TITLE: Library Porn: Say Biblioteque Again, Baby
        AUTHORS: Nestra and Shrift
        RATING: R for m/m slash
        SUMMARY: Wesley and Gunn go to the library to do research, and by 
        research, we mean...
        SPOILERS: Angel at least through Epiphany.
        DISCLAIMERS: The boys are owned by people/entities like Joss Whedon, 
        Mutant Enemy... Res owns her birthday. Nestra and Shrift own their 
        ability to do gay porn fanfic improv. 
        ARCHIVES: Yes to list archives, others please ask.
        AUTHORS’ NOTES: Nestra and Shrift discovered it was Resonant’s birthday. 
        Nestra weaseled out a request for Wes/Gunn in the library with a 
        candlestick and Mr. Peacock -- er, never mind. Resonant’s pressie came 
        to life through a rapid ICQ session. Next year, maybe they’ll do some 
        Fraser/Kowalski.
        FEEDBACK: Send via nestra@postmark.net and darth_shrift@yahoo.com


        LIBRARY PORN: Say Biblioteque Again, Baby
        by Nestra and Shrift

        The shelves extended for meters, filled with rows of neatly shelved, 
        carefully bound books. 

        Wesley was in thrall. 

        He inhaled and closed his eyes, tasting the musky scent of old leather 
        and dust on his tongue. When Gunn walked up behind him, he murmured, "I 
        had no idea the public library possessed so many foreign language books 
        on the occult." 

        "Your tax dollars at work, man." 

        Wesley only distantly heard the words, still caught up in the 
        comforting, familiar smells of the books. He opened his eyes and took 
        another step forward, then reached out a hand to run down the spine 
        nearest. He tilted his head to read the title, fingers caressing the 
        uneven line of smooth book spines.

        "They have a copy of Simenon’s treatise on demonic interdimensional 
        travel," he said, plucking the volume from the shelf and cradling it to 
        his chest. 

        He looked up to see a smirk twisting Gunn’s lips. "You’re sure friendly 
        with that book, English." 

        He smiled slightly in return. "Jealous?" 

        "Of a book? I don't think so. But you start doing something indecent 
        with it, and I'm outta here, mission or no mission." 

        "The mission, yes," Wesley said, dragging his mind away from the 
        precious book in his arms. He didn’t realize he was still running his 
        fingers over the book cover until Gunn’s warm hand closed over his and 
        gently squeezed. 

        "Yeah, the mission? The one we have to research 'cause Cordy 
        password-protected the computer and then went on vacation?" 

        "Of course." Wesley took one last deep breath. "Now, we're looking for a 
        copy of *Demonology and Xenopsychology*." 

        "I remember," Gunn said, squeezing again. "I'm not the one who got all 
        moony over interdimensional travel. Good thing one of us can keep his 
        mind on the job." 

        "I’m the boss," Wesley said. "I delegate for a reason." He turned around 
        to reshelve the Simenon text. Gunn stepped closer, pinning him against 
        the shelves with his slightly larger frame. 

        "The boss, huh?" Gunn said. His warm breath tickled the nape of Wesley’s 
        neck. 

        Wesley shivered and lowered his head slightly, exposing more of his neck 
        to the puffs of air feathering across his skin. "Yes. Definitely the 
        boss. I make decisions. I'm in charge. I...oh, that feels good...Gunn, 
        we're in the middle of a library!" 

        Gunn’s lips brushed across his skin just under his hair line, brushed 
        then pressed as Gunn chuckled into his neck. "Do you see anybody else 
        here but us on a Friday night?" 

        Wesley pressed back into Gunn’s firm body. He looked left. He looked 
        right. "Why on earth would a public library be deserted because of the 
        weekend?" 

        Gunn laughed again, folding his arms around Wesley’s middle and pulling 
        him closer. "You know, you’re kinda cute when you’re being a --" 

        "Bibliophile?" 

        "Oh, yeah, English. Talk dirty some more." 

        Wesley tilted his head backward and rested it on Gunn's shoulder. "Dewey 
        decimals." 

        "I can’t believe you." 

        "The Library of Congress. Microfiche. Oversized books." 

        Gunn snorted, and then turned Wesley around so his shoulder blades were 
        propped against the shelves. He hooked his fingers in the belt loops of 
        Wesley’s khakis and ducked down for a kiss. Wesley opened his mouth and 
        sucked on Gunn’s lips, running his hands up Gunn’s arms to cup his head. 

        Shelves and books were digging into his back, but Wesley couldn't find 
        the energy to care. He was much too busy tasting Gunn, slipping his 
        tongue between those lush lips, inhaling the mixed scent of Gunn and 
        leather. And Gunn didn’t seem too inclined to stop, either, sliding his 
        hands from Wesley’s belt loops to work his fingers into the waist band 
        on the back of Wesley’s trousers. Gunn rocked Wesley’s hips forward and 
        widened his jaw. He whimpered into Gunn’s mouth. 

        Some part of his proper British upbringing vainly tried to assert 
        itself, pointing out that it wasn't terribly wise to be grinding up 
        against Gunn in public library stacks. Even if they were deserted. 
        Wesley hesitated for a moment, and then remembered that he wasn't that 
        proper British watcher any more. 

        In fact, he was in L.A., the City of Dreams. To hell with proper. 

        He braced himself against the shelves and slid a thigh between Gunn’s 
        legs. His hands moved down from where he had been teasing the skin of 
        Gunn’s throat to creep under Gunn’s loose jersey. Gunn moaned low in his 
        throat and took his mouth away, sliding his lips over Wesley’s cheek and 
        jaw to bite at his earlobe. 

        Teeth pressing into his skin just a little too hard...felt perfect. He 
        pulled Gunn's jersey away from his neck and leaned forward to suck at 
        the exposed skin. He was sensitive there. The line of Gunn’s collarbone, 
        the bit between shoulder and neck. 

        He always tried to leave a mark somehow, using teeth and tongue to claim 
        Gunn as his. Gunn’s dark, smooth skin didn’t show the bites as well as 
        Wesley’s did, but as long as he knew where to look, he could see the 
        evidence. 

        And Wesley was persistent, worrying at Gunn's skin, finishing off with a 
        deep, sucking kiss. He'd barely broken away from Gunn's neck when Gunn 
        grabbed the back of his head and dragged him back up. Urgently. 
        Insistently. 

        Wesley sucked at Gunn’s tongue in his mouth, rocking up Gunn’s thigh, 
        spreading his legs wider for better balance so he could grind harder. He 
        was hard and growing frantic. And it wasn’t the place for this, wasn’t 
        the place for it at *all*. They would never live it down at the office 
        if they were arrested for public indecency. 

        But apparently, Wesley’s body couldn’t spare two bloody brain cells to 
        stop. 

        Gunn’s breath was ragged on Wesley’s cheek as they broke for air, still 
        moving together. Wesley’s hands moved up and down Gunn’s spine; Gunn’s 
        hands wriggled deeper, under his trousers and boxer shorts. The front 
        placket of Gunn’s jeans scraped against Wesley’s cock, rough even 
        through his layers of clothing. He shuddered and pushed harder, sweat 
        prickling on his skin. 

        Wesley was close. And from the expression in Gunn’s heavy-lidded eyes, 
        so was he. 

        And so was Angel. Alarmingly close, suddenly looming in Wesley's vision. 


        "If you guys are busy, I can come back later." 

        Wesley let out an undignified squeak and shoved at Gunn, who refused to 
        be moved. "Angel," he said. Yelped, rather. He tried to untangle 
        himself, but Gunn simply held on more tightly. A slight hip wriggle 
        practically caused a light bulb to appear over his head. 

        Gunn’s pants were loose, but not *that* loose. And Wesley’s khakis would 
        certainly not conceal his arousal. 

        "Um," Wesley said. 

        "The books," said Gunn. "They were...um...falling." 

        "Yes!" Wesley chimed in. "Falling. Definitely. And we were...holding 
        them up." 

        Angel blinked. "And you needed, what, to replace the oxygen you lost 
        holding up the books?" 

        Wesley rapped his fist against the shelf. "The books. They knocked the 
        wind out of me, and. And Gunn --" 

        "Didn’t want English to die on me," Gunn said. 

        "No," Angel said. "We wouldn't want that to happen." 

        Wesley couldn't for the life of him decide if Angel was making fun of 
        them or if he really *was* that dense. 

        "Anyway," Angel continued, "I tracked down the nest. We need to go burn 
        it out before the spawn start to hatch." He turned and began to stride 
        away, and then apparently realized that Wesley and Gunn weren't 
        following. 

        "You guys coming?" 

        Wesley stared suspiciously at Angel's retreating back as Gunn muttered, 
        "Don't I wish." 


        the end