TITLE: A Price Worth Paying
LENGTH: 608 words
SUMMARY: An AU Season Five (imagine Xander and Anya broke up after "Into the Woods"). Whilst on a mission, Giles and Anya are trapped in a closet. Discoveries are made.
“All that splashing is making me thirsty,” Anya announced in a whisper.
(How his dear business partner could give her words the weight of announcement even when she spoke quietly, Giles couldn’t explain. Nevertheless, she did.)
He shifted around uncomfortably in their confined closet, and managed to look through the keyhole. “The Artist is still there,” he whispered in return. “No chance of getting out yet.”
“The Artist is extremely tedious as well as being evil,” she further announced sotto voce.
Giles had to agree. This ridiculous vampire of an offshoot of the Aurelian line had made a fetish of ‘good taste’ as well as purported world-domination via mind control and then blood-sucking. Buffy, Willow, and (reluctantly) Spike should be storming the place any minute now, giving Giles and Anya the chance to escape with the Venadian Orb powering his psychic takeover, which they had just stolen. But at the moment, they were trapped in a closet off the foyer of the Artist’s mansion, and the sodding indoor fountain was certainly splashing a good deal, and the Artist was droning on to a minion about one of his new art acquisitions.
“Surely not much longer,” Giles whispered.
Beyond the inconvenience and discomfort, of course, he was also struggling with this enforced proximity to her. He’d been struggling for months, ever since she and Xander had broken up: she was so fascinating, so complicated, so very fragrant and warm and inviting – “Anya, can you move back a bit?”
“Not really,” she said. “There’s something big along that back wall.” Then, “Is the Artist out of sight?”
Giles peered out again. The villain was still droning about Gerhard Richter, but he was definitely out of eyeline: “Er, yes.”
She shifted – which had the regrettable effect of pressing her bottom into his, well, dear God, he couldn’t get an erection here surely – and then, to his slight relief, did something which illuminated a truly magnificent and fully stocked wine refrigerator. His dazzled eyes noted a row of what appeared to be French Champagne. Yes, he (only just) read Bollinger on the corks before the interior fridge light went off.
“Oh, Champagne,” Anya whispered. This was not an announcement but a longing moan.
“You, er, like a bit of fizz?” he whispered as she turned to him.
“Loved it once. Haven’t had any in… well, you know.” Even in the dark, her eyes gleamed with moisture. And they were so close to his, her body pressing in, and –
From outside there came the sound of a small explosion, which would be likely the handiwork of Dawn and Xander. From minions and Artist there came satisfactory noises of disarray, and then the slamming of doors.
“Um, well, looks like the troops are here,” he whispered.
“Yes. Crap,” said Anya, and then she kissed him.
There in the dark, surrounded by the sounds of mayhem and splashing water, he kissed her back. She was open to him, and they fit, bloody hell they fit. He backed her against the wine refrigerator and delved deeply, and when the interior fridge light came on, they opened their eyes at the same time and smiled.
“We should steal one of these Champagne bottles as well as the Orb. We can drink it when we get back to your place,” she announced in a whisper.
“We should. We will,” he said absently, and then went back to kissing her --
Which was how Buffy and Spike found them when the closet door was opened, but that (he and Anya agreed later, amidst their strewn clothing and half-full flutes of Bollinger in his bedroom) was a price worth paying.
Cross-posted to gilesanya_fic.