"Ah, well," Wesley said, looking up at the ceiling to collect his thoughts - and to get himself under a modicum of control. "It seems that I at some point in time, took great exception to jelly donuts, but I do have quite a sweet tooth." He opened his eyes and looked at Giles. "Did I give any sort of reason for battering the good people of this house with pastries?"
Giles contemplated Wesley for a moment, his head tilted to the side, he smile deepened and his eyes twinkled. "You took great exception to what one of the nursed wanted you to wear, and wouldn't hear otherwise from anyone. So, whoever expressed an opinion was pelted soundly, and treated to a rather colorful stream of abuse." He rubbed his nose, remembering the explosion of filling coursing down his face. "You have marvelous aim."
Blushing furiously Wesley said, "Oh dear, it sounds like I had the worst sort of tantrum - though I'm not really clear on the exact procedure since I was not the tantrum sort of child."
He rubbed his fingers gently across the counterpane, enjoying the texture of the fabric while he thought. "My aim, actually, is one gift that I can take no credit for. It's just there - like some people are gifted with singing voices, or the ability to fence extraordinarily well," he gave Rupert a significant glance, letting him know he remembered all too well the older man's fencing skills. "I can hit pretty much anything I wish to - archery, sharpshooting....darts."
"I'm not so bad at darts myself," Giles said. "Perhaps when you're feeling better, we can go down to the pub 'round the corner and just see about that."
Wesley's eyebrows rose. "Hmm, you did say you liked a challenge," he said confidently, though a flock of anticipatory butterflies had just hatched in his stomach. "You're on."
Giles nodded graciously to the acceptance of his proposal, though inside he was grinning broadly. And if the gods love me at all, I've just made our first date.
"So you're a marksman in several different categories, and have a sweet tooth, and for some reason, I have the feeling that you've used that aim of yours to hustle a few dart games."
Wes gave him a broadly innocent look. "Only if I was hungry and penniless," he said sincerely, "or needing pocket money at school. Or perhaps a rare volume or two. Really not very often at all."
Giles snorted with amusement. "Oh dear, I may be over my head. Moving on to topics that are less potentially damaging to my chequebook, what's your favorite sweet? Perhaps I should offer making it for my wager when we play darts."
Wes' eyes glazed over. "That's a very tempting offer." He unconsciously liked his lips, and missed the brief, hungry look in the other man's eyes.
"You're already imagining eating it - and we haven't even played the match. Come on, let me hear what I'm going to have to make when you soundly trounce me. If you soundly trounce me."
"Hmmm," Wesley smiled and Giles wanted to get closer. Still, he thought that moving his chair any nearer might be a bit too much. He wanted to take this slow, give Wes plenty of time to pick up on the signals, plenty of time to recover and figure out what he wanted. After all the man had been through, he couldn't expect Wes to have his head sorted so soon. "Well, I've always been partial to chocolate cake."
"That’s it?" Giles' eyes widened. "And here I worried I'd have to make . . . baked Alaska or some such thing . . . if I lost. The question is, if I win, what will you give me."
Giles watched Wesley's eyebrow raise at the question, a jolt of arousal shooting through him when the man licked his lips, nervous or aroused? It was hard to tell, actually, but Wesley didn't show any other signs of nervousness. Too bad it was much, much to early to check for further . . . signs of arousal.
"Well, uh . . . I'm not sure. I could translate something for you, but I' sure you could do that, or have others to do it for you. I could, uh . . . I don't know. What do you want?"
Giles contemplated Wesley for a moment, his head tilted to the side, he smile deepened and his eyes twinkled. "You took great exception to what one of the nursed wanted you to wear, and wouldn't hear otherwise from anyone. So, whoever expressed an opinion was pelted soundly, and treated to a rather colorful stream of abuse." He rubbed his nose, remembering the explosion of filling coursing down his face. "You have marvelous aim."
Blushing furiously Wesley said, "Oh dear, it sounds like I had the worst sort of tantrum - though I'm not really clear on the exact procedure since I was not the tantrum sort of child."
He rubbed his fingers gently across the counterpane, enjoying the texture of the fabric while he thought. "My aim, actually, is one gift that I can take no credit for. It's just there - like some people are gifted with singing voices, or the ability to fence extraordinarily well," he gave Rupert a significant glance, letting him know he remembered all too well the older man's fencing skills. "I can hit pretty much anything I wish to - archery, sharpshooting....darts."
"I'm not so bad at darts myself," Giles said. "Perhaps when you're feeling better, we can go down to the pub 'round the corner and just see about that."
Wesley's eyebrows rose. "Hmm, you did say you liked a challenge," he said confidently, though a flock of anticipatory butterflies had just hatched in his stomach. "You're on."
Giles nodded graciously to the acceptance of his proposal, though inside he was grinning broadly. And if the gods love me at all, I've just made our first date.
"So you're a marksman in several different categories, and have a sweet tooth, and for some reason, I have the feeling that you've used that aim of yours to hustle a few dart games."
Wes gave him a broadly innocent look. "Only if I was hungry and penniless," he said sincerely, "or needing pocket money at school. Or perhaps a rare volume or two. Really not very often at all."
Giles snorted with amusement. "Oh dear, I may be over my head. Moving on to topics that are less potentially damaging to my chequebook, what's your favorite sweet? Perhaps I should offer making it for my wager when we play darts."
Wes' eyes glazed over. "That's a very tempting offer." He unconsciously liked his lips, and missed the brief, hungry look in the other man's eyes.
"You're already imagining eating it - and we haven't even played the match. Come on, let me hear what I'm going to have to make when you soundly trounce me. If you soundly trounce me."
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"That’s it?" Giles' eyes widened. "And here I worried I'd have to make . . . baked Alaska or some such thing . . . if I lost. The question is, if I win, what will you give me."
Giles watched Wesley's eyebrow raise at the question, a jolt of arousal shooting through him when the man licked his lips, nervous or aroused? It was hard to tell, actually, but Wesley didn't show any other signs of nervousness. Too bad it was much, much to early to check for further . . . signs of arousal.
"Well, uh . . . I'm not sure. I could translate something for you, but I' sure you could do that, or have others to do it for you. I could, uh . . . I don't know. What do you want?"
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