Warm
By Sweetprincipale
California has a cold snap and it's freezing in Spike's crypt. Buffy has a fever and she's burning up- not to mention that she's a little bit delirious. But just because you're loopy doesn't mean you're wrong. Maybe if you rub a frozen vampire against a boiling Slayer, both of them will get warm in more ways than one. Takes place amid a Slightly AU Season Five, Joyce is out of hospital and doing fine, Glory's lurking, and Harmony and Riley are already gone. Short, smutty, and funny, I hope you enjoy!
Part I
Spike swallowed his alcohol, hoping it would warm him up. "Might as well move to effing Alaska," he hissed through clenched teeth as he shivered. He didn't have a thermometer and the telly was static-y with zero reception for the local news, thanks to the freakishly cold winds that were howling around his crypt. The fact that icicles had formed from condensation along the walls was enough to tell him it was below freezing inside his home.
"Pr-probably to do with Hellbitch. Some magical imbalance screwing up the atmosphere and turning Sunnydale into Ice Valley." The bottle was now empty. He was no warmer. He was out of blood, having burned through everything he had, heating it up in the microwave and downing it to stay any sort of warm.
Vamps are already cool to the touch. Frostbite wouldn't kill them. Hypothermia wouldn't kill them. However, extended time in freezing weather could hurt them plenty, damage the human-shell, and healing from such damage was long and painful, not to mention disgusting. He made a snap decision. He was leaving and was going to go bother the Watcher at his flat or in the little shop he owned. It didn't matter if it was only ten in the morning, the sky hadn't seen a bit of sun in three days. "Not gonna find me here, a Spike-icicle," he grumbled, hugging his coat around him more tightly and clutching his car keys in numb fingers.
"Mom? Mom? Dawn?" Buffy wandered the house in a daze. The heater was noisily pumping, a surreal sound in southern California. "Dawn? Where did they go?"
Buffy stumbled, literally, into the kitchen. Ten. Should she be at class? Mom was at work. Dawn was at school. Where was she supposed to be? Wasn't there something she had to do?
Patrol. Have to patrol. Have to fight the evil perm-monster that wants to eat my sister. Why is my head so big?
She found a note on the bathroom mirror.
"Do not go out. Do not go to class! Go back to bed! It's freezing and you have a fever. If it doesn't break by tonight, I'm taking you to the doctor's." Her mother's handwriting was bold and emphatic, filled with lots of underlining.
Last night flooded back to her in jerky motions. She went patrolling, bundled up in layers of coats, sweaters, scarves, and three pairs of socks, cursing the weather gods, if there were any, who had suddenly moved the North Pole to Sunnydale. She met some scabby little minions. There was a big fight. They got a few good blows in, which confused her. Her eye was puffy, her skin was scratched, her hands were bloody- where were her gloves? By the end of the battle, she was just plain confused. Disoriented and pulling off coats and scarves in the middle of a vacant lot, surrounded by dead demons. Suddenly, Xander was there, talking in bubbles, shaking her shoulders and feeling her cheeks with panic in his eyes. Then Giles and her mother were there, not in the lot, in her living room, shoving a thermometer under her tongue and making her put clothes back on. When had she gotten into nothing but a tee-shirt and underwear?
She laughed around the tea they tried to force her to sip. "I might have walked home naked. That would be funny. And embarrassing. I would die. I'm dying. Why is it so hot in here?"
"You might have contracted something that's supernatural. Slayer metabolism will sort it, hopefully. It could even be something human, slayers can get sick, though it's not usually long-lived. In a few days, maximum, you should be fine. However," he had covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief and pushed Dawn and her mother behind him, "we mere mortals may not be so lucky and your mother's immune system doesn't need any taxing. Perhaps a hotel for a few days, Joyce?"
"I can't leave Buffy on her own!"
"I'll look after her."
"I'm a big girl! I can look after myself. Now move. I have to potty."
She walked away from the note, closing the bathroom door. I told my Watcher I had to potty. Oh, God. Giles saw me in my underwear. Dawn saw me act like a toddler who needs a nap. Dawn will blackmail me for years. If we live that long. If I don't burn to death first. Is there snow outside? There should be snow. I'm going to go for a walk in the snow.
I should patrol. It's dark out. Geez, when did it get so late?
Of course his ancient car wouldn't start. Its battery refused to play nicely in the cold. Just like him. He'd walk to the shop. Or the flat. Rather go see the Slayer, but she'd be at class. She was pissed at him anyway, post-dumping by the Enormous Hall Monitor. Blaming him. Girl was too good for that spiritless, unfaithful...
Wish my heart would freeze up like the rest of me, he thought, huddling deeper into his coat. Going back to the crypt would be stupid. He had to go to someplace heated, which meant finding someplace full of the living, and at least at the Watcher's, Buffy might stop by. He could say he was there to find out if the cold was related to the supernatural, that was perfectly plausible.
Another note was taped to the handle of the front door. This one was in her mother's writing and in Gile's neat, precise script. "Do not go out without a coat, hat, and gloves, young lady!" Buffy read in her mother's commanding tones. "Do not go unless it's dire. You're delirious and feverish. You'll get worse, though you might temporarily feel some relief. I'll be over as soon as the shop closes. Drink fluids. Remain indoors if at all possible. Call if you need us." She repeated those words in a terrible mimicry of Giles' accent.
Then she crumpled up the note and walked into the blessed coolness in her bare feet and pajamas, idly twirling a stake. "Heeere, vampires. Here, frost monsters. Come to Buffy!"
So what if he always took the way past her house? So what if he had lost feeling in his feet? Love's bitch. He was no longer invited into her home. He could go look longingly at it. Maybe the jolt of pain in his chest would distract him from the fact that his ears might shatter from his head any second.
Buffy decided this whole thing was ludicrous. Sneaking around? That was pointless. People needed to be warned. Vampires were lurking in their town! Everyone was at risk. Even if no vampires were coming to her call. She should call louder. Vampires had good hearing. Good ears. Very, very handsome ears. God, why did Spike have to be a total and utter creep but be so freaking hot looking? Hot looking, cool to the touch. Hm. Vampire fighting would be a good therapy for people with supernatural fevers. Or regular fevers.
Unless they were normal people, then they'd die.
People should be warned. "VAMPIRES ARE REAL! I NEED ONE! FIGHT ME, YOU FANG-Y FREAKS." Buffy stood on the corner of Revello and Magnolia and screamed, head thrown back, unaware of the sweat freezing into an icy sheen under her matted, damp hair.
It worked! Her muddy senses yelled "Vampire!" right before one grabbed her.
"Are you outta your flamin' mind?" Spike hissed, tackling her and pulling her back toward her house, looking around frantically. He clapped a hand to her mouth and smothered her scream of - triumph? Her moan of relief? "Uhhhh- Slayer? You're not dressed for this weather and you've gone insane. I'm usually good with both problems, but-"
"Oh my God! You're perfect. You feel so good!" Buffy struggled limply and to her semi-surprise, Spike instantly released her, hands up and out, indicating he wouldn't harm her, nor even try. She managed to face him and instantly smacked both her palms to his ice-white cheeks. "Ahhhh." Her eyes fluttered closed.
He moaned back. She was on fire, just a few degrees from burning him, but with this damned weather and his prolonged time in a big, stone freezer, she was perfect. He felt warmth begin to painfully prickle back into his body. "What happened to you?"
"I'm sick. Glory's minions are around and I- dizzy now." She pitched forward and he caught her.
As he pulled her upright against him, her moan turned into something purely orgasmic. Spike jumped back as much as he could, even though he'd much rather press up closer. "Shit, Slayer, why-"
"Can't get cool! Burning my skin off, too many clothes, gonna die and burst into flames but then you- you're perfect. Like a big, cold ice pack that's sexy and I can put lots of places at once."
"The whole effing town is an ice pack, you looney," Spike groused, but helped her upright. When she seemed reluctant to let go, rather preferring to cling to him like creeping ivy, he picked her up like a groom sweeping his bride over the threshold. She limply clung to him, arm around his neck, seeking the bare nape, still doing those very evocative moans that suddenly made it hard to walk. But walk he did. "I'm taking you home. You're sick. Fever. Why in the world your mum ever let you-"
"She took Dawn to a hotel. I'm contagious. Or I might be." She looked at him regretfully, confused, sweet eyes. "I shouldn't be near anyone." She started to push off, and he held her.
"I can't catch what you've got. If I could, I'd welcome it about now. I'm about to freeze. Not to death, but to a lot of pain. You're doing me a favor, Luv. First time I've felt even a bit of warmth in three days."
"But I can't be with anyone. Giles shouldn't be near me - but he'll come over." She spoke in thoughts, whatever passed through her head. "Riley left. Slayers are supposed to be alone."
"Yeah, well, so are vamps. Lonely ones, they call us, trying to be poetic. We don't fit in with humans, we don't fit in with demons. Neither do you, Pet."
"I try!"
"Standing barefoot in subzero temps, screaming that vampires are real while brandishing pointy pieces of wood? The only place you'll fit in is the looney bin."
She shivered convulsively. Spike thought she was finally feeling the cold, but then she whimpered. "Don't let them take me back. I don't want to go back."
Protective instincts surged. He walked faster, held her tighter. "Back where?"
"Hospital. Cuffs on my wrists, tied to the bed, and they put needles in me to make me be good, not to see vampires, but I still see them. See you." Her eyes were clouded with tears and her voice was not the one Spike was used to. It belonged to a frightened child, not the woman who could kick his ass and still manage a full day of classes.
"Oh, Precious!" Spike's shocked tone was genuine and he pulled her closer instinctively. "Wankers. What stupid bastards tried to lock -"
"My mom and dad."
He swallowed hard. Nothing more to say. Joyce must've been confused. Must've been years ago. Joyce threw her out when she found out she was a Slayer. He'd been there for that moment. He was suddenly very glad the woman he'd come to like was at a hotel.
"I'm sorry 'bout what I did. I'd never cuff you or put needles in you. Even if you were crazy. 'Less it was a bit of- no, skip that." Sex play scenarios involving handcuffs and teasing games left his mind instantly. Slayers don't like to be restrained. And what idiocy had he tried a few days ago? Trying to chain her up and make her listen, make her see he'd changed? Fuck. "Did everything wrong. I always do."
"Me, too." Buffy commiserated. Spike had hustled her back to her house- where she'd left the door wide open. He tried to put her down and she clambered back up him like a cat trying to avoid a pool of water. "Don't put me down yet?"
Stand here on the porch and hold her for an indeterminate length of time? Surely. He agreed. "You warm me up a treat. I'll stand here all day."
"Let's go in. I'm thirsty. My throat is killing me. Is your throat killing you?"
"No, that'd be my utter shock," he said as he wincingly walked through the door with her and didn't get any sort of zap. He guessed the phrase "Let's go in" was enough of an invite.
"I'm not supposed to ask you to touch me. That's wrong. I'm mad at you. And I hate you. I like you sometimes. Don't tell anyone. Why are we out of orange juice?" Buffy pulled him behind her as she pawed weakly in the fridge, keeping her feverish hand in his.
"Sweetheart, I think you need a doctor."
"Giles says it could be supernatural. I fought scabby minion demons and I got their blood all over my hands. I don't know if that's it. Mom took my temperature. I don't know what it was, but she said the f-word. I think Giles did, too."
The two mature ones cursing like sailors? He almost chuckled, but reality set in. "That's not a good thing, Slayer. Means your properly sick. Need to rest, get your fever down."
"Well… you make me feel better. Cooler. You can bring my fever down and I could rest if I wasn't going to burst into flames. If I lay down, can you lay down on me?"
They stared at each other. "Uhhh…"
Buffy shook her head. "I didn't mean…"
"I know!"
"But you're so cold. So, so nice and perfectly bendy and cold."
Perfectly bendy? That's new. "Vamps take time to warm back up. It hurts like hell, but it won't kill us."
"But- I'm hot and you're cold. See, lying down- or sitting, whatever, together will be perfect. Because if you have hot water and cold water, you get warm water. Black and white make gray."
"What?"
"I don't know. It was something I thought. I'm saying whatever I think. I bet it was symbolic. Or because you're dressed in black and I have a white shirt."
"I see. I think your mental filter is offline."
"At least I have one." She downed an entire half-gallon of apple juice in front of his amazed eyes. Then shook her head and rubbed her throat. "I'm sick," she snuffled. "Still hot. Still thirsty. And I didn't even offer you any. I'm sorry."
"You're definitely not well. You never apologize to me."
"You never apologize to me, either!" Buffy accused petulantly.
"I did three minutes ago, you cloth-eared- sorry. Look, I did it again!"
"What are you sorry for?" Buffy crossed her arms and glared at him pointedly.
"I'm sorry for hurting you and fighting with you, for trying to kill you, for trying to force you to see how I feel. I'm in love with you-"
"Don't say that!"
"It's true! Don't tell me to lie!"
"But-"
"Look, when they locked you up and told you that you were lying, were they right?"
"No! You know are totally real."
"But almost no one else can see them, yeah? Or they refuse to see what's right in front of them. You can't tell me I don't love you. You can lock me up and call me wrong and crazy, you can stick needles in me and tell me to take it back, but I won't, Buffy. I'm telling you the truth. I don't have a soul. I don't care about that. I know how to love and I love you. I'm not crazy. I'm not wrong, just because you can't see it."
She blinked. A lot. Silently staring and blinking until he wondered if she were about to have a febrile seizure and he moved toward the phone.
Finally, she spoke in a weak voice, almost- regretful? "But I don't love you."
"I know. It's okay. I mean, it hurts, but it's okay. Dru didn't love me like I loved her. Used to it. Where does Joyce keep the liquor? I need another drink. Numbs all sorts of pain." Heart, mental, physical...
"Riley left me. He said that I had to love him right then, even after- even after so many icky things happened. If not, he had to go. You're a vampire. You're impatient."
"What? I'm terribly patient!"
"You couldn't wait two whole days to kill me!"
"I'm patient about other things," he insisted, finally finding peach Schnapps in the cabinet in the dining room. "I waited for Drusilla for months, sometimes years. I could wait for you, if you'd like." Even if you don't, I'll still be waiting.
"Now I can't ask you to help me!" Buffy suddenly whined, slamming her fist into the counter and cracking the formica.
"I'm bloody confused. Why not?" Shouldn't my patient sort of love make that more likely, not less?
"If you hug up to me, it'll be in a vampire-in-love way."
"Or not. You wanted to hug up to me, as you so nicely put it. I'd be a fool to do it, Slayer. When your fever breaks, you'll stake me. You might think this is all some ruddy fever-dream." You might think I was taking advantage. He could see himself doing all sorts of things that the demon craved, but his heart thought were wrong. Let me cool you from the inside, Baby? Want this pretty popsicle, Luv? Skin to skin contact is better for this sort of thing.
I might be better off freezing outside.
"You're cold. I'm hot. We could- we could have a truce."
"Are you talking to me or yourself?" Spike downed several swallows quickly, starting the painful, full-body shivers of someone who is starting to get warm after overexposure to the cold.
She didn't answer. She found a pen and paper, messily rummaging in a drawer, tossing out whatever she didn't want. "I, Buffy, who am hot- in a fever way- promise not to stake Spike for cooling me down. In exchange, he will get to warm up and he won't hurt me, either. Sign next to my name."
"Sign?" He took the pen, eyebrows aloft. "Slayer, since when do we put truces in writing?"
"Since now! Everyone else left notes today. It's a note-y kind of day." She watched him take the pen, then drop it as his hand spasmed involuntarily. Hesitantly, she put her flushed palm to the side of his neck, making him jump, and then sigh, shoulders doing a long shimmy. "You're really cold."
"I believe the term is 'duh'," he snarked.
"No, I mean- I don't feel good and you don't feel good. That's the best time to make a truce, when both people get what they need out of it. I'm too hot, you're too cold. Go make warm?"
Go make warm. He signed rapidly, nodding, afraid to look up and let his eyes betray him. "Right. Go make warm. How do you want to-"
Buffy plastered herself to him before he even finished the question. Both of them let out long, relieved sighs, taut frozen muscles easing their pain as he cautiously put his arms around her, achey, rushing blood cooling as she found some relief.
"We need to lay down. Not on top of, but full body. Come on."
"You're going to kill me if I come and lay down with you for some sort of full body relief! Even the sound of it-"
"I put it in writing. I'll put it all in writing. Bring the paper!" Buffy stumbled upstairs, slipping out of her baggy pajama bottoms on the way, leaving him staring at cheeks in snug lavender panties as she went to her room.
"Slayer-"
"Are you coming or not?" she asked testily.
"There are so many loaded questions today," he sighed and shivered up the stairs after her.
To be continued…
End Note: Thank you to all the readers who also read my original, spuffy inspired erotica, the CrossRealms Series. The second books of the trilogy is up on Amazon under the name S. C. Principale if you care to read.