Something about that ring was making Wesley's gob do nasty little dances.

Gob means spit, his spit was dancing?

Gob's mouth, isn't it?

Mouth. His mouth is jerking around.

Is that not visual? Damn. Gimme a minute.

OK - enhanced that a bit. It's important, actually, because it's related to the ring's, er, function.

Really? Gob means mouth? Huh... In Canada if you gob on someone you've spit on them.

But, really, shut your gob and gobsmacked now make more sense.

Elena, gobbing has the same meaning in the UK, where I think the slang originated (we need Fay). But it's pursing your lips and expelling with them to spit out a lump (ewewew), so the action - using your mouth to spit - is gobbing.

Interesting... Good to know.

Warning, the next bit or a portion of it is likely to get rather porny.

more:

• * *

"Where are we going?"

Giles had given up any pretence at a fight; he was trotting obediently at Olivia's heels. Not being an idiot, he was well aware of the fact that he had no single clue what to do next, and certainly not where to go. He found himself wondering how Olivia - who lived half the world away - had got so familiar with a toney mall in such a hurry.

"We're going to buy you some sunglasses." Olivia sailed through the entry to the Optical Fashion Center, and smiled bewitchingly at the carefully made-up, self-tanned young woman manning - or womanning - the sales floor. "Hullo. We want to see several very expensive pairs of sunglasses, please."

Ten minutes and fourteen pairs later, Olivia let out a long sigh.

"Rupert," she said carefully, "if you're going to win this thing, you really must try to get into the spirit of the competition."

"Sorry. I just can't seem to get very excited about clip-on RayBans."

"Right. Then I'll need to motivate you. Damn! I was really hoping to not have to use one so early." Olivia lifted her left hand in the air, and the four tiny gold charms dangled and flashed. Rupert felt a sudden tightening in his stomach, and became aware, too late, what the bracelet must be.

"Oooh," breathed the salesgirl, "that's a nice bracelet."

"Isn't it? Rupert, look at me." Olivia reached up and put her fingers to one of the charms. "Celare!"

She ripped the charm free of the bracelet, and tossed it into the air. It disintegrated into a shower of fine sparkles.

The next thing Rupert Giles was aware of was Olivia, wrapped around him like a cheap suit. No, make that a designer suit. A really beautiful, perfectly fitted designer suit. Yes, having it made would cost a bit more, but he could pick the wool himself, a fine herringbone, perhaps, or....

"ohyes ohodyesyesyesyes ohohohoho...."

How on earth had his trousers got all the way down there? And what was that short skirt of hers doing all the way up there? And was he honestly rogering Olivia blind on the floor of a sunglasses shop, in full view of the shopping population of Los Angeles, or at least Beverly Hills? And those RayBans, they were rubbish, why hadn't the girl shown him some good Armani....

The orgasm hit him like a sledgehammer, misting his vision. He heard Olivia shriek, and that was something new, since she was certainly not a screamer.

His head cleared. He looked around, at both of them upright, at the salesgirl looking inquiring, at a normal evening in the Beverly Center, at the three remaining charms on Olivia's wrist.

"Right," he said, and was amazed to find his voice perfectly steady. "What have you got by Gucci...?"

• * *

BWAH!