Buffy woke up first.

The pillow barrier was still mostly intact, but Spike had grabbed for the one separating their faces and hugged it to his chest.

She found herself staring at his sleeping face – the planes of his cheekbones, his tousled curls and those sensual lips – and reluctantly admitted that he was a beautiful man. Not her type, exactly. Nope, she liked the big, brawny ones, the ones that towered over her. And, hey, awake Spike had other negative qualities.

She had seen mostly his good side yesterday. They’d had a blast with the walking and the cooking and the stargazing.

He shifted slightly in his sleep, and Buffy found herself gazing longingly at his mouth. Those kisses, from the spell all those months back … he had been a good kisser. I wonder what else he’s good at? she wondered idly. Bad Buffy! she corrected herself, shocked to admit that she’d be staring lustily at the enemy.

With a head-clearing shake, she slipped out of the bed.

***

As her weight left the mattress, Spike stirred. He’d slept like the dead, only definitely not the dead. He’d slept like a normal pulse-having guy after a spectacular evening. Even if it did end with him being sentenced to eight hours in Fort Goosedown.

He could hear the Slayer downstairs, sliding open the back door and heading across the patio. So if he needed to take care of his early morning raging hard-on, now was the time …

And then it hit him that he could walk on the beach in the early morning sun.

Without a second thought, Spike was out of bed and moving for his closet.

***

“Morning,” he jogged towards her. “Beautiful day, innit?”

Buffy tossed a piece of sea glass in her bucket and whirled to face him. “Hey.”

“Sleep well?”

“Yeah, I did. And to wake up to this? This is just amazing.”

The small part of her that screamed Danger, Buffy Summers! at his presence was quieting with each passing minute. Especially as they stood in the early morning sunshine.

How could a guy bring you any pain when he splashed into the water like that, not even stopping to take off his sandals, wading in all the way to his shins? A guy like that … he had to be good, at least for right now.

“Watch out for the …” Spike sputtered as the water rushed over him, sending him falling onto his ass. “… wave.”

“Thanks, Slayer.”

“No problem,” she giggled, as he dusted wet sand off his calves. His extremely muscular calves. With a start, Buffy turned her eyes to sand at his feet. “Hey, that’s a granddaddy of a seashell.”

“Maybe you can sell it by the seashore.”

“Give it here before the tide washes it away.”

Spike picked up the conch. “Can’t say I’m much of a beachcomber, pet, but this looks a little store-bought.”

“There isn’t a store anywhere on this island. Unless you’ve been imagining things again. Oooh, maybe I should imagine a mall, with an Armani Exchange and …”

“Just take the shell.”

As Buffy took it from his hand, she heard a funny little patch of feedback, like the PA system at Sunnydale High crackling to life.

“Buffy? Buffy? Can you hear me?”

Buffy frowned at Spike, but put the shell up to her ear.

“Buffy, if you can hear me, this is Willow. We think you’re trapped in a demon dimension, but don’t worry, Buf, we’re working on getting you out. Buffy? Buffy?”

“I hear you, Wil. I’m here. I’m alright. And, um, I’m with Sp-”

“Hey!” He cut her off with a look.

“Ummm … yeah, I’m okay. So, ummm … no rush. I mean, I want to come home, but don’t, like, stay up all night working on it.”

“Buffy? Buffy? Can you hear me?” Willow's message repeated.

Buffy frowned at the shell.

“Pet, I think she’s yelling into nothingness.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She doesn’t know that you can hear her. My guess is they were trying for a telephone, but ended up with more of a megaphone.”

“Oh. So … they’re looking for me.”

“And apparently having some success with the finding.”

Buffy briefly considered pitching the shell back into the churning waves. Not that she intended to stay here forever, no. But Willow had managed to yank her out of eternal rest, so a little bitty paradise dimension shouldn’t pose much of a challenge.

With a sigh, she reached for her pail and carefully deposited the shell-not-shell inside. If this was going to end soon – and really, how could this last? – she’d better enjoy whatever carefree time she had left.

“So, Spike, can you swim?”

***

Spike was certain that the shell would spell the end of Vacation Buffy and herald the arrival of her evil twin, Business Buffy. BB would certainly not approve of taking nights off to dine with men who went sans pulse in more familiar surroundings. But to his shock and delight, the Vacation version of his girl had remained firmly in charge, turned to him with a megawatt smile and asked if he could swim.

As it happened, he couldn’t. So instead they raced in the water, tossed around a football that appeared at just the right moment and laughed together as Spike took a few more truly spectacular spills.

Buffy was just picking him up from one of his more dramatic tumbles, when he saw it out of the corner of his eye. “Think our hosts have been anticipating our wishes again, pet.”

She glanced backwards. Sure enough, where the beach had been empty, there now stood a small pavilion with a thatched roof, two curving wooden loungers piled with pillows, and a table holding a picnic basket.

“Lunch would be good now. Race ya?”

***

Under her lounger, Buffy found a tote bag. Wouldn’t be more complete if she’d packed it herself. “Hmmm … SPF 16. Do you think alternate sun burns?”

Spike was digging through his bag, too. “I’m guessing it wouldn’t be here if we didn’t need it.”

Buffy uncapped her bottle and went about the process of rubbing it into her arms and then legs.

Spike waited. Would be only a matter of minutes before …

“Umm … Spike? Would you, y’know, maybe, do my back?”

“My pleasure. One condition, pet?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ll have to return the favor.”

“Oh. Okay.” She tossed him the bottle and flopped onto her belly.

Spike’s hands trembled as he approached her form. She’d closed her eyes, pillowing her head on her folded arms. So trusting, so beautiful, so strong.

Buffy opened one impatient eye. “Before the sun sets would be good, Spike.”

“Sorry, pet. Just, umm … reading the label to make sure this stuff won’t deposit us in the Arctic.”

Seeing nothing suspect on the label, he squeezed the bottle. Too much suntan lotion spilled into his hands. Okay, well, that meant he’d have to cover more than just her shoulder blades. With slow, deliberate strokes, he massaged the lotion into her skin, starting at her shoulders and working his way down, around the tie of her bikini top, sticking to neutral parts that could be safely considered non-erogenous zones.

“Wait.” Buffy reached behind her to untie her top.

Damn. When it came to Buffy, everything was an erogenous zone.

Obediently, he traveled back to cover the parts of her back missed. As he relaxed into his task, he could feel her unwinding, too. “You’ve got a knot right here, pet.”

“Yeah … ummm … that feels good.”

He was already hard. That little sigh took him from merely uncomfortable to Rock-of-Gibraltar-painful.

“A little lower?”

His hands followed her directions, but stopped an inch above her bikini bottoms.

“Don’t miss there. Don’t wanna be stripey.”

Her bikini bottoms were small-ish, and getting the suntan lotion on every bit of flesh likely to be exposed? That wasn’t the easiest charge, not if you were trying to remain a veneer of polite indifference. To say nothing of trying not to spill right into your swim trunks. With a deep and necessary breath, Spike continued.

“Thanks.” She finally released him, long minutes later. “My turn. With all the time you haven’t spent in the sun, it’s a wonder we aren’t already starring in The Adventures of Beach Girl and Lobster Boy.”

Spike dove for his lounger, eager for her ministrations, but especially nervous to hide his erection.

“See, this is a smart island. You have SPF 40. ‘Course you probably need more like SPF 400, but I guess the island knows what it’s doing.”

Buffy expertly poured a dab of lotion into her palms, then gently started at his neck.

“What’s your real hair color?”

“What’s yours?”

“Blonde.” She toyed with the strands at the nape of his neck. “And I asked first.”

“Fine. Blonde, too.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Been a long time since I wore it out, pet. Same’s true of you, I wager.”

Her hands slowed, and Spike gulped for air. In retrospect, stretching out on your stomach while a girl you desperately want massages your back? Not the best choice if you’re looking to not embarass yourself.

And then her hands disappeared entirely, and Spike felt cold. “Hey …”

“Not stopping. Just shifting.” Buffy stood and straddled him, knees poised on either side of his hips. Her inner thighs rubbed against his swim trunks, but she balanced herself so none of her weight rested on his back.

As she resumed her caresses, Spike’s eyes rolled up into their sockets with the effort of not coming.

Long minutes later, she stepped aside. Spike stayed right where he was, stomach to the cushion, eyes closed.

“Something wrong, Spike?”

Did he hear what he thought he heard in her voice? Girl wasn’t a virgin. She must know what all of that – straddling – would do to a man. He opened an eye and couldn’t read her face. “Just not used to ... oxygen.”

“Oxygen?”

“Yeah. And, uh, the smell of coconuts.”

“Ohhhkaaaay.”

She’d stretched back out on her lounger, leaving Spike wondering if he’d just missed a huge opening.

***

Buffy tried to control her inner hotron.

It might look like she was flipping through last month’s copy of Style magazine.

But mostly she was trying to figure out how she could fling wide the barn doors and get nothin’ in response. And wondering if boy vampires were so much more highly sexed than regular guys. Was it possible Spike wasn’t attracted to her in his heartbeat-having form?

Anyway, this was good. Because she’d clearly gotten carried away with the Wicked Games motif here. All that sun and crashing waves and perfect blue clouds and seagulls crying. Did she really think it was a good idea to just get it on here in the middle of this place?

If she was honest with herself, part of her did.

***

“Might go up to the cottage. Shower off some of this sand,” he said, once her nose was buried in a fashion mag.

“Okay.” She didn’t look up.

Which was the only thing, really, that let Spike make it back to the house without blushing.

Under a skin-singe hot shower, he grabbed hold of his cock and pumped, imagining being back on the lounger with Buffy straddling him. Only he was facing her this time, looking into her eyes as she rode him, her inner walls clenching around him until he couldn’t take any more.

With a gasp of pleasure, Spike fell back against the cool white tile of the shower stall.

Maybe now he’d get through a few more hours in her presence without losing his sanity. Or worse, just throwing her to the ground and ravaging her.

He could feel his cock stir again at that thought. “No, no, no.” He forced himself to calm down and stepped out to towel off.

And came face to face with Buffy.