Scenes From The Sex Wars
Scene 2: Icecubes In The Emptiness

Author's Note: This is based on Spike saying, "Put ice on her neck… She likes that." I think he said it in Normal Again.

Buffy was sore. Her back was still aching, though she blamed an over enthusiastic vampire for that. And that sounded a lot less like Spike when it just floated through her head.

With a sigh, she studied her stake and swept imaginary dust from it. She gave it a halfhearted twirl and sighed again. She seemed to do that a lot lately.

Her gaze swung around the cemetery. She wasn't looking for Spike. No siree. He was wrong. She didn't crave him. She could do just fine without him. She didn't need him to get through the day.

And y'know, it wasn't just him that made her feel. Her friends company made her happy, as did her sister's company. Dawn maddened her too, irritated her and made her laugh. Really she did. What is that if not feelings?

But the truth was she didn't want irritation or laughter. She didn't want the type of happiness that melted like chocolate in her sister's tight grip as she watched a horror movie.

She wanted the release Spike gave her, and if she craved it, she blamed her friends. If they hadn't pulled her from Heaven, she wouldn't want the way his cool fingers could force away every memory of duty and Slayerhood.

Because it was her damn duty as the Slayer that caused her death, that led to her being torn from Heaven. All she wanted was to forget.

There were two types of emptiness. The one she hated was the one that she carried with her all day, a constant ache, like tears in her gut. It was a constant battle not to fall to her knees and sob and rage at the unfairness of it all. Because although she could blame her friends for pulling her from Heaven, she couldn't hate them for it because they were only trying to help. And it she was making herself miserable by doing… things with Spike. She couldn't blame them for that.

The other emptiness was the one Spike offered. Which was the problem; once he made her forget, she was gloriously empty of that ache and everything else. She hated herself for sleeping with Spike, but she needed that emptiness that only he offered.

She chuckled ironically. She needed emptiness to beat emptiness. God, she was screwed up.

The problem was, once her scream faded into nothing in the dead air of the crypt, the memories came flooding back, the chill in the air reminded her of her coffin.

What was the point in continuing this… this thing with Spike if the wonderful emptiness didn't last? It wasn't a long-term cure. It was a quick fix that had to be renewed.

"Limping, Slayer? Hope that's not my fault."

"What do you want?" she felt like crying. He wasn't making this easy for her, was he? Always showing up just when she needed him most. It wasn't helping. She turned to face him, feeling righteous anger with a bite of hate well up inside her, warming the grave chill that tingled in her fingers and toes, setting her teeth permanently on edge. Which was another reason she liked having him around. He could make her burn with hate and for a few short minutes, he gave her that fire back. And as much as she loved that fire, she hated that only he seemed able to do that.

"You know what I want," he told her in a low voice as, in one long stride, he pressed himself against her, hands at his sides, whispering into her ear. "And I know what you want."

She felt his breath flutter her hair as his lips brushed against her ear.

"I don't want this, Spike," she pushed him back. "I don't -"

But his lips, insistent and hard, cut her off and she returned the kiss, her hands no longer pushing him away, but desperately tugging him close.

"Oh, now we're cooking with gas, Slayer," he said, as they pulled apart.

"And if you stay out here too long, the sun will be cooking with Spike!" she retorted, but kissed him again. "We shouldn't," she gasped suddenly, pulling away, horrified that she was doing it again.

"But we will," he smirked.

She couldn't find the energy to argue with him and instead pulled him into another kiss to make him shut the hell up, because it was when he talked that she hated herself.

His arm wound around her waist, tugging her close with sudden ferocity. She hissed against his mouth and he pulled away with a frown.

"You're hurt," he stated.

"No, I'm not," she replied defiantly, grabbing his shirt, but he jabbed a finger into her back and she yelped pain.

"Come on," he turned away from her in the direction of the crypt. "You coming or not?" he asked, glancing back to find her gaping in surprise, not moving.

She tried to argue, tried to goad him into making her hate him. But she couldn't find an argument and she followed him.

To her surprise, he slipped his hand gently into hers and led her to his crypt without a word. To her further surprise, when he squeezed her hand, she squeezed back with a gentle smile.

"Sit still, you stupid bloody bint!"

"It's cold!"

"It's supposed to be!" he answered and threw his arms up, waving the ice pack in frustration. "It's ice, Buffy! Ice is cold!"

"Fine!" she huffed and leaned forward a little more, twisting her fingers into her top which she had removed.

She waited while he frowned at the large bruise that spread up along her spine.

"Wasn't me, was it?" he mumbled.

"Huh?" she glanced over her shoulder to watch him gently place the ice pack over the bruise.

"I didn't do that?" he asked, not looking at her.

"No," she fixed her gaze at the door again. "Fight I had earlier. Hit a headstone."

He nodded and pressed the ice pack a little firmer against her back. She hissed a little, but quickly relaxed, letting out a soft "mmmm," of contentment.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much."

He smiled at that and pulled an ice cube from the pack, before tossing the rest to the side.

"Wha-" she glanced around at him, but shut up as he placed the lone ice cube at the base of her spine.

He ran it slowly up her spine and she tilted her head back, then bowed it forward as he ran the ice cube over her bare shoulder blades. He dipped it over her shoulders and back again. As he passed it across the base of her neck, she tilted her head back again, trapping the ice and his fingers. He massaged gently, the heat of her skin quickly melting the ice cube.

As the water trickled down her back, she turned swiftly, capturing him in a soft kiss. His fingers sought the ice pack as they kissed and he grabbed more ice cubes. He ran one over her lips as he placed more on her neck.

She moaned as he massaged her neck with the ice, and her hand dipped down to his pants.

They used up a lot of ice that night.