Author:
Fandom: BtVS
Pairing: Anya/Buffy.
Rating: R.
Setting: Post-"Chosen," Anya lives.
Words: 505.
Request: Buffy/Anya, boots.
Summary: For Fouth of July Femslash Porn Battle, Buffy can't stop staring at those purple cowgirl boots.
They're checking in on a newly called Slayer in Texas when Anya buys the damn things. She mutters something about authenticity and gaining the trust of the Loan Star State as she slips on purple cowgirl boots.
They're distracting, and Buffy finds herself watching Anya's legs more than making eye contact with the Slayer's parents. Thankfully, she's done this a hundred times. Just another speech.
When they get back to their hotel room, Buffy calls Giles and leaves a detailed message concerning Cassie? Cassandra? Cally? Anya paces around her, reading from restaurant take-out menus. She tells Buffy how she once knew Houston wish dealer who considered himself a fairy godfather.
Anya's skirt hits just above her knee, and Buffy's fascinated with the little pink trim at the bottom. Buffy's thinking of the wish she'd make to her fairy godfather. But her stomach growls and food becomes a more immediate need.
They're seated in the back booth of a Mexican food dive. "For the authentic flavor," Anya assures her. Buffy tries to watch the peeling wallpaper flapping near a fan and to just relax. She used to be so good at that. She's been uptight ever since Anya bought the boots.
Her food's a better distraction. For a while. Buffy curses as she drips enchilada sauce down the front of her shirt. At least the food tastes just as amazing as Anya promised.
"Here." Anya produced a detergent wipe from her purse and started touching the fabric of Buffy's shirt. "You'd think with all those demons and all that blood, you'd carry some of these."
Buffy tenses under Anya's touch. It's too hot in here, and they're almost alone. She considers kissing Anya.
"Really, Buffy," Anya continues, "you're not very good with picking up on signals. I've sent ones out that would attract those Roswell aliens faster than you." Buffy sharply inhales and wonders if she'd heard Anya right. "I mean, we are in Texas," Anya's hands are doing more than rubbing out the stain now, "Save a horse, ride a cowgirl."
When Anya looks up, Buffy kisses her, tasting spicy chili powder and lemonade. She's going to take advantage of their isolation, of the ends of that skirt. Buffy pins Anya against the booth, the wood hard against them. Her hand runs over Anya's knee and thigh.
Anya groans when Buffy starts kissing her neck up to her ear. "Why am I not surprised by your lack of underwear?" Buffy whispers in her ear.
"Because you've obviously been thinking about what's under my skirt." Anya gasps as Buffy's thumb flicks across her clit. "You need to keep doing that." When Buffy does it again, Anya murmurs happily.
Buffy keeps going. She hears the creaking of the wood as Anya's hips jut forward for more. Anya's going to attract unwanted attention to their booth with the noises she's making. So Buffy kisses her again, thinking about how she's going to take Anya back to their hotel room and strip her of everything but those cowgirl boots.