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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.





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