Author Notes: Just a clarification before we begin. Dawn, while knowing that Willow has the hotts for someone, does not know that Willow is lusting after Buffy. Also, if anyone other than Howard didn't pick up on the South Park/Stan-vomits-on-Wendy vs. Willow-vomits-on-Buffy parallel, you might want to have your brain looked at.
There was an unexpected side benefit of smelting Buffy's air conditioner: no clothes! Or at least, very few clothes. It was quite the heatwave in Rome, with the mercury topping out at 102 degrees, and so they sat in the non-gutted part of the apartment in their skimpy underwear, glistening flesh stuck fast to the leather couches and chairs. For Willow the view would have been perfect except that Dawn was there.
Semi-naked Dawn made her feel icky. Or possibly perverted. She'll always be a kid, no matter how tall she gets.
What's the female version of NAMBLA?
Pushing those thoughts aside, Buffy was sitting there sprawled out on the sofa, wearing the most indecent little frilly thing up top, and the matching indecent little frilly thing down below, which was much more indecent down there. Damn, girl, you could see everything. She was fanning herself demurely with a fashion magazine, gazing with disinterest at the tv (this tv was still intact - for now).
The view wasn't good for Willow's heart-rate and she was generating a lot of additional heat, which just added to the glistening sweat covering Buffy's perfect, tanned body, and Oh my God! she was going to have to do something or else she was going to explode!
"I want ice cream," she said. "You want ice cream? I could sure go for some ice cream." Willow peeled herself off the easy chair with a none too flattering slurping noise and quickly ran to the kitchen as Dawn screamed for ice cream. Her own red panties were greatly darkened with perspiration - at least she hoped that's what it was.
This must be the way boys feel all the time, she thought to herself as she got out three tubs of the premium stuff from the freezer. As much as she loved ice cream, it wasn't to eat. It was to put between her legs.
"Chunky Monkey," she said, tossing one of the tubs to Dawn. "Or the closest Italian approximation. Um... Pezzo-Come la Scimmia?" But Dawn was already inhaling it, ignoring her completely. Willow was getting used to that by now. "Here you go, Buff," in the buff, almost. Willow sat down with the frozen tub tucked discretely between her legs as she plunged in with the spoon (the ice cream, you sickos).
"When are we going to get a new air conditioner?" asked Dawn, between breaths of ice cream.
"When they start repairing the kitchen," replied Buffy, holding the ice cream to her head. "That'll be next Tuesday. Yeah, this hasn't been the best week ever."
"It could've be worse," said Dawn. "Willow could've thrown up on you - oh wait! She did."
"Thanks, really. I've already said 'I'm sorry' a hundred times. I was really drunk. What more can I do?"
"You can always buy us things," said Buffy.
"Like a new air conditioner," added Dawn. The insurance was supposed to be handling that, though.
"I forgive you, though," said Buffy, sweetly, her hand coming to rest gently on Willow's shoulder. Just that little touch was enough - it sent fire racing through her already smouldering body - and she couldn't stop herself any longer.
"Uh, I'm going to phone Xander... to see what he's up to... So I'll go to my bedroom... to use the phone." That's right: she needed to get new underwear.
The cream in question was no longer iced.
