Sanctum Sanctorum
by Soren Nyrond

Wesley had taken Xander off - to find the ice factory, whatever the significance of that was, and Angel was somewhere in the sewers, doing whatever it was he did that none of the others were allowed to know about.

Which left Cordelia and Anya to look at each other and (metaphorically, at least) circle one another like cautious cats.

And (had they but known it) each was thinking the same thing.

We were the ones who did the 'Wish' thing. Outside of everything else: Buffy, Faith, vampires, demons, mayors and Synder-Ratman - even the Harris boy. All else that we had in common, we have that which belongs to just the two of us. And the odd incident of the doppleganger Rosenberg, but we won't mention that.

"So, how's Sunnydale ?"

"Just like it was - except you aren't there."

"Harsh, much ?"

"Candid, much," Anya replied. "How's the City of - "

"Don't say it," Cordelia replied, wrinkling her nose. "Just don't."

"Any boys ?" Anya put 'spin' on the word and Cordelia scented it at once.

"I've had my share of the local men," she replied, archly.

It was Anya's turn to flex her muscles: an eyebrow rose as she said "So you think you're old enough . "

Cordelia's eyes turned positively feral, as she raked Anya, paying especial attention to the girl's simple, gingham, frock, and then casually flicked over her own blouse and capri-pant ensemble, carefully color-coordinated, and harmonious with her shoes, her lipstick, her handbag.

"And . ?" she challenged.

Anya just looked at her. It was enough. Nods, winks, visually-impaired horses: it all fit together.


The broom closet was only a few yards away and (in a way) they threw each other into it. Then it was lip-lockage and major body-crushage. Flavours mixed and mingled and the communication became non-verbal.

They broke, for air, after a few minutes, but dived straight back in. moving to Olympic-standard tongue duelling. Then Cordy slipped her hand down, and then back up, under the hemline, and had the gingham dress bunched at Anya's hips. The next time they parted she pressed her gambit and the dress was scooped off over the ex-vengeance demon's head, to reveal white functional underwear.

"Xander likes - " Anya began, but Cordelia didn't bother listening, just unsnapped the white bra, and pulled it down Anya's arms, before suddenly going to ultra-slow mode and feather-touching the pale breasts she'd uncovered.

Anya lost it for a few seconds there, as the sensations rose up in a wave and left her impulse less, bathing in the sensuality. Suddenly those sensations crested as Cordelia gently rubbed her aureolae (though the actual nipples themselves she left alone, even though they swelled, eager for her touch). She couldn't help moaning: centuries of vengeance-demoning, with all the countless disappointed wives, frustrated brides and embittered novice nuns, all of that had none of it readied her for a lover who was in the mood to be slow, gentle and sensual.

Then the gentle touches paused. Uncertain, Anya slipped one eye open, to see Cordy peeling off her expensive blouse, and stripping away the silk and lace bra beneath, to reveal her own firm breasts. Then, carefully, gently, she moved in so that the next thing that touched Anya were her nipples, rubbing up against Anya's engorged tips, sending electricity sparking through both their bodies. Now, when they embraced, when they kissed, their bodies were joining in, too.

And Anya started to want to return the kindnesses - she started to work on the waistband of Cordy's capri-pants.

"Careful - they cost . oh, the hell with it !!"

Cordelia tore the rest of her clothes off and stood naked, not flaunting, but not hiding anything either. Then, saucily, she put her hands to Anya's waist and started to tease down the girl's panties.

Anya couldn't wait any longer - she was tingling all over (and some places especially powerfully) - she put her hands over Cordy's and helped, and meantime she leaned in for some more volcano-heat tongue action.

Then it was hands on skin and gentle sensual massage that gave way to frenzied rubbings and strokings for each to find just how the other liked it best.

Sweat was building in the little closet, slickening their skins, and their lips slid over and round much as their hands skated, getting closer, little by little, to the ecstasies they both knew they could achieve. And, as the excitement rose, so did another unspoken rivalry. Neither of them wanted to be the first to say "enough".

So fingers found their way into slick channels, thumbs found little erectile tissue-buds, voices found the need to moan and croon to express the rising tension and the dual eagernesses to prolong the pleasure but also to move to higher and higher planes of stimulation. Now other juices were flowing, lubricating the caresses (as well as subtly fragrancing the air).

Now they evolved, between them, another subtle rhythm, each taking the turn to run the other a mite higher on the scale of passion, then reining in, to allow the other a chance to stoke her own fires higher yet.

Finally they launched themselves on the final Cresta run, faster, hotter, higher, deeper, until with twin cries, ecstasy overwhelmed them both.


Hair tousled, clothes dishevelled, they emerged, to find the office as quiet as before.

"We could tidy up at my apartment," Cordelia offered, her eyes still slightly glazed. "I've a shower there.

"And a bed," she added as an afterthought.

"Does the shower have a spray nozzle with adjustable pressure pulsing attachment ?" Anya asked, with a slight hitch in her voice. "Only Xander showed me . "