Bathos in all its Forms
Title: Bathos in all its Forms
Author: Viv Wiley vivfic
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Xander/Anya
Written for: imperviousness
Prompt: bubble bar (as seen on Lush.com)
Rating: Mature
Spoilers: Up through Season 5, but mostly in a very vague sense. Story starts shortly after The Replacement and then drifts a bit.
Disclaimer: Not my characters. No disrespect intended, no profit at all.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my betas snacky and cofax7, any remaining mistakes or oddness are entirely my fault. This is my first BtVS fic. Feedback and concrit welcome.
Distribution: My LJ website and the Bubbleficathon archive. All others, please ask first.
If high school and various apocalypses had taught Xander anything, (and really should that be apocalyptii? Surprisingly for a high school on the Hellmouth, good ol' Sunnydale High had completely failed to teach the appropriate plural for apocalypse, and he was rambling; granted in the privacy of his own mind, but still, rambling) it was that he had always had a certain talent for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.
Some things really didn't change.
"Sweet Merciful Zeus!" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew that they should have been stopped inside his head, but too late.
"What?" Oh, goody. Anya was having one of those days when she could actually understand tone. "What's your problem?" And she was getting defensive. Excellent.
"Uh, sweetie? I thought we were going to make joint decisions about decorating? You know, together?"
"Yes, yes, but I've been doing some research and it seems that home decorating is really a woman's domain, so I figured I'd just start."
He knew he should just stop there, but somehow his mouth just kept going. "But a lampshade decorated with dried...what are those, insects? You know how I feel about insects. Didn't we have the whole conversation where I was tired of being the guy who eats ins-, and that's so not the point. The point is..." And he knew he needed to wind this up soon. "Are we sure this sets the right...tone?"
"Tone? What does tone have to do with anything? Besides, those have a very powerful protective force."
"It smells!"
"Well, a little, but protective-"
"NO!"
And, yup, there was the face. The one where she was going to either cry, or throw things at him. Sharp, pointy things.
"Oh sure. Revert to typical masculine stereotypes. Be all shouty and manly. But then you really have to leave the decorating to me."
"Okay, fine! But while I'm being all manly, I am insisting that we get rid of that lampshade."
She crossed over to the lamp, and stared at it consideringly. "I suppose I could sell it at the Magic Box."
"You didn't get it there in the first place?"
"Oh no, it was a present from a friend of mine. Well, really a demon, more like a former colleague, but she gave it to me as a housewarming present. Although now that I think about it, she was muttering something about getting rid of all the things her ex-husband's sister had given her."
"You took a lamp from a demon who was...?" And no, he was not going to finish that sentence. Sometimes it really was time to just shut up and declare victory. Or at least, just shut up and change the subject.
Clapping his hands together and rubbing them briskly, he ventured, "So, what's for dinner?"
"Do I look like June Reed? Or Donna Cleaver? Or whoever those completely ridiculous women are who do nothing but take care of their husbands? I have a busy career - "
"I know. I'm sorry. It's just you were the one talking about women's roles and decorating, and wow, I realize I should just go see what there is to cook."
"Yes, perhaps you should." And after, how much time had it been, he thought maybe he should be getting used to the lightning-quick changes of mood. The way she floated in and out of whatever passed for normalcy in Sunnydale. But, no, somehow, it still managed to catch him off-guard. Every damn time.
What was she going to be like in 10 years? 20?
Opening the refrigerator door and staring blindly at the contents, he had a sudden frightening vision of Anya at a PTA meeting, and okay, that was more than enough nightmare material for the next 10 years on its own. He really needed to start working now on excuses for the kids' teachers and kids?...and oh fun, now he was starting to hyperventilate and that needed to just stop.
Dinner. Right. Try to concentrate on the here and now. The more-or-less-controllable stuff.
"So, how do you feel about..." Holy gods what had that bit of green squelchy stuff been? "Uh, grilled chicken and...cheese? No, that won't work...chicken and...ah hah! Salad?"
"Sure, whatever." It was so nice to know that he was appreciated. As much as he was glad to be out of his parents' basement, there were moments when he wondered exactly what he'd traded it for.
There was a rustling sound behind him. One that was becoming very familiar. Clothing dropping to the ground. "Xander," she said, and oddly, she really did manage to sound apologetic and sort of commanding at the same time.
"You were bending over, and I was enjoying the way your ass looked in those pants. We have our own place now. We can have sex any time we want. In any room." Her skin, and he hated to resort to cliches, but sometimes that's all he had, was glowing like alabaster. And her face that funny blend of lust and vulnerability that drove him crazy.
Right. There were compensations to this arrangement, after all.
Later that night, Anya sleeping quietly next to him, he thought again about what she had said to him when he was Suave Xander. Her worries about what came next in their relationship and her dwindling time on this earth. Weirdly, or maybe not so weirdly - it was very hard to keep track of what was strange or not anymore - he had retained both sets of memories from being split in two. There was this odd blending of the experiences of his two halves that was like watching one of those split-screen movies.
He thought about that impromptu picnic in the newly rented apartment, how confident and strong he'd felt with her. How sure of their future. He understood that the two Xanders had really both been him, but most days he still couldn’t shake the sense that Lame Xander was the real Xander. That the Suave Xander was as phony as the Military Guy he had been that memorable Halloween.
He kept hoping for Suave Xander to resurface. To take over. And, some days on the worksite, he could feel a sort of creeping confidence. A sense that he was growing into that role, at least. Maybe the other stuff would come with time.
He continued to resolutely refuse to think about Anya's suggestion that the three of them should have had sex before he was "slapped" back together.
~ ~ ~ ~
He really needed a hobby. Or perhaps a second job. You know, a real job, one that paid actual money, and not just some kind of pseudo-volunteer gig of "Slayer Sidekick." Or, as seemed more the case lately, "Inept Keeper of the Peace." He also seriously needed to stop hanging out at the Magic Box.
"Xander, make her stop." He had completely lost track of who was bitching at whom, or who he was supposed to stop doing what. He had managed to tune everything out into a slightly annoying white noise, sort of like the buzzing of mosquitoes right before they swooped in for the kill.
"I thought we agreed that I wasn’t going to get involved in this sort of thing anymore." Actually, he thought no such thing, but it seemed worthwhile to try something.
"Xander--"
"Xander, I..."
"Hey! Did we learn nothing from the whole Olaf the Troll thing?"
Willow had the good grace to look sheepish, and to put down the oddly shaped statue she had been hefting, seemingly with the intent of hurling it at Anya.
Anya, though, not so much with the backing down. "It's not my fault. I merely said that Willow should be grateful that she's gay now because she clearly would never get her hands on the manly yummyness that is you." Then she gave that crooked smile that meant she'd like to be kissed now. "Because, you're taken and all."
"I get that you're together with Xander," and maybe Will hadn't totally let things go. "But there was really no reason to call me all scrawny and..."
"Enough. Seriously. I know you guys talked this out last week. And I really, really don't want to have to replace any more shelves. And Anya, you know how you hate it when inventory gets broken."
"It's true, although the shop does have insurance, and..."
"So not the point, honey." He was really so freaking tired of having to explain these things. "Do you think, after your very long existence, that maybe you could work a little harder on those small human things like getting along with your boyfriend's friends?"
"Are you saying I'm old? Or maybe that I'm stupid and incapable of learning?" Okay, there was just no way that he was going to be able to do anything to answer that question with anything like grace. He could her eyes narrowing, which was just never, never good.
"No, I'm saying that sometimes you seem like you're just not really trying very hard." Not the suavest of responses, but it did need to be said. In his peripheral vision, he could see Willow drifting toward the back of the shop, obviously trying hard to be inconspicuous.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you just keep picking fights with my friends, and..."
"I do not, I just..."
"Anya! Could you please just try to listen to what I'm saying?"
"Why?" It was so much belligerence as that unwavering belief that he she was right, and not only was the rest of the world wrong, but she didn't even need to try to understand it.
She must have read something in the expression he could feel freezing on his face. "I mean, I do listen to you, sweetie. It's just that you so often say the same things over and over. Blah, blah, Willow is my best friend. Blah, blah, Buffy is the coolest. What about me? When are you going to be all blah, blah, Anya is the coolest girlfriend ever?"
"You know how important you are to me, An, but..."
"No, see, I don't think you are supposed to have a 'but' in there, and I want..."
And right then, it was just a little too much. He really did love her deeply and painfully, and right now it was just a little too painful. He could see that there would be no end to this today; maybe not ever. He hated this fighting, even given what existed on the other side of it. Suddenly it felt like the walls of the shop were closing in on him.
"Anya! This is what I'm talking about. You only hear what you...you know what? I think I need some air. I'm going out. I'll be home...sometime."
He could hear her calling out to him as he walked out the door, but somehow he knew she wouldn't be following him.
He walked for a very long time. There wasn't a lot of new ground to cover in his head, but he hoped that maybe if he walked long enough he’d see something new. He did love her. It was just sometimes he wished he'd picked someone a little easier to love. He seemed to make a habit of falling for ...unsuitable women. And she was really a doozy. Did he really want to keep doing this? Were the moments of connection and love he felt worth the otherwise almost continual feeling of being on a knife's edge with her? Of wondering what landmine she would set off next?
He tried to reach for that clarity he'd felt a couple weeks ago. That moment of absolute certainty he'd reached when he was talking to Buffy about how she was throwing away her chance with Riley. That moment when it had all clicked into place and he'd realized that everything he was saying to her was what he felt about Anya. She wasn’t a rebound girl or a temporary girl. She was The Girl.
She was The Girl, wasn't she?
He kept walking.
Hours later, he found himself walking along a row of shops in a swankier section of town. A display of glittering jewelry caught his eye, and he instantly found himself thinking how much Anya would love all the sparkling things. One night, as they lay in bed, catching their breath after another round of sweaty athletic sex - something he sometimes thought she appreciated even more than he did - she had started cataloging all the jewelry she'd owned over the course of multiple centuries as a Vengeance Demon. She'd seemed particularly wistful about a pair of diamond hair clips from the mid-18th century.
He couldn't exactly afford diamonds as an apology, but he noticed the next store over sold bath products, and it she seemed quite fond of the large tub in their place and all kinds of bubble baths. Maybe he could find a suitable apology in this Lush.
He wasn't the kind of guy who shopped in places like this. Hell, sometimes even the Magic Box felt too girly. Well, not girly, just that it was full of all that feminine energy and he really had been hanging out with way too many women for way too long if the phrase "feminine energy" was even in his vocabulary, but that was besides the point, and he was here now, so he might as well make the most of this trip into a store that seemed designed to do nothing so much as make people sneeze. A lot.
"Can I help you, sir?” The shop assistant was, of course, androgynously, sleekly perfect. Her hair all pulled back, pleasingly organic, and yet just a little too...perfect. He consciously didn't look for any stray wires that would indicate a certain robot lineage.
"I, uh..."
"Are you shopping for someone special?" Clearly she was used to dealing with inept males trying to make futile romantic gestures.
"Yeah. Yes. My girlfriend. She likes to...bathe. You know, take baths, soak, bubbles..." Great, he had achieved babbling; that usually took at least 5 minutes longer than this.
"We have some great new products. How about one of these bath bombs?"
"NO! No bombs." It was possible he was over-reacting. And yet, there was something just deeply wrong with mixing weapons and bathing.
A perfectly groomed eyebrow arched. "Ooookay...what about one of these bubble bars?"
"Bubbles. Yes, she likes bubbles."
"Do you know what scents she likes?"
Always with the one more question you had to answer. "Nice ones?"
She seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh. "Is she stressed out? Do you want something to help her relax, or something more...romantic?"
He was quite certain he had answered fewer questions on his last final exam in high school. "Romance. Let's go with...Hey! Look, this one says it 'sets the scene for seduction.' Not that I need to seduce her because she's really not like that what with the whole 'interlocking bodies' thing, but ...oh god, just give me one of those."
"Yes, sir." He really didn't think that expression was one that the clerk's face made on a regular basis. In another mood he might have been glad for this indication of non-robotness, but right now he just wanted to make his escape.
Although, logically, he knew that she was no longer a Vengeance Demon, there was still a cold hand clutching his gut as he turned the key in the lock of their apartment.
"An? I'm home. Listen. I brought you something. A present." Maybe that would buy him a little space to duck and roll if he needed to get out of the way of a knife. Or fireball.
She still looked a little upset, but as soon as he said 'present' her eyes glowed with avarice. "Oooh, jewelry? Throughout history men have brought women precious metals and jewels as a way of saying they were sorry." Her brow furrowed. "Wait. Is this your idea of an apology? You're just going to try to bribe me? Shouldn't you be saying something?" He could almost find it funny that her foot was actually tapping.
"I'm sorry, Anya. I shouldn't have walked out like that. But..."
"Oh. Okay. Close enough. Gimme." He pushed the bag with its green and yellow logo into her grabby hands. She pulled the cellophane-wrapped lump out of the tissues and bag. "What is it?"
"I think the sales person said it was a bubble bar. Anyway, it makes bubbles in baths. You like bubbles, right?"
She inhaled the scent. "Hmmmm...I like this."
Oh thank god. Gods. Whatever diety was listening. He was still scarred from that incident with the "stinky" perfume.
"I made the clerk write down what it's called." He fumbled the card out of his pocket. "Here...it's called 'Bathos,' it's supposed to be all about seduction." It was possible the waggling eyebrows were a mistake.
"What? They didn't have any bars that are called "I'm sorry I'm a big fat idiot who doesn't support my girlfriend?" Anyway, seduction? Why do you bother, you know I'm a sure-"
He caught her hand. "I don't want to take you for granted." He kissed her knuckles. "Sometimes this does't make a lot of sense, what we have. But I really do lo- like it a lot." Another soft kiss. "You know, despite everything, I like you a lot."
"I like you, too. I like," her eyes drifted up and down, "all of you. You know, our new bathtub is rather large."
"That's my girl. I knew you'd get the hint."
The bath was warm, almost too hot - Anya seemed to like things on the hotter side. He wondered if that was a side effect of times spent in various demon dimensions. He leaned back against the cooler porcelain of the tub, and wrapped his arms around her. She was always smaller than he expected. She always seemed to take up so much space.
The bubbles surrounded them; fortunately a less girly smell than he had originally thought. He ran his hands absently up and down her arms. She made a pleased, humming sound.
"I think this product is working as it should. My skin feels pleasingly soft. Do you agree?"
"Yes, it is. Quite soft. Supple even."
She turned around, seal like, and he scooted lower, so that she was floating above him, bumping up against him in a pleasantly erotic way. Her lips were surprisingly gentle.
For a while he let himself just drift with her. Soft kisses that were ramping up slowly. One arm wrapped loosely around her waist, mooring her to him. The other hand free to roam. Sliding across her skin, the soft swell of her breast. He was still sometimes surprised to find that he was free to do this. That this was allowed. There was nothing yet commonplace about this sensation. This connection.
She wriggled closer. One of her greedy hands reaching between his legs.
"Whoa there. You just got your shoulder all healed from being dislocated. I don't think we should try anything too acrobatic, in such a slippery environment."
"But I like it when we get acrobatic."
"I know, but I really would be too worried. I promise we can get all reckless and acrobatic when we're somewhere less slippery."
She squeezed his cock once more - a little maliciously, he thought- but then let it go; one final caress trailing away. "Okay. You know, based on those magazines you keep hidden under the mattress, I would have thought that sex in a bathtub would be viewed more favorably by you."
"The maga- what? You know? Never mind. This really is about you, An. I just want you to relax and feel good."
"Orgasms always make me feel good." She stared at him intently for a moment, before rotating so that her back was once more resting against his chest. "Okay, you can give me pleasure later."
"My pleasure." He lay there a long moment, just luxuriating in the warmth of the water, the scent of Anya rising up amid the jasmine of the bubbles. What had that stupid thing been called? Oh yeah. The Bathos Bubble bar. Somewhere in the back of his head, some nearly forgotten English lesson tried to surface. Something about the definition of bathos being...it really wasn't important.
"So, how was the rest of your day?" It was the most banal question in the world, but there was something really pleasing about the simplicity. The triteness. He got to come home from work, to his girl - who was, it must be admitted an ex-vengeance demon who was more than 1,000 years old - but his girl. They would have dinner, have sex, get some sleep and do it all over again the next day.
The thing was that he really had been listening when Riley talked about Buffy the day they had all helped him move. Xander understood the deep heartbreak that was running through the guy. He understood the very strange and wonderful luck that had invaded his life with brown eyes and a strangely stilted speech pattern. His life wasn't perfect. He lived on the Hellmouth, his best friend was a witch and he was a sidekick to the Slayer, perfect really wasn't in the cards. But he had a good thing here in his arms. He had a job, an apartment. Even if he was still mostly Lame Xander, he'd figure the rest of it out. He had time.
END
Notes
Bathos Bubble Bar
Prepare for a long night (the best kind of long night) when you bathe together in soft bubbles and the heady fragrance of jasmine and violet. Bathos leaves skin kissably soft and the scent lingers long after you've retreated to the bedroom.
American Heritage dictionary - definitions of bathos:
- An abrupt, unintended transition in style from the exalted to the commonplace, producing a ludicrous effect.
- An anticlimax.
- Insincere or grossly sentimental pathos: "a richly textured man who...can be...sentimental to the brink of bathos" (Kenneth L. Woodward).
- Banality; triteness.
Author: Viv Wiley vivfic
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Xander/Anya
Written for: imperviousness
Prompt: bubble bar (as seen on Lush.com)
Rating: Mature
Spoilers: Up through Season 5, but mostly in a very vague sense. Story starts shortly after The Replacement and then drifts a bit.
Disclaimer: Not my characters. No disrespect intended, no profit at all.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my betas snacky and cofax7, any remaining mistakes or oddness are entirely my fault. This is my first BtVS fic. Feedback and concrit welcome.
Distribution: My LJ website and the Bubbleficathon archive. All others, please ask first.
If high school and various apocalypses had taught Xander anything, (and really should that be apocalyptii? Surprisingly for a high school on the Hellmouth, good ol' Sunnydale High had completely failed to teach the appropriate plural for apocalypse, and he was rambling; granted in the privacy of his own mind, but still, rambling) it was that he had always had a certain talent for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.
Some things really didn't change.
"Sweet Merciful Zeus!" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew that they should have been stopped inside his head, but too late.
"What?" Oh, goody. Anya was having one of those days when she could actually understand tone. "What's your problem?" And she was getting defensive. Excellent.
"Uh, sweetie? I thought we were going to make joint decisions about decorating? You know, together?"
"Yes, yes, but I've been doing some research and it seems that home decorating is really a woman's domain, so I figured I'd just start."
He knew he should just stop there, but somehow his mouth just kept going. "But a lampshade decorated with dried...what are those, insects? You know how I feel about insects. Didn't we have the whole conversation where I was tired of being the guy who eats ins-, and that's so not the point. The point is..." And he knew he needed to wind this up soon. "Are we sure this sets the right...tone?"
"Tone? What does tone have to do with anything? Besides, those have a very powerful protective force."
"It smells!"
"Well, a little, but protective-"
"NO!"
And, yup, there was the face. The one where she was going to either cry, or throw things at him. Sharp, pointy things.
"Oh sure. Revert to typical masculine stereotypes. Be all shouty and manly. But then you really have to leave the decorating to me."
"Okay, fine! But while I'm being all manly, I am insisting that we get rid of that lampshade."
She crossed over to the lamp, and stared at it consideringly. "I suppose I could sell it at the Magic Box."
"You didn't get it there in the first place?"
"Oh no, it was a present from a friend of mine. Well, really a demon, more like a former colleague, but she gave it to me as a housewarming present. Although now that I think about it, she was muttering something about getting rid of all the things her ex-husband's sister had given her."
"You took a lamp from a demon who was...?" And no, he was not going to finish that sentence. Sometimes it really was time to just shut up and declare victory. Or at least, just shut up and change the subject.
Clapping his hands together and rubbing them briskly, he ventured, "So, what's for dinner?"
"Do I look like June Reed? Or Donna Cleaver? Or whoever those completely ridiculous women are who do nothing but take care of their husbands? I have a busy career - "
"I know. I'm sorry. It's just you were the one talking about women's roles and decorating, and wow, I realize I should just go see what there is to cook."
"Yes, perhaps you should." And after, how much time had it been, he thought maybe he should be getting used to the lightning-quick changes of mood. The way she floated in and out of whatever passed for normalcy in Sunnydale. But, no, somehow, it still managed to catch him off-guard. Every damn time.
What was she going to be like in 10 years? 20?
Opening the refrigerator door and staring blindly at the contents, he had a sudden frightening vision of Anya at a PTA meeting, and okay, that was more than enough nightmare material for the next 10 years on its own. He really needed to start working now on excuses for the kids' teachers and kids?...and oh fun, now he was starting to hyperventilate and that needed to just stop.
Dinner. Right. Try to concentrate on the here and now. The more-or-less-controllable stuff.
"So, how do you feel about..." Holy gods what had that bit of green squelchy stuff been? "Uh, grilled chicken and...cheese? No, that won't work...chicken and...ah hah! Salad?"
"Sure, whatever." It was so nice to know that he was appreciated. As much as he was glad to be out of his parents' basement, there were moments when he wondered exactly what he'd traded it for.
There was a rustling sound behind him. One that was becoming very familiar. Clothing dropping to the ground. "Xander," she said, and oddly, she really did manage to sound apologetic and sort of commanding at the same time.
"You were bending over, and I was enjoying the way your ass looked in those pants. We have our own place now. We can have sex any time we want. In any room." Her skin, and he hated to resort to cliches, but sometimes that's all he had, was glowing like alabaster. And her face that funny blend of lust and vulnerability that drove him crazy.
Right. There were compensations to this arrangement, after all.
Later that night, Anya sleeping quietly next to him, he thought again about what she had said to him when he was Suave Xander. Her worries about what came next in their relationship and her dwindling time on this earth. Weirdly, or maybe not so weirdly - it was very hard to keep track of what was strange or not anymore - he had retained both sets of memories from being split in two. There was this odd blending of the experiences of his two halves that was like watching one of those split-screen movies.
He thought about that impromptu picnic in the newly rented apartment, how confident and strong he'd felt with her. How sure of their future. He understood that the two Xanders had really both been him, but most days he still couldn’t shake the sense that Lame Xander was the real Xander. That the Suave Xander was as phony as the Military Guy he had been that memorable Halloween.
He kept hoping for Suave Xander to resurface. To take over. And, some days on the worksite, he could feel a sort of creeping confidence. A sense that he was growing into that role, at least. Maybe the other stuff would come with time.
He continued to resolutely refuse to think about Anya's suggestion that the three of them should have had sex before he was "slapped" back together.
~ ~ ~ ~
He really needed a hobby. Or perhaps a second job. You know, a real job, one that paid actual money, and not just some kind of pseudo-volunteer gig of "Slayer Sidekick." Or, as seemed more the case lately, "Inept Keeper of the Peace." He also seriously needed to stop hanging out at the Magic Box.
"Xander, make her stop." He had completely lost track of who was bitching at whom, or who he was supposed to stop doing what. He had managed to tune everything out into a slightly annoying white noise, sort of like the buzzing of mosquitoes right before they swooped in for the kill.
"I thought we agreed that I wasn’t going to get involved in this sort of thing anymore." Actually, he thought no such thing, but it seemed worthwhile to try something.
"Xander--"
"Xander, I..."
"Hey! Did we learn nothing from the whole Olaf the Troll thing?"
Willow had the good grace to look sheepish, and to put down the oddly shaped statue she had been hefting, seemingly with the intent of hurling it at Anya.
Anya, though, not so much with the backing down. "It's not my fault. I merely said that Willow should be grateful that she's gay now because she clearly would never get her hands on the manly yummyness that is you." Then she gave that crooked smile that meant she'd like to be kissed now. "Because, you're taken and all."
"I get that you're together with Xander," and maybe Will hadn't totally let things go. "But there was really no reason to call me all scrawny and..."
"Enough. Seriously. I know you guys talked this out last week. And I really, really don't want to have to replace any more shelves. And Anya, you know how you hate it when inventory gets broken."
"It's true, although the shop does have insurance, and..."
"So not the point, honey." He was really so freaking tired of having to explain these things. "Do you think, after your very long existence, that maybe you could work a little harder on those small human things like getting along with your boyfriend's friends?"
"Are you saying I'm old? Or maybe that I'm stupid and incapable of learning?" Okay, there was just no way that he was going to be able to do anything to answer that question with anything like grace. He could her eyes narrowing, which was just never, never good.
"No, I'm saying that sometimes you seem like you're just not really trying very hard." Not the suavest of responses, but it did need to be said. In his peripheral vision, he could see Willow drifting toward the back of the shop, obviously trying hard to be inconspicuous.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you just keep picking fights with my friends, and..."
"I do not, I just..."
"Anya! Could you please just try to listen to what I'm saying?"
"Why?" It was so much belligerence as that unwavering belief that he she was right, and not only was the rest of the world wrong, but she didn't even need to try to understand it.
She must have read something in the expression he could feel freezing on his face. "I mean, I do listen to you, sweetie. It's just that you so often say the same things over and over. Blah, blah, Willow is my best friend. Blah, blah, Buffy is the coolest. What about me? When are you going to be all blah, blah, Anya is the coolest girlfriend ever?"
"You know how important you are to me, An, but..."
"No, see, I don't think you are supposed to have a 'but' in there, and I want..."
And right then, it was just a little too much. He really did love her deeply and painfully, and right now it was just a little too painful. He could see that there would be no end to this today; maybe not ever. He hated this fighting, even given what existed on the other side of it. Suddenly it felt like the walls of the shop were closing in on him.
"Anya! This is what I'm talking about. You only hear what you...you know what? I think I need some air. I'm going out. I'll be home...sometime."
He could hear her calling out to him as he walked out the door, but somehow he knew she wouldn't be following him.
He walked for a very long time. There wasn't a lot of new ground to cover in his head, but he hoped that maybe if he walked long enough he’d see something new. He did love her. It was just sometimes he wished he'd picked someone a little easier to love. He seemed to make a habit of falling for ...unsuitable women. And she was really a doozy. Did he really want to keep doing this? Were the moments of connection and love he felt worth the otherwise almost continual feeling of being on a knife's edge with her? Of wondering what landmine she would set off next?
He tried to reach for that clarity he'd felt a couple weeks ago. That moment of absolute certainty he'd reached when he was talking to Buffy about how she was throwing away her chance with Riley. That moment when it had all clicked into place and he'd realized that everything he was saying to her was what he felt about Anya. She wasn’t a rebound girl or a temporary girl. She was The Girl.
She was The Girl, wasn't she?
He kept walking.
Hours later, he found himself walking along a row of shops in a swankier section of town. A display of glittering jewelry caught his eye, and he instantly found himself thinking how much Anya would love all the sparkling things. One night, as they lay in bed, catching their breath after another round of sweaty athletic sex - something he sometimes thought she appreciated even more than he did - she had started cataloging all the jewelry she'd owned over the course of multiple centuries as a Vengeance Demon. She'd seemed particularly wistful about a pair of diamond hair clips from the mid-18th century.
He couldn't exactly afford diamonds as an apology, but he noticed the next store over sold bath products, and it she seemed quite fond of the large tub in their place and all kinds of bubble baths. Maybe he could find a suitable apology in this Lush.
He wasn't the kind of guy who shopped in places like this. Hell, sometimes even the Magic Box felt too girly. Well, not girly, just that it was full of all that feminine energy and he really had been hanging out with way too many women for way too long if the phrase "feminine energy" was even in his vocabulary, but that was besides the point, and he was here now, so he might as well make the most of this trip into a store that seemed designed to do nothing so much as make people sneeze. A lot.
"Can I help you, sir?” The shop assistant was, of course, androgynously, sleekly perfect. Her hair all pulled back, pleasingly organic, and yet just a little too...perfect. He consciously didn't look for any stray wires that would indicate a certain robot lineage.
"I, uh..."
"Are you shopping for someone special?" Clearly she was used to dealing with inept males trying to make futile romantic gestures.
"Yeah. Yes. My girlfriend. She likes to...bathe. You know, take baths, soak, bubbles..." Great, he had achieved babbling; that usually took at least 5 minutes longer than this.
"We have some great new products. How about one of these bath bombs?"
"NO! No bombs." It was possible he was over-reacting. And yet, there was something just deeply wrong with mixing weapons and bathing.
A perfectly groomed eyebrow arched. "Ooookay...what about one of these bubble bars?"
"Bubbles. Yes, she likes bubbles."
"Do you know what scents she likes?"
Always with the one more question you had to answer. "Nice ones?"
She seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh. "Is she stressed out? Do you want something to help her relax, or something more...romantic?"
He was quite certain he had answered fewer questions on his last final exam in high school. "Romance. Let's go with...Hey! Look, this one says it 'sets the scene for seduction.' Not that I need to seduce her because she's really not like that what with the whole 'interlocking bodies' thing, but ...oh god, just give me one of those."
"Yes, sir." He really didn't think that expression was one that the clerk's face made on a regular basis. In another mood he might have been glad for this indication of non-robotness, but right now he just wanted to make his escape.
Although, logically, he knew that she was no longer a Vengeance Demon, there was still a cold hand clutching his gut as he turned the key in the lock of their apartment.
"An? I'm home. Listen. I brought you something. A present." Maybe that would buy him a little space to duck and roll if he needed to get out of the way of a knife. Or fireball.
She still looked a little upset, but as soon as he said 'present' her eyes glowed with avarice. "Oooh, jewelry? Throughout history men have brought women precious metals and jewels as a way of saying they were sorry." Her brow furrowed. "Wait. Is this your idea of an apology? You're just going to try to bribe me? Shouldn't you be saying something?" He could almost find it funny that her foot was actually tapping.
"I'm sorry, Anya. I shouldn't have walked out like that. But..."
"Oh. Okay. Close enough. Gimme." He pushed the bag with its green and yellow logo into her grabby hands. She pulled the cellophane-wrapped lump out of the tissues and bag. "What is it?"
"I think the sales person said it was a bubble bar. Anyway, it makes bubbles in baths. You like bubbles, right?"
She inhaled the scent. "Hmmmm...I like this."
Oh thank god. Gods. Whatever diety was listening. He was still scarred from that incident with the "stinky" perfume.
"I made the clerk write down what it's called." He fumbled the card out of his pocket. "Here...it's called 'Bathos,' it's supposed to be all about seduction." It was possible the waggling eyebrows were a mistake.
"What? They didn't have any bars that are called "I'm sorry I'm a big fat idiot who doesn't support my girlfriend?" Anyway, seduction? Why do you bother, you know I'm a sure-"
He caught her hand. "I don't want to take you for granted." He kissed her knuckles. "Sometimes this does't make a lot of sense, what we have. But I really do lo- like it a lot." Another soft kiss. "You know, despite everything, I like you a lot."
"I like you, too. I like," her eyes drifted up and down, "all of you. You know, our new bathtub is rather large."
"That's my girl. I knew you'd get the hint."
The bath was warm, almost too hot - Anya seemed to like things on the hotter side. He wondered if that was a side effect of times spent in various demon dimensions. He leaned back against the cooler porcelain of the tub, and wrapped his arms around her. She was always smaller than he expected. She always seemed to take up so much space.
The bubbles surrounded them; fortunately a less girly smell than he had originally thought. He ran his hands absently up and down her arms. She made a pleased, humming sound.
"I think this product is working as it should. My skin feels pleasingly soft. Do you agree?"
"Yes, it is. Quite soft. Supple even."
She turned around, seal like, and he scooted lower, so that she was floating above him, bumping up against him in a pleasantly erotic way. Her lips were surprisingly gentle.
For a while he let himself just drift with her. Soft kisses that were ramping up slowly. One arm wrapped loosely around her waist, mooring her to him. The other hand free to roam. Sliding across her skin, the soft swell of her breast. He was still sometimes surprised to find that he was free to do this. That this was allowed. There was nothing yet commonplace about this sensation. This connection.
She wriggled closer. One of her greedy hands reaching between his legs.
"Whoa there. You just got your shoulder all healed from being dislocated. I don't think we should try anything too acrobatic, in such a slippery environment."
"But I like it when we get acrobatic."
"I know, but I really would be too worried. I promise we can get all reckless and acrobatic when we're somewhere less slippery."
She squeezed his cock once more - a little maliciously, he thought- but then let it go; one final caress trailing away. "Okay. You know, based on those magazines you keep hidden under the mattress, I would have thought that sex in a bathtub would be viewed more favorably by you."
"The maga- what? You know? Never mind. This really is about you, An. I just want you to relax and feel good."
"Orgasms always make me feel good." She stared at him intently for a moment, before rotating so that her back was once more resting against his chest. "Okay, you can give me pleasure later."
"My pleasure." He lay there a long moment, just luxuriating in the warmth of the water, the scent of Anya rising up amid the jasmine of the bubbles. What had that stupid thing been called? Oh yeah. The Bathos Bubble bar. Somewhere in the back of his head, some nearly forgotten English lesson tried to surface. Something about the definition of bathos being...it really wasn't important.
"So, how was the rest of your day?" It was the most banal question in the world, but there was something really pleasing about the simplicity. The triteness. He got to come home from work, to his girl - who was, it must be admitted an ex-vengeance demon who was more than 1,000 years old - but his girl. They would have dinner, have sex, get some sleep and do it all over again the next day.
The thing was that he really had been listening when Riley talked about Buffy the day they had all helped him move. Xander understood the deep heartbreak that was running through the guy. He understood the very strange and wonderful luck that had invaded his life with brown eyes and a strangely stilted speech pattern. His life wasn't perfect. He lived on the Hellmouth, his best friend was a witch and he was a sidekick to the Slayer, perfect really wasn't in the cards. But he had a good thing here in his arms. He had a job, an apartment. Even if he was still mostly Lame Xander, he'd figure the rest of it out. He had time.
END
Notes
Bathos Bubble Bar
Prepare for a long night (the best kind of long night) when you bathe together in soft bubbles and the heady fragrance of jasmine and violet. Bathos leaves skin kissably soft and the scent lingers long after you've retreated to the bedroom.
American Heritage dictionary - definitions of bathos:
- An abrupt, unintended transition in style from the exalted to the commonplace, producing a ludicrous effect.
- An anticlimax.
- Insincere or grossly sentimental pathos: "a richly textured man who...can be...sentimental to the brink of bathos" (Kenneth L. Woodward).
- Banality; triteness.