Buffy might’ve insisted that she wasn’t drunk, but they both knew she’d gone over her limit.

“Steady, pet.”

“It’s these um … sands.”

“Sands?”

“Too lumpy. Wait,” she ordered, bending over to de-shoe herself, showing quite a bit of thigh in the process.

“Oh, yeah, you can hold your liquor, Slayer.” He bit back a laugh.

“What?” They resumed their slow progress down the beach.

“You all but went arse-over-teakettle taking off your footwear, s’all.”

“Arse over huh? And I’m the one with the C in English.”

“Shame you couldn’t take American instead. I’ve no doubt you’d have been head of the class.”

“See, Spike … this is your problem.”

“What? My command of the mother tongue?”

Tongue. There it was, curling between his teeth, retreating for one of his big-fat-cat-gorged-on-canaries smiles.

Buffy had a retort, something cutting. It was just there, at the far corner of her brain, if she could only … no, it was gone.

Maybe she had downed one too many glasses of the red. Her companion was swimming – not literally swimming in the ocean, but before her eyes, swaying and drifting. She knew it was him, because her feet were rooted firmly in the sand, her toes digging in deeper. If she could just get in down to her ankles, she was sure everything would be fine.

“Hold still, Spike!”

“Yeah. Am.”

“I’m … I’m sorry the blue sky. And the … naked. Ness.”

“Okay, right, apology accepted, pet. How ‘bout we head back to the house?”

“Yeah, the house. The bed. The shower. I really, really didn’t mean it. I just got surprised-ed when the sky was blue. Bluer than blue, y’know?”

“Right. We covered that.”

“Didn’t expect to find you naked. Well, except that … maybe I did expect to find you naked.”

It was Spike’s turn to freeze. He didn’t want an intoxicated Slayer falling all over him only to regret it in the morning. Then again, he knew she’d been sober as a judge when she’d walked in on him earlier.

“Catch me if you can!” With a spring, Buffy’s feet were out of the sand trenches, and she took off down the water’s edge with an ungainly, sprawling run.

“Buffy, wait!”

She turned back and stuck her tongue out at him. “Can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man! Slayer! Whatever! I’m fast!”

“Buffy, the house is the other way!”

She didn’t hear him.

“Damn and blast!” Spike ran after her.

***

Now I know this alternate reality is really fucking with my head, Spike thought, as a giggly Slayer let him catch her.

And then he felt sand underneath his legs, as he tumbled to the beach with her.

“You tripped me!”

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

“I think you were just drinking too much of the veeee-noooo!”

Spike snorted.

“Now who’s drunk on veeee-noooo?” She laughed again, loving her joke.

“Buffy, stop that!” She was twisting her legs up in his, her feet vining around his calves.

“What?”

“You know bloody well what you’re doing!” With a little kick and a roll, he pulled away from her.

And into the surf.

“Damn, damn, damn!”

She was giggling again, but unless this film was being shot in kinemacolor, she was also looking a bit off-shade.

“You’ll thank me for this,” scrambling to his feet, he gathered up his companion and prepared to carry her back towards the cottage.

“Put me down!” She kicked her feet, flailing in the night air.

“No.”

“At least get my shoes?”

Her pout was overdone, but with a reluctant sigh, Spike awkwardly bent down again and grabbed the sandals.

“Happy?”

“Yes, thank you.”

And with that, she settled into his arms.

“You’re going the wrong way.”

“No, I’m going the right way.”

“Uh-uh.” Buffy shifted and forced him to stop. “See?”

Sure enough, the cottage was behind them, and not terribly far at all.

“Must be a loop.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“What?” But with that, she’d fallen asleep.

***

“Xander, wake up,” Anya’s voice broke into his dreams.

“Whuh – whuh – is it time to make the doughnuts?”

“No. It’s 3 a.m., Xan,” Willow said.

“Actually, I think that is when they report to Donut Heaven to make the doughnuts.”

“It’s a commercial, Anya,” Willow explained.

“Oh, well, excuuuuse me.”

Xander came fully awake at the familiar sound of his girlfriend and best friend’s squabbling. “Great. As good as waking up to the sound of birds chirping.”

“Sorry, Xan. I just …”

“What time is it?”

“A little after 3.”

“And you’re both still up. And on what pot of coffee?”

Willow and Anya fidgeted with their mugs.

“But we’ve got something,” Willow insisted

“It better be good.”

“It is!” Anya added, apologetically. “We don’t think it’s a demon that’s after Buffy after all. I mean – the Unfugs are for real and all, but it looks like they might’ve been paid off by humans.”

“Humans? Like people humans? Why?”

Willow turned her screen around. “Look – see all these chat room entries? BobaFett94086 was pretty keen to learn about the Unfugs.”

“94086? That’s Sunnydale’s zip code.”

“Right. So I put on my hacker hat and traced BobaFett94086 to the Espresso Pump.”

“One of the baristas wants Buffy out of the way?”

Anya rolled her eyes. “No, honey. Someone was using the Espresso Pump’s network to send the messages undetected.”

“Yeah, or hacking into their system.”

“Kinda like you’re doing now, Wil?”

“Yeah,” she agreed brightly.

Anya leaned toward the screen to read some of the text. “Wow.”

“Is that a good wow or a bad wow? Wil?”

Anya squinted at the screen. “That’s a wow, they didn’t bother to make their trail all that hard to follow, did they?”

“Nope. Looks like BobaFett94086 is Mrs. Marian Mears of 131 Hampton Lane.”

“Mrs. Marian Mears? That doesn’t sound like a demon-dealing Star Wars freak to me.”

“Any chance she has a demon-dealing Star Wars freak son?”

“There’s a second phone line registered to Warren Mears. Hey – that’s the guy with the ‘bot.”

“What would he want with Buffy?”

“He doesn’t want her,” Anya huffed. “He wants her out of the way. Willow, read some of those messages.”

“Can anyone tell me how to find Unfugs or secondary reseller for Unfug alt-re products?”

“Okay. So they did this on purpose … oh. No. That’s too lame. They did this so they could knock off the truck delivering quarters to the video arcade?”

“It tracks with the demon bank robber when Buffy was in there the other week. And all that freaky stuff on her Groundhog Day.”

“Guess so. Alright, then. So what do we do about it?”

“We track down Warren and find out what he knows about the Unfug that sold him the Instant Sun.”

“Now?”

With a glance, Anya and Willow were in agreement. “Now.”

***

The house was close.

Spike tried to work through it in his mind. Was it possible the island was one big circle? Wait, make that a small circle? It had seemed bigger, but then he wasn’t used to measuring by daylight. And he’d spent most of his recent years in cities and towns, so reckoning distance across a flat expanse of nuthin’ wasn’t his specialty.

“Wait,” Buffy murmured, wriggling in his arms until she was sliding to her feet, stopping them both.

“Didn’t know you were awake.”

“I was dreaming.”

“So I see.”

“Don’t you just love nighttime on the beach?”

Spike thought back to a particularly delicious night in Texas, snacking on spring breakers. “Yeah. ‘Spose I do. But shouldn’t we be tucking you into bed?”

“Not yet.” With a smile, she reached into her bag and pulled out a box of sparklers. “Give me your lighter.”

“Don’t think I have …” but to his surprise, a Zippo was tucked into his front right pocket. “I stand corrected.”

She handed him one, then took her own and touched the flame to ignite. “Do yours!”

“Rather not, pet. Dangerous things. Sparky and such.”

“You’re not all flammable now.”

With a start, he realized that he could pick up the sparkler and twirl it around like a third rate beauty pageant contestant.

He could, but he was not so inclined.

Tossing the stick to the sands, he sighed as Buffy lit her second and drew a big initial B in the night.

“Spoil sport.”

He frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Here we are, marooned together, and I can’t help but think that we shouldn’t be getting so cozy.”

“Why not?”

“What with my official status as persona non grata back in SunnyD, figure I might get the wrong idea if we keep on this way.”

Buffy hauled off and smacked him across the face, dropping her sparkler into the sand.

“OW!” Spike rubbed his jaw. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

She raised her hand, but Spike caught her wrist before she could fire.

“What the bleedin’ hell? One second you’re actin’ like I’m supposed to give you my fraternity pin and the next you’re imitating Mike Tyson!”

“I could ask you the same thing! You’re all big with the puppy dog eyes in Sunnydale, but here, when we could actually do something about it, no. No, here, you’re a throwback to an earlier era, and you can’t so much as touch me without a written permission slip from a parent or legal guardian. We’re not gonna be here long, Spike, and when we get back- ”

“-when we get back, you’ll go back to treating me like I’m something caked on the bottom of your boot, and I’ll be just Jim Dandy with that plan. Is that what you’re thinkin’?”

“I … no … um … I mean …”

“I think that’s exactly what you’re thinkin’. That this little vacation is your big chance to abdicate responsibility and you might as well go all the way. Maybe we can wish up some illicit drugs while we’re at it. Ever dropped acid, Slayer? Yeah, didn’t think so. What else? Let’s see if I can conjure up a car for you to hotwire or a can of spray paint so you can graffiti your name all over the fenceposts.”

“Spike, stop.”

“No, I don’t think I will. If you’ve cast me in the role of inappropriate dalliance, I think I’m going to go ahead and be inappropriate. Wildly so.”

Her feet were solidly placed on the sand, and a second earlier it had felt like they were rooted there. But something in his eyes challenged her, and without a thought, Buffy launched herself at him, drawing his head down and meeting his lips with hers.

It was Spike who broke the kiss, and only for a second. With a growl, he pulled her back against his mouth, running his tongue over her teeth and nibbling her bottom lip.

As she fitted herself to his length, her arms coasting down his biceps, Buffy had a fleeting thought: this would be better with a bonfire. And blankets. So as her body hit the ground, she felt a soft blanket under her instead of just coarse sand and the warmth of a bonfire licking at her skin.

The appearance of accoutrements startled Spike, but not as much as the feeling of her responsive body underneath his.

“You’re sure …”

She shoved him to the side. “I wasn’t …”

“Oh.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t. Not with you. Not if you were the last -”

He quirked an eyebrow at her and bit back a laugh.

“Oh, never mind!” Protests forgotten, she was back on top of him, kissing with an intensity that surpassed his wildest longings.

Little clothing separated them – the hem of Buffy’s little sundress was already hiked up to her hips, and she was pressing against him, just her panties and his cargo shorts between them. He’d gone hard as an iron bar the second she’d rolled on top and he fought for control, forcing himself to push her no farther.

With a frustrated sigh, Buffy found herself pulling at his t-shirt. “Spiiiiike … don’t you want me?”

“I … yeah, I do. Just want to make sure you want me back.”

“Duh!” She pulled his t-shirt over his head and when he surfaced, she was grinning at him, one of her thousand-megawatt-Buffy smiles.

“Then I’m yours, love.” He dipped his head back to hers and concentrated on kissing, forcing himself to slow the pace.

She broke away for air.

“Let’s take this off, then?” She nodded and Spike gently lifted the dress over her head.

The site of her, bra-less, in nothing but red satin panties, almost broke him. “Funny,” she said with a glance, “I thought those were beige.”

He barked out a laugh, wondering exactly how much the island was driving, and at the same time realizing he was too far gone to stop. His mouth found first one nipple, then the next, teasing, sucking and nipping, forcing her hips to arch against him.

There was no doubt he was in charge, but she was far from passive, her hands ghosting up his arms to his shoulders, pulling his mouth back to hers, before dipping lower to unfasten the button on his cargo shorts and work them down his hips.

She’d nearly stripped him when Spike dipped a long finger into her heated core. “Ooooh …”

“Like that?”

“Ummm …”

“Want more?”

A little nod encouraged him, and he slipped a second digit inside. His mouth fastened on hers, kissing hungrily, but never breaking the steady rhythmic thrusting of his fingers.

She broke away with a rough whisper. “More!”

Spike stilled. Was this his Slayer?

And then her hand wrapped around his cock, and again he didn’t care.

With half a thrust, he’d meant to bury himself inside, but she was tight, tighter than he imagined. Slowing to shallow strokes, he penetrated her inch by inch. “Feels okay, pet?”

“Ummm …” She rolled her head back, eyes closed. “Harder.”

He was powerless to do anything but respond, quickening his thrusts as she forcefully met his hips with her own.

“I can’t … wait, luv.” He shifted positions, buying time to prevent his body from betraying him, catching his breath with deep gulps. “Why don’t you drive?”

By the firelight, he could see her eyes glinting. “Thought you’d never ask.” She straddled him, positioning her knees with care, stretching her arms until she hovered above him, her nipples scraping his chest with every gyration, her clit grinding against him.

“My wanton girl! Someone taught you how to take your pleasure after all, or did you figure that out on your own?”

Even in the night, he could tell she blushed.

And a flood of wet told him that she liked it.

“That’s right, Buffy, love. Ride me. Harder.”

She responded.

“This is your secret misery, innit? All that moping, all could be cured with a good fuck, couldn’t it? Trouble is, your job makes it tough to meet a fella.”

Her pace was quickening, and her hands dragged back to his chest, palms planted, nails digging like half moon marks into his skin. Her hair hung down in curtains, obscuring her face.

“That’s right, pet. Ride me. I won’t tell.”

With a moan that bordered on a howl, Buffy came, her walls crushing him, bringing Spike over the edge, too, before he could get control.

“I won’t tell,” he repeated as she collapsed on top of him, wondering what he’d just promised.