"I'm on a beach, drinking something rummy and fruity with lots of ice in it, and having John Cusack rub suntan lotion all over me."

Willow blinked open her eyes and grinned at Buffy across the research table in the Magic Box.

"You always choose John Cusack."

Willow replied brightly, "And this is a problem why? I can still admire a handsome man."

Buffy thought for a second, then grinned and shrugged. "Sounds good to me. Let's see...anywhere but here...On a yacht, floating beneath a big, full moon, being fed shrimp by Sp...um...someone," she finished lamely, trying not to flush at her near faux paux.

Willow cocked an eyebrow. "Someone? Can't be more specific?"

"Like I have any time to lust after celebrities." Putting her head in her hand, Buffy resumed flipping through the latest Vogue. "Look at these clothes, or better yet, non-clothes. The models might as well be naked."

"Nudity is an option," Willow replied, glancing at the picture Buffy was pointing at. "Do you think that one kind of looks like Tara?"

Buffy smiled gently. "You have Tara on the brain. Why don't you call her?"

"Oh no, not yet. I don't want to rush anything." The redhead glanced back down at the skimpy top and shorts on the model. "She'd look good in that, though."

Buffy chuckled and Willow grinned, then they both quieted as the door to the office opened and Anya slipped into the room. As she took her place behind the counter, a loud mournful sniffle echoed through the silent shop.

A dainty hand holding a lace handkerchief slid beneath the black veil that covered her face. Anya was dressed head to foot in black like a Victorian widow. It had been understandable for the first few days, even a week, but...

"No one is freakin' dead," Buffy hissed to Willow from behind her hand. "When's she going to cut this out?"

"Maybe we could, I don't know, take her shopping? Or to get a make over or something, anything to cheer her up."

A sob sounded from behind the counter as Anya counted the day's take.

"Oh, to be anywhere but here," Buffy sighed.

---

Just past midnight, Buffy strolled along the Sunnydale beach remembering the game of 'anywhere but here' earlier in the evening. Here she was on a beach, there were some boats bobbing out there in the water, and the moon was full.

But, somehow the real thing just did not measure up.

Stuffing her hands in the pockets of her jacket, she scuffed along, only half-alert to any possible danger. Dimly she noticed the wind pick up as she skirted a patch of quicksand surrounded by police tape.

"Only in Sunnydale," she muttered, kicking over the remains of a sand castle. Turning back to look at the waves breaking on the shore, she caught a glimpse of pale breasts and a tail out at the breakwater, and shook her head to clear her vision. "Really only in Sunnydale."

"What, luv."

Buffy stumbled backwards and only her superior reflexes saved her from toppling into the quicksand. "Geez, stop doing that."

Spike looked around in all innocence. "What?"

"Sneaking up on...What do you want, Spike?"

"Quiet beach, full moon," He squinted across the water. "Mermaid getting screwed by a dwarf." As Buffy looked towards the breakwater, he laughed. "Got you to look."

"Well, there is a mermaid out there."

"Wonder how they have sex."

She gave him a pointed look and he grinned. "Can't help it, luv. I'm male."

"Uh huh."

"So, why are you patrolling the beach?" he asked, changing gears.

"I'm not really. It's nice here. Quiet, peaceful." A bolt of lightning came out of the cloudless sky and ignited the quicksand. Buffy sighed heavily.

That seemed to tickle Spike and he chuckled, reaching out and taking her arm to pull her away from the smelly fire. "Nothing's ever quiet or peaceful here for long."

"But wouldn't it be nice if it was?"

He thought about it for a long minute, then shook his head. "Be right dull, pet."

"We've had this discussion about the names, Spikey."

Grinning, Spike slipped her arm through his and began to stroll down the beach. She skidded along for a few steps, then gave in and walked at his side.

"We *are* broken up, remember?"

"Since we were never really together, I don't really see that as an issue." His eyes drifted down her body. "We only did one thing."

"Stop undressing me with your eyes," Buffy ordered, flushing under the intensity of his gaze.

"I could undress you for real," he offered helpfully.

She gave him a baleful look.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, then clamored over a pile of rocks that separated the sandy beach from the beginnings of the docks. A blast of wind hit them, buffeting them backwards. The sky was suddenly filled with clouds, blotting out the moon.

"You know," Buffy yelled, "the way things are going, we'll probably have a tornado next."

"Don't jinx us." As he yelled back at her, a huge, torn kite sailed straight at them, and they ducked just in time. "Shit."

A big boom of thunder sounded just off the shore and lightning crashed into the sea, as the wind continued to howl. Grabbing her arm again, Spike pulled her towards a row of semi- dilapidated buildings. Only one was lit and had a sign above the door which read 'Hotel l'amour'.

"The love shack?" Buffy asked, eyes rolling at the seedy name and exterior.

"Who bloody cares," Spike shouted as the rain began to pound down. They quickly ducked in the door and shook the drops of water from their shoulders and heads.

The interior of the hotel was as dingy as the exterior, but off to the right was a candle-lit lounge. Walking into it, they found a few people sitting at tables on faded velvet chairs, drinking and chatting, while on the stage at the end of the room, a puppet show involving a Maharaja, a courtesan and an elephant was being widely ignored.

Buffy sank tiredly onto a loveseat, groaning as a spring dug into her hip. As she shifted, Spike plopped down beside her, making her bounce closer to him. Shooting him a death glare, she scooted the other way and shrugged out of her jacket.

A little old man who looked to be about one hundred and fifty shuffled towards them carrying an empty tray. He looked at them through watery eyes, then gave them a toothless smile. "What can I get you from the bar to break your journey, young lovers?"

As Buffy started to protest the 'lovers' comment, Spike ordered them each a beer.

"I don't like beer," Buffy protested as the waiter shuffled away.

Spike gave his surroundings a disapproving frown. "Well, I wouldn't trust the water here."

"I'm sure you've been in worse dives."

"Yeah, but they were *meant* to be dives. This place was once probably the height of elegance. I bet there used to be a full orchestra playing on weekends."

Buffy wrinkled her nose at the small, intimate room. "Would have been a tight squeeze."

"All these old hotels used to have ballrooms. Lovely things they were, lit by crystal chandeliers, wood floors gleaming, ladies in ball gowns, men in tuxedos."

"I just can't picture you dancing."

"My father might have been horribly nouveau riche, but my mother was the daughter of a baronet. She saw that I was suitably schooled in all the gentile traditions of society. I loved to dance," he finished softly, a far-away look in his eyes.

Buffy stared at him. "Sometimes I forget you weren't always a demon."

Turning to look at her, Spike smirked slightly. "I was an Englishman born and bred, when England ruled the world, staunch Protestant middle class ethics and Victorian morals and all that rot."

"Uh huh. We kicked England's butt, remember? And I'm an American born and bred and all that, yay me."

He grinned. "Slight case of xenophobia there, luv?"

"Why would I be scared of Xena? You are so weird, Spike."

Laughing, he plucked the two mugs of beer from the wavering tray of the waiter as he nearly collapsed under its weight, then shooed the man away with a ten dollar bill.

"Fear of foreigners."

Buffy gave him a baffled look. "Huh?" She sipped her drink and screwed up her face at the strong taste. "Are you sure this is beer?"

"Xenophobia is fear of foreigners, and," He took a sip and sighed happily. "Real beer, the way god intended it."

"Why's it so dark?"

"This isn't Rocky Mountain goat piss, luv. It's a true ale."

"Half the time I don't know what you're talking about. It's supposed to be English, but it's like some alien language."

"Ale is what we, the civilized, call real beer."

"Oh right, you barbarians drink it warm over there, don't you."

Spike didn't deign to answer, just took another drink of the dark amber beer and sighed happily. As he leaned back against the lumpy sofa, he slipped one arm around Buffy's shoulders. He grinned even more when she didn't try to remove it.

Buffy sipped her beer and slowly let herself relax. She was tired and had been for a long time. She tried to let her mind relax as well, but it kept coming back to the vampire sitting next to her, the vampire she was letting hold her loosely as they drank beer in companionable silence.

There had to be something wrong with that.

"Why do we keep doing this, Spike?"

"Hm?"

"This," she emphasized.

"We're having a drink, Buffy, getting out of the storm."

"I should have just told you to go away when I ran into you on the beach. Why do I always not do that?"

"You're physically stronger than me. When I took your arm, you didn't try to get away. I didn't hold a gun to your head." A touch of anger flowed through his voice and his arm around her tightened slightly. "I have zero chances of actually forcing you to do anything, and you know it."

She turned to look up into his turbulent eyes. "Well, something keeps making me turn to you. Why? It can't just be simple attraction and...and we know it's not because there's anything wrong with me," she stammered.

Spike's eyebrows shot up. "Since when do we know that?"

"Um, Tara. She checked." Buffy ducked her eyes from his penetrating gaze.

"When?"

"A...day after...that night outside the police station."

"And yet you came back to my bed," he murmured softly, his fingers lightly kneading her shoulder. "What does that say, Buffy?"

"That I'm a slut," she whispered bitterly.

"Luv, you're about as far away from being a slut as anyone I know."

"Then why do I keep wanting to go to bed with a demon?"

His eyes lightened with amusement and desire. "Maybe because you see me as more than just a demon."

"You're not a nice guy, Spike. You were selling demon eggs to foreign military powers."

He frowned and pulled his arm away from her. "You didn't listen to me, Buffy. I was holding those for a friend. I didn't even know what they were, what species. You chose to believe Captain Cardboard over me, even though you'd just screwed me six ways to Sunday."

Blushing, Buffy downed a large gulp of beer, as Spike continued, his voice harsh with bitterness. "But, he came to your rescue, didn't he. Gave you an out, a good reason not to see me anymore."

"I shouldn't have been seeing you in the first place, and I shouldn't be here with you now." She started to rise, only to be dragged down onto Spike's lap. He was angry with her, but a part of him was happy to see her. "Let me go," she hissed between clenched teeth.

"I love it when you're mad," Spike murmured into her ear before latching onto the lobe with his teeth.

It was one of her most erogenous zones, and she melted against him as he sucked at a spot just above her earring. "Don't..."

"Let's get a room," he whispered back, placing a kiss behind her ear which sent a shiver through her. One arm went around her waist, pinning her to him, while his free hand grabbed hers and drew it between their bodies. "Feel what you do to me?"

Instinctively her fingers curled around the bulge in his jeans, and he bit back a deep groan.

"I want to see you on your knees again, your pretty red lips on me. I want to see your lovely neck wreathed in a pearl necklace," he murmured hoarsely, trying not to squirm beneath her caressing fingers.

Buffy leaned back to give him a baffled look. "Thanks, but I prefer diamonds."

Spike started to laugh, and she glared at him. "You are so bloody innocent, luv."

Two thin eyebrows went up. "Um, not really."

Spike whispered an explanation in her ear, and a hot blush spread across Buffy's cheeks. She swallowed hard and whispered, "Okay," before jumping off his lap, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards the lobby.

Grinning, Spike adjusted himself and followed behind her.

So what if nothing was solved. A good shag never hurt anybody.

 

The End

 

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