Buffy was dozing after the third - or was it the fourth? - time. Spike lost count, and wished for a cigarette. As he eased himself out of bed, moving to the windows to light up, he mentally went back through his list.

The night before on the beach, yeah.

Then the shower, but nothing really happened in the shower.

Her bloody marvelous blowjob. Once he’d recovered from babbling incoherently, he’d returned the favor and reduced her to jelly. Then, rock hard again, he’d thrust into her from a position she’d clearly never imagined, sending her into laughter and, then, an orgasm that must’ve nearly ripped her in two. Then she’d flipped him onto his back and surprised him with a wild, galloping pace. One, two, three … and then he stopped counting.

He’d finally done her right.

Girl was a tiger; he’d expected that. But she was playful, too, and he hadn’t guessed she’d be so joyous and kind. Truth told, he’d imagined she’d be the bossy, demanding sort – all about her and what she would or would not deign to do. Instead, there’d been none of that, and he was more in her thrall than ever.

The sun had inched up in the sky. Must be almost noon, he thought, scanning the horizon as Buffy stirred in the bed.

“Whatcha doin’, Spike?”

“Just takin’ in the bright, bright, bright sunshiny day, luv.”

She was quiet for a minute.

“So you’re not looking for more signs that our little island paradise is about to go kerplewey?”

“Um …”

“Come back to bed.”

“No. You come here.” With a flick of his wrist, the cigarette vanished, and he pushed open the doors to the balcony.

“Did the balcony got bigger?” Buffy wondered as she followed him outside, wrapping a sheet around her frame, toga-style.

“Believe it did, pet.” Spike gestured towards a chaise lounge, piled high with pillows.

“Oh. I get it.”

“That’s the idea.” Spike smirked and reached for her hand, guiding her towards the lounge. “Never made love in the sun before.”

“Me, neither. Well, not out in the open.”

“C’mere …” he murmured, drawing her to him, her sheet falling away as she straddled him.

He stroked her, fingers running from under the curve of her breast to the swell of her hip and back again. “Are you sore?”

Buffy shifted, responding to his touch and the feeling of his hardening shaft against her inner thigh. “I – um, no – I …” she stuttered out, blushing.

“Shhh, pet. Nothing to be all flustered out. Just don’ wanna hurt you, is all.”

“You won’t hurt me.” She met his eyes. “You won’t. I’m sure of it.”

It was Spike’s turn to catch his breath as she took his cock in her hand and guided him inside. He gasped, then met her eyes. “So the question must be if you’ll hurt me?”

With a mischevious smile, she fell down close to him, crushing her weight against his chest. “I don’t know, lover. Would you like me to?”

***

Anya and Xander hadn’t gotten far with Ber’Lethe.

She had a piggy little face and way too much hair, perched atop a curvy figure. Anya repeated the song and dance about searching out stock for the Magic Box, but unlike her old demon colleagues, Ber’Lethe seemed cautious.

“We don’t traffic with humans.”

“Ever? I mean, even in Sunnydale? There’s a lot of money to be made denying reality.”

“Just ask the bartenders at the Bronze,” Xander added.

“Look, you seem like a straight shooter, Anyanka, but you know as well as anyone here that messing around with humans is troublesome. The money would have to be real good.”

“How good?”

“A couple thousand. And that’s just for a basic get-a-way for two. Wouldn’t last more than a week.”

“I might have some buyers … maybe even willing to pay $10,000 for that kind of escape. Y’know, what with the post-9/11 hassles at airport security, it could be a real money maker.”

Xander sensed Anya warming up to their cover story.

“Of course, we’d need to make sure there wasn’t any danger. And that we could get them back,” he added, before Anya could go to contract with the demon.

“I see.” Ber’Lethe frowned. “This is one of the reasons we don’t traffic with humans. Safety,” she hissed, “I despair of guaranteeing safety for weak little mice.”

“Well …” Anya’s mind worked feverishly, “let’s say we only sold them to real risk-takers. Maybe we even make the danger part of it, so y’know, people who scale Mount Everest and shoot the rapids in wherever, and base jump and heliski … bet they’d be into this. And the idea that they might not get back, that’s even better. For them.”

“But they could get back, right? This isn’t a one way ticket?”

Both women scowled at Xander.

“Well, yes, they could return. There are two ways. If I shape the dimension, then the simplest is that the visitors desire their sojourn to conclude before the dimension collapses. But it takes a strong-willed person to do so. I create bewitching environments.”

“I’m sure you do,” Anya agreed. “Any chance we could take a tour some-”

“Wait, so you’re telling me that all Buffy has to do is click her ruby slippers three times and say ‘There’s no place like home?’”

The women scowled in unison again.

“You have a friend in one of my dimensions, don’t you?”

“Well, we do, but that’s what made us think it would be such a good business …”

“Quiet,” the demon ordered.

Anya opened her mouth to reply, but then thought the better of it.

“I don’t reveal the secrets of my dimensions to any but the purchasers.”

“But the second way out?”

“That’s a trade secret.” Ber’Lethe turned on her heel and stalked off.

“Can you at least tell us how long she has?”

The demon paused. “A few days. Maybe less if she’s not alone.”

***

Spike was snoring on the chaise, and Buffy had conjured up a strawberry smoothie from her favorite place in LA. She’d gone inside long enough to throw on shorts and a tank, and she’d covered Spike’s decadently nude and sprawling form with a blanket. Other than that, they’d barely left the terrace all day. Now she’d curled up on the floorboards to watch the night fall, a night that she could appreciate for its beauty instead of its menace.

So this, she thought to herself, was good sex. And this is what they meant by being good in bed. Technical skill plus selflessness and an ability to sense her needs before she knew them herself. Oh, and a willingness to admit that he was working at it. She’d worried about it, ever since Angel, even though she’d come to understand that his scathing comments were about him and his need to hurt her. But now it all made sense, and lots of other things made sense, too. Right now, risking something for good sex seemed reasonable, while before she’d always shrugged off lurid tales of sexual scandal as pure foolishness.

Tonight, in the night air on this island, she found herself imagining that Spike was a … maybe a prince? No, he’d never be a prince. If he knew she was imagining him like that, he’d dismiss a prince as a poncey something-or-other, probably. So Spike was a rock star, an actor … maybe a poet? An artist. Spike was a famous artist, and she was his lover, his muse. That suited them. And he was running away from a crazy wife in an institution that he couldn’t divorce and that, because her family was socially prominent, he couldn’t cheat on in public and so here they were, on a very private island paradise, hoping that the paparazzi didn’t find out.

Wow, all that and she’d only ever read the Cliff Notes on Jane Eyre.

She sipped on her smoothie. She didn’t love Spike. In fact, the idea of loving anyone felt awkward on her shoulders right now. But in the past few days – and certainly in the past few hours – she couldn’t say that she didn’t like him. She’d had more fun with him than she’d ever had with Riley or Angel and, yeah, sure there was the Initiative and the Master and the Mayor and a string of baddies stretching back years now. But it wasn’t like any of those things had stopped when Spike was in the picture.

With a little satisfied nod, Buffy decided that she’d fixed her problem. She and Spike were friends, and if that was a little unusual, well, that was okay.

Friends. And should she be torn out of this lovely place just like she’d been ripped out of heaven, then at least she’d have Spike’s friendship, and all of the attendant benefits, as consolation.

***

They re-grouped in the Magic Box. Tara had called and warned that Dawn was anxious, and was past believing any of her excuses. After a tense few minutes, they’d agreed that Tara’s skills were needed too urgently to keep her at home with Dawn, and now five sets of jangled nerves were assembled around the table.

“So what are we looking for?” Tara asked, trying to sound calm.

“Well, from what Anya and Xander found out, there’s two ways that Buffy can get home.”

“There’s the Wizard of Oz way …” Xander explained.

“… and then there’s the way that we’re going to find,” Willow concluded.

“The Wizard of Oz way?” Dawn scanned their faces. “So you mean that if Buffy wants to come home, she can? Figures. Big surprise that she’s happier trapped in another dimension than here with me.”

“No, sweetie.” Willow leaned towards the girl. “Xander’s oversimplifying it, and anyhow, Buffy doesn’t know to wish herself back. Remember, Dorothy doesn’t know that she can wish herself back until Glinda tells her at the end? And so this is like that, only without the munchkins and the flying monkeys.”

“So far,” Anya added.

***

She didn’t know how long he’d been watching her.

Buffy had wished up tiki torches and a celebrity gossip magazine, and then her favorite UC Sunnydale sweatshirt and a warm fleece throw.

She felt his eyes on her a few seconds before he scooped her up and carried her back inside to their bed.

“Hey … I was reading!”

“Oh, and - ” he glanced back at the magazine “ – Brad Pitt is more important than me?”

“Well, no,” she pouted until his mouth found hers and he kissed her lips back into a small smile.

He dropped her on the bed and Buffy hit the mattress with an “oof!”

“Nice.”

“If some people didn’t go around scooping up other people …”

“You complaining?”

“Depends on what you’re gonna do with me now.”

He crawled up her body. “What am I going to do with you? That’s a very good question.” He glanced down at her tank top and shorts. “For starters … close your eyes.”

She did, and felt a strange sensation.

“Open them.”

It took her a few seconds to realize that he’d wished her into decadent lingerie – a lacy black bra and panties, with a garter belt and silk stockings, topped off with towering stiletto heels.

“Ooooh …” She lifted a leg, flexing her foot and admiring the new gear. “Pretty.”

“That doesn’t begin to describe you, pet.”

“I’m talking about the lingerie, Spike.” She nudged him with her foot.

“Ah, ah, ah …” He caught her ankle, and kneeling between her legs, began to kiss and stroke every inch of her silk-clad calf and thigh, working his way up the left before turning his ministrations to the right. By the time he’d settled between the juncture of her thighs, Buffy was sighing and stretching, ready for more.

As she sunk back into oblivion, Buffy couldn’t help but be very pleased that she’d decided to be friends.

***

Willow read over her notes, glancing from face to face. “Okay, here’s what we’ve got. We can adapt a basic locator spell to find her whereabouts, but ripping open a portal is going to take some doing. When she was de – I mean, the other time she had her body to … well, there’s nothing to anchor her this time.”

“Right,” Dawn snorted, loud enough to be heard, but quiet enough to ignore.

“So we have to create an artificial anchor, something to draw her back and help her find her way.”

Dawn snorted again. “And what? We just leave Spike there?”

“Dawnie, we don’t know that Spike is with Buffy.”

“Okay, maybe. But seriously, guys, where else is he?”

“Well, if he’s with her, I guess he can come back through the portal, too,” Willow lied.

Dawn looked doubtful, but said nothing.

“Okay, let’s get to work on the locator spell.”