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!

Dedicated to: Brokenblackrose89, Mistress of Dragons, Pentastic, PGoodrichBoggs, Ardynn, Battered Child, Kayana M, David Fishwick, and Starlight Guardian. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.

Part V

"You're not frozen. This won't work." I should want this to work. But some part of her was balking. Save the world, sure. Don't hurt the lover.

Lover? Don't you have to love someone for him to be a lover? Or make love? We had some sex. We need to finish that. We got interrupted. Where did I put the phone?

"Yeah, well-" Spike caught Buffy has her head swiveled in a woozy circle, confusion clouding her expression, "You're heating back up."

"There's the phone."

"You hang it up. I'll be back. Where's my coat?"

"Whoa, whoa! Where are you going?"

"To build an effing snowman, what do you think?" he said with a forced bit of edge to his voice. "Gotta get colder. There's a thing I never thought I'd say." He smothered a sigh. "Don't worry. You're my antifreeze aren't you?"

"I'll go with you."

"No! Not like that. I don't want you to go out in this," Spike protested.

"I'll put on a coat. I'm coming with you. It won't hurt me. It might help."

"Slayer, if-"

"Didn't you tell Giles it was pointless to argue with me?" Or did I dream that? Mr brain works better when I'm touching him. Gotta hold onto him. In more ways than one.

He sighed. When they came back- there wouldn't be sex. He couldn't tell her he loved her any more. She wouldn't sweetly accept it without an argument, an insult, or a denial. Wouldn't be this fun, strange, blend of affection and honesty. She'd be cured and he'd be glad. She'd probably avoid him, blushing like mad whenever they were forced to cross paths- if she didn't hide from him or kill him. His heart fractured like a thin sheet of ice on impact. "No bloody point at all. Let's go."

Buffy bounded to her closet and he grabbed his pants but ignored his boots. Freeze faster if your extremities were exposed.

She wrapped a faded green jacket around her that barely covered her rear. She stepped into cute pink rain boots and marched out of the room while he was calling for her to put on pants or a hat- something. She ignored him, striding down the hall. He groaned and yanked a stupid looking knit cap off of her desk- and one of the many torn pieces of note paper.

Buffy. Spike. Hearts next to their names. He crumpled it and stuffed it in his pocket. It was a nice truce while it lasted.

"Wait. I have an idea." Buffy skirted her hand under his open duster and rested it on his bare chest as he strode to the back door in the kitchen.

"All right." Gotta hurry. He didn't like the look of her at the moment. Even adding a single layer of clothing was causing sweat to pour down her brow, trickling over her eyes as she wiped her face with her sleeve.

"It's your blood that has to freeze in the 'desolation.' Can- can you just put the blood outside? Not y-you?"

"I dunno. I s'pose it's worth a try."

"I have to drink frozen vampire blood. Or chew- because you can't drink a frozen anything, it's solid. Only, I'm burning up so It'll melt and- that's just… stupid. Who thought of this?"

"Someone who wanted the bloody world to end, because no one would do this shit." He moved to the wooden knife block on the counter and selected the chef's knife. "Gimme a cup or bowl, Slayer."

"Buffy. Remember?" She unsteadily handed him a mug from the cupboard, wondering why her head was swelling again. Why her fingers were slipping on the ceramic, why he had to catch the cup and grab her by the elbow, too. "I'm Buffy and you're Spike. You're my… friend. I'm supposed to protect my friends. Letting you get hurt for me…" Why wasn't her voice working? Why was he so far away?

The knife and cup clattered to the counter as he snagged her before she hit the floor. Up in his arms and out the door, where sleet was now falling. "Watching you burning up hurts. Don't wanna hurt me, Baby?"

"Uh-huh," she agreed faintly.

"Then let me get you better. I told you, it won't hurt. Promise. Wanna seal it with a kiss?"

"Mmhm." Her limp arm gained strength as they stood in the gray wintery world outside. The sleet wasn't soft or snowy, it was hard and sharp like tiny stings. Spike's lips pressed to hers and she slid down his body, separating. He'll never get cold if I stand with him, heating him up. She pulled back with a sharp nibble, scraping over his lower lip.

The gesture reminded them both of something. "Slayer. Buffy?" He looked at the concern on her face and knew it was mirrored on his own. The fleeting thought had apparently crossed her mind, too.

"I bit your lip. I tasted blood. Your blood. I'm still sick."

"Maybe it wasn't frozen?"

"Maybe it wasn't enough?

"I don't know how much I have to give. An' I can't get any more at the moment." He looked uncomfortably at her. We need each other. This is so bloody backwards, a Slayer needs the vampire's blood, the vampire can't bite her. We need each other.

"I- it's been a long time since someone needed me like I needed them," Buffy whispered. Her hands came to her waist and nervously fiddled with the belt holding her coat shut. Underneath, she was naked and grateful for the freezing rain on any part of her exposed skin. She was considering taking it off and rolling in the snow- only this wasn't snow, it was thick, opaque ice, sleet adding slushy, crunching layers to it with every second. Didn't they roll in the ice and snow in Sweden? Or Switzerland? Some place with saunas and the naked running in snow and ice?

Spike hated every spit of ice against his neck, feeling any warmth he'd gained rapidly seeping out of him, toes first. Frostbite was practically guaranteed and vamps didn't grow back toes. He hated the creeping mortification of his otherwise undead body. But, he loved the way her eyes slowly climbed to his, waiting for - what? Rejection? That was his bit, not hers. "Same, Buffy. You an' me- we're the reliable sort, aren't we? Get the job done?" His hand fished into his duster pocket and retrieved a knife. "The sooner it's started, the sooner it's done." He shook the coat off and let it puddle into the white-gray land, bare feet finding sticking purchase on the frozen ground as she stood unsteadily. He noticed that a cloud of steam emanated from her. Not just when she spoke, like warm breath creating clouds of mist, but as if her whole body was generating heat that could stand against the sub-zero temps. "The sooner we start, the sooner you're better. I want that, Buffy. Do you get that? How much I want you to be all right again?"

"Want what's best for me?" she winced as the knife passed from hand to hand, moving toward a resting place against his forearm.

"Yeah, of course."

"Angel said that meant leaving me. So I could be normal. Riley said it was being a normal girlfriend- or he'd leave me. Wh-what do you say it is?"

Spike hesitated. But why? He knew. He really did. "Bein' happy. Bein' with someone who loves you, helps you, won't leave you, won't change you."

She repeated his words slowly in her head, over and over. The ice left a wet, silver sheen on his bare chest. Slowly, the white tracks under his skin turned pale blue across his shoulders and and deep plum on the back of his hands. "That sounds good."

"Glad." Soon his fingers wouldn't form a fist. Soon his mouth would be frozen over. He'd never known cold like this, all-pervading, all-consuming, as cold as the fires of hell are hot, leaving no warmth.

Desolation.

Without her, there is desolation. Hellbitch got something right.

She watched a single slice of silver against milk white before the blade fell to the ground. "Spike?"

"Get it." He hissed as best he could through locked jaws.

"Get what? Nothing is flowing. Or bleeding."

"Take it."

Buffy moved toward him, wondering where the tipping point was, where her heat would thaw him, how much blood had to be consumed, and how would she even get it if nothing was moving? How do you take something that won't give? How do you get something out that won't bleed when you cut it?

I could ask the vampire. The cold dissipated the fog in her head. I could simply act like the vampire.

Fever still held sway. "Sane" Buffy wouldn't do what she was about to.

Well, look at my life. Look where they tried to put me. Nothing sane about this world, the truth is crazy.

Spike speaks crazy fluently. And he's here, freezing into a solid statue because he doesn't care if it's crazy, it just has to get the job done.

"God, I love that about you!" Buffy exclaimed and lunged, teeth attaching with savage ferocity to his neck, breaking skin and sucking hard.

Bitter crystals in her mouth, accompanied by a harsh panting gasp in her ear that turned into a moan. Her hands clamped to his sides and his found their way under her jacket, cold fingers teasing taut, hot nipples and rapidly rising ribcage.

Nothing.

"Nothing?" She spat the leftover blood in her mouth out. Spike looked worse, she felt only slightly better, as she had whenever she used him as a giant ice-pack, and she was still creating a halo of heat. "It didn't work!" Something so gross should work. Like, be guaranteed to work.

"Maybe you have to have more?"

"Vamps drain Slayers. Slayers don't drain vamps."

"Sometimes… sometimes you gotta do the effed up thing, Slayer."

He'd give his life for me- or at least what passes for it. She moved her lips back to his neck and sucked again, the moans he made speaking of pleasure, not pain. Something so gross should not… seem less gross by the second. He huffed out gasps against her, one hand suddenly digging into the fabric belted at her hand, rigidity melting from his fingers as he pressed them against her hot body, found the hottest spot next to her mouth.

"Yessss!" She moaned around the liquid as fingers stroked her. Sex in a sleetstorm, blood and sex and… everything is wrong and so hot and maybe this is why vamps don't give a damn about right and wrong. Spike just cares about who he's with.

"We gotta stop. You're warmin' me back up. I didn't think that was possible in this weather. You do the impossible, Buffy." He tore his head from hers, hand from her, desperate as steam and sleet and sex surrounded them, some surreal landscape inside an evil immortal's snowglobe.

How can he have so much faith in me? I'm crazy, and half-naked, and biting him, and- argh! But he thinks I'm gonna do it. And… "I don't know what else to do. I- it's not working, Spike, it's not working," her voice was harried as she stepped back, wiping her lips with her hand. She took him by the arms and shook him. "I don't know what to do, but I am not going to die from this! She can't win!" Dawn, she mouthed, afraid to say the word, afraid to cry, lest tears somehow freeze her eyelids over.

"Let's call the Watcher back, let me think a minute." Spike rubbed her back, bringing her in. He felt blood trickling down his neck and freezing on its surface in a sticky crimson line. Under her hand, the cut he'd fruitlessly made suddenly blossomed, dark red drops closer to black, moving down his arm, slow and syrupy.

"When I'm near you, I can think better." Buffy nodded shakily. "I'm not burning as bad. I can - bring it down, at least a little."

"I'll stay with you out here as long as you need me. Three days, three months, three years. If it keeps you cold and Hellbitch can't gain anything from her precious shot of Slayer blood… then that's what we'll do."

"She'll have to drink it soon, right? It said three days until it reaches it's full, whatever the hell that's supposed to-" Buffy suddenly stopped speaking. For the first time in hours, the throbbing in her hand went away. Not lessened, not paused, but completely, utterly vanished.

"I dunno exactly what the timeline is, but-" Spike picked up where she left off, only to be violently shushed by her.

"SHHH! Stop! Something happened. My hand doesn't hurt. My hand doesn't hurt, this hand!"

Spike yanked her brandished hand up in front of his face. The hand that had been shaking his arm where it was slowly bleeding. "Slayer, what did you say about your hands earlier?"

"They did something to me. They cut my hands."

"The Slayer's best weapons," Spike realized, turning right hand and left hand over. Her left hand bore a single splotch of blood and as they watched, it seemed to sink into her skin like water sopped up by a thirsty sponge.

Her right hand was stiff and burning to the touch. Whatever they had infected her with had entered through the skin, not the mouth, blood mixed in wounds, not in sips. He pressed her swollen palm to the bite on his neck and let the heat from her bring the frozen blood to the surface and seep into its sacred destination.

"I think we put it on the wrong place. And I bet you those little scabs of hers knew about the whole 'antidote.' Imbibing my ice-covered ass!"

"Not your ass, your blood." Although- his ass is somehow very imbibable. " Sneaky bastards," Buffy shuddered as her body seemed to drop in temperature, like a car shifting into the lowest gear abruptly after red-lining it. "Wanna help me kill them later?"

"If there's any left to kill after her plan blows up in her face and ruins all her 'endeavors.'" Spike smirked, trying to stay steady. Whatever little blood he had left in his system was running out and the demon would subsist on will alone. Subsist meant "not dust." It didn't mean a lot else. He hoped he didn't pass out on her. It wouldn't look very heroic, nor helpful.

"We can go in soon," Buffy promised, watching the smirk falter and the eyes twitch in panic before he could hide it.

"You s-seem to be talkin' a bit better." Spike's teeth chattered. When does the bloody snow globe effect go away? Once Hellbitch drinks her brew?

"I'm feeling better." Her muscles disagreed. They convulsed painfully, like runner's cramps and charlie horses were invading every part of her.

"Poison is getting fought off, absorbed, something."

"When did you eat?" Buffy's eyes suddenly focused in sharp definition and were able to hold it for more than a few seconds at a time.

"Bit ago," he answered evasively.

She remembered now. Remembered talking about truces and demanding to know what he needed, remembered that he needed blood first, warmth second, and she could only give him one because of her infection. Now I'm taking all of his. "I'll pay you back. I promise."

He nodded jerkily. Pay me back for what? Saving her life? We do that sort of thing, even if it's been a bit unwillingly in the past. Very unwillingly.

"Can you talk?" Her hands gripped his neck, tugged his arm, and they swayed, her from pain, him from weakness. We're going to survive this. We're going to look really weak and helpless, just before we take down a god. A god.

"Yeah." He injected carelessness into his tone and smiled at her. The smile faded fast. Shit. And hur-bloody-rah. Sane Buffy's back in business. I'm so happy.

I'm so screwed.

Hold on, was that 'I'll pay you back' 'cause I'm nickin' all your blood or "I'll pay you back" - as in 'It's payback time'?"

"I think we should take this inside." Her voice was precise and distant.

"It's flowin' enough, but it's - it's good and proper frozen where you aren't touching," he gasped as he felt his spine creak under her hand's guiding insistence.

I can see that. She turned her head as he staggered to get his coat, looking at the multitude of cobalt and ink running across him, like a cloak under his skin instead of over it. A maze. So many veins, the body has so many veins, little highways of life that we never see…

I saw so much of Spike today. He saw so much of me. He shows me so many things. I told him so many things.

He listened. Held me. Good friend. Her body trembled, but it was nothing compared to the sudden vibration in her chest. I let him in. Took him inside me. He did the same thing. Let me in.

She dragged him inside, or he pushed her. Either way, they were standing in the kitchen, door slammed shut and gusts of wind howling under it like an irritated banshee denied entry. Spike barely had time to gasp when she dropped his arm and grabbed the big chef's knife he'd had out earlier. Sane Buffy is deadly Buffy. She's always deadly.

Why do I find deadly women so fucking hot? "Slayer-"

"It's still Buffy," she hissed as she made a swift, shallow cut on her palm and slapped it down to his weeping arm.

"Buffy…" The scent of her was making his mouth water. Just when his knees were about to buckle from weakness and want, her mouth was slamming to his and the knife was skidding across his hand.

Mixing blood. Take out the bad, absorb the good.

Wait. Spike's good?

"So good," he panted against her, her nimble tongue sparring with his own as they seemed to try to devour each other.

"Yeah. You are."

Well, that brought a swift end to the proceedings. Spike reeled back, would have broken contact if she hadn't stubbornly retained his hand. "What did you say?"

"You're good. Good to me. You help me. Good friend."

Spike looked at her. "You're not well."

"You just now noticed?" Buffy laughed harshly.

"I mean it. Your color's gone wrong. You look- gray. You're sweating."

"I've been sweating all day!" She doubled over for only a second before forcing herself back up.

"This isn't fever sweat. This is poison. Believe me, I've seen it, the shaking, ashy color, short of breath."

"Losing the poison. The bad blood." Buffy suddenly laughed weakly, her voice raspy between gasping breaths. "I gave Angel- my blood. To heal him. Slayer blood. Heals almost any demon."

"I know." Spike wondered which of them would fall first. He wished he had a mirror- that it would work for him. She was a sort of bleached cement color and his arms were the pure white of fallen snow- with slowly dripping tendrils of red and streaks of blue.

She was still speaking, resisting his efforts to move them to chairs or even to lean on the kitchen island. "First time in history a vampire's blood heals a Slayer. You think?"

"Prob'ly. We excel at one-offs."

"Kiss me again?" Buffy smiled up at him, eyes fluttering shut.

"Kiss you forever, if you'll let me."

Buffy kissed him and didn't answer. Would she let him?

Maybe.

Probably.

Why is it so dark?

Duh, my eyes are closed.

This darkness is different.

She fell first. He toppled with her, holding her rapidly cooling body. "Buffy? Slayer!" Nothing. Breathing uneven and fast, color still rotten for a human. What the hell is the Watcher's number? he thought as he limply lifted her and hauled her to the couch. Stopped halfway and laid her on the dining room table with an apology.

Dreamed about taking you on every flat surface. No fun if you don't want it, too. "Buffy. Tell me Giles' number? The store? Is it written down somewhere? Oh, fuck, this is like bloody Lassie." He felt helpless, nudging and hissing, getting no answer.

Wait, he'd called. The Watcher had just called the was that thing now, Caller ID, that showed you the last number. He stumbled through the kitchen and grabbed the digital phone and looked at the screen. MGK BOX was above the number. "I owe you one," Spike breathed out reverently, eyes rolling skyward as he dialed.

Giles instantly seized the phone. "Buffy!"

"Spike."

"Where's Buffy?"

"Passed out. Fever's gone. Sort of. She doesn't look good. Are the roads any better? Can you get here?"

Giles opened and shut his mouth a few times. Spike was calling for help, help for the Slayer? "The roads are no better. State of emergency is still in place. What happened? Why is she unconscious?"

"Did what you said! What the flamin' book said! Frozen demon blood. Gave it to her. Mine. Outside, in the bloody blizzard, toes half-gnawed off by frostbite and blood stuck under the skin. But I gave it to her. She drank. Only- it didn't work. Then when she was shaking me, panickin' about how it wasn't working- the blood got on her hands."

"Her hands were terribly injured last night, gouges and slits all over the palms and backs. It had healed by the time I left- at least on the surface."

"Not so much underneath. She kept sayin' her hands and throat hurt, felt too bloody hot, felt sore. So, we tried something. Blood on her hands. Mine. Mixed with hers. Figured that the demon blokes hadn't made her drink it, they'd poured it into her somehow, contaminated her with it." He remembered her frantic hush, the joyous look as she flexed her hand against his skin, pulling his life force in to repair hers. "It worked. She started to cool off. She said her hand didn't hurt." She said I was good. She asked me to kiss her. She said I was her friend. Good friend.

Giles felt a knot in his stomach as he heard Spike's voice thicken, his drawl change to something like a whimper. "Now she's… I dunno. Too cold? Cooled off too fast? Her color is awful. Her breathing is - I love the way she breathes, never notice it, but now that's gone wrong, I-" The thickness turned into a full on snarl in his throat and all he could do was cough through the tears that formed a tangle inside him.

The Watcher swallowed hard, forced his words to be harsh and fast. "It sounds like her body is still battling the supernatural infection, and what's more, she may have gone into shock. Keep her warm."

Spike yanked the phone from his ear and gave it a glare that nearly curdled the plastic. "Did I mention the frostbite and frozen blood? I'm a fucking popsicle." He tried very hard not to recall her using him like a popsicle, loving that aspect of his current predicament, Buffy slurping on him with affection and laughter in her eyes, the lilt in her voice, the way their hands clasped. Lose it all on the same day I had it. Like wishes. Gone if you let anyone know about 'em.

"Get her into a hot bath and keep her head above water. Call me back when she wakes. I'm going to call Willow. Perhaps there's some way that teleportation -"

"That's risky. Hellbitch is bound to be looking for strong magic around the Slayer, right?"

"Yes, dammit. I suppose we're stuck in limbo for now. Until Glory tastes that concoction…"

Silence held sway, making her uneven breathing echo in the quiet house.

Giles spoke softly, "Get her warm. This wild fluctuation in body temperature can't be good for her. And yes, I know, it's not good for you, either, but at least you're not going to die from it."

"I didn't say a damn thing about what happens to me! I care what happens to her! I'll get her back. I'll get her back, then call you back." Spike slammed down the phone and walked woodenly to the table.

Buffy was sprawled on it, coat half undone, one boot missing. She looked- helpless. He hated that look. "Now listen," he hauled her up with a pisspoor attempt at his usual sweeping strength and coordination, "when the bitch drinks her brew, she's gonna ride the rocket out of here. Then we celebrate, right? I'm thinkin' we do champers and blood. You might even want a sip of the red stuff, now that you've had the goods from yours truly." He waited for her to roar back to life with an annoyed, disgusted cry of "EEWWW" and a smack on his head. Nothing. This was serious.

"I'm gonna have to get you warm. Your boss said so. Your boss, Slayer." He hit the last word harder than the others. Not a twitch. "How the hell am I gonna get you warm when I'm a frozen fish stick beside you?" he mumbled as he climbed the steps, figuring he'd pray Joyce had an electric blanket and if not, he'd pull every quilt in the place and pile 'em on her.

As he passed the bath, the Watcher's words reasserted themselves in his spiraling mind. "Right, into the tub. You want bubbles, Pet? I'd give you bubbles. Rose petals. Let's do that, huh? Bubbles and champagne when her royal lowness kicks off? Promise you a good time. But you can't die. If you die, she wins."

When she drinks- she's in for a world of pain. When would that be? By sundown? After dark, marking the end of the third day? How many hours was that? His internal clock was all screwed up with the sun and moon missing under a haze of gray clouds. He imagined it must be late afternoon by now.

He turned the tap on to full hot and sat her on the edge of the tub, propped against him. She jerked and shivered letting out a pitiful groan as her legs touched the cool porcelain. "Easy now, it'll be warm in a second." If the damned plumbing holds when I need it. What if the hot water heater went out? What if the pipes froze?

"I'd say we move someplace tropical, Luv, just you and me, but even sunny Cal can't escape the ice queen. Used to think that was you. Not anymore. You're so good at it, Baby. Heat me up, you do." Spike kept up the constant stream of conversation, one-sided though it was. He pulled off her remaining boot, tugged her coat off and felt the urge to protect her naked form, not leer at it lustfully. He swished the water around her legs as he settled her into the shallows. "Hope I'm doin' this right…"

His fingers burned on contact with the water, feeling returning. His hands and hers left pink streaks that faded and then he pulled the lever to close the drain.

"You gotta be okay. What good is savin' the world if you're not in it?" his voice was tender as his lips pressed to her forehead. "Stubborn bint," he hissed as he sat back, worry on his face.

Words and waterfalls. Buffy heard them. Her body and mind were angry at each other. Wouldn't work together. No more playdates, too bad if we have to share a Slayer.

Her throat didn't hurt. Her hands didn't hurt. Her body ached and was made of rubber bands pulled too tight. She was a ragdoll, flung and dropped and bumped and dropped again, onto something so cold on her already bare, cold body that had once been a hot, burning body. Her system couldn't keep up. It closed shop.

But her ears still worked. Spike was talking. Arguing, insulting, promising, whispering.

Roses and champagne and bubble bath. Romance.

We have a truce. We should add romance.

Is that truceful?

The truce was "make warm." But I'm cold now. And he's cold. Something failed. "I always- fail."

"Buffy! Slayer!" Wet hands were gripping hers, a freezing block of skin and muscle was sliding against her, making her shudder.

Oh. Spike's hugging me. She wanted to hug him back. She felt her arms jerk, but fail to rise.

"You never fail. You get beaten sometimes. That happens to every fighter. Makes 'em lucky if you never take a hit. You get back up and win the next battle- that makes you a warrior. Hero. My hero," Spike gently ran his fingers through her hair, tenderly over her scalp, gently tracing the smooth lines of her profile until her eyes opened.

Clear eyes, but tired. Sane Buffy. His hand hesitantly fell back.

"You're cold, too." Her voice was faint, but gaining strength.

"I know. Not helpin' matters when I touch you." He fought down the selfish voice in his head that begged to touch her longer, touch her lower, fingertips over her smile, down her beautiful breasts that swelled, tight beads of pink flesh crowning them as they hovered above the rising water. Lower still, to a place that burned him even in a supernatural snowstorm.

"You do help matters. Spike matters."

"Sweet of you to say so," he whispered and hesitantly rose.

She found the strength to sit up, shuddering hard, teeth clacking as she tried to grit them. "Get in here."

Spike straightened up all the way, weaving ever so slightly. "I'll cool it down."

She tried to rise and couldn't. Less than a day ago, heck even last night, the idea of sitting nude and semi-helpless, unable to stand in front of Spike would have filled her with rage and self-loathing, humiliation and embarrassment that she might never unload. Now?

Spike loves me and helps me. So… when he sees what I need, he'll do it. She held her hand up.

It wavered and shook slightly with strain, but he seized it immediately. "Don't stand up, baby. Your legs'll go."

"Get in here," she repeated, fingers wrapping around his. "Please."

One hand continued to latch through hers, the other slowly went to the brassy button of his black jeans, soaked from the sleet, wrapped around him like a drenched second-skin. He shucked them off.

"This is a familiar view." Buffy's voice was soft, but her smile was present. Spike above her. Thick, cold cock starting to stiffen and jut as he stood outside the tub and she huddled inside it.

"We're not gonna do that now."

"But we are once she dies. Roses and champers and blood. For you, not me." Buffy tugged gently as he stepped in. "Well… I'll take the roses, you can have the booze and the blood."

"Slayer, champagne is hardly booze," he rolled his eyes. Then, her words registered. "You heard me. And you want to?"

Buffy tried to rise and huffed angrily when her dumb knees failed to work. "Yeah. I heard you. And… I want to celebrate with you. I told you. You wrote it down. That no one hurts. It doesn't end after one time. Although I fully admit that I failed on not hurting you." Her fingers traced gently over his arm with its scored skin, squeezed his hand with its split palm. She blinked. "You didn't hurt me."

"Chipped." No! Idiot. Why would you tell her that? That's all she'll ever-

"That had nothing to do with being chipped." It didn't. She usually gave credit to the chip. The chip made him reign in his urge to beat the crap out of people due to fear of his own pain. It did nothing whatsoever about taking care of a loopy Slayer and resisting her feverish advances. Shit. I advanced all over Spike like an invading horde. Or whore. Or slut.

Oh, holy crap. Penis-cock.

"You're right. I'd take any amount of pain rather than give you any. Now. Know it used to be different. You gave us a chance to- what's wrong?" Spike knelt in the cramped space, knees hovering over her ankles, hand going back to her face.

"I- uh- I'm definitely not feeling great, but I'm thinking clearly. Remembering clearly."

"Oh." He tried to retreat, but there wasn't a ton of room in the narrow tub. His head bent, eyes off of her. "I'm sorry. I love you and I loved what we did, but I know that you're probably-" his voice faded as her hand feebly twitched on his, a steady little kneading sensation. Not the action of a pissed off Slayer. Maybe an embarrassed one. Spike swallowed, the worry that left when she woke suddenly replaced by a new sort of fear, one that had come and gone since he'd followed her up the stairs."D'you hate me? More than before?"

"No. I like you. A lot more than before."

He let out air and his legs collapsed, no more hovering. He fell forward, head stopping short of smacking into hers-but putting his face inches away.

Her face was one of those colorized vintage photos, whit-ish gray with bright spots of color from her blushing cheeks and the pale pink in her lips. "I didn't know I could like you any better, what with fallin' in love with you an' all. But now I do. It's mutual."

"Truce continues?"

"Permanently. I'll write it down." Blue eyes twinkled and met heavy-lidded green.

"Maybe you could wait a few minutes before you find that paper." Buffy let go of his hand and moved her palms up over his shoulders. Scalding water was surrounding them, but both seemed to barely feel it. "We should -uh- finish the terms of the first treaty. Terms. That's a treaty thing, right?"

Spike nodded jerkily. "You warmed me up fine. I cooled you down the best I could. We- we met terms. Don't owe me a thing."

Even in the post-fevered, still-sort-of-shocky haze, Buffy had one of her blindingly clear moments. I owe something to everyone, for not being the perfect daughter, the right kind of Slayer, the normal kind of girlfriend. I feel that way at least. I feel it most with guys. That I owe them what they want, gotta meet the expectations of being all Slayer, or all normal, or faking the interest or faking the disinterest… Her stomach did an unfamiliar swoop, one she hadn't felt in nearly a year. Happiness. Happiness in spite of everything.

"You make me happy, you know?" Buffy whispered, and pulled his mouth to hers.

He suddenly scooped her up. His hands were fumbling to switch from filling the tub to the shower's spray. Just as he thought they'd regained equilibrium, they crashed against the wall, his legs weak from starvation and cold, eyes blinking under a sudden onslaught of water. He was gasping and shaking, utterly graceless. He didn't give a damn.

She didn't, either. His words rang in her head as she closed his mouth with her kisses. Bein' happy. Bein' with someone who loves you, helps you, won't leave you, won't change you.

He tried to pull back- which was hard as her fingers clawed into his plastered platinum hair. "This isn't warming you up. Swore to Watcher I'd get you in a hot bath and bring you back."

"Mission accomplished. The bath is hot. I'm back."

"Not one hundred percent." Holding her, he could feel the tremors he couldn't see, feel the heartbeat that wouldn't settle, rapid and thready.

"Neither are you. Hm. What are you? Fifty percent?"

Spike arched an eyebrow, forehead to hers. Can't believe she's letting me hold her like this. Can't believe she just wrapped her legs around my waist. Oh. Ohhh. "We gonna do more math, Slayer?" His hands slipped over her rear, palms kneading her delectable cheeks. He settled for an extended nuzzle and stopped himself short of pulling her onto his hardness.

"I'm only at half strength, too. Maybe a little more."

"I'm probably a lot less."

"Together…" she tried not to gulp around the words. Together had been a longed-for word, a scary word that fell apart when you tried to make it tangible.

Together. Most beautiful word. Most missed word. "Together?" Spike nudged his lips to hers gently as he formed the word.

"Together we could make it to that one hundred percent. Together we could be m-more than just the right temperature." Oh God, what am I saying, what am I saying…

"Together, we could be just right." He made it a statement, not a question. In his head, he knew it was a bloody huge question. Maybe stating it flat out wouldn't fly with the most powerful woman in the world, who oddly enough seemed to have so many people trying to boss her about.

Buffy nodded eagerly, heads jostling, lips reuniting. Thank you, God, yes, he gets it. He didn't make her say everything. He didn't leave things unsaid, either. "It doesn't make sense."

"Doesn't have to make sense to be true." He loved to talk to her, loved to hear her openly confide in him, especially now when things weren't said in desperation. However, words were only one way of talking and his body was no longer hesitant about joining the conversation.

Spike's cock shifted. He struggled to keep her up in his arms and she clung to him, arms wrapping around his neck, wet chest slipping against his own. Then, she pushed herself down, but not onto him. "Am I better?"

He bit back a groan. Her sweet warmth brushed him without enveloping him. "Definitely."

"You fixed me."

He smiled. "You weren't broken, Pet."

"The infection, the poison. Your blood fixes it. Fixes me. Not fever-y." Her smile was brighter, her color blooming back across her skin. Spike nodded. He looked the same, practically blending into the white tile aside from his bright blue eyes. "I think it's gone."

"Good, Baby."

"So, I'm safe."

"Yep. Gonna stay safe and-" Spike stopped speaking as her finger tip poked its way into his mouth. He spoke around it, mumbling and torn between spitting it out so he could speak and sucking on it and showing her whole new erogenous zones. "Buffy, you sure you're good?" Feverish Buffy was more likely to go about shoving parts of herself at him.

"You're supposed to taste me and find out."

His arms dropped, but then grabbed her back quickly. "I love how you taste." He kissed her finger, kissed her wrist and her palm. Hesitated. "I tasted you lower. Sweeter."

"If you could live on that particular fluid, I'd let you. Man, I'd be your three meals a day. Plus snacks."

"That's still an option. Make me the offer." He winked, kissing her shoulder now. Only to get her hand smacked against his mouth. "Luv, you gotta stop shoving parts of you at me." He crossed his eyes as if looking at his treacherous tongue. "Forget I said that. Scratch that."

"Exactly." Her hands were weak for a Slayer, but strong enough. He watched her rake her own fingers hard down her arm. Blood welled up. "Taste. You need it."

Spike's eyes narrowed. His head pulled back- and kept on going, along with the rest of him..

Buffy gasped as he skidded down the slick wall and careened onto the floor. With her recently acquired lack of inhibition, she followed, nimbly straddling him, arm to his mouth, eyes locked on his. "It's going to get washed away if you don't. Just a waste. Unless you don't think it's safe. I wouldn't be pushy. Oh my God. I'm being totally pushy. But you're a vampire and you're hungry and you saved me and - so- guh! Spike, if you seriously make me beg you to-oh. Ooooh." His tongue lathed up her scratches, sealing them after. "How did-"

"Vampire saliva heals cuts."

"That's handy. That's so handy! Why didn't anyone tell me that? Also- now you don't get any more, it's stopped."

Thoughts rolled through his brain, explanations, excuses, awed thanks, words of love. He wanted to say the thing least likely to cause arguing- or for her to leave his body. "I didn't need much. Feel fine. You taste- strong. Sweet and strong. Your insides match your outsides."

"Unless Ethan Rayne throws a cursed Halloween costume on me."

Spike winced, recalling all too well the way she looked at him with wide, helpless eyes and trembling lips. Not the good kind of trembling. "Sorry. I was a bloody fool, Slayer, I-"

She didn't wave it away, but it didn't seem to matter now. Things changed. She'd changed. "Angel bit me. Then he rushed me to the ER, still bleeding. Why didn't he seal me up? Lick me?" Oh God. Licking me. I want more Spike licks.

Spike looked up at her, suppressing a growl. Didn't like to think of Angel sinking his fangs into her. Or licking her. "He probably couldn't risk another taste. He's not brilliant at resisting temptation. Has to distance himself."

"Hm." Distance over love. And my life. She regarded the man under her, watched him swallowing hard, breathing hard without the need for air, simply drinking her in.

"I don't want you to think of me like that."

She was so lost in old thoughts, pounding, unsteady hearts, and rushing water, that she couldn't quite make out his words at first.

Why isn't she speaking?

"I don't think of you like that. When I think of Angel and you, you two are very different and not on the same page in my head."

Yeah. First loves. Big shoulders. First one to slide in her sweet little delta and let her waters bathe him. Goddamn poet stuck in a demon. His heart twisted.

"I like you better than him."

Spike's jaw smacked his chest.

Buffy laughed and inched her hips lower. His sensitive tip touched her tight, hot nub and they both gasped. Water coursed over their legs as she gently rocked, not taking him in, but showing him the door was open. "I think… I trust you more than him, too. Even when you're obnoxious, you're honest. And I can be honest around you, too."

"Brutally so," Spike spoke in a strangled voice as he nodded.

"Bite me. And be in me. And love me. And warm me up."

The jaw became reacquainted with his sternum.

Manners. "Please? If you want to? Was that too many things to do at once?"

"Are you insane- no, you're not. Yes, please, and thank you and any other charmin' phrases you can think of. I'll be the master of multitasking for you, Buffy, if that's the kind of list you give. Always and as often as you want, and never more than you want." Laughter bubbled up in him, startled, incredulous laughter.

He was love's bitch. You never saved the day and got the girl. He'd tried for over a hundred years.

Well, yeah. But Hell never froze over before, either.

To be concluded…

Author's End Note: Thank you again to all the awesome readers! If you like erotica, I recently wrote a new short erotica piece, Vampire in Vegas by S.C. Principale. It's still sweet, but it goes into more smutty territory than I usually do here. I'd love it if you guys give it a try! (Free on Amazon Kindle Unlimited, cheap otherwise. Many thanks if you read it!)