Another unbearably humid night in Sunnydale found Buffy climbing out of an abandoned mineshaft instead of dozing away before a fan in nothing but a pair of skimpy boxers.
It wasn't the heat that made her want to pass out, she observed to herself as she tested the earthen wall with her foot, then shoved her body upwards. It was the unbearable mugginess—the grossness of stepping outside the house to find your skin covered in a thin layer of heavy sweat that immediately seeped into your pores and hung on the ends of your hair, turning the hour-worth of styling into a flat, frizzy mess. Buffy exhaled dust as she found her footing, glancing up to gauge her next move. Sweat beads trickled down her neck and under the collar of her thin, ribbed tank top.
Don't get me wrong, she continued in silent conversation with herself, Southern California is all about warm weather, perfect for tanning on the beach and iced mocha-lattés in the evenings, but there were also sea breezes, coastal climates. She wrapped her fingers around a rock projecting from the soil and hoisted herself up again, this time close enough to the top of the hole to drag her body up and out onto the grass with a grunt. Give her dry and hot any day, anything but this wet, clammy blanket of heat that stifled the air in her chest.
The mine had been slightly cooler than ground level, even after her exhausting fight with the rat-like demon collecting human bones for its nest, and now Buffy felt the full force of the sweltering night come down on her as she lay a few yards away from the old quarry, struggling to catch her wind. However, without any hint of a breeze, the longer she lay there the hotter she got, though her breath had slowed enough for her to wet her dry lips with her tongue.
She brought herself into a sitting position, examining two sets of five inch claw marks running parallel down her exposed thigh. The downside of wearing shorts on patrol, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to put on the pair of tight, constricting track pants she usually wore for evening sweeps. The blood from the wounds seeped ever-more slowly from the wounds, though she still winced slightly in pain as she stood up, brushing as much dirt as possible from her body and clothing. She couldn't wait to drag herself into the shower and wash all the grime and sweat from her weary limbs before slipping into bed for a much-needed rest.
She started the trek home, taking the side streets toward Revello Drive even though it would add an extra ten minutes to her journey and increase the chances she met another unfriendly ugly. Though her last fight had been strenuous, she felt tense with energy, muscles wound tightly around bones and blood pumping. If she happened upon another demon, she might be able to get some of the stiffness out of her joints so she could sleep comfortably.
Those were the thoughts that followed her silently over the grass through Restfield Cemetery, down a familiar path that crossed in front of an innocuous crypt in the western corner of the grounds. Buffy hesitated before the tomb, one foot poised above the ground longer than necessary as her eyes barely grazed the heavy stone door of the structure. The darkened windows weren't an uncommon sight, especially since the occupant didn't need artificial light to see through the shadows. She rolled her shoulders backwards and marched onwards, the moment receding as she chided herself lightly for even taking this route.
Only a few steps forward when a voice cut through the still air behind her, ringing out with falsely entertained sarcasm. "Not even going to pop in to say hello, pet? Rude, that is. Didn't your mum teach you any manners?"
She turned toward the voice, choosing not to notice the muscles that tightened in anticipation when she saw the figure lounging against the darkened side of the building, puffing on the nub of a cigarette. She pushed the wet tendrils of her bangs from her face before replying. "I just got done fighting some mutant cat-toy in a hole that's probably covered in asbestos; I'm tired and sticky; it feels like I'm in Panama. Excuse me for not wanting to chat."
A deep noise like a chuckle rose from Spike's throat as he flicked the butt of the cigarette away and reached to pull Buffy forward unceremoniously, slipping his hands under the denim of her shorts to grasp her round buttocks. "So you just -happened- to strut your cute behind into the only part of the cemetery without a gate in thirty meters, on the other side of town?" He pressed his nose into the damp hair at the base of her neck, breathing deeply so her intoxicating smell overwhelmed him. "Sounds a little suspicious if you want my opinion," he mumbled against her skin.
"I don't," she breathed as she rubbed her body against him. "Just shut up." This retort as she forced his body back against the wall of the crypt. She licked her lips again as she pulled Spike's head from her neck, pressing her mouth against his anxiously.
Something that sounded like "You're so fucking hot Slayer" got lost in the exchange as she tugged the red t-shirt out of his jeans and slid her hands over the cool planes of his chest. She broke the kiss long enough to sigh in relief as the heat in her skin traveled downward between her legs, the double meaning behind his impassioned remark not lost on the fervent slayer.
She never spent a lot of time talking. Like now, she busied herself undoing his leather belt, unbuttoning his pants and wrenching the zipper down. Recognizing the fine line their relationship balanced upon, Spike never pushed the matter. He likewise distracted himself by massaging the globes of her breasts under the moist and almost transparent pink tank top, in awe of the heat radiating off her body in waves.
Once she had freed his rigid erection from the confines of his jeans, Buffy constricted her slender fingers around its width until she could feel the blood pulsing under the taut skin. Spike moaned helplessly as his head fell back against the concrete wall; he pinched her nipples firmly between his thumb and forefinger. Her fingers, in turn, nimbly passed down his length and between his legs to cup his sack, while one of Spike's hands headed south. The other fit itself around her throat, gently reminding the slayer of her vulnerable position.
He dipped an imploring finger between her legs, pushing aside the shorts and cotton panties easily in order to fit his hand into the curve of her sex. She squeezed him tenderly, arching forward into his hand so he could massage the tiny bundle of nerves at the apex of her folds.
It was enough play for both of them; they quickly removed the rest of the clothing separating them as Spike's grip on her throat tightened. He pushed her backward forcefully, watching her eyes widen in panic for one solitary moment before he angled her body against the wall and pushed into her roughly, swallowing the ever-amazed moan falling from her lips with a hungry kiss.
Completely shameless, Buffy felt herself melting against him as he began to move inside her. Sweat poured down her neck and over her firm breasts. Spike's fingers dug painfully into the skin under her thighs as the stone scraped against her back, intensifying the pleasure building in her core. Buffy urged him onward, driving herself down onto his member, pleading with him to push their bodies to the limit.
In return, he growled in satisfaction, his only desire to meet her breathy demands as he steadied her body and pulled away from the crypt, pressing her down into the fragrant grass. The slayer now anchored fast under his body, Spike pushed her ankles toward her chest and her knees toward the earth, leaving her open to his powerful strokes. She wreathed under him, struggling to arch her back but unable to maneuver her body under Spike's insistent grip.
He looked down at her closed eyes and glistening golden skin as she spoke to him in words only lovers understand. It was too much; a sound caught in his throat as Spike's body heaved, and Buffy felt him stiffen against her before she too was lost in the throes of climax, liquid seeping down her inner thighs and electricity crackling along her spine to the very tips of her curled toes.
They didn't move until Spike managed to wrench himself away long enough to investigate a smell that had been teasing him since she showed up on his doorstep. He kneeled down between her knees and extended one lean leg so he could examine the deep scratches marring the perfect surface of her skin.
"For fuck's sake, you're driving me mad," he groaned quietly as he pressed his mouth to one of the wounds, dragging his tongue delicately up her leg as the burning sensation of her potent blood filled his mouth. He licked the wounds clean, chuckling under his breath as her leg twitched, eyes fluttering. A quick kiss to her exposed sex as he dipped his tongue into heated depths, fanning the embers of her desire once more.
This time they came together slowly, drawing out the moments until they felt their essences stretched beyond limit before they cut the strings and tumbled back to earth in a heap of tangled and sweaty limbs.
The night air had changed imperceptibly while they coupled, offering the glimmer of a chill wind to soothe their throbbing bodies. The vampire gathered the girl into his arms and nudged the door to the crypt open with his foot. She sighed, kissed a line from his collar bone to his ear. "Lay with me tonight…shower later," he murmured into her hair, kicking the door shut behind them.