A quick break from Patrician's Papers. Monica challenged me to do it (well, bribed
really) via our mutually insane livejournals, and I wrote it in about two hours,
between getting her post and going home.

It's slash. But it's fluffy slash. Not even any tongue. So it doesn't really count
(shut up, all of you! No laughing!). Just another leg in the badly-mended trousers
of time...

Thanks to Yap, for her realtime-beta in chat, and suggesting the "Now, young man"
line :)

Since I wrote it yesterday I've tweaked it a little, but essentially it is...

OFF THE CUFF

It wasn't supposed to end like this, in a tangle of elbows and knees. He was
supposed to protect John Keel. That was his job. And now...here...in pain...

Hav managed to get to his feet, with remarkably little grace, but sometimes there
were more important things than grace.

Clothing, for one. Neither he nor Keel were wearing any. He was almost positive he'd
been wearing clothing when he fell off the roof and landed on top of Keel, who had
been standing near some funny little monks...

Wherever they were, it was warm -- smelled like...

He groaned.

The Library.

At least he'd done his job...sort of...

He knelt by Keel, trying to ignore the life's history of scars on the man's bare
chest, and felt for a pulse.

A hand gripped his wrist with surprising speed. Keel's eyes popped open.

Even the eyepatch was gone, but Havelock noticed that there was a perfectly good eye
underneath it. A disguise of some kind? No, the scar was fresh...

He realised he was staring, and pulled back sharply. Keel let him go, pushing
himself up onto his elbows.

"The Library," he breathed. "Bloody bigods, they did it."

"Who did what?" Havelock demanded. The man looked him up and down, coolly, and
Havelock felt a flush creep into his cheeks. "Well, you're naked too, you know," he
snapped.

"You..." Keel narrowed his eyes. "You don't belong."

"I beg your pardon."

"I mean you don't belong /here/. Not in this time." The man looked up at the
ceiling. "Bollocks," he sighed. "You're in the future. Give us a hand."

Havelock put out his hand, and helped Keel to his feet. The other man scrubbed the
back of his head, as unselfconscious as a naked man could be expected to be.

"We're in Ornithology," he said, pointing as a book fluttered by, flapping its
dust-jacket to stay in the air.

"Do you know the Library, too?" Havelock asked.

"What do you mean, too?" Keel asked, as he began to walk. "Come on, lad, we've got
to get back to the dome. With any luck, that bastard Carcer fell in a lake or
something. We just...follow..." he stopped to examine one of the shelves. "As long
as the numbers are descending, I think we're okay. HALLO!" he shouted. "CAN ANYONE
HEAR ME?"

"I can," Havelock grumbled, clapping his hands over his ears.

"If you're not going to help, pipsqueak, keep your thoughts to yourself," Keel
answered. "Ah -- " he reached a corridor, and turned left. "I don't think we ended
up too far in."

There was an ominous rumble from nearby.

"Then again..." Keel pushed Hav back into a shelf just as a rogue study nook
thundered past. Both men held their breath.

Havelock became painfully conscious of the fact that he was being pressed against a
bookshelf by a naked man. Heat rose in his cheeks again. Especially this man...

"There now, lad." Keel stepped back. His chest was heaving slightly. When he turned,
Havelock saw blood trickling down his shoulder.

"It cut you!" he said, reaching out to put pressure on the wound before he knew what
he was doing. Keel jerked back.

"Bit me," he muttered, looking away. "It's fine."

"You're bleeding. Listen, you're bleeding a /lot/. We should stop wandering.
Someone's bound to find us, right?"

"Do you know anything at all about the Library?" Keel demanded. "It goes on forever.
You can travel in /time/ in the Library, for the gods' sake."

"Is that what happened to us?"

"No. Now, shut up and let me think."

Havelock watched him warily. He decided that if he had to, he could take him; it
wouldn't be pretty, though. And he didn't want to fight John Keel. He...

Well, he /liked/ Keel.

"This way," Keel said. "I think there's a reading room -- hah!"

Havelock watched in mild surprise as Keel ducked down an odd alleyway, and pulled
open a door in what seemed to be only part of a wall. "Inside, lad. In you go."

The reading room was plain; a chair and a desk, some curtains. Keel grabbed the
curtains and pulled them down, revealing a couple of elderly paintings. He handed
one to Havelock, who wrapped it around his waist. Keel did the same.

"Let's take this logically," he said, sitting on the table. He winced as his
shoulder twinged. "Now, young man, whatever compelled you to travel naked with me
through time and space -- "

"I didn't choose to, you know."

"Then how'd you end up here?"

Havelock shrugged. "I was following you. I fell off the roof and...then we were
here."

"You were following me?"

"It's my job to protect you."

Keel narrowed his eyes at the boy. "Just who -- argh," he finished, as he flexed
his arm and the shoulder wound re-opened. Havelock pulled his curtain off, and
pressed it to Keel's shoulder.

"You're not going to get far bleeding like this," he said. "Just -- can't you stay
still?"

"It's fine."

"It's not fine," Havelock replied, as the older man pitched forward. He caught him,
one hand on his chest, the other still holding the rag to his shoulder.

"Jus' a little tired..." Keel murmured. Havelock eased him backwards, laying him out
on the table. He winced when his shoulder and the rag came down on the hard surface,
but he didn't cry out.

Havelock regarded him, attempting to be objective. He did have a soldier's body --
all wiry muscle and scar tissue. Not a soldier's mind, though; a politician's mind.
In a way.

He admired John Keel. The man moved unexpectedly, he was a gifted orator, and he was
tough. He was /cool/.

He was quite handsome, too. And that was not objective in the slightest.

"Don't wander off, lad," Keel said hoarsely, his eyes closing.

"I won't," Havelock said, bending over to check his pulse again. This time, Keel let
him do it. It was slow, sluggish, but even. Keel's jaw was only a few inches away,
rough with three days' growth. His breath came evenly, and his lips were slightly
parted.

Before he knew what he was doing, he'd bent over Keel's mouth, and kissed him.

Really kissed him. Not like he kissed Aunt, or the few girls who'd come his way.
Warm, sending shivers down his spine. Keel's lips parted slightly in repsonse.

When he leaned back, he saw a flush creeping across the older man's chest.

"Who /are/ you?" Keel asked sleepily.

"Hav Vetinari," he replied. "I'm an Assas--"

"Oh, bugger..." Keel mumbled. Havelock waited for more, but it appeared as though
the Sergeant had fallen asleep.

He pursed his lips. If all he had to do was follow the descending numbers...

***

Thirty minutes later, Vimes woke to the strong scent of Orang-otan, and a leathery
palm slapping him into consciousness.

"Wha...?" he managed.

"Ook!" the Librarian said urgently.

"I know I'm naked!"

"Ook /Eek/!"

"The boy? He said he wouldn't wander off."

"Ook ook..."

"He found you? Bloody hell!" Vimes rubbed his jaw, trying to think clearly. It was
quite difficult. "Then where is he?"

"Ook..." the Librarian gave a shrug.

"Going back to his own...? But how would he know how to get there? He doesn't know
his way -- " Vimes stopped, suddenly.

Hav Vetinari, that was the name the boy had given.

He probably did know his way.

Vimes grabbed the ape by the shoulders. "Who's Patrician?" he asked.

The Librarian did an excellent imitation of Vetinari's stare.

Vimes lay back on the table. "Bloody hell," he said.

"Ook."

***

Thirty years previous, Havelock Vetinari strolled out into the Library, gave the
human Librarian a salute, and politely requested the use of some spare clothing.

And smiled quite a lot, the next few weeks.

END