Anez's note: All Chelle's idea. She mentioned in chat that she was stuck in a fic and I offered to help. I'm responsible for Anya, so if you have issues with her views on Xander, don't hassle Chelle about it. That's all me, baby. ;) Mucho thanks to Chelle for kicking my ass back into the world of Buffy fic, for being a wonderbra for my ego, for being a kick ass writer and generally great crack to write and chat with.
Chelle's note: Anez was the mastermind behind the idea of making it come from two different points of view at once. I had never done that before, and working with Anez on it makes it a first time to remember. ;-) She's awesome! Many, many thanks to Anez for offering to help, for being so inside Anya's head, and for just being who she is. Amazing sums it up and I'm glad she's back in the fandom-- with a vengeance (demon). ;)
Requirements: at the end of the fic
Demons don't wear make-up. Well, not the kind of demon *I* was, anyway. I mean, there are demons who wear intestines on their heads, so I'm sure there are some who wear make-up, too. But I never did, so it's yet another wonderful, *human* trait that I --lucky me!-- get to experience now.
Sarcasm is also a human trait. I think I've picked it up rather well. It's easier to become accustomed to than the make-up, but, since Xander likes it... At least, I think Xander likes it. After all, all the girls in those magazines he *doesn't* have under his bed wear a lot of make up.
I'm a little surprised Giles let me borrow his apartment. I think he simply did it because he didn't want to hear me say "fornication" again. I don't know why humans are so perturbed by that word. It's a lot more pleasant than some of the inane euphemisms I've heard. Would you want to "bump uglies"? Or "make the two backed beast"? Or have someone put their "love rod" in your "secret channel"?
Humans are terrible with names. I mean, take Giles. Is it any wonder he goes by that? "Rupert" is so *not* appropriate for a man that hot. Well, hot in an old way.
But still hot.
Sometimes I fantasize about him when I'm with Xander. What? Everyone does it. Xander is good-looking, don't get me wrong. And he does know what to do...now...after months of instruction... But sometimes I just want to think about fornicating with a *man*.
Think only, though. I suppose it's only fair that since I don't allow him to copulate with other women, I shouldn't copulate with other men... That's what tonight is supposed to be all about. Checking my watch, I find it's almost eight-thirty, which means that Xander should arrive shortly.
I wanted him here at eight thirty, so I invited him for eight, since he is almost always a half hour late to everything. It was endearing at first, but to be frank --and I always try to be-- it's getting to be annoying.
"Like these flowers," I mutter, tugging at the lei around my neck. In actuality, it's really just fake plastic flowers strung together with dental floss, but if you can find a place that sells real, actual leis on the mouth of hell, please do let me know.
As I walk down the hallway, the smell of flowers and candles surround me. Each is a different fruit scent, and I think they compliment the rose petals I've scattered nicely. Glancing around, I'm now wondering if this isn't all going to be a little... wasted...on Xander.
Again, I'm not complaining, but he usually gets straight down to business. Which is nice. And there are some incredible things he can do with his tongue, the thought of which have left me feeling wet and ready and really, really hoping he arrives soon.
Even if he doesn't notice the flowers, which I doubt he will.
Giles has a comfortable sofa. And he'd have a small-to-medium coronary if he knew that right know I had my feet up on his coffee table, sipping a glass of white Zinfandel and watching a terrible horror movie on TV.
No, don't go down *there*, you silly girl! You're going to get kill-- Never mind. And vampires don't look like that! Their fangs are longer, and... This is just ridiculous. I shut it off and turn to Giles' rows and rows of books. At random, I pull one from a shelf.
Hmm. Poetry. Yeats? Didn't see that for Giles, but... Sitting back down, I begin to read, skimming the lines, as I've read most of them before.
When I look at my watch again, it's almost nine and my stomach rumbles unpleasantly, another lovely reminder of how human I've become.
Well, that's it. Stalking angrily to the fridge I pull out a tub of Edy's Dreamery ice cream and return to the couch again.
I can hear the rain beating off the windows and I open the ice cream. Maybe that's what's keeping Xander even later than usual?
"Mm," I mumble around a mouthful of the heavenly ice cream. It's wonderful, but... Still. I should not be eating this off a spoon. I should be eating this off of Xander.
And, exactly as I reach for a second bite, the power goes off. A groan of dissatisfaction tears from my lips before I have time to stop it. Dumping the ice cream on the table, I walk to the light switch and flip a couple of times.
"Son of a bitch," I mutter. It's a hundred degrees outside! I'm not bothered by the light, but no power means no air conditioner! And I plan on getting very hot when Xander gets here and now I'll have no way of cooling off.
Frowning, I return to the stacks of what can only be termed crap that litter Giles' apartment. After only a small amount of rooting, I find a pretty, ornate oriental fan. Hopefully, that will help if the power doesn't come back on.
And, if it doesn't, then I'm sure I can find some way to put the decorative feathers to good use.
Returning to the couch once again, I notice that some of the ice cream has melted off my spoon, and I lick it off with a throaty moan, not bothering to suppress it since I am alone.
Or at least, I thought I was. A slight breeze catches across my bare shoulders, and I turn to find Spike standing in the doorway. He's dripping wet, his hair is plastered to his head his clothes are half undone, and even though I'm really, really mad that he's here, I have to admit that he looks rather lickable right now.
I bloody well hate this town. One minute I'm on my way to the butcher shop and the next minute I'm caught -- outside -- in the worst fucking storm I've ever seen. It's an absolute hole.
Like I said, I hate this town.
Or at least I did, until about a second ago.
I just ducked in here to get out of the rain and out of my wet clothes. And now I'm standing in the Goddamn door way, dripping wet and half clothed, looking at her standing there. She's like some kind of island beauty. Her breasts are larger than I thought. They're hidden behind two small triangles of cloth and I am really glad that my pants are unfastened. I'm hard as a rock all of a sudden. Cor, she's lovely.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, a hard edge in my voice, hoping he won't notice I think he's lickable. He shouldn't be here! He's going to ruin the evening I have planned with Xander! Unless... "Why are you just standing there? The power's out. Fix it." If he's going to interrupt my evening, he can at least make himself useful.
"Fix it?" I repeat, my gaze drawn to her mouth where she has a little spot of ice cream. I want to lick that froth away. "And how do you propose I do that?"
He's staring at me. Why's he staring at me? He's staring at my breasts. Why are men so fascinated by breasts? All women have them. I'm tempted to tell him that I'm aware I have them, and that he can stop staring now, but I think this is one of those times where Xander is always telling me I should keep my comments to myself. So I say nothing for a moment, simply looking at him.
She stands there, looking perfectly dry and perfectly fuckable, while I'm soaked to the skin with my hard on throbbing. What is she even doing here?
"How did you get in here?" she finally asks, as if she has any more right to be here than I do, taking another bite of her ice cream.
"It was unlocked. I was caught in the storm," I say.
"Oh," I say simply. "You're wet."
"I noticed," he remarks. I bet he wishes he could be as dry as his remarks right now.
I don't. His shirt is open and his chest is wet and his skin is gleaming in the candlelight. I want to lick him. I lick the spoon instead.
Bloody fucking hell. What her tongue is doing to that spoon is driving me insane. There's nothing *on* the spoon, but she keeps running her tongue up and down it. I swallow hard and lick my lips, imagining how her mouth would feel on me. Warm, inviting, wet.
She puts the spoon back into the ice cream suddenly and walks forward, holding it up to my mouth. I'd much rather taste her, but I let her give me a bite. And my knees almost buckle when she smiles up at me.
His tongue is incredible. It's a completely ridiculous thought, but I want to *be* that spoon right now. I can't help the smile the crosses my lips at the thought.
And I can't seem to help myself as I plunge the spoon back into the ice-cream, hold it up to eye level and dip my gaze just slightly so that I can watch the cool cream slide right down off the spoon and onto my warm, waiting chest.
What does she think she's doing?
She just looked me right in the eye, then looked down and dropped ice cream on her chest! If I didn't know better, I'd say it was an invitation.
I don't need an invitation. With a small smile, I lower my head and lap the cool treat from her warm breast, then I skim across and nip lightly at her hard little nipple under her bikini top. She moans slightly and I stand, daring her to tell me to stop. Instead, she dips the spoon again and dips it onto her belly. I'm following the path down before I even realize it.
God, his tongue is freezing.
Colder than the ice cream. But I love it. He swirls a delicate path around my navel, and I can't remember any of the men I was with when I was still human arousing me this much with a single touch -- and I *know* Xander doesn't.
Backing up into the room, I pull off the sarong and stand in front of him in only the bikini top and thong. His eyes widen, and I think he's pleased.
And I *know* he is when I lie down on the couch and slide my fingers into the ice cream, spreading it across my thighs.
I'm glad I'm already dead. Otherwise I'd be having a heart attack right now. She is, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. Her body is flawless, curvy and tanned, and I can't swallow for several seconds. I can't believe that after the shitty night I've had, this is happening. Okay, maybe I can believe it. One thing I've noticed about Anya is her voracious appetite. I intend to sate it.
I pull my shirt off my shoulders, glad that I already had it unbuttoned, and skim my fingertips over her ankles. She arches her back slightly and I chuckle, slowly, ever so slowly, walking my fingers up her legs.
She moans and it's like music. I'm thinking that this is going to be quite a ride.
A little choked off moan escapes my lips. I can't help it. I'm helpless. His fingers are stroking the insides of my calves, his lips just a little further up.
I think I'm panting. I can feel my blood flying though my body. Hear it. I know he can, too. That's why his tongue is tracing the pulse in my femoral artery.
Oh God, all thoughts of everything else have gone out of my head. I think I finally understand the term "mindless with desire". I am. I *need*.
Once upon a time I would have said that no other woman could come close to making me as mad with desire as Drusilla, but I was wrong. I've never taken such delight in flesh. Warm flesh, *human* flesh. Her pulse is strumming steadily under my lips, I can feel it with my tongue and my cock seems to grow harder with each beat of it.
Maybe it's the smell of the candles. Maybe it's the silence that is only being punctuated by the sounds of the thunder and her soft moans. Or maybe I've just been lonely too long.
But I can't stop. I hook my fingers in the sides of her knickers and slide them down her creamy hips, exposing her to my gaze. And I. Can't. Stop.
He mumbles the words out loud. I don't think he even knows he's doing it, but they reverberate against the newly exposed lips of my sex and in that one single second I know he damn well *better* not stop.
And he doesn't.
The ice cream is forgotten as his fingers part my sex and his tongue is against me. And I'm lost. The feeling of his mouth against me is too intense, too incredible, and for a second I almost *do* want him to stop...Except...I don't.
It's too good.
And then it gets even better.
I didn't expect her to be so wet, so sweet with her own juices. Vampires don't really -- well, they're seldom wet. Or sweet. Something about being dead, maybe.
But she's unbelievable and as she opens her legs just a little bit wider, I quicken the pace with my tongue, lapping at her swollen flesh. She's better than blood. Better than the ice cream. Better than my life before I got chipped. I'm content to drink her in, content to stay here, half kneeling beside the sofa for days, but she grips my head and bucks against me.
I knew I was good, but that was really fast.
I'm not going to complain though, because her chest is heaving and her skin is glistening from the heat, and my name is fresh on her lips.
And the look in her eyes tells me we've only just begun. She needs more.
I can't believe I came just from that.
Well, actually, I can. I did. But I was so hot for him before he even touched me, and when he did... I exploded.
Usually, after I have Xander's mouth on me, I'm quite happy to wait a while before doing anything else.
Not now. Not with *him*. I want more. I need more.
And I know from the slow smile that spreads across his lips that he's more than willing to give it to me. He crawls up the sofa and I can see the predator in him, just under the skin: wolf in sheep's clothing, demon in man's. God, don't ever let it be said that the chip has changed anything other than his physicality.
It should scare me.
I am glad that I already had my pants half off. My cock has a mind of it's own.
She's lying there, purring like a kitten, imploring me with her eyes, and I slide up her body. My jeans are at my knees and I don't care to take them all the way off. I'm hypnotized by her, mesmerized. I need to be touching her, all of her. I ease myself between her legs and stare into her eyes. She watches me closely, her breath catching in the back of her throat as I guide myself to her entrance.
She's hotter than I expected. Like asphalt under bare feet at midday. I moan when I'm halfway in.
I don't think I can take it.
But I do.
It feels like forever before he's inside me. He's teasing. Slow. But God, it feels *so* wonderful. He's cool and hard and every inch he slides into me stretches me a little more, but the hurt hardly registers as a blip on my radar of sensation.
Everything else is too much and the pleasure is too great. And when he slides out my nerves scream for him and when he thrusts back in -- rubbing against me, the friction divine -- my body welcomes the invasion.
I've never felt like this before. Not ever. My body starts to move with his without my even realizing it, and tiny little sounds are streaming from my throat that I can't stop, and don't want to.
I don't want to stop any of this. I won't. I can't.
I think I may have hurt her at first. Her eyes widened and she bit her lower lip. I thrust completely into her, pulling back and barely teasing her with the tip of my cock. I did that a few times, preparing her completely, and then I start to move.
She undulates against me, raising her hips to meet mine and I think that I'm going to explode from the inside out. The wonderful smell of her, the heat in the apartment, the candles flickering on her skin -- I've felt the fires of hell being stoked for me before, but never this hot. Never this wickedly hot.
Her hips slap against mine, the only sound in the room except for her heavy breathing and moans and my own growls. I don't want to scare her, but the demon is there, just below the surface, every thrust feeding it, sating its hunger.
I quicken the pace and reach between us, tweaking her core with my thumb and forefinger.
She's even louder now.
And I'm intent on making her scream my name. Some kind of validation, any kind, that I can still do one thing well in my unlife.
I've never copulated with a vampire before.
I now realize the error of my ways.
He's staring down at me with this really evil, really sexy grin on his face, his hips stilled, his fingers sliding barely across my clit: enough to make me tremble, but not enough to let me come. And in the instant that our eyes meet I can see what he wants and my breath catches in my throat.
He wants to bite me. And he wants me to scream.
I know he can't do the first, but I can do the second.
I slide my hands around from his back to his face and trace his forehead with my thumbs. He knows what I want just as I knew what he did, and he does it. His face shifts and his teeth elongate. His demons comes to the fore, and I'm suddenly reminded of how much we've both lost and how much we can gain by being together.
"Spike," I whisper, and his hips and fingers speed up again.
And I tilt back my head and scream.
Oh, bloody hell!
I've made people scream in fear, made them scream in pain, but the sound of her screaming in bliss is music to my ears. She bares her neck to me and I hate myself for not being able to bite her. Damn this sodding chip in my head! Damn those commandos!
No, I can't think of them right now. All I can think about it the way her nipples have hardened into peaks. I yank one side of her bikini down, exposing her, and lave at the dusky tip with my tongue, drawing my fang across it. I don't bring blood, but it's enough to cause her to cry out again.
I quicken my pace, waiting until her orgasm is subsiding before I indulge in her mouth. Her tongue tangles with mine, dueling feverishly.
She's so bleedin' hot all over. I think that when I pull away from her, my body will be burned raw, straight down the bone. I don't really care though, because she hooks her feet behind me, dragging me against her, forcing me to move at her pace, and I come so hard that it's my turn to throw my head back and scream.
And I do. At the release, at the pressure, at the coolness I feel invading her heat, and most of all, at the need. The raw, hungry need.
Well, when I say scream, I mean vampire's scream, which is part growl, part roar and part whimper. But he screamed.
And now his head is resting on my shoulder and I wonder if he can hear my heartbeat slowing, feel the insistent hammering slow to a regular thud.
I wonder about the look in saw in his eyes for just a second before he came. I wonder how much he hated not being able to bite me. I wonder what comes next for us.
But most of all, I just wonder how I'm going to explain to Xander everything that's happened here.
And how I don't want to be his orgasm friend any longer. How I am *going* to be Spike's.
I can't move, can't find the energy to lift my head up and tell her that even though I didn't mark her, she's mine. I keep my head on her chest, listening to the unfamiliar strumming of a human heart under me and I know that whatever happened here has to happen again. I *need*.
I don't care if the whelp thinks she belongs to him. I don't care what the Slayer or her cronies will think of it. Anya belongs to me. I finally find the strength to push upward and gaze down at her. Her hair is clinging to her cheek, sweaty and damp. I brush it aside and watch her.
"What are you thinking?" she asks me.
"I'm thinking about how you're going to break the news to Xander."
I don't want to hurt Xander. I do still care about him. But what we have --had-- doesn't even begin to compare to this.
He's a demon defanged and I'm a demon depowered. We need each other and we should be together. I can't believe I didn't see it sooner and now, with hindsight, I can't believe what I was going to do tonight.
"I was going to ask him to marry me."
"What?!" An indignant squeal and Spike shoots up off the couch, rearranging his pants in a sudden fit of horror. "You were going to ask him to do *what*?!"
"Marry me," I say simply. "Oh, but I'm not going to do that now, of course."
"You...were going to ask...that whelp...to *marry you*?!"
"Well, if I'd left it up to him, it would never have gotten done. I spent eleven *hundred* and twenty years as a vengeance demon. I'd forgotten what it was like to have relationships and sex and orgasms. And I'd forgotten that just because something is good doesn't mean there isn't better. But I realize it now," I say, sitting up a little and scooting closer to him. "And I'm not letting *you* go anywhere. Or put your clothes back on again."
I grin up at him and tug open the button of his jeans. "Now I'm just wondering if the store will give me back the money for the diamond ring I bought."