Rating: PG 15 (ish) for some … suggestions.
Summary: Buffy discovers that Slayers aren’t immune to everything and needs to visit a stodgy Potions professor for relief. Er, yes… "relief".
Disclaimer: Characters? Yeah, not mine. :: forlorn sigh ::
A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get this thing out, and sorry it is so short, but I was suffering from slight frustration. But now – on to the fic!
Buffy blinked at Snape and scratched her stomach. "Um…" she started awkwardly, "what?"
"I believe you have taken a love potion," Snape repeated urgently, although his smooth voice made her think that everything was going to be alright. "I researched all night every potion that contains the ingredient of ashwinder eggs, but none of them also
contain vanilla and basil. This is simply, and quite unfortunately, the only explanation."
Buffy blinked again. "What?" she said again. Then she punched him in the arm and he yelped in pain. "Why the hell did you give me a love potion?"
Snape scowled at her while he rubbed his arm, but then he un-knitted his eyebrows and considered her accusation. He had failed to think of the fact that perhaps he had
given her a love potion as a mistake, instead of an anti-itch potion. So instead of snarling at her for giving him another bruise, he went another route. "How is your mosquito bite?" he questioned.
"Damned itchy, that’s how, Mr. I Don’t Know How to Make Potions," she snarked, glowering at him. Her stomach called out to be scratched, and she obliged, just to show the stupid man that he hadn’t fixed her.
The potionmaster’s eyes drifted (of their own accord, of course) to the place where her hand had disappeared under her shirt, leaving a small patch of tanned skin available to be seen. His cheeks flushed slightly as he remembered how, not twelve hours ago, she had been intent on bearing all to him as she attacked him in his office. Then he shook his head once, to clear it, ordered the flush back from whence it came, and looked the Slayer in the eye. "It would appear that I accidentally handed you a love potion instead of an anti-itch one. However, I am fully prepared to amend my mistake and fix you an antidote."
Buffy was amazed at how pleased with himself he seemed. Of course, the whole thing had been said in a completely monotone voice, so she was sort of guessing that that was how he felt. But Snape’s monotone was sorta silky and it managed to send shivers down her spine, and for some really dumb reason, she imagined him whispering in her ear with that voice. She closed her eyes for a second, then jolted back to reality and glared at him. "You know what?" she snapped, "I’ve had enough of you and your potions that don’t work. I’m doing it myself now, mister. I’m sure there’s a drugstore somewhere
in this god-forsaken dimension, and I’m going to find a tube of Stop-Itch if it kills me. But for now
, I have a class
to teach, so don’t stop by again." Buffy turned on her heel and slammed the door to her classroom, then she stormed up to the front of the room and turned to grin at her class. "So," she said brightly. "Where were we?"
Snape stood over his cauldron, carefully stirring the antidote he’d concocted for Miss Summers. He honestly didn’t know why he was spending so much time attempting to cure her when she obviously did not want to be cured, except for the fact that he prided himself on being a potionsmaster, and it would not do to have given someone the wrong potion without providing a remedy for it. Of course, he had not taken into account precisely how long it took
to make a Love Potion, and the sunset had long since occurred and he was still
And then, whilst he was completely engrossed in his task, the door to his office flung open.
Of course, this should not have been a surprise, as it was seemingly becoming routine. Thus it did not rattle him as much as it could have – Snape merely turned around calmly and then his breath caught in his throat and his heart ceased beating for a moment.
Blasted Miss Summers was sauntering towards him again, this time wearing nothing beneath her robes. Thankfully, the thick black material was arranged to cover her, but Merlin only knew how long that would last.
"Snapey," she whispered, gliding towards him. Snape repositioned himself so that he was behind the cauldron, which (he desperately hoped) would make it more difficult for Miss Summers to assault him.
"Miss Summers," he acknowledged. "I was just concocting your antidote."
She continued her liquid walk until she had reached the cauldron. She peered at its contents with distate, then fixed Snape with a heated look. "I’m not wearing anything underneath these dumb things," she said, and grinned when he involuntarily gulped. "Wanna see?"
Snape yelped as her hand reached to open the robes. "No, no, Miss Summers, I do not
want to see." But she knew and he knew that he did, in fact, want to see what was beneath her robes, and he was mentally reprimanding himself for it. She appeared to be quite enjoying herself, and was running her fingers over all sorts of places that he, as a professor and her colleague, should not have been looking at. However, her earlier comment about him being secretly in love with her rattled him, and he realized that she was somewhat correct, and he did not entirely hate her as he had originally thought. Which, of course, made no bloody sense because she was such an American
"Come on, Snapey," she pouted, hands on her hips and robes coming dangerously close to gaping. "Isn’t this what you wanted?"
?" Snape asked, shocked. "Where the bloody hell did you get that idea?"
Instead of answering his question, she sighed impatiently, said "fine," and dropped her robes.