Mozart was fucking brilliant. Giles rarely used such coarse language--vulgarity was for the weak of mind--but listening to Mozart as snow fell against the floor-to-ceiling window brought out his passionate side.

Fucking brilliant. That was all he could think about. Not the ancient text resting under his palms, nor the steaming cup of tea on his desk, nor the slight draft stirring the hairs on his bare legs. He let the music emanating from the small stereo in the Upper Library sweep him to a place free from thoughts of the large, empty estate that he was rattling around in, alone for the weekend. As the music swelled, he lifted his pen and whisked it through the air to conduct an imaginary symphony.

Giles stood from the desk and turned to the huge window. Large, fluffy flakes were falling through the sky. Giles flitted his pen at them, imagining the impertinent strings section he would be belittling at this point, and later praising if he were the real conductor. A fire roared in the fireplace, as in most of the main fireplaces in the new Watcher's Counsel headquarters. He was alone for the holidays and decided that the luxury of temperature was a gift he would give himself.

Now, Giles conducted the fluttering flakes in a pair of faded boxers and thin white t-shirt. It was late in the afternoon and he hadn't had had a midday meal. He'd actually only managed a small breakfast before he was required to shuttle the last of his peers to Heathrow Airport. Now that he was safely home, though, the time had come for true sustenance. Christmas Eve dinner was essential, but what to eat? Though Giles could cook a decent meal when necessity called, he rarely cooked for himself. Perhaps there was still some of Willow's vegetarian stew left in the kitchen. Or there was always a tin of soup from the pantry.

With his pen firmly in hand, Giles turned up the stereo until the frosted windows were shaking. Then he moved his orchestra into the hall and toward the stairs. Over and over his arm made giant Nike-shaped swoops. He really should have been a conductor. Or a grocer. Perhaps a fighter pilot…

The music continued to echo through the huge estate. Two libraries, a full kitchen, and nearly a dozen bedrooms housed the new members of the Watcher's Counsel. Each had left the property, however, to spend Christmas with his or her family. Giles had received many offers to spend the holidays with them, but had resigned himself to spending the time alone. Truth be told, a plane trip with Xander and Willow, followed by an indeterminate amount of time spent on a fold-out couch, was not in any way appealing.

Giles happily conducted his way down the long staircase and toward the kitchen. One of the younger members of the counsel had obviously left a radio on. Under his beloved Mozart, he could hear a terrible artist howling at the top of his lungs, "Holiday…Celebrate…!" Why the young people listened to such rubbish was beyond him.

As he crossed the Great Hall, Giles eyes were drawn to movement on his left. He spun on his heel, still conducting his orchestra, in time to feel a lithe, scantily clad body crash into his own. Giles' head cracked on the parquet floor and he saw spots behind his eyes.

Sitting up, he tried to extricate himself from the body above him. A terrible sound was screeching in his ears and he was momentarily disoriented.

"Andrew?"

"Yeah? I mean, yes," the young man gasped.

Giles shook his head and blinked a couple of times. Andrew was clambering off of him quickly; he appeared almost as embarrassed as Giles. Andrew wore only a pair of Rudolph boxers and socks with leprechauns on them. Attached to his underwear and strapped to his ears was a Walkman. Music was echoing from broken headphones. Andrew quickly turned it off and stared at Giles, waiting for his reaction.

"You were just singing." Giles was trying to make sense of what was happening while his ears were still ringing.

"Yeah. Gotta love Madonna…" he trailed off. "Do you want me to get you something, Mr. Giles?"

"An aspirin would be divine," the Watcher said, replacing his glasses. Andrew quickly scrambled to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and two white pills. "What, exactly, were you doing before you crashed into me in such a…dramatic…way?"

Andrew blushed. "Floor surfing." At Giles' blank stare, he went on. "You put on your socks and get a running start and then you see how far you can slide. Tucker and I used to do it all the time at my grandparent's house. That's how I broke my first bone."

Giles nodded and swallowed the pills. "Perhaps the more pertinent question now is why are you *here*. In England. While all other souls have left for their homes?"

"I could ask you the same question," Andrew said hotly. "You're just…lurking around and waving your pen--"

"I was conducting the London Philharmonic! And *you* are changing the question. Why are you here?"

"I didn't…"

"Didn't what?"

"I didn't have anywhere else to go, okay? In case anyone bothered to notice, I haven't spoken to my parents since Sunnydale caved in nine months ago. They moved after I became a wanted fugitive and fled to Mexico. I haven't tried to get in contact with them. I thought I'd have the place to myself, but I guess I was wrong. So…just deal with it!" Andrew finished with flourish of his hand--imitating Giles.

The older watcher would have been offended if he wasn't reeling from Andrew's other news. Had he simply not noticed that the boy had no connections to America? For certain he'd noticed that the boy received far less mail than any of the other watchers residing there, but he'd simply assumed that the child had few friends. To say that he had *no* family whatsoever…. Giles was ashamed that he'd lived with the boy for nearly six months and had not known this vital piece of information.

"So…you had planned on doing what, Andrew? Floor surfing until everyone returned?"

"Well…yeah," the young man admitted. "Now it's your turn. Why are you here? Didn't Willow's family invite you for Hanukkah or something?"

"Yes, well I thought I could be of more use here. Getting things established and…and…"

"Conducting the London Philharmonic?"

"Precisely," Giles said with a laugh. Andrew smiled back and the older man found himself charmed by the blond boy's grin. Perhaps things had worked out as they were supposed to, he thought. No one should be alone for Christmas.

"So…I can stay?"

"Heavens, Andrew! What did you think I'd do? Throw you out into the snow like the Little Matchgirl?"

"The who?" Andrew asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Never mind. We'll have a nice quiet Christmas. It should be quite…relaxing."

"Relaxing?" Andrew didn't look entirely enthusiastic, Giles noted.

"Well, there's no one around for miles. The peace and quiet should be a welcome change from--"

"--All of the peace and quiet?"

Giles sighed. "I suppose you're right. Life here is usually rather…mundane. Perhaps we should let our hair down, as it were. It *is* a holiday."

"Great! I think we should make it a sort of Manly-Man-Guy's-Christmas-Weekend type of thing." Andrew began bouncing lightly on his feet.

"And what would that entail?" Giles asked suspiciously.

"Don't worry, Giles. I *promise* that you'll like it…And I can make dinner!" At Giles' continued apprehensive stare, Andrew said, "Where's your spirit of adventure?"

"Um, that's in my other pants." Giles was ruing his decision to spend the day lounging in his underwear. He was nearly naked and very uncomfortable.

A wicked smile suddenly lit up Andrew's face. "I know what will break the ice. Trust me."

*****

"You're sure this is safe?"

"Nope. Not a bit."

"Why am I doing this, exactly?"

"Because it's *fun* Giles! And because what else are you going to do with miles of wooden floors when no one else is around? Count to three and then go!"

"Some things aren't meant to be done at light speed, Andrew. I'd far prefer to…to walk calmly and…Oh, all right. But if you tell anyone I did this, I'll have Willow place a hex on you insuring your absolute inability to play that Playstation you so dearly love." Giles glared menacingly at Andrew and then set his shoulders with determination. "One…two…THREE!" Giles took off at a run down the hall, stopped at the corner, and allowed momentum and the friction of smooth tube socks and parquet floors to send him sliding into the Great Hall. He nearly lost his balance at the end, but righted himself in time to cling to the front doorknob.

"HOW WAS IT?" Andrew called from the other end of the building.

"THAT WAS BLOODY AMAZING!" Giles answered, gasping for breath.

"I TOLD YOU IT WAS COOL! WATCH OUT, WATCHER! I'M COMIN' DOWN!!!"

Giles watched Andrew run the length of the hallway and then slide into the entryway as well. He had far more speed than Giles, however, and the older watcher was forced to grasp the young man's elbow as he passed, lest he crash into the front door.

"Careful, Andrew," he said as the boy regained his balance. Andrew tried to step away, but the slick floor had his socked feet reeling again and he clutched Giles' hand for dear life. When Andrew was once again comfortably balanced and his breathing had returned to normal, Giles realized that he was still grasping Andrew's hand. Andrew appeared to be in no hurry to release it, either. Perhaps he still feared falling, Giles thought. The young man was gazing at him now, his blue eyes blinking rapidly. The palm under his squeezed gently and Giles suddenly felt himself quiet short of breath.

From the kitchen, the sound of a buzzer going off echoed through the Great Hall.

"Dinner." Andrew said quietly and released the older watcher's hand with a shy grin. He slid off to the kitchen while Giles remained in the Great Hall with his head still spinning. What had just happened? He watched Andrew disappear into the kitchen and mentally cursed himself for his brief lack of decorum. It was bad enough to get caught in such a compromising ensemble, but to allow the boy to talk him into *continuing* such behavior was…was… exhilarating, if Giles was honest.

But no more. He had to set an example for the boy and neither Willow nor Xander nor the other watchers were up to the task. He should have never agreed to the floor surfing. But surfing in exchange for a Christmas Eve meal was a bargain--he knew how well Andrew cooked. Quickly Giles made his way to his bedroom and slipped on pants and a loose sweater. Feeling more appropriate, he joined Andrew in the kitchen.

"The roast beef will be done in a couple of minutes. You have to wait for it to cool a little or else it gets all squishy and stuff when you cut it. I have rolls in--oh."

Andrew's dinner update stopped when he saw the other watcher.

"Oh, what?" Giles asked. "Is something wrong?"

"N-no," Andrew stuttered. He lifted a dish from the huge oven, holding it at arms length so it didn't burn his bare chest.

"You look upset. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I mean, I thought you were…now I'm the only one in…you know. My underwear. I feel weird."

Shame blistered Giles' face. What kind of a pervert was he? While Andrew remained in his underwear and he did not, it appeared that he had his own indentured rentboy. How could he have not thought of that? And how could he rectify a situation like this? He could force Andrew to get dressed, but it was ridiculous to demand that the boy put more clothes on in his own home where he was more than welcome to dress has he pleased.

"I'm sorry, Andrew. I…" Giles quickly removed his glasses--an action that usually distracted people. It didn't work on Andrew, however. The blond boy was still staring at him when he replaced them.

"I thought we turned this into Guy's Christmas," Andrew said, flinging off his oven mitts. "You can't have a guys holiday in khakis. It's against the rules," Andrew whined. "You have to run around in your underwear…and steal the remote…and read porn…and drink beer…and burp and fart without excusing yourself!"

"I *told* you that I’m sorry, Andrew. I've never had a 'Guy's Christmas'-- "

"Well that's why I’m helping you! Now…take off your clothes!"

"I'm sorry?"

"Take them back off! It's warm enough. Especially in the kitchen--oh! My rolls!" Andrew quickly donned his pair of oven mitts ™ again and bent to unload fresh bread from the oven.

"I'll not take off my clothes. Again, I mean. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I do not feel entirely comfortable with this arrangement, Andrew. You're quite young--"

"Twenty-one, Giles. What does that have to do with anything?" He began plucking the steaming rolls from the tray and placing them in a basket.

"It's inappropriate, is what it has 'to do with anything.' You don't need a-a *fuddy-duddy* wandering the house in his skivvies. I’m sure you'd much prefer--"

"You're *so* not a fuddy-duddy," Andrew said with incredulity. "Who told you *that*?"

"Well…Buffy. But that isn't relevant to--"

"Yeah, well she's got kinda weird tastes. She has no idea what's hot."

"That may be true. However--wait. Hot?"

"Uh-huh. Hand me that spatula, please." Andrew used one oven-mitted hand to gesture toward the kitchen utensil.

Giles picked it up and promptly dropped it, too flustered to focus on the object. Andrew claimed it and began prying off the more stubborn rolls. "Let me put it this way, Mr. Giles. Those *without clothes* get a Christmas Eve dinner. The *clothed* do not. It's my rule and you're not the boss of me this weekend. So…just take your clothes off and live a little!"

Giles was in a dream. A strange, bizarre dream. The boy was clearly insane, he decided, but the smell of cooking food was too tempting. Giles pulled his sweater off and unbuttoned his pants slowly. Andrew didn't appear ready to call Buffy and alert her that the head watcher had gone mad, so maybe spending an evening in his underwear would be all right. Or more than all right. It could be…therapeutic. He'd spent most of the morning in his underwear when he'd thought he was alone--a daring move in and of itself. Maybe he was ready for the next step in non-fuddy-duddyness.

Once he was out of his clothes, Andrew appeared more relaxed. "I think the potatoes are almost done, Mr. Giles."

"You know, Andrew. You don't have to call me Mr. Giles."

"Right. Sorry. Just Giles."

"Or Rupert. That *is* my name."

Andrew shuddered. "Now that *is* fuddy-duddy."

"I'll have you know that it is a family name!"

"If you say so."

Giles fumed. "I'll set the table." He banged a cupboard door open.

"Are you kidding, Giles? Guy's Christmas. No tables. No napkins. You're lucky you get silverware."

"That-that's barbaric!" Giles gasped.

"No, it's *fun*. Now get the paper plates."

Giles winced at the thought of eating roast beef on paper plates, but decided that beggars couldn't be choosers. The amazing meal that Andrew had prepared was more than worth the chance for spills. Truly, the meal was fit for a king--especially considering that Giles had been preparing to eat cold leftovers in lieu of a meal before Andrew came crashing into his life.

He really should do something nice for the young watcher, he decided. They hadn't exchanged gifts, as both expected to be otherwise occupied this holiday weekend. It was too late to shop, but Giles thought that perhaps there was something of his own he could give him. Something memorable that he could truly use.

Giles racked his brain until he came up with a perfect gift. Well, perhaps not perfect, but something he knew Andrew needed.

"How much time do I have before we eat?" Giles asked the younger watcher.

"Couple of minutes. Why? Feeling like you need to surf another couple of hallways?"

Giles chuckled. "Sadly, no. I think my hall surfing days are over, but I *do* thank you for the experience. No, I just wanted to get something I've forgotten."

"Okay. But hurry or the salad will get cold. I mean warm--you know what I mean."

Giles quickly retreated to his office and pawed through his private selection of books. The book he wanted was rather large and worn, but he knew--there it was! The watcher lifted the heavy book from his shelf and began rummaging for paper to wrap it in. As an afterthought, he took up his pen and hesitated briefly before penning an inscription. Once the book was satisfactorily covered, Giles went back downstairs and quickly slipped the package under the enormous tree in the warm Lower Library.

"There you are! Dinner's ready. Do you wanna eat in here?" Andrew asked, entering the library with two heaping plates of food.

"Oh, yes," Giles agreed, taking one plate and moving toward a table.

"Giles! No tables," Andrew scolded. Then he sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace and began shoveling food into his mouth.

Giles set his plate on the carpet. "I think this weekend calls for an extra indulgence," he said and exited the room, returning moments later with an open bottle of wine and two glasses. "I assume you don't object to wine, or is that not something we drink during a Guy's Christmas?"

"No, wine's cool. Alcohol in general." Andrew said, taking a full glass from Giles. "I've never had wine," Andrew said suddenly. "I've had beer and scotch and champagne at my Aunt Shirley's wedding. And I had gin once which was SO gross, but I've never had wine."

He took a large gulp.

"So?" Giles inquired.

"Um…I like it. It's kinda sweet, but not. And it sort of tastes like flowers. It's good."

"At eighty pounds, it had better be good," Giles grinned. Andrew's eyes were wide.

"Eighty pounds? That's…in America, that's--"

"A lot of money. But it *is* Christmas. And what am I saving it for?" Giles added almost inaudibly.

"Well, if you ever went *out* you might find someone to share it with," Andrew accused with a wave of his fork.

"Could say the same for you, Andrew. I believe Xander and Willow have invited you several times to visit the city but if I remember, you're always 'busy'." Giles raised an eyebrow speculatively.

"English people are strange," Andrew admitted.

"Beg your pardon?" Giles said, mildly insulted.

"Not bad! No, just...different. They talk about lifts and flats and boots and I don't understand. Then I feel stupid. And I felt stupid in Sunnydale; I don't need to feel stupid in England, too."

"I suppose I understand, Andrew. But I’m not sure that fear of rejection is reason enough to hibernate for all of your twenties."

"Or all of your thirties, forties, fifties…" Andrew added knowingly.

Giles ate quickly to avoid answering Andrew's astute observation. "This is, well, it's simply fucking wonderful," Giles finally said as he tried some more of Andrew's meal.

"You said 'fuck!'" Andrew was stunned. "You can't say 'fuck'!"

"It's a Guy's Christmas and we can't say 'fuck' but we *can* talk about our feelings?"

"Call it a Robert Bly weekend."

"I'd no idea you even knew who he was."

"I'm a child of the 90's, Giles."

"That you are," Giles said, suddenly aware that Andrew *was* a child. And far too young to be sitting knee to knee with a man twice his age, drinking wine and talking about relationships. The older watcher shifted backward.

They finished their meal in silence. A second bottle of wine joined the first, but neither commented. Both let their eyes trail to the flickering fire in the large fireplace and stared at it for nearly a half-hour, hypnotized.

"Do you miss them?" Andrew finally said.

"Who? Dawn and Buffy? We can call them tomorrow--"

"No. Spike. Anya. Amanda. You know…"

"Oh. I suppose I haven't really thought about them recently. Why?"

"Don't know." The watched the fire flicker for several minutes. "She was my friend."

Giles waited and Andrew eventually continued.

"Anya was really nice to me, sorta. She saved me."

"Yes."

"And now she's gone."

"Yes."

"I wonder if she liked Christmas. Maybe I'll ask Xander when he gets back."

The silence stretched out longer this time.

"We're getting far too maudlin for a Guy's Christmas," Giles suddenly said, clapping his hands together. "What barbaric act should we engage in next?"

"Well, we already have fire, meat, and alcohol, AND we risked your life."

Giles wiggled his socked feet at Andrew. "Perhaps we should bang a drum or pass a Truth Stick," Giles volunteered.

"What's that?"

"Oh, just something I remember from my early days as a watcher. When you hold it, you have to tell the truth."

"Well," Andrew said, overly brightly, "As the new Head Boy, I think we should bring the tradition back. What do we do?"

He was only trying to lighten the somber mood, Giles knew, but he felt apprehensive none the less. The Truth Stick had brought little luck and many embarrassing encounters to him over his years in the counsel.

"I suppose you just need a stick," Giles volunteered. Andrew leapt from his place on the floor and began rummaging through the room.

"There's only logs here and no sticks, Giles," the blond boy whined.

"Well why in heaven's name would you think there *would* be?" Giles offered, shaking his head.

Andrew scampered past him and Giles waited for his return until he felt an ice-cold draft. The young man had opened the front door.

"Andrew! What are you doing?" Worried, Giles ran to the front door in time to see Andrew stumble back in, his face red and his nose running. In his hand he clutched a small twig.

"This isss alllll I ccccould fffffind," he stuttered.

"Come away from the door," Giles snapped, shutting the massive door and turning the bolt. Then he turned to Andrew. "That was very foolish, Andrew! You're in your underwear. You'll catch your death out there! Just look at you! You're freezing!" Without thinking, Giles began rubbing the bare shoulders briskly, letting the friction warm the boy. He ran his own warm hands over the planes of Andrew's face and chest, dimly aware that he may have had a bit too much wine with his meal. Andrew didn't seem to mind. He closed his eyes and grinned contentedly as Giles continued to rub the cold, pink skin. "Perhaps you should let the fire do this job," Giles said when he noticed the slight tenting of Andrew's Rudolph boxers.

Andrew's eyes blinked open in a daze. "Okay," he whispered lethargically.

Giles quickly went back to the Lower Library, whisking the paper plates to the kitchen. When he returned to the library, Andrew was laying on his belly with his soggy feet pointing to the ceiling. His face was turned to the fireplace and he was rolling the small twig in his palm. The picture was absurdly sexy.

Yes, Giles thought to himself, I have had *far* too much wine.

"Kinda small for a stick," Andrew sighed.

"Well I think it's more than adequate given the selection," Giles said as he settled himself on the floor in front of the fireplace. His back rested against a thick stuffed armchair. He watched Andrew twirl the stick through nimble fingers with some jealousy. His own fingers were rough and callused and had none of the youthful qualities that Andrew's did. He sighed.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing at all," Giles said quickly. Andrew flicked the twig to Giles who caught it and stared at the rough object in confusion.

"It's the Truth Twig, Giles. You gotta tell the truth," Andrew demanded merrily. "What were you thinking about with your 'serious face'?"

"I was thinking about how nice it would be to be young again. Like you," Giles admitted, willing himself not to blush.

"Hum…that's interesting," Andrew said.

"Interesting?"

"Yeah." Andrew rolled back to his belly. Suddenly the Truth Twig struck his bare back. "Hey!" he cried. "That hurt!"

"No it didn't. It's just a twig."

"Yeah, well it *could have* hurt."

"What were you thinking?"

At the question, Andrew *did* blush, turning from Giles. "Just thinking that *I'm* always wishing I was older. Then I wouldn't be scared all of the time."

"Heavens! What do *you* have to be scared of…aside from vampires…and demons…werewolves…Okay, but why would the blessings of old age change that?"

"I don't know. I could just…handle things, you know? Better, or something…"

"I think you handle things just fine, Andrew," Giles said affectionately. "You're a gifted watcher," Giles added. Andrew grinned happily at the fire. A comfortable silence settled between them. Giles removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"You wanna play Gin Rummy?" Andrew suddenly asked.

Giles replaced his glasses, smiling. "On a Guy's Christmas shouldn't we be playing poker?"

"Yeah, but I’m not very good at poker and I am okay at Gin Rummy," Andrew admitted, waving the Truth Twig. Giles chuckled and retrieved a pack of cards. The two men settled onto the floor as Giles began shuffling. He was rather embarrassed to admit it, but he was having what would probably be considered one of the best weekends of his life. Who knew he could have such an enjoyable time with *Andrew* of all people?

*****

A dozen hands of Gin Rummy later, Giles threw his cards on the floor with a huff.

"I *told* you I was good at Gin Rummy," Andrew protested.

"I think I smell a shark," Giles grumbled, wagging the Truth Twig at Andrew. The blond man shrugged innocently. The he sat back and sprawled across the floor, stretching his back. He rolled his head from side to side. Giles watched Andrew stretch with a dizzy sigh. When Giles glanced at the wine bottles, he realized that they had emptied both of them. The hour was late. He should get to bed while he was still able to think clearly.

"There's a present under the tree!" Andrew sat up excitedly. "I thought everyone took their gifts with them." The young man scrambled under the tree and dragged out the large, heavy package.

"Oh, that one. Er, that one's for you. From me."

"I wanna open it!" Andrew sat cross-legged in front of the tree and pulled the gift to his lap.

"Shouldn't you open that on Christmas morning?"

Andrew chanced a glance at the large mantle clock. "It's after midnight! It's Christmas! It counts!" He began thrashing through the paper and stopped short when he realized what he was holding. "Giles…" he gasped reverently. "This is the Vingilli Codex! It's supposed to be, like, *the* most complete demon directory in this dimension. It's so rare…."

"Well, not *that* rare. I had two--"

"--And now *I* have one!" Andrew's eyes were glassy and shining. "I can start a collection! I'll put it on my desk…" His babble continued as he thumbed through the ancient pages. "…and no one will use it except me…and maybe Willow…but not Xander 'cause he got Mt. Dew on the Code of Mewlanti and now I don't really trust him with ancient texts…It's like I’m a *real* watcher!" He finally finished with an enraptured grin.

"You *are* a real watcher, Andrew," Giles said gently. Andrew didn't hear him. He's eyes were glued to the inscription.

"To Andrew. Learn, love, and live. Giles," he read. Andrew raised his head, his eyes misty. "Giles…this is…wonderful!" Without warning, the young man had launched himself at Giles.

The older watcher had only a moment to take in a breath before Andrew was scrambling into his lap, wrapping bare arms and legs around him, and squeezing him within an inch of his life. Instantly aroused by the delicate, warm body clinging to his own, Giles struggled to remove the shifting young watcher.

"Andrew, you don't need--I mean--"

"I'll use it all the time!"

"…Really, you should get off of me. I don't think that this is..."

"Thank you!" Andrew cried softly into Giles' ear, his squirming increasing if that was possible.

"Andrew, I don't think--" Giles groaned as Andrew's hips rolled against his own and then was instantly chagrined. Andrew *had* to have felt the painful erection Giles was sporting. And even if he hadn't felt it, he had to have heard the lust-filled groan.

Then Andrew's frenzied hips rolled against him again, harder this time. Giles looked up into glittering blue eyes as Andrew shifted and rocked his hips against Giles again--slowly, exquisitely. The young man's lips were parted and he was panting. The watcher shuddered with pleasure, unsure of what to say.

"Thank you, Giles," Andrew whispered.

"Andrew," the older man hesitantly began to explain, "I appreciate your…enthusiasm. And I’m glad that you liked the Codex." He nervously pressed his glasses more securely onto his nose. "But I'm afraid that you may be unintentionally instigating--"

Andrew's hand instantly snaked out and snatched Giles' hand. Andrew led the hand between their bodies. Giles almost flinched as Andrew directed the rough palm over his smooth belly; he was embarrassed and confused. Then his hand reached its goal. Andrew sighed as the older man trailed his fingers along the hard flesh straining to emerge from loose Christmas boxers. Giles was flabbergasted.

"Not unintentional," Andrew whispered, and then rocked slowly against his watcher.

Giles was too shocked to protest. Instead, he moaned softly at the delicious friction. "Andrew…"

"Shhh…." Andrew sat up with his knees on either side of Giles. He pulled at Giles' t-shirt, lifting it over his head and throwing it onto the thick armchair. The young man dipped his head and began nuzzling Giles' collarbone and leaving kisses on it.

"Andrew. I don't think that this is such a good idea. You've never had wine before and we've finished two entire bottles in--"

"Just think of it like a present," Andrew said as he bit gently at Giles' neck.

Cringing with shame and disgust, Giles pushed the young man back.

"I can assure you that you have no need to thank me any more for the book, Andrew," he said bitterly. The watcher was mortified--partly for Andrew's misdirected gratitude and partly for his own instinctual response. "I'll--I'll not have you *pay* me in sexual favors for--"

"Not *your* gift," Andrew said in confusion. "Mine. I mean, I know I don't deserve *two* presents, but…" His arms hung loosely at his sides while the front of his boxers pointed toward Giles. Andrew was breathing heavily and staring at Giles with soft doe eyes. "Please, Giles?" he begged softly. "I've wanted to do this for so long…" He leaned in and sucked delicately at the skin behind Giles' ear while the older watcher gasped.

"…so…long?"

Andrew pulled back and met the other man's eyes, and then he nodded. At Giles bewildered look, Andrew smiled nervously. "Willow said that you told her you sometimes used to, you know…date guys. Um, men. And she told me and I haven't stopped thinking about that, about you, ever since. But if she was just tricking me I'll be really mad. And really embarrassed. Oh god! She *was* teasing, wasn't she? She--"

Giles slapped a hand across the young watcher's mouth before he could finish his rant.

"Andrew. I *did* tell Willow that. And if I remember clearly, she was under strict orders not to tell anyone *else* that."

"She was just trying to help," Andrew said when Giles finally removed his hand.

"Help? Why?"

"I said I wanted to jump your bones, and she said that it wasn't an entirely impossible scenario, and so *I* said, 'What do you mean, Willow?' and then *she* said--"

"I think I have the idea, Andrew. What I mean is, why would you want to jump--to jump--oh, for heavens sake, why me?"

"Why not?" Andrew seemed genuinely confused. "You *know* you're hot, right? I've only said it a million times to about a million people," he admitted. The blond man leaned down and left hesitant kisses in a row across Giles' shoulder. "So…please?" He wrapped his arms around the older man and burrowed against the soft hairs of Giles' chest. "Please, Giles…" he repeated, closing his lips around one of Giles' nipples and tickling it with his tongue.

Giles' head was swimming. His body ached to give in to the young man's gentle begging, but Andrew was so young and given his short attention span the odds that he was serious--

Suddenly something hard and sharp was pressed into his hand.

"Stop thinking to yourself and talk to *me*."

Giles looked down and found himself in possession of the Truth Twig. He gazed into Andrew's adoring blue eyes and simply said, "I want you." Andrew gave a relieved smile. "But--" The smile fell. "I'm worried about tomorrow. And the next day and the next. Both of our lives are far too complex for casual relations, Andrew. So…I guess I’m…apprehensive. Is that enough truth for tonight?"

Andrew grinned, taking the wood from Giles. "Yes. And here's my truth…" Andrew as quiet for a while, trying to gather his thoughts. Finally he said, "I've never *had* a good relationship. At all. Not with my parents or my brother. Not even friends. They all end up--" Andrew stopped before he could finish his sentence with the "d" word. "I just mean, I'm scared too. But I want you tonight and that's not going to change tomorrow cause it hasn't changed from yesterday or the day before or the day before that or…Okay, um, that was my truth. The end."

"The end indeed," Giles grinned slyly, tossing the twig to the floor. "So, where does that leave us?" He was desperately aware of Andrew's cock straining toward him.

"It leaves us…" Andrew licked his lips while his eyes roamed over Giles' lips. "It leaves you kissing me," he finished.

Giles thanked the makers of the expensive bottles of liquid bravery he'd consumed and left a kiss on Andrew's lips. It was brief and hesitant, yet Andrew was shaking softly when Giles pulled back.

"And you know," Andrew continued breathlessly, "you're not the first person I've kissed. You're not even the first boy. Or even the first one in this *house*."

"What?" Giles was shocked. "Who else have you kissed?"

"Well, there was Peter Welker--"

"That ponce? He's nearly twenty years your senior…" Andrew raised his eyebrow. "Right," Giles said. "Go on."

"And that Australian watcher that was here for a couple of days, and Xander kissed me in here last week at the holiday party but there was mistletoe and I think he thought I was Buffy and he *was* a little drunk."

"Yes, he tried to kiss me too, now that I think of it." Giles chuckled.

"So, you can see that I’m a man of the world. Educated *and* experienced," Andrew declared.

"Of that I have no doubt," Giles said seriously. "But if you'd prefer Peter Welker, I'm sure he--"

"Stop it, Giles!" Andrew laughed, slugging the older man lightly in the arm.

"And we've resorted to physical violence. I do think we've managed to have a real Guy's Christmas." He caught the offending hand and brought it to his mouth, gently kissing each knuckle. When he'd thoroughly kissed the hand, he moved on to the wrist, elbow, and shoulder. Andrew moaned softly as Giles slipped from beneath him and pressed him to the rug with only the pressure of his kisses. Giles pulled both of the blond man's arms up over his head and held them with one of his own. "Stay," the watcher ordered and Andrew giggled.

Then Giles let his hands explore the lean body at his leisure. "Ah, Andrew. You're so young," he said wistfully. "What would you say if I kissed you *here* I wonder?" he asked, playfully running one finger across the side of Andrew's pale throat. Andrew grinned indulgently. "Or *here*," Giles said, trailing his finger to one nipple, pebbled hard and red. "I'd like to kiss you here," Giles went on, running the tip of his finger over the indentation of Andrew's belly button. He pulled at the holiday boxers, exposing one hip. Andrew gasped happily and squirmed under Giles sensitive touch. "No…I think I'll kiss you *here*," he said, lowering his mouth and leaving a warm, wet kiss to the smooth hipbone, while he exposed the other side. "…and *here*." Giles kissed the newly bared hipbone and then nuzzled into the soft trail of hair between them. "Okay so far?" the older man asked from his position at Andrew's waist.

"More than okay," Andrew gasped, thrusting his hips impatiently into Giles' touch. Giles finished pulling off the boxers, then plucked off the leprechaun socks and stared at the smooth body dappled by firelight.

"Andrew. Are you certain that this is what you wish? It is quite late and we've an entire weekend to--"

"To fuck?" Andrew asked innocently.

Normally, Giles would have cringed at Andrew's vulgarity. Perhaps it was the wine or maybe it was the liberation he'd experienced since beginning Andrew's Guy's Weekend. Whatever the reason, the coarse words coming from Andrew's lips were enough to get the older watcher hard as a rock.

"Yes, Andrew. To fuck," he answered, staring intensely over the cock jutting in front of him. He watched the firelight flicker across the young man's face. He met the older watcher's eyes and the innocent smile turned sultry.

"Get undressed, Giles." It wasn't a request and it wasn't an answer to Giles' question, but the watcher responded. Already bare-chested, he took a moment to slip out of his underwear. Then he resumed nuzzling the crisp curls below Andrew's navel. He settled between the young man's legs and let his tongue trail around his inner thigh. Again, Andrew thrust upward impatiently.

"Ah...the bloody impatience of youth," Giles growled.

Andrew let a moan escaped his lips.

Forceful. He liked it forceful, Giles registered as he let his tongue trail across the smooth belly and down toward the long length bobbing against his neck. "I want you to lie there and I want you to simply *feel* what I'm doing to you. You're a watcher, Andrew. I want you to observe yourself. It means the difference between coming in a minute, or coming as you scream my name through the blinding joy. Do you bloody well understand?" Giles inquired, not unkindly.

"Y--Yes, Giles," Andrew whispered happily. Two words, respectful in their desperation. Humoring the young man, Giles let his tongue slip across the thick vein on the underside of Andrew's cock, eliciting a soft cry. Giles let the point of his tongue explore the weeping slit at the tip of Andrew's member and then resumed investigating the soft skin of Andrew's inner thigh. He nipped at the tender flesh and Andrew cried out and shivered at the surprising sensation of pain and pleasure.

Rough hands traveled the length of Andrew's torso, mapping the pale skin and soft path of fine hair in the middle of a lean chest. Tweaking each nipple painfully, Giles watched Andrew's body lurch into his touch. Perhaps it was Andrew's youth, but Giles had never been with such a responsive lover, and he found it incredibly erotic. He allowed his tongue to continue to explore the lower half of Andrew's body, nibbling at each knee and bringing both legs up until the blond man's feet were flat on the expensive carpet.

"Giles," Andrew whispered again, this time with barely contained impatience. "Please…" he begged once again.

"I suppose you *have* tried to be patient, Andrew," Giles pointed out magnanimously. Then he took the stiff length into his mouth and began sucking in earnest. High gasps of pleasure filled the Lower Library. He wrapped his hand around the base of the purple member and moved his hand in time with his thrusting, sucking mouth.

"Oh! Holy Bananas…" Andrew cried, his head turning from side to side. "This is…you feel…"

"Tell me," Giles asked, removing his mouth briefly but not his hand.

"Um…I feel…"

"Tell me!" Giles ordered more forcefully, enjoying the way the young man's eyes dilated when the older man took control.

"Oh, god…I feel…you feel amazing…I want to--to pop…to scream…"

"That's it, Andrew. I *want* you to scream. Can you do that for me?"

"I, uh…I…" Andrew could no longer hold still. He began thrusting into the hand and mouth of his watcher. "Is that…is this…in keeping with…with our Guy's…our Guy's…fuck, Giles!"

"Later," Giles grinned, then resumed his rhythm.

"Guy's…Guy's…Oh, god! I'm…I'm…GILES!"

Giles' mouth was suddenly flooded with warm, slick spunk. He swallowed quickly, keeping Andrew pinned to the ground by his feet while the shuddering body thrust again and again into his mouth until it was completely spent. When the shivers were no longer wracking Andrew's body, Giles allowed the long legs to slip down.

"How do you feel, Andrew?"

There was no answer for several seconds. Giles could hear heavy panting. Then one hand lifted and gestured for Giles to come closer. He crawled over the youthful body until he was straddling Andrew. The young watcher opened blue eyes to half-mast, staring up at him.

"I feel like I've been hit by a Burninator," he admitted.

"Is that…good?" Giles asked hopefully.

"Um-hum," Andrew nodded groggily. "Stunned," he further explained, wrapping one hand around Giles' neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Giles kissed him thoroughly, then rolled toward the fire, pulling the young man with him. "I feel…all…"

"What?"

"Noodley."

"I bet your pardon?"

"Noodley. Made of noodles. Like if I had to walk, I couldn't. I'm just jello bones."

"Well I would say that that was a good thing."

"Yeah…definitely of the good."

They let the heat from the fire roast one side of their body. Giles watched the twinkling of the lights on the Christmas tree and the twinkling of the firelight on Andrew's sweat-sheened skin. Andrew continued to pant into the older man's ear, the sound both satisfying and arousing.

"Crisco."

"What?" Giles asked, startled from his internal musings.

"Crisco. For lube. It's what you should use for a Guy's Christmas fuck. Unless you have something else?"

Giles felt his cock harden at the thought. Vegetable shortening was crude, but effective…

"I'll get it!" Andrew sprang to his feet, then swayed unsteadily.

"Are you okay, Andrew?" Giles said in alarm.

"Yeah, just forgot I was all…noodley." He walked cautiously to the kitchen and returned with a tub of shortening.

"Andrew, are you certain this is something you want to--" He stopped to watch Andrew kneel in front of him. The blond man removed the lid and brought a fingerful of the pasty white substance to Giles' cock. Youthful hands rubbed over the swollen member until Giles heard himself moaning uncontrollably.

He pulled the young man to him quickly, claiming his lips and letting his tongue explore the beautiful mouth offered to him while Andrew massaged his cock. Giles was drowning in the scent and touch of youth and sex. He moaned over and over, happy to be unencumbered by propriety in an empty house with his lover. When he was aware of his surroundings again, he realized that he was on his back and that Andrew was kneeling next to him.

The young watcher reached out a hand and scooped a lump of greasy shortening from the container. Then he spread it across Giles' fingers. Giles watched as Andrew slid his hands to his entrance. Needing no further encouragement, Giles slid one slick finger into the small, heated hole. Andrew raised up higher on his knees, crying his pleasure softly into the large, dark room. The once-flaccid cock dangling between his kneeling legs began to twitch to life as Giles entered the warm body with a second finger.

Andrew slipped over Giles' body and placed a smooth palm over each of Giles' nipples, keeping himself balanced and increasing the contact with his watcher. His thumbs began tracing circles across the nubs.

"Andrew," Giles gasped, sliding in a third finger and angling so as to reach the young man's prostate. "You're…you're…sure…you're…"

"Please," Andrew begged again. "Please fuck me, Giles."

With a groan, Giles rolled the young man until he was pinned beneath him, only mildly ashamed that he was getting off on the boy's continued begging. Then he removed his fingers. Andrew aligned his stretched hole with Giles' patient cock, pushing his knees to his chest. As Giles pushed forward, both men cried out at the same time. Giles began thrusting slowly, watching the flickers of pain and then pleasure that were illuminated by the firelight.

The older watcher was mesmerized by the tiny flames dancing in Andrew's eyes. It made him appear more than a little like a Buksheld demon, except without the nervous tick or the elongated appendages. Well, different elongated appendages, he thought to himself with a small giggle.

Oh dear god. I giggled.

Giles renewed the intensity of his thrusts, panting heavily and running the tips of his rough fingers over the boy's smooth cheeks. Andrew didn't seem to mind, only strained his head toward the seeking hand and nuzzling into it like a cat. A tiny little kitty-cat. A kitten.

A kitten?

He'd had far too much alcohol, Giles decided. He was acting like a teenager. Or perhaps he'd had just enough, he amended. He hadn't felt this good, this satisfied or desired, in a long time.

Andrew came for the second time with a joyful moan of completion. Giles followed him moments later, clutching at Andrew's shoulders and crying out his name softly. When he was completely spent, he pulled himself away from the young watcher, sticky and sweating. A smooth hand sought out his own and he grasped it happily.

"Noodley, right?"

"I'm sorry?" Giles began searching for his eyeglasses, unsure of where and when he'd lost them.

"Limp and noodley. Your body."

"Yes, right," Giles smiled, abandoning his search. He rolled over onto his elbows, his face inches from Andrew's. The young man leaned up quickly to give him a kiss, then flopped back to the carped with an exhausted grunt. Giles felt something stabbing him in the belly and ran his hand under the edge of the rug they were lying on. He hoped to find his glasses, but was unsurprised when he found the small twig.

Andrew grinned at him. "You gotta tell the truth, Giles," he panted.

Giles nodded, gathering his thoughts. "Well…Clearly, wine was a good idea."

"Clearly," Andrew giggled.

"You sound beautiful when you laugh like that." Giles spoke the words quickly, before he even realized he was saying it.

Andrew's face turned soft and his eyes shone at his watcher. Giles drew his face nose to nose with Andrew.

"And you're very pretty when you scream my name."

"Boys aren't supposed to be pretty, Giles."

"Well it's a good thing you're a man and not a boy because when you come, you're quite fucking pretty."

"You said 'fuck' again! You can't say 'fuck' when you're holding the Truth Twig."

"Fuck the Truth Twig." Giles kissed him then, laughing at Andrew's sudden modesty. Then he pulled away and pressed the piece of wood against Andrew's belly button. "Your turn."

Andrew put his hand over Giles' and the twig. "Truth. This is the best night of my life. Truth. I, you know, had…had a…"

"Orgasm?"

"Yeah, one of those. I had two of those, which is cool. It *is* cool, isn't it?"

"Very," Giles said seriously.

"And…Truth…" Andrew's eyes lit up. "There's dessert!" He started to stand but wobbled on loose-limbed legs. Giles caught him and pulled him to the ground, wrapping his arms and legs around the young man.

"Later. Rest now. It's Christmas, after all."

"It *is* Christmas now, isn't it? You know what? This is the best Christmas ever. Don't you think?"

Giles chuckled to himself. "Yes, Andrew. I think this may be the best Christmas ever. And you know what makes it even better?"

"What?"

"If I'm not mistaken, no one will be coming back for…let's see…five more days."

"Five days?"

"Right…so…how do you feel about a Guy's Christmas WEEK?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On how you feel about naked floor surfing..."

~The End~
A Guy's Christmas