Buffy was sprawled on her bed. She couldn't move a muscle. Breathing was making her sweat. Thinkingabout breathing was making her sweat. Sweating was making her sweat.

The temperature over the last week had jumped from a summery 78 Fahrenheit, to a blistering 110. Buffy had seen some hot weather living in California, but they were verging on eclipsing the hottest temperature ever recorded.

She had made herself a smoothie, hoping to stave off some of the heat that was burning her up. Three bananas and a cup of ice later, it was sitting next to her bed, moisture condensing and rolling down the sides. She just didn't have the energy to move and drink it.

This whole problem had started when their air conditioner broke. Buffy hadn't worried at first, because that was before the whole heat wave problem. In fact, she hadn't even bothered getting it fixed. By the time the temperature was climbing into the hundreds, it was too late. The repair company said they were backed up for at least another week.

Buffy didn't think she had another week. If she had to wait that long she might turn into a puddle of…ew. She didn't want to go there. Why couldn't she stop sweating?

There were no options left, barring an ice bath, and she had thought seriously about that. She was stripped down to her underwear, even shorts and a tank top had been too hot. It was high noon, sunlight warming her bedroom through the windows, making it feel something like an oven.

The phone started ringing. Buffy reached her hand out lethargically to answer it. "Hm?" she said by way of doing so.

"Buffy." It was Giles. "Will you be patrolling tonight?"

"I don't think I can move to get from here to my kitchen at this point, let alone go to the cemetery and look for vamps that should be dying of the heat like everyone else."

"I thought you might say that." Giles sighed. "Very well. Take the night off."

"The night? Try the week. This isn't supposed to pass for at least that long."

"Fine, fine. At least patrol sometime this week."

"Sometime. Bye, Giles." Buffy hung up before he could argue.

Where can I go? Buffy thought. None of her friends had air conditioning either, and no doubt they were also trying to brave the heat in their own pathetic attempts. Willow might have a spell, Giles would probably go to a library, and Xander at least had a basement. She supposed she could go to Xander's if she really wanted to—a basement would be cooler than her room, but Anya was probably there too, and she wouldn't be in a good mood, what with it being too hot for sex.

No, there was nowhere good to go.

Didn't she have any other friends? Friends with pools or air conditioning?

There's one. She could go to one of the coolest places in Sunnydale, where there was no sun, and another bed for her to sprawl on. Maybe a cold drink, if the only inhabitant was in a good mood.

Yes, Spike's crypt would be perfect in this weather. But it was also very off-limits. But why? Won't Spike understand? It's hot and he can deal with some slayerness, right? With a groan, Buffy rolled off the bed. That was it. She was too hot to care anymore.

She pulled on her white tank top and a pair of pink short shorts. Any more clothes and she was fairly sure she would die.

Buffy walked to the cemetery in the blazing heat. It radiated off the sidewalks and burned her skin. It was ten times worse than being in her room. She wanted to move faster to get away from it, but moving was getting harder with every step.

Finally she made it to the cemetery. There was some shade there from the trees, and she quickened her step when she saw the tomb. Some respite from the sun, and she might be able to relax.

She pushed the door open, having decided to skip the usual kicking. Not only did she not have the energy, but she didn't think Spike would be very inclined to let her stay if she did.

But when she got inside she didn't see Spike anywhere. "Spike?" she called. He didn't make an appearance.

Thinking he might be on the lower level, she went down the ladder. The temperature dropped noticeably as she went lower, and it was pleasantly cool downstairs compared to outside, even though it was still warmer than Sunnydale usually was.

Spike wasn't there either. But she did see a big, inviting-looking bed…

Surely he wouldn't mind? Buffy bounded over to the huge bed, covered in satin sheets, and dove into it. It was deliciously cool, and waaay better than her bed. It was like sinking into fresh water, with the cloth yielding under her, and it was so soft.

Buffy lay on it, staring at the ceiling. Just for a little while, she thought. Then she could leave. Or…go upstairs and wait for Spike until nightfall. Or stay down here. Wouldn't hurt.

With that decision she lay bad and closed her eyes…

for a little while.

Buffy woke up a few hours later, twisted in the sheets, and nearly as hot as she had been in her own room. Somehow she had gotten buried under the covers and was sweating really bad.

Desperately, she unwrapped the sheets, trying to get some breathing room, but it didn't help much. She wiped the sweat off her forehead and pulled her hair away from her neck. She was breathing hard, compared to the gentle rest she had enjoyed for those few hours.

And Spike still wasn't there. She knew that if he did come back, he would have woken her up.

She knew it couldn't be dark yet, but she didn't want to leave.

Lying back she surveyed her options. She could go back to sleep for a few more hours and then go upstairs and wait where Spike wouldn't care if she was making use of his furniture

Buffy tried to get comfortable again, but she was still sweating. Her tank top was soaked through.

It's only for another couple hours. He'll never even see. With that encouraging thought, Buffy wrestled with the tank top and pulled it over her head. It felt amazing to be free of it, only in her bra. Might as well take the shorts off as well. She shimmied out of them.

It was a little risky, but she really couldn't stand the heat if she didn't. And she would wake up in an hour or so and put them back on. Spike would never see a thing.

With that she sighed in relief and moved to a cooler part of the bed. It smelled amazing, like something she thought was familiar but couldn't put a finger on. Shrugging, she buried her head in the pillow and drifted off, feeling contented.

Spike ran through the door to his crypt, his jacket covering him. It was still smoking, a great cloud of it coming off in acrid billows. Once he was inside, he flung it away, and stripped off his shirt as well. It was bloody hot, even for a vampire, and he couldn't wait to get a cold beer and lay on his bed on the lower level, drinking and cooling off.

He had gotten stuck at Willy's for most of the day. Unfortunately, the game of poker he had been playing the night before went long, and before he knew it dawn had come and he was stuck inside. By the time the game was over, he was down ten kittens and it was high noon. Even he didn't want to go out when the sun was blazing in the middle of the sky.

So he had waited a few hours. It still wasn't dark, but it was late enough in the afternoon that he had been able to make. And it was still hot as hell. He knew, because one of the demons he'd been playing poker with had been to a hell dimension, and said it might be even hotter in Sunnydale.

He grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and took a long pull. It was perfect. Ice cold, it slid down his throat, cooling down his insides at least.

After drinking down half of it, he unzipped his pants, loosened them, and climbed down the ladder, looking expectantly at his huge, comfortable, luxurious bed…

And blinked. It appeared to be occupied.

He tensed up and walked to the other side, his side. That was where he slept! Not even the common courtesy to sleep on the side that was usually free.

When he saw who it was, Spike thought he must be dreaming. Lying on his bed was Buffy.

Not only that, but she wasn't wearing much. Just a delectable black panty set, that looked very lacy and fragile. Spike would wager that it wouldn't take much to tear that off…

He shook his head. Not only would Buffy kill him if he did that, she would kill him for thinking that.

Her hair was adorable as well. Instead of the usual glossy shampoo commercial perfection it was messy and all over the place, the definition of bed head. She looked like she'd just had a good shag, complete with the sweat glossing her body.

"Bloody hell." He ran his hands through his hair and pulled his pants up more, self consciously zipping them. What was he supposed to do with a half-naked Slayer in his bed? Wake her up?

Despite the obvious consequences, it was Buffy' own fault she had come. She could deal with him waking her up. She'll deal with it by punching me in the nose. Even though he knew she would most likely use this opportunity to beat him up yet again, he had hope that she wouldn't. Maybe it was too hot for her to move that much. After all, she had come to his crypt out of desperation. If that was how hot she was, she couldn't have the energy to hit him. Much.

He reached out a tentative hand. She looked so peaceful—not to mention incredibly sexy—that he didn't want to wake her.

And he couldn't help but notice that she had her face on the pillow that he slept on every day. Even as he watched, she pushed her face closer into it, and inhaled, smiling. This has to be a dream. It was too good to be true.

And it was getting him really hot.

His hand rested on her shoulder. It was burning. Even though she didn't wake up, Buffy moaned a little and pushed into his hand. He could feel her cooling down just from his touch.

"Slayer," he hissed, shaking her slightly. "Slayer!"

Buffy woke with a start, nearly falling off the bed. She would have if he hadn't caught her. "What—oh crap!" she said, and pushed him away once she found her footing. "I was…" she looked down and gave a little scream. "Give me my—oh my god," she managed and started scrambling for her clothes. She grabbed her shorts and tank top and looked at them sadly. She really didn't want to wear them…it was still boiling…

"Need some help, luv?" Spike was trying not to laugh at Buffy's obvious confusion and indecision.

"No! I don't need help putting my clothes on! I just…it's really hot." Buffy tried to stand normally and act casual. In her underwear. Not, she was finding, an easy feat.

"That it is, pet. Care for a drink?" Spike held up his cold beer.

Usually I try to stay away from the stuff, thought Buffy, but I'll make an exception.

"Yes, please," she said gratefully. "But stop staring at me! When you come back down I'm going to be fully clothed."

Spike didn't answer her. Instead, he ducked his head and went back up. Slayer wasn't going to leave any time soon, especially with the sun still in the sky.

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief as Spike disappeared and resumed her debate of whether or not to put on her clothing. On the one hand, it was Spike and he would want to see her in any state of undress. But it's basically like a swimsuit, right? Big deal, guys see me in a swimsuit all the time. I guess Spike wouldn't because he can't go out in the sun but…no! Clothes, now! She unhappily pulled on her shorts and tank just as Spike reappeared.

Buffy gratefully accepted the beer he offered. Before she knew it she had downed two thirds of it.

"Thirsty?" he asked jokingly.

"Um. Yeah. Thanks," Buffy said. "I'm going to…leave," she said regretfully. "I really should go."

"No," Spike said. He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him, not enough to make an impact under usual circumstances, but this wasn't normal.

Instead of flipping him on his ass, or pulling away as he expected her to, Buffy moaned and leaned into him. "God that feels so good…you're so cold."

Before he knew it, Buffy was right up against his bare chest, pressing her face against him. She was hot—in more than one way, but the way that came to mind now was in the searing warmth coming off her skin that faded with every second she stayed next to him.

"Want to move this to the bed, pet?" he asked, holding his breath at what she would say. She was either going to come to her senses or get even closer.

She nodded, and pulled him by his pants loop to the bed. With a display of the last reserves of her strength, she pulled him fully on top of her.

"Don't want to crush you, luv," Spike said, moving off her, but Buffy pulled him back on top.

"No, stay there."

"Erm, I'd feel a lot better if you weren't just lying there. How 'bout us switchin' positions?"

Buffy rolled her eyes—she hated it when people treated her like a breakable girl—and rolled over, putting him under her. Without thinking, she pulled his jeans off while he was in a vulnerable position, and gave a shocked gasp when she realized that Spike didn't wear underwear.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said awkwardly, trying to pull them back up.

"No…" Buffy said slowly, "it's fine…" really fine. "If anything I should take some more off too."

Spike watched in awe as she stripped back down to the underwear he had walked in on her wearing.

"You know," she said, laying herself completely on top of Spike, "this is the first time I've felt cool since this heat wave started."

"Is that so?" he asked, smirking. "Any way we could have a heat wave of our own when the sun goes down?"

"Maybe," Buffy said with a coy smile. "But for now I'm going to enjoy the portable refrigerator underneath me," she traced a hand down his stomach, "and let you anticipate the next heat wave."

Hope you liked, please review, it makes me happy when I'm dying in the heat! Also, if anyone wants to write a smuttier version of this, I'm up for hearing about it, message me if you're interested.