Work Text:
"Slayer."
Silence.
"Slayer?"
Sigh.
"I know you're up there."
"What?"
"I need a 3-letter word, starts with S, ends with X—"
"Oh, my God, Spike! We made out while we were faux-engaged – so what? It's not like I ever think about you, you know, like that. You so need to get over your fevered little daydreams. Because, and let me be plain here, we are not having sex. EVER."
Spike sat up on the couch, raised an eyebrow, and indicated the paper. "Crossword, Slayer. American sports team, 3 letters, starts with S, ends with X. The Boston Red Sex?"
*
Bloody hell.
She'd been thinking about having sex with him.
He'd thought about it, of course. That engagement groping left a rather significant impression.
Her voice jolted him out of his reverie.
"What?"
"Hello – I called your name, like, 3 times."
She'd what? "You what?"
"Called your name." Buffy's eyes narrowed. "In a purely single-entendre sense. To tell you to stop thinking about...it."
He scoffed. "I'm actually thinking of a word. Seven letters, starts with an S. 'Quiet; soundless.'"
"Try 'silence.' For you and the puzzle."
They passed the rest of afternoon soundlessly, although their minds weren't exactly quiet.