“I thought I’d set up a little surprise for you,” Anya said, in the wreckage of what used to be a section in the Magic Box devoted to soaps. Willow stood in the center of the circle, holding what similarly used to be a box. “You know, with the whole ‘no girlfriend, magic problem, best friend’s a rat.’”
“She’s not my best friend,” Willow said. She spat some green powder out of her mouth. “Buffy’s my best friend. Buffy the non-ratty vampire slayer. She does look a little ratty when she’s been in the sewers. There are--there are some stains that just won't come out."
“Mm,” Anya said. “She certainly smells it with her whole barely-making-sustenance job of menial labor. But that is the way capitalism works: some people own their own shops, and others are to be crushed beneath the foot of the wealthy and managerial.”
“Oh my god.”
“Well, it’s not that hard to understand,” Anya said. She had an ostrich-feather duster in her hand. Idly, she ran the brush across Willow’s face and shoulders. “A hundred years ago I’d be on the other side of the fence, but I now see that being a demon gives you an overly optimistic view of human nature. Clearly humans can’t sustain true economic paradise. Viva los Gilded Age. May it live forever as a Pantheon to America’s horrific powers of inhumane capitalism.”
“Oh,” Willow said.
“Yes,” Anya said, and dusted Willow’s chest.
“There wasn’t anything funny in that box, was there?” Willow said. “Because if it’s a hex, I can’t undo it because of the 'no magic glowy-evil' thing. We’ll be hexed forever. We'll--we'll turn into stop signs! No, those have eight sides.”
“Your nipples are getting hard.”
“Because you’re dusting them with feathers! That’s—I know some BDSM people, and this is exactly the kind of thing they do to each other. Well, that and stuff the handle in—anyway—”
“You don’t have to be sexually timid around me,” Anya said. “I might not look like it now, but if you think giving someone a tail is shocking fetish stuff, then you should see what happens when you’re doing someone who has more than one tails.”
“Ow,” Willow said. “Ow, ow, ow!”
“What? Are you having an allergic reaction to the sex pollen? I didn’t check the label. Maybe this one is only for shrimp demons.”
“No, I’m not allergic to anything except all kinds of nuts. But, you know how air conditioners have filters? You don’t … this is sex pollen?” She tried to work up the energy to spring away from Anya and maybe look shocked and horrified, but her back arched into the duster and her hands grabbed Anya’s free one. She wanted, disturbingly, to lick her fingers. And soon, she supposed, Anya was going to enchant the rest of the Magic Box to show her exactly what all those tails could do. Those long, thick, wiggling... Oh, oh, god. Oh, god! “My life is a hentai anime!”
“Well, that’s a crude way of putting it,” Anya said. “I think this is a good way of blowing off some steam. Now suck.” Her fingers were coated, faintly, in green. Willow leaned forward, and put her lips to her nails. “Did you learn that from Xander, or did he pick up that trick from you?”
“Xander?” said Willow. “Xander does this?”
“Oh, yes,” Anya said, waving the duster over Willow’s mouth. “I know you’ve known him since he was in diapers and that’s supposed to kill sexual arousal, but I’ve known multiple demons who enjoy imprinting on little babies and then eating them once they get a little fatter.”
“Ugh,” Anya said, and stuck the handle of the duster in Willow’s mouth. She tore off Willow’s shirt, spun her around, and unclasped her bra. “Human snot. The things I do for you people.” She ran her nails along Willow's spine, and attached her lips to the back of Willow's neck. Then she said, "Less talking, more sexing. I think the pollen is giving me a rash."