Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, I’ve never been to this dream-resort in Colorado, though that WOULD be cool, and any and all medical attention is made up and should not be used without recommendation from a PROPER doctor with a REAL license. But you still shouldn’t drink and/or fuck in a sauna.
Dedication: To Jilla, for offering to be my surrogate plot-bunny biting ass. Thank you, dearie, for letting the bunnies latch onto YOUR ass, so I won’t get any more infections and/or scarring. To Mad Poetess, because I was rereading some of your fic between paragraphs, which inspired me to try and be funny during sex at 2:30 a.m.
Author’s Notes: See that last thing? 2:30 a.m.? Blame that for the following. That, and Jilla. I’m…really, really, REALLY sorry. Author’s Notes 2: To all the Americans who are uncharacteristically snowed in, and to all the Canadians who are characteristically snowed in, and to everyone else who’s snowed in, as well as to everyone who isn’t snowed in. That about covers my bases, doesn’t it?

They Might Have To Cut Off My WHAT??

Robin the Crossover Junkie

Have you ever sat in an outdoor hot tub and then jumped in a snow bank and fucked like rabbits? I have, but only because Spike promised to never take his tongue out of my ass. He lied, though, because he replaced it with his cock when we were in the snow bank. The undead bastard. I was perfectly happy in the hot tub.

But Spike said the experience would be incredibly erotic for those of us with a body temperature. Like the original gullible Scooby, I believed him, of course. By erotic, he apparently meant “horribly fucking cold”. Ass stinging (but not in a happy spanking way) and balls retreating into your fucking throat kind of cold.

But Spike gets what Spike wants, especially when he coerces me into stupid, stupid activities by asking me to do what he wants at times when I can’t be expected to think coherently.

Like, there was the time he got me to fuck him on the roof of Buffy’s house by asking me to do so after he had duct taped a vibrator in the on position inside my ass, and then we fell off the roof onto the front yard, just as Dawn’s date was dropping her off, and Buffy was at the door with Willow, interrogating the poor kid. And let’s not forget the time he strapped me to the bed and rode my cock for an hour, and just before he finally let me come, he asked me to wear a remote controlled vibrating butt plug to which he had the only control. And collected on that promise the day of Dawn’s graduation ceremony, at which she was valedictorian. I think the rest of the crowd was very intrigued at the depth of my reaction to her section on school banner art.

But I digress. Spike had lured me to the Something-or-other Resort in Colorado for some serious “Us” time, promising nothing but fucking, eating, playing in the snow, fucking, hot chocolate, and fucking. And I thought, Hey, a four-day weekend with my very sexy vampire and his nonexistent recovery time, and quite possibly a pair of leather chaps? Sign me up.

That was my first mistake.

My second mistake was forgetting to pack the leather chaps.

My third mistake was renting a snowmobile while my not-big-with-the-tanning lover took a nap in the hotel room, and coming back to the room with cold fingers and toes.

My fourth mistake was dating someone who didn’t have to breathe, and therefore could go underwater in the hot tub and put his tongue in my ass for any length of time.

My fifth mistake was letting him come up to talk to me while his fingers took over the task.

“Feel good, pet?” he rumbled in that fuck-me-sideways-and-call-me-Prudence baritone of his.

“Gyuh,” was my articulate reply.

“Wanna try something new?” he continued with a leer. My eyes rolled back in my head, and I stared up at the night sky.

“Gyuh,” I elaborated.

“Ever fucked in a snow bank?”

“Myrpl,” I tried, since my previous statements didn’t seem to be getting through to him.

“Think how it’d feel…all your hot skin, all that icy tingling as you get your ass pounded, my big, thick cock stretching you, filling you, owning you…” he whispered into my ear, his fingers going deeper and faster.

“Gyuh.” We were back to the lower brain functions, apparently.

“Erotic, pet. The feel of it, the contrast…purely erotic.”

I hissed through my teeth as he managed to slip another finger inside me. “Wanna?”

“Noooooooooo,” I moaned, finally gripping onto the few brain cells I had left and holding on tight.

“If you do, Xan, I promise I’ll never take my tongue out of your ass again,” he murmured before diving back under the water and slipping his cool, wet tongue inside me.

“Oh, God, yes!” I cried.

That was my sixth mistake. Vampires, while not having to breathe, get to hear extra well. He heard me, of course, and promptly removed his tongue from my hole, lifted me up and carried me out of the hot tub, straight into the pile of snow not ten feet from the heat. Ten feed was enough, and I grunted in protest.

“It’ll be good, Xan. Trust me,” he grinned lecherously. That’s one mistake I make all the time, so I decided to throw caution to the blisteringly cold wind and make it again. Big. Mistake.

The second my warm, reddened feet hit the snow, I yelped. Of course, he already had me on my back when the sound came out, and covered me with his water-warmed body, his tongue in my mouth and his hand on my dick. The cold air and shock of ice on the entire back of my body didn’t diminish my erection, of course, because I was with Spike, and just knowing he’s across a room has me painfully, achingly, desperately hard.

“Jesus!” I cried, squirming to get away from the frozen snow.

“Gonna fuck you so hard,” he whispered, pulling my legs up around his waist and sliding into my finger-and-tongue stretched, wet hole. I moaned, despite the pain I was now feeling from the icy cold. He started thrusting right away, and I whimpered as the head of his cock pounded into my prostate, his hand wrapped around my own cock and stroking double-time.

“Fuck!” I cried as his thrusts sped up, and he wasn’t just pounding into me, he was…doing something harder and faster than pounding. There was no way to describe it, since the few remaining brain cells I had been holding onto so dearly had slipped out the back way without so much as a glance in the direction of the bouncer around the time Spike breached my not-unwilling body.

He was jack-hammering into me, grunting loudly with each plunge. “Spike!” I cried out as he began to rotate his hips in a wide circle, rubbing his cock against my inner walls with intense friction on each thrust.

Suddenly, the cold wasn’t so bad. My skin numbed to the temperature change, and all I could feel was Spike, in me, owning me, claiming me, and fisting my cock.

“Say it,” I hissed out, and a moment of surprise and pleasure flipped across my demonic lover’s bliss-twisted face at the command, because it wasn’t something I asked for often. Once in a while, when he was fucking me particularly hard, he’d say it, and it never, ever, ever failed to make me come like a damned geyser.

“Take it, Xan, take it all,” he whispered roughly after a small hesitation, and my cock exploded in his grip, my walls tightening around him like a vise, and his eyes flashed yellow as he matched my scream with one of his own and I felt slick liquid shoot inside me powerfully, and everything was boneless, not-so-sweaty-and-hot pleasure.

As soon as one of my brain cells regenerated, I yelped again and pushed him off me, jumping out of the snow, trying to wiggle some feeling back into my extremities. Spike landed hard on his own ass, which wasn’t nearly as cold as I was, and let out a yelp at the sudden contact with all that powder-white snow.

Even my dick was cold.

That was a bad thing.

“Cold! Cold!” I yelped, my voice at least three octaves closer to Dawn-in-a-screaming-fit range and well out of manly-carpenter-who-happens-to-like-vampire-cock range. I was jumping, bouncing in the snow, trying to not let my feet touch it as I headed back toward the hot tub, the lukewarm cum dribbling out of me and down my thighs, and feeling more like burning-hot-oil to my frozen skin.

I was almost at the tub when I heard him. “Don’t get in!” Spike cried, running up beside me and grabbing my arm.

“Fuck you, don’t get in! I’m cold!” I cried.

“It’ll burn, pet, like pins and needles in your toes,” Spike replied, rolling his eyes.

“Then how do you suggest I return any and all feeling to my dick?” I ground out through chattering teeth.

“Er…sauna,” he said suddenly, dragging me toward the very, very small private sauna just inside the room.

The warmth seeped in, and though it felt like my skin was burning, it wasn’t nearly as awful as I knew the hot water would have felt. I clenched my teeth against it and let the heat start to return the feeling into my dick, and leaned against the warm wood of the walls. It was dark, it was moist, but best of all, it was warm.

“Remind me never to let you talk when I’m horny again,” I growled at him with a glare, and Spike shrugged unapologetically.

“Funny, pet, you seemed to be having a pretty good time,” he replied glibly. I wanted to smack him. Wait, since when did I ever resist that urge.

My hand back on my thigh after having satisfyingly loud palm contact with the back of his yellow head, I glared at him again.

Spike rolled his eyes, rubbing his noggin ineffectually and unnecessarily, and stood. “Fine. I’ll make it better.” He left the sauna, and I leaned back, closing my eyes and basking in the heat and sexual afterglowy brainlessness that was finally making an appearance after my frantic racing from the snow bank that now held an icy-looking imprint of my ass.

Still very naked, Spike came back with two oversized mugs a few minutes later. He handed me one, and I sipped at the very, very potently whiskey-laced hot chocolate. He took a large gulp of his own, and somehow I just knew that he probably had twice as much alcohol in his, which was fine because technically we weren’t supposed to be drinking alcohol in the sauna. I pointedly ignored the sign on the wall of the sauna, proclaiming that extreme exertion, extended exposure, or consumption of alcohol not recommended, and therefore prohibited in the resort’s sauna facilities.

Mistake number…seven or eight. Or possibly four-hundred and thirty-six.

We sat in the heat for a long while, with Spike periodically refilling our mugs with more whiskey than cocoa, until Spike was leering again, and I was dopily blinking unfocused eyes in his direction and marveling that even though I still couldn’t feel my dick, it was hard and getting harder with every passing moment of staring at my very, very sexy lover.

Spike sidled closer to me and kissed me, and I let my mouth mesh wetly with his. A little more than a little drunk, turned on, and warm, I let Spike push me down onto my back and straddle my hips, moaning as his hands roamed over my skin, which I could happily feel again, since his hands were so talented.

His mouth was all over me, and I gladly turned over onto my stomach as his hands gently coaxed me to. He slid inside my hole, still slick and stretched from our earlier activities, and began thrusting, moaning erotically in my ear.

I pounded my hips back in time, catching the rhythm almost immediately despite my inebriation, gasping soundlessly and repeatedly as he gripped my hips harder and continued to thrust and thrust.

I groaned when he began suckling the nape of my neck, and when I felt his fangs pierce my flesh, I let out a wail and, despite still not really being able to feel my dick, came, shuddering. Spike thrust deeper in, his arms wrapped around my chest and bowing me backwards with him as he came, shooting his load deep inside me for the second time an indeterminate, but not particularly short, amount of time. And then I blacked out.

When I woke up, Spike was kneeling beside me, and I was in bed. He was looking down at my groin, his brows furrowed in a disconcertingly worried manner, and I could see his shoulder moving every once in a while. I brought my throbbing, dehydrated head up a little higher and saw why. His hand was mostly in a fist, though his index finger was poking straight out. And poking, rhythmically, at my dick. Which, unlike the pounding in my head, I couldn’t feel.

“Uh…Spike?” Spike glanced up at me, his eyes guilty and confused, with a trace of worry.


“Why can’t I feel you touching my dick?”


“Spike?” My voice held a tone of warning, and just a touch of panic. And by touch, of course, I mean the kind of panic Willow displayed the time we fell off Buffy’s roof and she knew Buffy didn’t know Spike and I were fucking yet. And the kind of panic Spike displayed when Buffy came after him with a section of railing from the porch when Dawn and her date rushed inside.

“S’okay, Xan, we’ll just…call a doctor…might’ve got a little frostbite, or something, and it shouldn’t be too bad to fix, and they shouldn’t have to…”

Spike stopped, his eyes screaming “deer, headlights, bugger and fuck”. “Shouldn’t have to what?” I asked, sitting up completely and instantly regretting it.

“Just saying, bloody humans, all fragile and shit, they might…they might…they might have to…cut it off.” It was mumbled, but I understood every word. He was up and across the room, showing just who was manlier in the “fight or flight” portion of the day’s Spike and Xander Pageant preliminaries.

“They might have to cut off my WHAT?!” I screamed, leaping from the bed, headache suddenly forgotten in favor of justifiable death and dismemberment of the one who had put me in such a predicament. “This is all your fault! ‘Let’s fuck in the snow,’ you said! ‘Let’s put the fragile, mortal, human in the snow bank and watch his parts fall off,’ you said!” I shouted.

“Didn’t think we were there that long,” he wheedled, backing away a little faster than I was advancing. “I thought you’d be fine, and then we were in the sauna and it shouldn’t have mattered!” he cried, even as I continued to glare and search for a pointy wooden weapon.

“I don’t care what you thought! Make it better!” I was hysterical, and my voice wasn’t even close to Dawn-in-a-screaming-fit, it was way past Willow-walking-in-on-a-very-kinky-bondage-tableau-and-seeing-me-scream-for-Spike-to-hurt-me-a-little-harder and up into an Oh-my-God-Little-XanMan-is-gonna-turn-black-and-shrivel-off shriek of total mind numbing fear.

“Okay, pet, okay, we’ll just…we just have to get the feeling back in it…” Spike said, panicking a little on his own and surpassing the Giles-doesn’t-want-to-know-why-we-want-the-handcuffs vocal range, and trying very unsuccessfully to calm me down.

“How do you suggest we do that?!”

“Er…” Spike replied helpfully, and it took every ounce of willpower in me not to break a chair and use the leg to rid myself of the imminently shaggable bane of my existence. “Call a doctor?” he finally suggested. This time he had to skirt around the desk and look real pretty in order to keep me from breaking a chair.

An hour later, the stout, balding doctor was doing his best not to laugh as he instructed a beyond mortified me to use warm compresses on Little XanMan until the feeling returned. He promised that the condition was not permanent, and Little XanMan would not become a detachable ornament to entertain for endless hours at dinner parties, therefore ensuring that my delectably contrite vampire would not have to die a painful and drawn-out death today. He left, and I could hear him laughing in the hall, so I glared at Spike and held the warm compress against my groin and thought of all the magnificently diabolical tortures I could get Angel to teach me so I could Make. Spike. Pay.

I’d gone through any and all torture scenarios in my head briefly, and was working on acts of contrition when I felt it. Little XanMan was starting, finally, to tingle. Spike was sitting in the corner, smoking and looking guilty and pensive when I breathed a loud sigh of relief.

“What?” he asked anxiously.

“It’s tingling.”

“The feeling’s coming back?” Spike asked hopefully.

“A little.” I was still pissed, though. I could have lost my dick!

“Can I help?”

“Never ask me to fuck in the snow again?” I replied sarcastically.

“Meant, can I help you warm it up?”

I sighed. The utter lack of snarky response just proved to me that not only did Spike feel apologetic, but he felt very bad for putting me in such a predicament in the first place. I decided, in a striking moment of magnanimous generosity, to allow him to start making it up to me.

“You can get me a warmer compress,” I sighed reluctantly, and Spike jumped up and headed to the kitchen to get one. However, he came back without it. “Where’s my compress?”

He raised his hand, which held a mug of steaming hot, deducible from the smell, coffee, and grinned. “Better idea, luv,” he said.

“You aren’t pouring hot coffee on my lap.”

“No.” Spike lifted the mug to his lips and took a large mouthful. He waited a full thirty seconds before swallowing, then did it again, and grinned before downing the rest of the cup and prowling toward the bed.

I raised an eyebrow at him, but allowed him to lift my hand, holding the cooling compress, from my groin, and quickly engulf my tingling penis in his mouth.

The heat was startling, and he swallowed me down to the root, then held me there. I could see his cheeks caving in as he applied light suction, and the fleeting thought that he was drawing the blood to the surface was a helpful and really, really good thing entered my mind before flipping off the not-so-observant bouncer and skipping merrily on its way.

Not only was the feeling beginning to return, but I could both see and feel that my cock was growing hard at Spike’s ministrations. The sensation was odd, as I could only just barely feel his hot mouth on me, but my arousal was genuine, and the skin of my dick tingled in a disconcerting mix of pleasure and pain.

Spike continued to suck, and I continued to enjoy it. He lifted his mouth away, and before I could protest, downed another mouthful of the coffee and returned, the heat seeping in and making me jolt with pleasure.

Spike’s cheeks caved in a little more, and he began to moan appreciatively around my cock. I moaned in response, my hips twitching to thrust into his mouth. All the while, my cock tingled almost-painfully, which only added to the bliss of the experience. This was so much better than a warm compress.

Spike’s fingers wormed their way between my thighs and began playing at my puckered entrance, but not entering. I groaned and tried to pull his hand closer, get some part of him inside me, and I was not disappointed. Spike let two fingers push inside, and I gasped, and could feel my tingling dick twitch inside his mouth. He groaned around me, and suddenly I was shuddering, forgetting the tingling, the pain, the anger in a rush of orgasm.

Through heavy-lidded eyes, I watched Spike lick his lips and chastely kiss the head of my cock before smiling at me and sitting up. “Better, pet?” he asked.

“I can feel it, now, if that’s what you’re asking. But you are so not off the hook.”

“Gonna make me pay?” Spike asked, his voice low, dangerous, and sultry.

I groaned again. Little XanMan may have been functioning normally again, but he wasn’t even willing to be optimistic about such endeavors just yet.

“Gimme half an hour, and we’ll see,” I replied sleepily. “For now, I’m taking a nap.” I rolled over and closed my eyes, smiling as visions of repentant blonde vampires showed abnormally high levels of penitence.

The End

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