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Author's Chapter Notes:
Written for taboo_spuffy’s Fantasy Island Challenge: Spike and/or Buffy arrive on a private island to have their ultimate sexual fantasies fulfilled… but it comes with a price. The island rules state that anything goes… except falling in love with their assigned lover. Yet it does, occasionally, happen, they know. But emotional attachment is frowned upon, and can result in both parties being shipped off the island without explanation.

A/N: This is my first fanfic, and I welcome any feedback and constructive criticism.

Beta: The fabulous (and patient) dusty 273
Part 1: Prologue

Buffy worried the worn clipping of paper in her hand for what felt like the zillionth time since she’d first seen it. She didn’t bother unfolding it to read it; she’d long ago committed the two phrases in the ad to her memory. A plain black box, with the word Indulge… written in white in the upper left corner in a curious, swirling script, and in the lower right corner, the only other lettering in the ad, a website address www.indulgeyourself.com.

She had come across the ad while flipping through the ‘Sunnydale Times,’ and something about it had captivated her. It may have been the utter lack of information given, nothing other than the single word and the website. And it may have been the fact that she had been looking for something to treat herself to for months, something materially useless, utterly impractical, and sinfully overpriced. Something with no redeeming qualities, no moral value, no practical purpose whatsoever. Something she could buy for herself for no good reason other than the fact that she wanted it.

When Buffy’s mother had died two years earlier after a thankfully short but decidedly cruel battle with cancer, Buffy had been plunged into an eighteen-month battle for Joyce’s estate with her mother’s long-absent siblings. Siblings that had decided, out of the kindness of their hearts, that Buffy was far too young to handle an estate the size of Joyce’s, and that it was in her best interest if they stepped in to help her “manage” the remaining money that her mother had left from her father’s life insurance payout, an amount that was considerable. Now most of that money was gone even after her victory--lost to medical bills and legal fees--and Buffy had decided to sell the house and use the remaining money to start fresh in a new city. New city, new job, new life, new Buffy.

But while she had been cleaning out Joyce’s room, she had unexpectedly found a box containing her baby blanket, and wrapped in the baby blanket $25,000 in cash, neatly bundled with a note labeled “Buffy” in Joyce’s even penmanship.

Sweetheart,
I wish I could have protected you from the ugliness that I know will come with the money. So if you’re reading this and you lost, use this for whatever you need. And if you’re reading this and you won, I know it will have been a long road. Use it to treat yourself.
Love.

Buffy had tucked the money away and not even considered what she wanted to do with it until she had come across the ad a couple of months ago while browsing the newspaper. And once she noticed it, she had been unable to look away. “Treat yourself,” after all, was remarkably similar to “Indulge…” Almost as if the ad had been placed there specifically for her.

She had stared at it for a full five minutes, possibilities swirling in her head, before she had finally given in to her curiosity and logged onto the website. From there she had been drawn deeper down the rabbit hole by pictures: a tropical paradise, a finger pressed to a set of lips, a stockinged thigh, all peppered with remarkably oblique phrases like “luxurious,” “sinful,” and “decadent.” None of which told her anything about the service actually provided, but all of which served to heighten her curiosity and strengthen the resolve that oh yes, she would Indulge.

After completing a more extensive and intimate questionnaire than eHarmony ever dreamed, she received the most exhaustive and prohibitive disclaimer she had ever seen, a health screening, and a list of rules that she had to electronically agree to. Which she had, blindly, sure only now that she wanted the promised Experience of a Lifetime.

So now as she sat, shifting in her seat, her anxiety climbing as the plane descended, and she wondered again what she had gotten herself into.

Rule 1. You will not use your real name. You will identify yourself only by your self-chosen pseudonym, which cannot in any way be traceable to you. All electronic devices will be confiscated prior to your arrival to The Island, to both enhance your Escape and to inhibit the sharing of personal information.

Rule 2. After you leave The Island, you will not have any further contact with your partner (or partners). Any efforts to contact each other are strictly prohibited by the terms of this contract. Should accidental contact occur, no recognition of any kind is allowed so as to allow both parties their continued anonymity.

Rule 3. No falling in love.

* * *

Spike stood before the mirror in what had to be the most luxurious hotel suite he’d ever seen in his life, nervously adjusting and re-adjusting his tie. A cool breeze blew in from the ocean through the door open on the veranda, and he could hear palm fronds rustling in the breeze. The beauty of his surroundings however was lost on him as he tried to fix an imagined wrinkle in his trousers.

For the love of God and money, he had no idea what demon had inhabited his mind when he agreed to do his brother-in-law this ridiculous favor. Sure, it had been a long time since the demise of his last relationship, and it wasn’t exactly like he had been tearing up the town ever since. And sure, he probably spent a little more time at his job than he absolutely needed to, but he justified it by the fact that the company was in a bit of a slump, and he seemed to have temporarily lost his business mojo. But that was set to turn around any day, as he had a new business plan, he was invigorating the company with some new blood, and… Ahh, bloody hell. Maybe they’re right; I do spend too much time either at work or thinking about work.

Which returned him to his present situation. Standing in front of a gilt-edged mirror, in a gorgeous luxury suite, on an anonymous desert island. With an ugly fucking tie. He growled in frustration, tearing the tie off and throwing it down, resisting the urge to stamp on it for a good measure.

Easy, mate. You’re just in this for the weekend. You get to spend it with a beautiful woman on a beautiful island having fantasy sex… He drifted off for a moment, mentally running through the list of fantasies provided by his brother-in-law in an exhaustive dossier on the woman he was about to meet.

Elizabeth. It wasn’t her real name, he knew, merely a chosen pseudonym, but he briefly wondered if, like him, she had chosen a name that she had used at some other point in her life. After all, he hadn’t used the name “William” formally for fifteen years—legally, for about ten—but it had been what he was known by when he was younger, and he knew he could respond appropriately when addressed by it.

The headshot accompanying the dossier was a simple headshot of a very pretty California-blonde type woman. A very beautiful woman. Who was paying an obscene amount of money for this weekend. To have sex. To have naughty, uninhibited sex. To have naughty, uninhibited sex with him. Well, not precisely with you, his conscience reminded him, as the woman in the file had not chosen him, per se, but more precisely the experience. Which was a thought that had him unconsciously running his hand through his carefully gelled hair, loosening some ringlets that fell to his forehead, taunting him. He tried forcing the curls back into place with a menacing glare in the mirror, but they remained unimpressed.

Bloody buggering hell! Fuck it.

He slid the dossier back into the desk drawer without another glance at the headshot, sure that he’d know Elizabeth when he saw her. It was the face that had teased his dreams since he had seen the file originally. He knew her wishes, her fantasies, her unfulfilled desires. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that Angel had been right in selecting him for Elizabeth. She was beautiful, apparently intelligent, and there wasn’t a single kink she had on her naughty wishlist that he wasn’t downright enthusiastic about helping her work out.

With that can-do attitude in mind, he abandoned his self-perusal and headed out on the balcony to have a cigarette and wait.





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