From the safety of the covered porch the two vampires watched their companion slowly turn, head up, eyes closed, tongue flicking out from between blue lips. Catching a snowflake on her tongue, she drew it into her mouth and lowered her head, her eyes darting to the two men.
"It is cold and wet and tastes like nothing."
"It's snow, luv."
Illyria cocked her head and held out one hand, watching the snowflakes land on the leather of her glove and remain in their pristine state, her body having little heat to melt them.
They were in a deserted ranger cabin in the foothills of the Cascades, sanctuary found right before dawn on Christmas Day. During the morning while they'd slept it had begun to snow, turning the world to white.
"What is its use?"
Spike shrugged and wrapped his duster tighter around himself. He couldn't feel the cold but knew it was out there. "Dunno. Snowball fights?"
"It's a form of rain, Illyria," Angel explained wearily. His body ached from old wounds and the fire inside was beckoning him, but he didn't like leaving Illyria alone. Without constant supervision, you never knew what she might do.
"It sparkles." She lifted one strand of hair and shook it, watching the snowflakes flicker off. "The white is pleasant. Empty and barren. I approve." Turning her attention to the cabin she walked up the steps and past her two companions and into the warmth of the wood and stone cabin.
Spike looked at Angel and shrugged, then followed her. "Come on, Peaches. Maybe there's some coffee or, better yet, booze." The door closing behind him alerted him to the fact that Angel had joined them inside, and Spike slipped off his duster before heading to the kitchen. On arriving at dawn they'd collapsed on the one bed, exhausted from nearly five days of constant running. On awakening Illyria had apparently lit the fire but hadn't concerned herself with finding anything to eat or drink since none of them needed either.
But Spike was a creature of habit and enjoyed something wet in his mouth. Puttering around the small kitchen area he opened cabinets and bins and finally whistled his success. A box of hot chocolate packets and a string of old candy canes wrapped in plastic. Setting the kettle on the stove, he filled three mugs with the cocoa mix and stuck a candy cane in each one. When the water had heated he stirred it into the mugs, then carried them over to the couch.
"Merry Xmas!"
Angel looked up from where he'd slumped tiredly in one corner and took a mug. "What is this?"
"Hot chocolate."
"And the strangely colored stick?" Illyria asked with a dubious look as she accepted her mug.
"Candy." Taking his candy cane out of his mug, Spike sucked on one end and made 'yum yum' noises. Illyria hesitantly followed suit and then nearly smiled.
"It is tart and sweet. The combinations of tastes in this world intrigue me." She looked at the hook end of the cane, then slid her eyes to his groin. "Lower your trousers. I wish to hook this around your penis and suck on both."
"Er..."
"Leaving now," Angel snickered, levering himself up from the couch to retire with his hot chocolate to the bedroom and its selection of noir mystery novels. "Merry Christmas, Spike."
"Er..."
The end of Illyria's candy cane snagged in the front of his jeans and pulled him towards her.
End