Buffy lay back in her beach chair, languidly sipping a juice and tonic. "Yoo-hoo! Ke-en? Where are you, Ken?"
She heard him curse her name.
She giggled. "Oh, Keeeeennn..."
The door to the guesthouse opened a crack. His head popped out. "You keep calling me that and I'm comin' out there starkers."
"Does that mean 'naked' in your language?" she asked, head cocked, putting on the ditz.
He smiled. "In English? Yeah."
"Okay," she shrugged. "Ken."
He gasped, aghast.
Accepting the inevitable with a burdened sigh, he came forward, modeling another pair of shorts.
"Oohhh, nice." She nodded in appreciation and sucked on her straw. "I likey."
"Better than the last three, then?"
"All good. Now, spin." She spun her finger around.
He rolled his eyes and turned slowly, arms out.
"Come over here."
He cautiously approached her.
"Don't be afraid, Kenny." She sat up, and when he came close enough, she adjusted the tag, and patted his behind. "Perfect."
"Do I please you, Mistress?" he asked sarcastically.
"Oh, very, very much." She sat back. "You can service me now."
When he came at her, she gasped, shrinking back -- Oh my god, he's really gonna--
And then he scooped her up in his arms, carried her to the pool's edge, and tossed her into the cold, cold water.
Buffy surfaced, spitting and screaming obscenities.
Spike pointed at her emphatically. "Yeah, you know you deserved it!"
"Okay, okay." She wiped the water out of her eyes and treaded to the pool's edge. "Maybe I did." She held out a hand. "Help me out?"
"Oh no. I know that trick, love."
She made the most serious face she could. "I promise I won't pull you in."
"I totally promise."
He sighed, and held out his unbandaged hand. She pulled him in.
His head shot out of the water. "You little liar! I'm gonna--"
She knife-stroked toward the shallow end. He darted after her, caught her ankle, and pulled her under.
She managed to spin, wiggle out of his grasp, and vault out of the water like a dolphin while pushing his head down.
He took that opportunity to seize her hips and yank her toward his face.
She felt his nose on her navel, and gasped.
Bear-hugging her torso tightly against his body, he emerged. "Oh, I got you now."
"Nuh-uh," she said, looking into his eyes as she held onto his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist, "I got you."
Expression darkening, Spike slid his hands up her back. Rough, calloused fingertips on her peach-smooth skin, eyes on her wet lips...
"Whoa, whoa. Reign it in, Little Miss Carried-Away."
Just then, Buffy's brain conveniently recalled an image of Spike the night before, staring at his ex-girlfriend in a blind rage, blood oozing down his arm.
So she did what she had to do: She splashed him and swam away.
"Alright Barbie," he said, wiping his face, sighting his target on her retreating form. "This means war."
She grabbed the metal ladder and propelled herself out of the pool, water cascading down her back. She slipped two fingers under her bikini bottoms, adjusting them like girls do in the movies, and turned to smirk at him while she wrung her hair.
"Get back in here!" He splashed her from there, but she jumped out of the spray. "I'm not done with you yet."
"I guess Barbie wins," she said breezily, and turned on her heel. "Later, Ken."
Breath heavy, he watched her sashay into the house and close the door.