Giles doesn't kiss him in front of the students or the other faculty. In fact, Wesley's quite certain that there's never been anyone else around while they kissed. This, he reminds himself each time he feels the warm press of Giles' lips against his own, is not a problem. This, Wesley thinks to himself, is his. This one thing, in the entire world, is something he earned, something he wanted, and something that he's going to treasure in the silence and soft light of the empty library. Wesley returns the kiss, tongue parting Giles' lips, and lets it warm him.
***
Giles replays the answering machine message over and over in his mind, sprawled on the bed, fingers moving over his own heated skin. Fingertips brush over his lips, gentle enough to make him shiver, and slowly move over his collarbone and down the center of his chest. He imagines damp, pink lips kissing his lips, the edge of his shoulder, the sensitive skin at the base of his stomach, the tip of his cock. Soft kisses, slow kisses, nipping kisses, kisses that make him sigh. He comes with a groan, Wesley's voice still in his ears.
I miss your taste.
***
Wesley shuts the door and locks it behind his back. "They'll still talk, but at least we can have a modicum of privacy."
Before Giles can reply, Wesley's in his arms and they're kissing. He hasn't been in Los Angeles for two hours and already Wesley's lips are covering his, over and over again.
"I was just thinking," Wesley murmurs, kisses Giles, a laugh on his lips. "So many kisses, a thousand of them, it's like..."
"Catullus?" A smile starts to form on Giles' lips. "Yes..."
Wesley laughs again and the sound reminds Giles how young his boyfriend still is.
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