700 words, FRT-ish.
Um, title it "Taking instruction" or something.
"Once again I'd say that you and I will not be needed to help Buffy." Giles slumped back on the couch.
Xander slumped next to him. "Really?"
"Well, how about this? I'll start chopping the veggies. You start cooking the rice. Then we'll start drinking that bottle of wine I saw on your counter earlier."
"You're not old enough to drink," Giles groused. But he got up and rummaged in the top drawer for the corkscrew anyway. Xander was right behind him, leaning into the little fridge to empty his vegetable bin. "What are you doing with all that?"
"I was hoping you'd tell me what to do with it. Tell you a secret. I've never cooked anything before. Ever."
"Dear lord," said Giles. "And I'm letting you in my kitchen?"
"I take instructions well. You tell me what to do, I do it."
Giles looked at Xander for a moment, considering whether to avert disaster now, or plunge in and see what happened next. He met Xander's eyes, and was held there for longer than the strict glance-and-away protocol dictated. A little thrill ran through his chest. It was simply his imagination, of course; Xander had never shown any signs. But wondering if it might be true would make his evening more interesting than the empty one he'd seen yawning out before him. Much, much more interesting.
"Right then. Put back the potato. We won't need that. Peppers first. Scrub them with this."
Xander sliced peppers while Giles measured out rice. He indeed took instruction well. Giles' worries vanished with the last sip in his first glass of wine. The second glass of wine saw them eating the stir fry, cross-legged on the floor by Giles' coffee table, arguing about whether fuel injection was the end of the hobby mechanic. The third glass vanished with them on their backs on the floor, Eno on the stereo because Xander had liked the cover. But not on loud, because the conversation was more interesting. Giles was stretched out along the hearth. Xander's stockinged feet were up on his couch, and his head close to Giles'. What was interesting about the conversation, Giles would have been hard put to say. It wandered, from werewolves to demons to vampire biology, to whether "The Sixth Sense" was possible, to whether it would have been cool to see dead people when you were a kid or not. Giles told a prep school story about the sort of prank one could pull on a classroom full of boys who wholeheartedly believed in spirits. Xander snickered.
Giles got up for a second bottle. He brought it back and splashed the glasses full, then stretched himself out again. Xander sat up, and for a moment Giles thought the mood had been broken. But no, Xander was merely sitting up to drink some more. He sat crosslegged at Giles' head and bent over to peer at him, upside down.
"Hey," said Xander.
"Hey yourself," said Giles.
"You drunk enough yet?"
"You could try me." Giles noticed that he had not asked 'for what?', though he probably really ought to have. Because Xander leaned over further and kissed him. Still upside-down, which made it quite odd, especially when he opened his mouth and let Xander in, tasting of wine and tamari. He let his hands rest on the carpet next to him, allowing Xander to take charge. Xander took Giles' face between his hands and did just that.
He pulled back after a few minutes. Giles hummed and sighed. If that was all he got tonight, he would be content. The aching thrill filled his chest and ran down to his fingertips and toes. And other places.
"Shall we try that right side up?" Xander said.
"If you like," said Giles, smiling.
"Or is there some rule that says when two boys kiss it has to be upside down?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"And is that knowledge extensive?"
"Fair to middling."
"Tell you a secret. I've never done this before."
"Oh do shut up and come round here and kiss me."
In this area, Xander also proved to take instruction well.