They both need glasses, but not for this. Giles has a volume in his hands, carefully selected from the bookshelf - the Oldman Compendium of Demon Grammar. It's a moderately thick book, full of small type and blurry woodcuts, but they aren't reading it.

Wesley sees nothing but the carpet, it's all that his position over Giles' knees allows.

The book comes down with a loud "thwack" and Wesley jumps and gasps. Giles smiles tightly. "Did you wish to tell me something, Wesley?" he asks.

"Yes," Wesley groans, trying in vain not to rub himself against Giles' thigh. "I'll never do it again, I promise."

The book comes down again, and Wesley hisses.

"What's that?" Giles asks.

"No more passive voice, I swear!"