Words I'll Never Say

Caeden's Elf glammour had cost him over half the job's payout, but it was indiscernablely high level magic. He'd come to scout the library sponsored by rare book thieves. Between historical displays and endless shelves of titles, Caeden was exhausted from reading all this Elvish. When he'd discovered the lonely satchel, he'd ruffled through it boredly. It looked like a plain student's, but so many long and dry titles later, that he hoped there might be a snack inside he might pilfer. He'd loved the caramelled hazelnuts he'd first tried when he came to this country.

He pulled out a notebook, opened it, read a line, and laughed out loud. That sentence was rediculous and a dirty sexual innuendo in at least two ways. He read a few lines more, whistled lightly, and walked away from the satchel with his nose in the book. A few pages later, he looked at the cover, trying to discern what he could, but it surely wasn't published. But damn, it was a snarky asshole who wrote it if he knew the sort. The man was obnoxious, but he had a fascinating way of putting the world. 

He finally ambled into an empty reader's room, flopped onto a sofa, and decided, officially, he deserved a break. He spent it making whispered snickers and brief mutterances of:
- Who the hell is this guy!
- I'd never put that in my mouth.
- They just open right up for you, huh buddy?
- You lie to yourself.
- Smart.
- Pssshhh. Nevermind.
- Heh, he deserved that.