The blizzard winds, rushing like passengers trying to catch a train, decorated the glass with ice. Snow flew by in great gusts, leaving the tops of trucks, 18-wheelers, and a small car or two buried in the storm.

Buffy rather liked it, the muffled sounds of windy chaos were somehow soothing. People kept coming through the diner's front doors, kicking their boots and shivering off the chill. They were all out in the middle of nowhere, trapped at a restaurant where the owner liked to overcompensate for the freezing temperatures outside by baking his customers. It made them reluctant to leave; refills of coffee, hot chocolate, and tea were free on such harrowing days.

People hung their hats and extra bulky coats on the hooks by the entrance, and Buffy could see the doors to the inn across the street; they looked bolted shut. No one had gone through them all day, and the snow was piled nearly three feet high beneath that weatherproof awning.

Buffy frowned, thinking about her impending trek home. She lived at the inn, and wondered if the front entrance might really be locked by the time she returned. There was always the connected bar, of course. Those doors hadn't stopped opening and closing since nearly five o'clock.

The cold, she supposed, gave people an excuse to drink and be merry. They could handle a shot or ten of whiskey if they were to stay the night anyway, as well as keep themselves warm.

This also meant the diner did well. A drunk didn't care about the gusts of ice plowing through this tiny excuse for a town, so long as there was a greasy burger waiting for him across the street. The restaurant was nearly bustling, if in a quiet sort of way.

Every time Buffy looked out the window she was grateful for double shifts, which were very typical; it was easy to keep her mind busy then. Gazing at the frightening beauty of the storm for as long as she could was nice, too. Simply watching the weather coat everything in a bright, sparkling white.

Trees branches were heavy with ice, while the night sky looked smoky and dark. It was almost ethereal. Whistling winds were the backdrop to murmurs and soft laughter, the expected noise of any busy diner. Coffee makers dripped, adding their own little tempo to the mix. There were three but usually only one was used at a time; not tonight.

Her face lifted when the bell over the door rang again, and two men with beards and frosted coats stumbled in. Their hats were covered by white, melting flakes. They came closer to sit at the stools lining the counter, and Buffy could smell the rum coating their words.

"Coffee and two T-bones, please," one man genially requested, slapping his white, whiskery hand down on the countertop and rattling the silverware. Buffy nodded and wrote the order down. "Anything else?"

"Can I get a hot cocoa, pretty Miss?" The other man slurred.

Buffy added it to the ticket, barely raising an eyebrow at the address. There had been way too many nicknames over the years for her to bat even an eyelash anymore. "I'll be back in a minute with the hot chocolate."

"Thank you!" the jolly one exclaimed, his drunken gratitude loud enough to reach the ears of several other customers nearby.

Buffy did her job and she did it fast, her footfalls avoiding the cracks in the tile floor every once in a while. It was a little game she played, distracting yet didn't interfere with serving customers. Silly, she knew, but anything that kept her mind fully occupied was a good thing.

Buffy rushed around the diner and passed coworkers as she moved through the short maze of tables and booths, carrying trays of dishes to and from the kitchen. Bobby was washing in the back, while Emily dried and made salads as they were ordered. There were two others at the grill, and Buffy had three waiters by her side.

She peeked out a window, glaring through the snowy night at the neon sign across the street. Jill's was run by a lady named Sarah, the previous owner's daughter- ironically not Jill, but a man named Bart. Buffy didn't remember how she'd learned the family history, but living here for three years had filled her mind with lots of needless information. Nothing changed, it seemed, in a practical ghost town; and it was really more of a truck stop than a town at all, but she'd never say it out loud.

Buffy was busy shuffling some napkins while she waited not-so-patiently for Charlie to come back from flirting with Sarah. He never left the woman alone, and spent a lot of time over there when he could be helping run this silly diner.

Problem? It was his diner, which always turned into Charlie's backing argument anytime someone complained. Buffy didn't typically mind when he was gone, because it meant more work for her, which meant less time to dwell and think about the past. Tonight, however, things were incredibly busy. No customer wanted to leave.

Ironically, right then Marry tapped her on the shoulder. "Buffy," she said, "It's your break."

She turned around. "Oh, no it's busy. I don't have to-"

"No. Do it. You've been on your feet all day." The middle aged woman with dark brown hair gave her a smile, and the lines by her eyes deepened themselves. "Take a coffee break or somethin'. I know you gotta be hungry, I've caught you nibbling at things all day but never actually sitting down to have a meal."

Buffy waved off her concern. "I ate before I got here, and I'm really not very hungry." Her stomach was hardly growling. In truth, she wasn't hungry.

"Well, eat somethin'." She went to turn away. "I'll take over the last table you had 'til you're done. Twenty minutes, now."

Buffy sighed and left the frosty window, but not before she spotted Charlie coming back through the falling snow. Perfect timing. At least she didn't have to feel bad about following Mary's advice.

She got herself a cup of coffee, dousing it in cream and sugar. She grabbed her coat, scarf, gloves, and cheap beanie hat, plus the extra sweaters sticking out of her purse. After bundling up, Mary sent her a strange look but didn't say anything. She must think Buffy was crazy, which wasn't an uncommon opinion.

Buffy hardly talked, never shared a back story, lived at the small inn across from her dull, routine sickening job, and went outside during a blizzard for a lonesome twenty minute break. She didn't blame people for thinking she was rather odd.

Passing Charlie on the way out, he frowned at Buffy like she'd just sprouted horns. "Where are you going?" he demanded.

"Outside. You got back just in time to take over grill from Alex so he can serve while I'm gone."

Another frown. "You're going out in this weather for a break?"

She nodded. He rolled his eyes and rubbed a hand down his snowy sideburns. He looked like he'd just crawled out of an igloo from the 70s.

Buffy heard him mumble something about nutty chicks when she walked over to the front doors where her boots awaited. She slipped off her flats and exchanged them for weather appropriate shoes before leaving the diner with a smile.

She loved the snow, even if it was cold and she didn't exactly like the wind, but a storm was a storm and winter was beautiful. Sure, trudging home in this when she was tired and just wanted to go to bed was unpleasant. Standing below the awning that wrapped all around the diner while she sipped hot coffee was actually very nice, though.

She looked down and noticed tiny snowflakes were falling into her cup, sparkling the drink with their iciness. Everywhere around her it glittered. The wind was fast but sporadic, and there was a tree on her left that helped block the chill. It was pure solitude. The wide parking lot was covered with tire marks and the vehicles that made them, but as the snow fell it evened things out, covered the flaws made by intrusive human habits.

Yes, Buffy loved the snow. It was one reason she was glad she'd left California. She grew up there, but the place didn't have anything left for her, and it certainly didn't have much of a winter.

Buffy drank some of her quickly cooling coffee, biting back a sigh. Her lungs were burning with every intake of frigid air. The white pine trees reminded her of statues. It was hard to hear anything but the quiet, or even feel her fingertips inside her gloves. The snowstorm was calming, weakening, distracting, and there was so much to look at, yet her thoughts stubbornly poked through reverie.

Leaving California had never been her plan, but after Buffy's mother and sister died in a car accident, there was no reason to stay. Her father didn't want her, and since she was old enough to live on her own, he had no legal obligation to her. Moreover, Buffy wouldn't have accepted his help.

The few friends she made weren't any she could have called family. They were brand new. She had only just moved from Los Angeles to Sunnydale, California when her mom and sister passed away, and so to make it on her own was Buffy's only option. She hadn't left anyone behind. Not really. She sold a lot of her things, including the house, then bought a couple bus tickets to get away, only to end up here. In the middle of nowhere.

She had family in Chicago, and that was where she'd been heading until stopping mid-route and settling down in this truck stop town. Buffy hardly knew if she would stay indefinitely, but when she'd noticed that "Help Wanted" sign in the diner window, she applied for the job before even realizing what she was doing. Then, there was room at the inn and somehow, Buffy ended up hanging around.

Her aunt in Chicago didn't much care, so long as her niece was happy, which she truly believed Buffy was. The girl was twenty, after all, and could make her own decisions. Judith only asked that she write or call at least every other week, and Buffy still obliged the request three years later.

She felt coldness slip down her cheeks and quickly wiped at the freezing tears. Damn it. She hated crying. So what if this life was lonely and typical, at least you could depend on the routine. Not get the rug pulled out from under you at any moment.

It was hard making it on her own, but the town she'd chosen had cheap living and nice people. Buffy barely knew anything about them, to be honest, but they had never bothered her and for some reason always smiled her way, as if she wasn't little more than a stranger.

For some reason it was comforting. They were constants, but she wasn't close to them.

She could always leave at the drop of a hat. No one had attachments to her any more than she had to them. Which made things easy, simple; lonely, but not unbearable.

Buffy sighed as she finished off her coffee. She should go back inside soon, before Charlie got a chance to scold her.

But the snow was just so pretty, everything so quiet when the wind wasn't howling. She didn't like thinking too much, but she loved the wildness of the weather right at this moment, and she'd lived in a sunny state for much too long to let a little wind and gloom get to her.

Buffy shivered, looking at the clouds above. There was no use dwelling on the past, so she forced herself to smile. She walked to a nearby garbage can and threw her cardboard cup inside before spreading her arms wide, lifting her face to the sky. She opened her mouth, sticking out her tongue to catch the snowflakes; a few melted on her taste buds while others flew at her cheeks.

Buffy turned and flattened her tongue against the wind. She grinned like a child and laughed quietly as the glittering specs tickled her nose and lips.

Mouth closing, concern for the minutes taking a back seat, she inhaled deeply and walked ahead. Buffy passed cars and trucks before coming to the edge of the thin woods that practically surrounded the diner. She leaned against a tall, lanky pine. The lights from the windows blurred in the corner of her vision, and she laid her head against the cold trunk.

Her life was a question mark, all the time. She had no close friends, and no lover. She'd had three romantic relationships in her life, and only one had truly been serious despite its short duration. There was no romance now, and no close blood ties to speak of, nothing to hold her back or keep her grounded. She had nothing at all, except the falling snow.

Sometimes, Buffy wished she could go even further north, and live in cold weather always with every season, but something like familiarity had bread itself into her bones here, in this small middle-of-nowhere town. So she stayed. The colors in fall were pretty nice, too, she had to admit.

Still, like a stinger you can't dig out of your skin, she yearned for one dangerous thing; a wish to know freedom again.

Buffy was as free as a bird where she lived. She had enough money to go almost anywhere she pleased, and a nice savings account as her cushion. She had no one to really miss, and no reason to stay and no reason to leave. There was no need for any more of that kind of freedom. No. What she did miss, but was too afraid to try and regain, was the freedom to care.

The freedom to love someone, romantic or otherwise. The freedom to hold another's heart close to your own. Losing her family... had nearly destroyed her. Buffy climbed out of a hole of depression too deep to ever want to risk going there again.

Since recovering, caring about anyone became a foreign act, and while Buffy believed she could succeed very well at doing so if she wanted, she hadn't let anyone in yet. It was getting tiresome keeping people at bay, but it was safer that way. She was content.

Why ruin it?

Buffy frowned at her own thoughts and where they had landed, then looked up as things around her quieted. The wind stopped completely, and everything was blissfully still for the first time in hours.

No owls hooted, no wolves cried to the nonexistent moon, no crushing snow whispered in the dark. It was completely, utterly desolate of sound.

Until, a soft growling noise came from the left, where the trees thickened, and made Buffy's pulse jump. She spun around to catch sight of one of the scariest looking things she had ever seen.

Only ten dangerous feet away stood a monster, covered in white and gray fur, sharp teeth bared, tinted blue, and it's eyes dark abyss-like holes. It stared and grumbled something that might be a word, but she didn't understand. It moved closer, and Buffy moved back. Her hands were frozen, and that was not an intended pun.

It looked like a Yeti, but her logical brain argued otherwise. It must be some kind of wild animal. Maybe a dog? Hopefully?

But it wasn't. It was a monster. And yes, many people referred to dangerous creatures, like great white sharks or pythons, as monsters, but this was different. This thing stood like a human, walked like one, and had unnerving black eyes with no reflection. The ridiculous thought came to mind about how the eyes were supposed to be the window to the soul, and looking straight ahead, Buffy decided this thing didn't have one.

She finally tried to run as shock wore off, but the snow was so deep that her steps were sluggish and her lungs couldn't take in air. She made it maybe three feet before the thing had a hold of her, and then she was screaming bloody murder. She kicked and flailed, and even tried aiming for its groin, but the Yeti simply tossed her into the snow with what Buffy felt was honest annoyance.

It glared down at her, and she'd never felt her heart beat faster. She didn't want to die. She wanted to live, even if that meant suffering through the difficulties and hard times and heartbreaks, she wasn't ready to decorate a snow bank with her blood.

One problem, though; she couldn't move her arms.

Buffy pulled back, and kicked up with both legs when it leaned closer, showing its blue teeth. The creature howled in pain when her aim for its big jaw was on point, and Buffy tried to wiggle and hop her way out of the deep snow while it nursed its wound.

Shit. That didn't take very long. It was growling again, too, and this time louder. She must have pissed the thing off, which wouldn't matter so much if she could manage to get out of the cold, wet little ditch it had made for her.

Buffy looked over her shoulder, then immediately wished she hadn't. The monster was enraged. It was going to tear her apart, and raised its claws to strike, when suddenly, a black blur shot into her line of vision and barreled into the Yeti.

There was growling again, but two different kinds. She heard screeches akin to a wounded animal's; Buffy hoped the monster was the one being so loud.

She finally managed to get on her hands and knees, glancing hastily over her shoulder again when everything suddenly went quiet.

There stood a man, his back to her. He wore a long black leather coat, standing out like a raven against the snow. Except his hands were bare and pale, strong looking, and his head blended in almost perfectly with the landscape; his short hair was bleached as light as the unseen moon.

He radiated power. The guy was so distracting she only just realized that the monster was lying at his feet, unmoving. Its neck was bent at a strange angle, and suddenly Buffy felt a passionate wave of relief upon realizing the facts. He'd killed it. A stranger in black leather had just saved her life.

Fear followed relief. She soon remembered that he was still a stranger, and quickly got out of the all-fours position to move a few paces back. He turned around, having heard the snow crunching beneath her boots, and Buffy stopped short.

She wasn't kidding herself was she? Had she really just been rescued by a prince?

Buffy mentally shook the thought away. No. He wasn't a prince. That face was gorgeous enough. He was completely, totally drool-worthy, and his eyes were a piercing blue that reminded her of the sea, those cheekbones and flirting lips hard to ignore. The charcoal gray sweater he wore was definitely not brand name. His jeans were black and tight, and Buffy was sure, soaked to the knees. He stood tall and savage looking, somewhat cocky; not like a prince.

Maybe a knight or warrior, but not a prince.

He was strong and she knew for a fact because he'd proven it by defending her. But even knights felt fear, not to mention the snow was still frigid and Buffy couldn't help but wonder why he wasn't shivering.

Or why he was able to kill that thing. The monster was huge- had been huge, definitely taller than your average man, and burly. It had thrown her to the ground like a football, and while Buffy knew she didn't weigh very much, that thing must have been stronger than three men put together.

"How did you kill that thing?" Her voice was nearly a whisper, and she had the suddenly terrifying idea that she might have just been saved from a monster, by a monster.

He stood there staring, and Buffy found herself reluctant to move. The way he was looking at her... It was little better than the hungry gaze she'd seen on the Yeti to settle her nerves, and he hadn't answered her question yet. She tried again. "Who are you?"

That was a tad more personal than she thought she should have phrased it, but if he would just speak, then Buffy could steady her heart rate and get back to the safety of the diner, where there was warmth, coffee, and witnesses.

Finally, the man took a step forward and she tensed in reaction. He must have noticed, because he paused and said, "I didn't save your life just to take it from you myself, pet."

Buffy relaxed only marginally. That was a lovely British accent, one she was positive had melted many hearts before hers. Frankly, it was distracting. He came closer, stopping near enough that she could see his breath.

Wait. She had seen it. Now, she couldn't. She should, but he wasn't actually breathing... at all.

The man in black gave her a kind of smile, but it was in a way where his already dramatically shadowed cheeks hollowed even further, lips pursing. A pitter-patter feeling ran through her chest and Buffy swallowed. "I- I'm going to leave now. All right?" She wasn't asking his permission, of course, she only wanted to find out if he was going to try and stop her.

"First, tell me why the hell you were out in the woods at night, by yourself, and in the middle of a bleedin' blizzard."

She swallowed nervously again. Fat flakes of snow still fell in front of her eyes, lightly covering the body that lay only feet away from them. "I work at that diner," she said, pointing a thumb in the direction of the lit up windows. "I was on a coffee break, and I came out here to get a minute to myself."

Spike rose one dark eyebrow; then, gauging her expression, he decided he believed the lady.

She was foolish for going alone, but the fact she wasn't hyperventilating after nearly getting killed dredged up a measure of respect in his gut. Spike wasn't used to rescuing humans that didn't weep, faint, or at the very least panic some, once he'd saved their asses.

*There's a first for everything,* he acknowledged.

Spike also realized that she had probably done the same thing many times in the past, and never came across a demon before tonight. The cute blonde probably had good reason to believe she'd be safe, and they were still in plain view of the diner's front doors.

But she was out here by herself, in the dead of night, and there weren't any lamps in the parking lot. Hadn't she ever seen a horror movie or one of those crime TV shows?

Spike felt himself getting angry, and he scowled. He'd become so accustomed to humans' general stupidity for doing the things that got them killed that he'd stopped getting mad over it. Hell, women walked alone at night and down alleyways on their trips home all the time. Men did the same moronic things, and even took rides from strangers that turned out to be demon females disguised as humans in short skirts. Spike was no longer surprised, or angered, by mortal idiocy.

Except now he was angry, and what this woman had done was probably one of the safest stupid things he'd seen yet that had gotten someone into trouble. She was not your average nitwit, he could tell because she was wary of him, and he had saved her. Spike got the feeling she wouldn't be doing this sort of thing ever again.

Yet the anger remained.

"Now will you tell me who you are?"

"Spike," he replied stiffly.

She looked like she wanted to comment, but stopped herself. Instead, the lady offered her own title. "I'm Buffy."

He snorted, and when she scowled at him, Spike wanted to laugh. But she was beautiful when she glared, he realized, and suddenly he wanted to rile her a little more. "At least it's original," he remarked.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Ever hear that thing about people in glass houses throwing stones?"

Spike's chest tightened with laughter as he stared into her eyes, flickering like a flame. "Touché, pet."

She let show a reluctant smile, and Spike's attention focused. It was one mere second, but in that moment he was snared like a rabbit in a trap.

Her beauty was obvious. The girl was cute, no doubt about that, but as his anger finally melted away, that fast widening smile made him look beyond her snow covered slacks and plain hat. Her large eyes, a pretty gold-green color, helped lend the slight resemblance of a pixie. Her nose was adorably unique, and her skin appeared soft and fair, despite those rosy cheeks.

She looked like a bleeding pixie all right, and Spike remembered what she'd said about working at that diner he'd been headed into not ten minutes ago, before hearing her scream.

Spike grinned. It seemed he would be getting a chance to spend more time with this one.

"So," she glanced at the dead body behind him, and Spike's head turned to follow Buffy's line of vision, "how'd you kill it?"

He frowned, facing her again. "Kill it?"

Her startled gaze doubled in size, which was rather remarkable. "It is dead, right?"

Spike nodded gently, wearing a bewildered expression Buffy couldn't understand. "Yeah. It's dead."

"Then why are you looking at me all funny?" she asked, biting back a sigh of relief.

He shrugged. "'Cause most people don't care how I kill 'em."

"Most?" She frowned. "You do this kind of thing often?"

Spike scoffed. "Often enough, unfortunately."

"Oh." Buffy looked away then. Snowflakes assaulted her hat, dotting it happily until she lifted her face once again. "How?"

He tilted his head in question. "What d'you mean 'how?' "

She rolled her eyes. "That thing was like... a Yeti, or something. It was-"

"Wasn't a Yeti, love."

Buffy frowned again. "Then what-"

"I can't remember the Latin term." He rolled his eyes and added, "But your typical one is Frostbite demon."

"'Typical?' You're kidding, right?"

Spike shook his head with a faint smile.

Buffy let out a big whoosh of air, putting up a challenge with the reviving wind. She accepted the unlikelihood of all this weirdness lifting anytime soon, and said, "It was strong, right?"

The gorgeous man nodded.

"Stronger than a human," she said. "So, how'd you kill it?"

"I'm not human."

Spike was surprised at how easy the admission came. She tensed straight away and he could hear her pulse skitter alongside one thick gulp. He smiled once again. That racing heartbeat was a lovely sound, but he didn't want Buffy to be scared of him, though bugger if he knew why, so Spike told her the truth. "I'm not going to eat you, though."

She took a step back. "That's comforting," Buffy retorted.

"Look," he said, all matter of fact, "if I'd wanted to kill you, you'd be dead by now. I turned over a new leaf years ago."

Oddly enough, that confession stirred Buffy's interest.

There was a reason leaving Spike behind and forgetting they'd ever met didn't feel right, his major hotness aside. She simply didn't know what the hell it meant. It seemed this stranger really didn't want to hurt her, and despite just how wigged his admission to being something other than human made her react, he had saved her life.

Buffy chewed on her lower lip, thinking.

Gratefulness and curiosity somehow got the better of caution, as he kept looking at her like he cared. The distant sound of a bell chimed as someone walked out of the diner, and Buffy remembered that she needed to get back to work. "I should get back to work."

Spike held in a groan, shoulders slumping. "Yeah, I know." He wanted to follow her, maybe have those onion rings he'd told himself he would order while they talked a bit longer, but he also wasn't willing to scare the chit.

The vampire frowned. That notion was strange in and of itself, and getting irritating.

A bit of unease wouldn't kill her. Not like that ton sized ball of demon fur would have. Spike decided he would order a to-go meal, should Buffy not feel comfortable inviting him inside. Then, at least, he could hang around for a few minutes with an excuse.

It felt like butterflies came to life in Buffy's stomach when the man looked disappointed after she mentioned leaving. She'd already decided to ask Spike if he wanted a cup of coffee before that dejected look entered his eyes, and now she was rather excited to make the offer. "Would you like to come in... for a cup of coffee or something? Anything you get is on me."

Spike smirked as certain images popped into his head.

A light flamed in his blue eyes, and Buffy's breath caught on his bold grin. *Trouble. Trouble with a capital T.*

"You don't have to do that, pet," he said, though not very convincingly. "I'll gladly come in and spend some time, though."

Buffy shuffled her feet about two centimeters in the knee deep snow. "You saved my life," she said, and he came closer before they stood side by side, facing the lit up restaurant. "It's the least I can do."

They headed out from behind the trees, and Spike felt the foolish urge to place his hand at the small of her back. "If you insist." His throat was tightening.

"I do," she said.

They moved passed a large rig and parked cars that resembled snow banks, making their way towards the doors just as Buffy saw Charlie heading out. When he noticed her, he put his hands on his hips, and it looked as if a sigh of relief rolled off his shoulders before he went back inside.

Jeez, how long had she been gone?

"Who's that?" Buffy turned and faced Spike after his question. "My boss. I think he was wondering where I went."

"Took him long enough," Spike muttered.

Buffy smiled softly in bewilderment. "What'd you say?"

"Nothing," he mumbled. "Hope you have a change of clothes in there, sweets. Your pants are soaked."

Buffy swallowed passed the heartbeat acceleration caused by Spike's continual use of endearments, and glanced down at her legs. "I actually do." She had spilled sticky smoothies and hot coffee one too many times on herself to ever leave the inn without bringing an extra pair of jeans to work. Even though Buffy lived just across the street, it was annoying having to run back and forth every time someone bumped into her while she was carrying beverages.

Spike's mind wandered to what Buffy might look like in nothing but her knickers. He opened the door and let her precede him inside, mentally shaking the thought away.

His eyes caught on her swaying bum. Damn it.

He shouldn't have brought up changing clothes. Buffy turned around once they entered the warmth of the bustling diner, though. He heard the soft laughter of strangers, and smelled everything from bacon grease to fresh coffee and dish soap. His heightened senses spun in circles at places like this.

Hell, he was used to it by now. The only reason Spike noticed was because every smell and noise and sight softened when Buffy looked into his eyes. "You don't have a dry pair of jeans in your car do you?" She frowned in concern and nodded at the denim hugging his legs. "Those can't be comfortable either."

Spike did, at the inn across the street where he'd gotten a room for the night, but he didn't feel like leaving to change. "It doesn't bother me, pet."

She frowned harder. "Aren't you freezing?"

He smirked and glanced away, then forced himself to whisper, "No body temperature."

She only needed a few seconds to grasp his words and their meaning, and her eyes widened like kaleidoscopes. Buffy was about to ask him several questions when Mary passed by, bumping her with one rounded hip to get her attention. "Seat the customer and get back to work, girl. Charlie's in a bad frame of mind."

Buffy nodded distractedly. She and Spike quickly shed their coats and hung them on the hooks by the door. She told him he could sit at the counter unless he wanted a table.

He chose a stool and Buffy went to tell the boy making coffee that she'd take over counter duty again as soon as she got back, and he graciously accepted her proposal just before knocking a container of coffee grounds to the floor.

Spike watched Buffy smiled understandingly at the fellow when he sighed dejectedly and bent to clean up the mess, before she headed off to change.

She went to the locker that held her purse and extra clothes, then the bathroom.

The woman whose nametag said "Mary" in plain black letters literally stumbled upon the bloke cleaning up the coffee, and she shook her head with a "Tsk." She tossed her fluffy brown hair over one shoulder before asking Spike if he'd like to order.

"I was just thinkin' on that," he lied, fingers tapping quietly against his knee.

"All right. Just let me know when you decide," she said. "Want a menu?"

Buffy suddenly came out from the back wearing a dry pair of jeans and her hair changed. She'd left the scarf, gloves, and hat behind with her soaked pants, and now that he could see her whole face and frame, a thought came to mind.

When Spike had first driven into this small town, settling on spending the night because of the blizzard, he figured an evening of dull television and cooler-chilled blood would be his fate. After discovering Miss Buffy, though, it was like the compass had changed direction; and Christ, he hoped he was right.

Spike wondered how it might feel with her sleeping against him.

"I'll be behind the counter for now, is that okay?" Buffy asked.

The other waitress, Mary, carrying two cups of hot tea in her hands paused to say, "Sure, your tables have cleared out anyway. I'll give your station to Daphne so you don't have to worry about manning 'em both."

"Thanks," Buffy replied gratefully.

"Oh, by the way." Mary rolled her eyes and grumbled, "Sarah turned Charlie down again- big surprise -and he's been a bear since you stepped out. Steer clear if you can."

Buffy nodded. "Got it."

The brunette sidled out from behind the counter, and the young man who'd finished cleaning headed to the kitchen with coffee stained hands.

Buffy took out an apron from a lower shelf behind her and tied it around her slim waist. "Okay," she said, bright eyed and looking anything but like a lady who'd just been attacked by a hungry Frostbite demon. "Have you decided what you want?"

"Not just yet," Spike said, eyeing her with blatant curiosity.

"Well, how about some coffee?" she asked.

He nodded. "You have onion rings here?"

She nodded. "Sure do." He didn't respond immediately, instead opting to stare with unwavering interest for several moments more, and Buffy narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What?"

"Nothin'." Spike displayed a half smile. If only she knew what he was thinking, she might be pouring the coffee into his lap rather than the cup she'd just flipped right side up. Hot steam wafted across his lips and warmed his face before she spun around to grab a worn menu from the stack near the hardworking machines. Buffy set one beside his coffee mug. "Look through, see if you want anything else," she said.

Spike opened the menu obligingly. "You know, I think there is somethin' I've got a hankering for."

"What is that?"

"When are you done here?" he asked, never looking up.

"Working?" Buffy frowned. "I don't get off until about two."

He smiled. "Perfect." Spike closed the menu he was barely scanning and looked into her moss colored eyes. "Onion rings and a beer, pet."

She blinked. "You could get that at the bar across the street."

"But you're not there."

She fought a blush. He'd said it so matter of fact, so plainly... it was all a girl could do not to at least smile, so Buffy stooped to grab an off-brand bottle out of the mini fridge below the counter which was only there for storing beers. "What I meant was, are you sure you don't want something else?" she asked, twisting the lid off. Thankfully, her face wasn't flaming

Not of the food variety, no, but Spike wasn't about to scare her away. How could he know she was experiencing the same feelings as he? Listening to her heart accelerate didn't mean she liked the speeding and skipping, nor did the rising color in her cheeks speak of anything more than innocent character. He wasn't going to take the chance. Making Buffy feel threatened was the very last thing he wanted. "If I do," Spike answered instead, "I promise you'll be the first to know."

Just then, the bell above the door rang and a gust of cold wind followed two more customers inside. The weather had taken another nasty turn, and big fat flakes whipped around the parking lot. "I'll be back," Buffy said. "Still on hostess duty."

"Right." He watched her go, two menus in her hands as she headed for the blokes shaking off their snowy overcoats. Spike remained patiently waiting, as he planned to do for the remainder of the night.

***

The frosted windows saw chilly customers pile in and out through the hours, distracting her as often as possible. Still, in between servings and orders, as the stools around Spike filled up, he and the cutie in the apron got to talk and share stories, got to know one another quite fully as they shared batches of onion rings.

Such moments trailed into one long night, and before they knew it, the clouds hiding the stars had thinned and the wind had stopped. Snow was lightly falling like powdered sugar, and Spike noticed Buffy's feet were dragging come two in the morning.

They both knew the storm would pick up again. If the weather program on the radio was anything to trust, they could look forward to more of winter's showy wrath in the afternoon and evening tomorrow.

Spike wanted to be annoyed, because the snow and ice would prohibit him from moving on, but he couldn't. All he felt was... eager.

He would be able to stay, and that meant spending more time with Buffy.

He'd learned a lot about the woman over the past few hours. Yet he wanted to learn more. He wanted to know the things underneath.

He wanted to know how she looked when she first woke up in the morning. He wanted to know if she was a deep sleeper or easy to rouse. He wanted to know how she took her coffee, tea, and what kind of music she enjoyed most. He wanted to know how her hair might look spread over a wrinkled pillow. He wanted to feel her legs under a bed sheet, rubbing against his own.

Sometimes, when Spike stared into Buffy's eyes, or watched her laughing without a care and smiling his way, he thought maybe she wanted to know such things, too.

"God, I can't wait to lie down." She bent forward, resting her elbows on the shiny countertop. "When are you leaving town tonight?"

Spike took great pleasure in telling her he wasn't. "M'stayin' the night. I've got a room at the Heartbreak Hotel 'cross the street."

Her eyes blinked big and wide like an owl's, and not in reaction to the Elvis reference. "You- You're staying there?" Buffy faltered. "That's n-not-..."

He frowned. "Not what?"

Possible, she was going to say, except that would sound crazy and she didn't want to look crazy in front of him. She opted for sensible, with a tendency to stutter. "Not serious. You're not serious, I mean."

He gave her an odd look, and Buffy couldn't blame him. "There a reason I shouldn't be?"

She actually gulped. "I live there. At the inn." Buffy gave him a nervous smile. "It's just funny. I didn't know you were spending the night here- There- In town," she explained, if rather idiotically.

Spike barely noticed. "You live there." His tone gave truth to a question as delight filled his eyes.

She nodded. "The owner let's me rent a room on the second floor. She never gets full occupancy," Buffy replied, and then absently wondered why she'd told him where her room was located.

Thoughts ran through Spike's mind like they were on a conveyer belt. Buffy said she had been in this town for about three years, yet she never bothered to find herself a real home in it? Strange, that. But then again, Spike recalled certain things he'd noticed over the several hours spent with her.

She didn't talk about why she'd left California before traveling here, and never once called either place home.

She didn't talk about missing anything at all, really, and as far as Spike knew she didn't have family around here. Buffy was working a double shift tonight, and not appearing annoyed in the least over it. It led him to believe she wasn't any more comfortable at the inn than she was here, at the diner. She might have a room, but she didn't have a real home, and didn't seem to be missing the one Spike assumed used to be in California.

She was unsettled, rather like a baby bird that had left the nest a bit too early and still hadn't found a place to land. He thought she might be looking for one.

"Do you ever want to leave this place?" he suddenly found himself asking.

Immediately surprised, Buffy blinked, but then something shifted behind those beautiful green eyes. "Sometimes, yes. I do," she admitted.

"Then why don't you?" he urged.

"What?"

"Why the bleeding hell don't you leave?"

Spike hadn't meant to sound quite so insistent, but he didn't get a chance to worry over that, because a voice from the back of the kitchen cut into their conversation. "Buffy! Customers at table eight!" Charlie bounded through the doors carrying two dishes piled high with food. He shoved them at her and said, "Mary's got too many tables right now and Daniel's on his break."

"He just came in an hour ago," she pointed out.

"He'll pay for it later when he wants another cigarette and I don't give him ten minutes. For now just serve his section." He nodded at the meals now in her hands. "One of the guys wanted ketchup and the bottle at the table's empty, so don't forget to grab a fresh one."

Buffy sighed as he walked away, back through the swinging doors which lead to the kitchen. Spike was glaring in the same direction and she couldn't fathom why as she set the plates down, but didn't waste time trying to figure it out. She fetched a new ketchup bottle from a cabinet, then stuck it between her arm and ribs before picking up the plates again. "I'll be right back."

Spike's eyes followed her as she left. The table Buffy had to serve was a booth, down the length of the front windows and settled into the far corner. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off her, even if she wasn't doing anything particularly interesting.

The question he'd asked probably caught her off guard, and maybe he had been a little too forward, the inquiry a little too threatening to her peace of mind. Nonetheless, Spike wasn't in the business of letting people stunt themselves staying where they didn't want to be by keeping his mouth shut about it.

Usually he didn't care, and he might sound presumptuous with such opinions, but he couldn't help himself. Buffy was someone Spike felt he could understand, at least in this way. He liked to entertain the idea that maybe she was ready to leave this place she didn't call home. There was a difference in living and surviving, and as soon as he learned her full story, he'd know for sure which way she was playing.

Buffy started back, and quickly realized Spike had been watching her.

It made her smile, strangely enough. This rescuer of hers was many things, including attractive, kind, witty, and a flirt. They had shared a few good verbal sparring contests over the last few hours, too, which succeeded in making her laugh. She enjoyed spending the time with him, and was only mildly surprised at the trust she felt developing for a total stranger.

Spike saved her life, after all, but there was still something incredibly... special, about the way they clicked. In truth, he didn't feel like much of a stranger at all.

She wasn't afraid of him. Seeing was believing, and even that wasn't a foolproof rule, so while Buffy knew he was something other than human, it didn't bother her in the least. Maybe because she didn't see much out of the ordinary about him, asides from excess strength. Maybe because of the other thing, that feeling she couldn't label.

Quickly reaching the counter, Buffy rounded the corner and slipped between the stools and coffee makers for what had to be the fiftieth time that night. She folded her arms and looked directly at her savior. The row of silverware and upside down cups were empty of customers for once, and the buzzing from surrounding voices dimmed as Buffy said, "There's nowhere I want to go. I don't have someone to travel with, and I'm... comfortable. That's why I haven't left."

Something in her voice lured him like a siren's song might a sailor, and a yearning began to bleed into his chest. "You don't have a partner."

Buffy swallowed, nervousness splattering across her cheeks in a white flush. "I don't have a reason."

"And a partner would be a reason."

"The right one, I guess." Her words descended into a mumble and Buffy couldn't understand it. His eyes had the power to make you feel like you were falling, she realized, and the implications her words were making appeared as a bait hook. She had always wanted an adventure, had always wanted to find a home with someone, but the fear that came with such wishes was overpowering.

Until, you found the right person.

There was a lot to be said about "right" people, because they popped up out of nowhere and before you knew it, they were a part of your mind and your routines. They were pictured in your future before events could take place. They were a character in your story, someone to lean on.

And sometimes, they helped you write your story. "Spike, I can't leave," she murmured desperately.

Keeping things the way they were couldn't be right but it was the safer choice, she told herself.

He didn't know how she'd caught on. Buffy knew exactly what he was going to ask her before the thought had even fully formed in his mind, but once she responded to the unvoiced question, he knew that he wanted her with him.

"Why not?" he asked. His life was a solitary path, an endless trip of moving through the country and only living in places he liked for short periods of time. He'd told himself, after getting shackled with a soul by some meddling gypsies his grandsire used to know, that he would only settle down when he had a real reason to; his fight was the good one now, better to tackle it where he could and not get too attached to things.

She frowned like she was reading a very provoking book, or like his thoughts had bled out onto the floor and she could see every sad one. "Because I- we barely know each other," she said.

His heart somehow felt both light and heavy at once, but it was amazing he could feel it at all. "There are ways to fix that, love."

Her eyes clouded with indecision. It sounded absolutely crazy. Spike sounded crazy. He'd saved her life, there was a connection, she wanted to run away with him. That was crazy. He wasn't human, she was barely living.

This was all insane. "I just... I can't... I can't do that," she said, eyes wide and lost. "I want..." Buffy swallowed, caught his own gaze in a stronghold with shaking lips. "I don't know... Spike. But-"

"All right." Disappointment flashed in her eyes. He chose another route, another choice. "Just stay the night with me," he murmured beseechingly. "We're both goin' back to the same place, and we don't have to head to separate rooms, if we don' want."

Buffy's heart did a somersault and she had to take a deep breath. She wasn't accustomed to this.

Well, she got the occasional invitation from men every now and then. Lonely truckers, mostly. What she wasn't accustomed to was being tempted; that had never happened.

Suddenly, she realized she wasn't just tempted, she actually felt expectancy light her blood. It was paired with something that felt strikingly like relief. "I..." Her throat was tightening, her mouth running dry. He was waiting for an answer, his entreating face kind and wicked at once.

Buffy wanted to be carefree with him, she wanted to spend more time with him here, but her shift was almost over and then they would part ways. The night was quickly turning to morning, the sun would be rising, and with it another calm, uneventful, mundane day.

"Okay," Buffy whispered. Then her eyes widened.

Had she just...

Spike gave her the smile of the century.

She had.

___________
END NOTES: I have a few more chapters to edit before this story is over. Thanks for checking it out, I hope everybody enjoys the whole thing! And this goes without saying, but please review. :) :)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hey, thanks to all who click on this story! I hope everyone who reads it enjoys! As you can tell, this is a wintry fic, and I don't know why but it's July and it's hot and I think maybe a very small part of my soul misses the solitude of winter... So, this fic was written. And yes, Buffy's a waitress, at a tiny diner, again. This isn't the first time I've written her with the job and probably won't be the last. No, I'm not sure why I like the whole "waitress in a tiny town" theme, but I blame the Anne debacle of season 3 and the Meet Virginia music video by Train.

Anyway, enough blabbering, here is chapter 2 of my incredibly cheesily titled fic, Wicked Winter Knight! Hope you like it :)
____________________

They walked through the cascading snow, Buffy ducking her head to avoid the winds that were speeding through the area once again. The weather was destined to be unpredictable. Spike trailed close behind, and they soon arrived at the bar.

It appeared that the high number of customers which had filled the place earlier dwindled to a measly two over the hours, leaving a deader than dead atmosphere. The owner, Sarah, was busy tidying up the sticky aftermath of the festivities.

Her tired eyes lifted with the couple's entrance, barely even blinking as she watched the duo pass as quietly by as mice. The only communication Buffy and Sarah exchanged were two soft, acknowledging head bobs.

Spike opened the door for her, and they were fast ascending the wooden staircase that curved into a solid balcony, overlooking the small lobby. Their footfalls on the creaky steps sounded much louder to Buffy's ears than they actually were, even muffled by old blue carpeting. When her companion spoke for the first time since leaving the diner, it nearly made her jump. "Where's your room, pet?"

He wanted to go to her room? Buffy swallowed. "End of the hall." She led the way, and Spike's voice turned into a murmur as they passed a door that barely quieted snoring noises on the other side.

"What did you say?" She spun around just as they reached their destination.

"I said," Spike whispered, staring at her in a way that made her whole body warm, "I hope you don' work early."

There was a glint to match a fire's glow in her eyes, and though she couldn't see it, she could feel it. Buffy took a deep breath. "I-I don't." She shook her head. "I don't work tomorrow. Today. Whatever."

He smiled much like a predator, she thought, and thankfully ignored her pointless stammer. "That's even better."

Buffy chose quickly not to ask why it was better. She knew exactly what he meant.

Without preamble, and with forced calm, she turned and opened the door. Spike's presence felt like a brand on her back despite the fact their bodies weren't touching, and walking into the dimness of her shabby living room only brought him closer.

It wasn't really a living room, but it was clean and cozy enough. The lamp by the entrance was left on so she could see after coming back from work late.

Buffy dropped her key into the glass dish she'd picked up from a nearby thrift shop and shed her coat. Gloves, hat and scarf quickly followed, landing haphazardly on the provided wooden table to her left.

Spike looked into the shadows as Buffy tossed her purse on a narrow couch before sitting to remove her shoes. He spotted the tiny kitchen on the right as he overlooked the shelf with the key-dish, and wasn't surprised to find an unplugged hot plate beside a measly coffee maker. There was a microwave, as well, but he had to assume she'd bought that herself.

The sound of her heavy boots being plopped on a rubber mat drew his attention back. Buffy was busy undressing right in front of him. Considering the layers of clothing she had on, it wasn't much of a show. Yet, for some incredible reason- probably the same why he felt so pulled to this woman in the first place -watching her remove even the bulkiest sweater only to reveal another got his blood up.

Spike let his duster slide from his shoulders as Buffy got to her final layer, and walked calmly over. He draped his coat over an arm of the sofa and she looked up at him with luminescent eyes. Biting her lower lip, he caught her heartbeat accelerating again.

"Mind if I sit down?" he asked softly.

She shook her head, so he did. Moving passed her legs, barely brushing them, Spike settled in place beside her. Buffy rubbed her bare arm, the one closest to him, and he had to bite back an amused smile.

"You can take your shoes off," she said.

He bent to work on that, and then Buffy stood up. She offered him coffee before tossing her clothes into a wicker hamper, and he declined. She then offered tea, or juice, and he declined again. It seemed she reverted to waitress function when her nerves were acting up.

Finally, she took a deep breath, and said, "I would really like to shower."

Of course she would, she'd been working for over twelve hours and had yet to truly stop. "Okay."

"I don't want to leave you... to get bored or anything, I just-"

"It's fine, pet. Hop in the shower, I'll wait."

Buffy gave him a relieved smile, one gratefully devoid of anxiety, and Spike returned it with added warmth. She said she would be out shortly, and he told her there was no rush. She opened the bathroom door and disappeared inside; a minute later he could hear the shower running.

Spike sat quietly, avoiding temptation as he tried not to focus too hard. The shower was interrupted by quiet here and there, surely broken by her naked body coming between hot, falling streams. There were probably soapy bubbles foaming across her nipples, traveling down her hips and thighs, gathering between them...

Spike clenched his jaw. Cracking his neck, he stood to finish inspecting his surroundings and distract his overactive mind.

Buffy's scanty lodging didn't have much space. It wasn't cluttered. It was homey, in a way, but there were no photographs to be seen and only three DVD's below the television set. Her clothes must be hanging in the closet and inside the small dresser located against the far wall. Her bed wasn't too large, but it was big enough for two.

There wasn't much else to it than that, unless you counted aging floral wallpaper and an area rug, but Spike was nearly glad for the sparse decor. While the idea of Buffy being so... lonely, bothered him, it also meant that she might be more inclined to leave.

He shook his head roughly. Spike couldn't understand this attraction, and he couldn't for the unlife of him care about the whys either. All he cared about was her, and fortunately, Buffy seemed to be experiencing the same enticement that he was every time he looked at her.

The door to the bathroom opened, releasing a cloud of moist steam before Buffy came out wearing nothing but a towel. Her dark gold hair was dripping on the floor.

Spike stared, his mouth running dry as a tiny bead of water trailed down her throat and along her collarbone. He wanted to follow it with his tongue. "Christ."

Buffy smiled, laughing shortly. He approached her unbidden, lifting pale, inviting hands to cup her elbows and draw her body close. "You are like somethin' out of a bleeding painting."

He could see her blush in the dark. Buffy glanced away only to turn right back and meet his eyes. "You're not so bad yourself," she murmured.

She wanted to lean up and kiss him, but something told her the first contact that involved either of their mouths would be like bringing a lit match to a stick of dynamite. She reluctantly stepped back and then passed by his solid frame, moving to stand beside her dresser. There was a small window above it, and even though no one could possibly look inside due to the snow and frost covering the glass, she pulled the curtain anyway.

Butterflies flew around in her stomach as she sat on the bed, reaching for the comb she'd left on the nightstand earlier. She began working out the tangles in her hair, and could feel Spike's eyes boring into her, creating a starburst of invisible touches and tingles along her back. She heard him approaching, and her breath caught but her hands remained busy.

Methodically running first the comb, then her fingers through her wet hair, Buffy jolted when Spike caught her wrists, even though she'd both felt and heard him kneel behind her on the mattress.

"Easy, pet," he said, in a voice as thick as honey. "Let me."

The tedious motions of brushing one's hair became something entirely new right there. Spike's fingers twined gently in her wet tangles, unwinding them sweetly and with care. Her heart broke into a heated rhythm, pattering against her chest.

He spent a good while combing and stroking, long past the time when soaked strands turned damp and the knots had been tamed. Buffy's pulse calmed, and she was feeling lightheaded with pleasure as she let her towel drop; Spike's hands froze.

She smiled, then gasped when his lips pressed gently against the nape of her neck. He dropped the comb, and she placed it on the nightstand blindly, leaning fully against him when he gripped her arms. Spike's teeth danced along her throat, causing chills to spread, until a moan broke free of her mouth.

Something caught fire inside their chests. Something neither had felt in so long a time, they almost didn't recognize it.

Spike growled softly and yanked her down, letting her back hit the soft green comforter that covered the bed. He moved and spread lengthwise beside her, so they lay sideways on the mattress, wrapping one strong arm around her. He was admiring her flushed body in the darkness, every indent, each rosy nipple and shadowed curve when she spoke up.

"It's been..."

Caught off guard, Spike met Buffy's nervous eyes and frowned. "Buffy?"

"I haven't done this in a while." She looked to the ceiling.

A smirk spread across his lips. "Don't worry, love." His gaze was filled with reassurance. "I'll be happy to refresh your memory."

Then he leant down, one hand sliding across her abdomen. Her breath hitched. Pulling whimpers from her as he kissed, caressed and explored, Spike's cool mouth trailed down Buffy's throat and nipped playfully. Her back arched, his metal ringed fingers moved along her warm body, tracing every swell. Buffy's heart beat dangerously fast as the telltale sensation of fever began.

Spike's moved tauntingly, barely whispering a touch against her skin, raising goose bumps, before grabbing at her with greed. His left hand found her breast and began to play, tracing her hardening nipple with a gentleness Buffy knew had to be controlled, for his right hand gripped the back of her neck to hold her in place for rough, violating kisses that left her feeling drugged.

Dizzy and eager, the last of her nerves finally melting away, Buffy slipped eager fingers beneath Spike's tight black shirt, trailing them down his back. He pressed against her, moaning her name and breaking the kiss. Searching the lady's eyes, he asked, "Do you trust me?"

Something, anything else, and Buffy wouldn't have been shocked, because of all the things she'd thought he might say, that wasn't one of them.

It was a truly halting question, after all. Did she trust him? He was a stranger. She was pretty sure she may have alluded to putting faith in him already, and the man had saved her life, but even such a fact couldn't strip away all common sense. He was still a mystery... sort of. And he wasn't a man... well, that bulge in his jeans said otherwise, but hardly the point. He was something inhuman; she remembered him telling her so.

Yet she'd believed him, hadn't she? Of course, there was proof- or at least supporting evidence -that could fend off most doubts, but there still had to be an overlay of trust in this relationship to believe what he'd said. To believe anything he told her.

Trust was necessary for Buffy to have let him touch her at all, but why was he asking for it?

"Yes," she answered, still frowning with uncertainty.

Spike practically read her frantic mind. "Do you trust me?" he repeated.

She became frustrated, and not in the physical sense, though she did start absently rubbing her thighs together. "I just said I did. What else do you want, a signed document?"

He sighed. "You know m'not human, love."

She blinked, then offered a slight nod once she understood. "I still trust you, and I don't really care what you are."

Maybe he'd expected an admittance of faith, even though Spike still wasn't sure why he'd cared enough to ask for it, but pure acceptance had never been expected, and certainly not hoped for. He tilted his head. "Why?"

She scowled at his question, then, in a very clear and sharp tone, said, "You saved my life. And I..." He beseeched silently when she froze, so Buffy swallowed her frustration. "I feel like... I need you," she whispered.

Spike glanced at her bared throat. It was strange how much he wanted to make sure this woman stayed alive. "Good enough," he grunted, tossing any other deep emotions he may be feeling to the wayside.

For now.

There was a very beautiful, very naked lady waiting on him, and she shouldn't have to be patient any longer; neither of them should.

His lips claimed hers once more, and it was like a gun had fired. The race began all over again, a rapid heartbeat striving to catch up with the swirling, giddy emotions galloping through her chest. His cold hands shaped her, molding Buffy's body like clay as she arched and pressed into him. Spike sat up momentarily to throw off his T-shirt, and she worked on removing his belt at the same time, tearing at it with uncharacteristic boldness.

Buffy wasn't timid, and certainly not demure, but she had never experienced sex with someone she couldn't also depend upon to be grounded, soft and gentle with her. Spike was anything but those things, from his hard abs to his leather coat, to the edges of his face; the only thing gentle about him was his sensual lips, and even those liked to maul.

Not that she was complaining.

She welcomed his weight when he fell into her open arms, biting her throat as he moved an impatient, brazen hand to the valley between her legs. Buffy whimpered, lifting hips up to catch him. She sighed as he circled her clit and began pressing moist kisses to her already reddened breasts, making her shiver. His teasing fingers quickly rid her of any remaining inhibitions.

Buffy's heels found the backs of his thighs and dug in, pulling him closer. Spike suckled and left behind teeth marks on her breasts while his left hand worked her over, slipping one, then two fingers inside her body, curling and withdrawing. Each deep thrust pulled moans and sighs from her open mouth.

She was made of poetry, every sound, every move, and his whole body tensed with impatience. He was hard and throbbing, silently begging entrance to her overheated body but similarly loathe to stop touching her any way she would allow; Spike wanted to worship her.

Buffy gasped when suddenly she was pulled up and repositioned, her head placed on the pillows near the wall. There was no headboard, and for the fact she lived in a hotel where many guests stayed every day, Buffy felt it was probably a good thing.

The damp towel she'd worn was pushed to the floor. Spike kneeled above her, his eyes dark and ribs expanding. Her muscles felt molten and her thighs were moist, the air felt chilly on her skin; when she realized he was finally removing his jeans, Buffy was unashamedly relieved.

Fast, and visibly annoyed with the chore, Spike slipped back into bed the second the denim hit the floor. He lifted the covers and draped them over their bodies, and immediately, she felt grateful, for there was an added dose of intimacy now that somehow felt right.

Fire in his touch made her instantly warm. It sounded awful and cliché, but she felt it, and her body curled around his beseechingly. Her ankles brushed along his calves. Spike's hand found the curve of her ass, stroking it while their tongues met again in a duel for something neither could name. A fight for dominance, maybe, except Buffy was basking in the control Spike seemed to want to take, and she melted at the mere order of a caress.

He pushed against her belly, groaning as the sensation of her warm skin along the underside of his cock sent heat through dead veins. She gasped into his mouth, carelessly bowing her back.

Her bee-stung lips made his body throb every time he looked at them. Buffy squeezed his arms and Spike noted idly that he could barely feel it, despite her white knuckled grip. He could barely feel anything but the warmth. "Are- Are you-" Her stutter caught him short, and Spike waited patiently for her to finish. It wasn't his fault that his hand was still kneading the softness of her ass; really, resisting the urge was pointless. "Shouldn't we use protection?" she asked.

Spike tried very hard not to chuckle. He only hoped Buffy would believe what he told her. "Don't need it, love." She gave him a funny look, as expected. "Not human. Don't have any live swimmers, or diseases."

She frowned hard. "B-but-" She glanced between them. "You're-"

He did laugh then. "S'all painless, sweets. No repercussions even though the parts are all in workin' order. Rather a nice predicament. Don' have to worry overly much."

Buffy met his eyes again, and he saw trust there. Whether or not she felt it was another thing. "Oh."

That was all she said. Understanding was clear. Except, he was worried tension might invade their intimacy, so he attempted to curb it. "If it makes you feel better, I could suit up-" She cut him off with a kiss.

It was a kiss that melted brain cells, it was, and Spike gladly announced his surrender in the form of a groan. He cupped the back of her head, shivering as Buffy's hands danced over him with intent, her nails scoring his back, and her hips rolling against his cock. The heat from her pussy was teasing him, beckoning like a warm home to enter, to slide to the hilt inside. The sensation of her heartbeat echoing across his cold chest made him lose all restraint, and without the merest warning he shoved her flat onto her back.

Holding himself up, Spike pinned her wrists, then dove right back in. He never let up on the kiss, reveling in her taste, in the sweetness, the wildness. The abandonment of everything but this feeling.

He slipped his hips between her thighs and nearly glided inside right then, but when he broke away Buffy said his name like an angel and all Spike could do was force himself to breathe with her, to focus on her heartbeat. All he could hear or smell or see, was her. The room had disappeared some time ago. With a deep moan, he began spreading kisses down her writhing body, tonguing her nipples on an eager route south.

She was whimpering and it drove him crazy, the sound fueling his lust. Her breath hitched and Buffy started to shake with anticipation. Her thighs spread unintentionally, making room for Spike's body, hands, his rolling hips. But he just moved lower, creating a path of bite marks and kisses. Her patience had long since left her and sweat pooled everywhere.

Spike grabbed her legs, pushing until her ankles were high. Buffy's hands, now free, lifted to touch him. Her fingers ran through bleached curls, soft as silk, and a vibration strolled across his skin. Spike kissed her inner thigh before licking her center, and growling at the scent that made his gums itch.

Buffy's gasp of shock dissolved into a moan, and then something which sounded like his name coated in a whimper as sweet as chocolate. She had no shame left, and if she did, Spike banished the rest when he took her clit into his mouth and sucked. Buffy lifted her hips unthinkingly and he forced them still.

Spike licked once again, growling around her wet flesh, nipping the plump, aroused petals until all her senses blurred. Eventually, when her cries echoed around her own mind like butterflies, he dipped his tongue inside her. Then, plunged.

Buffy's actions were out of control, her hips futilely trying to rise beneath his iron grip. Spike finally let go to finger her clit as he drank boldly from her body, licking her pussy clean and yet wetter. Driving her insane with need, and yet answering every one.

Spike swallowed warm, tangy mouthfuls, savoring her flavor. She was as rich as cinnamon. His lips shined when he pulled back to flick her clit with the point of his tongue, curling two fingers inside her heat and massaging the warm muscles; Buffy's shout was desperate and addicting.

Spike hummed against her sensitive pearl. "Shh, baby. Don' want the neighbors to complain, do we?"

You could hear that sinful smirk. "D-Don't-" She gasped again. "Spike! Please, ohh-" Her hips lifted high again and Spike held them above the mattress as he ate her out, moaning, swallowing with blatant hunger. His rushing breaths flew across her damp thighs. "What d'you want, Buffy? Tell me."

She shook her head, hips gyrating beneath his hand as he lowered her back to the bed, his fingers sliding in and out of her drenched core once again. "I want you. Please." He growled before taking her clit into his mouth like he enjoyed hearing her scream. "Oh God!"

Spike didn't stop, didn't let up until he felt her walls clench around his fingers and a moan rattled through Buffy's throat, music to his ears. She was like an ocean, waving and keening atop the bed sheets; he couldn't take his eyes off her. He didn't move from his place between her legs until the muscles in them softened and her ankles fell. Then, he rose.

He slid across her body, her nipples grazing his bare skin and hardening every muscle in his back. Spike met Buffy's blackened forest eyes before pressing his lips to hers, his breathing heavy. "Need to feel you around me. Beneath me," he murmured roughly. "I crave it."

Buffy's chest hurt from the urgent beat of her heart, but the pain was nothing compared to the want in his voice, to the desire in his eyes. She had gotten her chance to see the stars, but not with him inside her; she wanted that. "I crave... you." She stretched her courage with the admission, then wrapped her legs around Spike's waist. "I need you."

He growled very lowly as his cock pushed slowly into her tight sheath, heavy and thick; her pleasured gasp broke the silence.

Buffy threw her head back, and Spike pulled out on a strangled moan. She gasped again when he returned. "Oh, my God."

He withdrew once more, then felt her thighs clench around his waist. *Baby wants me close, does she?* He plunged back inside, this time grinding against her body with his own, stroking her sensitive clit on deep, rocking strokes that sent vibrations down his spine.

She called his name, lifting for every move he made. Her head was thrown back, lying amongst the pillows as moans spilled from her lips like a poem. *She's magnificent,* he thought, grabbing her ass to pull her into his rolling thrusts. "Buffy..."

They collided, moved like old lovers. Skin grew slick, and Buffy burned him up from the inside out. The chill in the room turned to steam as she gave him everything she had, taking Spike's bruising kisses and thrusts as payment. His cock filled her up, his touch made her blood race, and noises were leaving her that she'd never known she could make.

He made her yearn, even when he pulled out for moments that were one second too long for him to go, then she was lost in heaven each time he returned.

Buffy clenched her inner muscles around his cock as he twisted his hips just so and her body ached with pleasure. "Harder," she breathed into his ear, grunting when he suckled at her throat again, "Fuck, Spike..." Her moans got louder.

Spike's jaw tightened and he fought off the desire to lose control. Not yet. She was squeezing him from the inside, burning him alive, and all he could do was melt. He didn't want it to end. "Don' hold back. Bloody hell- Love bein' inside you." Her nails found his ass and ran up, scratching his skin. "C'mon, baby, squeeze me, yeah-" He let out a harsh growl when her teeth found his neck, biting hard so her whimpers turned muffled. "Bleeding fuck, that's right! That's my girl. Make it hurt- Buffy!"

She couldn't control herself anymore. Her pussy was clenching with every thrust he gave and her legs felt wooden with tension, her heart was drumming in her ears and he'd said make it hurt. Buffy bit fiercely down then released his skin, shouting her pleasure in the form of his name as she climaxed, her body trembling. Muscles fluttered around his cock as Spike rolled against her throbbing clit. Her name had never sounded so free as when he snarled it behind her ear, and she felt his orgasm within.

Spike toppled to the mattress once the last jolt ran through them, and Buffy started to float back down like a feather on the wind. He lay on her right side, his tired hand stroking along her belly before gently pulling her in close. Buffy curled against him.

She opened her eyes after a few minutes, and found him staring. "Wow," she breathed.

"I'll bloody say." He smirked, and then somehow, those aftershocks she was feeling lit up like fresh sparkler flashes. Buffy would have been worried if Spike didn't trail a hand down her back to grasp her ass again, before pulling her forward to smoothly nudge himself between her legs. She felt gentle hardness teasing her tired body, and looked at him in astonishment. "You- You just-" She glanced at his hardening cock. "You're either on something, or definitely not human."

Spike laughed abruptly, and Buffy's mouth snapped shut. Her cheeks turned red like candied apples, and Spike felt himself falling. Giddiness and warmth spread through him like the lust quickly rebuilding. "S'another... perk, from bein' what I am," he said with a quirk of a brow. She continued to stare with those embarrassed hazel green eyes. "Care to see which one of us can wear the other out first, kitten?"

Buffy felt that telltale jolt in her blood again, the same one that caused her to gulp and stifle another whimper. A smile was her chosen answer, so Spike pulled her flush against him as their mouths met yet again in a wet, chaotic kiss.

This time, he rolled so Buffy was on top of him, her breasts flat against his chest and her pussy sliding along his thigh. She moved like a siren's song, her kisses drugging him until he had her hair in his fingers. He tugged so he could chart kisses down her neck like a line of purple stars.

Buffy moaned and dug into his shoulders, gasping in surprise when he sat up and aligned her drenched opening with his cock. Wetness pooled and moisture crept down her inner thighs as he teased her slit, but he kept her from gliding down, instead wrapping an arm about her waist to hold her still. "Spike- I- I want-"

"Know what you want, love. Want me inside again, right?" His breath whispered across her neck, his nostrils flaring. "You want me pounding into your tight quim. Want me so deep inside I can never leave."

She replied with a hoarse, incoherent moan, and Spike smiled evilly, his eyes as black as night. "Never want to leave either, baby. Would stay in here forever if I..." Slowly, he guided her body down onto his cock, her pussy swallowing him until he was as deep as he could get.

Spike never finished his sentence, and Buffy was almost glad for it. Because if he did, then she might ask him to stay. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and let go of reality, moving atop Spike's lap freely as he caused goose bumps to break out over her skin like pushpins on a map. He followed them with his tongue and traced her nipples, licking them into soft points he bit and bruised. Buffy rocked her hips slowly, lifting to feel his cock slide between her clenching muscles, gyrating shamelessly and knowing he was watching.

Shivering for the friction, she moved faster, and felt the heat creeping up on her, the scent of fire in the distance. Buffy moaned as he took her body in his hands, guiding her, keeping her close. Tugging on her hair again, he bared her throat and latched onto it. She pushed herself down harder. Whimpers escaped her lips like a bird's song as her hips moved furiously to stoke the flames. "Oh, yes, yes..." Her thoughts scattered, and just like that, she fell.

No warning, no starting shot, just bliss spilling through her senses like a slow bleed. Buffy shouted and Spike urged her on, claiming she was breathtaking, forced her to keep moving, rocking her hips as his cock stabbed gently inside. "Bloody hell," he cursed. He was gasping against her cheek as she worked herself off, and then suddenly, she felt vibration in Spike's chest as a snarl harsher than a blizzard wind flew passed her ear.

His hips slammed up, his cock piercing deep before he spilled himself inside her, and Buffy moaned in completion, her heart beating a mile a minute as she finally fell into his arms, sweaty and replete.

Spike dropped and hit the mattress, Buffy wrapped in his arms. Their exhaustion combined with shaky gasps and melting bones, until the lovers fell unbidden into sleep.

Their bodies remained one through the hours.


____________
END NOTES:
I love reviews, and would really adore some feedback on the lusty scenes in this story. I hope this chapter was enjoyed!
P.S. If it hasn't already come across as appallingly apparent, this fic is basically going to be porn with very little plot. ;)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The song in this chapter is "Stay A Little Longer" by Brothers Osborne
Hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks for reading and for the reviews! *big hugs*
_______________


It was early morning, but the arms of dappled sunlight outside couldn't reach the solitude of Buffy's bedroom no matter how hard they tried. There were sounds of trucks coming and going, footfalls of guests down the hall. Shades sprung open to let in the shine of a rare clear sky.

Across the street, the diner was bustling with people wanting greasy burgers to nurse their hangovers, and hungry travelers in search of breakfast. Come eight o'clock, there would probably be even more, and come afternoon, the snow would return.

Something, likely the feel of a human body warming his cold skin or her steady breathing, woke Spike. He knew what time it was the moment his senses cleared. The sun was rising, which meant that he would have to remain inside; he was probably stuck for quite a few hours.

He couldn't be happier.

Opening his eyes, Spike caught sight of one of the very things he'd wished to see after meeting Buffy Summers. Her long blonde hair was draped over his arm and across a wrinkled pillowcase, an expression of unbothered peace dressing her features.

She was glowing. Beautiful. Like art you're not allowed to touch. Except he could, and he had. Bloody hell, just looking at her and he couldn't decide if he wanted to wake Buffy with a kiss or let her sleep so he might watch over her.

An anxious lump went down his throat. That was dangerous territory, but he knew how this was going to go. Spike had made up his mind long before sleeping with her, before tasting her.

He would leave. Once the storms were done, he would get into his car and drive far away from this hole-in-the-wall town. He'd call it a weekend to forget... but he couldn't forget her if he tried.

If... If Buffy wished to come with him, then he wouldn't have to let it all fade.

It was a pipedream, but maybe... just maybe.

Spike shook his head. No. He realized, in the harsh light of day, that it was better if she didn't. No matter that he wanted her. Hell only knew everything would go straight to it in a nice frills and lace hand basket if they left this place together, and fell apart somewhere else.

His arms tightened, enticing her warmth to spread over him like a hot blanket. Bringing up leaving together was out of the question, despite the urge he felt to ask over and over again until she agreed. He wanted to keep her. Spike similarly knew that such was impossible. He couldn't keep anyone.

This decision of resolution might have been easier if he'd made up his mind before knowing what it felt like to have her beneath him. Writhing, holding him inside, kissing his chest and leaving small kitten scratches on his shoulders. Now it would only be that much harder to drive away, and not beg Buffy to come along.

Spike sighed, grinding his teeth together. Leaning in, he set his forehead against hers and breathed, inhaling until it hurt. She smelled like sugar and musk, like him, like the closed up kitchen of a bakery. Femininity had never been so well packaged, in his opinion.

Suddenly, her eyelids fluttered open. He blinked and started back in embarrassment.

"Wait."

All right, she wasn't cursing him or claiming last night had been a mistake; that was good. "I like it... when you're close," she murmured, and Spike's chest tightened on a hard swallow.

She frowned, as soft as her warm hand against his cheek, before leaning up for a kiss. The moment their lips touched the fuse was lit. He groaned and slid his palms down her back, holding firmly until Buffy pulled away just to catch a breath.

She hid her eyes against his neck, panting quietly. Before he could fulfill this bone melting need he had to inhale those breaths like nicotine, Buffy started nipping lightly at his chest. She moved lower until he felt her tongue teasing his abdomen, circling his bellybutton as the muscles underneath clenched like taught wires. She bit gently, then harder when he hissed through his teeth.

Spike kept his hands at bay and let her play, reveling in the torture. Buffy giggled when she teased his left hipbone and he swore in reaction. Her gaiety nearly snapped his will, but then she was licking around the base of his cock, her tongue hot and wet and oh so flexible.

He didn't move an inch.

Buffy paused before placing a chaste kiss to the tip of his saluting body part. "I haven't done this before," she admitted.

His head jerked to attention- Rather, both heads, but he only used the one to say, "You what?"

"I haven't-" She sighed and leaned down, cutting her admission in half with one long lick that sent common sense spiraling. "I've never given a- a-"

He swallowed thickly. "A blowjob?"

"Right." Buffy shrugged and avoided his eyes. Her hands were flat against her bent knees, heart beating fast, tight shoulders shrugging. "Do you want- I mean... Can I?"

Spike couldn't speak, so he settled for a very emphatic head bob, which made her grin. He liked her smiling; he liked her smiling around his cock, too, he found out very quickly.

Buffy's soft lips engulfed the head and slid slowly down. She took what was comfortable and wrapped her hand around the rest, beginning a smooth, slow rhythm of suck and slide. Spike's fingers turned the bed sheets into tiny mountains with outgoing lines, the strain threatening to tear them.

He let go after a minute and ran his hands along the softness of her hair, groaning, trapped in ecstasy as she sucked him off like a lollipop.

The feel of Spike's cock sliding between her lips, and every moan that came from his open mouth, was addicting, tangy on Buffy's tongue and sweet to her ears.

When he felt his balls tighten, Spike pleaded with her to come up for air so he could immerse himself in her heat, the clenching slickness of her pussy. That was what he wanted; the sounds of her pleasure ringing around them like a dance number, her tight quim drenching him while they writhed in each other's arms.

She didn't listen at first, too busy using her tongue and hands to drive him wild, concentrating as she took him in a little deeper. His cock touched the back of her throat and her grip tightened before she trailed one fingertip down his length in a teasing manner. When Spike finally had all he could take, and pulling away was the hardest thing in the world, he gasped her name.

"Yes?" she inquired with a cheeky smile, licking the underside of his cock very s l o w l y. She was clearly pleased with herself, obviously devoid of uncertainty from what used to be lack of experience- now eradicated -and appearing as a cat does after drinking a big bowl of cream. "Do you need something?" she asked innocently.

"Yeah," Spike forced himself not to whimper when she took him inside her mouth again. His grip on her hair had gone taught. "Need you."

She let him go with a wet plop. "You've got me."

Spike grabbed her hand so quick he startled her, then pulled so she fell on top of him. Buffy laughed, letting the urgent man roll her over until her back pressed into the comforter.

He growled between shaky breaths and equally shake-worthy kisses; Buffy found it very empowering that she'd been the one to make him tremble so hard. "Want to try something?" he murmured, in a voice that reminded her of dark, dark chocolate; the 80% cacao kind.

"Okay."

Spike didn't comment on her willingness, merely took the gift for what it was and kissed her cheeks before asking her to flip over.

"Oh," she mouthed silently, like the whisper of awareness that raced down her spine. Buffy moved gently onto her stomach and felt his hands nudge her legs apart, heat pooling across her face right after. Then, soft and warm now, he was whispering in her ear like a secret teller, calming her. "Can I take you like this, kitten?" He cock rested on her lower back, and Buffy felt a flood of wetness seeping from her body onto his busy fingertips.

She nodded dazedly as a response. Spike was dotting kisses along her shoulder blades, right hand moving upward before reaching her ass and squeezing fondly. She sighed and felt his cock settle between her thighs; her lower abdomen clenched. "I love this," he said. Buffy moaned in bliss as he lifted her hips and slid slowly inside, groaning above her. "Love feelin' your gorgeous body around me."

It was easy to find the beauty in this new position; Spike's breath hit the back of her neck like invisible puffs of ice, while his words set her to overheat. She saw his muscled arms beside her shoulders. His hand slid beneath her arching hips to reach her clit, and his cock penetrated deep enough to make her legs shake. It was the sort of torture a woman craved.

Spike thrust slowly, getting her accustomed to the angle before moving faster, driving into her pussy harder and harder. Buffy's spine arched as their bodies came faithfully together, grunting in pleasure each time, and his fingers worked intermittently on her clit, harsh one moment then slow the next. Her fists were clenching in the pillows.

Spike was losing himself, the little control he'd managed to hold onto finally slipping away like a feather on a gust of wind. He slid his hand into the softness beside hers, leaning down and whispering in her ear. "You like this don't you, kitten? Like me sliding into your wet quim, watchin' your perky arse liftin' for me?" He thrust particularly hard and she whimpered, gladly arching higher before pushing herself down into his hand. "Spike..." She moaned.

His thrusts grew harsher, more possessive, like he was claiming her as his own. Heat spread through Buffy's limbs, her gut, and then over a wave she fell. Her nerves vibrated like tuning forks alongside the slow cry of his name, and she savored each following plunge with greed and love as she moved in ecstasy beneath her maker.

He came fast and rough, nothing like her spill of divine gratification. With a loud roar, entirely inhuman and brutal in nature, Buffy's name followed in torrents, constant even after the heat had died down and their sated bodies fell together.

Spike growled warm and almost gentle as he turned her over, kissing Buffy deeply, like he was trying to imprint her flavor on his own tongue. She grabbed at his shoulders as he traced the edges of her teeth, played within the confines of her mouth, nipping delicately.

Spike took what he wanted, consumed her whole, and worshipped her with dedication she couldn't name.

He'd gotten into her heart.

Buffy threw her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. It was all she could do.

He didn't break the kiss, and she only did because oxygen became an issue what felt like several minutes later. Once Buffy caught her breath, Spike rushed to say, "M'not leavin' tonight."

Her heart suddenly felt like it was playing jump rope in her chest. "You're not." Buffy's words were merely words; hers was not a voice that could equate emotional, or reveal any sign of girly neediness, really.

He shook his head. "Storms are rollin' in again. Can't ship out 'til they do," he rasped.

Her heart tripped over its metaphorical jump rope. "Oh." She swallowed and looked away. This news wasn't news. It was something she already knew, yet hard to hear nonetheless. She didn't want to think about him leaving. Hiding all her feelings behind neutrality, again, Buffy cleared her throat. "I'm sure you... probably want to get out of here as soon as possible."

Spike clenched his jaw briefly, noting absently the drop in her tone but not thinking on it very long. "Right. Well, what I meant was... Would you want- want to stay with me, 'til then?"

Buffy's eyes rounded as her blood pressure went right up. She bit her lower lip very hard. Should she stay? Was that smart? She'd already done everything she could to bring herself close to this man, gave him a chance to get under her skin. So far she'd failed at protecting herself quite well, and she was having so much... fun. She felt truly giddy in his arms, in his company at the diner, sleeping by his side. This was the sort of thing she never, ever did, and it made her happy.

Why did she feel like crying after hearing his offer?

When she was silent for too long, Spike stiffened and began to move away. She grabbed his hand reflexively and before she knew what she was doing Buffy said, "Yes. I'll stay with you." Their eyes locked. "I'd- I'd like that."

Spike smiled as brightly as a spotlight, and she was stunned by the beauty of him. He fell upon his palms, then began one of those toe-curling kisses. Whether the moment was right or she was simply pleased with her choice, Buffy laughed happily as she let Spike consume her over and over again.

***

With the night came another storm, the winds making a painting out of the darkness and snowflakes. Buffy and Spike had gladly stayed inside all day long, creating messy impressions in a now squeaky bed. Their only moments spent elsewhere were when they had gone to the bar downstairs for a bite to eat.

Sarah had a shabby little menu available to guests, and one shabby little cook named Henry who whipped up bar friendly food for people when they ordered it. Since the weather was so hairy, and lengthening the distance between themselves and the bedroom seemed quite unappealing, Buffy and Spike agreed dinner at the inn would be just fine; rather than walking across the street which sounded far from pleasant.

Now, she lie on her side, naked beneath a bed sheet as she remembered it. She was waiting for Spike to return from checking out, so her mind was actively trying to distract from his absence.

They had made love more times than Buffy could count, and she recalled vividly the only moments today they'd actually worn clothes.

They had eaten at a small table for two. She ordered chicken tenders with a diet coke, he some weird thing called an onion blossom, plus a glass of Jack Daniel's, claiming that such a dinner was perfectly acceptable despite her raised brows.

As they ate, they talked. They talked about everything, it seemed, and flirted needlessly, while Buffy even opened up about her past. It was like dusting off the pages of an old book, something treasured and nostalgic, then sharing the story with a close friend. Someone who would understand.

Spike, though, was more than just a friend, and he too, spilled some secrets. Most of them vague, but readable. She understood he used to be a different person, someone not so kind, not so loving as he was now- At least, with her he was kind. She found it difficult to care about the rest.

They dug deep, over fried chicken and whiskey, they learned more than they already knew, about each other and themselves. Sarah watched from the bar and Charlie even caught them at one point on his daily visit, but no one bothered Buffy and Spike to poke their noses in or ask questions. They merely witnessed the blonde couple sharing laughs and conversation.

There was one explicit moment, though, when Spike went to pay the bill. She told him he shouldn't, that she would gladly pay her share, but the stubborn mule insisted.

That was how Buffy realized she was dating a gentleman.

And that was how she realized she was in too deep.

On a moment of panic, she excused herself just as Spike returned to the table. He knew something was wrong, but Buffy was determined to get herself under control and enjoy the remainder of the night before he could so much as ask what it was.

After all, she wasn't dating the man. He wasn't even a man, but she'd already decided that didn't matter. The point was, they were sleeping together. He was fun and deliciously addictive, a lover with strength to go all night and protect females from furry snow monsters, but still a passerby. A stranger. A visitor. What Spike was not was her boyfriend.

Minutes later, after splashing handfuls of cold water on her face, Buffy walked out of the safety of the single restroom with damp cheeks but a clearer head. She was fairly certain her eyes didn't look red. Only issue? She wasn't using them to watch where she was going, and bumped right into a very large man.

It would have been a pretty inconsequential incident if she hadn't made him spill his seventh or eighth beer on the lady he was trying to impress with hunting tales.

The woman scurried off agitated, and he turned on Buffy's hasty apology with a glare as ugly as the weather. Of course, in her opinion that was insulting the admittedly chaotic but ethereal blizzard keeping a certain peroxide blonde trapped at the inn with her. The guy wearing the unattractive scowl, however, probably wouldn't appreciate her judgment.

He was six feet tall and looked like a human boulder. Had she mentioned that he was angry?

"What the hell do you think you're doing, blondie?" he bellowed. Before Buffy could even cringe and say sorry again, he invaded her personal space. A gleam entered his eye as he made a grab for her.

Buffy's apologetic nature evaporated in that instant, and she dodged his slow moving hand. Slipping around the guy wasn't difficult, but getting away seemed to be. He followed her around the corner and back into the main area of the bar, where Spike was waiting. Sharp blue eyes landed on her, and the boulder shaped man, immediately.

That long leather coat billowed out behind him as he strode over, coming to Buffy's side as the aggressive drunk stopped merely five inches away. The stranger looked the couple up and down, and while Buffy was hardly your typical damsel in distress, at that moment she was grateful for Spike's presence. It would have been embarrassing, having to hit some idiot over the head with a beer bottle and then explain the whole situation to Sarah.

Spike may have been shorter, and slighter in build, but she knew a few things the opposing boulder did not.

He sneered, looking at Spike with something akin to nasty pity. Then, like a magic trick, Buffy watched as arrogance drained away, to be replaced by undiluted fear.

He stuttered and stumbled backward, nearly tripping over a barstool in his haste to be gone. Buffy glanced up at her companion's face, and thought she saw something odd, but then realized if she had, she didn't want to know what. At least, not yet.

It didn't matter to her what he'd done, how he scared the other man away without so much as a threat. All that Buffy cared about was getting back to the room, and losing themselves in each other for a few more hours before Spike had to go.

She remembered his request, back at the diner. The choice she had... to leave. But Spike had not asked her outright, and he'd neglected to bring it up since.

Besides, it wouldn't be smart. She had to stay here. They would part ways and then forget about this time spent exhausting her mattress springs.

Just not until tomorrow.

Buffy sighed, rolling over and tucking her clasped hands beneath her cheek as the surroundings fell back into place. Her bare back faced the door, but she listened intently for the sound of footsteps. He only went to check out, to get his things and then return. He'd been gone almost fifteen minutes.

Spike wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. She had to believe that. Even if he tried, no one could get anywhere in the current storm still building outside. Spike wasn't dumb, and he wasn't going to leave. Not before tomorrow.

Still, Buffy listened for his footsteps on the creaky floor outside her room like she was listening through static on a television.

She waited. She counted her breaths and considered turning on the radio that sat in her bathroom to fill the silence. She turned over again. And again.

Finally, ten minutes later, Spike's footfalls echoed through the door. Buffy smiled in relief when he came inside, and she wondered why she hadn't just gone with to get his stuff.

Really, he was leaving tomorrow. How clingy did she have to worry about seeming when their time together would only boil down to a handful of hours?

Careless and happy for the moment, Buffy hopped out of bed with the sheet wrapped hastily around her body as Spike kicked the door shut. He dropped a suitcase and a small cooler to the ground.

Her blonde hair was tangled from his fingers, her lips pink and plump. She was gorgeous and badly covered up with a thin white sheet, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, and the room smelled like them. It all made him think of home somehow, so Spike grabbed Buffy around the waist and tugged her close, kissing her for all he was worth and more.

Why hadn't he asked her to come with him while he checked out?

*'Cause you didn't want her to see you drink your dinner, you ninny.* Right. That.

Spike mentally shook himself and lost himself at the same time, gladly, in the taste of her. The same woman who'd made him feel more things over the past few hours than anyone had in all his years.

Christ, she was undoing his belt. He loved it when she did that, even if he hated having to take the time to undress before feeling her body against his, surrounding him. He was an impatient bugger.

Buffy tore off his shirt after the duster fell to cover the cooler on the floor. When Spike was nude from the waist up, she quickly worked on the zipper of his jeans, yanking it down and nearly breaking it in her haste.

Buffy's mouth left kisses across his chest, decorated the scratched skin with healing love, and Spike toed off his boots, thankful that he'd left them untied. Pale hands framing her waist, he moved them backward until her knees hit the bed, and the sheet hiding her body was pulled away.

Spike removed his jeans and then wrapped strong fingers around his cock, stroking it as Buffy moved to the pillows. She was all long, pale limbs, round and perky breasts, with a dark alluring shadow between her thighs. Beautiful. She looked him in the eye and licked her pretty lips, knowing what it did to him. She flipped her golden hair to one side, baring her throat, and Spike fell to his knees.

She laughed when he bounced and reached out, tugging her by the ankles. There was the muffled sound of wind howling outside and a song playing beneath them. Under the floor, a soft beat with words neither could fully make out hummed away; one that matched their hearts and their circumstances almost too well.

Give it one more call, It's one more "Whatcha doin' right now?"
It's one more trip to my side of town and you walk right in
One more here we go again

Spike moved over her like a wave, rushing and soft at the same time. His gentle touch was urgent, shaking. He lifted her leg and wrapped it around his waist, a hand climbing her thigh.

Buffy welcomed him inside with trust you couldn't fake. Her heart beat a thousand rounds in her chest as they moved together. Fire ran across her skin, lust coiling in her belly as Buffy pressed her mouth greedily to his, drinking him in like wine.

One more drink leads to another, you slide up close to me
Tear the T-shirts off each other
Your hands all over me

Spike held her bent knee over her chest, thrusting deep as sweat beaded across her collarbone. He moved his lips to her throat when she called out his name, and his fangs pricked his gums. He wanted her blood. He wanted to know what she tasted like so he could remember.

I tell myself I'm not in love
But one more time is not enough
One last kiss and then you're a goner

He wanted to remember. Every detail, of this town, this place, this tiny room. He wanted to remember everything about her. He needed to. Had to have it all. Wanted it with each thrust of his cock, and each following moan from Buffy's mouth.

And I'm here wishing you could stay a little longer

He wanted her.

He needed to be inside, fangs and body, tasting her blood. Spike pulled away from her neck and kissed her again, letting her consume every part of him she would have. His need, trust, heart. All of it was hers.

So calm and so cool, yeah I try to be
Like it don't bother me
The last time was the last time
Until I'm all alone and I'm picking up the phone

Spike tucked Buffy's leg into the crook of his elbow and went deeper, drove harder until her grunts and sighs permeated the air like a melody he'd never be able to forget.

One more call
It's one more "Whatcha doin' right now?"
It's one more trip to my side of town and you walk right in
One more here we go again

Her thighs shook when he twisted his hips on each plunge, shivers moving across her body as he began a steady, writhing assault on her clit. "Oh God!" She moaned and threw her head back; her pale throat was a beacon in the darkness.

One more drink leads to another, you slide up close to me
Tear the T-shirts off each other
Your hands all over me

Spike's arm unwound and Buffy quickly wrapped both legs around his waist, lifting into his bruising drives. He let his hands fall to her breasts, teasing her nipples and pinching them every time her pussy clenched wetly around his cock. "Bleedin' fuck." He stabbed a particularly sensitive batch of nerves and Buffy whimpered his name.

I tell myself I'm not in love
But one more time is not enough
One last kiss and then you're a goner

Spike quickened pace. Buffy was scraping trails down his arms as he thrust hard enough to push her higher up the bed, using harsh rocking motions on every other plunge to make her moan. "Un! Spike-" Her climax moved to the forefront, impossible to ignore, impossible to stop. She let go with a scream.

And I'm here wishing you could stay a little longer

Spike was at her throat when her satisfaction rang out. He let his demon come forward, biting down, piercing her skin and drawing out sweet pools of blood between fangs which cut into her like razors.

Buffy fell over the edge again, pain forged pleasure ripping through her body like a drug. She felt Spike spill himself inside her with a growl that sounded ten times louder than she'd ever heard it.

They both floated down with exhaustion clouding their vision, chests sliding against each other, and unwittingly, she fell into a deep sleep with Spike still wrapped around her, just as a lover should be.

And I'm here wishing you could stay a little longer

***

One more hour was all she wanted.

Moments were all she would get.

Buffy convinced herself, or tried her damndest, that it was for the best. He hadn't asked her to come with him, not in a veiled kind of way and not plainly. She wasn't sure what response she might have given anyway. All she knew was that Spike would pack his things into the trunk of his beat up black car and leave this place behind like tire tracks in the snow.

He could go freely now. It was only four o'clock but the sky was clouded over and dark. She couldn't see the moon but she knew it was there, smiling down on the world as if winter wasn't seeping into every pore of her skin. The cold had never felt so bitter as when she watched Spike slip into his clothes again, for the second or third time since they'd met.

Buffy tried to memorize the seconds, like pictures, the way he buckled his belt and tied up his big boots. The slow glide of a T-shirt over his abdomen, then a dark gray sweater over that, and finally the way he shrugged on his leather coat to fit around his body as comfortably as a second skin. The way she once had.

Buffy dug her fingernails into her shoulder and looked at the wall. The dull wallpaper was easier to stare at without feeling her throat close up; she heard his footsteps approach.

Standing up from the bed, Buffy took a deep breath and met his eyes.

Those beautiful eyes.

Spike noticed how green mixed with hues of gold only seen on wedding bands and in the reflections of sunrises over water. He could never really capture those moments. The vibrant shades, the glow of light, because he only found them in fleeting shots. Buffy's eyes were wide and gorgeous, and gazing right at him for what felt like hours; he could lose himself in the colors for eternity.

They had spent the day in bed again, the frigid morning light weakening behind the curtains, then fading to darkness. Spike was only thankful Buffy had wanted him with her as the hours shrunk to minutes, otherwise they would have said goodbye much too soon for his liking. It was still much too soon.

He held in a sigh. This wasn't right. It didn't feel right, though presumably, it was the exact thing he should be doing. He was supposed to leave this Yeti trap town wearing a grin as large as the bloody state. He'd made what was going to be a boring detour, and found the heat of a gorgeous woman waiting for him to help pass the time.

It had turned into so much fucking more. He would remember her moaning his name, the way it felt sleeping in Buffy's bed with her curled around him. He'd known what it was to feel warm again. The whole recipe should add up to one hell of a delay in his trip, but all Spike felt now was cold.

Buffy didn't want to leave, she'd said. What Spike wouldn't give for that to be false, for his heart and heavy soul to believe that begging would be the wise thing. That trying to take her with him wouldn't end in disaster.

He studied the odds, he listened to his blood; they warred with each other.

Even if she wanted to come with, she wasn't speaking up about it; and he wouldn't force something that wasn't a good notion to start with.

Her gaze refocused, fixing on the wall again.

He cleared his throat. Right. This was the smart thing. This was the intelligent thing.

Buffy turned to him but she stared at his lips, then his throat, then his chest, until finally swiveling her eyes the other way again. His attention fell to the mark he'd left on her neck, the jagged, soon to be scar marring her fair skin. He knew she'd seen it. She'd run her fingers along the rough scabs several times already, yet she hadn't said a thing.

Buffy hadn't asked what he'd done, or why. She'd merely seen and accepted. Spike had never met somebody like that. It was almost as if she didn't want to ask too many questions because then why would he ever bother to come back? Why, if she'd learned everything? If there was no mystery left?

He shook himself. He was losing it, that was damn sure. The lady in front of him had done something to his head, and he wasn't yet ready to face it. Spike didn't know if ignorance was as smart as the decision to leave, which he just knew had to be the right choice, but it didn't really matter anyway.

"Spike?"

Her voice startled him. She still didn't turn to look at him when he said, "Yeah, pet?"

"I'll..." Buffy shuffled her feet and crossed her arms, a guard of fingers wrapping across her shoulders. "I hope you have a safe trip. Wherever you're going."

His jaw began to fall open, and then she stared directly at him. Her eyes were a sea of pain, but then it was gone, dried up, and all he saw was dull, gorgeous hazel wishing him well. "I'm glad we spent... time together," she said stiffly.

The vampire swallowed, thick and hard, cursing his battered heart and the lack of blood flow around his chilled bones. Christ, why did this hurt? "Yeah. Had a..." He took a useless breath, then vowed, "I won't forget a minute."

Happiness flooded her gaze like a storm, and just like that she flew into his arms and held on tight. Buffy's cheek pressed to his cold one, and Spike clutched her desperately.

They moved reluctantly apart before sharing a tender kiss. Their lips met with electricity neither could ever douse, and enforced gentleness to shroud wishes like a cloak.

He was the first, stepping away despite his urges. Spike knew if he didn't then he'd find himself in her bed again, loving her like he was made to. Buffy swallowed and let him glide slowly from her hands. His things were already in the hall, waiting to be loaded into that windshield painted DeSoto outside. All he need do was leave.

Buffy watched with a heavy heart as Spike grinned tightly in her direction, making his way to the door. "If I ever drive into town again, I'll find you."

The words felt like a shoulder pat, but she smiled anyway. "It's not much of a town," Buffy said evenly. "More of a 'stopping' place, really."

"S'got a bit of charm," he remarked. His hand reached for the doorknob. "It was..." Words flopped dead in his stomach. She lifted her fingers to touch the mark on her throat again, and Spike's legs nearly carried him right back to her. "It was unforgettable." He tried ignoring the catch in his voice.

She nodded sadly. "I think you said that already."

"I meant it." Spike turned abruptly and shut the door, never looking back as he hefted a suitcase and cooler down the hallway.

***

Buffy stared at the last place he stood. She flinched with the distant sound of a car door slam, followed obediently by a loud engine. She would never know he fixed his attention on her window because she was afraid of pulling the drapes aside, afraid of watching him leave for good.

Her knees broke beneath the weight, and she dropped onto the unmade bed like a heavy burden. Her heart was beating ruthlessly but failing to remind her that she was alive. Her limbs suddenly felt sore all over, her fingertips tingled with memories of touching cool skin that wasn't hers. Buffy's throat burned, inside and out.

She felt the tears coming like an avalanche and ran to the bathroom. Behind the slamming door she turned on the shower and washed away as much of the pain as she could, somehow hating every bit of soap that touched her body, ridding it of any trace of him.

Buffy tried to wish the thoughts to ruin, hoping they might simply run down the drain like soap bubbles, but her memory remained stubborn to a fault. No matter how badly she wanted to keep from missing him, she could only relive every moment clearer than the last, vivid as dreams. She saw his face and felt him pressing against her body. No shower on earth could erase that; nothing could replace the ghostly imprint of his hands.

Buffy was worn and cold when she went to bed that night. She would never be able to tell if she really wanted to forget, in order to purge this sense of loss filling her up, or make certain she never misplaced the sound of his voice in her mind. Either way, she eventually fell asleep, on a tired mattress and wrinkled sheets, with a damp pillow under her head.

Sixteen Days Later

One more drink leads to another, you slide up close to me
Tear the T-shirts off each other
Your hands all over me

Buffy froze in place as the song ran over her skin like gentle sandpaper. She knew it meant something, knew it reminded her of him, but she didn't know why.

Maybe it was playing one of those times his body covered hers; perhaps the lyrics just fit well enough. Whatever the reason, she felt the song defined something. It highlighted the memories with a fat yellow marker, if nothing else.

The radio couldn't be heard in the bathroom, so Buffy was unprepared when she walked out to continue the tireless game of "Can I take your order?"

She should have been ready, honestly. The damn song was playing every other hour on this country station the whole staff favored, and she knew all the words by heart. Buffy couldn't say she disliked the song, rather the opposite; it just made her sad.

Of course, that hardly took more than a male voice nowadays, or a pair of blue eyes. Or a leather coat. It was easy to think of him, whether a stranger's flirting smile resembled Spike's in some undefined way or not.

She appreciated it greatly when people opened doors for her, because he had done that. She saw Charlie's persistence to woo Sarah in a completely different light now, and once, Buffy found herself giving away free dessert to a young couple for no other reason than she'd noticed a few things. The man's hand falling to his girlfriend's back, the way he insisted she drink lemon and honey after coughing a minute, the way he stared like he absolutely adored her. The reflection in her green eyes that said she felt the same.

Buffy shuddered. Amazingly, every reminder was both a welcome and detestable thing.

Spike was destined to be a face in her memory bank, but never one sitting across from her again. Sometimes, she still felt his touch at the bottom of her spine. The mark on her throat, the bite she had received but never once asked the reason behind, was a pleasure hotspot. It was perpetually red due to her rubbing it all the time; she didn't know if that was normal or not, getting turned on just from playing with a scar.

However, it was too sweet a torture for Buffy to care.

I tell myself I’m not in love
But one more time is not enough
One last kiss and then you’re a goner
And I’m here wishing you could stay a little longer

A few customers slid into her line of vision and she scanned their faces one by one. Her job had gained points in the difficulty column. Each and every person who came through the diner was worthy of minimal but devoted consideration now. She stared only as long as it took her to realize they weren't Spike, encounter disappointment like a slap, then glance away; it was exhausting.

Buffy didn't take days off if she could help it, though. Because frankly, staying busy serving people their meals was better than sitting alone in her room. While she hated to acknowledge the possibility that she could forget his face, those hands, his eyes, it was equally hard to remember. Because remembering stirred up the yearning in her chest, deepened that empty feeling she tried very hard to ignore every time someone spoke her name with smirking lips.

It was a vicious cycle. Buffy didn't know what to do about it, so she waited tables.

The idea of leaving sprang to mind frequently, but it was brushed away just as often. If she left, where would she go? What would she do? What if he came back?

Buffy sighed with disgust, tossing her apron on the countertop beside the coffee machines. She knew she couldn't live her life around this, around the slim possibility Spike might return. Even if he did, what would they make of the time? Spend it carelessly on wild, amazing hours that felt more like minutes, then Buffy miss the man that much more when he left? She couldn't, couldn't, couldn't live around something like that, something so dependent and desperate. So wanting.

Why hadn't she gone with him?

*Ugh!* She needed to stop with the past dwell-age already! She just missed him. Really, really missed him. It felt like they'd fallen in love, but the notion only brought more pain, and besides, Buffy knew it was crazy.

One more call
It’s one more “whatcha doin right now?"
It’s one more trip to my side of town and you walk right in

She was dealing. She totally dealt. Even when the shaky voice below her heart was crying, Buffy fought valiantly, and knew she would be okay in time. What was that saying? Time healed all-

"Care to buy me a drink, love?"

-wounds. Buffy spun around and stared across the cluttered countertop.

One more here we go again

There, dressed head to toe in black, his coat dusted with melting snow, stood the man of her dreams, memories pouring forth from his eyes.

Her jaw fell open. She gazed at his wide, thrilling smirk. The undiluted happiness there reflected in her chest, and filled her heart like an empty pitcher.

She smiled, and it was brilliantly painful for her cheeks.

"You-" Moving closer, hesitant to leap across the room, Buffy tried to speak. "Spike, you came-"

"Back," he finished. "I couldn't-... Couldn't stay away."

When he didn't continue, she treaded softly by hedging. "... Because of the food?"

He smirked lightly, and the look warmed her. "You." He pushed forward, the only thing stopping their collide was the counter. "I couldn't keep drivin', love. The further away I got, the more I wanted to turn around."

Buffy swallowed, and stupidly asked, "Where were you going?"

She wanted to slap herself in the forehead, but Spike merely answered the question as if it wasn't wholly pointless. "I didn't know. Didn't care, honestly. Didn't think it mattered anymore, once I left this place." Heat lit the stare so fixed, those twin blue eyes that sparkled with uninhibited adoration. He gazed at her with something profound and unnamed beside it all, something she would never have believed if she hadn't seen his face. "After I left you," he said, and her heart opened.

"I want-" A rough shake of his head, accompanied by a sigh. "Look, I don't understand this. I don't know how you got in, but you did, and all I know's that I want you."

Buffy walked to the left, and he followed like a shadow. Spike's hand pressed over his heart. "You're in here. My blood keeps fightin' my head, and I don't care 'bout risks or how you bloody did it. I just- I just want to- I feel somethin' here." She reached the open edge of the counter, turning the corner. "I want you, Buffy; and I don't mean in passing." His eyes overflowed with vulnerability. A deep whisper expressed the declaration, "I need you."

His face was an open book, showcasing every emotion he couldn't voice, the words unspoken due to a sheer inability to phrase them. Things he couldn't say because his mind was too fogged by the winds screaming "Follow this path. Take this direction. Don't let her go!"

One more drink leads to another
You slide up close to me

Buffy moved slowly, their eyes locking. Her nerves were singing under her skin with every step, jolts of adrenaline firing like canons. Upon reaching him, she stood still, close enough for Spike to feel her breathe.

Tear our t-shirts off each other
Your hands all over me

He wanted to grab hold of her and never let go. Except she was staring at him as if he'd just lost every last penny to a wish that would never be granted. His stomach clenched.

But then...

I tell myself I’m not in love

She touched his chest, and ran gentle fingertips across the thin cotton of his T-shirt. Grasping his wrist, then wrapping his hand in her smaller one, Buffy squeezed. A sparkling sheen overlaid her eyes.

But one more time is not enough

She gave him a watery smile. "What do you say we get outta here?" Spike felt shivers break out over his body. He yanked Buffy close and kissed her, the proverbial fireworks going off in the distance. They could both hear the explosions while the world continued to move, unbothered as it shifted beneath their feet.

Stay a little longer
Wishing you could stay a little longer...

The diner was left behind, in silent awe of the display as the couple held to each other and ran like their lives depended on it, back to the room they both remembered. They threw away the self created barriers, and come the weekend, they would leave town.

Together.

They would teach each other many things, not the least of which was how to love cold weather, the faults in one another, and hazardous snowstorms.

***
Epilogue

Buffy was sitting on a porch, hidden within a sparse layout of pines, and connected to a cabin.

She held a diary in her lap, crisp white pages lying atop both thighs with a pen nestled in between. Buffy had written over fifty pages in this one, but she had three others in the house. They held stories, the many anecdotes, thoughts and feelings she'd experienced since leaving that sleepy little town with Spike some time ago. They hadn't gone back, but Buffy knew he'd take her at the merest hint that she wanted to visit.

Sometimes she wondered what the diner was like now, whether or not Charlie had made any improvements, or finally talked Sarah into going on a date with him. Buffy thought about Mary, and the clumsy boy whose name she couldn't recall. She remembered her old room at the inn fondly, the memories she and Spike had created there fresh like spring flowers and never losing their appeal.

At the moment, her vampire was out prowling the woods, checking the perimeter of the land and making rounds in the cemetery located only half a mile away from their house. The evening light was clouded over enough that she knew he'd be safe from the sun.

They had driven for weeks after taking off, living a road trip style kind of life without any real destination to reach, depending on each other and odd jobs. It was the sort of life that enriched even the finest blood, fueled heartbeats and pulses like wood fuels a fire.

Buffy didn't remember what day they'd finally decided to settle down, couldn't recall if the air smelled like summer or spring. She and Spike had found another little town, by the name of Willington Sails, off the coast of Oregon. The house they claimed was old and sturdy, purchased with a portion of Spike's and her own savings. She got a job at a local restaurant in town, and he was working on cars, taking the evening shifts nobody else wanted. It might have been mundane, if it weren't for the fact they loved every minute.

Buffy looked up from her moving pen when she heard the familiar crunch of breaking twigs. She saw Spike emerge from the trees, and smiled in welcome.

He still wore his long leather duster, and he did so proudly. Buffy chuckled every time she remembered the looks they received when they first moved into town. It might have taken a while for the people of Willington Sails to accept the odd couple who seemed fond of sleeping late and walking along the beach after dark, but eventually, Spike and Buffy became just two more people in town with their own little quirks.

One of which was Spike's penchant for wearing leather, ripped jeans, and black cotton T's no matter how cold it was. The Oregon coast was a chilly place, and while Buffy liked the crisp weather, one had to know how to dress for it; Spike, fortunately, gave in to playing the part of mortal and tossed on a sweater once in a while for the locals.

The vampire in question strode across the steps of the porch. Buffy closed her book and set it aside, standing before Spike slipped into her chair and then tugged her gently into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her ear fondly.

Buffy sighed as she settled in. "Anything going on out there?" The quiet sound of a bird echoed in the forest, travelling on a cool breeze that played with the ends of her hair.

Spike twined his fingers in the golden strands. "Not a lick of action. A bloke could get restless in this town if it wasn't for the bloody ridiculous amount of fish demons we've got washin' up on shore."

Buffy snickered. "Hallelujah for fish demons."

"Yeah, so long as you stay away from the beach when m'not around, they're more fun than trouble." Spike laid a delicate kiss on her throat, and she squirmed on his lap. "Ticklish, kitten?"

Buffy bit her lip, ignoring his deep chuckle. He'd taken to calling her by that nickname more often than anything else about a week into their relationship, and it still made her heart flutter just as much now as it had back then. "You know that's not the reason," she muttered.

"Then what is?" he asked, running a hand down her side before squeezing the curve of her hip.

"Spike..." she sighed his name, pleasure rolling off her lips like a breeze. "I have to talk to you."

He went to work on the sensitive spot beneath her ear, nibbling and kissing as he tugged her closer still. "I'm listenin'."

*Yeah right,* she thought, but spoke anyway. "I got a hold of that girl you told me about."

A second passed, then he froze. He pulled back with seriousness reflected in his eyes. "Tara? You found the bird?"

Buffy nodded. "I guess she's living in Washington with her girlfriend and their coven. I- I talked to her about... Well, first I explained who I was, and how I knew you." Her fingers played with the black cotton stretched across his chest.

Spike nodded. "What'd she say?"

"She said she missed you, but that she'd known about me, somehow. She said... she knew you were happy, I guess, and she was excited to talk to me." Buffy laughed shortly. "Frankly, I think she would have been happier if she could have talked to you, but I told her you were at work. You have to call her back, by the way."

Spike nodded again, sitting up straighter. His hold tightened around her body, and Buffy smiled warmly when she saw the apprehension in his eyes. "Did you- I mean, what'd she say about the mojo?"

"She thinks she can do it."

Spike jerked, eyes widening further. "She does- She can? She-" At his lost look and complete lack of coherent response, Buffy started to giggle joyfully. "I don't know what you did for her, Spike, but she said she's willing to help us any way she can."

Her laughter echoed over his shoulder as Spike hugged Buffy against him, his eyes squeezing shut over tears. There had been one complication in falling in love with a human, and that was life-spans.

He would never give her up despite the passing of time and growing older. Spike knew he was as good as dust once Buffy left this world, but he didn't care. He would do anything to be human again, if it meant he didn't have to survive without her, but that wasn't feasible. Neither was making her immortal. He wasn't about to take the chance and turn her. If she lost her soul, she'd likely never be the same; it would be like killing her.

However, Spike had remembered something- Or rather, someone. An old friend who owed him a favor he had never planned on cashing in on, until now.

Tara, a bloody powerful witch he'd stumbled across a few years back, was a friend. Spike thought perhaps, if he tracked her down, maybe she could wire a spell to give Buffy immortality, or at least increase her life-span to some supernatural length of time. Buffy knew it might require some cellular level rewiring, and she was prepared. She wanted to stay with him, and while Spike knew it was selfish to keep her, they both loved each other too much not to try.

He pulled back and kissed her, desperately begging entrance with his tongue and then swallowing her sigh of acquiesce. Their lips pressed sloppily and teeth scratched, but it was sweet and brimming with love like champagne overflowing a glass flute. She broke it only to retrieve air. Spike quickly charted hungry nips and kisses down her throat. She gasped and pulled him closer by his leather clad arms. "I take it this means you still want-"

"Bloody hell, never not want it," he growled against her skin, lifting his face once again. "I want you, anyway I can have you. Always need you. I love you, Buffy. God, I love you so much."

She melted like chocolate above a flame. "I love you, too." She kissed his cheeks, his lips, his chin and nose. "I love you, Spike."

He stood up, tugging her legs firmly about his waist, finding her mouth with his once more. And like the ending of every good story, the knight carried the princess up the tower stairs and to bed.

Or, in this case, the vampire carried his lover into their woodsy home, and up the creaky, polished steps which led to a king sized bed burdened with comforters.

And they lived happily ever after.

The End

_______________________
END NOTES: Thank you to everyone who read and to those who reviewed! I really hope everyone enjoyed this story, and I hope it pleased your inner saps because I frankly LOVED writing cheesy adorable spuffiness. Again, thanks to all who read! I would love any last reviews if you guys want to drop me one. *big hugs*