Title: Just A Day
Author: Krissy
Email: witchykrissy@hotmail.com
Rating: Medium-to-High R
Pairing: Anya/BuffyBot, mentions of Anya/Xander, and lightly implied Willow/BuffyBot
Improv: #56 -- butter, lenient, calming, grateful
Disclaimer: I do not own them. :D
Author's Notes: This really has no plot. But I'm not brave enough real smut, so you get this. :D I suppose it is somewhat bad humor, towards the end . . . And it is for Jacky, with the promise of more to come someday (not like this, of course!). ;)
Anya liked the BuffyBot.
It was like having Buffy back, but better. This Buffy agreed with everything you asked her. She agreed with everything you told her it should know (like how Xander screamed during sex, or how he made that cute little giggle when he was sleeping after the sex. Or how lenient he was about trying out her new, wacky ideas.) She baked you things, even after telling her you didn't want anything (when did Xander ever do that?)
Plus she, sorta, understood how Anya felt. Being the outsider among the Scoobies wasn't fun. Even after the years -- more like centuries, she grumbled to herself -- she'd been with them, sacrificing her cute little butt when she could have been figuring out ways to kills Sunnydale's bunny population, and they still treated her like the demon she had been.
Sure, she'd killed, tortured, and maimed, and even enjoyed some of it, but she was still their human.
Not that it was her choice, but...
Life wasn't that bad, she admitted, outside the nearly dying -- again -- and the death of the real Buffy... And the fact that Xander didn't want to plan the wedding, claiming they'd have time later to throw something together. Typical Xander.
Plus he'd disappear for days, away with Willow and Giles and Dawn, mourning, and she'd have to fret over how he'd be when he returns, while BuffyBot did nothing but smile cheerfully from the place they'd tell her not to move from.
Tara would join her sometimes, feeling just as bad about Willow as she did for Xander, but they didn't talk much. They never really had anything to say to each other. So Tara would work quietly, Anya would smile and sell things, and BuffyBot would just sit there quietly, never speaking on her own.
"Do you ever hate being here?" Anya asked her one day, as she was closing up the Magic Box.
BuffyBot didn't respond.
"Buffy?" she prompted her.
The bot blinked her wide eyes, smiled perkily, and replied, "I was made to be happy here."
Anya nodded, "I know . . . But don't you hate not having your own life?"
"No," she replied simply. Anya supposed she wasn't programmed to do much else. Well, she knew she was, but Willow liked to tone her down when she wasn't needed, and after her last attempt at a phone call when Dawn's father had called . . . Anya shuddered. She didn't want to remember the cold tension that had been around for days afterwards and Willow had decided to iron out all the technicalities when Dawn started school again.
"Oh," Anya sighed wistfully, "I wish I was programmed. Humans have too many emotions," she complained.
"Oh, yes," the bot helpfully agreed, "I know of many. I can be happy," her smile almost seemed to brighten, "and be sad," her smile instantly seemed to switch to an over exaggerated frown, "and be mad," her lips twisted angrily, "and be neutral," and the BuffyBot's face nearly went blank.
"I see," Anya said. "Didn't Willow program anything else?"
"No. I do not need to know anything else."
"Don't you feel..." Anya trailed off, wondering how she could ask her, "love . . . lust . . . passion?"
"I was programmed with Passions lines," she offered, "I can quote the scene of young Timmy down the well."
Anya snorted. "No, not that trash that Spike likes, I was thinking more like..."
"Sex?"
Anya nodded. "Well, yes."
"Spike loved sex," Buffy said. "Willow told me I should just forget about everything 'the evil, old vampire' told me. She didn't know how to erase his commands . . ."
"I love sex, too," Anya said eagerly, glad the topic was one she knew well, "Xander and I will be having it tonight, in fact. . ."
"Spike liked it rough," she said.
"What do you like?" Anya asked. Then she remembered she probably didn't know anything else.
"I like what Willow programmed," the bot said. Her eyes closed, and it almost seemed like she was remembering, but it appeared to just be recollecting, or searching, because when she opened her eyes, she quoted, "'Now BuffyBot, I know you only have experiences set for Spike . . . But I want you to know it all isn't like that. It can be sweet, and romantic, and something you can be programmed to enjoy, too. Candles, and music, and satin sheets, and oh my gosh, I just quoted a movie scene . . . But it is true, Buffy, and I want you to know that girls can do it, too. It is just . . . different.'"
"Oh my," Anya said, eyes wide. "I didn't know Willow could do that kind of programming . . ."
"Willow can do a lot of programming," BuffyBot said.
"Like what?" Anya asked.
The blonde shifted, and then began to speak, "She programmed memories, and gave me the knowledge to have girl on girl action, and told me how Tara was, and how Xander felt like . . ."
"Wait," Anya's eyes narrowed, "what do you mean, 'how Xander felt like.'"
"What it is like to kiss him."
"Oh. Go on."
"She gave me fantasies of my own," she continued.
"You can have fantasies of your own?" Anya looked at her with new interest.
"Yes. About the people I speak to over and over again."
"Really," Anya mused, "Do you have them about me?"
"Oh yes," the blonde nodded repeatedly, until Anya had to place a hand on her arm to still her.
Anya probably should have blushed, and not continued this conversation, but now she was intrigued. "What do you fantasize about?"
"About your body. About your breasts. About touching you."
Anya grinned. She liked blunt-but-honest BuffyBot. Xander sometimes blushed, and gave a girly whimper, when she requested him to speak during sex, telling her he should just touch her, not talk. So she told him it was okay, this time, and he'd gratefully kiss her.
"Really," she purred. She'd have to be an idiot not to have seen how beautiful Buffy -- the BuffyBot, included -- was. She'd been with plenty of women over the years, mainly other Vengeance Demons she knew, or the basket-cases she'd torture for, but no one stood out as much as the deceased Slayer.
"Yes."
"Would you like . . . to touch me?"
"Yes."
Anya's grin widened, and she approached Buffy, unbuttoning her shirt as she walked, "Alright . . ."
"Do you have any butter?"
The question caught the other woman off guard and Anya blinked, before giggling. "Butter? No. But I'm sure there's *something* here instead . . ."
Buffy gave her a calming smile, and said, "I really want butter. Would you go get me some? We need butter for this."
Anya gave a frustrated sigh, "Look, I don't know what Willow told you, but you don't need butter to touch me."
"Yes, it makes you slick, and in my fantasy, I like slick, because you can move faster . . ."
Anya hummed, "I suppose. You know, you're very interesting," she told it, and buttoned her shirt back up. "I'll go and get us some butter, and you, uh--"
"Get all slicked up?" she asked.
Anya nodded, "Yes, if you can--"
"I can," she said proudly, "Willow taught me things."
"I'm sure she did," Anya snorted.
"I can show you," Buffy suggested, helpfully.
Anya weighed her options.
Eh.
Who really needed butter when you could make butter of your own?
--END.
Author: Krissy
Email: witchykrissy@hotmail.com
Rating: Medium-to-High R
Pairing: Anya/BuffyBot, mentions of Anya/Xander, and lightly implied Willow/BuffyBot
Improv: #56 -- butter, lenient, calming, grateful
Disclaimer: I do not own them. :D
Author's Notes: This really has no plot. But I'm not brave enough real smut, so you get this. :D I suppose it is somewhat bad humor, towards the end . . . And it is for Jacky, with the promise of more to come someday (not like this, of course!). ;)
Anya liked the BuffyBot.
It was like having Buffy back, but better. This Buffy agreed with everything you asked her. She agreed with everything you told her it should know (like how Xander screamed during sex, or how he made that cute little giggle when he was sleeping after the sex. Or how lenient he was about trying out her new, wacky ideas.) She baked you things, even after telling her you didn't want anything (when did Xander ever do that?)
Plus she, sorta, understood how Anya felt. Being the outsider among the Scoobies wasn't fun. Even after the years -- more like centuries, she grumbled to herself -- she'd been with them, sacrificing her cute little butt when she could have been figuring out ways to kills Sunnydale's bunny population, and they still treated her like the demon she had been.
Sure, she'd killed, tortured, and maimed, and even enjoyed some of it, but she was still their human.
Not that it was her choice, but...
Life wasn't that bad, she admitted, outside the nearly dying -- again -- and the death of the real Buffy... And the fact that Xander didn't want to plan the wedding, claiming they'd have time later to throw something together. Typical Xander.
Plus he'd disappear for days, away with Willow and Giles and Dawn, mourning, and she'd have to fret over how he'd be when he returns, while BuffyBot did nothing but smile cheerfully from the place they'd tell her not to move from.
Tara would join her sometimes, feeling just as bad about Willow as she did for Xander, but they didn't talk much. They never really had anything to say to each other. So Tara would work quietly, Anya would smile and sell things, and BuffyBot would just sit there quietly, never speaking on her own.
"Do you ever hate being here?" Anya asked her one day, as she was closing up the Magic Box.
BuffyBot didn't respond.
"Buffy?" she prompted her.
The bot blinked her wide eyes, smiled perkily, and replied, "I was made to be happy here."
Anya nodded, "I know . . . But don't you hate not having your own life?"
"No," she replied simply. Anya supposed she wasn't programmed to do much else. Well, she knew she was, but Willow liked to tone her down when she wasn't needed, and after her last attempt at a phone call when Dawn's father had called . . . Anya shuddered. She didn't want to remember the cold tension that had been around for days afterwards and Willow had decided to iron out all the technicalities when Dawn started school again.
"Oh," Anya sighed wistfully, "I wish I was programmed. Humans have too many emotions," she complained.
"Oh, yes," the bot helpfully agreed, "I know of many. I can be happy," her smile almost seemed to brighten, "and be sad," her smile instantly seemed to switch to an over exaggerated frown, "and be mad," her lips twisted angrily, "and be neutral," and the BuffyBot's face nearly went blank.
"I see," Anya said. "Didn't Willow program anything else?"
"No. I do not need to know anything else."
"Don't you feel..." Anya trailed off, wondering how she could ask her, "love . . . lust . . . passion?"
"I was programmed with Passions lines," she offered, "I can quote the scene of young Timmy down the well."
Anya snorted. "No, not that trash that Spike likes, I was thinking more like..."
"Sex?"
Anya nodded. "Well, yes."
"Spike loved sex," Buffy said. "Willow told me I should just forget about everything 'the evil, old vampire' told me. She didn't know how to erase his commands . . ."
"I love sex, too," Anya said eagerly, glad the topic was one she knew well, "Xander and I will be having it tonight, in fact. . ."
"Spike liked it rough," she said.
"What do you like?" Anya asked. Then she remembered she probably didn't know anything else.
"I like what Willow programmed," the bot said. Her eyes closed, and it almost seemed like she was remembering, but it appeared to just be recollecting, or searching, because when she opened her eyes, she quoted, "'Now BuffyBot, I know you only have experiences set for Spike . . . But I want you to know it all isn't like that. It can be sweet, and romantic, and something you can be programmed to enjoy, too. Candles, and music, and satin sheets, and oh my gosh, I just quoted a movie scene . . . But it is true, Buffy, and I want you to know that girls can do it, too. It is just . . . different.'"
"Oh my," Anya said, eyes wide. "I didn't know Willow could do that kind of programming . . ."
"Willow can do a lot of programming," BuffyBot said.
"Like what?" Anya asked.
The blonde shifted, and then began to speak, "She programmed memories, and gave me the knowledge to have girl on girl action, and told me how Tara was, and how Xander felt like . . ."
"Wait," Anya's eyes narrowed, "what do you mean, 'how Xander felt like.'"
"What it is like to kiss him."
"Oh. Go on."
"She gave me fantasies of my own," she continued.
"You can have fantasies of your own?" Anya looked at her with new interest.
"Yes. About the people I speak to over and over again."
"Really," Anya mused, "Do you have them about me?"
"Oh yes," the blonde nodded repeatedly, until Anya had to place a hand on her arm to still her.
Anya probably should have blushed, and not continued this conversation, but now she was intrigued. "What do you fantasize about?"
"About your body. About your breasts. About touching you."
Anya grinned. She liked blunt-but-honest BuffyBot. Xander sometimes blushed, and gave a girly whimper, when she requested him to speak during sex, telling her he should just touch her, not talk. So she told him it was okay, this time, and he'd gratefully kiss her.
"Really," she purred. She'd have to be an idiot not to have seen how beautiful Buffy -- the BuffyBot, included -- was. She'd been with plenty of women over the years, mainly other Vengeance Demons she knew, or the basket-cases she'd torture for, but no one stood out as much as the deceased Slayer.
"Yes."
"Would you like . . . to touch me?"
"Yes."
Anya's grin widened, and she approached Buffy, unbuttoning her shirt as she walked, "Alright . . ."
"Do you have any butter?"
The question caught the other woman off guard and Anya blinked, before giggling. "Butter? No. But I'm sure there's *something* here instead . . ."
Buffy gave her a calming smile, and said, "I really want butter. Would you go get me some? We need butter for this."
Anya gave a frustrated sigh, "Look, I don't know what Willow told you, but you don't need butter to touch me."
"Yes, it makes you slick, and in my fantasy, I like slick, because you can move faster . . ."
Anya hummed, "I suppose. You know, you're very interesting," she told it, and buttoned her shirt back up. "I'll go and get us some butter, and you, uh--"
"Get all slicked up?" she asked.
Anya nodded, "Yes, if you can--"
"I can," she said proudly, "Willow taught me things."
"I'm sure she did," Anya snorted.
"I can show you," Buffy suggested, helpfully.
Anya weighed her options.
Eh.
Who really needed butter when you could make butter of your own?
--END.