Buff-y, the Vampire Slayer

“NO way, Chief.” Jim sat on the edge of the bed, his arms folded across his bare chest.

“Aw, c’mon Jim,” Blair pleaded, “be Buffy for me.” He crawled up behind his big lover, wrapping his arms around Jim from behind. “‘cuz you are, you know,” Blair murmured, running his fingers lightly over Jim’s pecs, “so buff.”

“Forget it Sandburg,” Jim growled, pushing away Blair’s tempting hands. “I’m not wearing that cheerleader outfit again. Ever.”

“But Jim,” Blair whispered into Jim’s ear, smiling at the shivers he knew his warm breath would produce, “if you’ll be Buffy,” he paused, moving to the other ear, “I can be Spike the wicked vampire, come to ravish you.”

“No, Blair,” Jim muttered, without much conviction.

“Spike,” Blair growled with a faint accent. He latched his teeth onto Jim’s neck.

Jim threw his head back with a gasp at the sharp sensation, fire burning a path straight to his groin.

“Are you in my power yet?” Blair let his fingers slide lower down Jim’s heaving chest toward his belly. “Can I have my vampire way with you?”

Jim swallowed hard, “Your vampire way?” he rasped.

“You know how it is with vampires, Buffy.” Blair murmured softly, leaning even closer to Jim. “I wanna,” he paused, lowering his voice to a faint whisper, “Suck. You. Dry.”

Jim leaped up, diving down the stairs.

Blair sat back, worried, “Jim?”

“I’ll be right back... Spike. Just let me find the damned miniskirt!”