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Summer Session by LunaMystik
 
So Hot
 
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Rating note: I’m thinking this chapter could technically be rated NC-17, but it’s open for debate. To me, it’s still in R territory, but... I’d love to know what the readers think, and would appreciate feedback on the issue. I’ll probably end up changing the whole story’s rating anyway later, because I think I’ve overcome my shyness with regards to writing Spuffy NC-17 goodness. We’ll see...


Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others. I claim no ownership of them.


Chapter 8 – So Hot



Dusk had barely fallen the following evening when Spike exploded out of his crypt. He’d have gone barmy if he’d stayed cooped up any longer – goddamned summer, the days seemed near endless to him, and the nights flew by in the blink of an eye. It was driving him up the wall.


He wanted to run, to hunt, to kill. Nothing to hunt meant nothing to kill, and he’d be damned – even more so – before he ever took up sodding jogging to work off energy. He might be defanged, but he still had his pride.


Curbing his need to treat Restfield as his own personal obstacle course, he leaned against a stone statue he was particularly fond of and lit the fag he’d dug out of the pack in his duster pocket with the last embers of the one he’d been smoking when the sun had set. It was a bloody good thing he didn’t have to worry about cancer or emphysema or heart problems – with the way he was chain smoking lately to take the edge off his restlessness, he’d be dead in five years.


Although tonight his jumpiness had less to do with the hateful, boring summer and more to do with the Summers chit.


The plan he’d tentatively hatched not 72 hours ago – and amended two nights ago – was as good as bust; no real surprise there. His plans had a way of going arse over tit on him.


He’d discovered something shocking last night when he’d ran into the Slayer and her fresh-from-the-gym stink. When she’d turned down his suggestion to go another round right then and there, he’d been, for lack of a better word, disappointed. And when she’d agreed to meet tonight, he’d felt such an intense flash of pure, undiluted joy that he knew he was in big trouble.


He didn’t want to play her.


He wanted to seduce her, but he didn’t want to dump her when he was done with her. Because he didn’t want to be done with her.


Sparring with her the other night had, in hindsight, awakened something in him he’d thought dead and buried since Drusilla had made it clear that his services were no longer required. Sure, the Slayer had made him set off the chip, but before that, he’d been having the time of his unlife going one-on-one with her. She was bloody gorgeous when she was in her element, all fire and passion and life. And the fight got her hot, just like it did to him.


She’d enraptured him with her moves, and the fact that she’d been open to spend more time with him when he’d asked last night gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to resort to underhanded tactics to con her into his bed. Perhaps, despite her proclaimed love for the worthless pillock she called her boyfriend, she’d be willing to get to know him better in a carnal sense.


“Spike!”


The Slayer’s voice jolted him out of his somewhat disturbing thoughts. He was really off his game if she’d managed to sneak up on him.


He turned and spotted her coming towards him, weaving around the tombstones separating them. She was barely dressed in cotton pants and a sports bra and she looked hot – both literally and figuratively. He could smell the sweet musk of her sweat, so different from the previous night’s just-finished-an-intense-workout disaster.


“Slayer... didn’t think you’d show,” he drawled.


“Didn’t we do this whole song and dance not forty-eight hours ago?” Buffy asked, clearly irritated with him. It was anyone’s guess as to why, but at least she’d be easy to provoke into attacking him, which could lead to really interesting consequences if he played his cards right.


“Did your Mum make you come out to play with the big, bad vampire again, luv?” Spike couldn’t resist teasing her.


“Ha! Big and bad? I so don’t think so!”


That hurt. Sodding Slayer knew how important his rep was to him. Couldn’t she at least pretend to take him seriously? Oh well, he’d just strike out at her the only way he could – insulting her, or her looks in this case. Birds hated it when their appearance garnered negative comments; he had a century’s worth of experience with Drusilla to back up that truth.


“Go to the gym again, Slayer?” he asked, hoping he looked innocent enough so as not to make her suspicious.


“No... I trained with Giles then hit the books with Xander. Why?”


“You’re drenched in sweat again, pet. You look like a drowned rat,” he pointed out solicitously.


Buffy looked at him with obvious surprise. “Where have you been all day? It’s, like, 100 degrees outside!”


“First of all, I was asleep all day in my cool, cozy crypt. Second – ’m a vampire, love. It could be a good sight hotter outside and I wouldn’ feel a thing,” he pointed out. “But, now that you mention it... ’s hot out here, innit?” Spike asked as he chucked off his duster. “Yeah, it’s hot.”


“How would you know hot? You just finished pointing out that you’re a vampire!”


“Ever been a vampire, pet?” Spike asked.


“Well, aside from that time our nightmares became reality... no, I can’t say that I have.”


“Well, then how would you know if ’m hot or not?” he queried as he fisted the bottom of his t-shirt and started to inch it up over his stomach.


Spike saw and heard her intake of breath at her first glimpse of his abs. “Could you, uh, not do that?”


“Do what?” he asked innocently as he tossed his shirt aside and raised his arms above his head in a stretch. It felt good.


“Uh, take off your clothes? ‘Cause, really, it’s not that hot outside. What’s 100 degrees, really?” Buffy babbled, nervous. Well, wasn’t she the cutest thing?


“Is this bothering your pet?” he asked as he turned his hands to the top button of his jeans. He was still debating how far he’d take this little strip show. Based on the tantalizing scent that hit the air the moment he pushed the button through its hole, he could take it all the way and she wouldn’t protest as hard as she’d like to.


Buffy was looking more and more flustered by the moment. “No, not bothering me at all,” she replied, shaking her head, but her eyes were focused on his hands. “It’s just that I’m a bit jealous.”


“Jealous?”


“Yeah, girls can’t just take off their clothes when it’s hot outside,” she explained, a different, more interesting look crossing her face.


“And why’s that?” he prompted, curious to see where she was going with this.


“Well, it’s not...” she trailed off, her eyes glazing over. He could hear her heartbeat speeding up. This was getting more and more interesting...


“Proper? Seemly? Politically correct?” Spike offered, as he grasped his jeans’ zipper, prepared to pull it down at the first sign that Buffy wouldn’t turn tail and run. The sent of Buffy’s arousal – hell, the sent of Buffy, period – and the effect he was having on her had turned him on to a point that was almost painful; he was dying to release his cock to her hungry gaze.


“Yeah, that last one,” she practically panted.


“Well, kitten, ’m not a politically inclined vamp, so don’ hold back on my account,” he said.


“Guh,” was all Buffy could say.


He took it as the encouragement he assumed she meant it as and slowly began lowering the zipper, keeping his eyes on the top of her blond head as he did so. The minute she raised her eyes to meet his, he’d be ready to gauge her reaction.


But it wasn’t to be the one he expected.



--*--*--



“Spike, stop!” Buffy exclaimed, forcibly pulling herself together in front the incredible display of mouth watering masculinity in front of her.


“Wassat?” Spike asked, mercifully halting his zipper’s descent.


Buffy took a deep breath in a probably futile attempt to calm herself down. “Stop, please,” she repeated softly.


Spike dropped his arms to his side, tilted his head to the side, and looked at her expectantly, probably hoping she’d elaborate. Too bad she was immediately distracted by the, um, view his hands had been blocking – a faint line of wispy light brown hair trailing from his navel to the shadows concealed by the open V of his jeans. Another gush of moisture hit her panties. This is getting ridiculous, she thought.


“Slayer,” Spike began. “Are you really goin’ to deny a hot vamp the chance to cool himself down? That’s a mite heartless of you, innit?” And, damn him, his trademark, sexy smirk chose that moment to make an appearance.


Oh, boy, Buffy gulped. She’d only recently come to terms with the fact that Spike was far from repulsive. And now she had to look at that smirk, combined with a beautiful, sculpted chest, strong, muscled arms, defined abs, and utterly lickable nipples? Life was so not of the fair!


And she was dismayed by her realization that never in a million years could Riley – her boyfriend – ever hope to look that amazing shirtless. This is really, really not good.


Ok, there were three ways to play this.


One: she could turn and run. Tempting, but she’d already attempted that particular scenario two nights ago, to no avail.


Two: she could threaten Spike with imminent stakeage if he didn’t put his shirt back on right frickin’ now. An appealing option, but it presented the major drawback that she’d no longer be able to ogle his gorgeous, nibble-able – ok, so not a word – six-pack.


Three: she could say ‘what the hell’ with boyfriends, responsibilities, morals, and normal Slayer/vampire relationships and do what she wanted. After all, it was incredibly hot in the cemetery. And a comfortable Slayer was an effective Slayer.


Really, option three was ultimately selected for the greater good of mankind.


Her choice made, Buffy brought her hands to the drawstring tied in a bow at the front of her pants. She also sent a quick prayer of thanks that she’d opted not to wear a thong.


“Not heartless, Spike. I think it was heartless of you to assume that you were the only one who wanted to cool off.” She thoroughly enjoyed the way his pupils seemed to dilate as his gaze was drawn to her fingers. Done with the drawstring, she hooked her thumbs on the waist of her pants and drew them down until the top of her black cotton panties was visible. “Unless you’d rather I didn’t take off my pants?” she teased him.


When he didn’t respond and only continued staring at her, she felt her first twinge of unease. Had she misread him? Was he honestly just bothered by the heat, no matter how unlikely it was that he could even feel it? Was he just teasing her to see how far she’d go? Was she making a complete ass out of herself?


At that moment, Spike dragged his beautiful blues up from her midriff to meet her eyes. “Huh?” he managed before dropping his gaze back down.


Ok, so he wasn’t teasing, and he obviously wanted her to go on. How had she come to this, she couldn’t help but wonder. Stripping her pants off in a graveyard in front of her mortal enemy – if that’s even what Spike still was – was not normal Buffy behavior.


Of course, she could always reflect upon it tomorrow.


She pushed her pants down and let them pool at her feet before daintily stepping out of them. As Spike’s gaze ran appraisingly down her legs, and then back up again, she fought the impulse to cross her arms defensively over her breasts. She was now dressed in nothing but her panties and sports bra – it was weird to feel so naked when she was basically more dressed than when she sunbathed in the backyard in her little red bikini.


But Spike had no way of knowing that, and it was enough to make her nervous.


“Well, Slayer, what next?” Spike was once again staring at her face. She thought she noticed a twinge of wistfulness in his expression, but she chose to ignore it. If need be, she’d add it to her list of things to think of tomorrow.


Ugh, enough of the ‘Slayer’ crap. “Spike, we’re standing half naked together in a cemetery... do you think maybe at this point you could call me by my name?”


“Ok then, Buffy, what next?” he repeated.


Good question. Sparring again would be amazing, but there was no way in hell she was getting so close to him and his barely zipped jeans. He looked too tempting in the moonlight to risk it. But she needed to release her energy somehow, and they’d been chatting-slash-stripping in Restfield for long enough to attract the attention of any potential foe looking for a fight.


No sparring, no fighting, no killing. That left the choice behind door number four: running.


“Let’s see if a vampire is faster than the Slayer... I’ll race you to Shady Rest. That is, if you’re not afraid of being beaten by a girl,” she taunted him, well used to Riley’s quiet annoyance at her strength and stamina.


But Spike only looked intrigued. “Interestin’ proposition, pet. And what would the winner get? ’Cause if you want me to race you, you gotta make it worth my while,” he taunted back, running his hand down his chest and hooking his thumb through a belt loop, making the open V of his jeans wider and giving her an even more tantalizing glimpse of that sexy line of hair where it met the nest of brown curls now peeking out from his pants...


“A kiss,” she blurted out.


“A kiss,” he repeated, quirking that dashing scarred eyebrow at her. “That’s mighty presumptuous of you, don’ you think?”


Eep. What the hell was wrong with her mouth tonight? It must be the heat, she tried to convince herself. She would never, ever, suggest such a thing if her brain wasn’t overheating in the 100 degrees weather.


So instead of answering, she spun on her heels and took off at a dead run towards Restfield’s gate.


And allowed herself a small smile when she heard him take off after her



TBC...



A/N: Yes, I know it’s weird that Spike and Buffy will essentially be dashing through town nearly naked. I guess they’re all lusty and just aren’t thinking straight!

 
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