Giles was coolly pleased: a routine fight, and no injuries to anybody. It was a good night on the Cleveland hellmouth. Aside from the slime the expiring demon showered over the lot of them, that was, and since it wasn’t toxic, he was inclined to let that accident pass. The three Slayers who’d been with Xander on the run were taking turns in the shower. Xander dripped onto a tarp on the back step while he gave the mission report to Giles. Thanks to the vagaries of demonic chemistry the slime smelled faintly of bananas. No, not quite. Giles leaned close to Xander’s hair and sniffed.
“Definitely banana bread,” Xander said, “the kind with nuts in it.”
Giles agreed, and solemnly noted the fact in his logbook. He concluded the entry with the elapsed mission time, and then screwed the cap back onto his pen. They were developing into fine Slayers, every one of them. He allowed himself a moment of silly pride for them all, and even a little bit of pleasure that he hadn’t been too much of a hand-wringing mess while they’d been out without him.
“Xan?” Buffy’s voice, from just inside the back door. “Shower’s free.”
Xander grinned at Giles. “Scrub my back for me?”
Giles was happy to oblige. The relationship was still new enough that he felt giddy and eager for any excuse to touch Xander, so giddy that he suspected the late hour would be no impediment. And indeed, sleep was far from his mind as he soaped Xander’s back and backside and let his fingers wander. Giles was still enjoying the muscles, and he suspected this pleasure would long be with him. Lats and traps, deltoids and those glutes. He’d always fallen for slimmer types, fey men and women both. Xander was a glorious aberration in his life, in so many ways. Giles was entirely happy to be here, in a run-down shower in a run-down house in a cheap corner of Cleveland, slaying vampires and learning home repair with Xander Harris.
Xander leaned forward and adjusted the taps. The water ran hotter. Xander braced his arm against the wall and let himself slump. More tired than Giles had thought, perhaps. He pulled back and let Xander enjoy the hot water without the distractions. The drain wasn’t working properly again, and water lapped over Giles’s toes. Xander would fix it tomorrow, or Giles would. Giles idly kicked at the water. And froze in place.
“Xander!” Giles’s voice was louder than he’d meant it to be.
Xander startled and spun, and Giles felt a hot splash on his shin. He jerked backward and stumbled, was saved from toppling over only when Xander grabbed him by the arm.
“Oops! Sorry, man.”
“What the bloody hell are you doing?”
“What’s it look like? Taking a whiz.”
“In the shower?”
“Yeah. What’s the big deal?”
Giles stood on one foot, looking down at the stained water in horror. For a moment he contemplated climbing and standing on the edge of the tub. But it was deep and the enamel was slippery. He visualized falling, taking the shower curtain with him, and Buffy’s face when she rushed in and found them naked, soapy, and tangled with each other. Her affection for the both of them, she’d explained, would not survive finding them with their pants down ever again. Giles was mostly certain she hadn’t meant it. Mostly.
The water was clear again. He swapped feet and rubbed soap on the one he’d been standing on.
Xander put his arms around Giles’s waist and helped him balance. "Hey, woah, don’t freak. We’ve been in the men’s room at the same time. Pissed in adjacent urinals, even.’
“We even pissed on the same tree once. That time on that endless stupid stakeout, when it turned out the demon had already moved to Portland.”
He blinked. “Lord, yes, I remember that night. Five hours waiting in the blind for the thing.”
“Buffy ran off into the bushes, and we unzipped and painted our names on the same tree. How’s that different from this?”
Giles spluttered. “We had no choice! You have a choice now. You can get out and use the toilet like a civilized man. Instead you chose to, to, to piss on me!”
Xander laughed, and Giles thought there was a disturbing note in it, almost hysterical. But his face looked just as it always did, open and good-humored, brown eye meeting his own gaze honestly. “I didn’t hit you on purpose. I just whizzed near you. But Giles. What’s the definition of a yuppie?”
“What? What the bloody hell does this have to do with–”
“Play along. What’s the definition of a yuppie?”
Giles sighed. He might as well let Xander win now. “I give up. What’s the definition of a yuppie?”
“A yuppie is a guy who gets out of the shower to piss. If there’s anything I’m not, it’s a yuppie.”
Giles stared at the water running at the bottom of the bathtub. Soap bubbles and the faintest traces of yellow-orange, swirling over the cracked enamel, disappearing even as he watched. He ought to be horrified. Instead he felt an urge to giggle until he hiccuped. Only Xander could do this, he thought. Only Xander could do this, make him laugh, and get away with it.
“A question,” he said.
“What do you call a man who’s never had the idea of pissing in the shower occur to him?”
“A stuffy English guy,” Xander said, instantly. Then his face changed, and Giles quailed. He knew that wicked look. “Come on. Do it. Just so you can say you’ve done it. C’mere. Right here. Piss on me.”
Giles was more shocked than he ought to be. He knew what men got up to with each other, after all. Perhaps it was just the idea of Xander wanting this. Sweet, innocent Xander, not so innocent. Though Giles ought not to be surprised by that, either, given what they’d already got up to together. Xander pulled him close and kissed him, then reached down and took Giles’s prick in hand.
“Only fair, since I nailed your leg by accident. And I’m gonna show you it’s no biggie. Washes right off.”
“Dear Lord, Xander, other people use this shower. Fifteen of us in this house!”
“You’ve jerked off in the shower, right?”
“That’s different! It’s sexual, not, not–”
“This is too. C’mon. Do it. Studly not stuffy.”
Xander’s hand was moving on his prick, and it was already more than half awake.
“Keep that up and I won’t be able to,” Giles said, under his breath.
But as ever, he found himself unable to resist giving Xander whatever he wanted. Xander wanted this; Xander was a little bent and wanted this; and Giles could do it. Giles was bent in his own ways, after all. No right to throw stones. He visualized himself letting go, pissing against that tree, marking his territory, staking his claim, making Xander his, bloody infuriating man, his, his, his-- Lord help him, it was exciting. It felt strange, definitely good, confusing, erotic, like being tickled almost, inside and out. Pissing while Xander wanked him. He watched it run down Xander’s leg and into the drain.
“There you go. Yeah. See? Washes right off. Squeaky clean.”
Giles groaned, half in dismay and half because Xander’s hand was still on him, still moving. “I feel as if I’ve been corrupted beyond hope of redemption.”
Xander snorted, then said, “You’re hard,” as if that proved anything at all. Except it did.
“You’re mine now,” said Giles, and to cover up his surprise at having said it, he seized Xander and kissed him. Xander was ready for him, and Giles let himself go. Sliding against Xander’s stomach, hot water and soap and hard muscle under soft skin, Xander pushing back just as hard, kissing him back just as sloppily, meeting him strength for strength. This turned him on more than anything, feeling Xander push him, struggle with him. Giles pulled back and finished it off with both hands. He watched himself spend against Xander’s stomach, long deep pulses washing through him while his knees went weak and Xander held him up. He got his feet back under himself and breathed it down. Looked down, saw Xander’s erection trapped between them, the white splatter all over both of them, and quirked up one side of his mouth. Xander splayed a hand over himself and rubbed. Giles reached down and grabbed his wrist.
“No. You can wait for it until I feel you deserve it,” he said.
Xander’s grin didn’t falter. “Kinky guy after all, huh?”
Giles shook his head, denying what was perfectly obviously true. He turned around in the spray and gave his own chest and belly a quick scrub. He felt Xander’s hands on his back, washing him. Giles turned for a rinse. Xander was now back to business in the shower, erection standing out stiff before him, scrubbing himself up with soap that smelled like an industrial accident.
“Gimme the water. There’s banana goo in my hair.”
Giles stepped out of the tub and left the shower to Xander, curtain open so he could watch, admire those muscles from another angle. He found a dry towel and swiped it across his face. “Any other confessions to make? Any other little quirks I should know about?”
Xander bent his head into the spray and lathered up his hair before he answered. “Well, um, yeah, that’s uh, not one of my quirks. I kinda zoned out and forgot you were there, hadda go, and zoom. Oops. Then you were so outraged I had to run with it. Didn’t expect you to dig it so much. But you can pee on me any time you want to. I’m flexible.”
Now Giles’s face did flame out red, but no sooner had he recovered himself enough to glare than Xander’s eyes went wide. He yelped and danced in place in the tub. Giles laughed: the hot water had run out.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, I’ve still got soap in my hair.”
“Serves you right,” Giles said.