Fic for astrablue!
I haven't written much Anya, but I thought I'd give it a shot for you! And I'm sorry it's late, and that it's all your gift in one piece, but I hope you like it anyways!

Title: From an Unexpected Corner
Author: Page
Rating: R
Summary: What if, instead of asking Xander to the prom, Anya asked someone else?
Pairing: Anya/Buffy
Notes: Written for astrablue for btvs_santa 2004! Oh, and I don't own anything. At all.



Buffy was working on the case of the hellhound. Really. They knew the beast was attracted to formal wear—-maybe it was also attracted to Haagen Dazs. That’s upscale ice cream. She was merely doing necessary research by sitting in one of the darker corners of the cemetery and eating it alone. Crucial work, actually.

But the plastic spoon was bending under the force of her grip and the carton was getting all slippery from the melt and as it turns out, she couldn’t stomach another bite. Damnit.

Buffy sighed and set the ice cream aside, instead pressing her chilled hands to her knees and drawing up her suede-clad feet, curling herself into as much of a ball as she could while leaning up against a shady gravestone. Peering out into the dappled fading twilight, she concentrated on her breathing. In. Out. Past the huge block of ice that had moved into her chest ever since Angel left. With a little mental irony, she wondered if her heart felt like his did now.

She was so focused on one waving spring leaf in the distance that the approach of Chanel perfume and rustling silk didn’t catch her attention until the well-dressed girl was right above her, shaded so that Buffy couldn’t see her face. She scrambled into a standing position, hastily brushing off damp bits of grass from the backside of her own ensemble. Once she raised her head she immediately rolled her eyes.

“Anyanka? Long time no see. In fact, no see since I found out you might’ve been the cause of the death of an alternate me.” She cracked her knuckles. “Any reason you’re poking your head around my corner of the graveyard? Because trust me, babe, now is not the time.”

Anya frowned. “I’m human. You won’t hurt me, so don’t bother threatening me. Besides, I’m at exactly the place and time I intended to be.”

Brushing her hair out of her face, Buffy scoffed. “I’ve never had to deal with former demons, so my morals aren’t quite worked out on that one yet. And please, just.. just leave me alone.”

The brunette’s eyes trailed to the puddle on the grass. “Your ice cream is melted. And your mascara is on your cheeks.”

“Yes, yes, I’m miserable, all right! Come to rub it in? Take pleasure in my pain? Is that demon part of you still intact?” To her dismay, Buffy’s eyes were starting to drip again and she wiped the back of her hand under her nose.

Taking one last sweeping glance at the tableau of girl, Haagen Dazs, and used tissues, Anya neatly folded her legs under her and sat down, keeping her skirt swept cleanly over her knees. “I do still have some demon senses. One of which is I can tell when a woman’s been wronged by a man. Hurt. Destroyed. Rent apart. Had her heart torn out and—“

“I get the picture.” Buffy was still standing, staring down incredulously at Anya. Mouth slightly open, she shook her head. “So you did come here to gloat, then. ‘Oh, poor Buffy. If you hadn’t taken my power center I could punish Angel now. I could pull out every hair on his body one by one. Or glue tiny anvils to each of his eyelashes so he couldn’t ever open his eyes again. Or draw Night Café on his body using needles and his blood.’ Or… something.”

Seeming a bit surprised, Anya nodded approvingly. “I’m impressed. If I still had council with d’Hoffryn.. but you’re mostly wrong. I could have done all that, yes. But that’s not why I came here.”

Buffy flopped down on the ground haphazardly, grateful that the fading light was probably hiding most of her crumpling face. “I don’t want to talk about this any more,” she whispered.

Anya pushed ahead. “I came here because I could sense your pain, and I want to do something about it. A few months ago I would’ve taken whatever vengeance you wished out on him, but now my abilities are much more limited.” Her brow furrowed. “And for some reason your pain is hitting me in a different spot. Instead of hurting him, I want to.. help you.”

Looking up, Buffy saw Anya’s confused eyes trained on her own. After a moment of silence in which the Slayer’s partially opened mouth betrayed her own confusion, she shook her head.

“I don’t think you can help me, Anyanka. I just need.. alone time.” She sighed.

“Bullcrap,” Anya bit out, grabbing Buffy’s arm and hoisting her to her feet.

“What are you doing!”

“A little bird told me you lost your date for the prom. So I’m going to take you.”

“What? No! That’s.. ridiculous! I’m not, and you’re—-no. No!”

“Oh, come on. They already all think you’re weird enough as it is. And I’m a good dancer. Been to all the great European ballrooms and dancehalls. Russia was especially spectacular.”

As Anya drifted off in some reverie, Buffy paused to consider. “You have a point. And I’ve got the dress.. but I’m really ok with going stag, and hey! Demon!”

“Former demon! And if it helps, consider it as charity to the girl you put out of work who doesn’t have a da—“

“No, actual demon!”

“Oh. Kill it. Kill it!”

~~-~~-~~-~~-

A few hours later, hellhound successfully disarmed—-literally—-Buffy had a moment to consider how really strange it felt to be walking into a highly decorated school gym with a girl on her arm. If it had been Willow it would have been different. They were friends. Buffy wasn’t friends with this girl. Buffy wasn’t sure what this girl was thinking. She was thinking about Angel. Definitely. How she would never again run her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck again, and how he could never look at her with those smoldering holy crap did Anya just grab her ass?

Anya leaned in to whisper in Buffy’s ear. “Don’t get teary eyed over that big lug. He couldn’t even give you orgasms. I can give you orgasms.”

“Ba huh?” Buffy sputtered, but her wide eyes were torn away by a grinning Giles, congratulating her on her kill. She nodded dumbly, ignoring his inquiring glances to the red and black sheathed girl next to her. Objectively, she had to admit they made quite the couple—though, on second though, that probably wasn’t what was making Giles stare. It definitely was what was making Xander stare, though, she bet.

As soon as the Watcher had wandered away, Buffy tilted her head. “What are you talking about?” she hissed. “There was no talk of orgasms!”

“But that’s what happens after proms. People get laid. Often in hotel rooms. I saw it in movies,” Anya smiled proudly.

Buffy rolled her eyes then jerked as Anya’s hand settled high on her waist. “Careful! People can see!”

“Besides, when was the last time you had a good orgasm that wasn’t thanks to a piece of machinery?”

Buffy’s flush was creeping up her neck. “I thought this date was kind of a joke! Are you really--?”

Anya shrugged and patted Buffy’s ass again. “Sometimes. I wasn’t expecting to find my skin tingling at the sight of someone so thin and blonde. You’re not really my type.. honestly, I usually go for big and dark. But there’s something about you, and I figure you owe me after taking away all my power.”

With an angry shoulder roll, Buffy pulled free of the insistent grasp on her wrist. “You’re ridiculous. I’m not gay. And I don’t sleep around. And I’m in a really vulnerable place right now, and you’re taking advantage of me!”

Just then, Jonathan took the stage and cleared his throat. “We’ll finish this conversation later,” Anya said primly as she folded her arms across her chest and turned her attention to the boy with the microphone.

~~-~~-~~-~~-

Anya had paid for the hotel room, so by golly, she wasn’t going to waste her money. Even if she was in it alone because, instead of having that conversation, after the little umbrella dealy that no good sack of brooding showed up in a tux and whisked her date away. Her lithe, sensuous, golden date.. but this room had a big bed with a fluffy comforter and a TV that got HBO, so with the remote and a bottle of vodka she’d charmed—-ok, frightened—-the man at the liquor store into selling her, she was going to have a fine night. Just fine.

Besides, Buffy was probably all weepy again anyways.

That didn't change the fact that she missed the bitch.

She'd been keeping her eye on the Slayer, telling herself that it was reconnaissance, keeping an eye on an enemy, biding her time until she could figure out some way to get her power back. In school, on patrol, hanging out with her friends, smooching on that lug--Anya had seen glimpses of it all. And what she saw surprised her.

Annoyingly, the girl was tough. As tough as her. Maybe. And beautiful, but that was a given, and Anya had seen her share of beautiful women, mostly after they'd been dumped by beautiful men. And this Buffy creature cared about things way too much. And people. And she was all around a good person, and something about her just drove Anya wild.

She admired the do-gooder, damnit, and she lusted after the tight slayer body, and she wanted to protect that too-big heart from ever being hurt by any lousy man again. And when Angel dumped her, she saw her chance to do that. Or at least get in her pants.

But now she was back with that asshole, and Anya was alone in a crappy motel room dressed in formalwear that, after living through centuries of beautiful clothes, made her wince. She needed a drink.

Just as Anya had settled crosslegged on the still-made bed and began to twist off the bottlecap, a timid knock sounded at her door.

“Go away! I don’t need any room service!”

A sniffly voice, muffled by the wood, said “Anya? It’s me.”

Anya rolled her eyes and tossed her bottle to the bedspread. Tugging at her dress as she stood up, she hobbled to the door. “Damn shoes,” she muttered as she turned the knob to reveal a—-yup, just as she expected. A raccoon faced Buffy.

“What do you want, stand-upper?” Anya muttered, leaving the door open and heading back to the bed. She’d almost had enough of this obviously-not-over-him-yet crybaby. It had already been what. A week? Women were made of such thin stuff these days.

Sure enough, Buffy stood in the doorway, twisting her clutch in her hands. She still had her dress on too, though her hair was looking a little mussed.

“I’m sorry, it’s just.. after the dance, he.. he..”

“Left you. Duh. What were you expecting?” Honestly. Maybe this little slayer wasn’t worth such whatever-ache.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, I just saw him there. I-I wanted a perfect high school moment.”

“Yeah, yeah. Are you gonna leave soon? Softcore porn’s coming up soon, I think.”

"I'm not a perfect high school girl."

There was a moment where Anya stared stubbornly at the screen in front of her, trying not to look over.

"I'm not over him." Buffy's voice was flat.

Almost inexorably, Anya turned from the tv. "I know." Damn, what was it about her!

"I'm still in love with him."

"I know."

"I'm tired of hurting."

"Buffy, I know."

"Can you make it stop? Just for a night? Can you make it stop hurting?"

Before that pretty face could fall apart again, Anya was up and rushing over and kissing it, her thumbs gently on Buffy's cheekbones and lips pressed tight against that sniffly mouth. One hand reached out to slam the door behind her, making the slayer jump under Anya's kiss.

Anya pulled back and gripped Buffy's shoulders. "You're too tense. You need to relax. I'm good at this.”

"I'm not really like this. I've never done this before." She hiccuped through her tears, and still somehow managed to give Anya a stern look. "I'm not ready for any kind of relationship."

Anya frowned. "No, I expect a long mortal life together, complete with babies and a mortgage."

Buffy laughed and wiped her eyes. "Yeah, of course. I knew you'd understand.”

“What, you think I’m jo-?” Anya’s question was broken off by another hungry kiss, one that slid all over her mouth in a tearstained mess, all soft and bite-able and tongue and teeth.

And then there were hands, strong fingers in her hair, tentatively pulling out the updo and then growing exasperated and burying themselves in the coiled strands, and Anya’s own hands were pulling the dress down to waistlevel and then settling themselves naturally under upcurving breasts. Buffy was gasping now, mouth open as Anya’s faced moved to her neck.

“Ngah!” Just that little moan made Anya’s legs a bit more slippery as she trailed nails down exposed sides and Buffy started to lean back, resting on her palms, eyes closed and smeared dark.

Anya sat up. “Uh uh, sister, this is a two-way street.”

Buffy opened her eyes and lowered her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“This isn’t a let’s-get-the-Slayer-off game. There are two people in this room, by golly.”

Not for the first time that night, red crept upwards on Buffy’s chest, illuminating the slightly bruised teeth marks that graced her collarbone like jewelry. “But.. I’ve never, I mean, I don’t know how..”

“Oh, you’ve stuttered enough already. Just tear my clothes off and get on me, will you?”

“Fine!” Incensed into action, Buffy reached around and yanked Anya’s zipper down ferociously. The brunette rolled her eyes but kept still as Buffy’s head dipped cautiously and a little pink tongue slipped out and started fluttering all over tightened, sensitive skin.

Suddenly Anya wasn’t rolling her eyes out of exasperation anymore. As Buffy grew more confident, taking more and more into her mouth and even using her teeth gently, Anya was losing all sense of anything at all. This really was a good idea..

~~-~~-~~-~~-

The scratchy sheets on very bare skin was the first thing Buffy noticed upon awakening. The second was damp skin on very bare skin. The third was a very langorous, sensual, flushed feeling all over her entire body.

A fighter’s instinct (and exhausted muscles) kept her still as she assessed the situation. She was in a crappy unfamiliar bed. She was in a crappy unfamiliar bed with another person. She was in a crappy unfamiliar bed with a woman person who seemed to be.. Anya.

In a frantic moment she was sitting upright, and in another she was being tugged down by an insistent hand and urged back by a groggy, muffled voice. Unsure of herself, she allowed her body to fall back and for Anya’s arm to drape over her middle, snuggling closer in a whuff of sleep.

She was here. With her. Without him. Without.. well, with a lesser ache, at least.

Glancing at the neon clock flashing obscene morning numbers, Buffy decided she could use a few more hours of pushing the pain away. After that—-who knew?