Disclaimers: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Supernatural. I do believe that right goes to Whedon and Kripke.
Summary: Anya and Sam take a moment to discuss their exes. Part of the Purgatory verse.
Note: Takes place after Buffy S7 and during Supernatural season 6. Best if read after my story "One Ticket to Purgatory" http://twistedshorts.livejournal.com/344190.html#cutid1 but can be read before or after "Rabbits Go to Hell" http://twistedshorts.livejournal.com/375410.html . Written for August Fic-a-Day.
Warnings: Talking about ze sex in typical Anya manner, but nothing graphic. Some language. A few spoilers, but nothing too huge for SPN s6.
Word Count: ~1260
Anya rolled over onto her back, breathing heavily, a slick layer of sweat dampening the blond curls touching her bare shoulders. She turned her head, giving the man beside her an impressed assessment. Sam only smiled up at the ceiling, silent, and crossed his arms behind his head.
"That was fun," Anya commented. "We should do it more often."
Sam laughed. "Sure, but I think Dean would actually like to come back into the room every once in a while."
Anya cocked her head. "Well, let him in. It's not like that would stop us from having sweaty multiple orgasms."
Sam shot her a glance, confused. In the short time they'd known each other, Sam hadn't quite been able to pick when she was joking. He decided that she was teasing him. He really, really
hoped she was teasing him.
"Maybe we should start getting separate rooms," he said. He cleared his throat, as if the idea had left him feeling guilty. "I mean, not that we don't mind your setting up a cot but--"
Anya slapped his arm, sitting up to rest her back against the headboard. She looked distressed by the idea. "Wait--so you want me to have a separate room so you can visit and make with the trips to Happy Town, then leave again to rest up with your brother?"
Sam pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking panicked. "I didn't mean…I mean, I didn't think you'd…Crap, Anya, I…"
"Actually, that sounds rather efficient," she mused, tilting her head to one side. "Also, it would help your brother get laid. He seems like the type used to having more sex, which is likely why he's been using all the hot water up. I feel kind of sorry for him."
Sam blinked. "Could we just not discuss my brother's sex life?"
"Oh, sure." Anya grinned back down at him and leaned in for a kiss. "I'm far more interested in your sex life, anyhow."
But he didn't seem entirely pleased by the response. "I like this," he started, gesturing to the heap of bedding. "I really do, but, Anya, you, you're not just…"
"Using you for the sex?"
Sam slipped out of the bed, pulling on his boxers. He turned to face her. "That's not exactly what I meant. I just mean, that, past the whole ex-demon thing, I just…Don't know that much about you."
"What's to know?"
"… And, honestly, yes, I had done some nifty spellwork in my youth. Nothing too impressive, you know, just boils on the penis, a spot of dysentery every time the intended reached an erection, that kind of thing. But what I did to Olaf, it caught the right attention…"
Sam raised a hand to cut her off. "Anya, I get the picture," he said. "But that's not what I asked."
"You mentioned your first time, so I told you about mine," Anya noted.
Sam shook his head. "Yeah, but I didn't want a ramble on vengeance. I wanted to know what your life was like, Anya. Though, yes, I would like to know how you kill a troll."
"You're a very particular male, Sam Winchester."
Anya didn't like it when Sam got this way. Sure, she'd been told several times over the years that she was too blunt, too unaware of human sensibilities. But, damn it, she wanted to know.
"Sam, you're avoiding the question," she pointed out.
Sam kept his back to her, gathering up the loose sheets of paper spread over the table top. "Anya, I really don't want to talk about it."
"So, it's fine for me to cut open my chest and spill out my heart for you, but no, you can't even talk about one ex-girlfriend? What is so horrible that you can't even mention her by name in front of me?"
"This isn't about you, Anya!" Sam snapped.
"Oh," Anya's eyes widened slightly, "that must be it."
"Your 'bitch face'--Dean mentioned you might be wearing it if I asked."
Sam slammed his hands down on the table before turning back to the woman, his jaw tight. "You know what, if you're so interested in what Dean has to say, ask him about Ruby."
Anya snorted. "Don't you think I already have?"
Sam mouth dropped open in surprise. "You did?"
Anya rolled her eyes. "Of course I did, Sam." She shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She'd felt this way before, and she was afraid of what it meant. Rejection, that's what usually came after she stuck her neck out too far. But that didn't mean she was planning to let it go. This was important, darn it, she could tell. More for him than for her, maybe. "I mean, I started to draw some parallels, Sam. Demon-y ties, magic, lots of fun sex. Not so much blood play on our end, though," she added, almost as an afterthought. "But you can see how I was concerned about the whole 'oh, we stabbed and killed her' thing. But when I spoke to Dean, he told me the rest. He told me why you might not want to talk about her."
Sam made a move to the front door but stopped, releasing a breath. He sucked back in whatever he was about to say, his face still flushed with anger, and took a seat next to Anya. "You're nothing like Ruby," he said, "but if you already knew about her, why did you ask?"
Anya bit her lip. "That's not the girlfriend I was asking about, Sam," she said. The comment was soft, strangely restrained, as if she was trying very hard to not say what was on her mind.
Sam caught his face in his hand, his expression oddly blank when his fingers pulled away. "Jess," he said, voicing the realization. "Jessica."
Anya leaned her shoulder against him, enjoying the familiar warm radiating off his arm. "Tell me about her."
"What a friggin' dick."
Dean made the statement and left the room. His expression had been dark, distant, and Anya had a feeling he wasn't talking about Xander Harris's infamous wedding bail. She looked to Sam for explanation, and he was there, ready for it. Just like he always was.
Anya liked that about Sam, how he didn't seem to mind explaining things to her. Never tried to make her feel stupid.
"I think he misses Lisa," Sam said.
Anya nodded. She wasn't sure why she nodded, but it seemed appropriate. "He left her because of something that might have happened," she interpreted. "You Winchesters never say what you mean when you're asked directly," she observed.
Sam raised a brow. "You do?"
"Alright…" Sam licked his lip, suddenly nervous, but sat a bit straighter. "Prove it. Answer me straight. Do you still love this Xander guy?"
Anya frowned. "Maybe. A part of me does. Maybe that part will always be there. But there's another part of me that never will again. That can't. Does that make any sense?"
Sam grinned. "Yeah, Anya, it makes perfect sense."
They were quiet a moment, listening for the faint muffle of Dean, outside the motel room, cursing the bird who had dared to unload over his Impala. And they enjoyed the near-silence, the presence of each other.
"You know." Sam shook his head, as if there was something funny about the situation. "We've got a lot of baggage between the two of us."
Anya agreed with that. "Think we've got enough time for a quickie before Dean gets back from the carwash?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."