Title: Lorne and Anya: the First Cuddle
Author: Am-Chau Yarkona
E-mail: spam@hagden169.fsnet.co.uk
Summary: What it says. Druckfic, of sorts.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Lorne/Anya (to coin a popular Sunnydale phrase, duh!)
Spoilers: Not many, maybe a few (like Anya's situation) from Buffy season 6 (I've simply ignored the events of the final episode of Angel season 3).
Warnings: Drunkness, bad singing.
Author Notes: Part of my series of First Cuddles, in the Demon!Cuddleverse.
Story Notes: If you like this, go on to read 'The Coming Out Party' parts 1, 2, etc.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
Feedback: Thirsted for like wet things in a very dry place.
'Another bar!' Anya thought. 'How lucky Los Angeles has so many. I shall go in and contiune my quest to become ineibrated.'
"Hello, lady. Have you come in to entertain us tonight, or just to brighten our lives with your pretty face?"
"I wish to get drunk. Excuse me, please."
Lorne allows her past, but turns to watch her go, seeing something special in her aura.
"No, no, money is a good thing. It's all clinky and it makes you rich," the dyed blonde woman he had noticed eariler is saying, drunkenly, to the latest in a long line of incompetent demon bartenders.
"Is being rich that great? I'm never sure I'd like lots of money." the demon asks.
"Well, J'ako, you're not going to have a chance to find out anytime soon. It's closing time, too." Lorne tells him, and turns to the last customer in the place. "Time to leave, sweetie."
"No," Anya says. "Wanna stay here, be drunk, forget men."
"That's nice, but can you go forget men somewhere else, honeybun?"
"That's what he used to called me. 'Ahn, honey,' he used to say. Idiot. I wish I could curse him, but unfortuanely that's against the rules. No wishes granted for Anyanka."
"So that's who you are? Anyanka. Vengeagne demon, aren't you?"
"That's right. He's a idyot."
"Idyot, huh? I think you shouldn't be alone tonight, baby. There's room on my couch for one drunk'n'lonely."
"Can you curse him for me?"
"Not a vengagene demon, Anyacakes. Come on, it's just upstairs. J'ako, shut the place up for me, would you?"
"Sure, boss."
Upstairs, Anya begins to sing. "Read the future for me, green man," she says, and begins to sing 'The Star-Spangled Banner'.
"Nice voice, honey, but I think you should get some sleep now."
"Don't wanna sleep. Want to sing.
Lorne looks down at the woman- who has somehow lurched into his arms- and sighs. He looks into her future, expecting to see, well, something other than what he saw. In Anya's future, mostly he could see- himself.
"Looks like I'm stuck with you, Anyanka. Let's get you sober, first off. Demon, so this should work."
He drapes Anya's limp form over the couch, and reaches into a cupboard, drawing out a dusty bottle laballed, "For Druncken Demonics: Hedgebetter's Inebriation Lightener."
"Here, sweetie, drink some of this."
Anya takes it, and squints suspeciously at the label. "Willit get m,m,m drunk?"
Lorne sees he'll be getting into trouble if he answers that. "Just swallow some," he advises.
Anya does so, pulling a horrible face at the taste. "That is disgusting," she says, her voice no longer slurring. "You're Pylean, aren't you?"
"That's right. Guilty as charged."
"A telepath, then?"
"I read futures and emotions, when people sing."
"So what do you see in my future?"
Lorne considers this for a moment. He goes for simple truth and giving in to an impluse he's had all evening.
"This," he says, and kisses her softly on the lips. She responds eragly, and he wonders where on earth this could be leading. He isn't really allowed to see his own future.
Author: Am-Chau Yarkona
E-mail: spam@hagden169.fsnet.co.uk
Summary: What it says. Druckfic, of sorts.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Lorne/Anya (to coin a popular Sunnydale phrase, duh!)
Spoilers: Not many, maybe a few (like Anya's situation) from Buffy season 6 (I've simply ignored the events of the final episode of Angel season 3).
Warnings: Drunkness, bad singing.
Author Notes: Part of my series of First Cuddles, in the Demon!Cuddleverse.
Story Notes: If you like this, go on to read 'The Coming Out Party' parts 1, 2, etc.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
Feedback: Thirsted for like wet things in a very dry place.
'Another bar!' Anya thought. 'How lucky Los Angeles has so many. I shall go in and contiune my quest to become ineibrated.'
"Hello, lady. Have you come in to entertain us tonight, or just to brighten our lives with your pretty face?"
"I wish to get drunk. Excuse me, please."
Lorne allows her past, but turns to watch her go, seeing something special in her aura.
"No, no, money is a good thing. It's all clinky and it makes you rich," the dyed blonde woman he had noticed eariler is saying, drunkenly, to the latest in a long line of incompetent demon bartenders.
"Is being rich that great? I'm never sure I'd like lots of money." the demon asks.
"Well, J'ako, you're not going to have a chance to find out anytime soon. It's closing time, too." Lorne tells him, and turns to the last customer in the place. "Time to leave, sweetie."
"No," Anya says. "Wanna stay here, be drunk, forget men."
"That's nice, but can you go forget men somewhere else, honeybun?"
"That's what he used to called me. 'Ahn, honey,' he used to say. Idiot. I wish I could curse him, but unfortuanely that's against the rules. No wishes granted for Anyanka."
"So that's who you are? Anyanka. Vengeagne demon, aren't you?"
"That's right. He's a idyot."
"Idyot, huh? I think you shouldn't be alone tonight, baby. There's room on my couch for one drunk'n'lonely."
"Can you curse him for me?"
"Not a vengagene demon, Anyacakes. Come on, it's just upstairs. J'ako, shut the place up for me, would you?"
"Sure, boss."
Upstairs, Anya begins to sing. "Read the future for me, green man," she says, and begins to sing 'The Star-Spangled Banner'.
"Nice voice, honey, but I think you should get some sleep now."
"Don't wanna sleep. Want to sing.
Lorne looks down at the woman- who has somehow lurched into his arms- and sighs. He looks into her future, expecting to see, well, something other than what he saw. In Anya's future, mostly he could see- himself.
"Looks like I'm stuck with you, Anyanka. Let's get you sober, first off. Demon, so this should work."
He drapes Anya's limp form over the couch, and reaches into a cupboard, drawing out a dusty bottle laballed, "For Druncken Demonics: Hedgebetter's Inebriation Lightener."
"Here, sweetie, drink some of this."
Anya takes it, and squints suspeciously at the label. "Willit get m,m,m drunk?"
Lorne sees he'll be getting into trouble if he answers that. "Just swallow some," he advises.
Anya does so, pulling a horrible face at the taste. "That is disgusting," she says, her voice no longer slurring. "You're Pylean, aren't you?"
"That's right. Guilty as charged."
"A telepath, then?"
"I read futures and emotions, when people sing."
"So what do you see in my future?"
Lorne considers this for a moment. He goes for simple truth and giving in to an impluse he's had all evening.
"This," he says, and kisses her softly on the lips. She responds eragly, and he wonders where on earth this could be leading. He isn't really allowed to see his own future.