"I am not sharing a bed with you!"
Buffy glared at the lump under the comforter.
"Fine," said the lump. "You can sleep on the floor, then."
"Fine," Buffy echoed, contemplating whether to accuse the lump of ungentlemanly behaviour (pointless, the lump being Spike), or simply to grab it by the scruff of the neck and evict it from the bed by force.
Or maybe both.
While contemplating, she surveyed their surroundings, which weren't promising. Okay, as snow holes went, it had a lot going for it by virtue of having a bed in the first place (Buffy suspected Willow's input), but there wasn't room for anyone to sleep on the floor, not even a short annoying bleach-blond. No convenient chairs to exile him to either.
Okay, she could make him sleep outside, but so far it hadn't stopped snowing once since they'd arrived in this dimension, in quest of the magical doohickey that Giles insisted would prevent the next apocalypse.
If Spike was going to be any use in the fight against the aforementioned doohickey's demon guardians, Buffy didn't want to have to waste time digging him out of a snowdrift, or thawing him out, like some kind of blood-flavoured undead popsicle.
Suddenly, the lump sat up.
"Stop being so bloody loud, Slayer. Can't you see I'm trying to sleep?"
"Huh?" Buffy gaped at him in surprise. "What do you mean loud? I didn't say anything."
Spike just glared at her. "Didn't have to. You're shiverin' loud enough to wake the dead, ie. yours truly."
Buffy tore her gaze (with more difficulty than she'd ever admit) from his mop of mussed-up curls (soo much more attractive than the helmet-hair he usually sported) and looked down at herself. She was shivering, it was true. In fact, she was shivering so much her whole body was beginning to shake. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop the involuntary movement, but that seemed to make it worse.
"Now your teeth are chattering," Spike said, in an accusing tone. "Bloody stop it, can't you?"
Buffy glared back at him. "I'm not doing it on purpose, and no, I 'bloody' can't stop it. If you were any kind of gentleman, Spike, you'd get out of that bed and let me have it instead."
Spike's eyes narrowed. "No. Way. In. Hell."
Buffy rolled her shoulders - which wouldn't stop shaking, dammit! - but before she could grab any annoying vampire scruffs, Spike muttered, "Oh, for....", flung back the comforter, patted the empty side of the bed, then held his hands up in surrender.
"Look, Slayer, just come and lie down. I promise not to touch you, all right? On my honour as an evil soulless monster."
"Er..." Buffy began, because parts of that sentence sounded...off somehow? But Spike interrupted her.
"We're supposed to work together on this mission, remember? Saving the world and all that white hat bollocks, even if some of us are doing it because we're strapped for cash. That being so, you should know that vampires are very sensitive to cold, on account of only being room temperature, and if we get too chilled, we hibernate and are no bloody use to anyone."
"Hibernate?" Buffy echoed, drawing her coat closer around her.
"Yeah," Spike said, the definite hint of a smirk on his face, "like squirrels, only not so sodding fluffy."
When she still didn't move, he rolled his eyes, reached down to the floor and produced a sword, which Buffy knew for a fact (because she'd sharpened it herself) was very sharp indeed.
"If it makes you feel any better, I'll put this between us, all right? That Sir Galahad enough for you?"
Buffy wasn't sure she approved of the idea of deadly weapons in beds. On the other hand, she was freezing, and that comforter looked awfully inviting.
"All right," she said, at last. "But keep your hands to yourself, Mister, if you don't wanna lose 'em."
Spike just rolled his eyes again. "Like I'd ever cop a feel of you, Slayer. Vampire here. Havin' to share a bed with a Slayer is like...like sharin' it with...with the last thing in the world you wanna share a bed with. I'm doin' this under protest."
Was it Buffy's imagination, or did he look extra-flustered suddenly?
She shrugged inwardly. Put it down to vampire=weird.
"Well, good." Buffy lay down next to him and pulled the comforter up to her chin. "And just so we're clear, me too."
"Glad we got that settled." Spike's voice was now unnervingly close to her ear.
"Me too," Buffy said again. Turning onto her side, facing away from him, she rolled herself into a tight ball. "Get some sleep."
There was blissful silence for all of two minutes. Then Spike said, "You'd better not snore, that's all."
Buffy sighed. Something told her it was going to be a long night.
"Guess you're soon gonna find out."
There was further silence. She felt the mattress dip as Spike rolled over in turn. Suspicion prickled down her spine. Was he staring at her butt? Why had she worn these pants?
More silence. Buffy was feeling sleepy by this time, plus a lot warmer, so when an odd sort of vibration started up in the bed, accompanied by some drafts of cold air wafting under the comforter. she ignored it. But after a while, the vibration grew more intense, building and building, until the whole bed was shaking. Then, Spike moaned aloud.
Oh my God! Buffy sat up all in a rush. "What the hell are you doing?"
Spike had his eyes shut. He didn't respond, except to let out a tell-tale gasp and go all limp.
"You...you..."Buffy was lost for words. "You're a pig, Spike. You're...you're disgusting. You gave me your word of honour."
At this, one blue eye cracked open, gleeful and wicked. Spike smirked at her.
"An I kept it, Slayer. Promised I wouldn't touch you. Don't remember sayin' anything 'bout not touching myself."