Disclaimer: I don’t own Buffy or Batman. Buffy and related characters belong to Whedon. Batman and related characters belong to DC, WB, and Bob Kane. I also don't own any of the images used.
A/N: Okay, this is set while Anya and Xander were broken up, when Anya was a demon again. And the Batman universe I’m using is the Animated Series, season four (since that’s when Nightwing appeared).
“Are we really gonna do this?” Anya said, lifting her hands just ever-so-slightly above her head.
She rolled her eyes, tilting her head a bit so that her short, blonde curls bounced off her shoulder. Shaking her head, but careful to still keep her hands up, she plopped down on the plush white sofa—the centerpiece of her large, loft apartment.
Gotham was turning out to suck, royally. After becoming a vengeance demon, and after Xander had cruelly left her at the altar, Anya had decided that she was going to take a much needed vacation and get back to her demon roots. But this was only her third wish granted in the entirety of the dismal burg, and already she had been found out. She had to hand it to Gotham, though… their vigilantes were good.
“This is the third time you’ve crashed through my skylight. Do you know how expensive those things are to fix?” she snapped.
Dressed all in black, with only a blue outline of a hawk across his chest, the ebony-haired vigilante, Nightwing, stood a mere foot from her. Arms crossed, he shook his head.
“I told you. The wishes stop, or I won’t
. You should count yourself lucky that Batman hasn’t taken an interest in you,” he said, the tiniest smirk on his lips.
Anya grinned. “Aw. Sticking up for the man you hate. Aren’t we growing as a person? Cut me some slack here. It’s not like I’ve killed anyone yet.”
“‘Yet’ being a key word in that sentence. I’m going to make sure it doesn’t come to that.”
Anya dropped her arms to her pencil line skirt, smoothing out the few wrinkles in the red fabric. She huffed, crossing her arms up at the vigilante.
“Why do you have to do this? We both know how this night’s gonna end. You threaten me to stop my evil ways. I refuse. We have a moral debate. And then we end on having mad, passionate sex. Can’t we just skip to the sex part? I’ve been horny since lunch.”
Nightwing’s brow lifted just ever so slightly as Anya’s pale fingers started to unbutton the light sweater blouse she wore. She was midway down, a lacy black bra now fully exposed, when Nightwing shook his head.
“We’re wrong, here. This isn’t supposed to happen. You’re the bad guy.”
Anya had her sweater off and reached behind her back to unzip her skirt.
“Girl, Nightwing. You of all people know that I’m a bad girl
. And that’s kind of the reason this works. Now, off with the suit!”
“I’m using you, Anya. That’s what I’m trying to say. It’s not fair.”
She laughed, now dressed only in her matching undergarments as she stood and started to work on Nightwing’s costume. She got little protest as she worked.
“Like I’m not doing that too. We’re both screwed up. I know that. Now come on. Mama wants to be dancing in happyland.”
They didn’t even make it to the bedroom. As soon as Nightwing’s suit—with the exception of his mask; he was adamant that it stay on—was crumpled and mixed in with Anya’s own clothes on the floor, the two lost no time in entangling themselves on the couch. There was no romance in their trysts. For them, it was just sex, a drug to forget their troubles. They made short work of one another, each climaxing several times—with appropriate breaks in between so Little Nightwing could regroup. Finally, with a pleased gasp, Anya collapsed on top of the vigilante, smiling as she laid her head on his chest.
“Much better,” she said as his arms wrapped around her waist.
“Why do you do this?” Nightwing asked suddenly.
She lifted her head to stare into his hidden eyes.
“These little flings. Why do you agree to them? Hell, they were your idea. I told you the first time what I was trying to forget. What is it that you want to escape from?”
It was true. Anya knew all about his strained relationship between Nightwing and his mentor, the famous Batman. She even knew about his ex, how he hated it that Batman had drawn her into the craziness of crime fighting.
“It’s not important,” she murmured, pressing her head just ever so slightly harder into his chest.
“I want to know. Why do you do any of it? The vengeance, the trysts. What’s in your past?”
She pushed herself off of him, quickly pulling on her clothes. He watched her in silence, waiting until she was nearly fully clothed before he redressed. In the end, the two only stood there, with Anya avoiding his eyes.
“I think it’s that time. You have to leave,” she said, pointing at the skylight above.
“All right,” he said, removing an item from his hidden arsenal.
He fired the grapple gun upward, listening while it latched onto something. With a deep breath, he shook his head.
“We don’t always have to go directly to sex. We can talk too, you know.”
She turned away. He sighed again.
“We all have our inner demons, no pun intended. It’s okay to air them out once in a while.”
Before she could reply, he hit the retract button and was gone. Biting her bottom lip, she hugged herself tightly.
“Insightful bastard,” she murmured, tiptoeing into the kitchen for a broom and dustpan.
Like the previous couple of trysts, Anya finished her night with the same three things: cleaning up the glass, wondering how the hell it was they managed not to cut themselves while they fooled around, and trying not to think of Xander Harris’s face.
Inner demons be damned. If they wanted out, they could wait for her next wish to be granted.