You guys are the best! I'm getting all embarrassed.

Here's some real Spuffy-sweetness and conversation at last.

Enjoy and keep the reviews coming!

1000 Kisses - More characters will show up as the story continues into the sequel. I have a long-term plan. As for Angel being such an asshole - I don't believe that all things are black & white. I like my characters to be well rounded - always something going on beneath the surface. Stay tuned!

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"Is this the last of it?" Buffy asked, as she dragged the final trunk into The Crypt. Wiping sweat off her brow she turned to her moving partner. "It better be, 'cuz I feel all spaghetti-like," she said shaking her arms rapidly.

Spike looked around the cluttered hallway, dropping the suitcase he held. "Yah, luv. That should be it." He walked over to the small girl and pulling her into a tight hug, "Thanks for the help."

She pulled away, rubbing her swollen hands, "Well, it's all I could do after you helped me lug all my girls' shit over to Revello."

The exhausted man slid to floor. "Those things were so damn heavy. I could've sworn each of them contained a dead body."

Buffy smiled, joining him on the hardwood floor. "Girls pack differently than guys do," she explained, defending females everywhere. "We have certain necessities that you don't."

Spike looked at Buffy, eyebrows raised, "Like what?"

"You don't think we just snap our fingers and look perfect do you? Without all the extra junk, as you call it, we look like I do now. . .pale and yucky." At that, she stuck out her tongue at Spike and rested her head to his shoulder.

He stroked her hair, now sticky with sweat, and whispered, "I think you look beautiful."

Buffy chuckled at that, knowing perfectly well that she must look atrocious. "You're just saying that to score brownie points so I'll let you have your way with me." She said jokingly. However, she couldn't help but wonder what his real motives were. This thing they had for the last sixteen odd hours had been based on hooking up, and flirtatious banter - not much conversation involved.

Spike pulled on Buffy's ponytail, causing her to lift her head and meet his eyes. "Buffy, this thing we have . . ." Before he could finish his sentence Buffy leaned forward and caught his lips with her own. Unlike most of their previous kisses, this one was slow and full of promise for things to come.

Spike reluctantly pulled away from the girl and stood up. Buffy sat on the floor, confused over why he had stopped. He reached a hand to her, "Come on, I want to show you something."

"And what is this 'thing' of which you speak." She said, eyeing him up and down.

Spike rolled his eyes and shook his hand impatiently at Buffy.

The flustered girl let out a groan, grabbed his outstretched hand, and rose to her feet. Soon she felt herself being pulled down the hallway, dodging loose baggage that threatened to trip her as she ran. Next thing she knew Spike's hand had mysteriously disappeared from her own, and she was surrounded in darkness. Suddenly, the room was flooded with light as she looked around in awe. In all her years at Sunny-D she had never been in the counselor room in The Crypt. It was absolutely gorgeous. Exposed brick donned every wall. A large oak chest sat in one corner, with a long matching dresser placed beside it. Against the far wall sat a queen-sized bed, covered in flannel blankets. Flanking the bed were two small end tables that matched the chest and dresser, with small reading lamps resting on each. She looked to her left and saw a large grey recliner. A closed door was on the wall to her right, which she assumed led to the private bathroom.

"It's a little small . . . but it'll do." Buffy turned around to see Spike leaning in the doorway next to the light switch, with a silly grin plastered on his face. He brushed past her, and went to sit on the large bed. He smiled shyly and patted the mattress for her to join him.

Slowly, Buffy made her way over to where he sat. As soon as she was beside him she leaned in to kiss him again, only to have him lie back on the bed. "Come here." Spike motioned for her to lie next to him.

She fell back against the soft pillow, and turned her body to face his, tucked her hands underneath her head.

"There was something else I wanted to show you." He said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Really," she said seductively. "I wonder what that could be."

Spike took one arm and placed it behind her, pulling her towards him. Soon she was resting against his body, head placed to his chest, their legs intertwined. "I wanted to prove to you that I could have you alone, in a secluded cabin, and not behave like a sex fiend." He said softly, running one hand up and down her back.

Buffy lifted her head from his chest and whispered huskily, "What if I want you to?" She moved in towards his lips, only to have his fingers stop her just short of her goal.

"Now's not the time pet." He brushed a few stray hairs that had fallen onto her forehead, and lightly pushed her back to his chest. "Remember how I said I didn't want this to be more about orgasms than us?" He felt her nod against him. "Well, I want to just hold you and talk. Feel out the situation. Without any actually feeling," he amended quickly, as he felt her start to move again. "Let it be about us for awhile. Without the lust part getting in the way."

Buffy smiled into his chest and breathed a sigh of relief. She really wanted to attack him, and do it like bunnies, but knowing that he wanted to get to know her was comforting - and a pleasant change from her previous encounters with the opposite sex. "So, what do you want to know William?"

Spike laughed at her use of his proper name. "Everything."

"Okay-" she started, "-my name is Buffy Summers. I'm a Capricorn -on the cusp of Aquarius. I enjoy moonlit strolls on the beach, and long, slow kisses that last for days."

"No," he said seriously, "Tell me something real. Like," he thought for a moment, "what are you interested in? Besides me," he added. "When did you start dancing? Why do you keep coming back here year after year when there are a million other things you could be doing?" He paused momentarily before posing the next question. "Where is your father?"

Buffy sighed into his chest. "I love performing, which is obvious. I've been studying psychology at UCLA for the past three years. It's okay I guess," she said with a shrug. "I would say my hobbies aren't that different from other girls my age . . .I like watching movies, going to the beach, hanging out with friends. . . the usual." She began moving her hand in light circles on Spike's stomach, enjoying the feel of his rippling muscles beneath the cotton t-shirt. "One could say that I've been dancing since I was in my mother's tummy. She was the dance instructor here, and continued to teach up until she went into labor." Spike laughed as the vision of a very pregnant Joyce in a leotard and tutu filled his head. "I used to watch her from my little play pen next to the stage. I finally took my first real dance class when I was three years old. My mom had to lie and say I was five so they would let me in. I guess I never stopped."

Silence filled the room and Spike looked down at the top of Buffy's head. He moved one hand to her shoulder and started massaging her sore muscles. "Go on." He urged, as he began to work one tight knot, undoubtedly caused from carrying trunks across the campgrounds.

Buffy stretched out her body, resting on top of him completely, her head placed on his right shoulder. "I've spent every summer at Sunny-D for as long as I can remember. I've never done anything else." She hissed when she felt him nudge a particularly sore spot in her back.

"You ok?" He asked, worried he had hurt her.

"No, it's great . . . don't stop." She said feeling the tension leave her body. "At the end of the summer everyone goes around asking 'Are you coming back next summer?' No one ever asks me." She said, turning her neck so he could work that area as well. "Everyone just expects that I'll be here." She took one of his hands, allowing him only one free one to rub her neck, and stared at their intertwined fingers. "You know, my own mother doesn't even ask me anymore. She assumes that I'll always be here, ready to choreograph numbers for the final shows, no questions asked." She pulled their joined hands closer to her and rested them next to her face. "I wish that just once someone would ask about my plans. Ask me what I want."

"And what's that, luv," he asked as he moved his free hand into her hair, massaging her scalp.

"Funny thing is, I really don't know." She laughed at that. "Stupid right?"

"It's not stupid to not know what you want. You're twenty-years old. You don't have a bleedin' road map telling you which path is best."

Buffy brought their joined hands to her lips, and kissed each of his fingertips gently. "I do know that I want this place to be mine someday. I want to continue the family tradition. Bring joy to kids everywhere." She chuckled at how cheesy that sounded. "But I also want to make a name for myself first. I'm tired of being the owner's daughter. Being known as the heir to the Sunny-D thrown. I need something that's just mine. I just have to figure out what that thing is." She lifted her head from Spike's shoulder and looked into Spike's calm gaze, "Does that make any sense?"

"Of course it does." She smiled and resumed her previous position. "You still haven't answered my last question luv."

Buffy felt a lump begin to form in the back of her throat. "What question is that?" She said, voice trembling.

"Your dad . . . where is he?" The man responded slowly.

"I don't know." She said simply. "I haven't seen him in about ten years. My parents got a divorce a long time ago and I haven't seen him since it was finalized."

"Has he tried calling you . . . or communicating with you in any way?" He asked, sadness consuming him for the girl above him.

Buffy felt wetness forming in the corners of her eyes. "I used to get a card on my birthday. Suddenly, three years ago, they just stopped coming. Nothing since then."

Spike lifted her chin, looking deeply in her tear filled eyes. "He's a fool." He placed a soft kiss to her lips.

Buffy sniffled, and smiled. She released his hand from her tight grasp, and tucked her arms underneath her chin. "So what about you? What's your story? Why did you leave London to become a father-figure to a bunch of kids?"

Spike traced Buffy's features as he spoke; she let her eyes close as she listened to him intently. "I grew up in the heart of London. Two parents, kid sister, and a dog. When I was fourteen I started causing all kinds of trouble. Nothing major really, just stupid kids stuff. Like nicking things from Smoke Shops. That sort." He breathed heavily. "When I turned sixteen my folks decided it would be best if they sent me to a boarding school in the Northern part of England. Thought they could slap some sense into me." He laughed at the thought, "Little did they know that the best place to learn how to be a juvenile delinquent, is a place where they all congregate."

"Like where they sent you." Buffy answered for him.

"Exactly." He nodded, and went on, "After the hundredth letter home from the headmaster, my parents decided to bring me home. I spent my last year in the house brooding in my room, writing horrid poetry, waiting for the day I could get out of there and attend university."

"So what do you study there?" She asked, running her fingers through his soft locks, which were slightly matted from the sweat.

"Literature mostly, a little philosophy, and little politics and history as well. I only have another year to go, then I'm going to pack my bags, hop a train, and explore the world."

"That sounds like a good plan to me. Travel around . . . no worries, no responsibilities." She ran her fingers down Spike's cheekbones, marveling at their sharpness. It was amazing how with such strong features, he still looked so boyish and peaceful lying beneath her. "So any girlfriends I should know about?" She asked as she passed her fingertips over his lips.

He caught one of her hands, and brought her fingers to his mouth, nipping them playfully. "You mean besides the wife in Rome, mistress in Paris, and floozy in Madrid?"

"Oh you think you're funny don't you?" She said, pulling her hand away to tickle his sides.

Spike began to laugh and scream as she tortured him. Finally grabbing her hands, he flipped them over so she was now lying beneath him, hands raised above her head. "There was one a few months back. She treated me like dirt and pretty much shagged every man within a 50-mile radius. I had to get as far away from her as possible. So, when a friend told me about Camp America, I signed up. Of course, at the time I didn't know I'd have to prance around a stage like a nancy-boy."

Buffy mocked disgust, "Whatever. . .you love it."

Spike smiled at the girl beneath him and knew at that moment that it wasn't the stage he loved. He was falling for her - hard and fast.

"What number was that?" Buffy asked, snapping Spike out of his head momentarily.

"Number? I don't quite follow . . ."

Buffy gulped and looked him straight in the eyes. She hated asking this question. "How many women have you slept with?" Off of his silence, she added nervously. "Not that it matters of course," turning her face away from his widening eyes.

He felt her start to pull away when he didn't answer. After his conversation with Willow, he knew that the girl did not have much sexual experience. He needed to reassure her that they were on a similar level. "Buffy . . ." he brought one of his hands to her face, and gently nudged her to look at him. Her eyes flickered with fear as she searched his for an answer. "Cecily was the forth. There have been two at University. And one while I was at boarding school - which I don't think really counts considering I was 16 and it was over pretty quick."

Buffy sighed and nodded. 'Four isn't that many' she thought. "My first time was a similar situation. The second wasn't all that memorable either. I have had other boyfriends, and done things with them, but all for intents and purposes . . . it's 2."

Spike smiled; Willow had told him this as well. "I know, luv."

Buffy's eyes went wide. "How? Who told you?" After a few seconds of silence, she chanced a guess. "It was Willow wasn't it."

Spike avoided her eyes. He had promised Red not to tell Buffy what had transpired on the bench after lunch that day.

"I'm so gonna kill her." Buffy rolled away from him, and lay on her side facing the other direction.

Spike scooted closer to her and placed one hand on her hip. "Don't. I was upset about what happened at the lake and she was just trying to help." He nuzzled into her neck and placed a kiss behind her ear. He was now spooned behind her and had moved his hand from her hip to her stomach.

"I know." Buffy said with a sigh. "I mean, I've told people things about Wills too. It's kind of understood that there's a time and place for information to be shared. I'm sure she thought it was one of those times. It's just that . . ." she took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "I don't have a lot of experience, and I'm afraid I'll disappoint you."

Spike pulled at Buffy's shoulder, causing her to roll towards his body. Now facing each other he looked at her, voice steady he spoke slowly, "Impossible." Buffy's eyes fluttered closed as he placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. "In our last few. . . encounters, I've felt more than I ever 'ave before. The things you do to me." She giggled and met his eyes. The desire she saw in them took her breath away. "It burns." He ran his hand down her exposed arm and grasped her hand tightly. He leaned forward and kissed her deeply.

Buffy moaned as she felt his tongue find its way into her mouth. She relaxed back to allow him to lie partially on top of her, freeing her other arm to wrap around his body, pulling him even closer. Their kisses alternated between slow and lazy, and hard and fast. Buffy could feel Spike's heart pounding against hers. During one particularly slow kiss Buffy opened her eyes to look at the man above her. She was stunned to see that his were already open and searching her face for the answer to a question she didn't know. He pushed his tongue further into her inviting mouth, never breaking eye contact, and deepened the kiss. Buffy had never kissed anyone with her eyes open before, and was amazed at the intensity of something so simple.

The two finally broke apart when they realized breathing was still a necessity. Spike ran his fingers down Buffy's face, trying to burn her image into his memory. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and placed feathery kisses over every feature. Buffy closed her eyes again, and let herself enjoy the sweetness of his actions.

Spike shifted so Buffy was lying on top of him once again. She ran her fingers up and down the length of his body and pressed a firm kiss to his chest. "This is nice," she said sleepily, and snuggled closer.

"That it is, pet." He said, enjoying this new level of intimacy between them. "What time do you have to leave for L.A?" He asked quietly as he took her hand in his.

Buffy turned their joined hands to her face, inspecting the watch she wore. "Another hour or so," she said with a small sigh. "Can we just lie here like this til I have to go pack my things?"

"Stay as long as you like."

"How does forever sound?" She asked quietly.

Spike squeezed her tightly, and closed his eyes, wishing he had the power to make time stand still.

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Buffy watched as Spike closed the trunk to Angel's SUV. The other three counselors were already waiting in the car. Buffy looked through the rear window to see Xander and Cordelia bickering in the back seat. 'This is going to be a fun trip.' She thought sarcastically.

"All set, pet?" Spike asked, leaning against the back of the car.

"I think I have everything I need." She said with a sigh, kicking the bumper softly.

"I hope so. Because god knows you might have forgotten another six pairs of shoes that you couldn't possibly live without for one whole night." He teased, indicating the three large bags in the trunk.

Buffy smirked, and grabbed his hand, yanking him away from the car. The two walked side-by-side to the front passenger door. The girl relaxed as she felt him rub light circles on the back of her hand, sending tingles up her arm. She pulled him to her and kissed him hungrily.

The couple was rudely interrupted by a loud horn. The passenger-side window rolled down to reveal Angel's scowling face. "Come on Buff, we gotta get a move on if we want to hit LA at a decent hour. Parking in my neighborhood is a bitch after 10 o'clock."

Spike shot Angel a dirty look, and resumed kissing his girl. Maybe he was showing off a little, but he also needed to feel her against him one more time.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, and Buffy's lips were swollen from being so thoroughly kissed. She rose to her toes and placed a quick peck on his cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow. Along with a couple hundred screaming kids."

He brought her to his body, enveloping her in a tight hug. "Hurry back." He whispered before kissing her temple.

Buffy smiled sweetly and hopped into the front seat, closing the door behind her. "Be good." She said, before rolling up the window.

Spike stood there and watched the car drive away, taking his heart with him. He let out a loud sigh and began the trek back to The Crypt. He still had to make stupid signs for the doors, and finish up a few lesson plans. 'At least it will help pass the-" he glanced at his watch, "-20 hours and 42 minutes until she's back."

Buffy sat quietly in the car, trying to drown out the voices of Xander and Cordelia coming from the back seat. She looked out the window at Spike's retreating form, as they drove off. 'I can't believe I miss him already." She smiled, closing her eyes, head resting against the window. 'We've only been together for one day - been apart for a little over 30 seconds - and I'm going crazy. Only 20 hours and,' she looked at her watch, '41 minutes til I'll be back. This is so lame,' she chuckled softly, 'if I miss him this much now what's going to happen in 7 weeks when he . . .' Buffy's eyes shot open as she felt a knot start to form in the pit of her stomach. 'This is not good . . . not good at all.'