Heat

"We should move," Wesley eventually said, finding himself dozing right there on the sofa.

"Probably," Rupert replied and Wes could feel the man smile against his skin. "There's quite a bit to do. We need to research and take a good look at that book."

Neither of them budged. Wes did try at one point, but Rupert's grip tightened around him, holding him close. Smiling, Wesley settle back against the older man, sighing happily. Moments later, Rupert sighed and loosened his grip.

"Damn. We do have to move."

Chuckling, Wesley rolled off the coach, standing and offering Rupert a hand. His light mood didn't last very long, though not even the thought of the book and his earlier discovery could completely banish the warm glow he felt inside. They both dressed quickly, Wesley watching Rupert pull on his trousers with some regret.

Rupert went to one bookshelf, pulling out several texts and depositing them on the coffee table. "Here it is. Do you remember where it left off?"

Nodding, Wesley took the proffered book, sitting back down on the couch as he flipped to the correct page. "It ended here," he said when Rupert came to sit beside him, reading over his arm. "This part's mainly about a demon horde that destroyed several small Indian villages. I really don't see how it has any value to anyone these days."

"There must be some value," Rupert said, his voice hard again. "They didn't . . . do this for fun, after all."

Nodding, Wesley grabbed a pen and some paper in order to begin translating.

"I'll see what I can find."

Rupert nodded and Wesley felt a brief brush of the man's hand over his shoulder. Biting the insides of his smiling lips--he should be serious about this, after all--Wesley set to work. Rupert had other research to do, trying to work out what the Mayor was up to, and Wesley found himself glancing up every so often, watching the older man work for a few moments before going back to his own task. Even when the text began to absorb him, whenever he needed to pause and think, his eyes went to Rupert.

Sometime later, Wesley looked up at the sound of a frustrated groan. Rupert closed his book with a sigh, removing his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose.

"Not going well?" Wesley asked, immediately regretting the question. Obviously it wasn't or Rupert wouldn't look so ragged.

Rupert shook his head, sighing and Wesley had a sudden thought. Swallowing hard against his own anxieties, Wes carefully put his own book down on the coffee table. He paused for a moment, unsure, and then forced himself to his feet.

Walking over to where Rupert sat on the floor, leaning his back against his easy chair, he smiled at his own boldness. His lover looked up at him, forehead wrinkling in a question, eyes slightly squinted without his glass. At that look, a wave of warmth washed away Wes' anxiety and, with a shy smile, he climbed into the easy chair and put his hands on Rupert's shoulders, rubbing at the knots there.

Rupert groaned, pushing back into his hands and Wesley's smile grew wider. For a while, as Wes massaged some of the tension from the older man, they were both silent, except for Rupert's occasional sounds of pleasure. Then Rupert reached his hands up, covering Wesley's, and leaned back against the younger man, laying his head back on Wes' crossed legs.

"I'm going to bed. Join me when you're through here?"

Wes' breath caught at the thought. It wasn't that he'd assumed Rupert wouldn't want him in the bed, but more that he hadn't actually thought of their sleeping arrangements. He'd only ever even been in Rupert's bed once and the only time they'd, literally, slept together had been on the couch. He'd also had a concussion and barely remembered what it had been like to feel . . .

"Of course." Even Wesley realized how breathless he sounded, and cursed himself for it. However, Rupert either didn't notice or chose to ignore it, smiling and squeezing Wes' hands before letting go and climbing to his feet.

Sending him a tired smile, Rupert stacked his own books neatly on the coffee table and made his way to the bathroom. Trying to control the grin that wanted to lift his lips, Wesley forced himself to quit daydreaming and get back to his work.

A little while later, Rupert came out and, without a word, kissed him on the head before stumbling up the stairs. Wesley watched him go, savoring the comfortable silence. It was all so . . . easy. As if it were perfectly normal for Wes to be there, perfectly right for him to be sitting in Rupert Giles' living room, translating late into the night before toddling upstairs to crawl into a warm bed with his . . . lover.

Suddenly it was too much. Wesley put aside his book, trying to find breath. His eyes flashed around the room, taking in all the details, frantic to memorize this moment, to lock it away inside his head for . . . later. He closed his eyes, making certain he could picture it all from the moment they'd entered the door. He wished desperately there were a way to get it down, to translate his memories, and all the feelings attached, into pictures he could pull out and look at when . . . when he needed to.

Stop it, he ordered himself, taking slow, soothing breaths. Just stop and enjoy it. Just . . . do your work and . . . don't think about later.

Nodding to himself, he swallowed hard, taking a deep breath to calm himself before picking up his book and pad of paper again. Nodding again, he dove back into the words, letting them fill his mind and, somewhat, ease the dread twisting his stomach.