." Spike skimmed the newspaper, finding his place once again. "Here. A librarian in India has vowed not to appear fully clothed at work until his job is made permanent." Spike looked up at Xander. "Reasonable demand for a bloke to make, don't you think? Been workin' for them part time twelve years. Right, here's the good part. For the last two weeks, Achal Singh has attended to his duties while wearing only underpants and one slipper. Wonder what the slipper was for. Think Rupert might know? Havin' been one himself. Might be a professional ritual buried deep in the secret and sacred Librarian Handbook."

Xander held up a hand, and Spike stopped entirely, folding his hands and his newspaper in his lap, the echo of a proper Victorian gentleman. "Spike?"

"Yes, pet?"

"I am not discussing half naked librarians with Giles. And I am not discussing half naked librarians and Giles before I've had my morning coffee. In fact, I am not even thinking about naked and librarian and Giles in the same sentence." Xander paused. "Damn. Not that I ever thought about naked Giles or any Gilesian bits under the tweed." Xander realized that Spike was watching him with that lifted eyebrow smirk and trailed off. "And I like it that way," he added quickly.

"Oh really?"

"Duh, Spike! He's like fifty."

"So? I'm a hundred and fifty. You like my bits just fine."

"I thought you were a hundred and twenty five."

Spike blinked, stared, and frowned, doing a little mental math. "Close enough. That's beside the point."

"What is the point?"

"Point is, our Rupert might get a kick out of this one, and it'd be bloody selfish of us to keep all that lovely news print to ourselves." Spike thought about this some, a look of mild confusion washing over his face. "Or possibly that I can smell a lie and that you've been thinkin' about the bits under the tweed after all." Spike blinked. "You've been thinking about Rupert that way, pet?"

"I deny it all!" Xander paused, edging away from the vampire, who was getting an entirely different look in his eyes. Almost blank. "Spike? What's that look for?"

This time, the blink came much more slowly, and grew a smile beneath it. "Tryin' to decide if I'm jealous, disturbed, or horny as all buggering fuck at the thought of you tossin' off over Rupert."

"Please say it wasn't the last. Remember, Spike. It wasn't long ago that linoleum did it for me, and linoleum doesn't play the guitar. Which, by the way, was so not an admission of guilt of any kind." Xander shook his head. "And what were we talking about?"

"Naked Giles."

"No we weren't."

"We were about to be."

"Can I talk you out of it?"

"Doubtful, luv."

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

"Promise I'll make it up to you, pet." Spike caught Xander's hand, bringing it to his lips, evil lips that wrapped around Xander's first knuckle and sucked, then upped the ante with a swirl of tongue.

"I'm thinking more naked Spike now, you know. For which, thank you."

Spike chuckled, folding the newspaper. "Hold that thought then, why don't you? We'll be getting back to it soon."

"No. Soon bad. Getting back to thought now good," Xander said, hauling Spike up and over the side of the couch by his shirt, muffling any further discussion of mostly naked librarians by the very simple expedient of filling Spike's mouth with his tongue.

Of course, somewhere down the street, within distance for an enterprising and bored vampire to jog there and back before dawn, Giles's newspaper lay waiting for him, neatly folded with a note inside bearing a simple question in Victorian handwriting and an arrow pointing to the article.

Give us some insight into the mind of a librarian, mate. What do you reckon the slipper's for?